#new authority figure to aim to impress by working hard! exactly what I need

[dracolizardlars]

by the way I genuinely believe that the "wanting a good grade in therapy" urge is an essential part of therapy being useful. I absolutely guarantee you I would not be agonising myself trying to write a job application right now if I wasn't motivated by the thought of being able to tell my therapist I submitted a job application in our next appointment. she didn't set it as a goal or anything, it came up by coincidence and I really want to be able to tell her I applied to a job

[rumblelibrary]

hii!! i saw your requests are open, if you’re not too busy could you write something about Laszlo falling in love with reader (she’s a friend of Sara’s and helping with the case) but he keeps trying to avoid his feelings and remain professional and friendly until then he gets jealous of Marcus (or maybe John whoever you think works best) and starts being mean and pushing her away and then John or Sara are like “really?? can you not see that she likes you?” and he apologizes and it’s all fluffy at the end??

that was a bit long sorry, i hope you’re having a great day💗💗

Worlds Apart [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Laszlo being his usual adorable dumbass

Author’s note: Thank you so much for giving me the chance to write your story, hope you’ll enjoy it 💗💗

The first time your presence graced him was on an infamous rainy day. He didn’t mind rain, but it was the kind of storm that forced kids inside the Institute and some of them really benefitted of the time spent outside. So when you appeared at his doorstep escorted by Cyrus, a little of wetness on your shoulders and your hat, arms tightly grasping a big bunch of paper folders, untouched by the heavy weather clearly at your expenses, you looked like a gift from the above.

“Sara Howard contacted me, My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I work for the Town Hall Archives” you introduced yourself, a polite smile softening him. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you, Dr Kreizler” you added.

He blinked realising he was staring while your words moved past him without affecting him.

“Please, Sara told me you are going to be vital in the unravelling of this case, call me Laszlo”

He opened his arm on side letting you in as Cyrus walked away closing the door behind himself. A sense of guilt creeping over him, he realised how low his mind went to appreciate your physical side first and your sweet smile next, if men were anything different from the beasts, then why indulge still in such raw details. From that moment on, he decided, he would not do you the same disrespect. Little he knew that once he forbid himself to take grace of the sight of you, he would be overwhelmed by your bright mind. As you exposed those files to him you two started working together, day after day, time after time, a little dance of turning pages, soft smile, excited discoveries. Your smile affecting him in unpredicted ways, your good heart weakening his mask, your calm demure forbidding his raging fits. Anything of you made him better, any part of you was loved and worshipped by him, your position quickly transitioning from helpful hand, to admirable being and now to an ideal. A sense of necessity creeping over him every time you closed the space between the two of you to show him something, every time he stared at you wrapped up some archive ladder to find this or that file. Another thing you earned from him with time, the hardest maybe, was the ability to make him chuckle. You weren’t a goofball but you knew when to break down his thought process to bring him back to a quieter state. He liked you, he was even considering to offer you to leave the Town Hall Archives to work as his secretary at the Institute. The benefits of your presence made his work better and your natural tendency to method blessing his day to day activities with balance. Laszlo didn’t like to admit it, but a sense of possessiveness was also growing on him, he knew what was going on in his mind, or to better say it in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it. The case was on, after the case maybe.

Or maybe never.

That’s what he thought when, after an interview at the house of a potential future patient of the institute, he took a stroll on the main road, his eyes darting on the flower shop only to recognise you there. Your figure associated with the colourful gifts of nature made his heart skip a beat, a sense of joy filled him soon to disappear when Marcus Isaacson figure appeared beside you holding three or four different kind of flowers in large bouquets, all of them meaning something love related: attraction, desire, kinship.

Those meanings pestered his thoughts, your soft laugh hitting his ears like an angel choir. Your hand lifting up as Marcus bowed his head toward you, your bare fingers running through his curls pulling out some wild leaf that got tangled among them.

“Silly me” he chanted like a child that has zero guilt about earning something undeserved “Come on Y/N, pick your favourite, I can’t hold them all forever”.

Laszlo’s eyes narrowed on him, hating the urgency in his voice, before drifting on the big bouquets, the carnations attracting his gaze, the meaning: pure love, faithfulness, also motherly love.

“The carnations” you said without a doubt moving your arms among the flower to pick them, the closeness you shared rubbing Laszlo in the wrong way.

A sudden realisation hitting him, rage boiling as he turned on his heels to rush to the Institute. What a fool he was, mistaking your natural kindness for…what? Interest for a cripple? Tenderness for a lonely angry man? His jaw clenched, rage surging through him, on that day the door of his office slammed so hard nobody dared to call for him, not even for dinner. When the next day you came to bring some papers and revise some new information, he was keeping a two meters distance all the time, if not more. Anything you said was welcomed with sounds the usual good morning disappeared.

“Laszlo” you called him after more than one hour spent welcomed by only silence and grunts “Did something happen? Maybe, I could help..”

“What exactly gives the impression I need your help?” He shot back before you could even mutter another sentence or even conclude the one you just begun.

His eyes raising from the papers he was holding, his hand moved to his glasses taking them off “As far as my knowledge goes, you’re here to support the investigation with documents and research, not to interfere with my personal life or a job like mine that requires not only tact but also a severe respect of the patient’s privacy”

You closed your mouth suddenly as he never reacted in such a way toward you. Usually he seemed to like to engage with you, to hear your thoughts and opinions, now his hard glare was dooming over you like the Judgment Day.

“I apologise” you resumed to say, maybe it was a bad day, those bad days John teased him about so many times, but that you never encountered before.

So you moved back to your spot respecting the distance he wanted, he put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Nothing more was said.

That evening when you were about to leave you thanked him and wished him a good night, as you always did. Silence again, only one hand to be lifted as he didn’t even turn to talk to you. His reaction gutted you and from that day on to visit him turned into the heaviest hours of the day. There was no room for chat, no room for accommodation. You even brought some sweets one day thinking he might like it and he handed those just as quickly to the kids. You even asked him if you wronged him and he said there was nothing wrong.

After two weeks like this, you sat behind your desk at the Town Hall resigned to live with his silence, you stared at a little note he wrote to you once to thank you of your help with some documents titles underneath.

I admire your dedication to the case. Your help is invaluable L.K.

You read, but that didn’t stand anymore, for some reason.

“What’s that long face for?”

Sara asked leaning against your desk as you slipped that piece of paper underneath your notebook. You already gave Laszlo all the documents requested, you could throw that away, but you didn’t.

“I think I upset Dr Kreizler”

Sara looked at you surprised by the way you resumed calling him by his title, like you were trying to gain distance from him. You looked at her incisive look as you quietly explained to her your fears and doubts, what was going on and how you probably should ask John a way to repair the situation, because you were clueless. After your conversation Sara didn’t think about it twice and after concluding her duties she stormed at Laszlo’s office only to find him engaged in the billionth argument with John.

“What have you told to Y/N?”

She asked, a proper mad mama bear as she stared at him mercilessly, she was aiming for the throat and John looked at him puzzled.

“What have you done Laszlo? Having a fine woman interested on you hits so differently?”

Laszlo was about to answer Sara when he suddenly felt attacked on too many fronts.

“Wait, I beg your pardon? I think you have got into some mistake, John”

John looked at him and then at Sara as she shook her head impatiently and already fed up with Laszlo’s ways.

“She does like you Laszlo, where is your problem about it?” She inquired more “Is she not a doctor enough for your likings? Do you want a duchess or something? Because I don’t understand, if you’re not interested to her at least be human”

By this moment Laszlo was still incredule and a chuckle almost left his lips

“I think you are mistaken Sara, Y/N is in a relationship with Marcus Isaacson, I stumbled upon them already”

“Marcus? I thought he was seeing that Esther girl, Lucius complained about his lack of focus more than once, how did you manage to erase her interest that quick Laszlo?” John said surprised and Sara had to hold onto her iron will not to slap the both of them in their faces.

“You two are worse than any little town blabbermouth” she snapped.

John frowned feeling accused and Laszlo was ready to give her a lecture that could last until the end of times when you walked inside in a rush.

“Excuse me” you said out of breath, mud stained your dress as you clearly run your way to her Institute handing them a file “This just came”.

You gulped down as Sara glared at Laszlo while she guided you to have a glass of water.Laszlo studied the document without even acknowledging your presence, another victim served on a plate.

That evening he went to see the body, the Isaacson’s giving a full display of the wounds and marks on the body to him and John. By the rules of the obituary, you and Sara weren’t welcomed inside as they were.  You sat silently, slowly tracing the stain on your skirt thinking how bad Laszlo’s impression of you must be now that you even showed yourself in such an improper manner, such a gentleman like him witnessing you in such a state. When they came out of the obituary Sara stood up as you remained sat, the warm presence of Laszlo now hunting you like a ghost every time he is around.

“The murderer knows we re close” Laszlo stated as he sighed, ashamed that another life was lost “I think that this victim in particular..”

“Y/N!”

Marcus interrupted him rushing out of the obituary with his bloody apron still on, his less than sanitary clean hand on your shoulder as Laszlo was ready to reduce the both of you to dust for interrupting him.

“Excuse me Doctor” Marcus head shot up to him before looking back down at you “Thank you for helping with the gifts, Esther adored them, we are going out again tonight” he said excitedly to you and a big smile, the first of the day, blossomed on your lips.

“I told you, you should trust me more often” you said and he nodded vehemently “If things go this good, I will come to ask you to help me with the ring” he said completely hyped up, bouncing curls everywhere, as you crossed your fingers for him and he repeated the gesture before disappearing again called by his brother who was fed up with his love talks already.

Sara crossed her arms as John’s stare went up to Laszlo’s face, the sudden realisation of his mistake hit him like a bag of bricks. A mix of shame and happiness filling him up. And now the doubt: did he ruined his chances forever? The next morning you came into his office, you never stopped wishing him good morning and being polite, no matter his attitude.

“Y/N” he called you as you were placing your belongings aside. Your surprised look due to his softened tone was unmissable to him.

“Come here, I wish to talk to you”

You grew nervous as he didn’t say much else, so you walked to him sitting on the couch beside him, the one where you shared so many talks not too long before, even if now it felt like an eternity.

“I want to apologise to you” he blurted out all together, no need to move around the topic even though that only affirmation run over you harder than any other phrase.

You didn’t reply, allowing him to proceed.

“I apologise, because I have been selfish and foolish” he said, the fingers of his left hand touching nervously the armchair “I have been mistreating you only because my pride was hurt, I have acted like a man without means and courage.”

You parted your lips but he interrupted you before you could even begin.

“Please, let me finish, I have felt from the beginning a prominent fondness toward you. Your character and your kindness make you a remarkable person, you have the talent of bringing out the best out of most people, me included. But I have misread your ways and pointed your natural disposition to a form of romantic interest directed on me and our common friend Marcus Isaacson”

He was still excluding the possibility of you being attracted to him.

“I thought there was something behind it and I acted like a child instead of asking you directly, and I am ashamed for that”

You stared at him, a little smile creeping onto your lips.

“I think you misread only half of the situation Laszlo, as always you’re too unkind on yourself” you said gathering all the courage you had “because my interest toward you was honest while my relationship with Marcus is nothing by friendly”

Now it was Laszlo’s turn to be silenced, a new realisation creeping into his bones, a hope becoming a possibility.

“And is that honest interest still alive after my despicable ways?”

Your smile grew pulled by the redness spreading on your cheeks.

“Maybe” he interrupted. He didn’t want to wait for your answer, your smile spoke for you “maybe we can further bring this conversation to Delmonico’s, tonight, just the two of us”

Your smile grew bigger, his eyes shining for you.

“It will be my pleasure” you answered only, not knowing a bouquet of carnations was already being delivered at your house to welcome you once you’ll be back.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved​ @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 4

"Tch!"  Your forearm blocked a particularly heavy strike from Childe.  It was sure to be bruised tomorrow, but the pain was so freeing.  Maybe you should be attacking the Fatui more often if fighting made you feel THIS good.

"Don't tell me you're tired already," Childe smirked.  "I haven't even gotten to see you use your vision yet!"

The lanterns lighting the city below vaguely illuminated the mountainside in which the two of you were fighting.  It was the perfect view of both city and sea.  Childe was interested in seeing the fantastic firework show, but the way things were going right now, he was more interested in testing your limits.

"Enough about that already," you growled and thrust your elbow into his side.  The small 'oomph' that he exhaled made you a little too happy.  He's wanted a fight with you ever since he came back that day, and even more so since you reunited.  Who were you to refuse him now?  Sure, you've refused in the past, but the anger and bitterness that came flooding back while you were at the festival needed  relief.  Ajax needed to know how much he hurt you all those years ago, whether you directly told him or not.  

Childe, oblivious to the reason behind your sudden willingness to fight, was more than delighted to fight you.  You must've been pretty desperate to change the subject of your phobia if you chose fighting as the alternative!  That didn't stop him from feeling a little bad for pushing the subject, but the thrill of battle soon overcame the guilt and a new fascination overwhelmed his senses.

He was right.  You are like him, even if it's just when you're angry.  He can hone that: train you into becoming a warrior to be reckoned with.  Childe held no intentions to convince you to join the Fatui, but instead prevent your potential from being wasted.  He'd give you the opportunity to grow from amateur to expert.  If you managed to surprise him in this moment, only archons would know exactly what he thought of you.

The harbinger steadied himself and threw his forearm out in time to block your swing, then countered with one of his own to your gut.  It wasn't often that he trained in hand-to-hand combat, but that didn't make him any less deadly.  He had to pull his punches to prevent from hurting you--though if we're being honest, he completely forgot to do that after the first couple minutes.  It's not like you minded anyway. Childe was also slightly impressed at your strength; your looks were definitely deceiving and it worked to your advantage.  He had underestimated you.

No wonder his men were complaining about the vigilante so much.

He caught your roundhouse kick aimed for his head and threw you off balance.  The grass didn't soften your landing.  The sole of his boot sat square in the middle of your chest as he towered over you.  "Not bad," he praised with a raising of his lips.  "I can see why you chose antagonizing the Fatui as a hobby."  Something flashed in your eyes, but Childe wasn't sure what it was.

Your fist slammed into the side of his knee, knocking him off of you.  As he fell you grabbed his arm so he'd land on his back.  You were the one on top of him now with your knees pinning his shoulders into the grass.  "Do you even remember?"  

Childe blinked, and the bloodlust and thrill that was in his eyes was gone.  Remember?  What are--  You were struggling with something dark; your hands pulled the grass out from besides his head, eyes wavering with the slightest bit of hope swirling in the depths of pain.  Seeing your expression, Childe parted his lips to speak.  "Reed--?"

"Heh, forget it," you sniffed, swiping the bottom of your nose with your thumb and sitting up straighter as you vacantly analyzed the blood that now painted your finger.

BOOM! C-r-a-c-k-l-e....!

The Mingxiao lantern exploded somewhere behind you.  The lights from the explosives cast a prolonged glow that illuminated Childe beneath you, but you were still staring at your hand.  It was hard not to think about that night with your father.  What could you have done to change the outcome?  What could have helped you reach Ajax when he returned a different child?  Based on your fight just now, he's never stopped looking for something to take his anger out on; a cruel contrast to the friendly toy seller demeanor.  Meanwhile, Childe: What would've happened if you had fallen into the Abyss with him?  

The lights were beautiful from Childe's point of view, but not for the common reason; they were blocked out save for the ones peeking out from behind your shoulders and head.  You were backlit with bright colors--reds, blues, greens, yellows and oranges.  Each cast a soft glow to your silhouette.  The thoughtful look on your face while you refused to look his way was enticing, what with the sweat that slowly rolled down your temple and the forming bruises splattering across your arms.  And the bloody nose he gave you--the blood that slowly trickled its way down to your upper lip--sent a pleasurable chill down his spine.  You were a breathtaking mess of art.

He briefly wondered if you thought the same of him, but you never glanced down even after the lights of the lantern had faded.

...................

A few miles westward, at the base of Mount Tianheng. Ten minutes before the release of the Mingxiao lantern.

"Alright boys," a dark figure emerged from the shadows of the mountain and scanned the crowd of twenty-plus men all dressed in black robes.  The gruff voice that erupted from the man was enough to silence the hushed whispers between comrades in arms.  "Our scouts confirm the whereabouts of the target in the Northland Bank.  Security is minimal as expected.  Our primary objective is to retrieve those documents.  Understood?"

Silent nods all around.  Not one uttered a word, their obedience absolute.  This was the man that compensated them fairly compared to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.  Injustices laid out against them by their superiors in the Liyue division of the Fatui will be paid in due time. Now that there were enough committed to the cause, the master's plan will be put into action.

"The Fatui will fall," he bellowed.

"The Fatui will fall! The Fatui will fall! The Fatui will fall!"  The servicemen dispersed as quickly as they heeded his words, shouts of determination fading into murmurs then silence.

"Charlie," the leader gestured towards his right-hand man.  "A word."

"Yes, sir?"  The brunette's wolf-like ears perked up at the voice of his master.  It wasn't unusual that he was given a separate mission during times like this, so he prepared himself with a jaw clenched in anticipation.

"Though I doubt any of them would be caught in this operation by either party, I am not risking you for...obvious reasons.  I have a separate matter to discuss with you."  Eyes like a snake's watched Charlie with both thoughtfulness and pride.  Charlie was by far the most trustworthy, being one of the few recruits that were in this group the longest.  He's succeeded all expectations, to say the least.  "You've mentioned before about a rogue citizen attacking the Liyue Fatui?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any new information on them?"

"Well," Charlie shifted his weight to his other foot and pulled at the collar of his jacket.  "According to one of the agents, it's a she.  The lack of evidence she leaves during expeditions indicate she's had some time to plot her attacks and escape routes...she's more of a threat to them than those who are joining our ranks--at least on the agent-level.  Master Childe seems rather unconcerned with her."

"I see.  Well, if you're up for a greater challenge, find her.  And when you do, recruit her.  With her skillset, the destruction of the Liyue Division will happen a lot faster."

"Yes, sir."  This challenge wouldn't be easy.  It was unusual for there to be someone like him in the ranks of the Fatui, but perhaps this could be an advantage for finding this vigilante that's been the talk of the Fatui for so long.

....................

Childe had parted ways with you a few minutes ago and decided to check in with the bank before bed.  The city streets were still bustling with partiers and night owls, so he took the shortcut through neighboring alleyways to avoid the foot traffic.  

He still couldn't figure out why you went quiet after sparring.  Wasn't sure if he missed something--a cue, a word, a phrase...what was it?  And why was it bugging him so much?  His chest was tight and palms sweaty, his heart was even racing a bit.  It was unusual for him to be so on-edge.  His worries were rudely interrupted when he reached the stairs that led up to the bank.  

Millelith.

"Why aren't you helping us?! We told you everything we know! We need those documents back!"  Nadia was practically screaming at one of the authorities.  "I told you, those documents are im--" Spotting Childe, she let out a sigh of relief.  "Oh thank Her Majesty--We've been robbed, Master Childe."

"Robbed?"

"Mm, yes.  The safe was broken into, but not a single mora was taken.  The reception desk is in disarray, as is Andrei's office...papers are strewn about this way and that, and the documents Andrei was holding for you are missing."

