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stephspurs · 4 years ago

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. This is a window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the Italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Wow - the response i received in a little under 24 hours since i posted the first taste of part 1 has truly bowled me over! I wasn't expecting that reaction & tbh i would have been happy if 2 people wanted to read this story hahaha! So, i've been writing in the background & the first few parts have already been proofed and are ready to go. HOWEVER! I am open to your suggestions so please please let me know what you think and how you want to see Amelia's story play out. As far as i'm concerned, this fic is as much yours as it is mine! So please enjoy this first part, in its entirety, and let me know your thoughts! Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 1 | prima parte

warnings; none - maybe a bit of angst? (what sibling rivalry doesn't have a bit of angst)

word count; 1978 words

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Sunday 25/07 5pm AEST. Updates will be twice weekly at this stage. Probably Wednesday’s and Sundays from next week!!

link to fic masterlist here

The world of football, no matter how big it may seem, is as tight as a close-knit family. Whether its management staff, senior players, scouts, academy players, business developers, medical team, groundskeeper - everyone knows someone who knows someone else involved in the sport. For Amelia White, it was a family affair.

Having grown up with her father as a senior tactical analyst for many different clubs throughout his career, and an older brother currently playing for Brighton in the Premier League, there was no opportunity for her to escape the fanaticism of the sport. It was what her household lived and breathed, football. Most would think that, with her brother being as successful as he is now, her childhood was shadowed by her brother's success but that's not the case. She capitalised on her ability to think both logically and creatively, and absorbed all of the information her father could give her as if she was a sponge, to establish a name of her own in the sport and advance her career in the sport. At the age of 21 she upped and left the comforts of her home in West London, accepted a position at Juventus within their graduate program & worked her way up the ranks to be their youngest tactical analyst by the age of 24.

So far in her career, the support of her mother, father & brother were unmatched by any. They were all so proud of her for making her own name, proving herself and succeeding in one of the most competitive football leagues in the world. She was smart, tactful, both meticulous and ruthless in her approach to her career and the success of her players. Because after all, they were her players. She worked day in and day out, studying them and their opponents, drafting performance plans and set pieces for every possible outcome of the play, so that they could perform at their best. They had her trust and faith, and she had theirs. This is probably what her family was most proud of, and wished her every success, until she was appointed as a tactical analyst for the Italian National Team for the upcoming Euro 2020 tournament. Which happened to be the same tournament that her brother had received his call up to the Three Lions. Which was the current level at which her father was a senior tactical analyst for the English National Team. The Euro 2020 Tournament was about to be a real family affair...

10 July 2021

It had been 2 months since she last had any contact with her family. 3 months ago, Amelia signed a contract with the Federcalcio, the governing body of football in Italy, to become the Azzurri’s tactical analyst for the foreseeable European Football Championship. In turn, her silky signature at the bottom of the agreement, also constituted a digital and physical contact ban with members of her family that were also involved with the tournament...her father and her brother.

At the time of the contract, and against her better judgement, Amelia hadn’t told her family of her opportunity. She knew her father would be proud, but her brother would be bitter. Her mother was switzerland, completely neutral and rooting for both of her children - but that's not how football works. No matter your role you have a job to do, and you do everything you can to make sure it is your team that lifts the trophy at the end of the tournament. So, on May 23rd her family congratulated her for another successful season at Juventus, and unbeknownst to them, said goodbye for the next 2 months. Until the day before the final match of the tournament, Italy v. England.

Her heart dropped when England won their semi final match against Denmark. She wanted nothing more than for her brother to be happy and for her father to succeed, but she didn’t want to have to go up against them in the final. Ultimately, she knew they were good, but she also knew that she could hold her own and compete with the best. Having a close relationship with her brother, up until this period, meant that she often paid attention to the premier league. This was a major benefit to her as she had already started analysing the azzurri’s opponents. It was her job to know what foot Raheem Sterling preferred to pass with, what direction Declan Rice preferred to take the ball up the field, what direction of receiving the ball did Harry Maguire struggle the most with. So that's how she spent the three days between matches, solidifying her knowledge of her opponents & predicting the plays her dad would be instructing the English team to complete, to attempt to outperform the Italians. However nothing would prepare her for the knock on her suite door, or for what was on the other side…

