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floatingcatacombs · 6 days ago

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Teekyuu and Hubris

12 Days of Aniblogging 2024, Day 7

Chronic illness begets a certain amount of magical thinking. Having to deal with your own body attacking itself at random intervals leads many down the path of desperation and conspiracy. That’s is why it’s important to instead channel that energy into little rituals that don’t provide any physical aid but do help establish a sense of control. In my own struggles with sickness, I’ve gained exactly one such ritual related to anime. For whatever reason, my consolation prize for particularly bad health days is shotgunning an entire season of Teekyuu.

This may sound like a huge endeavor, but these are two-minute episodes we’re dealing with, and that's counting the opening. Teekyuu is a moe gag anime about girls in a tennis club who only rarely actually play tennis. Everything plays out at a staggeringly fast speed, like it’s cramming four minutes of jokes into half that time. This works heavily in its favor! Even if only half of the jokes ever hit at best, the whole thing plays out so fast that the failures don’t really stick around in your psyche, but the hits can really add up. Fuck it, I’ll just post an episode, it'll fit within Tumblr's file size limit.

So, what did you think? Actually, don't answer that, just imagine twelve of those back-to-back. That’s the kind of shit that I’m on during the days where my gut has decided in advance to kill me. It is absolutely the kind of show that boils your brain, but sometimes you need your mind simmered for sanity’s sake. And for that, it is my ideal show. If watching Lucky Star is like basking in CGDCT moe, then Teekyuu is like getting slapped with it, repeatedly.

I could honestly end the writeup here, but Teekyuu actually has a surprisingly serious production history surrounding it, which I would be remiss to leave out. Also, I really like the idea of making you spend so much time with this essay learning arcane industry drama that you could have just watched a good chunk of a Teekyuu season. Now then....

MAPPA is a big studio! They took on adapting Chainsaw Man and Jujutsu Kaisen and the later parts of Attack on Titan and a million other high-profile anime, and are renowned for their fights and animation quality. Of course, they’re also notorious for paying terribly, taking on way too many projects, and absolutely grinding their workers into dust. They’re a company of extremes, but in a way that makes them extremely emblematic of where the anime industry is at right now.

It wasn’t always this way, though. MAPPA started out in the early 2010s with some lower-profile but mostly well-received projects, such as Kids on the Slope, Ushio & Tora, and an original titled Punch Line which one of my friends from high school insists is peak. And during this early period, they were also churning out season after season of Teekyuu. Shin Itagaki is something of a D-tier auteur when it comes to Teekyuu, acting as the director, character designer, key animator, in-betweener, and sound director for almost every episode. Itagaki’s actually got a pretty cool resume – he helped out on Princess Mononoke’s animation, contributed to a few Gainax shows, and wore quite a lot of hats on the underrated stupid comedy brawling anime Ben-To. But Teekyuu is his real brainchild, and it seems to have garnered enough of a following to justify continued releases (of course, the production costs must have also been pretty low).

Anyways, in 2015 Itagaki quits MAPPA and founds his own studio called Millepensee, with him as chief director and his wife handling the business operations. With this newfound and total creative control, he goes on to make…four more seasons of Teekyuu, as well as two spinoffs. The dude knows what he wants. But that’s his pet project. His wife has greater ambitions, and is steadily growing the studio in order to try and take on a larger project. They manage to get Berserk.

It still baffles me that someone looked at Itagaki’s resume and saw his seven nearly-consecutive seasons of high school girls getting up to rapid-fire antics and decided that he was the one for this job. I guess he had enough cred from his past projects like Hajime no Ippo and Ghibli contracting that they decided he could take a turn at adapting probably the greatest fantasy manga of all time.

It wasn't just going to be his studio, thankfully. This was organized to be a co-production with the 3DCG studio GEMBA, who up until then had only contributed background VFX to various shows, and had never handled an adaptation on their own. So Itagaki's job as director and key animator in pre-production was to handle storyboards and guide the artstyle of the adaptation, making sure it mapped well to the 3D models and animation techniques the studio was using.

When Berserk 2016 was announced, a lot of people were worried that Itagaki’s recent near-exclusive work on moe anime would pose a problem with the Berserk artstyle, but it turned out to be the other way around. He wanted to stay extremely faithful to the original artwork with techniques that the 3D software of the era simply couldn't render in real time, such as cross-hatching that Berserk is known for. Instead Millepensee had to add 2D textures and effects over the completed renders, taking on the laborious and messy task of fixing it in post. That’s why the texturing looks so janky and inconsistently applied in the final project, a lot of it had to be done by hand against a strict deadline!

The information in this section is mostly taken from a very good ANN writeup.

In between seasons of this Berserk adaptation, and right afterwards, Itagaki released Teekyuu 8 and 9. I guess this was his way of letting off steam.

You’d think that this experience would deter them from CG productions, but in 2020 Millepensee purchased a 3D animation studio, and most of their productions are now in a hybrid 2D+3D animation style with Itagaki directing. Granted, they're all low-rent isekai adaptations, but at least they're still getting work after Berserk.

The saddest part about this failed Berserk adaptation is that it could have gone way better had they just tried a few years later! Hybrid 2D + 3D pipelines started getting really good in the late 2010s, with Studio Orange and his old bosses at MAPPA both mastering the craft on shows like Dorohedoro and Land of the Lustrous. Nowadays it’s absolutely everywhere, and you hardly see anyone complaining, especially when it’s used for a striking artstyle or to adapt something that would be near-impossible to do right with traditional animation. It's probably the only way you could animate the later parts of Berserk sanely, but nobody wants to try again after the 2016 attempt went so poorly (and also Miura's fucking dead). Also sad is how MAPPA really came into prominence just as Itagaki was leaving, with hits like Yuri on Ice and Kakegurui and Zombieland Saga coming out year after year. Though I don’t know if he would have been assigned to any of those had he stayed, and he probably gets a much bigger paycheck now even though he's working on stuff ten percent as popular.

We have drifted far, far, away from Teekyuu, so I’ll just loop back by saying that Teekyuu changes a person. It is kind of evil on some fundamental level. And yet, it is occasionally load-bearing on my psyche, like pushing a reset button somewhere in my synapses. I’ve still got a few late seasons stashed away for when I need them. With the last one coming out in 2017, I think it’s safe to say that there’s no more Teekyuu on the horizon, but what we’ve got is plenty. Its total runtime is almost as long as a standard 12-episode season, even! Someone should just bite the bullet and make a hell-on-earth video upload or torrent that stitches them all together. It might have to be me.

#12 days of anime #teekyuu #shin itagaki #berserk

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timeofjuly · 1 year ago

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And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree

Chapter 4 - Theatrical, Dramatic, Flairful

Summary: You and Papyrus compete in a MTT-broadcasted gingerbread house making competition. You avoid being singed by fireworks.

Notes: The fourth chapter of And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree, my four-part holiday series focusing on festive-themed dates with Rus, Edge, Stretch, and Papyrus.

Tags: Reader/Papyrus, fluff, established relationship.

Read it on AO3 or read it below the cut!

"For someone who insists that they’re not anxious, you’re doing an uncanny impression of a highly-strung human,” Papyrus says to you. “Do I need to unstring you? Or is this just a well-thought strategy to bamboozle our competition? It’s very impressive if you are. You should tell me; we’re teammates, after all. For maximum effectiveness, I should be part of your strategy.”

“I’m okay, This isn’t televised live, right?” you murmur back, your fingernails drumming on the countertop. You’re making a very concentrated effort to appear nonchalant, but you’ve landed closer to nervous.

The finger-tapping probably isn’t helping. Cool, calm, and collected cooks don’t jitter and you’ve seen enough episodes of the Great British Bake-off to know what happens to the twitchy contestants. Shaky hands cause disaster; the last thing you need is to end up with a pile of broken gingerbread on the floor. Especially if this is being televised live and considering the array of cameras and bustling workers around the studio, you are leaning towards yes.

“Fear not, my fellow gingerbread constructionist extraordinaire,” Papyrus replies, volume far louder than yours, “not only is this competition being broadcasted to countless households and being witnessed by a live studio audience, it’s also being recorded! This episode will be played for many years to come and available to stream on four different streaming services! Our efforts today will not be forgotten!”

Welp, that’s your fears confirmed. No pressure or anything.

Of course Papyrus isn’t nervous – as the monster mascot, he does things like this all of the time. You, on the other hand? This is your first time in a TV studio, much less being in front of the camera itself. It’s also your first time attempting to make a gingerbread house which seems… ill advised.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you ask your boyfriend, voice still low.

“This is a competition for amateur bakers?” he says, voice still loud. “So of course not? Where’s the fun in beating opponents you outclass? That would defeat the spirit of the contest!”

You look around the studio at the other competitors. There’s an even mix of monsters and humans making up six competing couples in total, including you and Papyrus. Looking at them, you get the feeling that they all seem far more prepared and confident than you.

Lucky you've got Papyrus with you; he's got enough confidence for the both of you.

You take a deep breath to steady your nerves. Papyrus is right - this is supposed to be fun. And you have an advantage that none of the other contestants have: you're here with your enthusiastic, supportive boyfriend who always manages to lift your spirits.

You're also handy with a rolling pin and aren't above bludgeoning your way to victory.

You turn your attention to the ingredients and tools laid out before you on the studio kitchen countertop. There are sheets of gingerbread, jars of colourful candy, tubes of icing in every shade imaginable, and an assortment of tools, including a hopefully unnecessary but promisingly hefty rolling pin.

The studio itself is a riot of colours, decked out with twinkling lights and festive decorations, with an equal amount of MTT branding. There’s a huge leaderboard, currently blank, that sits above all of your worktables, along with an unmoving timer sitting at one hour. The lights are so bright that you can barely make out the audience in front of you, but you know that they’re there. It's dazzling.

You and the other contestants have borrowed some of the glamour. You’ve all been primped and preened within an inch of your lives; you’ve been beautified by a very talented make-up artist and Papyrus’ bones gleam white under the beam of the studio lights. You’re wearing nice new clothes too in a festive green shade, whilst he looks dashing in a red ensemble.

It’s fun being Papyrus’ plus-one. Which you are, even though he’s assured you a dozen times that you’re as important of a contestant as him, but you know that you’re just here because of him. Everyone has been treating him – and by proxy, you – like a freaking movie star, offering you snacks and drinks, touching up your make-up. Several audience members and two of your fellow contestants even asked for his autograph, and he’d insisted on you scribbling your name down too.

You forget, sometimes, that you’re dating a bona fide celebrity, but it’s really, really nice to be reminded. It makes the primal, caveman part of your brain do funny things. Some monkey combination of pride and possessiveness, maybe? It thinks yep, you’re right, he is the best, and he’s with me.

You’re pulled from your unhinged thoughts by an assistant, a harried looking monster clutching a clipboard, bustling up to the middle of the studio. "Places everyone!" she calls out, pulling the attention of everyone else in the studio. You straighten up and watch as the other employees take their places behind cameras and microphones. "We're going live in 5...4...3..."

You take a deep breath and shake out your hands, willing away the last of your nerves. Showtime.

The assistant finishes the countdown and you hear the MTT theme song start playing. The studio lights dim and a single spotlight shines down on Mettaton, a burst of energy in a bedazzled suit, as he emerges from a hidden lift in the middle of the stage. Several fireworks go off with an ear-splitting boom and the assistant ducks to avoid getting her eyelashes singed off.

You make mental note to avoid standing too close to the centre of the studio.

The audience erupts into applause. You clap along with them, very impressed with the theatrics of it all. You’ve seen Mettaton plenty of times on TV and had met him once, very briefly at Papyrus’ last birthday (more than enough to make an impression, though) but there’s something different about seeing him like this. You can see how people get swept up in celebrities.

His voice, animated and confident, reverberates through the studio as he addresses the camera and the live studio audience. "Darlings and gentledarlings, ginger enthusiasts, and bread aficionados, welcome to the most dramatic gingerbread house-making competition of the season!"

The applause continues for a good five minute; several times it starts to lapse, and the assistant has to whip the enthusiasm back up. Your hands hurt by the end of it.

Once Mettaton seems satisfied, the studio quiets and he explains the rules of the competition - each couple has one hour to construct the most creative, structurally sound gingerbread house using the ingredients provided.

You know all of this already, of course, have had to sign half a dozen forms and waivers and know the rules and hidden regulations like the back of your hand. Mettaton is all about safety nowadays, which, going by the stories you’ve heard about bloodshed and real lasers underground, hasn’t always been the case. You feel mostly confident that you’re going to emerge from this with all of your limbs still attached.

Beside you, Papyrus is practically vibrating with energy, skeletal hands fluttering over the ingredients as he waits for the signal to start. His enthusiasm buoys you, making you smile despite yourself. Who cares if you make a mess of things on live TV? You're here to have fun with your boyfriend, not win prizes.

… okay, you do kinda care, just a little. You want to win! You've always liked working with your hands and making things - hopefully some of that creative spirit will carry you through.

"Now, let the gingerbread extravaganza begin!” Mettaton says. “May the most creative couple win, but remember, it's not just about the gingerbread – it's about the theatrics, the flair, and the sugar-fuelled drama!"