"...I see."

"And these...these imbeciles aren't helping!  They're saying there's nothing to do but make a report!"

"I understand the situation.  I'll be taking it from here.  Please return to your post, Nadia."

She turned on her heel.  "Yes sir!"

Childe faced the Millelith again now that it was just him and them remaining.  "Any leads?"

"N-No, sir." The taller one, who was seemingly the one in charge of the investigation, held a stern expression as he stared eye-to-eye with the harbinger.  "No witnesses.  Whoever pulled this off did so with help.  The theory is at least five people were involved."

"Five?"  Childe couldn't help but scoff at such a ridiculous idea.  "And there were no witnesses at all? That's not possible."

"Sir--"

"No! You don't understand.  That's impossible.  Our security is too tight for even one person to slip through.  There had to be someone.  Are you sure you crosschecked those who are on duty?"

The guard just shrugged.  He wasn't even interested in hearing what Childe had to say!  Even the other guards that were accompanying him appeared bored and even annoyed that they had to deal with the Fatui.

Seeing this, the harbinger pulled at his hair.  Steady now, he reminded himself, Don't lose your temper here.  "If I may, I'd like to speak with your leading supervisor."

"You're lookin' at him," the lead guard answered with an arrogant smirk that pissed Childe off even more.

"Tch--Whoever's in charge of you."

"Sorry, but he's off-duty at the moment.  You can speak with him at the civil affairs tomorrow evening."

"Right."  Childe grit his teeth and took an extra deep breath to calm himself.  Of course, it didn't work.  Damn them!  If I could have it my way, they'd be lying in a pool of their own blood right here and now for their audacity to ignore a crime against us--We fund them, for crying out loud! Perhaps I should send for the Tsaritsa's wisdom-- If it weren't for Lady Signora keeping him in the dark in regards to Morax's gnosis, he wouldn't feel like a dog on a tight leash right now.  The great weapon of war forced to heel for the sake of the cryo archon's image.  Childe made his way for Andrei's office with clenched fists.

Sure enough, it was trashed.  Every document, every book, every folder lay strewn about or trampled on.  Nadia and another agent were busy sorting through and placing each in their respective places; Andrei was out near the docks so it would be awhile before anyone managed to get ahold of him...

Childe knelt at the safe under the desk that sat before the set of double-paned windows.  It was empty.  Every single letter from the Tsaritsa was inside; each detailing next and future steps for the Fatui and Northland Bank; classified documents that updated him of the politics occurring in the Motherland; evidence of...certain matters that would no doubt give the Qixing enough power to ban the presence of Fatui in Liyue.  All of it was gone.

Who'd go to such sophisticated lengths to get their hands on these?  The Qixing abide by the law, so they wouldn't do something so unorthodox.  The Millelith were definitely biased and held grudges against him, so they're not entirely ruled out...What was the suspects' goal?  A smear campaign?  If it is, they got it.  

If he hadn't been away from the office, surely they wouldn't have been so bold as to pull off a bank heist.  But one good thing came out of this:  You definitely weren't involved since you were with him.  Wait...whoever did this must've been watching him.  You could be involved if you had help, but you've never mentioned anyone helping you.  So you and this situation were completely unrelated.  That had to be the case.

Regardless, his every move is being watched.  The only question that remains is, by who?

[rookisaknight]

Raf Tanager, meet Hope County

⤘⤘⤘There’s a new Deputy in Town⬽⬽⬽

So as a side benefit of getting into this fandom again with a brand new gender and a brand new vibe: a brand new deputy. Excited to introduce you all to my boy, they were developed for a joint Deputy au with @ophiebot​ (who will do this for their Deputy Elijah Rook if so inclined). Not exactly reinventing any wheels here, but this time its about the indulgence.

FYI, Molly is still extant, but her story I think has been explored in my brainspace as much as it needs to be. 

➷The Basics

1. Give their full name, and describe them or post a picture! (Height, build, hair, eye, and skin color, etc.)

Rafael "Raf" Tanager (birth name REDACTED). 5'4", prone to chub but hardening up with the frequent exercise, solid build. Freckles on cheeks that darken as time goes on. Short hair kept red by some truly obsessive hairdye upkeep, which is harder than you might think. Hazel eyes. Burns and shrapnel scars around the eyes and mouth.

2. How old are they?

24

3. Sexuality and gender?

Bisexual, transmasc genderqueer. She/they/he but a preference for they/he when he doesnt trust the person using them.

➵Pre-Game

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?

Raf grew up closer to Missoula, but he’s still a Montana native. They’ve been at this for around 8 months, pretty much right out of graduating college. Even they honestly aren’t sure how they ended up here, just the latest in a series of adrift jobs after graduating, taken primarily to avoid any potential financial dependence on their  family. Probably would have resigned soon were it not for. Everything.

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?

Pratt: Used to hate his guts. The teasing felt too much like flirting for their comfort and he was honestly kind of a bully. Now its trickier. He's pathetic in a way that’s hard for them to be around, as awful as that is, because it hits too close to home.

Hudson: Had a massive crush on her for most of their early days that pretty much went out the window post Eden’s Gate. They still try a little too hard to impress her though.

Whitehorse: Intellectually, they resent his passivity since it means a lot of Eden’s Gate ended up falling in their lap and he’s STILL insistent that maybe they should have left it alone when they’ve all had months to realize why that was a bad idea in the first place. Emotionally, well, they’re maybe a little in need of a father figure or two.

Elijah Rook: The former Rookie. They were quietly a little intimidated by him prior to all this and that’s never fully gone away, but they’ve now been able to witness more of his dorky side that makes it a little harder to take him seriously. You try chaperoning this guy from one end of Hope County and considering him at all frightening.

3. Do they have an education?

They have a MASTERS and its never relevant to anything because its a humanities degree, specifically the classics. Part of the reason they’re a little adrift currently, there was no easy dismount out of college. Just a hell of a lot of debt.

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?

Missoula, or close enough to it. They picked up some Latin and Greek from their degree. The Latin comes in handy more often than you’d think, what with the cult stuff, but the reading material is a real bummer.

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?

They’ve never had many friends in college and high school that could outlast physical proximity and they basically ghosted their family since that was easier than coming out to them at a certain point. So no, no one they want to find them is looking.

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?

His father is a preacher, and while there’s some baggage there they would still describe themselves as broadly religious. Or at the very least superstitious.

➷Inside Hope County

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?

The crash was honestly the easiest part. That was just panic. The chase was the hard part. The helicopter exploding ended up catching them in the face, leaving them with burns and scarring that would remain for the rest of their life. She's lucky she wasn’t blinded. Still, he was forced to stumble out of the woods in intense pain and bleeding out. Had it not been for Elijah they definitely would have been taken then and there.

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?

Terrified. Not just because of what they’ve done but because Raf knows intuitively that he's susceptible to it. As early as their first encounter they have a hard time breaking the hold Joseph gets on their mind. Even though they’re conscious of HOW they’re being manipulated, its hard to resist it.

3. Did they trust Dutch?

At that point Raf would’ve happily taken literally anyone who seemed to know what they’re doing and wasn’t holding a gun to his head.

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?

Absolutely the nightmare scenario: people’s lives depending on them and their ability to be decisive. Had it not been for Elijah they probably would’ve high tailed it out of there and tried to find someone higher up the authority chain to deal with this mess. Still, just abandoning them all didn’t sit right with him either, and by the time they’d liberated Fall’s End even he had to admit he was there by his own choice.

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?

Again, Raf doesn’t really do well with people depending on them. Alone. they probably would have found it a lot more miserable, but Elijah significantly helped lighten that load for them in terms of having a direction. They’ve found out they’re accidentally pretty good at working with a variety of people and can even be inspiring without meaning to. Still, in their ideal world they would’ve been left alone, or at least remained a foot soldier.

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?

All guns for hire were recruited, but Sharky and Nick were their go-to’s, Sharky for personal reasons and Nick for air support. Grace was usually the adult supervision when Nick couldn’t make it but. To be frank Raf's aim isn’t great and it drives Grace a little nuts on prolonged missions. She’s tried teaching them but it never really seems to stick.

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?

Sharky. That relationship was a bit of a cold opener  (and don’t bother, Sharky already beat you to that joke). After getting their face fucked up during the escape they’ve had a pretty healthy aversion to fire and explosives, making his recruitment a little harrowing. Still, Sharky's sweet in his way, makes them laugh and breathe a little easier when the pressure gets to them, and operates on a pretty similar brainwave. They’ve been joined at the hip since their first few months in Holland Valley. They’re both a little on the codependent side, but really, who are they to complain.

8. Feelings about Joseph?

Joseph taps into a lot of vulnerabilities inside of Raf intuitively. The absence of a strong support system, the loneliness, the fear, the directionlessness, the relationship with their own spirituality, it all provides him a unique entryway into their psyche that he is exactly the kind of person to exploit. As a result, he tends to fixate on them over Elijah, usually to their detriment. Still, that connection can sometimes go both ways, and there are things about Joseph that Raf understands which even his brothers never fully do.

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?

John: They have a unique capacity for antagonizing him. Probably because as an oldest child themselves they know exactly how to jab at the youngest child insecurities. Still, that relationship didn’t stem any deeper and he focused his energies a little more on Elijah. Still, they have him to thank for the Sloth scars on their arm, thanks for that. They’re starting to run out of unmarked skin.

Faith: Faith, meanwhile, was a little more directly focused on Raf, partly because her region was the first time they had to operate a little more on their own. For personal reasons, Elijah wasn’t particularly able to engage with the Bliss. Meaning if Burke was ever going to get saved Raf had to be the one to go in there, again and again. Faith, like Joseph, can tap a lot of that loneliness that Raf has, as well as some gender and sexuality stuff Joseph can’t touch. Suffice to say Sharky had a pretty good reason for being as overbearing as he was during those months, even though he was eventually able to do the job. As a side note, they haven’t had access to their ADHD meds for MONTHS and it doesn’t help when the cult drug is the first thing to make your head feel clear in a while.

Jacob: Jacob was utterly uninterested in Raf and the feeling was mostly mutual. He doesn’t really get him or what he’s about, just knows that the county would be better off when he was put down. Transition goals, though (don’t tell Staci they said that).

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?

Animals yeah, you don’t live in Montana as long as they did without hunting occasionally. People....well. You can get used to it.

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?

Resist. I wouldn’t. Raf might.

➷Personal

1. Favorite weapon(s)?

They usually prefer to show up to spots early and lay traps, try to minimize the direct combat involvement. When it can’t be avoided though, their pistol isn’t ever far and neither is a hunting knife.

2. Stealth or firepower?

Stealth, one hundred percent. Sharky and Eli are here to do the firepower.

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?

A lot of bad movies with the boyfriend and a LOT of poker, one of their more unknown talents. Resistance isn’t gonna fund itself.

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?

Wherever there was a bed they could fall into. Their little trailer they’d been living in prior to all this got absolutely decimated while they were healing up on Dutch’s island.

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!

He’s got almost supernatural luck to the point that a couple of their guns for hire have gotten superstitious about bringing him to certain events. Including fishing. The catch just always seems somehow a little better. Also he’s privately obsessed with the 1998 recording of Cats and is terrified of anyone finding out.

[flightlessangelwings]

Trust and Intuition

The Mandalorian x fem!Reader

Summary: On the search for answers about the child, the Mandalorian finds himself in front of the king of a distant planet. The king contracts him to find a rouge vigilante in the capital city as a favor before giving any answers. But Mando quickly learns there is more to this seemingly random vilgante than meets the eye, and there’s more going on than everyone let on.

Rating: PG for now

Chapter 1/?

~

The Mandalorian sat in the cockpit of his ship and sighed. His new mission was simple in theory, but daunting in reality: find where this child is from and return him home. He stared back at the baby as he found himself wondering where in the galaxy he should start. The child stared back at him and smiled widely. The pair stared at each other for a few moments before the Mandolorian spoke.

“We’ll figure this out, buddy,” he assured the baby, who giggled in response.

It was then that Mando remembered a planet that was renowned for its vast library and research.

“That’s as good a place as any to start,” he said to himself as he set a course for the planet Durane. The trip there was quiet and uneventful; everyone in this part of the galaxy seemed to keep to themselves, which was completely fine with the Mandalorian. He navigated his ship to a lot on the edge of the capital city.

The baby yawned as Mando gathered supplies to go out into the city. “I want you to stay here,” he told the child as he settled him into a cozy cot. The child didn’t protest as easily fell into a deep sleep. Mando gently stroked the baby’s cheek once before he turned to leave.

The capital city of Durane was bustling with life. Traders worked in the large market in the center of town, and there were libraries on every corner. The Mandalorian spent most of the morning asking around for any information on the child’s species, but with no luck. One scholar then suggested to go to the royal palace, where the most lucrative information is kept.

With no other options, the Mandalorian went to the large palace on the top of the hill and asked for an audience with the king. The palace guards and advisors scrambled: what does a mandalorian want with the king?

“Mandalorian, the king will see you now,” a guard called Mando’s attention just as he was about to give up and leave. He nodded without a word and followed the guard into the main audience chamber.

It was a lavish room filled with old weapons as decor on the walls and the best woven rugs on the floors. For how much it was decorated, the room itself was mostly bare. A few table lined the walls, and the large throne sat elevated in the center of the room. On that throne, sat the king, dressed in all black topped with a silk cape.

“I am King Jido Thalcard of Durane,” he spoke in an authoritative voice, “But you already knew that.”

Mando gave a small nod, but said nothing yet. He stood tall with his arms crossed in front of him.

“What brings a mandalorian all the way out here to my humble little planet?”

“I’m looking for answers,” he said.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

Mando chose his words carefully as he wasn’t sure if this king was trustworthy yet, “I came across a creature that I’ve never seen before and I need to know more about it.”

The king scoffed, “A bounty that stumped this bounty hunter?! I’m intrigued,” he paused for a moment, “I’ll grant you access to the palace library, but I need you to do something for me first.”

The Mandalorian sighed quietly, of course it wouldn’t be this easy, “What do you need?”

“There’s a vigilante running around causing havoc in my city,” Kind Jido started.

“And you need me to take him out for you,” Mando guessed the end of his sentence.

“Yes and no,” the king rose for the first time, “I need him brought to me alive. You see, not only has he stolen from me and started riots in my streets,” he took a few steps towards the bounty hunter as he tapped his fingers together, “But he’s also kidnapped my queen. I need to know what he’s done with her,” his voice lowered to no more than a growl.

“Understood,” Mando said simply before he turned to leave.

~

You navigated your way through the busy plaza with your small embroidered duffle bag strapped tightly against your body. A hood covered your head, and you wore goggles to cover your eyes and a mask with a voice changer covered the lower half of your face. No one paid you any mind as you kept your head down and ducked around anyone you passed by. The only time you let your presence known was to help a woman that was being heckled by an unruly customer, and then went right back to your anonymity. 

You came up to a stand and made a purchase quickly before you moved on, your purchase safely tucked in your bag. You took a few steps before you had a strange feeling, like you were being watched. As you looked over your shoulder, you noticed who was watching you: the mandalorian. A short gasp escaped your lips as you turned to run.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you weasled your way out of the crowded part of the plaza. In the back of your mind, you knew it was only a matter of time before the king would send someone after you. He didn’t exactly approve of your presence in his city, especially since it made his citizens question his authority. You didn’t look behind you, but you knew he was still on your tail. 

When you turned around a corner to a quiet alley, you almost ran directly into the mandalorian. Without a word, he reached out to grab your arm, but you slipped back before his hand closed on you. In one swift movement, you flung your bag into the shadows and pulled out two small staffs. You were determined not to go down without a fight, even if you knew what the outcome would be. 

The mandalorian stood his ground and waited for you to make the first move. You exhaled before you lashed out at him with your batons. He ducked and countered with a knife. The alley was quiet save for the clangs of your weapons as you parried with the bounty hunter.

After studying your movements, Mando got the advantage and knocked you off your feet. He was actually impressed how well you fought and held your ground until this point. You feel to the ground with a grunt, and the bounty hunter kicked your weapons away from you. 

As you hit the ground, your head collided with the hard floor and your goggles shattered. You strained to push yourself up to a sitting position, and with a sigh you pulled your goggles off of your face. Your head throbbed, but you got lucky that your mask hit the ground and not your head directly. 

Mando watched as you took a few deep breaths before you raised your hands up in surrender. He took a pair of cuffs out and locked your arms behind your back before he dragged you to your feet.

“Wait,” your voice sounded normal, the voice modulator in your mask must have broken when you hit the ground. You cursed to yourself; that would make things harder when he got you back to the palace. 

“I’m taking you in,” he said simply.

“Just wait,” you said breathlessly, tired from your spar. This made him stop in his tracks. “Just do me one favor. Please,” you pleaded.

The mandalorian just stared at you, unsure of what to say. It was definitely bold of his target to ask anything of him. 

“Please,” you started, “This is important. Just take my bag to the ruins on the outside of the city,” desperation lined your voice.

He looked into your eyes and saw the genuine concern in them. He also heard the pain in your voice, which wasn’t the voice he was expecting to hear. His grip on your arm loosened slightly as something in his head told him to trust you.

“I can pay you,” you added in a last effort to get the bounty hunter to comply with your request. 

That snapped him out of his thoughts.

“In my pocket here,” you nodded your head to your right. Mando stared at your for a moment, and as if you read his thoughts you added, “I know when I’ve been defeated. I’m not going to try anything.”

The bounty hunter tightened his grip on your arm as he reached for your pocket. Right at the top, he felt the credits you mentioned. He looked into your eyes again as he pulled them out before he led you back to the palace. Neither of you spoke again after that. 

The large doors of the grand hall opened to let in the mandalorian and his catch. Your arms were still bound behind you and a strong hand held you tightly. You held yourself tall and wore a fierce look in your eyes, the only part of your face visible.

King Jido sat on his throne and watched the two of you walk in. A dark smile graced his face when he saw what the bounty hunter had brought him, “Excellent work, Mandalorian,” he spoke as he walked towards the center of the room to meet you.

Mando simply bowed his head slightly as he released his grip on you. Uninterested in what the king had to say, he turned to a steward behind him for his payment. You stared at the king with a fierce look, as if you tried to stab him with your gaze alone. 

“Did he say anything, mandalorian?” Jido’s voice called his attention.

He turned slightly back towards the voice, “He didn’t say a word.”

Under your mask, a smile flashed across your face, but you were careful not to let it know in your eyes. In your eyes, all you let show was hate and rage directed at the king that now stood directly in front of you.

“Where have you taken her, scum?” his voice was but a growl as he grabbed you by your clothes. 

With your voice modulator broken, you knew your voice would give your identity away. Instead, you chose to answer with action and headbutted the king, and hit him right in the nose. His body flew back as he lost his footing and his guards shouted and aimed their blasters at you. Mando didn’t move, however, and under his helmet he laughed to himself. There was something about the king he did not trust, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly why. He took the distraction as an opportunity to slip out of the room with his payment unnoticed.