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“Ciao Amelia, vieni con me per favore. abbiamo organizzato una visita supervisionata con tuo fratello prima della finale di domani sera. sorpresa!” (hi amelia, come with me please. we have arranged a supervised visit with your brother prior to the final tomorrow night. surprise!). I stood there in shock staring at one of my players & closest friends, Federico Bernardeschi. I was a person who didn't enjoy spontaneity, who thrived off of preparation and organisation. I needed the opportunity to overthink every situation so that I could prepare for every possible outcome. This was not my idea of a good time. Of course I missed my brother, but I know just how volatile he can be. Nevertheless, I grabbed my jacket and shoved my sneakers on before following Fede down the hall and into a blacked out van that was waiting to take me to St. George’s Park for my family reunion.

Upon arriving, and after a stern pep talk from Fede (who was my appointed supervisor for the visit - not sure I would say he was the most responsible choice but he did talk some sense into me) I walked into the main entrance and saw my father leaning against the reception desk waiting for me.

“Papa!!” I called as I walked over to him, ready to smother him with my love and affection. My father, Dean White, and I had as good of a relationship as possible, being that he was always heavily involved with my brother Ben’s footballing career as well as his own. I think when I came along, my father didn't know how to be a girl dad, so he took my mothers advice and just involved me like he would Ben. I was glad that I would be seeing him first, and he would be taking me to see my no-doubt pissed off brother.

“Dad, this is Fede, one of my players”

“Ciao Dean, it’s very nice to meet you but i am also her bodyguard for this evening” Fede introduced himself to my father and they exchanged pleasantries. I had a look around the foyer of the facility until I heard my name brought up in conversation.

“Amelia, come on. The boys are just over here. I don’t think you have long before heading back to your camp” My dad called to me. Boys? As in...more than just my brother?

“Hahaha that's funny dad, just show me to his room and we can have our screaming match there. Should only be about 20 or so minutes”

“Ben’s not in his room, we have a recreation room for the players and staff to lounge about and relax in. Pretty sure he’ll be in there. Come on, you’ve never been scared of your brother before. Why start now?” Before I knew it, Dad was leading us through some doors and into a large common area with bean bags, pool tables and couches - all occupied by current first team members of the English National Football team.

“Dean mate, don’t normally see you down here after 7pm. Oh look at that, someone let the trash in.” A loud mouthed player, that I used to adore as if he was my own brother, calls out as he notices us enter the room. And just like that, I shake off my nerves, stand in front of my taller & more argumentative bodyguard, relax my shoulders and stare into the eyes of Kyle Walker - daring him to challenge me and push me further.

“Relax Kyle, Benjamin White - your sister is here to see you.” Dad cut Kyle off. I didn’t need him to defend me against Kyle’s harsh comments, I could defend myself.

“Wow, I thought hell would freeze over before I got the opportunity to speak to you. Of course, I didn't realise hell would look quite like seeing you in that shade of blue.” My brother, Ben, spoke bitterly at me as he approached me from the other side of the room. This, coupled with Walker’s exclamation earlier, got the attention of the majority of the players scattered about.

“Ben, if you let me explain in private I'm sure you will be able to understand why things had to be this way” I tried to reason with him. Letting go of my always-defensive guard and pleading with my big brother to open his mind to see my side of the story.

“As if I would even talk to you right now, the night before the final, you’re probably here to try and get some insider information. Boys make sure you don’t say anything to her, she’s as sly as they come” Ben’s words were as sharp as a knife - but I knew what I had to say would cut him deeper.

“Ok that's enough! You are ridiculous! What did you expect me to do? Not take the job because you’re my brother? This is my career we are talking about here” I challenged him. “If you think for one second i stopped supporting you then you must be even more stupid than i thought. Of course this isn't the ideal situation, I'm proud of you for reaching a final but I'm just as proud of myself for doing the same thing.” I got progressively closer to my brother, who stood there with his hands beside himself, unable to get a word in.