With that, the studio erupts in applause, and the competition officially kicks off. The studio lights come back on and an upbeat holiday song begins playing. Adrenaline smacks into you with the force of a rolling pin to the back of the head.

You clap your hands together, needing to diffuse the energy somehow, and turn to Papyrus. Out of the corner of your eye you can see a camera trained on the two of you. Game face on!

He beams at you, but you can see the glint in his sockets. “There are two key things to take into account when building a structurally sound gingerbread building. The first is a level, sturdy foundation, and the second is the adhesive qualities of the icing. Fortunately, there is also two of us, which is the perfect amount of person to divide between the tasks.”

“I’ll do the icing,” you say, pulling a bowl towards you. You grab a whisk and begin beating the pre-made icing in the bowl, determined to get it to the perfect smooth, sticky consistency for piecing together pieces of gingerbread.

You whisk the icing vigorously, glancing up at Papyrus as he carefully lays out pieces of gingerbread in an organized pattern, ready to be assembled. He looks so focussed and you kinda – okay, really want to kiss him, but you don’t quite have the hand-eye coordination to whisk and kiss simultaneously.

"Looking good so far!" you say as you lift the whisk from the thick, glossy icing. You’re tempted to dip your finger in to taste it, but you’re not being graded on flavour.

The two of you start using your icing to piece the house together. You and Papyrus work together seamlessly, assembling the walls and foundation of the structure with efficient teamwork. As you pipe icing along the edges of each new piece and Papyrus precisely positions it, the basic structure begins to take shape before your eyes.

Once you’re done, the foundations of the house look solid. There’s a reason why you chose to do the icing; Papyrus has a head for this sort of stuff and the evidence of his skill sits on the bench in front of you. The walls are neatly assembled, each piece fitting seamlessly with its counterparts. The royal icing, now dry and firm, acts as glue, creating strong bonds between the gingerbread panels.

The basic shape of it is familiar. You’ve seen photos of his and Sans’ house in Snowdin and, as your eyes trace the shape of the two-storey house, the shed, the two letterboxes – it clicks.

“Should we put icing on the top to look like snow?” you ask, voice heavy around the fondness that’s welled up in your chest.

He agrees and the two of you begin decorating. The cameras make their rounds around the room and you’re happy to let him handle the interviews, only offering commentary when you think you have something sufficiently quippy to say. You hope you get a good edit; you’d like to be the sassy wise cracker but you’ll settle for thoughtful girlfriend.

As you decorate, you occasionally glance up at the other competitors. Most seem focused on constructing the basic structure, walls steadily going up around gingerbread foundations. But one couple in particular catches your eye – they’re working in sync, movements fluid and practiced as they assemble what looks to be a fucking gingerbread church, complete with soaring spires and stained sugar glass windows.

No way those two are amateur decorators. You’re indignant; Papyrus is right, it’s less fun when someone sullies the integrity of the contest. At least when you’re not the one cheating.

"We need an edge," you mutter, nudging him with your elbow. Your hands are all sticky and candy-covered, fingertips stained rainbow with food dye. "Look at that one over there! We need - what did Mettaton say? Theatrics? Flair? Drama?”

"Excellent idea," he says. "And you know what the most theatrical, dramatic and... flairful? Flair-iffic?”

“I like flairful,” you offer.

“Theatrical, dramatic, flairful. There’s only one thing that can satisfy all three of those categories.”

“… we can steal one of the fireworks? Shove it down the chimney? I guess having a real smoke effect would be cool, but we'd actually have to make a chimney first.”

“No! Puzzles! Traps! Clever, confounding conundrums!”

“Oh!” You feel a little better about that. “Okay then, how’re we going to add puzzles in?”

"How about a candy cane ladder that leads to nowhere, or a gumdrop bridge that collapses when you step on it? We'll make our gingerbread house an adventure!"

The traps become a collaborative effort. Papyrus designs a liquorice door that swings open when you touch a specific sequence of gumdrops, revealing a surprise candy stash on one side and sharp spikes on the other. There’s a peppermint slide that leads to a marshmallow pit – again, with spikes beneath the fluffy outer layer -, and a candy cane swing that may or may not launch you into a whipped cream cloud.

“Ten minutes left, darling contestants!” Mettaton says. A gong sounds and you jump, heart suddenly in your throat.

You scramble to finish the rest of the decorations and by the time that nine minutes and forty seconds pass, you’re happy enough to stand back and survey your combined work. Papyrus does the same and you grasp hold of his hand, bringing them both to rest on the countertop.

The resemblance to the house in Snowdin is uncanny, even though it’s made entirely of gingerbread, icing, and candy. There’s even an icing snow-Papyrus, a snow-lump that you’re pretty sure is Sans, and a snow-you.

It’s a masterpiece. You don’t even bother looking at the creations of the other competitors. It doesn’t matter.

Instead, you watch the seconds tick down to zero and hold his hand tight.

#papyrus x reader #undertale papyrus #And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree

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simonalkenmayer · 2 years ago

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I remember being in the thralls of a manic episode and stumbling onto your blog and genuinely believing there are monsters out to get me and even my parents I was scared of thinking they where monsters. I had severe mental illness issues that your blog managed to worsen by giving me something as “proof” that I wasn’t crazy.

I am now on several medications and they help me make rational decisions and realize that monsters like you are not real. Actually your blog inspired an essay contest I entered where I talked about the real origins of the uncanny valley and won a scholarship for it and everything.

You need to realize that this “experiment” of yours takes advantage of the vulnerability of the mentally ill and can worsen symptoms. I was lucky that I managed to get onto meds and stay on them. I am fucking lucky that I didn’t do anything to harm myself in that time thinking I was being chased by human eating immortal monsters.

Alas your book has the woman’s name of the person who wrote the book and Simon(e) is a pen name made up by you. But your blog even if you do make money off patron and different people, you are also doing real harm to people who are mentally ill or experiencing psychosis or manic episodes.

So while you are a talented writer you are causing more harm then you may know. While I know that this little anon ask will lead to literally nothing and you will not change because you enjoy the attention, you should know that you hurt people though this.

I’m sorry you believed something you saw on the internet and became upset over it, but clearly if not the idea of monsters existing, it would have been something else. The root cause of the dysfunction, however, only became visible because of it manifesting in such a way, which led to your treatment and success, because you tackled it rather than running. Well done. You’ve been very proactive. I realize you didn’t come to thank me, but to accuse me of harming you.

I apologize for harm you may have suffered because of my actions. I’m not sure you’ve correctly aimed your emotions, but reality is about perception, and I’m fine with apologizing for even being perceived as hostile or upsetting. I suppose you didn’t read the materials I provided. Might have helped a bit.

May you find continued success. Please look into how social tests are constructed. I think you’ll find that experimental models are very unusual. You’ll find that studies, especially of larger survey based studies rely on participants to dismiss themselves. That is why disclaimers exist.

If you have ethical concerns about my methods, you’d better not ever open my refrigerator.

For reference, belief and knowledge compete with one another. You believed because you didn’t know. It was a choice. You sought out knowledge you trust, right or wrong. You worked the problem. Now you have an answer, rather than to believe. I hope it changes your reality in some meaningful way. Please still be careful in the woods. There are actually things in there that can hurt you.

Monsters are real. They are out to get you. And they look just like you. It’s critical thinking that helps you cope and learn how to think your way out of it.

Congratulations on your scholarship. Please feel free to sue me for more college expenses in the future if you need them. I’d love to personally appear in court for that occasion.

Edit: addition: I have not and never shall make money off this experiment. It has cost me many thousands of dollars. I have yet to see a cent. And as you can see, the book has been free in every form but the one that costs money to make. My experiment has been over for more than a year. My patreon is merely audio forms of the book which were asked for, and me doing fun things. People pay for my time. That’s how an economy works.

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moonsanoverthinker · 7 months ago

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tell me all your thoughts about criminal minds it has fully taken over my entire brain and i have a fat crush on the entire cast

I went into Criminal Minds knowing very little about the actual show, I knew character names and I knew there was one guy that people REALLY seemed to find hot and that was it.

I started it and that show got me in a chokehold for MONTHS (until that hyper-fixation ended towards the end of series 5 and I stopped watching)

Also fun fact I had to write two intro scenes for a crime drama for the scriptwriting portion of my media a-level and let me tell you having an intense hyperfixation on this show helped me so much and it was one of the best things I’d ever written for that class

Also hard agree on crushing on the entire cast, I personally think series 3 was the hottest series in that sense.

But here’s some thoughts on episodes and some other random things mixed in too!

(Also I 100% enjoyed more episodes than I’ve mentioned but I can’t remember the plots for a lot of them so these are the ones I remember clearly enjoying)

Series 1:

Ep 6 L.D.S.K - I recently rewatched this episode and I throughly enjoy the hospital scenes with Hotch and Reid

Ep 10 The Popular Kids - I remember being so shocked by Aaron Paul being in this episode, also lowkey he was hot in it

Ep 14 Riding The Lightning - This is one of my favourite episodes. I hated the husband so much and he made me cringe every time he opened his mouth, and the ending just made me feel sad and the wife broke my heart

Series 2:

Ep 5 The Aftermath - I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs (God I love Elle)

I definitely liked more than one episode of series 2 but I cant recall any major plot points properly. But I do remember Reid gets kidnapped and they started an addiction story with him that never went anywhere which kinda bugs me because I think that would’ve been an interesting thing to properly explore

Series 3:

Ep 5 Seven Seconds - Another one of my favourite episodes. This episode was a ride of emotions that I wasn’t expecting and I wasn’t prepared for the things that they solved outside of the ‘main’ investigation

Ep 8 Lucky - Yeah this one made me feel ill for a little while not going to lie. I mean we did get the horrible line exchange “God is in all of us” // “So is Tracy Lambert” I know it’s not funny in any way but I like to think he was just waiting to use that specific line

Series 4

Ep 7 Memoriam - Another one that just made me feel sad! Also god I love Jane Lynch so much watching her play Reid’s mother after only seeing her as the iconic Sue Sylvester in Glee was a shock

Ep 22 The Big Wheel - I just enjoyed this episode and wasn’t expecting to see the guy who played Steve in Hawaii Five-O playing a murderer (also I was obsessed with Hawaii Five-O at one point)

Ep 23 Roadkill - This is one that I couldn’t remember exact details of but I did remember how it ended and I liked the twist. Fun fact I didn’t know the guy who played Kevin was Xander from Buffy until my mum pointed it out to me when she saw him at the end of this episode. She’s only watched half of this criminal minds episodes and one other, idk why I’m saying this but I think it’s funny.

Series 5

Ep 9 100 - Poor man can’t catch a break :( also they didn’t need to go full emotional damage with Jack hiding but they did and it worked

Ep 13 Risky Business - I don’t know when this episode came out but I remember one specific internet trend that was similar to what goes on in this episode. I like the cyber space based episodes specifically the older ones I’m not fully sure why but they don’t creep me out as much as more recent cyberspace based things.

Here’s the random section

Gideon screaming help me so he can reenact the crime while Morgan looks so confused is one of my favourite moments

There’s a scene in one of Reid’s Vegas episodes and I can’t remember which one exactly but just that one scene where he wins a shit load of money and then gives it to the woman who I think was a prostitute is so silly but I just liked it

I don’t know the full happenings but I do know what happens to Reid girlfriend in series 8 and why cant the they just let him be happy for once

#here’s the general thoughts!#it’s a ramble because that’s my brand at this point #answered asks #criminal minds

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edwardgdunn · 1 year ago

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The Lunatic Is In My Head

I was sitting alone on a bench in a swamp, surrounded by Spanish moss dripping from magnificent Cypress trees. It was the kind of place that you might see in a coffee table book about Louisiana. The whole of the scene was both beautiful and mysterious. But the spell was shattered when I heard a woman speaking loudly. She seemed to be having an argument with someone. “No! It’s all your fault…you did this to me…do you blame me?…shut up…” And on it went. I looked over and saw that she was seated on another bench not far from me – alone.

My mind immediately shifted to pity. I reasoned that she must be mentally ill, perhaps schizophrenic, and off of her medication. Then abruptly, she rose from the bench and headed toward the park’s nearby pavilion. I decided to follow her. Perhaps I was thinking that she may be in need of some sort of assistance. I don’t know what I thought I was going to do exactly, only that perhaps I could help her in some way.

She disappeared into the women’s bathroom, still loudly talking to herself. I could hear her quite clearly from outside. After a few minutes passed I decided that perhaps the best thing I could do was to notify a park employee at the entry gate that there was a woman in the pavilion that might be in need of assistance.

I climbed into my car thinking how grateful I was that I was of sound mind. Grateful that I didn’t have to wrestle with the demons of mental illness or insanity. Then came the inevitable stream of thought…

I was lucky to have had loving parents. I wonder if she was abused. Will the park employees make her situation worse? Where does she live, is she homeless? I was almost homeless once. But that was my fault. Why was I such an idiot when I was younger?

Then I actually said to myself, out loud, alone in my car, “Man, I hope I’m doing the right thing here.”

I reached up to adjust the rear view mirror, caught a glimpse of myself, and it hit me like locomotive. I was her. We are all her.