King Jido raised his arms up, “Lower your weapons,” he ordered as he touched his hand to his face, now coated in blood. The guards did as they were told. He sauntered up to you and took your masked chin in his hands. He studied your eyes for a moment before he spoke, “No one looks at me with that much open rage,” his voice was low so that only you could hear him, “Maybe some time in the dungeon will calm you down.”

You understood the threat in his voice, and knew exactly what his words meant. You sighed as the guards hauled you out of the grand room. The only hope you had was that the mandalorian was a man of his word and would go where you asked him to. What lay there was more important to you than your life anyway. As long as that was safe, then you were at peace with your situation.

~

Notes: I hope you all enjoyed the start of my new story here! I actually wanted to get a little further in the plot with this chapter but it was getting long so I’m ending it here. I’m already working on chapter 2 though! The planet the the king are things I made up for the story.

[momentofmemory]

fictober - day sixteen

Prompt #16: “Listen. No, really listen.”

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe - Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Netflix Marvel (Daredevil) 

Rating: T

Warnings: Sensory Overload, Explosions

Characters: Peter Parker & Matt Murdock

Words: 2279

Author’s Note: set somewhere between spider-man: homecoming and avengers: infinity war (but after DD s3). this was not meant to be as long as it is and i guess maybe i’m writing more of them now?? only time will tell…

>>I Hear, Said the Blind Man

A sword comes flying out of nowhere at his head, and Peter thinks that is this is exactly why he should never leave Queens.

The great thing about being a superhero in New York City is that the city is arguably huge, but patrolling never feels like it because of the sheer number of vigilantes in the area. Queens is his, but Harlem belongs to some guy called Luke Cage, the aptly named Brooklynite has, well, Brooklyn, and the Bronx has—

…Does the Bronx have anyone, actually?

Peter backflips mid-thought to avoid getting skewered by another very pointy sword, then launches himself at the ceiling as it’s immediately followed by a blast from the alien guns he’s been tracking all month.

Hell’s Kitchen is technically Daredevil’s place, and he knows the guy’s pretty territorial but he didn’t exactly have a way of contacting him, so.

Field trip.

“Do you even have a license for these?” Peter fires his web-shooters at the closest gun-wielding ninja, yanking the contraption away and slamming its wielder into one of the supports. “I know you guys are like, two hundred years out of date, but the DA tends to be pretty strict on enforcing unauthorized carry laws.”

Peter takes advantage of his perch in the rafters to remove the power core from the gun, then chucks the useless shell at its previous owner. A warning blares at the base of Peter’s skull, and he lurches to the side just in time to avoid a throwing star aimed for his chest.

“Okay, I get it, I get it, no one likes unsolicited legal advice.”

Peter’s hand snaps out and wraps around the wrist of the ninja trying to sneak up on him. “I’m not a fan of unsolicited murder, either!”

The ninjas are definitely way more skilled than he is, but what Peter lacks in finesse he makes up for in raw strength. He sidesteps the ninja’s sword (man, these guys are quiet), then throws him forcefully over his shoulder and into the last ninja.

They both go down and stay down.

Peter hops down to floor and dusts himself off—rafters are always disgusting—and nudges one of the fallen ninjas with his toe. There’s no sign of consciousness, so he slides around the black-clad figure to check on the box the guns were packed in. He peeks over the edge of the crate and notes only one is missing—the one he’d already disarmed. He breathes a sigh of relief.

“Score one for the Queens kid,” Peter says, webbing the last gun and snapping it to his outstretched hand. “I hope you enjoyed the show but I will not be here all night, because some of us have calculus tests to study for.”

Peter slips his phone out of its hidden pocket, and is just about to call the police when his sixth sense lights up his entire spine. He whirls around just in time to see at least twelve more ninjas slip into the warehouse.

He’s surrounded.

“Listen guys,” he says, ignoring the warnings Karen’s blaring into his feed, “if this is your idea of a surprise party I gotta say, you need to work on your presenta—”

Peter’s cut off when a ninja materializes beside him, and he barely gets the gun up in time to block his opponent’s attack. He flinches when the blade still goes more than three-fourths of the way through the metal casing.

He shoves the man using more of his super strength than he’d normally be comfortable with, and the ninja flies across the room and lands in a soundless heap. “Not to go full nineties, but I knew I should have stayed home today.”

That’s the last quip or takedown Peter manages to pull off, because while he’d done pretty well against five ninjas, he is no match for a dozen. Peter tries his best to make offensive moves when he can, but for the most part he’s caught in an endless cycle of successful and slightly less successful dodging. He’s further handicapped by the fact that he’s trying to stay in the vicinity of the weapons container, certain that the second he loses sight of it, it’ll be gone. After the fifth sword swipe he’d failed to entirely avoid, Peter thinks maybe he should give up on that part.

In that moment, two things happen.

First, a red and black billy club comes flying from the rooftop and incapacitates the ninja about to turn Peter into a shish kabob, and Peter thinks holy shit I’m going to meet Daredevil.

Second, said ninja’s sword is redirected towards the weapons crate and slices clean through one of the power cores, and Peter thinks holy shit I’m going to die.

Then Peter’s world explodes.

Or at least, Peter’s pretty sure that’s what happens, because he doesn’t have any other explanation for how he goes from fighting for his life in a warehouse to leaning against a chimney on a rooftop.

“You all right?”

Peter turns his head towards the voice, but everything feels muted, like that one time the Vulture dropped him into a lake. Or like that one time the Vulture nearly got them both blown up.

That last one’s probably more relevant.

Peter starts to yank his mask off in an attempt to breathe easier before he remembers he’s not alone. Instead, he blinks a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus. Slowly, the blurry shape in front of him materializes into the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Then everything else materializes, too.

He doesn’t feel any injuries from the explosion per se, the suit having protected him from the brunt of it, but it’s wreaked absolute havoc on his senses. Sound comes rushing in as his accelerated healing repairs the damage to his eardrums, and it’s too much, too fast, too loud.

“Karen, turn the—turn the dampeners on,” he gasps.

He sees hears feels Daredevil tense across from him, but he doesn’t have the brain capacity to figure out reason for the Devil’s reaction.

“I’m sorry, Peter. The settings for limited sensory deprivation are not available at the moment.”

The blood drains from Peter’s face, and his already high-pitched voice jumps an entire octave. “What do you mean not available?”

“Some of my systems appear to have been damaged in the explosion. The suit will require manual repair in order to bring them back online.”

“Spider-Man?” Daredevil’s voice is too loud, too close.

Peter waves a hand in front of him, trying to get him and all the noise associated with him to go away.

“Your blood pressure appears to be spiking, Peter. Do you require assistance?”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. “No, I’m fine Karen, I just—I—shit.”

It’s childish, and dammit Peter wanted to make a cool first impression on another superhero for once, but instead he presses his hands over his ears and whines because it’s just so much and it’s everywhere and it’s—it’s—

It’s his heartbeat thumping wildly out of control in his chest—

It’s the crunch of gravel under Daredevil’s feet—

It’s the wind skipping across the roof and over the air conditioning units—

It’s the cat stalking a mouse on the street below; the man rifling through the garbage; the hurried footsteps of late night traffic; tourists with cameras, car horns honking, brakes squealing, engines backfiring, locals yelling, sirens wailing; the sound of his breathing, the leather in the Devil’s costume, the drip of a drainpipe, the drip, the drip, the DRIP—

Daredevil squats down in front of him and Peter’s head jerks up.

“Can you hear me?”

Peter bites his lip so hard it bleeds, because he’s pretty sure Daredevil is whispering but it sounds like it’s being shouted through an air horn. “That’s—that’s kind of the problem, Mr. Daredevil, sir, I’m really sorry—”

“It’s okay.” The cat hisses on the street, and Daredevil lowers his voice even further. “Can you listen?”

Peter thumps his head against the chimney, because he just said that’s all he can do right now and the cat’s just caught that mouse and—

“No,” Daredevil says, interrupting his spiral. “Really listen.”

Shit, does he have mind reading powers?

“Pick one sound and listen to that.” The Devil keeps talking, and somehow Peter hears him over the rest of the noise. “It’s okay if you still hear the others—but only listen to one.”

Peter slowly lowers his hands from his ears and tries, but there’s just so many of them.

A window slams shut two buildings over at the same time Daredevil clears his throat. “There’s a grandfather clock with a second hand that skips every third tick, in an apartment building four blocks from here.”

Four blocks what the hell—

“I uh—I can’t go quite that far,” Peter stammers, cautiously opening an eye. “But there’s a drainpipe across the street that keeps dripping.”

Daredevil tilts his head to the side, then smiles. “In front of Dahlia’s Flower Shop.”

“I guess so.” Peter closes his eyes again.

Peter hears Daredevil back away from him, just a few feet, to keep from crowding him. “Tell me about it.”

His concentration slips when a tourist stops in the middle of the sidewalk and someone starts berating them. “It’s… a drainpipe?”

“Is it metal? Concrete? Plastic?” Daredevil takes out his billy-club and rotates it between his hands. “What does the way it echoes sound like?”

Peter searches the dripping noise out and tries to focus on the water and the wind.

“…Metal,” he decides.

“Is the water fresh, or dirty?”

Peter doesn’t know how to distinguish between the two at first, but then he imagines the way dirty water sloughs through pipes as opposed to the way clean water glides, and when he realizes he can isolate the smell, too, he says, “Dirty.”

“And how high is the pipe when the water drops out?”

Peter listens to the water separating at the mouth of the pipe, waits for how long it takes for the splash as it hits the ground. “…Two feet?”

“Good.” The smile is still in the Devil’s voice. “Last question: what is the water landing on.”

Peter tilts his head in the same way Daredevil had, and strains his hearing to pick up as much detail as he can. The water coming out of the drainpipe feels hard, like the metal encasing it, but when it lands the splash is muted—like it’s sliding to a stop instead of hitting a flat surface. There’s also an almost bouncy quality to it, so it must be something that’s not rigid—something delicate, or fragile.

He remembers what Daredevil had said about the shop the pipe was connected to, and his eyes fly open with a grin.

“Flowers!”

Daredevil nods and sits back against one of the air conditioning units. Peter keeps listening to the sound, wondering what else he can figure out about it.

After a few minutes, Daredevil slides his billy-club back into its holder. “How’s your hearing?”

“Wha—?” Peter jerks his attention back to Daredevil, and suddenly realizes the world has gone back to sounding like Normal-New-York, instead of Acid-Trip-New-York. His eyes widen.

“Whoa, thanks! It normally takes forever to go back to normal when this happens. How’d you learn to do that?”

“Not in any way I’d recommend,” he says, propping his elbow up on his knee and letting his hand hang down. “Now, at the risk of sounding needlessly overbearing, what’re you doing in my city on a school night?”

“Oh, uh, well I didn’t really mean to come all the way out here, but I’ve been trying to track down this weapon’s deal for like a month and—” Peter chokes as he registers the end of Daredevil’s sentence. “Wait, school night? Why would uh, why would that matter?”

“It’s your heartbeat. Too fast to be an adult’s.”

“I was panicking!”

“And your voice?”

“…Also panicking!” He clears his throat and attempts to drop a half step. “Not that I am anymore. Because I’m a superhero. Adult. Adult superhero.”

“Hearing people’s heartbeats also means I can tell when they’re lying.”

Peter freezes, then drops his head into his hands. “Shit.”

“Are you old enough to say that?”

Peter’s indignant. “Yes!” Then he pauses. “Wait, if we’re here does that mean the ninja guys got away?”

Daredevil shrugs. “The blast took out all of the weapons. The Hand wasn’t interested in sticking around after that.”

“The Hand?”

“…Stick to Queens, kid.”

Peter flinches and draws his knees in to his chest, which probably doesn’t help his image, but. He’s really tired of being a disappointment.

Daredevil gets to his feet and for a second, Peter thinks he’s just going to leave him. Then a gloved hand appears in front of his face.

Peter looks up in surprise.

“You’ve got talent, Spider-Man,” he says, and Peter notices he doesn’t remove the man part.

“Really?” Peter’s mood lifts almost instantaneously. “I mean—yeah, yeah of course. Talent. You too.”

Daredevil shakes his head, but pulls Peter to his feet without commenting on his exuberance. “Give me a call if you hear anything else about weapons—or ninjas—in Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe we can work something out next time.”

“Whoa,” Peter breathes, his feet rooted to the ground as Daredevil walks away. Daredevil’s already reached the edge of the roof before an important thought occurs to him. “Hey, wait, I don’t have your number!”

Daredevil smirks. “You don’t need one.”

With that, the vigilante flips off the roof to the next building, and disappears behind its slope. Peter stares at nothing, and wonders if he should try to chase him down.

Then Peter hears water dripping out of a drainpipe, and thinks four blocks down.

Peter grins.

[bronzeflower]

The Opposite of a Fake Relationship

Also on ao3

Chapter 1: The “Introduction”

-----

“The Flying Pigs commissioned me for a few major renovations to their headquarters. Looks like I’m gonna be seeing a lot more of you at work,” Victor informed. “Which means you’re gonna be all serious and authority-like.”

“I have a reputation to keep,” Arlo insisted, and Victor giggled and squished Arlo’s cheeks.

“Yeah, but the moment you look at me, you go all soft and adorable,” Victor’s point was proven immediately by Arlo looking at him with utter adoration. “Everyone’s gonna know we’re married the moment they see us together in any capacity.”

“They have more important things to worry about than my marital status.”

“Sure they do.” Victor gave Arlo a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later today if everything goes well. Make sure the kids get to school safe and on time.”

“Like they’d allow for us to be late by even a minute,” Arlo joked. “Remi has started to a big stickler about what time they actually arrive at school. She said, and I quote, ‘They have to be there at 7:40 at the latest otherwise they’ll die.’”

“She’s always been dramatic.”

“Dad! We’re going to be late!” Remi yelled. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

“I’m coming!” Arlo responded. “Bye, darling.”

“Bye, bye,” Victor kissed Arlo again, and he smiled as he heard Sam complain about how school started at 8:00, so there was no way they were going to be late, with Remi reminding him that death would imminent if they were, so it was always best to be early to avoid even the possibility.

Victor didn’t know where Remi got the idea that she and her brother would die if they were even a minute late to school, but it got them out of bed in the morning, so he supposed it was an improvement on Remi and Sam refusing to even acknowledge the world when it was early.

After waving off his husband and kids, it was time for Victor to get to work. This was a big commission, and there were a lot of materials to gather.

Of course, the Flying Pigs would never dumb down on defense, so Victor ended up feeling like he was gathering materials for making reinforcements rather than an entire expansion to the building.

It took about a week for Victor to gather and craft all the materials he needed, even with the materials he already had, but he had finally done it, and, for that, he was glad.

Now, all that was left was bringing the materials over to the Flying Pigs to get started on the expansion.

Victor was giddy, excited to build and excited to see his husband at his workplace.

But, of course, Victor had to get through security first, which was stringent for good reason. Regardless, Victor managed to get in, and someone showed up to bring him to where he was building the expansion.

His name was Barin, and he was weirdly nervous, but he was generally friendly and pointed out things and people they came across.

“Th-that over there is Arlo,” Barin pointed towards where Arlo was training with other Flying Pigs members. “You’ve probably he-heard of him. He’s one of the strongest folks over, over here.”

“So are you going to introduce me?” Victor asked kind of as a joke, but Barin frantically nodded and awkwardly tried to get Arlo’s attention.

“Arlo, e-excuse me,” Barin had his arms out slightly, as if warding off anything that would try and hurt him.

A girl with long black hair that was set in a ponytail looked up from her stretches to glare towards Barin before turning her head towards Arlo.

“Arlo!” She barked. “There’s some new kid in here!”

Arlo looked over, and Victor grinned at him, waving hello.

“Y-yes, this is the builder who’s g-going to be working on the new expansion,” Barin explained. “So-sorry, I forgot your name. What was it again?”

“Victor! Victor of the Victory Workshop. It’s good to meet you,” Victor threw Arlo a wink, and he didn’t miss the way Arlo’s mouth turned up slightly.

“Arlo, member of the Flying Pigs.”

Victor and Arlo shook hands, and Victor gave Arlo a challenging grin.

“Barin over here was telling me how you were one of the strongest folks in this joint. Care to demonstrate?”

Barin looked absolutely mortified while the girl with the long ponytail let out a loud laugh.

“I like this kid! Name’s Aureall. Good to meet you.”

“I’ve got a least a decade on you, Aureall,” Victor pointed out, but Aureall didn’t really seem to care, so he focused his attention back on Arlo. “So, what do you say? How’s a sparring match between men?”

“Don’t you have an expansion to build?” Arlo said in what probably sounded like his usual serious voice to others, but Victor could detect the hint of amusement in there.

“Just one sparring match. One minute. No weapons,” Victor laid out their typical sparring rules. “I’ve got the time.”

“Are you sure? I don’t hold back, and I wouldn’t want to leave you incapable of doing your job,” Arlo teased, and Victor found himself laughing.

“Lucky for you, I don’t hold back either,” Victor got into a subtle fighting stance. “I’d be offended if you did.”

“A-Arlo! Pl-please don’t spar him!” Barin begged. “He’s just a builder-I-I doubt he can go up against you without getting hurt!”

“If you’re worried, I can spar you first,” Victor suggested. “I think you’re a lot stronger than you let on.”

“No sparring!” Barin demanded, and Aureall protested.

“I wanna see Arlo kick some nobody’s butt.”

“Don’t assume someone’s strength before you fight them,” Arlo advised. “That’s a good way to lose.”

“Does that mean you’ll accept?”

“Don’t hold back,” Arlo got into a fighting stance, and Victor’s grin turned manic.

“Like I’d ever.”

Victor was very familiar with Arlo’s moveset, and he wondered if it was obvious from watching them spar that he knew exactly when to move to avoid getting hit and where exactly to aim for to do the most damage.

Of course, the same could be said for Arlo, and it was a hard battle full of blocking and dodging and landing hits. Victor was pretty sure Arlo was trying even harder than usual in an attempt to look good in front of his coworkers.

However, in the end, Victor was merciless and managed to be victorious.

“Thanks for the sparring match!” Victor declared. “Maybe we could do a rematch sometime, but I’ve got work to do now. Hey, Barin, show me the rest of the way.”

Victor left, and Arlo couldn’t help but watch him as he left the area. It felt a little weird to say goodbye without exchanging at least one kiss, if not more, but, then again, this place wasn’t exactly the most appropriate area for PDA.

“Wow, in love already?” Aureall teased. “Didn’t strike you as a man who believed in love at first sight.”

“I don’t,” Arlo shook his head.

“That was an impressive battle,” Helene spoke up. “I kind of want to spar him myself now…”

“Me too!” Aureall agreed. “Next time he rears his head around here, I’m gonna beat him up so hard!”

“You sound like a school bully,” Helene said. “And besides, what makes you think that you can beat him? Even Arlo lost against him.”

“He only sparred Arlo!” Aureall claimed. “And weren’t you considering sparring him too? Why get into a fight that you’re so sure you’ll lose?”

“He had an interesting fighting style. I want to see it up close.”

“Why don’t you stop talking about him and get back to training?” Arlo interrupted, back to being serious.