“I came tonight to wish you good luck, to tell you I loved you, to give you a hug and tell you to stay safe and play smart. Whilst I still wish all of this for you, I now want you to know that I want you to play your best so I can be better than you. I can show you exactly how good at my job I am. I want you to know that no matter what way you play the ball, I'll be right there waiting for you. I am prepared for this, I hope you are too - so that it will feel that much more sweet when we beat you” I sneered at my older brother, who at this point, is quite visibly feeling a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

I take a step back, let out a breath and shake the tension from my shoulders. Breaking eye contact with my brother, I look briefly - yet confidently - at the other players in the room and take a step back. I turned to my dad, who was looking at me solemnly, as though he wasn’t happy with my outburst but understood it came from a place of frustration with my sibling. Walking up, giving him a kiss on the cheek and wishing him luck, I turned to look at Fede and began to walk to the door. This interaction with my brother, although supposed to be a nice moment shared between siblings, has only gone and motivated me to be at my best tomorrow, to prepare my players to go to war and to come out the other side victorious.

Part 2 | seconda parte

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wooziujidoots · 4 years ago

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Letters to You (j.ww)

genre: flomf + a smudge of angst

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

series: Song Fic Series! - Run to You

word count: 3.8k

summary: childhood friends should never be separated

author’s notes: are posted separately!! take a look if you’re feeling bored LOL

MASTERLIST

Jeon Wonwoo watched the scenery outside of the train window as the machine made its way to Changwon. The sun had set a good hour ago, and he was completely aware that his actions were stupid and insanely spontaneous. Wonwoo unconsciously clenches the box of letters in his cold hands, his thoughts consisted of you, his leg jumping anxiously as he waited for the train to reach its destination.

You and Wonwoo lived in nearby neighborhoods since primary school in Changwon, his hometown. The two of you got along as quiet children; you understood each other. Your worlds were filled with wonder and imagination. Your precious innocence and childhood memories revolved around each other. The two of you didn’t see a problem with spending so much time together; even as the two of you entered high school, you found time for each other despite having different schedules. The two of you always tried your hardest to find time to walk home together. It didn’t matter that the other kids would poke and prod at you to start dating or tease you for spending so much time together; you were a pair and were precious to each other.

As the end of senior year of high school neared, thoughts on colleges and universities to apply were common. Wonwoo wanted to get out of the town and see the city, he craved the excitement that his hometown lacked, but you wanted to stay in Changwon because of its familiarity and the fear of becoming homesick. And when Wonwoo finally broke the news that he had been accepted to Seoul National University, you didn’t know how to react.

Your best friend made it to a great school, and you should be happy for him, but it was your best friend who would be separated from you after 18 years of staying side by side.

The two of you sat in silence after Wonwoo spoke, the slight squeaking of the rusting swing set the two of you sat on being the only audible noise. The swing set resided in a park you and Wonwoo frequented since you were young, it being the halfway point between your neighborhoods. Going here would be your sacred spot for years in your friendship; the most complicated talks would take place here, this being one of them. As your mind filled with clashing thoughts, some of your hidden feelings for the boy were pushing you to beg him to stay. Wonwoo waited for you to process the information he suddenly pushed onto you. He shifted his eyes to you to see how you were coping; he knew it was going to be hard for the both of you to be so far from each other; Seoul being on the other side of South Korea, from Changwon. It scared him to be away from his family, but he wanted to seize the moment, but he wanted to know if you would be alright with his absence.

Wonwoo silently intertwined his cold fingers with yours, a habit that the two of you unconsciously did when in need of comfort; or whenever his hands lacked warmth. Your hands were still so small and warm in his, something that he found comical since you were kids. But now, as growing young adults, the both of you knew that fate was bound to tear the two of you apart sooner or later. With lacklustre enthusiasm, you looked at Wonwoo with glassy eyes and a painful smile, giving a soft squeeze to give him more warmth.

“I’m happy for you.”

Jeon Wonwoo is no idiot. He knew that his departure to Seoul would significantly affect the both of you. The day of his departure finally arrived. He said goodbyes to family, and the two of you found yourself sitting side by side at the train platform, waiting for his train. The wait was silent for the most part, you had cried to yourself the night leading up to this day, and you were not expecting to fight your tears again today as you sat with him for the last time in a while. Without looking at him, you quietly reached for his hand and warmed it in yours. Wonwoo allowed your actions and silently watched you, a growing pit of sadness built inside him as your grip on his hand tightened with the whistle of the approaching train. It was time for him to leave.