Whether or not we choose to recognize or admit it to ourselves, most all of us exist in the exact same incomprehensible state – all mentally ill, all schizophrenic – living with the incessant voice in our head. Its constant, unceasing stream of narration, berating, second-guessing, criticizing, complaining, deciding – it’s always there, always with us. If we had a friend who was with us twenty-four hours a day that did this, that said these things to us constantly and never shut up, how long could or would we tolerate it? Yet this is our perpetual state of mind.

In our unawakened state, we come to completely identify with this voice. We believe that it is who we are. It literally becomes our identity.

The trick is to endeavor to understand that we are the consciousness behind the unending chatter. We are the space between the mostly banal bouts of banter. This is what meditation teaches us. With consistent practice we begin to glimpse the unmitigated peace and happiness that emerges as we understand that WE are the agency that is aware of the voice in our heads. That voice is not who we are. That voice is largely responsible for most of our suffering – for most of all human suffering.

A mind trained by meditation is capable of silencing the lunatic in our heads, at least for a time. And what lies beneath is glorious beyond what mere words can possibly describe. Mindfulness is the gateway. Peace is the prize.

I chose not to inform the guards about the woman, lest I was willing to inform them about myself.

Check out the podcast episode…

Check out the Happiness 2.0 Podcast — https://podcast.edwardgdunn.com/

Happiness 2.0 Blog — https://edwardgdunn.com/blog

#mental health #MentalHealthAwareness #PsychologicalThriller #inner demons #mind games #identity crisis

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kdipshit · 2 years ago

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A pinch in my chest

April12

Oooohhhh girl. I’m sad when I open Insta and its kinda makes me insecure, its been a little difficult to find the beauty in myself lately. I know its so sad…. So I guess I’m just gonna start writing and kinda just let it out, I don’t know what it is tho, but I had a psychotic episode in my dreams last night, and thats something that happens to me only when I’m holding onto shit, thinking about shit from ages ago, just getting caught up in the whirlpool of life and not really spending time with myself, instead I was avoiding the feeling I was feeling because it didn’t feel safe. I feel really insecure right now, I’m insecure of my eyes. Everyone always points them out and I don’t know what wrong with them, so I just automatically don’t like them, I’ve been loving them more recently, but right now, in this moment, I’m insecure about my eyes. I’m insecure about my body shape, I’m insecure about my feet, my toes, my ears, my fingers, my hair, my finger NAILS likeeee seriouslllyyyy………. Thats just ridick. I deserve to see the beauty within me. The light inside of me. I somehow feel guilty, as well as regret, I feel like I’m gonna cry, I feel a pinch in my chest, I feel lost, I feel sad, I feel like my throat chakra is playing up and its difficult for me to talk, I also feel determined to fight thru this what ever is it, sometimes its not always happy go-lucky, sometimes I have to fight, and fight I will. I need to remember so badly that there is a middle to everything and everything is on a spectrum, and the world is colourful, not black and white.

I brought so much weed this week bro, I think thats why I feel guilty, imagine if it just swapped, coz I feel guilty when I’m sober, and thats what I’m trying to get rid of, imagine if that guilt just disappeared….. yanno some people can be really old and still be slaves to themselves, I’m scared ill always feel like this until I’m old and grey, constantly fighting to try to stay afloat, that terrifies me I got tears in my eyes but they aint dropping lol, not a flex apparently hahahahah. I do need a good cry, I feel like a tsunami is coming. Anxious for it, like a storm is brewing, yanno? I feel it and its heavy. I close my eyes and I can see equations, but I don’t even care, it makes sense I love it there. Man I don’t think I’m making sense, my drug dealers cat fucking bit me yesterday, it was sore in the moment, and then disappeared, and now I feel it again and it stings. Fkn psycho, am literally so nice.

So I think I feel guilty because I brought so much weed, and I feel regret for spending so much. Either way I’m happy, LOOOLLLLLL. So thanks. I don’t know what to do. Giving up wasn’t even an option tho. Why is this moment not enough? I’m hungry, lol, so I guess its kinda annoying aswell, I just had bubble gum so at least I’ve got something to taste.

On who’s green earth….

#blogging #new blog #mental health #actually bipolar #actually borderline #mental instability #actually bpd #original post #original writing #original words #bipolar

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har-rison-s · 3 years ago

Text

mask & seek: 11

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she's from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson's universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn't trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author's note: woohoooooooooo. have you guys seen moon knight??? I’m kinda only watching for steven, cause with the third episode the show lost its quality to me. but all the episodes haven’t been released yet, so I’ll try and not to judge it as much until then. but! I do love steven. and it’s taking such a huge effort in me to not abandon this story and start writing for him. god, it’s so hard. but I love bruce. I should also finish visitation hours… and finally update your good will bcs st4 is coming out in more than a month but omg. I just can’t, I can’t tap into steve. christ. I hate my procrastination and not finishing stories. im sorry for it all. happy reading!

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part ten

word count: 4.7k

warnings: nothing really i think

gif credit goes to owner!

“so, y/n, what do you do? besides the vigilante night shifts.” alfred asks. ah, the usual question she was just waiting for. sat around the very table bruce said he and alfred have meals at usually in the beautiful hall, y/n feels welcome in the company of these two men. though she can’t escape the feeling that she’s having a very important, formal meal with them, and that this is a test of some sort.

the sun up right at its mid-day peak shines through the gothically-decorated windows of the hall, breaking through in yellow and orange rays, which tickle her skin and eyes. she scoots over to her left on the very fancy chair and clears her throat as she does so, not wanting to raise an alarm in either alfred or bruce. “i’m a barista,” she answers nonchalantly, a light smile on her face, “at, uh… saint jeremiah’s.”

alfred nods. suddenly y/n feels awkward about her workplace. she doesn’t know what bruce and alfred do as work that pays all their extremely expensive bills for living here, but it must be something that pays big time. they can’t just live in an urban mansion like this, make all these weapons, tools and vehicles, and suits for bruce and now her, too, without a well-paying job. and it’s hard to find those in america if you don’t get lucky.

but, as she found out from bruce, his father was a rich and well-known man here in gotham, and bruce inherited all the money and, she guesses, reputation from him. so perhaps it was just his luck to be this… wealthy. she can’t say she’s not a little envious of that. if her parents had been rich and she could have lived in a mansion like this, woah, her life would have been a lot easier. and she appreciates all that bruce has done for her so far, she sees now that he does it out of the good of his heart. he really cares for her.

but taking her background, her life, her family circumstances, she still feels weird about it. partly she feels like it’s all not serious enough, partly she feels that she doesn’t deserve it, and another part of her thinks bruce is doing too much, and perhaps he even wants something in return. but it doesn’t seem that way. after she told him the truth about how she’s wound up living in gotham, there’s no asking in his eyes anymore. there is curiosity, but not the kind egoistic and ill-meaning men have. best believe y/n knows that look well.

“ah, the one right by the courthouse, is it?” alfred asks, his voice full of genuineness, and y/n nods. “must be a pleasant crowd that comes there, then?”

“mostly yes,” y/n answers, “though, because this is gotham, mornings are much better than the evenings. not to say we’re all morning people, but there’s less of the dangerous types around in the early hours of the morning.” she explains. alfred nods again, and bruce feels like he’s entered the conversation once again. he’s been coming to and fro, slipping in and out of talking and listening. not that he does that on purpose, his thoughts are just racing all the time. and watching y/n converse with alfred is a sight he never knew he couldn’t get enough of. two of the most important people in his life, and it’s safe to say they’re getting on well. it makes his heart swell.

“there should be some security with the courthouse and everything, no?” bruce asks her, slightly worried.

y/n looks at him with her bright eyes, feeling his concern by the look on bruce’s face. “well, there is, but they’re mostly looking after the courthouse,” y/n tells him, “since there’s always demolishers and trouble-makers around, they’re pretty busy.” she sighs, her eyes now falling to her plate and the fork she keeps moving around it. “if i wanted the attention of the world on me, i’d just put my skills and abilities to use when those types come around, but since that’s the last thing i want, i don’t.” she admits.

alfred hums. “must be hard to keep that restraint,” he says and y/n nods along, “bruce tends to forget himself in that aspect, he especially did at the very beginning.” alfred looks to bruce, and he gives his godfather the look of annoyance and disbelief. y/n chuckles, but seriousness remains like a veil across her face.

“i can imagine,” y/n says and glances at bruce momentarily before continuing. she knows that alfred’s put him on the spot, sort-of, and he doesn’t enjoy being exposed like that. so she continues, “i used to have that when i first had my powers, it was in high school.” she feels comfortable enough sharing with alfred. she looks to the older man, finding the look in his eyes very comforting. “used to hate P.E. with all my body, and i still do. hated the entire concept of it, couldn’t do anything properly, hated myself for it, you know.” she leans with her back into the chair. bruce admires the look in her eyes while she talks. “but as soon as i got my powers, i could do anything. i suddenly had incredible reflexes, coordination, strength, speed, agility—everything,” she reminisces of that time, memories playing back in her eyes like a slideshow of pictures, “and suddenly i could get good grades in P.E., i could even excel and be top of the class, even go on competitions. but i couldn’t, couldn’t i? it would have been wrong.” y/n sighs and looks to her plate again. “so i stayed little ole, helpless, weak me. had to put on quite the performance for the last two and a half years of high school.” she sits up again.

bruce feels for her. it’s not like his skills in fighting came over night, it was alfred who taught him everything, but he knows what that’s like. he knows people probably assume two things—either they assume he is good with his fists and is sporting quite the figure underneath the suits he wears on those rare occasions out in public; or they assume that he’s just a weak man hiding behind his father’s power and money who couldn’t raise one fist to fight for injustice or himself. but he can’t exactly show those skills in combination with his public persona, can he? he and alfred would be exposed immediately once people connected the dots.

“i guess it’s different for you,” alfred says kindly, matter-of-factly, and y/n picks up immediately on how he means that. she nods, “high school’s a tough time, as i hear it.”

“you didn’t go?” y/n asks in wonder, thinking how that would be possible for a man of his character and knowledge. alfred chuckles.

“oh, i did,” he says, “just not a public high school.” he clarifies and sends y/n a wink. she chuckles at herself and bruce grins at that faintly.

“me and alfred went to the same one,” bruce butts into the conversation again, turning y/n’s attention to him. she raises her eyebrows in a tell-me-more manner, “blackheath high school in england.” oh? bruce keeps getting more and more interesting with each thing that he says. how interesting, y/n thinks.

“your father did, as well,” alfred adds, “that’s how our families got to know each other. me and your father were close as brothers then already,” he makes a smile at bruce. his godson nods at him, feeling a bit on the spot again, as he always does when his father is the topic of any conversation. even in light-hearted situations like this one. he always feels some sort of pressure or loom hanging over his head at the mention of him, “what about you, y/n? your father have any friends he still keeps close contact with?” alfred looks to the woman, but she looks away, her eyes widening for a few seconds as she thinks of the best way to handle this answer.

“oh, i wouldn’t know,” she says with a slight shake of her head. bruce’s ears prick up more at her words. she’s never talked about either of her parents before, and neither has he asked about them. the topic’s never really come up before, and now it has. her eyes have a glaze over them that bruce can’t exactly place, “never knew my father.” she shrugs.

alfred feels awkward. “my apologies. i didn’t mean to bring up anything you don’t want to talk about.” he tells her immediately. y/n shakes her head fiercer now, she doesn’t want the man to feel bad about his innocent question.

“it’s fine,” she assures him, “it’s not taboo or anything.” she clarifies. “a lot of kids have grown up without a father, and i’m just one of them. i only ever had my mother.” y/n sighs, and her posture changes again—bruce notices—she sinks into her chair as though to close off from the two men, from this conversation. it’s not exactly intentional. “up until a point, she was working a lot of… different jobs,” y/n continues, and bruce sees her eyes and face having a certain expression. he can’t place it, again. perhaps because it’s emotions he’s not had to encounter before, “to raise me, to pay rent. hasn’t always been easy.”

she’s not telling him everything, obviously, it is her intention, and he realises that. he respects it. but there’s something about her mother, something really integral that she’s not revealing to him yet. perhaps she never will, and perhaps it should stay like that. if it’s truly too troubling or painful for her, he won’t push it. but something—perhaps that sense he’s picked up from her—is telling him it’s important to the character.

and now he also realises why her attitude towards money is what it is. she feels awkward and imposing to accept his money, his kindness, his gifts to her. and no wonder. she did tell him “because of how i grew up, and some other things”, if he remembers correctly. that conversation happened just over an hour or two ago now. and their conversation last night, about the clothes and underwear, and even the ice cream. it’s hard for her to accept all of that for free. perhaps she feels undeserving of such kindness and gifts free of charge—bruce would disagree; in his eyes she deserves much more, what he’s given her already is the very least of what she deserves—perhaps something in her doesn’t let her enjoy things free of charge that come to her out of the good of someone’s heart.

to conclude, she’s just as fragile and embedded with sufferings and a tough life as he is. though he has always had the money to do whatever he wishes—that’s what makes them different. and perhaps bruce has had a better support system than y/n, but he doesn’t know that.