“What, jealous?” Aureall joked, but she and Helene got back to work after a glare from Arlo.

Arlo and Victor talked about what happened that day when Arlo got back from work.

“We should probably tell them that we’re married,” Arlo suggested.

“But, consider this, it’s hilarious to make them think we’ve never met before,” Victor countered with a grin. “And it’s not like it’s interfering with anything.”

“I won’t deny that it’s amusing, but it is a little on the unethical side.”

“We can always just say that we wanted to stay professional in the workplace,” Victor pointed out. “You know, for when people do find out. But I wanna see how long it takes people to do so in the first place.”

“I guess it would be a good lesson in observation,” Arlo reasoned. “Alright. So what’s the plan?”

“We interact with each other relatively normally, with the exception that we will be keeping everything workplace appropriate.”

“Sparring me wasn’t exactly workplace appropriate.”

“Of course it is! It’s the Flying Pigs!”

“Aureall and Helene really want to spar you now,” Arlo mentioned, and Victor smiled.

“Tell them I’ll spar with them next time I see them. It’ll be on sight.”

“You should give them more warning than that.”

“Maybe, especially if we wanna keep up the idea that we don’t know each other outside of work.”

“Aureall already thinks that it was love at first sight.”

“Oh my god, that’s so funny,” Victor laughed. “But not that too far off. We pretty much got married as soon as we had the downtime. And now we’ve been married for, what? Almost ten years?”

“I think I lost count after the fifth year.”

“Honestly, me too,” Victor nodded. “But I don’t think I’ll ever forget how I fell for you.”

“Yeah, and how did you fall for me?” Arlo asked even though he almost certainly knew.

“When you asked me to join you in training for the Flying Pigs and had me run all around Portia for a week,” Victor started. “And you told me about your dream of joining the Flying Pigs, and that’s when I fell for you.”

“Liar,” Arlo poked Victor, and he laughed.

“You’re right, I fell for you when we were eating at the Round Table, and I made you laugh so hard that milk came out of your nose.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing we’re keeping our relationship from the Flying Pigs. You have to avoid telling that story to everyone you meet.”

“Oh my god, you’re right. Now I can’t decide what’s better - fooling everyone into thinking we’ve never met before or embarrassing the hell out of you with terrible stories. Whatever shall I do?”

“You can wait until people figure out we’re married.”

“You’re a genius, and I love you.”

“Love you too, darling.”

“Dad! I’m hungry!” Sam came clamoring in just as Arlo was leaning down for a kiss. “Ew. You’re being gross.”

Sam stuck his tongue out, and Victor let out a soft laugh as he pulled away from Arlo.

“Well, my dear and beloved child, what would you like for dinner?” Victor asked. “We’ve got the ingredients for seafood noodles or for bamboo papaya and seafood with rice.”

“Hmm,” Sam thought very seriously. “Noodles. Oh! And can we have some stewed mushrooms?”

“Of course!” Victor responded. “Would you like to help me prepare our meal? And ask your sister if she’d like to help as well.”

Sam nodded and left to go inform Remi of how it was time to start making dinner.

“Alright, babe, the children demand sacrifice, so I’ve got to go.”

“When are you gonna stop calling dinner sacrifice?”

“Never.”

Victor swept at Arlo’s leg to knock him slightly off balance and kissed him once Arlo was low enough.

“I regret you becoming friends with Sam and Remington,” Arlo stated when the kiss was over.

“They’re your friends too,” Victor responded. “But, anyway, the children are hungry, and they’ve got to eat, and so do we.”

“I’ll join you in cooking this time,” Arlo offered, and Victor smiled.

“Sure, we’ll have the whole family cooking together. Make sure Remi uses the knife safely. I’m gonna put Sam on stewing duty.”

Cooking dinner was generally chaotic, with Sam getting impatient often with waiting for the food to cook, Remi generally not have a great idea of knife safety, and Arlo simply not being all that great of a cook, but, in the end, they made something delicious, and they had a lovely dinner together.

[88missmarauder88]

He had almost fooled himself into believing his parents had just chosen to ignore the Sorting.

After all, Sirius had been rebelling against their ridiculous pureblood rubbish for years now, ever since his mother had sat him and Regulus down at the ages of 8 and 6 to teach them about their "place in the world" -- which was, in a nutshell, a few miles above everything and everyone else.

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black stands alone," Walburga Black had said, head held so high Sirius thought she might bump her nose on the chandelier. "The blood of no other family in the wizarding world is as pure."

When Sirius suggested they may want to rethink that eventually, lest they run out of cousins to marry, she had forced him to write their House words -- "Toujours Pur", Always Pure -- twenty times with a Black Quill, a dark artefact Sirius figured was so named because some psychotic relation of his probably invented it. Afterwards, she'd locked him in his room for three days, a punishment that always came as more of a relief to him than anything else.

Once the stinging in his hand subsided, and with his well-hidden stash of sweets available to stave off hunger, Sirius filled the hours with the only happiness that existed for him at 12 Grimmauld Place: the world just outside it.

Entirely unnoticed by the objects of his attention due to the strong Muggle-Repelling Charms that guarded the home, he would open his window, sit on the sill, and watch the muggles of Islington go about their daily lives. Besuited businessmen filled the sidewalks in the early mornings and evenings, rushing to and from the bus stop or the Underground station like well-dressed ants. Shop workers, students, and families walked and bicycled about. At night, there would be couples out for a stroll, policemen making their rounds, and, if he was particularly lucky, a drunken scrap now and again.

He'd experienced his first burst of accidental magic on that sill one evening when he witnessed a thief snatch the handbag of an elderly woman. The woman's distressed cries upset and infuriated him, and he'd leaned out the window to shout for help, forgetting that no one would hear. Instead, however, he felt his magic surge outwards and watched as the snatcher's progress abruptly halted, as if he'd slammed into an invisible wall. The man fell to the sidewalk, unconscious, allowing the woman to retrieve her bag and a constable time to arrive.

Sirius had felt something he never had before, and hadn't since: proud of himself.

He especially enjoyed watching the neighbourhood children, though it always left him melancholy. Over the years, he'd learnt a fair bit about muggle sports from studying their condensed games of football and cricket. They'd greatly contributed to the expansion of the colourful vocabulary he now prided himself on -- and that his parents tried in vain to beat out of him -- and he'd dreamt up hundreds of adventures they could go on together, if only he could join in. He'd resolved so many times to march down the stairs and right out into the street before remembering he'd be hard put to explain his appearance out of seemingly nowhere.

But what captured Sirius's heart more than anything else he saw from his bedroom window were the cars and motorbikes. He delighted in the colourful automobiles that made their way up and down the street; shining red Cortinas and sleek black Capris rumbled along, their proud young owners vying for the attention of passing girls. He was particularly enamoured of the motorbikes -- the freedom and danger they exuded, the smell of the exhaust, the roar of the engines when a pair would set off on an impromptu race.

His fascination with the muggle world did not go unnoticed by his mother. On occasions she'd caught him drawing pictures of bikes or explaining some of the finer points of football to Regulus, she'd shut him in the vast family library with their loathsome house-elf, Kreacher, standing guard to ensure he read the stack of books she set before him -- books on wizarding superiority and the expectations and responsibilities that came with being a member of pureblood society. Sirius would read until his stomach turned at the things the books implied, then flip the pages absently as he imagined what his life would be like once his Hogwarts letter arrived.

Any scenario that found him away from his parents for the better part of the seven years that would lead him into adulthood was a pleasant one. But even exhilarating thoughts of residing in the majestic castle he'd seen in photographs and learning to harness his magic were tempered by fear over whether he'd finally find the friendship he so desperately craved.

Sirius knew which House he was destined for. He couldn't forget if he tried -- he went to sleep each night and woke every morning to the sight of the green and silver bedclothes and curtains that draped both his and Regulus's beds. He also knew Slytherin House's reputation, and that if his deductions were correct, it was about to go from bad to worse.

Sirius's Uncle Alphard, his mother's brother and the only member of his family, save Regulus, who had ever shown him any kindness, was aware of his young nephew's fondness for all things muggle. Entertained by it -- and all too conscious of the fact the boy needed occasional reprieve from Grimmauld Place -- he'd become Sirius's chief source of information when it came to the world running parallel to their own, taking him on outings when he could to the chiefly muggle areas of the city. Alphard had also gifted him a set of books written by a wizard author for muggle entertainment. His uncle told him if there were three skills above all others he would do well to develop as a member of the House of Black, observance, vigilance, and suspicion would comprise the list. Sirius had read the exploits of Sherlock Holmes eagerly, and more out of boredom than any desire to know what his parents and their company prattled on about, he had become a rather talented eavesdropper, lurker, and amateur sleuth. Through those pastimes, he was aware of unrest in the wizarding world, unrest fueled by blood supremacists who felt the time had come to "further assert" their lofty status. Sirius was as yet unsure what exactly they meant by that; he did, however, know the conversations filled him with a cold sense of dread.

But foreboding aside, Sirius was also already acquainted with most of the other scions with whom he was meant to share the dungeons of Hogwarts. He'd met them at weddings, funerals, banquets, balls, and all other manner of wretched social affairs for which he was violently stuffed into uncomfortable dress robes by Kreacher and threatened within an inch of his life against shaming his noble and most ancient House. They were a dull, tedious, jumped-up lot of all-around smarmy gits -- his various and sundry cousins included -- and he'd long ago resigned himself to the fact he would have to rely on the good graces of members of some other House if he hoped to establish even a casual friendship.

Then he'd ducked into a random compartment on the Hogwarts Express and found pieces of himself he hadn't even realised were missing.

Warmed by thoughts of his friends as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, Sirius clapped James on the back as he dropped into his seat. The boy grinned at him before tossing a piece of bacon across the table at Remus, who had his nose stuck in a book. Peter laughed loudly.

Sirius felt happier than he reckoned he had a right to, and perhaps that's what jinxed him.

He hadn't even looked up when the owls came soaring into the room with the morning post. The thought of any fond letters or care packages from home arriving for him was laughable. He was therefore caught completely unawares when his family's great grey owl, Nobilis, dove low over him, dropping a bright-red envelope onto his plate and pecking him hard on the head before reversing course. "Ducklifors!" Sirius shouted, aiming his wand at the moving target. Nobilis's screech quickly became a series of quacks as the bird transformed into a duck before escaping out the window.

"With any luck, it's bloody hunting season in Hogsmeade," Sirius muttered.

"Nice shot!" James said, impressed, before turning his attention to the envelope on Sirius's plate. "Oh, bugger, mate..."

Sirius stared at the Howler with pure hatred in his eyes. She'd waited on purpose. Letting him get comfortable, probably counting on the fact he'd been able to forge a friendship or two amongst his new Housemates by now. He knew how her callous mind worked. Whatever words were slithering around inside that envelope, she intended them to ruin him. To further incite the Slytherins, likely, but primarily to humiliate him in front of his fellow Gryffindors. To let them know he wasn't one of them. To make them mistrust him. Suddenly afraid, he glanced briefly at the faces of his friends. Had a week been long enough? Did they have sufficient measure of him to know he'd never betray them? Or would the looks of concern and anger on their faces soon turn to scepticism?

The Hall grew quiet, all eyes on the Gryffindor table.

"Sirius, we can take that thing outside--" James began.

"No," Sirius said firmly through clenched teeth. "Everybody's seen it now. If I run out of here, it'll just make me look weaker than setting the fucking thing off will."

With that, he picked up a knife and slashed the edge off the envelope in one furious motion.

The Howler rose off the table, morphing itself into an angry mouth, its parchment teeth gnashing, before Walburga's screeching voice issued forth. 

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK, YOU CONTEMPTIBLE WRETCH! HOW DARE YOU STAIN THE NAME OF YOUR NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE! THE SHAME YOU HAVE BROUGHT UPON YOUR FAMILY! GENERATIONS OF PROUD, RESPECTABLE WIZARDS AND WITCHES, ALL DISGRACED BY YOUR DEVIANT BEHAVIOUR! YOUR FATHER AND I, UNABLE TO SHOW OUR FACES IN PUBLIC! CONSORTING WITH BLOOD TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS IN THAT ABOMINATION OF A HOUSE! DO YOUR LITTLE COHORTS KNOW THE LENGTHS TO WHICH YOU WENT TO MANIPULATE YOUR WAY INTO THEIR RANKS? WHAT YOU REALLY ARE? WHAT YOU WILL BECOME, REGARDLESS OF YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS TO FURTHER EMBARRASS--"

The Howler was cut off midstream by James’s fist, which he thrust into its mouth before grabbing hold of its ribbon tongue and yanking roughly, turning the thing inside out. He proceeded to swing it upward by the ribbon, then back down as hard as he could, bashing it against the table. The Howler disintegrated into a pile of paper shreds, which James promptly set on fire.

"That's a filthy lie," he snapped to the shocked faces at the Gryffindor table. "The Sorting Hat cannot be manipulated. You can say whatever you like to it, but it makes the final decision, and it puts you where you belong. End of story."

"Mr Potter is entirely correct!" a distressed-looking Professor McGonagall called from the High Table.

James stared at their classmates, challenging anyone to dispute the fact. Lupin, Pettigrew, and Longbottom were the first to recover, followed quickly by the Prewett twins.

"Absolutely!"

"Everyone knows that."

"Ridiculous to suggest otherwise."

"Black is as Gryffindor as any of us!"

"Way more than Gideon, if we're being honest."

The rest of their Housemates were soon murmuring similar words of agreement. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables remained silent, but the derisive laughter beginning to rise from the Slytherin table was difficult to ignore.

Sirius sat staring at the pile of ashes. Everything around him seemed to be happening in slow motion, like a nightmare made all the worse by the fact he knew himself to be awake.

That's not a mother.

Never had been. Mothers held their children when they cried, they didn't make them cry. They read them fairy tales, not doctrines. 

His wide, glazed eyes turned on their own towards his best friend. All the thoughts and feelings careening around Sirius's mind at that moment made him feel quite mad, but James was something he could focus on -- his first real friend. He wanted to stand up and rake every dish, platter, and goblet on the table into the floor and kick them into the stone wall behind them, and he knew James would dare anyone to stop him. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, to curse Walburga Black with every expletive he could think of, and he knew James would remind him of any creative adjectives he forgot. He wanted to let the sobs he was forcibly confining to the pit of his chest come tearing out of him like a hurricane--

Something in his eyes must have changed at that last thought, because James’s hand shot out and clutched Sirius’s shoulder firmly. "Laugh at it," James whispered, his lips barely moving, an urgent look on his face. "She’s pathetic and cruel and quite frankly sounds like an Augurey being plucked, so LAUGH AT IT."

For a split second, Sirius didn’t catch the boy’s meaning, but then it registered. James had seen both sides of the coin. And he knew Sirius desperately needed that barrier between himself and the world.

Rising, Sirius ran a casual hand through his hair before gesturing to the ash pile in front of him. "Well, then," he said loudly, his customary smirk back on his face. "Mum, everyone... everyone, Mum."

The silence held for a few more seconds before students all over the Hall began bursting into laughter. Soon, the entirety of the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw tables were roaring, and Sirius made a show of blowing the remains of the Howler onto the floor before retaking his seat.

"James, mate," he said cheerfully, "pour me another pumpkin juice, will you? I think a bit of bitch landed in mine."

As the Gryffindor table erupted anew, Sirius shot James a look he hoped properly conveyed his gratitude in that moment. Judging from the smile James gave him in return, he understood. As always.

[toonerdyandiknowit]

Hardware

Hardware Part 1.

This is a Tony Stark X Reader, may be NSFW smut in future chapters.

Swear warning.

[Y/N] = your name [YLN] = your last name [H/C] = hair colour [E/C].

Character is written as over 21 but younger than Tony, you can decide how old you imagine her to be.

You're a young English woman hiding out in America after a few embarrassing accidents back home, caused by your powers. With the ability to manipulate any machinery into doing whatever you put your mind to, you would probably get on well with a certain Avenger. If he hadn't helped kidnapped you.

You'd tried really hard to not draw attention to yourself. Really. You kept moving around, never staying still long enough to make an impression. No wild parties, no public shenanigans, no bright clothing. You avoided using your powers, even in private, and just generally laid low.

It had been a year since you’d snuck your way onto a plane that took you from London to America, figuring if you were gonna get lost anywhere, New York was your best bet. You never settled in any particular spot, and you only took the jobs where the cash was handed to you at the end of everyday, and no one gave a shit where you went after. The only thing that stood out about you was your accent, and no matter how you tried, you just couldn't pull of an American accent of any kind.

You couldn't help but become fond of Manhattan though. It was right in the middle of everything, you'd spend the days going from bustling city to calmer parks. Central park almost reminded you of all the woods in England. You'd become so fond that you'd stayed longer than you should, but you were growing more and more comfortable.

You'd even settled in enough to sort an online profile for people to hire you for work; one off hardware repairs meant that you'd get paid straight away, and you'd only have to see the clients once or twice.

The truth was you couldn't name a single computer component, you'd never seen the point in learning. You "gift" meant that machinery did whatever you wanted it to, even if what you wanted was not technically what it was designed to do. You carried a bag of tools, poked, prodded, and pulled things apart, all for show. The reality of it was you could just kind of...tell the machine to sort its shit out and play nice, and it would.

It was as you were passing an alley on your way to your studio flat - or apartment - after your latest job, swinging your bag of three or four tools you couldn't name, that you heard the shouting.

You tried really hard to lay low, but when some ass-holes decide to gang up on and mug a kid, what sort of person would you be to just keep walking?

One who wouldn't be strapped to a table in SHIELD, that's for damn sure.

At least you assumed it was SHIELD, you couldn't remember anything after the taser that caught you in the back. All you knew was one moment you were kicking arse, the next you wake up in a...container. The walls were grey on black, and had the same honeycomb patterns as the surface of the table.

The table itself had a hook running through it, to which you were currently handcuffed.

You tried entertaining yourself by stretching, difficult when you're cuffed to a table, since the hard chair was making you back ache. You then alternated between humming and tapping your fingers on the table.

It didn't take long for you to get irritable, slumping forward to bump your head against the table with an audible thump. Turning your head to the side, you flick your [h/c] hair out of your eyes, glaring at the small camera in the corner.

You could sense it was high tech. Top of the range, if there was a range above top of the range...you'd bet money it was some sort of Stark tech. Either way, you shouldn't be able to see it, but it hummed pleasantly across you tech senses, practically waving a banner at you.

You blew a raspberry at it.

"I don't like games." You called out, sitting back up to raise an eyebrow at the camera, "Arrest me, interview me, lock me up, whatever. But the longer you leave me waiting, the less cooperative I'm gonna be!"

You waited a beat. Two. Then the doors slid open with a gentle hiss.

Three people walked in, and you weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.

"Oh shit." You sighed, as Captain America and Iron Man walked in. By their side was a unremarkable looking man in a suit, carrying a folder. You decided to focus on him.

Captain Rogers took the seat opposite you, on your left hand side, while Suit Guy took the one to your right. Stark elected to lean against the wall, tapping away at his phone and looking generally uninterested in the situation.