The two of you stood up and looked at each other one last time. Your tears were flowing out now, causing Wonwoo to chuckle at you (even as you softly hit his chest) and wiped them away. You pulled him into a tight hug, the two of you pouring out your feelings into it, your tears staining his jacket and your hands clutching the fabric. The two of you gripped onto each other for the last time until the train’s doors opened. His hands slid down to your hand one last time as the two of you gave one last squeeze. And as his fingers slipped away from your warmth, he felt his heart clench at the sight of you standing alone on the platform crying. With a heavy heart and an unfamiliar feeling in his heart, Wonwoo boarded the train to Seoul with his luggage in hand.

It had only been a few days since Wonwoo left his hometown when he received a letter from you. You had mailed it in a decorated envelope that came in a hefty pack that you had bought from the stationary store near your school. Wonwoo recognized the envelope design and chuckled to himself, remembering how excited you got when he bought it for you. However, when he called you about the letter, you refused to speak about it and told him if he wanted to say anything, he would have to write back.

In your letter, you spoke about how life was doing in your hometown and about how it felt different without him there. You talked about his family and how you were preparing for the upcoming year at Changwon National University. You stated your purpose of the letter, explaining that although it is cliché, you claimed a warmth that one could feel when receiving a handwritten letter from someone close to you. Wonwoo let out a chuckle, humored to see your familiar behavior even when written out.

Wonwoo wrote back to you the same day and happily mailed it at the post office near his dorm. And without knowing it, he would excitedly wait for your next letter to arrive and would internally scream whenever a decorated envelope would sit in his mailbox. As the year progressed, the pile of letters from you grew. Wonwoo kept them in a small box on his desk and would read them over whenever he missed you or home. Polaroids from back home that you sent to him in each letter were taped onto his wall; a certain polaroid of you smiling with a lollipop stuck in your hair was hidden in his phone case. He found comfort in having your photo back there; he had a piece of you with him all the time, plus it was his favorite out of all the pictures of you.

His Uni friends were aware of your presence and how important you were to him. Wonwoo’s roommate, Seungcheol, would tease him often about you because the speckled man would close himself from the world until he finished the letter. Seungcheol didn’t mind, though; he found it cute how whipped Wonwoo was for the girl in the letters. Plus, you had sent Wonwoo’s roommate a lollipop in compensation for having to deal with him, so Seungcheol thought nicely of you. The rest of the 11 men Wonwoo befriended would poke and prod him about “his girl back home.” Which he would deny despite his quickening heart rate when speaking to you on the phone or through letters.

As school got increasingly difficult and the work began to pile up for the both of you, the letters stopped for a while after a mutual understanding that your lives were getting busy. Wonwoo had sent the last letter, which meant that he had to wait for you to send a response to continue the chain. Throughout the break, Wonwoo would continue to deny any claim that prompted him to miss the letters from you. He always had his phone to contact you whenever he wanted to. Despite him waving off his friends’ comments, there was a large part of him that longed to see another one of your decorated envelopes sitting inside his mailbox. There was something heartwarming about receiving letters because it took time to make and deliver. Letters took time out of your day, and he could tell that you wrote in detail, fearful of missing a detail that would have to wait for the following letter.

Now, Jeon Wonwoo is not an idiot. He always took into mind what his friends thought about him and would reflect on his day to find ways to improve himself. One particular day was filled with his friends’ teasing had brought Wonwoo to question if he held secret feelings for you that he was unaware about. His thoughts were brought back to when the two of you were still children, racing each other to school or just simply playing in the park that the two of you would frequently return to even as you grew older. Wonwoo even remembered attending the annual cherry blossom festival with you multiple times, your families attending every so often. However, it was you who would push him to attend. One particular festival, however, he remembered holding your hand while walking under the falling cherry blossoms. As if he were put into a trance, he watched you in awe as you pulled him through the hallway of falling petals. Wonwoo furiously shook his head in embarrassment while laying down in his bed that night.

He only saw you as some childhood friend… right?

Wonwoo shivered and tightly wrapped himself in his blanket; his hands were freezing. He tossed around on his bed to rid his thoughts of you for the rest of the night. Unbeknownst to him, his longing thoughts of you would continue on for the rest of the week. He would space out so often that his friends would call him out for it, noticing an unusual difference in school performance and behavior. One of his friends, Minghao, even noticed that he would be holding his phone to rub the back of his case, to which he texted Wonwoo with concern afterwards. Wonwoo couldn’t understand why he was acting like this either. Everything that he looked at reminded him of you; even his side of the dorm had remnants of you. From the stickers you secretly super-glued onto his laptop to the blanket you gave him that was sitting on his bed. He was sick of it.