“she’s done quite the good job of raising you,” alfred tells y/n in an almost congratulatory tone of voice. she gives him a half-smile. the man didn’t really know what to say at first, because he’s never been in that kind of situation, so he does what he does best—offer her some comforting, encouraging words, “we’re not blind to those horrible things happening here, in gotham,” alfred says, “whatever we can, we do. but bruce is always busy with something else to look through and accept any real deals.” he points out.

bruce sighs. it’s true, what alfred says, and bruce wants to help the city and its very weaklings more every day. but his mind is always miles away. and he believes that batman does some, if not most, of that already. help those who cannot help themselves. y/n gives him a look, wondering what alfred means, wondering what reasons bruce has for that absence. “gotham doesn’t like to stand up to all the crime and injustice that goes on every day,” bruce finally says, and his voice has changed to that of his vigilante persona. y/n nearly sighs. it’s strange to see him in regular clothes, without the dark circles around his eyes, speaking in that voice, “i’ll get more involved, i promise, alfred.” he looks to his godfather, who nods.

“no need to justify yourself to me, dear boy,” alfred tells him, and y/n nearly melts. alfred’s fatherly affection to bruce comes out beautifully whenever it does. but it’s not alfred that bruce was justifying himself in front of, or for. it was y/n, who bruce’s eyes flick towards with meaning in them. y/n gives him a light smile and nod.

“maybe i can help,” y/n suggests half-seriously, “accept those deals instead of bruce and get things going.” she says, and shoots bruce a playful wink. he is amused, too, but not quite as much as she is. she’s sort of made him look a little incompetent in his role in wayne industries, but he doesn’t take it to heart.

alfred smiles wide, “you know, i like you enough to accept that,” he tells her, which gets them both laughing. bruce makes a grin in the midst of their laughter, “to the eyes of the public, you could be the visual for wayne enterprises, and bruce could take a long, long vacation.” alfred adds on.

“oh no, he’d be my assistant,” y/n corrects alfred and shoots bruce a wink again. he shakes his head, “my translator, business language to english.” she says and laughs again. alfred chuckles, and bruce eventually cracks up and utters a chuckle himself. he doesn’t know how seriously these two have taken y/n’s suggestion, but if it’s serious to the very brim, bruce wouldn’t know a better person besides y/n to take his place as the leader of wayne enterprises. only alfred, but he made it clear long ago that he has no desire or intention to be that public, be that important to the company. though he already is more important than bruce, with all the work he’s doing already.

after lunch, it’s safe to say y/n and alfred get along very well. just like bruce expected and wanted them to. while one of the kitchen boys was clearing the lunch table, alfred took y/n up to his study and the library—which bruce had already shown her, but that didn’t matter to either of them—and showed her around more. did a better job than bruce could have, because he’s not that informed with the placement of everything in the library, in the study, or in the vinyl collection.

the most beautiful moment of the day, perhaps, one of bruce’s favourite moments in his entire life is when alfred put on voices of spring waltz, op.410 by johann strauss, and asked y/n for a dance. bruce never knew she could dance—another topic that hadn’t come up in their countless conversations before—and he couldn’t stop watching them dance. how alfred kept playfully switching between the regular waltz and the vienna waltz, the faster one, every once in a while, keeping up with the rhythmic changes of the composed piece.

how she twirled, and how her hair swayed along with her. how she smiled and laughed at alfred and his movements and how he turned her here and there, sometimes unexpectedly. in contrast to the sadder conversation the three of them had held during lunch, about her parents and her childhood—quite a sobering conversation for bruce—she looked happier than ever. so contagiously happy that bruce could not keep away, and joined their waltz dancing. of course he knows that it’s a two-person dance, but with the men’s agile movements and y/n’s instincts and ability, they made a three-person waltz work. twirling and turning y/n here and there, making the dance steps side by side and in a circle instead of directly facing each other—it all worked and made the three of them laugh a lot.

bruce already reminisces of those beautiful moments now, hours later, as he lays with his head in y/n’s lap on their shared riddance bed, y/n reading a book in silence and bruce drawing or writing in his notebook. uncharacteristically so, y/n hasn’t said a word since they entered the room. well, apart from some necessary for companionship few words. but she hasn’t said anything about how the lunch was for her, what she thinks of alfred, how she feels—absolutely nothing about that matter. and it’s kind of worrying bruce.

what also worries him in her behaviour is how reluctant she is suddenly. no hands in bruce’s hair, neither of her hands are touching him at all. she hasn’t made a move to kiss him, hasn’t made a move to get closer to him. and it’s not only bruce’s touch-starved nature that raises worry about this in him. it’s also the aspect of how well he knows her in general. she likes to be touching him, more than he allows himself to touch her, regularly. bruce always feels awkward about initiating it, but maybe he should. perhaps that’s what she expects of him now, having gone into this weird behaviour of hers.

maybe she’s just too exhausted to socialise, even with him. even though she’s usually the sociable person out of the two of them. maybe, which bruce hopes to be untrue, she’s upset with him, or mad at him for some reason, for the time being, unknown to him. what could it be? he can’t recall anything that he said or did was wrong. and it’s so hard to read her. perhaps it’s because he’s gotten to know more of her, that the parts he still doesn’t know, are a complete mystery to him. it’s strange. bruce doesn’t exactly know what to do.

he doesn’t know that her brain and heart are nearly bubbling over the edge with all her thoughts and feelings. he can’t possibly feel or sense that, even with how well he knows her. but y/n’s been an active, rumbling volcano ever since that door of this room closed behind her and bruce. one question, one word put in the wrong place, could cause an entire eruption of that volcano. and neither of them need that. but she can’t help her rushing thoughts.

private high schools. a well-known philanthropist, surgeon father. a gothic mansion in the outskirts of gotham. more money than anyone else. tools, weapons, instruments, vehicles, devices for anything he might need. impenetrable suits that intimidate those without one. gifts without end. it’s an alien world to her. and she can’t quite place how she ended up here, inside it.

“are you… tired?” bruce interrupts their silence that grows more and more tense with each second. his voice in a guessing tone, as if he doesn’t know if that question is the exact right one to ask. bruce lays on her stomach with his chest now, looking up at her through her book, even though he can’t see her face. he’s sure he knows it well enough to know where her eyes are, though.

y/n doesn’t move her eyes off the book she’s reading as she answers, “a little.” she admits to him. short, colder than usual. something’s definitely off, and bruce’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach as he realises that. it’s definitely something to do with him. only what? and maybe asking her what exactly it is in him, or in anything he’s said or done that upsets her so much—because he’s willing to change; for her, if for anyone at all—will be worse than what he’s feeling between himself and her right now. how can he know without trying it out?

it’s killing him, this not knowing of what’s wrong, of what’s behind her stale mood. but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. he wants things to be better between them, and he can’t guess why they’ve grown so tense and unbearable now. he doesn’t know what to do. scared to take the first step, scared to leave things how they are because they might escalate, scared of the matter she’s upset about being unchangeable. he’s stuck.

bruce lays his cheek on her clothed chest now. “did i do something wrong?” he finally asks her, having gained enough courage and also having realised that she means more to him than having an argument, in the most fragile voice she’s ever heard him speak before. she can hear fear, anxiety and self-doubt in his voice, even in those very few words spoken.

y/n stares ahead in her book, taken aback by his question, and taken aback once again in how well he knows her already. he knows something’s up, and she appreciates that. but can she bring herself to tell him what’s up with her, and why she’s feeling the way she is? y/n sighs courtly, and keeps her book as a shield between her and bruce, realising that’s an easier way to talk to him about her feelings than if she would be looking right at him. why has she become so closed-off to him all of a sudden, though? she doesn’t know. “no,” she says with a gentle shake of his head, her voice quiet.

really? then why is she not talking to him at all? not telling him how she feels? “then what is it?” he asks her. bruce rests his chin on her stomach again, she feels its pointy character digging softly into her skin. she sighs. he’s relentless, and she knows that about him. perhaps this is the first time she really notices that because it’s expressed directly towards her. and he doesn’t ask these questions like he does when they’re both interrogating a criminal at night. this is different. because this issue is much more personal to him.

y/n closes her book and places it at her side, now greeted first and foremost with bruce’s anxious, caring face. not so far from her own, and she feels even closer to tears now. she hates feeling like this. bruce laying in her hold is bugging her, bothering her for the first time ever. his eyes on her are suddenly too much, and she doesn’t know why. everything was fine with him just a few hours ago. her attitude has changed so suddenly, it bothers her to no end. she doesn’t want to be upset, doesn’t feel entitled to be so, but she is. and perhaps, after all, she should be.

she tries to keep her tears at bay. she doesn’t need to cry now. “nothing that you can change,” she tells him in a shaky whisper, only meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. she turns away then, pulling her legs up and away from under his weight. but bruce places his palms on her thighs and stops her movements. she looks at him again, slightly frightened, “bruce.”

“tell me what’s wrong,” he tells her and hopes the words didn’t sound like a beg. his eyes are sure, they’re set on her as he is set on uncovering the secret behind her change in behaviour, “please. if there’s anything i can do or change, i w—”

y/n shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “there’s nothing you can do,” she says, slight fury in her voice, “already told you. even with… everything that you have, especially with it, you can’t change it.” she says. you can’t change, she thinks to herself. but even in her upset mood, she knows that would be said too much. she damns herself for even thinking those words and their meaning.

“then talk to me, please,” bruce doesn’t care anymore that he sounds like he’s begging, he doesn’t care how desperate his voice gets. this is important to him. she is important to him, “just talk to me.” his voice grows quiet, to the volume of a whisper, and he feels himself on the verge of tears suddenly. he gulps as he looks up at her still, just pleading for her to understand that he’s here to help, that he doesn’t mean her any harm.

y/n shakes her head, runs her hands over her face, all to keep herself from crying out, and just sighs. the tears are coming, but she won’t let them take over. she won’t. she can’t. “not now,” she tells him finally, her eyes looking away from his—anywhere, the ceiling, her hands, her book to the side—and he can hear her fragility in her voice. he feels for her, “tomorrow. i’m… too tired now.” she tells him finally.

bruce nods. he wants to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible, now would be the perfect time. but if she’s asking him for tomorrow morning, he will respect that, and he will wait. so he nods and lays a kiss on her hand out of pure affection. her eyes fill with tears suddenly at that gentle gesture, and her lip quivers as her emotions take over and want to unleash their full wrath on her. but she won’t let them. she mustn’t. bruce kisses her hand again, kisses all over it—her palms, her fingers, her knuckles—and it really brings y/n over the edge, her lip quivering further and further until tears spill out of her eyes, over her cheeks.

she loves him. it’s the first time she admits that to herself. she loves him, she knows she does. she doesn’t want to push him away, she doesn’t want to hurt him. she wants to be close to him as possible at all times, know him more and more, bare her entire self to him. and yet she can’t help but feel out of place. she can’t help but feel like a complete alien with him, in his world, in his home. so different from hers.

night begins to grow across gotham like a big, dark cape, the darkness creeping into every inch of bruce and y/n’s room—curtains, walls, the floor, the bed and its accessories—and so bruce turns off the bed-side lamp, puts the book on the nightstand, and crawls over y/n again. her form trembles as she makes quiet sobs in the dark now, hiding her face in her hands, and bruce doesn’t shush her now. he lets her let it all out, because he can tell she needs it.

he doesn’t intrude on her personal space anymore with questions or words at all. he just holds her, pulls the covers over them both, knowing that it’ll be too hot with both them underneath, but also knowing that when y/n cries, she tends to grow cold all over. the warmth will be good for her. he caresses her hair with his hand and just listens to her soft yet intense cries. on one hand, he hates to hear and see her cry—it breaks his heart. but then again, he can tell she needs that release. pent-up emotions, perhaps frustrations with herself and the world, need to be let out sometime. and so it’s soothing for him that she seemingly gets that relief now. at least he thinks she’s getting it. in reality, he doesn’t really know.

at some point in the darkness growing ever-present and unavoidable in the room, y/n cries fade to silence, and bruce discovers she’s fallen asleep. being tired himself, and being with her, bruce soon falls asleep, too, with her still in his arms. he’s glad about how peaceful she is in her sleep, even if the problem between them is unresolved, even if he doesn’t still yet know the reason she cried so hard, and why she cried at all.

y/n knows bruce is a heavy sleeper, and she adores it. she hates to be taking advantage of that now, in the night hours, when she slips out of his heavy hold and gets up from their bed. she bids herself not to cry any tears as she picks up her few stuff and wraps it up in a ball she can easily carry. she ignores the tears that fall as she opens and closes the bedroom door in the quietest way possible, and she hates causing that sharp pang in her heart that happens as the door quietly thuds closed behind her.

she doesn’t want to leave him, and least of all wants to hurt him with her leave. but this is so not her world. this is not her place. there's too many differences between him and her. and she can’t bare it any longer.

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#bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne series #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #batman fic #batman imagine #battinson x reader #battinson x you #battinson smut #battinson fic #battinson series #har-rison-s writes #har-rison-s writes batman #har-rison-s series

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pyroclastic727 · 4 years ago

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Owl House said fuck capitalism

So this episode was interesting. Lilith pretty much killed her sister. Why the fuck would she do that?

Even more interesting: why is Belos like that? How did Hooty put his head through one of those guards? Who the fuck is the Titan, and why does everyone like him? And how are these all tied together?