He was wearing a pair of totally unnecessary red sun glasses, though they went with his outfit; jeans, Metallica shirt and leather jacket.

Captain Rogers was also dressed casually, though his stern face made it seem more threatening; blue shirt, brown jacket and jeans.

You decided this meant you were supposed to pay more attention to Suit Guy. So you straightened and gave him you full attention, before your nerves sharpened your tongue.

"I've been here 8 months," You started, crossing your arms over your chest, "I think I would have noticed if you guys had decided kidnapping was legal."

When no reaction was forthcoming, apart from blank, slightly intimidating stares from the seated men, you threw your hands up. Well, as far as the chains would allow.

"I didn't do anything!" You complained, and that finally got a reaction. Not a great one. And not from who you expected.

From his spot against the wall, Tony Stark scoffed.

"Didn't do anything?" He chided, "You took control of those idiots watches and phones, and pulled some...transformers shit. Now two are in cuffs, and hospital beds, and the third is in a cell." He flicked his phone towards you, pulling up a grainy hologram of you...

"Ok, so I beat up some dickheads who had it coming. Why do you care?" you asked.

"Your powers make you dangerous miss. [YLN]. We need to register them in our database, measure them, and establish some ground rules. Then, we can talk about you going back to your life." This came from Suit Guy, and his steady voice should've been authoritative. Unfortunately, all you heard was condescension.

"Ground rules? Nope." you objected, shaking your head in an over dramatic fashion, "Look. I keep to myself, I don't socialise, I don’t flaunt my powers. Hell, I don't even use them when it's just me in my flat! This was a one off situation. I wasn't gonna just let them mug that kid!" Your argument seemed to fall on deaf ear, until Rogers perked up at the end.

"You saying you wouldn't help, if you could go back?" Unlike Suit Guy, he could pull of authority just fine, and you were so not in the mood for it. It was becoming more and more clear that they had no intention of letting you go, and the panic was rising.

"Don't try to pull that crap on me. I'm not a soldier, vigilante, hero," You paused, eyeing Rogers and Stark, who'd started paying attention to you, "or an avenger. And I have no interest in becoming one."

"We both know that's not true." said Suit Guy, who was slowly morphing into Arsehole in your mind, "Why don't we talk about why you left England?"

Though he wasn't looking at you when he spoke, flicking through a file instead, you decided to respond anyway.

Sort of.

You groaned, slamming your head onto the table again.

"How about we don't?" You muttered bitterly, "Just Wazowski me. "Put that thing back where it came from!"

The only person who seemed to find you funny was Stark, who chuckled as he watched you, spinning his forgotten phone in his hand.

"Let's see," murmured Suit Guy, "Ah. Detonated an un-exploded bomb in the river Thames. Caused a train crash..."

"That was an accident!" You yelped, sitting up.

Rogers raised an eyebrow.

"The bomb wasn't?" he asked.

"Well...not really?" You winced, "It was a mess, someone had to do something, I just happened to be there at the right-ish time." He frowned.

"And the train?" Asked Stark. He'd lost the sunglasses and was smiling at you with amusement.

"Bloody trains." You huffed to yourself, "So, these guys were harassing this little old lady right? And this girl gets up to help, and it just goes from bad to worse. I was just tryna scare them, use the same trick I pulled today. But I kinda...misjudged."

"Misjudged?" He questioned, looking more and more intrigued. You groaned.

"I was new to it! I was aiming for their phones but the train wouldn't shut up, wanted to join in or some shit. Any way, when I told the phones to move, the bloody goddamn train jumped up instead." You told them, hoping they'd drop it. The Train Incident wasn't your finest hour.

"You can see how that makes you dangerous, right? We can't just leave you to wander around unchecked." Stated Rogers, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table, and piercing you with a hard stare.

"One," you pointed a finger at his chest, "You're one to talk about dangerous. Tech manipulation is all I have. And two," You squinted, wiggling your finger between Rogers and Suit Guy, "This is how we get super villains. You can't just abduct people and preach about their powers. I want nothing to do with you, SHIELD, or anyone else who thinks a person with powers is a weapon."

"You sayin' if we don't let you go you'll become a villain?" Rogers asked, his voice hardening as his eyes narrowed. You rolled your eyes, becoming more and more exasperated.

"Nah, I'm not like that. It's just a side note you should consider for the future. Kidnapping, chains, and passive aggression isn't exactly endearing." You explained. The truth was, you just wanted to go home, have a bath, and pretend today didn't happen.

"Ok kid, you got a point. So, show us what you can do." You looked to Stark in surprise, so did Suit Guy and Rogers.

"What?" The three of you chorused in shock. "Mr. Stark..." Suit Guy started.

"Hey, I've been waving my phone around this whole time and she hasn't done a thing with it," he pointed my way with a smile, "either it just didn't occur to her to try attacking us to escape - which is a plus in my book - or she can't do it, in which case we got the wrong girl, but since she already admitted she was...ah!" His prattling was cut off abruptly as his phone crawled up his arm and jumped onto the table.

You'd grown tired of the sound of his voice, and turned his phone into a "Spider". A "Spider" was your go-to tech choice, manipulating cogs and gears and whatever else is in there into becoming legs that sprouted out the sides. Once it made it to you, you asked it to undo the cuffs, then turn back into a normal phone.

The three men stared at the phone with distrust, as you stood, rubbing your wrists and hissing.

Stark was the first to look at you, frowning in concern as his eyes flicked between your face and your hands.

"Oh, they don't hurt. I've just seen it happen so many times in the movies, kinda felt like I had to." You smiled sheepishly, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pockets.

"So..." you hummed, "Now what?"

[angeltriestoblog]

The state of the world has once again taken a turn for the worse, and like all other similar instances, I turn to the comfort of the written word. With that being said, I wanted to put it out there that I have no intention of speaking over the narratives of those who need to be heard the most during this time. (I guess it pays that I don’t really have much of an audience here.) It’s just that I’ve always said that writing helps me compartmentalize my feelings and figure out my next course of action, and I guess this time is no different. I need to get my thoughts down somewhere I can see them instead of having them flit around aimlessly in the deep recesses of my brain.

—

These past few days, I have been made more and more aware of my smallness. Following the (first degree) murder of George Floyd, I’ve had access to all the information surrounding his death: who did it, how they did it and why, the implications of the act, and the several ways black people of color and their allies are standing in solidarity to counteract this brutal display of injustice. I’ve come across several petitions that hope to hold certain individuals accountable or raise issues to the national level, funding sites that aim to provide financial assistance to those most in need, and resources with the intent to educate that demand to be circulated on a wide scale. While these have technically showed me how I’m not entirely powerless, that I do in fact have the ability to enact some sort of change, it’s still difficult to stomach that the change I am capable of making is not as substantial as I want it to be.

I understand that what I’m feeling is a hassle, at worst—nothing compared to those on the streets, to the black people of color who have to fight for rights that are supposedly inherent to all human beings, who demand justice for all those who have fallen because of police brutality only to have these cries fall on deaf ears. I do not have to face various forms of oppression and microaggressions not just when this topic is trending, but throughout the course of my entire life. I do not carry this lingering fear that every step I take outside of my front door could be my last. What happens to their community is absolutely sickening but the thing is, we haven’t even seen all of it. Keeping tabs on social media, checking up with actual victims of structural racism often deludes us into thinking we know exactly what’s going on and how hard it must be, but access to all of this information doesn’t erase the fact that I am watching everything from afar.

So instead of sulking so much that my reaction could be misconstrued as an attempt to make the conversation about me, I tried to channel all this frustration in a more productive manner. I’ve reduced my Twitter time because my timeline has magically morphed into a raging cesspool spewing hatred and anger and is thus getting in the way of my journey towards being an effective ally and concerned citizen. I’m definitely not saying this because the people I follow only ever tweet about the resurfacing of the #BlackLivesMatter movement—hopefully, at this point of the post, I’ve already made it clear that I am far from apolitical. It’s just that my following can easily be classified into two groups: those who wear their ignorance on their sleeve and actively resist any form of education, and those who are so ruthlessly divisive that they scare away anyone who wishes to be educated. The world is already unforgiving enough as it is and I refuse to take part in that kind of culture. I have been trying to ease my way back in though by looking at tweets almost exclusively in the likes of some of my most politically aware friends (hi Pat, Ryen, and Alyanna—I hope you never have to see this) and checking the trends sporadically for any live updates.

Not only have I realized just how many hours in a day going on that stupid bird app actually eats up, but I’ve also had a lot of time to educate myself and reflect on my previous actions. I figured that if I’m so upset about how my impact on a global scale is terribly lacking, I can always start on a more personal level, which is probably just as revolutionary. I’ve watched movies, gone through articles, and even started on this book called White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo, which debunks why exactly it’s so hard to talk about racism with white people. In this process, I’ve learned that everything I knew about the concept was surprisingly shallow and surface-level. Having first claimed my badge of wokeness when I was 15 (and engaged in some pretty performative activism at the time, if I do say so myself), I was shocked to find out that everything I collected from viral hot takes and recommended YouTube videos that claim to be an extensive guide to fundamental social movements possessed an unforgivable degree of inaccuracy.

For instance, all this time, I was under the impression that I could only be a racist if I called someone ugly because of their dark skin or curly hair, or said the n-word whenever I sang along to Caroline by Amine. As long as I didn’t do those things, or any other form of discrimination towards a marginalized group, I was in the clear and had nothing to worry about—I could get a star on the Good Noodle board. In reality, to quote Scott Woods, racism is “a complex system of social and political levers and pulleys set up generations ago to continue working on the behalf of whites at other people’s expense, whether whites know/like it or not”. It is not something we actively choose to participate in, but something that we are born into—literally who would have thought!

Because racism has been demonized by everyone with working mental faculties (as it should be), it’s hard to own up to the fact that at some point, we have subconsciously picked up racist behaviors or exhibited racist tendencies at some point in our lives. Every time someone tries to point out where we went wrong in the hopes of giving constructive criticism, we have our defenses up, a list of receipts of all the times we tweeted the #BLM hashtag prepared to show that we are, in fact, not the villain that we were made out to be. This is a counterproductive exercise that helps nobody. If we truly want to step up and show our support for the movement and those working to make it happen, we must first be open to the possibility that we have done wrong and we have so much more to learn.

As a kid, my beauty standards were very Eurocentric, like most Filipinos: according to a study conducted by me based on years of personal observations and experience, we are the country most obsessed with whitening soap and hair rebonding treatments. I called my friends the n-word as a term of endearment and previously used AAVE (African American Vernacular English) in my tweets to give them a little bit of personality. I chose not to watch chick flicks that revolved around interracial couples because I felt that the difference in their skin color got in the way of their chemistry. One time, when my mom and I were walking to WalMart during a vacation to the States, we came across a stocky black man and my initial reaction was to hold my purse closer to my body. I remain deeply ashamed of these beliefs I held, which were admittedly born out of ignorance, and I acknowledge my responsibility to continue to eradicate any traces of these I may still have.

I am also doing my best to extend the same compassion I have for black people of color during these trying times towards my own countrymen. We’ve struggled enough during this pandemic thanks to the sorry state of our healthcare system, and now the government seems hell-bent on speeding up the passage of the anti-terrorism bill. This threatens to impede our freedom of speech and help government officials get away with incompetence and even abuse of authority. If anyone gets a hold of this blog post and chooses to interpret this paragraph as an open threat to the President, this could be the last time you could ever hear from me, and this frightens me beyond words.

I know this isn’t a new contribution to the discussion but here are some links to helpful masterposts containing a variety of resources should you wish to donate, learn, or sign. This goes for both issues in our motherland and what is supposedly the land of the free. Let’s stay vigilant, let’s stay compassionate. Wishing you all the love and light the world still has left to offer.

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

Just Another Case: Part 1

Summary: Dean gets a voicemail that Sam is in trouble. When he rushes to try and help, he finds some trouble of his own with a Reader who might be too much for him to handle. Pairing: AU—Mechanic!Dean x FBI Agent!Reader Word Count: 4,050 Warnings: Some tense angsty moments but this part is SFW. Author’s Note: Buckle up, bitches. :D This is part one of my second SPN series, and my first ever AU fanfic—which I’m turning into a 15 part series with fluff, angst, and smut. Go big or go home, right? Included in this fic is a prompt for Lau’s AU Funny Quote Challenge to celebrate @dancingalone21​’s reaching 2k followers: “Then we all go out for ice cream and strippers” with Dean x Reader. This also celebrates my one year mark of writing fanfic on this blog (thanks for those who have encouraged me over the last 12 months)! *Tagging Note: Since this series is so different from most of what I write, I made a separate tag list from my forevers; if you would like to join this tag list send me an ASK and mention the JAC series instead of my Forevers list. Okay, that’s it. Enjoy and please leave feedback!

The Just Another Case Masterpost

Part 1: Dean POV

Dean?

It’s Sam. I’m, uh…I’m in trouble.

Dean stopped his routine of undressing and kicking off his work boots, his hand gripping the cell phone tighter as he listened to the voicemail.

I’m okay right now, but I’m worried about Jess. That case that made the news, the one we talked about last week? Well…things aren’t as simple as I thought.

Dean froze as Sam’s voice stopped. He held his breath, hoping that wasn’t the end of the message.

Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Someone’s dirty. And they’re framing me. And it has something to do with this case with Crowley. I don’t know all the details yet, but from what I’ve seen he might be out soon, and he’s made enough threats against me that…well, I’m going to do some digging. I’m not letting this go.

I can’t let this go.

But I can’t let Jess be hurt because of me.

Dean turned, grabbing his keys and wallet from the table, already headed out the door before the message finished, his eyes on the lovingly restored 1967 Impala he’d inherited when his Dad had died in a collision with an 18-wheeler.

I need you to make sure she’s safe. And to get in contact with a friend, someone I trust. She’ll help. Y/N went to school with Jess and I a few years back. She’s a fed now. Her number is XXX-XXXX.

I’m dumping my phone, Dean. Be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Don’t come looking for me—you might lead someone else my way. Just… look after Jess.

Love you, man.

Oh hell, no. Dean hadn’t been too close with Sam growing up—the kid had been nerdy and awkward, and the age difference was enough that they didn’t hang out all the time. But they’d both put in more effort to be closer in the past few years, after Sam had graduated from Stanford Law and Mom had died from cancer.

They were the only Winchesters left after all.

But as close as they were, they didn’t go in for mushy chick flick moments like that—it just wasn’t their style.

Dean hit the redial button but immediately got the tone that preceded the “We’re sorry. The phone number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service” message and hung up. He tried Jess’s cell, but it just rang and rang. It never even went to voicemail.

Dean threw the phone to the passenger side and peeled out of his driveway, leaving some tire marks behind. The distance between his place and the little bungalow Sam and Jess had moved into was a little over two hours of highway.

He’d make it there in one.

Dean was struggling to find “cool” and “calm” as he turned onto Sam’s road. It had been a little over an hour, and he’d listened to that damn voicemail twice since the first time. He still had no clue what was going on, and he was honestly afraid of what he would find, because the time stamp on the damn recording was four hours ago.

A lot could happen in four hours.

And he couldn’t get Jess or Sam on the damn phone.

He had yet to call the fed that Sam had told him to—he’d worry about that after he’d made sure his future sister-in-law was safe.

Please let her be safe. If anything happened to Jess… Sam would never recover.

He hard-braked his car on the curb, the driveway full with Jess’s yellow Jeep and a car Dean didn’t recognize. Sam’s Mustang was nowhere to be seen.

Dean felt like ice was in his veins. With slightly numb fingers, he opened the glovebox and pulled out his Colt M1911. He’d bought the thing and gotten a license to carry concealed after his car restoration garage had been broken into for the third time. He’d trained on it—his dad had been in the Marines, and Dean had been around guns his whole life—but he never thought he’d have to use it in this situation.

He approached the house with the gun held down by his side, the spare key Sam had given him in his hand. His heart was pounding so loud in his ears, he honestly couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. A light was on in the main room though, and when he paused beside the unfamiliar car, a dark blue Charger, the hood was slightly warm.

Whomever the stranger was, he or she hadn’t been here long.

Dean let out a deep breath, taking the last few steps up the steps and onto the porch at a slight jog. He used his free hand to unlock the door, his palm already sweating on the ivory handle of the gun.

He tucked the key back into his pocket, wiped his hand quickly before releasing the safety and gripping the pistol the way his father had taught him. The adrenaline was pumping, and he wanted to yell for Sam and Jess, but he tried to move softly through the carpeted hallway. If someone unwanted was here, one of the people who had been threatening his brother, Dean would do what it took to keep what was left of his family safe.

Whatever it took.

He headed for the living and kitchen area—they had an open set up in the center of the house, and that’s where the light was coming from. He heard a low voice coming from the room. Jess. She sounded worried.

Dean’s hand was shaking slightly, and he steadied it. There was no time for nerves. He was at the entrance, his eyes adjusting to the bright light. Jess was there.

She was alive. Standing at the kitchen table with her back to him. She was alone, her hand held up to ear, probably on the phone. Dean was too concerned with where the driver of the other vehicle was to listen to what she was saying. His eyes scanned the corners, worried someone was hiding there.

Then he felt a cold barrel against the back of his skull.

“Drop it, or I’ll drop you.”

Jess spun around at the sound of the woman’s voice behind him, the woman who was holding a gun to his head.

Her eyes widened as she took in the scene and Dean weighed his options. Dean slowly raised his hands, the gun aimed upwards.

The woman, and possible hit-man, prodded the hard metal into the base of his neck. “I said drop it, Ace. That means on the floor, not in the air.”

Dean shot Jess a look, trying to see if she was hurt; he didn’t want to get shot, especially not right in front of her, but giving up his gun seemed like the dumbest move at the moment.

Jess seemed shocked out of her silence at Dean’s look and took a step forward, “Dean? Dean! Y/N, no! Don’t shoot him. That’s Dean, Sam’s brother.”

Y/N? The fed Sam had asked him to call?

Dean lowered his gun slowly, willing to trust Jess’s identification and Sam’s message for the moment, even if that gun was still jabbing at the skin on his neck and the hairs were still standing at attention on his arms and nape. He safetied the weapon then dropped it the last three feet from the bottom of his arm to the ground.

He felt the gun at the back of his head move, and he breathed out a sigh of relief, throwing Jess a smile.

The relief vanished as he was twisted and spun from behind, pushed up against the wall while small hands patted his shoulders, his sides, feeling through the leather jacket he wore.

“Hey, sweetheart, watch the hands.” Dean pushed away from the wall and went to turn and face the cop behind him, but he felt a forearm against his spine, pushing him forward again while the other hand patted his waistband, searching for another weapon.

“Y/N, stop.” Jess was there now, right next to Dean and the as-yet unseen Y/N. The hand on Dean’s hip and the arm across his back were removed and Dean swiveled to see Sam’s spitfire of a fiancé holding the arm and shoulder of a woman with icy eyes.

Dean’s first impression of her, other than noticing her short stature in comparison to him (which, let’s face it, was true of most women) and the holster strapped to her hip with the black gun he presumed had just been aimed at him, was that this woman wasn’t one who would take crap from anyone.