“Maybe I’m just homesick,” he would try telling himself.

It wasn’t until he saw a particular decorated envelope sitting in his mailbox that he felt his heart rate rise at a spectacular rate as he giddily sped into the dorm room. Seungcheol was sleeping on his bed when he entered, his light snores filling up the silence in the room.

Wonwoo dropped the rest of the mail on the coffee table and jumped onto his bed, ripping open the envelope to see what you had to offer this time. To his surprise, there were no polaroids but instead, a small cherry blossom petal encased in tape. Confused, Wonwoo took out the letter to read why you had changed the usual trinket.

Your letter this time described your most precious memories together, from just sitting on the swings of your childhood park near your houses and eating whatever snack you had to chew on, to the fond memories that the two of you had shared from the cherry blossom festivals that you would drag Wonwoo to. In the letter, you told him that the sealed flower petal was from one of the festivals that the two of you had attended. It went on to apologize for the long wait for the letter and that it wouldn’t happen again. There was a small space of hesitation in the letter. The letter abruptly closed after the apology and written in a small font was an instruction to call you before reading the letter.

There was something important that you wanted to discuss with him, you wrote.

Wonwoo felt nervous; he gently closed the letter and grabbed his phone. He glanced at his snoring roommate before getting up and leaving the dorm room, the taped flower petal in his hand. Wonwoo made his way up to the rooftop, a quieter place to have a phone call with you and he wouldn’t disturb Seungcheol, before clicking on your contact, every ring making his stomach sink deeper.

“Hello?”

Wonwoo unconsciously smiled before greeting you back; he had forgotten how pleasant your voice sounded. The two of you caught up for a while before asking why he had called. Wonwoo hesitated and began to fiddle with the petal in his pocket. He proceeded to tell you that he received your most recent letter and your direction to call him. Wonwoo let out a small laugh while telling you how unique the taped petal was, bringing it out of his pocket to observe it. There was a moment of silence on your end, the feeling of dread returning to Wonwoo’s stomach. You made an unintelligible noise before groaning out that there was something important that you needed to tell him. Wonwoo’s grip on the petal tightened.

“I’ve loved you for a long time now.”

Seungcheol could tell something was wrong. When he got ready to leave the dorm to his job, Wonwoo quietly slinked into their shared unit and laid face flat on his bed. Seungcheol called out to him and asked if he was okay only to receive a muffled groan in response. He didn’t want to leave his roommate like this, but his boss would kill him if he were late again. With a heavy sigh, Seungcheol left the dorm, shouting to Wonwoo to eat something before he gets home.

As soon as the door closed, Wonwoo turned his head to get air and pulled out the petal from his pocket. Your words were still ringing in his ear and the way you abruptly hung up after telling him that the feelings didn’t have to be mutual. His thoughts were in turmoil, did he like you that way?

Wonwoo’s hands felt cold again, he pulled his sleeves over them.

For the next few days Wonwoo was even more out of his normal self and his friends were completely aware of it. They were weary on approaching him about it though, Wonwoo wasn’t the type to speak about his feelings to them. They could tell that he would be thinking about it too, his cheeks would turn the slightest bit of pink whenever he would space out, a mumbled “she likes me” escaping him once. He couldn’t not think about you, you were everywhere to him. It was similar to when he missed your letters but enhanced because of your confession. Wonwoo would space out more often than usual, enough for the boys to actually become annoyed at him. When his studies were being affected by this though, Seungcheol decided to step in and talk to him once and for all.

It had been five days since your call and there was a small yet growing pile of missing assignments from Wonwoo’s classes. Seungcheol opened the door to the dorm and found Wonwoo quickly shoving the box of letters behind him. Seungcheol raised his eyebrows at Wonwoo and shifted his eyes to look at the taped petal on his roommate’s bed, which Wonwoo immediately covered with his hand. Seungcheol let out a tired sigh and took a seat on his own bed across Wonwoo’s, giving him a serious look.