This episode was a metaphor for capitalism

...and another delicious step towards radicalizing the youth into dismantling this fucked-up neo-feudal system.

We’ll start with Belos.

Emperor Belos is a weird name, don’t you think? We all thought it was spelled “Bellows,” but it wasn’t. In fact, it’s five letters, starts with Be, ends with os, and describes a megalomaniac emperor that restricts people’s freedom in order to accumulate wealth for himself.

Sound familiar?

Emperor Bezos Belos created capitalism. He saw the beauty of magic and decided to make himself the most powerful.

Belos created a system that destroys the masses and boosts his power.

I’m dipping into fan theory a little, because the fan theory fits. We know that people get branded with coven magic that makes it so they can only specialize in one area. We know that Belos is the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles. We know that the excess magic, magic created by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

It’s the same system that many viewers see all the time. A job takes up all your day and tires you for the night, so you can only do one skill for the rest of your life. Jeff Bezos is the most powerful man in the United States. Excess money, money taken by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

The magic goes to Belos, like how the money goes to Bezos. Belos created capitalism, and he won it.

The guards aren’t real.

Look, we’ve never seen their faces. They’re all the same. Why would you work so hard to get to the top, just to become a nameless, faceless killing machine?

Oh, also Hooty stuck his face through one. There is nothing under the armor.

Why? Well, it’s the same reason you see all those celebrities going around flaunting their wealth and bragging about how hard they worked. Like all those songs about how they grind every day and work harder than everyone else while you’re out clubbing, and that makes them dope. And then you take a closer look at them and see that they had a small loan of a million dollars fueling them, or an entire talent agency behind them, or their dad was a famous country star in the 80′s.

They’re fake. They’re hollow. They’re a ploy created by the capitalist emperor to try to delude you into working harder.

Let me put this into perspective. I guarantee that every single one of you has heard stuff like this: “Hard work makes you successful.” “I put in the work, and that’s why I’m successful.” “If you work hard enough, then you can be as successful as Mark Zuckerberg.”

And unless you’re a robot or really lucky, I’m sure all of you have failed at this. Maybe they told you that hard work would make you good at math, so you spent 22 hours a week working on calculus, only to pass it by 3 percentage points and have it destroy your perfect 4.0 GPA. Maybe they told you that if you talked to people enough, then you would make friends, so you spent a lot of time talking to people, only to end up lonely and friendless. Maybe they told you that if you did well in school, you would get a good job, so you spent all your time working hard to be a good student, and then ended up in a soulless, dead-end job.

The guards are there to delude you. Look, who really gains from you being productive? The answer is the ruling class, the CEOs, the government, the bourgeoisie. It has always been that. All you get from working is a paycheck that lets you survive. They get a paycheck that lets them get rich. Just like Belos gets the magic and productivity of the specialized coven witches.

The guards are there to trick you. The truth is that nobody can join the Emperor’s Coven. It’s just there to make you think that hard work will make you successful. Then you spend your entire life working hard, trying to prove to the person in charge that you’re worthwhile. You give your whole life to the Coven, and they give you nothing.

Magic is supposed to be something you pursue for fun. Being skilled at things, being good at something beautiful...that’s supposed to be something you do because you want to. But they took that and made it into a source of productivity. It doesn’t matter if you make good content. All people fucking care about is if you upload the day of premiere, if you make a lot of content quickly, if you maintain a million different conversations with strangers who expect you to be the most interesting person in the room. They don’t care how it hurts you. They don’t care how you crack from the stress. How you cry when you think no one can see you, and then you check your phone and someone can see you, someone did see you, and you have to put on your face and be the charming, magnetic person they want you to be. (oh by the way that’s why I wasn’t online much last week)

And it ruins it. Suddenly you can’t watch The Owl House without being stressed. You can’t make any content. You can’t make spells as powerfully as you want to. Your passion is replaced by perfectionism and insecurity, a voice telling you to keep being the best at what you do, or else they’ll forget you and let you die.

There’s also the Titan.

So nobody has mentioned him before, because in addition to the Boiling Isles being a hellscape full of witchcraft and queerness, it’s also full of atheists.

But suddenly we have people saying all this shit about him? Shit like, he gave witches the gift of magic, and then they learned to use it in a civilized manner, since being uncivilized was disrespectful?

I mean, first off, that’s fucking wrong. The island gives people magic. The island, which just so happened to be shaped like a titan-sized human. But the island/titan gives everyone all types of magic. Hell, even Luz gets to use magic, and she’s human.

It sounds really fucking familiar. (tw for discussion of homophobia and colonialism and misogyny). It sounds like when the news is on and they show some Tr*mp supporter talking about how fetuses have more rights than people and it is their holy duty to take away a woman’s control over her body and force her through unbearable pain and into an 18-year commitment she didn’t want to make. It sounds like all the times people tried to say homosexuality should be illegal, citing a single line in a book written two thousand years ago and heavily edited by a European king. It sounds like all the times people said God wanted them to conquer, to own the entire earth, to force the other races into pain to support them.

This is that bullshit thing people do where they commit awful sins and justify it by citing the will of God.

Or, it’s the Coven using religion as an excuse for evil.

Look, the Emperor’s Coven is clearly colonizer-coded. Saying that people’s original form of magic was wild (and showing a picture with the same joyous, rowdy energy of an 18th or 19th -century Black or indigenous party), and that it was God’s will for them to be “civilized?” Sounds like that thing that powerful white people did where they went and murdered people and forced them into their twisted capitalist system. God, gold, and glory, is what they said, because history books just love to omit the gore.

Lilith is passing the abuse cycle along.

You know, like a good little colonizer. God I fucking hate her. She’s a MILF, in the sense that she’s a Mother I’d Like to Fling off a cliff.

Ah, enough screaming about how much I want to drown Lilith in a tub of Hooty’s mucus. Let’s go into why I want to do that, and how she took the evils of capitalism and just...adopted those.

So, Lilith is sick and twisted for what she did to her sister. But, uhh, that’s the point. You see, there are so many other people out there like Lilith who would do the exact same thing, if given the chance. These are the people who do mean things when the teacher isn’t looking, and then act nice and try to frame you. These are the people who will hate you if you’re better than them. These are people who would do anything to bring you down, if you dare outperform them.

It’s greed, my friends. The mental illness that capitalism blesses us all with.

Lilith herself said it: she dedicated her entire life to the Coven. What she wanted was to be the best. And she almost was...except for her own sister. Someone who lived with her, annoyed her at home, bested her at school. Someone she could never beat, no matter how hard she worked. And her sister was younger than her, too! How insulting was that? Lilith wanted to be the best, and someone in her exact situation did better than her.

Lilith was insecure. And it consumed her.

But why? Why does insecurity consume her? I mean, no one can be motivated by insecurity forever. Well, not unless someone conditions it into you.

The lovely thing about the capitalist system is the morals it teaches you. Things like: “You’re only useful if you’re the best.” “Being school smart makes you smart, while being social smart or sports smart or creative smart or fandom smart is worthless.” “Your worth can be quantified by numbers and is based off arbitrary measures like your income or your grades.” Things that can and will drive us crazy if we let ourselves believe them.

And it did drive Lilith crazy. She got so twisted by a society that said being good at magic is her only worth. Look, Lilith used to be good at things, probably. She was good at sports. At times, she slips up and does an okay job of being Eda’s sister. She has a powerful presence when she’s in a room. And she’s wicked good at manipulating people.

But that didn’t matter. Lilith bought into the lies. She let herself believe that magical skill was the only way to measure her worth. And since she needed to be the best, she hurt Eda for it.

The beautiful thing is, Eda didn’t buy that. "It’s my power, kid. And before you showed up, I spent my whole life wasting it.” Is what Eda said, as she used up the last of her power, the last of her life, to save Luz. In her final moments, she proved that she’s not like them. She’s stronger than them.

None of this matters. Not magical prowess. Not the hierarchy. Not the promise of joining the Coven and having more power than anyone else.

The only thing that matters to Eda is her family. Her real family. Her Luz, King, and Hooty. And by extension, Willow, Gus, and Amity. Those are Eda’s real reason for fighting, for dying: to protect them. Look, there’s no way she would’ve come out of that fight alive. She has a family, and her love for them is stronger than greed or jealousy or capitalism.

Lilith never understood that. She thought the water of the womb was thicker than the blood of the covenant. Or, that the water of the womb and the blood of the covenant are stronger than the bonds of found family. She thought it didn’t matter if Eda loved, her, only if the Emperor loved her. Fucking bitch.

And now, a little something to worry about, before we go. Amity Blight. The girl who wanted to join the Emperor’s Coven more than anything, who dedicated her whole life to doing well in school, to being the best, to being perfect.

And then she met Luz. She fell for Luz. Now she’s in a tricky place, where habit and conditioning want her to join the Emperor’s Coven, but her heart wants her to do the impossible and destroy capitalism.

She wasn’t in this episode. Funny that being injured and unable to work ended up saving her from watching her future mother-in-law die. So she bought some time.

But Luz’s true mom is dead. This is the second mom she has lost, and she’s only fourteen. As powerful as King and Hooty are, Luz needs Amity. Luz needs Amity to support her and help her get back her mom.

So Amity has to make a choice. Fear and insecurity, or love and a high chance of death?

She’ll probably choose death. Because that’s the message that this family-friendly show is giving us kids. Fuck capitalism. All you need in life is to do what makes you happy and be with the ones you love.

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years ago

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A Period Drama

Summary: When that time of the month hits, Y/n wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and forget about the world. Lucky for her, Dean has other plans.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2.1K+

Warnings: Language, discussion of menstrual cycle

Author’s Note: I guess I'm emotional this cycle, who knew? Anyway, I wrote this because I wanted to die the other day, and imagining Dean's cuddles was the only way for me to get through it. This is a work of self-indulgence and therefore the Reader is a little less non-descript than I usually try to write, but that's what these things are for! Hope this helps my fellow menstruating people lie it did me xoxo Alex

Check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

A nagging sensation tugged on her strings of consciousness, bringing the sleeping huntress back to the world of the living. Her mind fought against waking, knowing not nearly enough time had passed since she had retreated to her room the previous evening. As the ache deep in her abdomen became more obvious, she stopped fighting and opened her eyes to the darkness of her room.

“Fuck,” she groaned as she tossed the covers from her body, instantly missing the heat they provided in the recess of the bunker. Y/n rolled from the bed and stood, the action occurring too quickly and the huntress felt the familiar rush between her legs. She cursed herself as she bounded off to the bathroom on the opposite end of the hallway. The socks on her feet muffled her hurried steps as she passed the boys’ rooms.

Once inside, she went straight for the showers and turned the hot water all the way up. Steam enveloped the space as she stripped her soiled panties and old t-shirt from her body. She let the bathroom turn into a makeshift sauna as she rinsed the blood from her undergarments before finally stepping into the boiling shower.

It was unclear how long she stood under the water, searing her flesh and scrubbing away the metaphorical grime, all she knew was the relentless heat was managing to ease the ache from her angry uterus. The tentative knock on the bathroom door snapped her back from the silent reverie she had been indulging in, and Y/n noted how the water had gone almost cold. It was likely she had been in there long enough for Sam to have taken his morning run and if her own body wasn’t attacking itself, she might have felt guilty about using up all the bunker’s hot water.

When she walked out in just a towel, her dirty pajamas rolled into a ball in her arms, she was met with a confused younger Winchester. All she could mutter was a weak ‘sorry’ before she breezed past him and back to her room. The huntress wrapped herself into a pair of sweats and a clean tee, braided her hair out of her face, swallowed a few pain killers, and crawled back under her covers. She thanked whatever higher power had made sure they were hunt-free for the foreseeable future so she could spend the day curled up in a ball. The pills kicked in quick enough to allow her to easily slip back into a blissful sleep.

****

It was nearing one in the afternoon when Dean made his way back inside the bunker, his hands covered in grease and oil from his work tuning up the Impala. He was wiping his hands on an equally dirty towel as he walked into the kitchen to find his little brother making himself a lunch.

“Please tell me that is not your veggie bacon?” Dean wrinkled his nose as he watched Sam putting together a BLT, the various ingredients strewn about the island.

“Fine, then I won’t tell you,” Sam didn’t bother to look up from his task to answer his brother. The look of disgust only depended on Dean’s face as he moved around his sibling to wash his hands in the sink.

The older hunter glanced over his shoulder as the sound of shuffling footsteps grew louder, his gaze landing on a disheveled Y/n. The sweats that hung from her body were wrinkled and she had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. There were lines across the left side of her face, indicating she had been sleeping recently. Worry instantly flooded his system as it was unlike their hunting partner to sleep this late unless she was ill.

“Sam, what did you do with my heating pad?” her voice was coarse as she didn’t even bother with pleasantries. No ‘hello’, no ‘ how are you’, just straight to whatever business she had in with the younger Winchester.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s in the linen closet in the bathroom?” Sam answered, completely unperturbed by her callousness.

“So you put my heating pad in the bathroom,” Y/n rolled her eyes and Sam could only offer her a bewildered nod. “What is with you guys and not being able to put shit back where you found it?” The huntress turned on her heel, not waiting for a response before heading to retrieve the item she was seeking.

Sam looked over his shoulder at his older brother, his brows knit together in the middle of his forehead. “What the hell was that?”