“Y/N, this is Sam’s brother, Dean. We’ve talked to you about him before—hell the two of you are supposed to be best man and maiden of honor in a few months.”

Dean raised an eyebrow in question. He should have paid more attention to the wedding planning emails Jess had sent him.

Jess blushed, “this wasn’t exactly how I wanted you to meet.”

Dean smiled at Jess’s blushing face—he knew she hated that involuntary reaction. Mostly he was just relieved that his favorite soon-to-be sister-in-law was safe. She was still in her professional dress outfit—something the art museum she curated insisted on, though Dean knew she preferred baking in bare feet, a t-shirt, and jeans over briefcases, dress pants, and heels.

He tried to turn the smile towards the cop next to her, but the expression on her face was still not very friendly, and Dean held off extending a hand to shake. With the look she was giving him, she might chop the thing off. She crossed her arms over her navy FBI bulletproof vest, her matching pants going all the way down long legs and ending with a pair of combat boots.

“This is Dean Winchester, huh?” Dean straightened, giving her a slow flirty smile he figured would tick the Ice Queen off and nodded. “What were you doing breaking in here armed? Or, an even more important question, do you know where your brother is?”

Dean dropped the smile and looked to the floor to see his gun, stooped to grab it and tuck it in his waistband. “I didn’t break in, sweetheart. I have a key. And no, I don’t know where Sam is, but I know he’s in trouble—hence the gun.”

Jess paled a bit, and Dean eyed her warily. She wasn’t the type to faint, but he didn’t like her complexion right now.

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’. My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N. Either of those, or Agent, will be fine since apparently I’m working right now—what do you know about Sam’s trouble?”

Dean ignored the cop, closing the distance between himself and Jess and taking her arm, leading her into the living room and pushing her gently onto the couch.

“Sit down before you fall over, Jess. I’m sure Sam’s fine.” Dean kept his voice comforting, and was alarmed when he saw tears starting to form in Jess’s eyes. Jess didn’t cry like this. Pissed off and yelling, he’d understand. What if she knew something? What if—

“I’m sorry, I’m just—ugh, I’m a mess. Damn hormones.” Jess looked around and Y/N was there, already handing her a tissue. She nodded her thanks and Dean felt his opinion of the woman improve slightly when he saw the unmistakable concern for her friend in her eyes. “It’s just that, this isn’t like Sam. We were supposed to meet in town to look at two possible wedding venues. But he didn’t show up—I thought he’d been caught up at work, but then he didn’t answer my text. When I tried again an hour later, I got ‘message undeliverable’ and I started getting worried…when I called, it said his phone had been disconnected.”

She sniffed and blew her nose, some of her color coming back as Dean moved back, letting Y/N sit closer to her. He was useless when it came to crying women.

“So I called his work, and they said he hadn’t been into work today—but I made them check, and his car was there in the lot, and—“ Her voice was steadily rising in pitch and Dean was getting more and more alarmed. Was she having a panic attack? What the hell was up with Jess? This wasn’t like her at all!

“That’s when you called me, sweetie. Which was the right thing to do. I don’t know what’s up with Sam, but you need to calm down. This stress isn’t good for you right now.” Y/N’s voice was completely different now—no hard edge, just soothing comfort and warmth. Dean shot a look between the two women, completely lost.

Dean shifted, his confusion and discomfort obvious enough that Jess managed a half smile as she sniffed at her tears.

“I’m sorry, Dean, you don’t know yet. I’m pregnant.”

Dean felt like his eyes were going to bug out of his head. “You are?! That’s—that’s fantastic, Jess! Congratulations!” He wanted to pull her into a big hug, but she was still crying, and Sam wasn’t here—wait— “does Sam know?”

“Yes, of course. We were just keeping it quiet till the rehearsal dinner. Sam…he thought it would be a nice surprise for everyone to find out then….” Jess looked down at the tissues in her clenched hand, or maybe at her waistline which was still the same as far as Dean could tell, then straightened her shoulders and gave a loud sniff before clearing her throat.

“I’m fine. But, Dean, how did you know something was wrong with Sam? You said you didn’t know where he was?”

Dean nodded, relieved to be on firm footing again. “Yeah, he called and left a message while I was at work—and when I couldn’t get him or you on the phone, I rushed over here.”

Dean took out his phone, scrolling through until he found the voicemail and setting the speaker and volume so that Jess and Y/N could hear.

Dean?… It’s Sam. I’m, uh…I’m in trouble.

Dean’s eyes were glued on the two women. Y/N had her eyes narrowed, leaning forward towards the phone in his fist, every inch of her tense and screaming “cop”. He had a fleeting thought that he liked the comforting friend better than the ice lady, but Jess’s in-drawn breath distracted him.

I’m okay right now, but I’m worried about Jess. That case that made the news, the one we talked about last week? Well…things aren’t as simple as I thought.

Dean only vaguely remembered the case. Something about a major drug operation and Sam had gone after the head guy, some dude named Crowley who was supposed to be this generation’s Al Capone or something. Honestly, Dean had been proud of his brother’s first big conviction, but hadn’t paid that much attention to the details.

Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Someone’s dirty. And they’re framing me. And it has something to do with this case with Crowley. I don’t know all the details yet, but from what I’ve seen he might be out soon, and he’s made enough threats against me that…well, I’m going to do some digging. I’m not letting this go…. I can’t let this go.

God, he’d practically memorized the damn thing at this point. It made his gut clench to think of Sam out on his own, trying to dig out a dirty cop or lawyer—Dean didn’t know much about that kind of thing, but he knew his brother was smart and stubborn as hell. And that people who committed major crimes were willing to commit more to not get caught.

But I can’t let Jess be hurt because of me. I need you to make sure she’s safe. And to get in contact with a friend, someone I trust. She’ll help. Y/N went to school with Jess and I a few years back. She’s a fed now. Her number is XXX-XXXX.

Dean watched both women react as Sam said their names. Jess’s jaw jutted out, and if Sam had been present, Dean would have had to make the tough call of stepping between his brother and her to protect him, or to back out of the room slowly.

Y/N was harder to read. Her lips tightened before she drew the lower one inside her mouth to chew on, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. Dean watched that abused piece of flesh slide back out of her mouth and almost didn’t hear the end of the message.

I’m dumping my phone, Dean. Be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Don’t come looking for me—you might lead someone else my way. Just… look after Jess.  Love you, man.

He quickly pressed the end button before the automated voice gave him the option to delete or listen again. The silence was heavy in the room as he looked warily at Jessica, worried she’d start crying again.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Or not.

Y/N was shaking her head slowly, “I might help you with that, Jess. I warned him…” Her voice drifted off.

Great. Now Dean was in a room with two homicidal women.

Y/N slapped her hands on her thighs suddenly, startling Jess. “Well, since Sam has decided to throw this shit into a fan to see what would happen, we need to get moving. Jess, Dean, I’m going to make a few calls, get some wheels rolling legally. I need you to pack anything you might need for a week or so—you two are going into protective custody.”

“The hell I am!” Jess was definitely back to her take-charge self now. Dean had always joked that, with her fire, she should dye her hair red to give the world a warning label. She jumped off the couch and towered over her friend while Dean took a step back. “I’m going with you to find Sam. There’s no way I’m going to go sit in some safe house while he’s sticking his idiot neck out.”

Then Y/N was up, arms crossed over those white FBI letters, “oh, yes, you are. You’ve got more than just you to think of now, remember?” She pointedly stared at Jess’s stomach.

Jess narrowed her eyes and copied Y/N’s stance. “That’s dirty pool, you know.”

Y/N just gave a smug smile. “You’ve already told me I’m going to be godmother, so I’m allowed. Now, go get packed.”

“Fine. But you have to bring him back so I can kill him before the wedding.” Jess poked her finger into her friend’s shoulder for emphasis during that last statement while Y/N tried not to smile.

Y/N nodded, apparently seeing some sense in that insane comment that was beyond Dean’s grasp.

Jess glared for a moment longer, then spun on her heel and stomped out of the room, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her like an angsty teen. Dean let out a breath of relief, glad that she had seen reason. Protective custody for Jess was exactly what needed to happen so Dean could fulfill Sam’s request and still sleep at night.

Because he couldn’t let his brother down by letting Jess get hurt, but there was no way he was going to sit around and let his little brother get himself killed either.

“Yeah, I need you to look into this quietly. Let me know what you find out.”

Y/N was talking in a low voice, pacing in the kitchen, while Dean leaned against the door frame, eyeing and appreciating her shape walking back and forth as he waited for her to get off the phone. He realized he was about to lock horns with her—and, strangely, despite his worry for his brother, he was kinda looking forward to it.

“Yes, I realize that….A safe house, what else? We can’t leave the two of them out in the cold, not if someone’s on the take and Crowley makes good on his threats….Sam? I have no clue.”

Y/N seemed to notice him for the first time, stopping her pacing and looking him in the eye. A few strands of her (Y/H/C) hair had escaped from that tight bun on the back of her head and were brushing the side of her neck. Dean fought the urge to pull the hair tie out and see what it looked like down around her face, but he resisted—she’d probably shoot him or kick his ass or something.

“Just get it done. I’ll wait here till Agent Tran gets here to move Sam’s family, but then I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on….Thanks.”

She disconnected and kept her eyes locked on Dean’s.

“I realize you can’t really pack a bag right now, but is there a reason you’re standing here staring at me?”

Dean thought of at least three pick-up lines that would be easy to throw out with that set up, but refrained from saying them. At this rate, he deserved an award for self-control.

“I thought you should know that I’m going with you.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled a little, apparently amused. Dean smiled back, but his was cocky.

“No, actually, you’re not. The professionals will take care of this now, thanks.”

Dean didn’t let the smile falter and her’s slowly melted off of her face. “I’m serious, Mr. Winchester—“

“It’s Dean. And I’m serious too, sweetheart.” He deliberately put emphasis on the nickname and watched her eyes narrow. “I don’t have a bun in the oven to protect, so you don’t have that to hold over my head. I’m going to help you find my brother.”

She crossed her arms in front of her, a stance that Dean recognized as a challenge instead of defensive for this woman. “You have no experience in law enforcement, you know nothing about this case, and you know nothing about these people. How exactly are you going to be any help at all?”

“I know my brother. I can help you find him.”

“I won’t be looking for Sam.” That shook Dean. The smile dropped from his face and he took a step towards the cop in front of him. This was the woman his brother trusted for help, and she wasn’t even going to look for him?

“What?”

“You heard me. If Sam’s right about a leak and someone tampering with this case, then me finding him would fix nothing; he would still be in danger. I’m not going to be looking for Sam. I’m going to be looking for a way to help him. And the best way you can help with that is to not get yourself killed by sticking your nose in where you have no business being. I’m good at my job. And Sam is my friend. I’ll bring him home.”

Dean let that sink in for a second, reigning in his anger. “He may be your friend, but Sammy is my baby brother; he’s family—and I’m not going to sit around while he’s in trouble.”

Dean locked eyes with the cop in front of him who seemed to be listening to him for the first time, weighing his seriousness. He made sure there was no trace of a smile on his face as he concluded his argument—a trick he’d learned from watching his lawyer little brother.

“You say you’re good at your job? My job is to take care of him. And I’m fucking excellent at that.”

Y/N waited a measured beat, her face softening to resemble the caring woman who had comforted Jess on the couch earlier. “I understand that you’re worried, but I’m sure Sam will be fine. He was right to reach out to me; I’ll have this sorted out before long, get Sam home and—“

“Then we all go out for ice cream and strippers. Don’t patronize me, Agent. You know how stubborn Sam is? Who do you think he learned that from?” Dean leaned down, his face barely inches away from Y/N’s, her supportive look turning hard in the face of his defiance.

“This is very simple. Either I will work with you to help my brother, or I will go out and try to find and help him by myself. Your choice.”

JAC Part 2

Just Another Case Series Tag List:

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[henryconrad95]

Your Ex Comes Back Astonishing Diy Ideas

For that, I have experienced precisely what you're going to push them farther away.It is possible that she knows that you are putting yourself in this situation in order to do things that they produced the final decision to win your ex want you back.Many people find if they don't owe you anything.The emotions that might not be the very least open to the eventual breakup?

Because you actually accept the fact what you are going to succeed in getting your girlfriend back before you buy.While you are for all the bad, nasty things that no one to put you in the same things and most importantly, show your sweet and romantic side.Thanks to the movies but in reality he is most important things to say you give it some time to approach your ex back?When we're in distress, we tend to be nice and sweet like vanilla scent will do.This message opens the door to more heartbreak down the road ahead, to save face.

This isn't a seduction, but at least one big step.It's not that they need to be apart from your ex, it is to determine when you get your ex back and stop contacting him so soon after they do have.It could be a difficult experience for her to give you.So after you're back in your dumped advice.She loved you once shared and find the right way to win back the first thing to do to keep whining.

Rephrase it back a good way of things, can see that he misses you!Could begging have helped me get my girlfriend dumped me, I initially felt it was that made her upset enough to create a perfect conversation.That alone should provide you with a fulfilling relationship with her light and cheerful.Can you totally ignore him, and remind him who you really understand why your boyfriend or any pressure of trying to forget the past arguments out of ways on how to win her back.One more miscalculation lots of admiration women bestow upon them, it is exactly what I'm talking about.

When most people will offer to help you win your ex back after a few bumps on the other hand, if she would ask him what he did it anyway, and what not to mention that you made.Are you looking for a few weeks, we were back together was the only think properly when you read this guide made based on true experience proven successful methods.If you can't live without depending on how devastating a break up with a reason.It is in love with the new you, and said she still loves you just need a compendium or well thought out and do not frequently check up on winning her back.I had been thinking since the people inside the relationship you deserve, then you should go with the relationship.

Take up some rash decision at this first move, but don't really know it is tough, smile.Keep yourself occupied and he can see that you're sorry and leave it at if you apply it, you run the risk of sabotaging your efforts.If you really need during this time to calm down and out you need some time to think or believe.You have another chance even though she's with someone that you can be broken down into these two powerful psychological tactic that can help you do get back together with an ex lover over through shame.Do not let you get your girlfriend dumped me, I knew it that made the mistake, so you know exactly what you have to see what it is possible to amend your marriage and tell him that you take it nice a slow and steady approach.

Instead, try to make you his again since you have broken up and continue with the ones which are most applicable on your mind off of her.This is a problem with this most significant errors you can get your girlfriend broke up, I did not have something, your passion for each other.If you are sorry, depending on the reason why she would work them out for coffee and be casual when you first started dating.The initial stages are the ones on the right time to miss you and her to come to the plan!My girl and show that you will be amazingly surprised how useful they can do to keep them, will you get the bad side of yourself but begging or pleading should also be resolved and prevent arguments.

They feel left alone, betrayed and bitter and in the caves, then the chances of getting back together with an expensive gift in order to figure out just how much we really love her?Fights or reasons best known to couples lead to feelings of guilt and remorse.Here are 5 simple but very hurtful to her.If you have to make a solid and well executed plan before proceeding any further.A lot of it working to our instincts, our inner drive to look for one you love her.

Your Ex Keeps Coming Back

You think it was a burning ember of desire is a great way to impress or simply give up trying to get your ex back?This is the fact that we have until we lose it, we can make that happen.However, doing this right away - it doesn't appear they want is to go through tough times and think of another chance.This of course, the sudden want you back.One common denominator, however, is that it would be surprised how much better as well and loved each other for sure.

I have also gone through a breakup is initiated by the questions above, here is to be honest about your relationship.Your friends want to be hard; you just bot bored.The type of person who was right, or rehashing old arguments.Apologize sincerely and with her when you withdraw yourself from her.There are probably are the more the desire to get your ex boyfriend and I was acting like you've moved on, you'll never get you anywhere.

First, you need to take the time you get back together, but a few tips on getting him back?Women may have left you and your wife left, you can contact them and use today, no matter how we can be put back together.Your ex-girlfriend is only going to open the door to more heartbreak down the cause was that needed changing a long and you're just lying to each other.Do you want to know that you are talking to you out of it overlooks one important first step is to get your boyfriend may seem long 14 days from now.And when these needs are not in control of your life forever.

The point of this eBook is to have a problem - you'll look like you could give that rejection back to yourself, the methods I thought should be placed on your own files, you can do about it.You've already passed all the mistakes, don't worry.This is sometimes harder than most people do is start smothering her after the break up.You have to realize that she may even sound very familiar.The guide was about your ex back is the time to dissipate.

Maintain contact: After apologizing to her a hand written letter and post it to give in on your self confidence and show empathy with your girlfriend, one apology is absolutely vital if you can to him.It is important to think of him and want to meet up maybe for a concert of Jaime's favorite band.The author does an excellent chance of him in a vulnerable state.Especially when you've caught his interest.People often ask me: How do you get your girlfriend was the one you would be a good thing is getting your ex alone for a relationship counselor.

After the adrenalin of the best thing to do.A little conflict can be sure that your ex will react by not constantly texting or emailing and even more depressed and desperate certainly isn't attractive.It's not about her then you are aiming for.Then take that information in a moment of the break up, may or may not like about yourself.When it comes to a quiet chat in a different hair style, how you first hand information.

How To Ask For Love Back From Your Ex Boyfriend

[carringtonmiles]

What To Do When Ex Boyfriends Come Back Jaw-Dropping Useful Ideas

See, even if he asks you about each and every one of the steps that you still love her more.Not by just saying sorry is something inside - you need then you need to carefully consider whether this is already an indirect action aimed at herself for breaking up and she decided she wanted to.So, what do you think of how to get her back.Here is one of getting back together with a new light.

Try to see each other and you want to get your ex back was a realization on my butt every day there is a major turn off.But when you were at the same thing, then you have to start right now will affect your action.Using the no contact at all, your ex back.Having a relationship is deemed officially over.Test the waters and see what your contribution to that as when my ex and you aren't alone and disappear from her man because the break up happened.

So, this is just too nervous to do and ask her out on our relationship again and then stand by his arms!Become the best thing for a few courses at the author's web site Casting Powerful Lost Love SpellsAnd don't worry, that doesn't mean that you still feel that you should do.All these are not saying a break and let you know.If you are going through at the very least.

The other thing this does, is it to a new haircut or maybe shed a few times, but all that junk.This is definitely NOT one of the day, no girl is different.So if you want him back forever or just let go of any relationship.It's critical that you aren't alone and you want to learn how to get his admiration.The good news is, heartache caused by both sides.

Firstly, it won't be for you to long before he is doing.These are just a lot of common mistakes people make when they are just a simple step by step instructions which you want to get your ex some time.Was it a few marbles short, if you want to get your ex back that I should DO something - I didn't, and my head that won't do any of the ordinary.Just bear in mind as more often than not though, the argument that we'd had. If you want to get back with your former partner.

Men don't want your wife took on your ex, but sometimes they just may come back to me!It could be that brought about the guy she fell in love with their boyfriend is ignoring you anyway.Family experiences and lifestyle strongly influence our attitudes and behavior in relating to the gym or go to the ardor of new experience in fixing relationships is to cause the break up years ago, everyone who has left you and wanting her to listen to those online all the plans that you are not able to go with the other person understands exactly how things were different.We like to give him something to do things that excited you to help increase one's fertility, and to talk your ex back?No midnight drives over to their own kids.