“You and I both know that you like her,” he started, Wonwoo couldn’t look at his older roommate. “I don’t know when you’re going to accept it but we both know that this,” Seungcheol motioned towards the scattered papers on Wonwoo’s desk, “won’t end unless you finally make up your mind.”

Seungcheol stood up from his bed, “Don’t think I don’t see you rereading her letters or that I didn’t see you hide her photo behind your phone,” Wonwoo froze, “you’ve got it bad man, everyone sees it except you.” Seungcheol then left the dorm, mentioning something about joining him and Jeonghan once he gets himself together.

Wonwoo continued to think about his feelings for you through the night, his roommate’s smack of reality helped him concentrate a bit better. It was Sunday, and Wonwoo was trying to complete his missing assignments from before. Wonwoo groaned in frustration and slammed his pencil down onto the unfinished calculus homework. He shifted his eyes to his phone, his heart beating a bit faster when the thought of him calling you crossed his mind. Wonwoo peeled his phone case off and cradled the small polaroid of you in his hand, his thumb rubbing over your face in the photograph and smiling as he saw the stuck lollipop in your hair. Wonwoo then reached for taped petal sitting on his bare phone; he had been hiding it there with your photograph to keep it safe. Wonwoo felt his face warm, your words ringing in his ear once more as his heart raced.

He did love you after all.

Something inside Wonwoo snapped. He got up quickly and took a look at the window, the sun was about to set. Wonwoo hurriedly shoved your photo and the petal into his pocket, grabbed his phone and wallet, and hastily toppled his books standing on top of your box of letters. With that in hand, he ran to the train station, purchased a ticket, and hopped on a train going straight to Changwon station.

Jeon Wonwoo watched the scenery outside of the train window as the machine made its way to Changwon. The sun had set a good hour ago, the lampposts outside illuminating the dark land beyond. Wonwoo unconsciously clenches the box of letters in his cold hands, his thoughts consisted of you, his leg jumping anxiously as he waited for the train to reach its destination. It was a two-hour trip by bullet train, he didn’t care that he spent so much money on a ticket, Wonwoo needed to see you.

He sent a quick text to Seungcheol that he was alive and was going somewhere for the night and turned off his ringer, he knew he was going to receive a horrible scolding for this once he got back but he focused more on the task in hand. Wonwoo clenched his cold fingers to get the warmth that he lacked, and carefully took out your photo and the petal he had carelessly shoved inside his pocket. The laminated petal was doing well, and your photo was crumpled now from his running, his fingers smoothing out the creases on the photograph before rubbing his thumb on your printed face.

The train’s chime woke Wonwoo up, the doors of the train slowly opening. Wonwoo shook himself awake and grabbed his belongings before making his way out. He was immediately hit with nostalgia as soon as he stepped out of the train.

The station looked the same as it always did. Wonwoo’s heart clenching at the sight of the seats the two of you sat on the day of his departure. He looked at his phone to check the time only to be met with a black screen; his phone had died.

As panic started to settle inside Wonwoo, he had a running start out of the station to your house, the street lampposts lighting his way through the familiar streets from your childhood. Memories floated around him, each and every spot in this town had a memory of you in it. From the races to school in the mornings, to buying you those envelopes you loved at the stationary store near your houses, and eating snacks at the park late at night, Wonwoo found himself standing in front of your house holding your box of letters in his arm.

Your room’s light was on and he felt his heart soar. He was here. He continuously knocked on the door, his heartbeat growing faster and faster as he heard your footsteps grow louder.

And there you were. Clad in a stolen shirt of his from high school, shorts, and a pair of fuzzy socks, you were as beautiful as he had left you.

You jumped into his arms, him dropping the box of letters to catch you and latch his arms around you. You disregarded all your feelings and tears you released for the past few days, all the anger and stress were being relieved being in his arms, you buried your face into his shoulder as he lifted you off the ground. Your best friend was home.

“I love you.”

Your eyes widened, tears resurfacing once more. Did you hear that right? Wonwoo held you close to him as he whispered in your ear.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

You leaned back to see his reddened face illuminated by the street lampposts and let out a happy laugh as tears ran down your face.

“You came all this way just to tell me that?”

You giggled out as he softly kissed your forehead, a soft blush rising up your neck.

“No matter the distance, I’ll always run to you if it means I can tell you that I love you.”