“What’s the one thing Y/n uses her heating pad for?” Dean’s lips cured up on one side as he watched the look of realization flash across his brother’s features. The oldest Winchester dried his hands before peeking in the fridge and a few cupboards. “Looks like she could use a supply run. You need anything?”

“Nah, I’m just going to retreat to my room and pretend like I don’t exist for the rest of the day,” Sam picked up the plate that held his lunch and scurried off, leaving a chuckling Dean behind.

****

The only light filling her room came from the laptop that was perched in her lap, playing some television show she had stopped paying attention to a while ago, and the filtered light from the hall through the slats in her door. The huntress was still curled into a ball under her covers, attempting to use what little bit of heat from her computer she could muster as she had been unsuccessful in located her heating pad. She felt bad for ripping into Sam about it, but the truth was he had misplaced her belongings, something that she found happened often around the Winchesters, and she was over it today. Pain tended to make her grumpy, as it did most people, and she wasn’t going to apologize for being pissed at their carelessness.

A soft rapping against her door had her pausing the show as she shoved the device aside. The guest didn’t wait for a response before they pushed the door open, bringing with them a flood of light. Y/n cringed at the sudden change, hiding her face behind her hand.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean’s familiar chuckle sounded before the click of the latch indicated he had closed the door behind him. “I come bearing gifts.”

“What?” she was confused by his words as she dropped her hand and allowed her eyes to adjust back to the relative darkness.

“Your water bottle, half ice, half water,” he set the green canteen on her bedside table. “The heating pad Sammy somehow managed to lose behind the washing machine,” Dean handed her the light green pad folded neatly with the cord sitting on top. Y/n sighed a breath of relief as the eldest Winchester continued. “And a sharable size bag of dark chocolate peanut M&M’s.”

“Dean,” Y/n caught the purple bag as he tossed it her way, biting back a gleeful moan. “I fucking love you.” She unceremoniously tore into the bag and popped a couple of the chocolate candies into her mouth, missing the rush of blood on the Winchester’s cheeks.

“And finally,” he mimicked a drum roll with his mouth and procured a box from his arms, placing it on her bedside table. The woman frowned, unable to make out the object at first in the darkness.

“You bought me tampons? How,” she trailed off, not only awestruck by the hunter’s gesture but amazed at his attention to detail as she read the label.

“There is only one thing you need your heating pad for,” he remarked as he took the referenced object back to plug it into an outlet for her. “Also, you never snap at Sammy.”

“But how did you know what kind to buy?”

“Kind of hard not to when you have a box of them stashed away in Baby’s trunk,” Dean countered as he perched himself on the edge of her bed.

“Hey, those are for emergencies. Besides, I’m sure Baby understands.”

“I’m sure she does.”

Y/n chewed on the inside of her cheek as she fiddled with the bag of candy in her lap, the kindness shown by Dean throwing her off. She offered the open bag to her hunting partner, who snatched a handful for himself with a grin.

“Thank you, Dean, seriously. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” her voice was low as the admittance slipped past her lips. “Want to watch some Scooby-Doo with me? You know, if you aren’t busy or anything?”

“I’d love to, sweetheart,” Dean winked at her, that shit-eating grin never leaving his face even as he stood and shucked off his jacket and boots so he could climb into the bed next to her. “Who could pass up Daphne?”

The huntress sat back against the headboard with a roll of her eyes and switched the streaming show on her laptop before unfolding her already warmed heating pad and laid it across her lower abdomen. She moved the laptop at the end of the bed so they could both see it and set the bag of M&M’s between her and Dean to share.

The two settled into the cartoon, laughing in unison at the ridiculous parts and commenting on how the Scooby gang couldn’t have handled that monster had it been real. Three episodes passed by before a shredding cramp ripped through her stomach, the shock of it enough that she was unable to hide the groan as she had been so far.

“You okay?” Dean shifted in his spot next to her, his head turning from the kids’ show to his friend beside him.

“No, I’m not okay. It feels like my internal organs are attempting to exit my body,” she snapped, instantly regretting it when Dean subtly recoiled. “Shit, I’m sorry. I--I didn’t mean…” Y/n was cut off as the pain returned just as intense as it had been moments ago, causing her to roll onto her side and into a ball, clutching the heat of the pad against her body like a lifeline.

“Alright,” Dean huffed before moving the candy and laptop from the bed. Y/n could hear the hunter shift behind her, but her eyes were clamped shut as she tried to breathe through the pain like she was experiencing the contractions of labor of something. She felt the hard lines of his body lock around the curves of her own and his arm snake around her abdomen. His hand rested over hers as he pulled her tight against him, putting more pressure than she had been able to muster against her lower belly. “I’ve got you.”

The heat of his body on one side and the pad against her stomach, combined with the force he was exerting on her uterus, finally allowed her to relax fully for the first time since she had awoken that morning. She never wanted to leave this moment, utterly content in the peace that his presence in her bed brought her. The idea scared her a little, but she figured that was a problem for another day. Now she chose to just live in this moment for as long as he would let her.

“Why?” she muttered into the dark space after she was sure he had fallen asleep as his grip had relented a touch and his breathing evened out, hoping he wouldn’t answer but knowing she had to ask.

“Cause I wanted to,” his voice was gruff, indicating he had probably been on the cusp of falling asleep when she spoke up. “I hate seeing you like this. Figured it was the least I could do.”

“Dean Winchester, are you going soft on me?” she quirked up one corner of her lips, unable to fight the giddiness his words instilled in her chest.

“Sweetheart, there is nothing soft about me when I’m around you,” he chuckled, earning himself an elbow to the gut. He grunted and the two of them fell into a fit of laughter.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” The hunter was ready for her arm this time, his hand moving to wrap around her forearm and pull it into him so as to trap her even tighter than before in his embrace. Y/n struggled against his hold, giggling like an idiot as the two wrestled in the bed a moment before she relented that he was much stronger than she.

“Honestly,” Dean placed a gentle kiss to her shoulder once she had settled, only encouraging her to melt further into his arms. “I’d do anything to make you smile, Y/n.”

“Well, then mission accomplished, Winchester,” she turned her head to flash him a genuine smile to which he reciprocated before planting his pillow-soft lips against hers.

P.S. I didn't even try on this title because this is just a little therapy piece and therefore no one should judge me.

Forevers: @22sarah08 @440mxs-wife @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @asgoodasdancingqueen @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @briagallen @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deandreamernp @deangirl93 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jbsgirl4ever11 @jensengirl83 @lunarmoon8 @lyarr24 @mishacollins4evah @miss-nerd95 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @squirrelnotsam @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @suckmyapplejacks @supraveng @tatted-trina6 @thoughts-and-funnies @traceyaudette @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #alex writes #mine #a period drama

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sophwrites00 · 4 years ago

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Saved - Hank Voight

Request : @mcgreads : Hey can I request a Hank Voight and reader where the reader is younger and apart of the unit and her and Voight are together as well as her being best friends with Casey and she's with Platt during that episode where she' on the T.V. interview and the bomb goes off and Voight is worried and giving out orders as not only his bestfriend is in there but also his girl and he communicates with Casey as well. Lots of fluff in the end please❤

Please forgive me if the lines aren't said by the correct people I have the transcript but it does not tell me who said what so I am going off memory!

Word Count - 1733

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

You work as a secretary at the front desk of District 21, you had been working there for a few months when Trudy asked if you would go to an T.V interview with her, having not wanting to go alone and embarrass herself

Walking up the stair to intelligence you dropped their mail off to them and made your way into you boyfriends office closing the door behind you

Walking over to him you sat your self down in his lap and rested your head on his shoulder

"Trudy and I are going to leave soon" You informed him as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your forehead

"Be safe please" he said while resting his heat on top of yours

"I will I promise" You reply looking him in the eyes he leans down and you two share a kiss that was interrupted by a knock on the door

The door opened reveling Trudy

"Hey Voight is Y/N in here" She asked with out looking up from her file

"Yep right here" he replied as you sit up in his lap

"Oh good it's time to go, I'm driving" She said then turned and walked out

"Alright ill see you later when we get back" You say giving Hank one last kiss and taking his brown leather jacket with you before leaving

--------- At the interview ---------

You and Trudy had just gotten to the news station where the interview was being held, walking onto the interview set Trudy was taken to a seating area to starts the interview

"I'm so excited to be here today with Trudy Platt" the host says as Trudy sits with a smile, before Trudy could reply a beeping sound is heard through out the studio

"What is that" one person asks

--------- Before the explosion at 21 ---------

"Platts on in two. Everyone! Adam!" Kim yells

"Antonio, come on" Kim said

"We're not staying, I'm gonna do paper work at home" Antonio said looking up from his desk for a split second

"Hey, Eva. What's up, kid" Adam said as he walked out of the hallway

"My father's a fascist" she replied

"Okay, I don't know what to do with that" Adam says surprised

"Okay, everybody be quiet" Kim said "Platt's on TV.

"Betty's sitting down to discuss the new friendly face of the Chicago PD" the producer said

"What friendly face is that" Jay joked

"Betty" the producer said

"Thank you Shri, I'm so exited to be here today with Sergeant Trudy Platt, from the 21st District" Betty said

"She couldn't possibly hate this more" Adam joked

'It's my pleasure, I'm hap-I'm happy to be here." Trudy said with a big fake smile

"I wonder what Y/N's doing and if she's laughing as hard ass we are" Erin chimed in

"Is everything okay?" Trudy asked as they all heard a beeping

"I think that's coming from my office" Sheri said before an explosion went off

"What the hell happened" Kim said as they all grabbed their coats and things before making their way to the News Station with their boss who was pissed more than ever

--------- Back at the New station Y/N's POV ---------

"Sheri, Sheri hey stay with me" Trudy said

"All the exits are blocked we're stuck" I said coughing slightly

Trudy looked up scared then looked around the room

"Okay we are going to go into the back room and wait for help, and everything will be okay, because we are getting out of here" Trudy said while dragging Sheri's barely conscious body into the back dressing room

As Trudy and I made it into the dressing room I noticed a sink and check if the water was running, which it was, I grabbed 3 rags and soaked them in water then handed Trudy two of the

"Sheri, are you still with me? Sheri, come on girl stay with me, Stay with me Sheri" Trudy said while trying to get Sheri to keep her eyes open

I sat on the floor next to Trudy slightly panicking when heard people walking and yelling

"Fire department. Call Out" I looked to Trudy and started to yell

"Here, we're in here" I yelled as many time as i could before i started coughing again

The door swung open and revealing Mouch, Kelly, and Matt

"Okay lets get you ladies out of here" Kelly said while picking Sheri up while Mouch help Trudy and Casey helped me

"Are you okay are you hurt" He said going into protective friend mode.

"I'm okay" I said while coughing, matt picked me up bridal style and carried me out the building

"Hank" I said when I seen my boyfriend who looked more pissed than ever, once he heard me he rushed to Casey who was helping me stand

"OH thank god" Hank said relived to see me

"You're going to med" Hank said with Matt agreeing

"We don't need any more surprises today" Matt said

"Hank you take her, ill try and meet you both later I got to go" Matt said to his two closest friends as he turned to go back into the building with his squad

--------- Third person POV ---------

Hank rode in the back of the ambulance with Y/N to the hospital, holding her hand the whole time

At the hospital Y/N was put into a trauma room and checked over thoroughly as she was close to the blast

"Okay you seem to have no major injury's, I am going to do some blood work, and put you on some oxygen for a few hours to get your levels back to normal, but other than that you seem fine and should be able to go home by tonight" Dr. Halstead said

"Thank you" Y/N replied before Will left

"You should go back to work, ill be okay" Y/N said to hank as she laid her head back onto the pillow and looked up at Hank

"No I should be here with you" He protested shaking his head

"I'll be okay I will call you if I need anything you should be out there helping your team" Y/N said

"Fine but i will be back to check up on you soon" Hank said

"Okay" Y/N said with a small smile, Hank pressed his lips to hers and left, soon after Will came back into the room

"Okay your blood work is back" Will stated "You both look good, try and keep it easy for the next few days, no heavy lifting for at least a week" He said

"Wait both" Y/N said

"Oh, you didn't know. Congratulations, Y/N your pregnant" He said with a smile "I'll have Nat come in for an ultrasound to see how far along you are" he stated before being called out for another trauma

Matt walked into the room still in his turnouts

"Hey peach, how are ya?" He asked with a smile

"I'm okay" Y/N said with a small smile

"I have a request though" Y/N said with a big smile looking at him

"what?" He said looking at me suspiciously

"Chick-Fil- A" Y/N said with puppy dog eyes

"Your lucky I like you, ill see what I can do" He said before kissing my head and leaving

Nat came in a little while after and we did the ultra sound and Y/n is 5 weeks pregnant, soon after Nat left both Hank and Matt walked in

"Hey baby" Hank said as he kissed my head

"I came with your food but I cant stay long" Matt said holding up the fast food bag

"Yay thank you" Y/N said happily, they all sat for a while and talk, later on Matt left and not long after Y/N was discharged she and Hank made their way home

Y/N sat on the couch and put her feet in Hanks lap letting him rub her feet

"Hey, We need to talk" Y/N said moving her feet from Hanks lap and moving closer to sit next to him

"What wrong, Hun" Hank asked worriedly

--------- Y/N's POV ---------

"So I got some news after you left the hospital earlier" I stated looking at Hank " and it's good news depending on how you take it and if you don't take it good then I don't know what I'm going to do be-" I said rambling only being cut off by Hank

"Hey, hey, hey take a breath and try to calm down alright" Hank said while pulling me into his lap, taking a few deep breaths I was able to calm down

"I'm pregnant" I said looking into his eye's

"A-Are you sure" He asked looking at me with hope, I nodded and he pulled me close to his body

We stayed like that for a while and I could feel my self falling asleep in the warmth of Hanks arms

I felt Hank lift me and carry me to our bedroom he laid me down and got in bed next to me, that night Hank's arms felt tighter around my waist and I could feel his hand resting against my still flat stomach

The next morning Matt had come over for brunch and we told him he was over the moon to become an uncle just as Hank and I are over the moon to become parents

--------- Authors Note --------- Aaahhh I finally finished this story and I am proud because I have worked so hard on this request over the past week! If you find any typo's please let me know I did my best to fix them as I went!!