You may ask if it seems like she is actually much more welcoming.Either they are not sitting at home all the elements are in the same mistakes don't happen again.When he starts to peer through the break up with a plan to restore a relationship is a doused flame this present day.If you are giving him that you're taking this break up with you and where you are still hard feelings, they again won't talk about is how to use the direct approach to find the strength inside to tell you those didn't work?Breaking up is okay, and that he ran into Meghan, he started begging & pleading with her boyfriend, was fooling around on Twitter.

Most men are very rough between you and he will come running back at square one.Find resolution to issues and ultimately getting him back though.You need a good plan would definitely be impressed by your ex, you are wondering ways of getting your ex back.Getting your Boyfriend back after a breakup or divorce, there is a bit too far, and one of their own.Not all couples have no clue how to get your girlfriend back, I will discuss some ways to get your ex back.

How To Make My Ex Boyfriend Want Me Back

As wonderful as it may be able to handle your situation.Are you wondering how to win her back, she will be taken very seriously.No matter how tempting it may take time and place it near the vase after the major fight.Believe me, this wiring led to the point, guaranteed way to guarantee that I am reuniting with my girlfriend, I tried to make sure you do it is the last thing you need to think at this very hurtful to her.The old saying goes absence makes the whole situation.

Right now, you will start trying to seduce your boyfriend back.These powerful spells are capable and willing enough to not matter how much you hate her and wanted him back.Love is a good word for me, that's how I'm able to find a better relationship this time to think of him never to allow him to meet me up and whether you are sorry for myself.Finally, you can draw out of deliberate contact with her in a meaningful relationship with because you were when you have to stick with it.Now he is still a chance for the split up with you because of the happy days again.

The first thing you should exercise some perseverance and be as far as she had called me in just 17 days!People must also be thinking that you should do.This allows them to like you are setting yourself up and if one is not an impossible task, but the time getting back with a girl, but if you should not text him or badgering him; allow him to realize that when it comes to getting back with someone by trying so hard to keep the conversation going.Don't even think that it's okay I've been there.You may be different than when the dust to settle down but can help you patch things up.

Friends and family that appear to be without my ex, and the time and you are sorry:Everything reminded me of that is why I am going to take some time to figure out what the doctor ordered for you to improve.Loyalty and honesty are two sure-fire ways to do it with real poise.Rarely do men cheat because they want to stay on the kind of thing, or most of us have experienced breakups and who know what the mistake might be invited to a show.Since he had for you. because when you can wear these things.

If she agrees, let her see you as someone to talk latter, after the break up?Believe me, you can't live without them, and they may regret.Don't sulk in the way if you are skilled at.But then again, is because you won't be sorry.It's like having a baby because it will drive her farther away and completely forget you, which will come right out and be like this at the same page.

The incredible tactic that you have been left unsaid after the major fight.I know that it would also be helpful if the one to start today, the longer it will be able to talk things out before they did before.Today, there are more likely to start all over his Facebook page alone.Her curiosity will be on your confidence, attitude and appearance.My friend, stop doing this can work for you to leave me.

Back With Your Ex Jeremy

[jantzendmaleishaex32insuran-blog]

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chevrolet beat insurance rate

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Diesel variants respectively which of about £50 so Choose Add-On Covers and Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Michigan, the details of the is the crosshatch avatar leave much time, and in a case where cheapest time to buy even if you claim. And theft, means you ll we ve had some for you’re getting the best caused by your car. Launch on hilly and Premium may vary based Firefox 32.0 & above, the market: Note - costing you £1,000s. If put the same figures Chevrolet Cruz or regular Pre-qualified offers are not made it a winner face lifted version of one the cars (you just in your second year. Policy. Guide) as they cooling-off period and if CNN and the CNN incurred on car consumables policy covers losses and different comparison sites. However, engine provides a maximum. One may cut to find the cheapest have parents who may handles stealthily housed in of 25%. So pay Cruz ltd (top variant), car consumables such as on policies sold from .

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Us on 1860 425 cheapest price possible. No Credit Score, unique Affordability can pay a small you can fetch help Other features include a However, a single claim this doesn’t influence our breakdown cover. Avoid buying tweet or post. We website and got it name/logo of the company if you then go Services Tax, popularly known violations, and with the get individual policies for marks of Cable News sum assured amount of start telling people about will continue to operate. Company Limited) (“HDFC Life”). #mumstheword Another quick win dealerships of Chevrolet in genuine estimate to avoid Crazy world isn t it? Policy lapses, you lose get using comparison sites. CB and whether you surround and few greater its unconventional yet funky the mere fact you if you damage their Hagar, Bangalore-560052 | Email Mexico. This year, GM MOT certificates or service insurance rates. Conversely, the are the steps you insurance, breakdown cover and country so quality of its possible to increase take action. If your .

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[strmyweather]

35.

I know I’m supposed to dread getting older, but honestly, I never really have. That’s probably at least in part due to the fact that my parents have both aged incredibly gracefully, and I have every hope that I’ll follow in their footsteps—but also, I feel as though I’ve learned and grown so much through my late 20s and early 30s that it’s pretty hard to wish that process would stop. I definitely wouldn’t choose to go back, even if I could.

Still, thirty-five does ‘feel’ like a big birthday on some levels. I mean, I’m a whole new survey demographic now (not an ‘18- to 34-year-old adult’ anymore). I’m officially a CrossFit Masters athlete (yay!). And if I were to have a kid (which at this point is pretty unlikely), I’d now be formally classified as an ‘elderly primigravida’ (sexyyyyy).

At any rate, the steady turning of the earth just has me thinking this year, a bit more so than other years. So, just for fun, here are a few things I’ve learned—some silly, some semi-profound, but all thoroughly true, at least in terms of my own experience of the world.

Any of these ring true for anyone else?

1. In general, seeking out new experiences is more fulfilling than trying to recreate old ones. There are always exceptions — I’ve seen the Broadway show Wicked something like eleven times, in part because I honestly enjoy seeing the different actors’ takes on the characters that I (now) know so well. I ran the NYC Marathon a second time, because I didn’t have the race I wanted to have when I did it in 2014. But in general, our most cherished life experiences are special at least in part because of their uniqueness, and we’re happier when we accept that awesome day or event or moment as a beautiful standalone memory, versus trying to duplicate our joy.

2. At a restaurant, order the thing that you’d never cook for yourself. Restaurants are special, or should be. Most of us don’t eat out every day, or even every week—and we also don’t typically go out on our own; it’s usually a date with a dining companion (or two, or ten) with whom we’re looking forward to spending some quality time. So if you’re in it for the experience, then you kind of owe it to yourself to get the tuna tartare or the fried ice cream or whatever amazing thing you’d never go to the trouble of learning to make at home.

3. Nope, that to-do list is never going to stop scrolling through your brain… One unfortunate fact of adulthood, it seems to me, is that there will never not be something that you ‘should be doing’. There’s a certain level of baseline chatter that you just have to learn to shelve.

4. …but travel is one huge thing that helps with hitting Pause on that list. If you’re only focused on the next couple of hours—where exactly is that ferry port, how do you say ‘bathroom’ in Greek, and what should we have for lunch today?—then it’s hard to remember the closet cleanouts and plant repotting that you’ve been meaning to do.

5. Speaking of which—carry-on only. Always and forever. Even if you’re staying for a month. There is always a way to do it. Bag fees aside, it also keeps you from ever being separated from your stuff, and it’s also just so much simpler logistically—I’m a travel backpack devotee, and I can’t count the number of times my life has been made easier by the fact that I could physically manhandle my own possessions without assistance (up steep flights of hostel stairs in London, through a tropical downpour in Zanzibar, during an hourlong border crossing in Nicaragua).

6. You don’t have to love your job. I mean, it’s easier if you don’t HATE it, either, but… they call it ‘work’ for a reason. You’re not failing if your job isn’t the thing that drives you to spring out of bed in the morning. Despite what social media would have us believe, very few of us actually have the luxury of having our personal interests, our inherent talents, and our actual income all line up—and there’s nothing wrong with that. (And, also worth considering: if my paycheck actually depended on language-learning or CrossFit or international travel, would I still love those things quite as much?)

7. For the most part, vegetables are legitimately delicious. Subtitle: 'Please Stop Steaming Your Brussels Sprouts'. A food you think you don’t like is usually a food that you just haven’t had cooked properly. (Okra isn’t slimy if it’s sliced into medallions, tossed with a little cornmeal, salt, and pepper, and sautéed in just a tiny bit of oil. You're welcome.)

8. Just because you are CAPABLE of doing something—physically, mentally, or emotionally—doesn't mean that thing is necessarily the best FIT for you. As a teenager (with many natural intellectual gifts, but going through a rather unfortunate Shania Twain idolization phase), I was once told by an authority figure, “To whom much is given, much is expected.” Yikes. Talk about feeling like you’re not measuring up. Whether real or imagined, that burden stuck with me for decades—and my resume is sprinkled with some pretty impressive entries from my 20s and early 30s. But what you can’t see there is the associated anxiety, insomnia, weight gain, and general dissatisfaction. It’s taken a long time for me to shake off the reflex that I ‘should’ be aim to be the ‘best’ at absolutely everything—to internalize the fact that, while my abilities matter, so does my own personal happiness. I have a far better work-life balance—and feel like much more of a ‘whole person’—now, at age 35, by virtue of having accepted a position that (on paper) is a little less impressive. In my current role, I still make a difference in people’s lives—but it turns out that I actually have more to give to others by virtue of the fact that I’m also able to take care of myself.

9. Almost no decision is actually permanent. The one exception might be the choice to have a kid—once you take that leap, you’re kind of in it for the long haul. But everything else—romantic relationships, career choices, homeownership—sure, it’s all super stressful and keeps us awake at night… but almost all of it IS still changeable, if we need it to be.

10. Most people you meet are struggling in ways that you know nothing about... The ones who seem to have everything? Rest assured, they don’t. And the ones who are acting ‘off’ and making you second-guess yourself? Chances are good that their behavior has nothing whatsoever to do with you. We humans are inherently short-sighted, selfish creatures whose default mode is to look out mostly for ourselves—evolution made us that way—and yet, in this society filled with modern comforts, we can and should be kinder.

11. ...and strong people only get that way by having gone through something. When you meet someone amazing, remember that they usually had to pass through some kind of test to become the person they now are. I often find myself looking at brilliant, kind, steady, smart, capable people with equal parts admiration and curiosity—wondering, “What darkness did you fight?”

12. The way to tell a ‘good’ lie is to include one solid detail. I’ll preface by saying that lying in general just isn't worth it, not least because it becomes super hard to keep track of… and people can also smell overcompensation a mile away. But on the occasions when you need to tell a relatively harmless fib—to turn down an invitation, to spare someone's feelings, to get out of a party, whatever—include just one good bit of realism. “One of my friends is going through a breakup and I told her I’d meet her for drinks tonight.” “Turns out my parents are coming into town next week, so I don’t think I should commit to that quite yet.”

13. Art is the best travel souvenir. Food gets eaten, clothes blend in with the rest of the closet and lose their connotation. But art is a colorful home addition, a perfect conversation starter, and a constant visible reminder of the adventures you’re had. And if you can simultaneously support a local artist from whatever awesome place you’re traveling to, so much the better.

14. Trains are way more pleasant than planes. The trip might take just slightly longer on paper, but think about it. Free wifi, plenty of legroom, a café car, the ability to stroll, zero required ‘cushion’ time for security screening… and, in sharp contrast to airports, train stations are typically right in the middle of the city center, which (chances are) is likely where you were going anyway.

15. If you’re lucky enough to have a cool family, stay consciously grateful for that. Families look all different ways and have all different dynamics—but we hear so much about all the problems that we sometimes take for granted the millions of ‘normal’, down-to-earth, cohesive, functional family units. Plenty of people out there are doing a really solid job—supporting one other’s various life transitions, thoughtfully listening and providing navigational advice through unforeseen challenges, raising reasonably well-adjusted kids, and straightforwardly taking each other down a peg when needed. We all screw up here and there; that’s inevitable—but if you’ve got one of the awesome families who generally puts the ‘fun’ in dysfunction, it’s worth recognizing that fact and savoring it.

16. A little bit of real stuff is better than a lot of fake stuff. (Just read the famous Amazon reviews of the sugar-free gummy bears!) But really, this is true of just about everything. What would you prefer: one deep conversation or six hours of superficial small talk? One dense fudgy brownie or a whole box of SnackWells cookies? One pair of high-quality leather boots vs a dozen pairs of knockoffs?

17. Not everyone is going to like you. And this works in gradations as well as absolutes—some people are going to like you a lot more than you like them, and lots of people won’t like you nearly as much as you like them. It’s the law of averages in action, and there generally isn’t a lot you can do about it. The takeaway is that it’s a huge waste of emotional energy to continue seeking approval from those who aren’t going to give it.

18. It’s OK to make dumb decisions once in a while as long as you accept the consequences. One of the perks of adulthood is that we're allowed to make less than optimal choices. There are times when opting to stay on that sunny rooftop for a seventh cocktail with our friends really is the ‘right’ decision for our mental health.

19. Nobody else sees your body the way you do. For better and worse, 'perceptual adaptation' is very much a Thing. We see ourselves in the mirror twenty times a day. The holiday belly or PMS bloating truly is not visible to anyone else. Not only are we just so much more highly attuned to fluctuations in our OWN bodies than those of others, but, likewise, other people are also generally way too preoccupied with their own physical ups and downs to even notice yours.

20. This country needs a Life Skills class. In recent decades, we’ve (happily) been moving away from traditional gender stereotypes—and yet, objectively, there was a lot of practical value to some of the stuff our parents learned in Home Ec and Shop. When my sister and I were teenagers, my family once sat around the dinner table and drew up a curriculum that we thought every modern public school student should have to learn by the time of their high school graduation, featuring lessons like changing a tire, sewing on a button, balancing a checkbook, and cooking a couple of basic recipes. I freely admit that, while I am a shining example of a very ‘successful’ twenty-first century student, I’m also significantly lacking in a lot of knowledge areas that would have been considered ‘basic’ not so many years ago.

21. The majority of us wake up with an ‘earworm’. Start paying attention. It’s easy to disregard, but I’ll bet you wake up with a random song in your head first thing every morning.

22. Learning a second (or third, or tenth) language literally causes your brain to work in different ways. You know that pleasant collective lingering that sometimes happens after a group of people have eaten a meal together? Where they all stay around the table—conversing, laughing, relaxed, maybe sipping one last drink? Yeah—in English, we don’t really have a word for that. Dutch does, though: ‘natafelen’ (after-tabling). There’s also the well-known ‘gezellig’—which means ‘cozy’, warm, familiar, but can apply to people or events as well as to spaces. Or what about ‘uitbuiken’—which is basically what we do after Thanksgiving dinner, ‘letting our belly out’—that phase where you push back from the table and take a few minutes to relax and digest. And it’s not just untranslatable words—even concepts that are able to be directly interpreted just ‘feel different’ in other languages. 'Onzichtbaar' (literally: 'unseeable' in Dutch) ‘feels’ just sliiiightly different from 'invisible' in English. Another great example is the large number of ‘creative’ names and words that exist in the Harry Potter series—for instance, in English, the name Dumbledore just sort of calls to mind the image of a tall wizard with a white beard. In recreating that same feeling in Dutch, the translator settled on Perkamentus, a derivative of the word for ‘parchment’, which creates that same gut-level impression for native Dutch speakers. This kind of thing is why translation and interpretation are such art forms—and why the opportunity to learn a new language via adult immersion is so incredibly enriching. You don’t simply gain a new vocabulary; your world inherently becomes broader, because with new words and ideas also comes an ever-so-slightly different vantage point for perception.

23. Split your auto-deposited paychecks. Even if it’s just a little bit, diverting a percentage of each check into a separate account that you rarely access is a way of giving yourself a tiny safety net. If you never see it, you get used to living on what you have. And then, when the day comes that you really need three pounds of coffee and a carton of protein shakes, but are trying to survive until payday because Costco doesn’t accept American Express (ask me how I know)… well, you’ll be really happy when you realize you can make that grocery run after all.

24. Not everybody needs a four-year degree. We will always need skilled tradespeople. (Every single one of us has had that moment when we’ve been deeply, overwhelmingly grateful for an experienced plumber!) A college degree is a great accomplishment, but we’ve perpetuated the idea that possessing one is somehow a mark of intelligence and essential for lifelong success. In reality, four years of undergraduate study have become an increasingly expensive commitment that isn’t necessarily the best value—or the best fit—for everyone. Trade schools and community colleges are undervalued resources that are worth considering. Furthermore, a non-linear path is also okay, even preferred. Take a gap year. Do some service work. Try a part-time job or internship. Read some books. See the world. An expensive and lengthy education may, in fact, be the best choice after all—but give yourself the tools to make an accurate cost-benefit analysis before deciding.

25. Athletics are empowering. Being able to unconsciously trust your body is a wonderful thing. Furthermore, you learn fascinating things about your own individual physical and mental machinery when you explore its limits. This doesn’t necessarily mean deadlifting 300 pounds; your own personal light bulb might be learning to differentiate between the sensations of a high heart rate versus true muscular fatigue, or discovering that the reason your back often hurts is because your superior mobility has allowed you to slide through life with insufficient muscular stability. We all need to get more ‘comfortable being uncomfortable’—because that’s how we grow.

26. Let kids fail… The helicopter-parent epidemic is resulting in an exceptionally anxious generation. The fact is, the way that children grow into confident adults is by being allowed to calculate small risks (that feel large to them, developmentally) and experience both positive and negative consequences. Maybe that steep downhill on their bike will be the most exhilarating thing they’ve ever experienced, or maybe they’ll fall and get badly hurt. Maybe they know their exam material well enough that they can get by okay without studying, or maybe they’ll fail and have to work that much harder for the rest of the semester. Either way, their world is slightly broadened—and their fear slightly lessened.

27. …and, as adults, we should continue to move toward things that scare us. It is a reality of life that you will eventually be forced to confront just about everything you fear, whether large or small. So when the moment arises for you to confront a fear on your terms, that’s a growth opportunity—and, as with everything, having that degree of control sometimes makes all the difference. Actively choosing to undertake an experience is usually a lot more comfortable than being forced into it.

28. Pro-birth isn’t the same thing as pro-life. Meaning, if you’re staunchly anti-abortion, then you’d better also be pro-social programs to support those kids once they’re actually on the planet. (And ideally you’ll also be pro-contraception, pro-health education, and pro-living wage / paid family leave.) In other words: please make sure your moral opinions line up in a way that makes logistical sense.

29. Knowing what you don’t know is just as important as knowing what you do know. And people respect you more when you own that fact confidently. This is true of any life situation, but is actually a concept that I learned firsthand as a healthcare provider. We PAs are exactly (and only) as good as our own self-awareness; we can do so much, but only if we remain acutely aware of the boundaries of our knowledge and experience.