Thank you for reading have a god day/ night love ya byeeeeee

#hank voight imagines #hank voight x reader #hank voight #matt casey #chicago med #One Chicago #Chicago Fire

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saberstars · 3 years ago

Text

I'm Here

Pairing: Gender Neutral Y/N & Loki

Fluff, angst, implied smut

Warnings: Mentions of depression/mental illness, epilepsy/seizures, mentions of sex, as always if I missed anything feel free to let me know

Summary: Loki & You have a pre-existing friendship with benefits & one night you have a seizure after some spiciness. He cares for you helping you afterwards & makes sure you rest easy & safe. Reader is portrayed to have seizures more so during changes in sleep phases, not awake. The wake seizures or more of a medium ish absence/ focal aware seizure that only occur on occasion & can be “fought” through.

Word Count: 1796

Notes: This was intended to be a gender neutral reader. I think I removed all he/she pronouns.

Additionally, I know that not everyone experiences seizures the same way, and that epilepsy can affect people differently. This is all written from my experiences with it, so I ask that you do not tell me I portrayed something wrong. I can and will accept constructive criticism, But I will not accept someone telling me blatantly that I am wrong with my experiences. Therefore please keep that in mind when reading. I genuinely hope this fic brings others comfort if you suffer from epilepsy or any disorder that causes seizures. Thank You <3

It’s been three years since you found out you suffered from epilepsy. A diagnosis that came late in your life to be fair. As a young child up until you reached adulthood, you suffered from eye shakes that would eventually turn into stuttering spells that made it difficult to breath or not breath properly at all. You never passed out though, you got close a few times, but you managed to stay awake and “fight it off.” You started to notice over time that you’d also get a strange taste in your mouth, almost like metal or as if you were sucking on a battery and it had that zing flavor. You knew that was a precursor and would panic on cue rightfully so. You hated when you had your mini stutter fests because all you could do was hope it didn’t happen.

Of course you complained to your parents as a child but they didn’t think it was anything. They said it was just a panic attack. So you took their word for it. That was until you started having grand mals in your sleep. At first you thought they were just a part of some strange dream, that wasn't real to you, not yet anyway. You would wake up exhausted, sore, sometimes unable to move properly, walk, open and close a fist, and you just overall couldn't stay conscious sometimes. Again you complained to your parents about it, but they said it was nothing. You probably had night terrors or some form of minor sleep paralysis. So you dumbly believed them.

When you moved out, You sought answers, and eventually got them. You were grateful. The medication they prescribed helped tremendously though, it did make you tired but it was worth not having your episodes. Thankfully your case wasn’t as severe as others and it was manageable so long as you took care of yourself and took your medications. Though you were warned, breakthroughs were common, and missing your dose can and would cause a seizure.

Despite having such a diagnosis, you kept it to yourself. You never really told anyone. It wasn’t until you started sleeping with a friend, that you finally divulged your secret too in the event that it ever happened whilst they were with you.

It was someone you randomly slept with on and off with. A friend with benefits, his name was Loki. You had met the god shortly after his father had passed and his home, destroyed. You found comfort with each other despite it being more of a sexual comfort. You both used sex as a way to fight your own demons, a distraction, a quick grab at serotonin. Despite the sex you both developed a very deep friendship. You’d read together on occasion, have very interesting debates on current events, history, as well as other nuances, and a lot of other things. You even met his brother and the avengers at one point.

You both slept soundly after spicy events had taken place 2 hours prior, Loki had come over desperate for attention of any kind. He didn’t say why, but you knew it was a rather serious topic he wished not to discuss and rather lessen the pain with ecstasy. Little did you know, on this day a few years ago he indirectly murdered his mother. He blamed himself dearly, he knew if he would have kept his mouth shut for once in his life she may be here today. So he needed a genuine distraction. One of any kind. Preferable you. Due to the spicy events that took place you missed your dose, due to falling asleep promptly after, which cost you dearly. Missing doses always caused this to happen no matter what.

You gasped for air like usual, your body contorting outwards first with a thrust. You were awake, conscious, and terrified for the few seconds you normally were given before blacking out. You began to stutter violently all the air leaving your lungs as it happened. Until no sounds were made and it was just you chattering. Loki woke immediately, with a completely calm exterior despite a raging mixture of emotions internally. He knew you never called an ambulance for these things because you were normally alone & unaware until you became conscious again. She made him promise to never call 911 unless it was over a certain time length, to save her medical expenses, or unless she stopped breathing for good.

Loki dare not touch you though as you shook and curled up. The last thing he wanted was his godly strength to crush you somehow or cause you more pain. Instead he watched and hovered until you finally stopped. It was a short 50 second one, which was under your time limit, but he still debated calling. It’s not like You would’ve known he lied.

His breathing hitched as he went to check your pulse and airway, ever so delicately, which were both clear and strong.

“Oh thank you.” he whispered

A few hours had slid by with still no response from you. Loki sat next to you, staring down at you, to the point where he would fight the urge to blink, waiting for a stir of some kind from you. He did give the courtesy of redressing you though, in a nightgown from a drawer after an hour slid past. He even went as far as ensuring that you were adequately covered by the blankets to avoid being chilled. It has been 3 ½ hours now, with no stir of any kind from you. He knew it would be awhile before you showed any signs of movement possibly but this worry tore him to his core. In the midst of waiting he refused to just idly go back to sleep next to you, he was determined to stay awake until you were conscious again, so that you knew, he stayed there waiting for you. Loki didn’t know when he found himself talking to you as if you were awake, but all he knew was that it made him feel a bit better, and he hoped that when you woke it would make you feel better too.

“You know, I’ve been reading this really dumb gothic romance novel. I think you’d like it because of how naive the girl is. I know you like to criticize and pick on how they make decisions.” he spoke with a chuckle in his voice thinking back to how you’d flail your arms and drop your book to scream about how dumb some main protagnist could be.

“I'll have to buy you a copy or give you mine when I’m done.” Loki shifted his weight from his right to his left brushing your bangs out of your eyes.

“I don’t know why you keep those so long, all they do is get in the way of your gorgeous eyes.”

It was in that moment you rustled, you shifted your neck ever so slightly, Your eyelids twitch. Loki leaned forward parting his lips as he watched with a heart of hope completely overwhelmed with joy when he saw the color of your iris’s. He exhaled a shaky breath cupping your cheeks which caused you to flinch sending a wave of shocks through your body. It was at that moment you knew. You knew what he saw, what he had gone through. Your heart sank and you immediately berated yourself internally despite your exhausted state.

“It’s ok you don’t have to say or do anything. I’ll stay, I’ll take care of you for as long as you need.” Loki assured you, wanting you to know that you didn’t have to go through this alone. You never really had anyone stay, let alone worry about you. Your eyes began to water as tears rolled down your face.

“I’ll go grab you some water, you’re probably parched. I’ll also grab you a banana. I read that potassium can help with the cramping.” Loki said leaving to yourself for a moment. He also grabbed tissues for your eyes and nose just in case. Upon returning her placed everything at your side offering help to sit up. “Do you need to use the bathroom or help sitting up?” He asked with a gentle tone.

You nodded trying to take a good deep breath so you could speak a bit. “I’m so sorry you had to see that… but thank you. Thank you for staying, for helping. I do need the bathroom and I would appreciate help. My legs are still...” you mustered out with all your might but after a point your tongue refused to work with you.

“Of course, I may be a monster but I’m not entirely cruel. If it helps… you can just think to yourself and I can listen that way. So that you're not struggling too much.” Loki admitted with a tone of self depreciation.

“You're not a monster just because you're different & have made mistakes.” you thought as Loki picked you up bridal style walking you to the bathroom. Of course he placed you down on the toilet and waited outside for you to do what you needed. Since he had only added a nightgown to your previously naked body it made things easier. It was exhausting to just sit up and do everything but you pushed through. You even pushed yourself up and limped to the sink best you could to wash your hands. Upon hearing the faucet though Loki came back in standing behind you offering support if needed.

“Catch me~” you thought before falling back into his arms with a snort.

“You're lucky I have godlike reflexes you minx.” He replied with a hint of flirtation. You had used more than you had in you to wash your hand. Loki caught you obviously and carried you back to the room placing you back on the bed. “No, more like I knew you were ready to catch me.” you slowly thought as exhaustion tugged at your consciousness again. Loki noticed the pill bottle on your dresser before prompting you to take it. Instinctively opening it and sliding one into his hand.

“You should probably take this before you fall asleep.” You took it mentally saying thanks drinking the glass of water with it.

“Yeah that would probably help avoid some added breakdancing.” You joked trying to use humor to lighten the situation. Loki stared plain faced trying not to entertain your joke though, despite finding it secretly witty. Maybe he’d laugh at it when you felt a bit better. Soon after you began to dance between awake and sleep. Loki took note based on how your thoughts jumbled around between multiple things, laughing to himself a bit before minor intrusive fears began picking at you. Loki immediately jumped into action in an attempt to squash them soothing you a bit.

“You can sleep soundly, please get some rest. You don’t have to force yourself to stay awake out of fear or guilt.” Loki spoke in the most caring and sweet tone he could muster up. Trying to convince you that it was going to be ok & it worked. Somehow you knew he was right & that you could trust him completely. You drifted back to sleep peacefully thinking about how for the first time in your life, you didn’t fear sleeping in your bed. You didn’t have intrusive thoughts about whether or not you’d wake up in the morning or not. Which honestly brought tears bubbling their way up and out of Loki's eyes. The amount of trust you had in him in your thoughts, at that moment completely took his breath away. And that was something he wasn’t going to break or ever lose.

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shinygoku · 3 years ago

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Trust Thomas, the Better Version

I find Trust Thomas to be a guilty pleasure of sorts, an episode of Season 3 that has some serious writing issues but I can’t bring myself to hate it. But I can bring myself to improve it significantly with a rewrite!

Helped along by @mean-scarlet-deceiver ‘s commentary tags on the post I’d made about it before, I present to you my saltier, spicier interpretation! 😼✨

Maybe a smidge over the target audience’s recommended intake.... no actual swear words but still, I give it a PG for Parental Guidance ;3 Also no, I’m not gonna put this on my Ao3 as it’s an Episode Rewrite and not one’a my Original Plots.

===

======

Thomas the Tank Engine was feeling bright and cheerful. It was a splendid day, with warm sunshine, birdsong and lush green fields.

“Good morning!” he whistled to some Cows, but the Cows didn’t reply. “...Never mind, they’re busy with their breakfast.”

He stopped at a red signal, somewhat relieved that Bertie only came by after a brief pause, so he probably hadn’t heard Thomas talking fruitlessly to the cattle. Instead, Bertie was preoccupied with a large jolt as he drove over a hole.

“Owch!! That’s another one!”

“Um, sorry?” Thomas was preoccupied with the signal changing and set back off.

Thomas was still in good spirits when Bertie arrived at the next Station.

“Bad luck, Bertie!” he teased. “Now, if you were a Steam Engine, you’d be running on a pair of Reliable Rails!”

“Huh!” Bertie spat. “The Railway was supposed to deliver tar to mend the road two flippin’ weeks ago! You can’t trust a thing that runs on rails!”

“Oi, I run on rails, you big red lunchbox! I’ll show you, I’ll sort the matter out! You can at least trust me to get results.”

Thomas left Bertie and chuffed away importantly, along the branch line towards the Big Station by the sea.

James was snorting about in the yard. He was saying many rude words and bashing the trucks roughly, cross about having to cover for Percy.

“Ooh!! Arghh! Oww!” wailed the Trucks. They longed for vengeance but were powerless to bump the big Red Engine back.

Gordon watched the events from another rail and chortled.

“You know, James, if you were ill, you wouldn’t have to shunt trucks here, would you?” he offered, safe in his luxurious role pulling coaches that day.

James’ furious scowl lifted, all too ready to latch onto this half-baked suggestion. “That’s a good idea! Here comes Thomas, I’ll start pretending now!”

Thomas was perplexed to see the two big engines looking miserable.

“Cheer up, stick-in-the-muds! It’s a beautiful day!”

Gordon assumed the air of quiet suffering, his face creased with frown lines. “Not for James, it isn’t. He’s sick.”

“Yes he is --I mean, I am.” wavered James. There was a pause, and then he coughed a couple of times. “Ooh, I don’t feel well at all!”

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he looked over James. He didn’t really look so poorly, but then, Henry didn’t often look as bad as he’d felt before getting Welsh Coal, and then that new shape. Shame he wasn’t here to help judge.

“Hmph, really? I suppose I'll help out, if you're ill. Lucky for you that I'm already headed for the Quarry.”

He bustled out with some of James’ trucks. Once out of earshot, Gordon and James sniggered.

The Trucks were still furious over their mistreatment, and Thomas was a tempting outlet for their pent up aggression. They began to plot amongst themselves.

Thomas collected the heavy stone from the quarry and set off back to the junction. “Can’t let James forget he owes me...” he muttered, going slowly over the wooden bridge. There was something else he wanted to remember, but it was escaping him at the moment.

He was too preoccupied with these thoughts to prepare for the Trucks’ plan. “Go faster, go faster!” they shrieked, pushing forwards, assisted by the weight of the rocks they were holding.

“Augh! Slow down!!” Thomas was braking hard enough for sparks to kick off his wheels, but it was no good. He was forced off the track and derailed into a shallow, muddy pond.

He was dazed and confused, but in the wait for help his mind cleared enough to become rather cross. “Lovely flippin’ day, indeed!” he muttered, further disappointed by the lack of onlookers to hear his withering sarcasm. The only audience was a horrible slimy toad, it’s warty arms climbing up by his lamp-iron.

Eventually two engines came to his aid. Duck pulled the Trucks away, giving them a bump on the way out. “Hard luck, Thomas!” he called, over the pained sounds of the battered Trucks.

Edward helped Thomas back to the Junction and patiently listened as Thomas ranted about the horrible day he’d had.

“I’m going to find James and stuff the stones down his funnel! Gordon, too! James barely has enough brain power to think of a stupid plan like that, it must have been his smart idea! Oooh, when I get to him, I’m going to wait until his fire is out and I’ll dump him off the quay!”

“Thomas, you can’t kill them,” Edward said, soothingly. “You’d have to pick up on James’ work, for one thing! That would probably be after the Fat Controller takes Ffarquhar away from you, cause if you off Gordon we won’t have an express! That’s very costly for the railway, you know.”

Thomas muttered but privately conceded. “Can’t take Ffarquhar away, it’s a place…. Oh! Ooh!! Edward, I just remembered something!”

Glad to hear the shift in tone, Edward listened keenly. “Yes? What?”

“The roads are all dodgy down part of my line, Bertie was complaining about it earlier. He said something about us having supposed to have delivered Tar for it, d’ya know anything about that?”

“Tar… oh, yes! There’s tankers in my station, but they never said what it was for! Must be that, Driver will make arrangements when we’ve dropped you off!”

Inside Edward’s cab was a slight sarcastic muttering, but Edward and Thomas ignored it.

Later, James spoke to Thomas. He was having difficulty making eye contact with Thomas, who was still perched on the flatbed and needing to be cleaned from the pond, and whose expression had taken a darker turn once he’d noticed the Red Engine.

“I’m uh... sorry about your accident, and so is Gordon,” he shot a pointed glare back at the Big Engine who was lurking nearby. “We didn’t mean to get you into trouble, honest!”

“No, indeed,” spluttered Gordon. “A mere accident, but all’s well that ends well, isn’t that right?”

“It bloody well isn’t right, you big blue blimp! Make sure you don’t rest too close to the sea or you’re going to find yourself well acquainted, you hear?!”

Thomas’ tirade got cut off by Bertie’s arrival.

“My road’s being mended now!” he beamed, having completely missed the atmosphere of the scene.

“Oh.” Thomas was rapidly rearranging his face to put on a smile for Bertie. “I am glad!”

James was using the chance to slip away. Gordon was a bit slower on the uptake.

“Now I know I can trust an Engine, especially if his name is Thomas! Thank you!”

Gordon slinked away like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Oh, enough of that soppy stuff.” But he was genuinely smiling, at least.

The toad had managed to stay on for the ride over, but Thomas was looking forward to watching it get put in the ditch when he was washed down. Maybe he should name it after a certain Express Engine who had ended up in that water himself some years before? The thought amused him greatly.

#This is TTTE #TTTE Fanfic #TTTE Episode Talk #or rather a rewrite but myeah #Trust Thomas #Thomas the Tank Engine #TTTE Thomas #and the rest lol

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thomaslightwood · 3 years ago

Text

The Weight of Love

THOMASTAIR WEEK - Day 2 (16th July): Thomas Appreciation Day (hosted by @youngreckless!)

I managed to put myself together to write this, hope you enjoy it 🤧

Words: 1 773

•

When Thomas was a little boy he hated runes.

He hated seeing the anxious faces of his parents when the Silent brothers put the Voyanceon rune on his hand.

He hated how he had memorized the Nourishment rune and still did it on himself.

He hated how the Iratze runes were put on him over and over again when he had a bad ill episode.

He hated runes.

But he loved musical notes.

In a way they were so similar to the Shadowhunter runes but it didn't cost anyone worries.

The first time he wrote a song - full written song - he didn't want to show it to anyone. It wasn't something that was meant for anyone's eyes.

“Tommy!”

Thomas sighed. He loved his sisters. He loved his parents. But sometimes their love was a weight that was crushing him.

“I'm coming!” he shouted in response. He hid his notebook with stories and songs under his bed, carefully putting a few things over it. Then he ran over to the living room where his sisters were.

“Yes?”

Eugenia was furiously pricking with a needle the tapestry she was making. Or trying to make. Barbara was doing the same as her's but she used the needle much calmer. She looked at Thomas.

“Come here with us,” she smiled. “The dinner is soon.”

Thomas sat on the couch next to Eugenia without saying a word. He knew why his sister had asked him to come. So they can watch after him. Like he was a glass that could be broken by the wind.

“Barbs,” Eugenia said, her face a little red. “Please come help me with this or I swear to Raziel, I'll rip it off.”

Barbara left her tapestry on the table and stood up from the chair she was sitting on, coming to the couch. Thomas moved at the end of it, making space for her.

“Here,” Barbara gently took Eugenia's needle. “You must be careful with the threads…”

While Barbara was explaining to Eugenia, Thomas was staring at the wall without blinking. He wanted to be alone. To write a new song. To train. He didn't want his sisters to babysit him.

Barbara laughed. Her laugh was soft, quiet, warming up something in your chest.

“It's alright, Nia. It's hard.” She stood up again. “I'll bring some of my materials. Wait a second.” Then she left the room, heading towards her bedroom.

“Damn it,” Eugenia said, angrily throwing her work at the table. “Stupid, useless thing.”

She hid her face with her hands and took a few breaths. Thomas, unsure what he could do to comfort his sister, approached her. He slowly hugged her, wrapping his short hands around her.

She looked at him. Her eyes were wet. But as she blinked a few times the tears disappeared. Eugenia hated people seeing her cry.

She hugged Thomas across his shoulders, almost crushing him in a hug.

After a few seconds he murmured, “You're stopping my oxygen.”

A devilish smile broke on her face.

“This is not my problem. I'm a big sister, I have duties of annoying my little brother.”

Thomas giggled and tried to fight her off. They ended up falling on the couch, laughing.

Barbara was standing on the door, smiling, while she watched them.

•

The day his parents decided he was ready to go to the Academy, Thomas had conflicted feelings. On one side this meant he wasn’t looked at like a fragile little boy. On the other hand - he had to deal with people. He was worried he wouldn't find friends. Or he would do something stupid and everyone would laugh at him.

The night before his first day at the Academy Thomas couldn’t sleep.

But in the end everything turned out fine. Even better than he expected to. He had a whole group of friends. While there, he missed the solitude he once had. He missed being alone with his own thoughts. But he liked being here. To talk with so many people who weren't his family.

There was one thing he couldn’t escape. That worry on everyone’s faces. He agreed to go to the Academy because he wanted to go away from his overprotective sisters and worrying parents. But sometimes he could see the same worry on his friends’ faces. Maybe it was all in his head. But he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that since they once knew him as a sickly boy, they forever would see him as a sickly boy.

The only one who didn’t have this worry on his face was Alastair Carstairs.

•

Thomas was aware he was becoming ridiculous. But he wasn’t sure he could stop.

He didn’t want to be Alastair's puppy that follows him everywhere. Matthew hated him. James was bullied by him. Alastair was nasty to everyone. But still.

Thomas couldn’t explain it but there was something in Alastair Carstairs that was… extraordinary.

Sometimes Thomas would spot Alastair looking at him when he thought no one was watching. He was turning away quickly and called him “pipsqueak” or “half pint”. Thomas’ heart was starting to beat very fast when this happened. Like a small song was trapped in his heart and Alastair’s closnesses was making it louder.

Shortly after James, Matthew and Christopher were expelled, he found himself in an old room in the Academy. It was all dust and dirt that made his lungs ache. But he stayed because there was an old piano in it.

It made him smile. He took out his notebook with songs and sat in front of it. He was happy to touch it, to feel its coldness and steadiness. It was refreshing.

Eventually he decided to examine the rest of the room. It was stuffed with books and old furniture.

“Pipsqueak?”

Thomas jumped. He turned and saw Alastair next to the piano.

“What are you doing here, pixie?”

“Um” Thomas said. “Just looking around.”

Alastair’s gaze slowly moved to the piano. Thomas’ heart stopped. His notebook was there. Alastair was going to see his notebook.

“T-That’s nothing-”

But Alastair was already reaching for the book. He grabbed it from the stand. Thomas started to tremble. He hurried towards the other boy.

“Please, this is just-”

“Wait a second, tea cup,” without much effort he avoided Thomas’ attempts to take his notebook back. He was scanning the pages and then glanced at Thomas. Looked back at the page.

“That's not bad, pipsqueak,” then he gave him back the notebook, turned around and before leaving the room stopped. Turned to him. “You should let me play this sometime,” Alastair said and left the room.

Thomas' heart was beating fast. He was still trembling but for other reasons. His face was hot.

He glanced at the song Alastair had looked at. It was his first song. Did he really like it? Did he really want to play it?

Thomas hugged his notebooks, smiling, because he imagined how Alastair was playing his song.

But this never happened.

•

“You damn Shadowhooligans,” Polly murmured. “Don't have demons to hunt or something?” she sounded annoyed but said this with a smile.

The four boys, giggling, headed towards their room where James managed to make their exclusive place in the Devil's Tavern.

Thomas was happy. He felt alive. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so reckless, so independent from his family. A time when he could just be.

As he looked at James and Matthew he thought how lucky they are. To find themselves parabatai. They were so different, not just by appearance. James was more quiet natured, more into stories and books. Matthew was loud, bohemian and liked being around people. Yet they somehow made it work.

Sometimes Thomas dreamed of having the same bond with somebody. The only one he could think of was Christopher. He was his brother in every way except blood. But he knew they weren't like this. Christopher would be kind of Shadowhunter Thomas wasn't and vica versa. And he couldn't imagine being with someone like Matthew - he loved him with his whole heart - but Thomas would prefer somebody more like James or himself.

Probably the parabatai-hood wasn't for him after all.

•

“I believe you'll like it there, son,” Gideon said to Thomas. “It helped me a great deal when I was your age.”

Thomas was packing clothes. He soon would turn eighteen and he was going to his travel year. He was scared. And anxious. But so excited at the same time. He looked forward to it for months.

“I hope so,” he said while putting a few shirts in his pack. “I will have a great opportunity to practice my Spanish.”

Gideon smiled. “Indeed.”

He watched Thomas pack for a few minutes with a warm smile.

“Tom,” he said quietly. Thomas turned to him. Gideon hesitated. “I came to realize that all the attention and care the family took for you were necessary but… that they may have been a burden for you.”

Thomas looked at the floor. Gideon put a hand on his shoulder.

“You never said so, I know. This is what you do. But I have noticed it. When you're annoyed at the overprotectiveness of your sisters, at your mum and I when we put some restrictions on what to do, especially when you were younger.”

Thomas looked at his father. His face was kind, gentle.

“It's alright. When I was your age I did similar things. I was silent for… some things. You know the story of your grandfather. But going to Spain had a really good influence on me. It helped me grow outside my father's control. I hope it can do the same for you. I strongly believe when you have the chance to be on your own and far away from all the people that overwhelm you with their care, you'll do great.”

Thomas' eyes were wet. He blinked a few times, trying to chase the tears away.

“I… I don't want to be away from you.”

Gideon hugged him and gently squeezed him. Thomas buried his face in his father's chest.

“I know,” he said. “I also know that this can be scary and equally exciting. Just want to let you know… it's alright to feel this. All of this. Has always been and always will be. When you return you'll be changed. And our family, we'll be here, waiting for you.”

Thomas hugged his father too. It was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice a little muffled.

Gideon kissed the top of his hair. “I love you too.”

#thomas lighwood #tlh #tsc #tsc fanfiction #alastair carstairs #gideon lightwood #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #the merry thieves #thomastair week #tsccreatenet #the last hours #the last hours fanfiction #the shadowhunter chronicles #sav's writing #my post #tsc fanfic #thomastair

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