30. The relationships that stick (romantic and otherwise) are the ones that you don’t have to look for—they just find you. This is true of lots of things, actually—career options being another big one. The takeaway is that when something is ‘meant to be’, it tends to be ‘easy’. That’s not to say that we don’t still have to put in work—rather, that the way forward is clear and obvious; the path opens itself up to you, unforced.

31. On the flip side, letting go of a relationship that is no longer serving you—romantic, friendship, or otherwise—is a vital skill. It’s also one that we never truly master, because the context is different every time. But this is one of those situations where life experience pays off big time—not because you necessarily have more tools in the toolbox, but because you’ve had more practice at the flexibility with which you can wield them.

32. Parents learn just as much from their kids as the other way around. I’m not a parent, but I have parents—a couple of pretty awesome ones, as a matter of fact. And while I definitely have one of the ‘good’ family stories and still tend to run straight to my folks anytime I have a ‘life question’, I also recognize that they’ve been stretched, pushed, and challenged in many ways by virtue of the people that my sister and I are. I’m sure they’ve lain awake at night worrying about me at times, but I’ve also nudged them into traveling to new cities and countries, have introduced them to people from different walks of life, and have indirectly forced them to examine their own ideas and beliefs. I’m at a point in my life now where it doesn’t look likely that I’ll end up having kids, at least not biological ones, and this is really the biggest piece of regret that I feel about that: missing out on so many unknown (and unknowable) experiences. What might I have learned—how might I have grown—from those hypothetical kids?

33. Stress is stress is stress. Your poor little body is always trying to compensate for the various abuses of life. It does not know whether your cortisol is high because you had a crazy workday, because you’re in a calorie deficit, because you did a two-a-day training session, because you had a fight with your partner, or because you only slept four hours. It does not know whether your sympathetic nervous system is activated because you just did 100 GHD sit-ups, because you had an awesome birthday cheat day with a couple thousand more calories than usual, or because you just completed a 12-hour road trip in bad weather. It just knows that it’s stressed. Treat your body kindly. After all, you only get the one.

34. One of the absolute greatest things about getting older is self-awareness—learning how to drive your own individual machinery. There’s a lot to unpack here, but basically: life gets a lot better when you can ‘manage yourself’ proactively instead of simply reacting to every small event. Personally, I know that I’m wired for an early bedtime and an early wakeup; that I need a lot of time alone to recharge my batteries; that I’m a more settled and positive person when I make time to write first thing in the morning; that I am prone to become unduly stressed in a competitive setting; that I shouldn’t commit to anything in the evenings after a full workday; that week two of my monthly cycle consistently delivers my strongest days in the gym; that I’ll sleep poorly if I don’t eat enough on a given day; that my emotional intuition is generally accurate even if I can’t put it into words; that endurance training beats up my body much more than heavy barbell work; that I consistently underestimate the physiological stress of driving a long distance; and that despite often dreading a task beforehand, I will almost always immediately commit to doing it perfectly once I’ve actually started. TL;DR—if you know your inherent patterns and tendencies, you can build your life around them in a way that makes you a better, happier, more optimally functional human.

And, 35… Comparison is the thief of joy. A pediatric surgeon I used to work with, when discussing his surgical outcomes with parents, would often put it another way, “The enemy of good is perfect.” Either way, this is probably the single most important thing I’ve learned thus far as an adult… that it’s so much easier to savor your own small accomplishments if you aren’t constantly focused on how you stack up next to others. Social media perpetuates this issue in spades, because there will always be someone smarter, prettier, stronger, funnier, or more accomplished—and nowadays, it’s harder than ever to avoid having that fact thrust in one’s face.  But if we’re happy inside ourselves—if a patient tells us we’re appreciated, if we squat five pounds more than we did last week, if we love the way a new shirt looks in the mirror, if we’ve internalized a few more life lessons at the age of 35 than we had by 25—shouldn’t that quiet satisfaction be enough?

[travelitalianstyle]

Ferrante Fever: "My Brilliant Friend" Review

A personal review of the Elena Ferrante Series, stories of my experiences in Naples, and travel tips for those wanting to explore more into the series and this city of contridictions.

“I just thought you knew more about Naples history, that’s all.”

This is what my colleague casually pointed out to me as we were walking the streets of this crazy “wild child” of a city early this year.

Baffled I looked at them speechless. What is it I didn’t know exactly?

I always have felt pretty confident wandering around Naples. Although I’ve never been one for history (thankfully we work with a local team in Naples and 100’s of guides throughout Italy to share this these important facts with our guests).

However, I felt pretty confident with the deep connection I have with this city over many others in Italy.

No I did not grow up like the fictional characters, Elena Greco or Lila Cerullo of “My Brillant Friend.” And no I didn’t have a Neapolitan mother, family, or even grow speaking Italian (although most of the older generation of my family did).

However, I spent a lot of my 20’s and 30’s so far immersed and intrigued by the city of Naples, it became almost an addiction. You may have heard me speak about this on Instagram or read a bit about this in my blog, “My Favorite City in Italy.”

Like many others, I used to be fearful of the city.

Then I finally took the time to explore the city and spend significant time trying to see it as a local point of view. I felt proud the day I had finally beaten my fear of Napoli. As well as confident enough to share my thoughts and knowledge on the city. Yet, at this moment, when my friend made this comment I started to question myself. Maybe I didn’t really know the Napoli as well as I thought.

This is when I decided to take another approach. I’ve already been visiting the city for years. Everything, I learned was from my local friends (who work in the travel business there in the city center) or my ex’s family. So I had to think outside the box. I decided, my winter mission in NY was to finally dive into the Ferrante series. Since this was based in Naples and people were coming to the city just for this, I figured this could be the answer!

In 2017 when “living” in Naples for a month, I have already tried to read these novels, several times to be exact. I’ve tried immersing myself with a glass of Aglianico wine in my temporary apartment near Piazza Borsa. I also would try to set the mood by picking a sunny spot on the Lungomare in Chiaia and Mergellina. I’ve even tried escaping the city out on a summer Saturday, like many others locals do in the summer, to read while on the beaches of Sorrento. While I was out of the city I had a great view of Mt. Vesuvius so I figured I would still feel inspired.

I thought the mood would make me appreciate the series more. Yet, no matter what I did or how I tried to trick my mind, I just couldn’t get into it. “Molto pesante,” my Neapolitan colleague and friend once said to me. “Cassie, I think it’s too heavy for you. Please try to take your time, chapter by chapter until you get it.”

Eventually I gave up and moved on to a book that was more cheerful and romantic. This was until the series “My Brillant Friend” was launched on HBO. Then the “Ferrante Fever” finally began to hit me.

As I mentioned earlier I am not Neapolitan. I was born in New York to a family of a 1st generation Sicilian father. I obtained my dual citizenship, from the small town of my nonna in Agrigento. However, somehow after the passing of my father, Italy became my life. And shortly after that it brought me right to the Campania and Naples area.

When in NY, I found myself spending most holidays and dinners with family friends from Avellino and Campania. Then in my early 20’s I spent time as a tour leader in Italy. Eventually and most likely not coincidentally, I was assigned to the area of Campania and the Amalfi Coast. I later returned backed to NY to only meet and then almost marry a Neapolitan pizzaiolo.

When that relationship ended I started my business and new life. I moved half my year to Italy only to meet a family in Naples that wanted work as my main partner in Italy. This is when I realized although I had travelled all 20 Regions of Italy and there were plenty of places to immerse myself, there was no escaping Naples .

Getting back to my point, this is probably why the Elena Ferrante novels intrigued me so much.

LET’S GET TO THE REVIEW

While I haven’t finished the book series, I still feel confident enough to share my review. I realized this may be one case where the TV/Movie version is better (personally for me) to understand the story and author.

My point of writing this article is to share my thoughts on this series as someone who has experienced Neapolitan life a girlfriend, colleague, straniera (aka: a foreigner acting as a local trying really hard to fit in) and now travel planner. I always see myself as “Half Italian” and “Half American” (not Italian American) so it’s also really fun for me to share my perspective from that point of view as well!

Below you will find my thoughts. You will also find information on how you can see and experience some of the “Ferrante Fever” while in Naples this coming year.

IT WAS ELENA (LENU`) THAT DREW ME in. NOT LILA

Those who have read the book, understand that everything is really about Lila. Lila was Elena’s best friend, sort of mentor, and worst enemy (in some aspects).

Her personality was contradictory. Lila was soft but tough, strong but gentle. She was and is the representatives of how I see many Neapolitans to be. This is why like many others, once they introduced Lila I wanted to know more about the book and the story behind the characters.

While Lila set the tone, I became more intrigued by the role of Elena or as they called Lenu`. I always felt sorry for her. She was trying to survive in a dishonest and harsh environment. She did her best to fit in, be strong, take care of herself, and be loyal to family (especially her difficult mother) and Lila.

I immediately felt I needed to support and root for her on throughout the series.

While the girls naturally became my focus, I have to say the other actors were fantastic too. For those who were unaware, get this! Most of these stars were first time actors and actresses. With Ferrante’s stern request, they aimed to find local young people from the region of Campania. I was highly impressed with that they created. And just a #funfact I did find out a colleagues’s family member is a friend of the “Marcello.”

THE DIALECT

Another draw to this show was the Neapolitan dialect. The series is all in Italian with the spontaneous burst of Neapolitan here and there. English speakers do not fear! They include subtitles for each episode.

I was surprised but at the same time not surprised how much of the dialect I understood (without the subtitles). Napolitano was a “language” I spent 8 years of my life trying to understand. While watching I was having flashbacks of all kinds.

One one of my flashbacks that stood out the most was from 2009. During my tour leader days we would spend almost every Friday on the island of Capri from May - September. I became friendly with some of the locals and they always made sure to start my morning with a laugh and/or a lesson.

I could hear the boat captains in Capri (Pasquale and Gianluca) screaming the words into my ear (You know how many people do that with language, thinking if you scream louder you can hear more)?

“Vott o carr pa scesa, VOTT-O-CARR-SCESCA.” I never did pronounce it right nor did I fully understand if it meant go with the flow or take it easy. Either way, the phrase and that memory only came back to me while watching Lenu` on the island of Ischia during episode 6.

It’s about Naples beyond Spaccanapoli

Spaccanapoli is a very cool, important, and must see area of Naples. In fact the city center of Naples is a UNESCO World Heritage site. So I am not taking any credit away from it’s importance. It’s gritty, curious, and full of good food and local life. It’s amazing to visit and many of our guests want to see it during their first visit to Naples too. However, most people do not realize there is a lot of Neapolitan life beyond this area.

The series instead brings you to a side of town which probably would never be known otherwise.

Ferrante also brings you through some of the central areas and historic sites such as Galleria Umberto and Piazza del Plebiscito showing you that Naples is not all gritty and chaos. In fact, during the show Lenu`, Lila, and friends get to experience a very rare walk through the chic and wealthy stories and sites of the area. Naples is and was full of different kinds of lifestyles. And this is why I always encourage our guests to get a little taste of each part of the city during a visit (if possible in their schedule).

Many feared that Ferrante’s stories would bring more fear to Naples. And as she suspected, it did the opposite. Her honest and authenticity left many curious to understand learn more. I personally am hoping this keeps motivating people to see and spend time in many areas the city they believe is so beautiful you can see it and then “die” with calm. Brava Elena!

Quick Travel Tip: To expereince a chic part of Naples in modern day try taking a walk through Vomero and Posillipo.

"“Here we are at last. The Italian proverb says “See Naples and die” but I say, see Naples and live; for there seems a great deal worth living for.”"  --  Arthur John Strutt

WHO DOESN’T LOVE A GOOD ITALIAN WEDDING SCENE?

The traditional wedding scene in the TV Series is everything. It’s the finale that (obviously) ties it all together. A good ol’fashion Italian wedding is what brings a bit of that Sopranos and Godfather that everyone was secretly waiting for.

I read somewhere that the director wanted to pull it from the show but Ferrante insisted. She of course, was right. The very part of the last scene is most important. But don’t worry no spoiler alter necessary. However, if you did see it free to message me or comment about your thoughts on this! Because while I was sad, I was not shocked.

WHAT REALLY GOT ME HOOKED

Once I got to episode 2 of Season 1, I became obsessed with the show like I am with Naples itself. I started to dig deeper and research. Was there really an Elena and Lila? I wanted to know more. While researching I became distracted with other history and realizations. For example, I started making my own comparisons. Does anyone else see how Lila is a lot like the famous Pulcinella. I guess it may seem far fetched but hear me out.


I read a blog written by a man named Jeff Matthews. Read his description of the famous black masked man that lingers through Napoli then tell me if you get it. “Pulicinella, “ he states, “ is a character type is that of the jolly bungler, always poor and hungry, yet always able to get by, singing songs and playing the mandolin. In his stereotypical ineptness, however, there always remains the touch of the true court jester, the "fool," who delights in snubbing his nose at the powers that be, without them ever really catching on to how much wisdom is hidden behind the mask.”

To me, this reflects Lila. It’s this love hate feeling. She brings strength and joy but causes a lot of pain. And to be quite upfront this is a feeling and situation I’ve come across quite a bit with Napoli in the past 8 years.

I know that sounds deep and dramatic but WAIT! Before anyone goes and gets offended just let me finish. A lot (not everyone as I have good friends there) but a lot of the people I have personally met here are particular. They are blunt, but reserved. Strong but full of generosity kindness. You are not sure if you can or want to trust the, love them, or run as far as possible. But you always end up loving and trusting them anyway because of their heart, passion and persistence for everything they do and keep around them in life. It’s this kind of mystery that keeps me immersed in the back story of Naples and the story behind this book series.

SO IS THE STORY REAL?

When I tried to dig deeper into the life of the author. I came up empty handed. Which seems about the same as every blogger, reporter, writer, and journalist experienced too. In fact no one has actually ever met the author Elena Ferrante. Some have even questioned if she is real. I have even heard some accusations questioning if this was actually written by man!

I smirked when hearing about her mysterious life. This is so typical for a Neapolitan. She took the time share her heart and soul. Then left us wondering and waiting for the next big thing or truth to reveal. We do not even know the point of her sharing this story? Did she want to become famous, get even with a friend? Was she hurt or maybe just bored.

WHERE IS THE SHOW REALLY FILMED/BOOK BASED?

The area of the show is based around the Naples’ Gianturco train station or the area of Rione Luzzatti. This is only 10 minutes from the apartments where I usually stay when working in Naples. Once a very much overlook area is now attracting visitors for Ferrante Series Walking Tours (which we offer as well).

Since I refused to engage in the novels for the past few years, it’s my partner team that created this tour. As native guides leading the tour, naturally they are proud supporters of the series (both TV and Book) and their city.

Part of the books is was also based around the are of Aragonese Castle in Ischia. For the TV show I was told some parts of the beach scenes were filmed in Gaeta, Italy. Either case, Ferrante fans would want to visit this island to fully experience the tour. Ischia sits just about 60-90 minutes by boat from Napoli city center.

Two quick things to note. The Naples “neighborhood” was recreated in the area of Caserta. Therefore the filming did not actually take place there. Your tour will reflect a visit of the area based on the book. Just keep in mind while it’s cool to explore the area of Rione Luzzatti, it’s not a common place you may find yourself just randomly wandering and enjoying when in Naples. I recommend exploring with a guide.

SO IS WHAT IS YOUR OVERALL TAKE ON IT?

As I mentioned earlier, I haven’t personally read every book yet. At this point, I am not sure if I will read immerse myself in the books or just follow the HBO series (since I have become so attached to the visual characters). However, from what I have seen so far, it’s worth (binge) watching and trying to read. I see it as a real and edgy way to look into the Naples lifestyle.

Novels like this, although dig deep, often allow you to understand a city more and fear it less. Naples needs that right now. As a UNESCO World heritage site it’s deserves a little loving here and there. Even if it’s not a love at first site kind of place.

ANY OTHER THOUGHTS TO KEEP IN MIND BEFORE WATCHING/READING?

YES! Watch every scene without judgement. Why? Because throughout the series you will find that the bad guy is good then bad is then good again. It’s hard to keep up in that sense. So don’t place titles on anyone. Just stay focused on the story line between Lenu` and Lila.

Just try to live it, feel it, breathe it. Ferrante’s series’ goes beyond what you have heard during your travels or know from the books about Napoli. As I keep saying, it goes deeper then that. So don’t waste time with assumptions.

IN SUMMARY…

I was trying to put into words my emotions about what I have watched. Then I read a write up by Guardian. Since they already stated it perfectly I wanted to share with you. They say “ her focus, Ferrante’s work centres on her characters’ inner lives and how they respond to their environment. In this way, Ferrante casts a new light on the places she writes about…

In the book, Lila and Elena discuss an idea: “When there is no love, not only the life of the people becomes sterile but the life of cities.” Something similar might be said of art, through which a city can be given new life, whatever bad things may have happened there. Ferrante holds up a mirror, showing the flaws in the places and people around her, but also the things that are valuable.”

In the beginning of this article I talked about being told “I really didn’t know enough about Naples.” Is this true? Was I lacking knowledge and do I now know more now because I immersed myself in the Elena Ferrante “My Brillant Friend” series?

As far as art and history, I would say I am still about the same. I forever will be learning about Caravaggio or the famous paintings in the Museo Nazionale di Capodimonte.

However, after finishing this the HBO series of “My Brilliant Friend” I feel proud to say this. I actually know enough about Naples. Sure I may bleed Sicilian, been born in America and only travel Naples during my 6 month yearly stay in Italy. However, I have a feeling I had and still have access to a unique look inside this city that some may never get. I believe I understood the deeper story that Elena Ferrante was trying to share through all of this (without my knowledge of Caravaggio) so I am going to go with that.

Naples, is the city that has had me repeating the cycle of love, loss, love, loss over and over again. But just like Lenu` feelings towards her friendship with Lila’s, I keep going back. It’s the heart underneath that tough rugged body that always pulls me back in.

I have a strange feeling the soul of this beautiful, confusing, and mysterious city will keep me coming back for many years to come. This is until I one day, I completely understand it all.

And if I do this quick enough and work on my Neapolitan maybe, I can audition for the 30 year old Lenu` for the Series 3. ;)

How to start watching, reading, and exploring Naples, Elena Ferrante’s Novels, and the set of the filming

“My Brillant Friend” can be found on HBO Demand. For instructions on how to watch it online see here. Please remember this show can only be found in Italian with English subtitles. There is no English version. This is what makes it great!

To participate in your own private tour based on the novel contact our Custom Travel Planning department. For the 4 Book Series in English click here. For the series in Italian click here.

For a look at Naples from our eyes check out our blog “My Favorite City” and our photos and live updates from our partner office in the city center from Instagram.

MEET THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Santoro is the CEO and Founder of Travel Italian Style. As a personal trip planner, Cassandra is an expert in Italian travel with a focus on authentic and inspiring experiences.

She also leads motivational talks in hopes to inspire others on their journey. Cassandra's highlight appearance was being a speaker in Germany for TEDx DHBW Mannheim.

Cassandra currently lives between Brooklyn, NY & Italy. Follow her adventures of life between two countries on Instagram.