A bright smile appeared on your face before burying it in his chest and interlocking fingers with his.

And suddenly, Wonwoo’s hands didn’t feel cold anymore.

Turns out, that petal you sent to him was from the festival that you realized that you were in love with your best friend. Wonwoo teased you, laying on your bed that Monday morning. You explained that if he didn’t hold the same feelings as you did then you would rather let go of the petal than to hold onto it.

Wonwoo looked at you with sincere eyes, interlacing his cold hands with yours to get you to look at him. He sat up and pulled you up with him, him placing a soft kiss on your lips as you got up. The two of you smiled at each other, sharing another kiss.

His and your box of letters sitting next to each other on your desk, Wonwoo never felt warmer with you here.

Then I can find you, who cares if it’s a bit far?

I’ll follow the line that connects us two

When you said you engraved my name in your heart

Remember why my eyes grew so big

Right now, you and I, we both need the same thing

But I don’t have it so let’s meet again later

Please be well until I get there

I’m going to run to you

#seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen angst #svt angst #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #seventeen #svt #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader fluff #wonwoo #jeon woonwoo #seventeen drabbles #Letters to You fic

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the-seas-song · 4 years ago

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Richard Armitage and Astrology

Hi! I find astrology fascinating, and am an armchair expert on it myself, so I found Richard's comments in his recent Total Film Magazine interview very interesting. This is what he said:

I’ve been incredibly lucky. I’ve dabbled with having my celestial chart looked at every couple of years, just for a little tune-up. Every time, the guy sighs, and goes, “What can I say? You’ve just got a sprinkle of luck.” And I say, “That’s good, because I don’t have the talent, so I really need the luck!”

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There is a naughty, dark side to me. I am quite strongly affected by the moon. So if there’s a full moon I’ll go a bit crazy. (source)

This isn't the first time Richard's mentioned astrology – he's mentioned being a Leo, reading his daily horoscope, and finding out he was born in the Chinese Year of the Pig; but these were all informal twitter comments. He has also mentioned the effect the moon has on him before, in February 2020:

“Everyone has cycles of positive mental and emotional feelings and negative mental and emotional feelings and I know that I am profoundly affected on a monthly cycle. I always look at the calendar when I'm feeling particularly low and check the lunar cycle to see if it's a full or new moon.” (source)

However, what prompted me to write this is that Richard's personal put-downs were even more direct here than usual; and the connection that has to his natal, or birth, chart.

A little disclaimer: Personally, I think general horoscopes (like the ones you find in magazines) do far more harm than good. They are based solely on the twelve sun signs, and your sun sign is just one puzzle piece out of 25+ pieces that make up your natal chart. This is why many people don't relate to their horoscope or it's personality description.

Your natal chart, however, is a whole different animal. It's an intricate puzzle created by the exact date, time, and location you were born; which is why most people find their natal charts to be scarily accurate.

Back during the Hobbit days, a fan blog reported that Richard told a NZ fan that his birth time was just after 4 a.m. I used 4:05 for this post, and being off by a few minutes doesn't really make a difference.

Richard and self-esteem

I really feel for and relate to Richard's self-esteem struggles, because our charts mirror each other. We are both Leo suns; but I have my moon in Aries with my MC and Chiron conjunct each other in Virgo and sextile my North Node; while Richard has his moon in Virgo with his MC and Chiron conjunct each other in Aries and sextile his North Node.

What on earth does that mean?

Each planet represents a different part of you. The sun represents your ego/conscious self; the moon your emotions, mercury your mind/intellect, venus love and beauty/aesthetics, mars passion and drive, etc.

On top of the twelve planets, there are specific points and asteroids that are also important. Your MC, or Midheaven, represents your career and public persona. Your North Node describes your inner journey and life purpose. The asteroid Chiron describes your major soul wound, that you will be forced to deal with throughout your life.

A conjunction and a sextile are two of several different kinds of aspects. The different kinds of aspects are the different ways your respective puzzle pieces can interact with each other. Some are 'easy/positive' and some 'difficult/negative'. A sextile is considered easy/positive. A conjunction means two things are next to each other and overlap with one another, and is usually considered positive.

Leo and Aries are both fire signs. Fire signs are generally playful, warm, passionate, confident, and optimistic. Virgo is an earth sign. Earth signs are generally practical, grounded, sensual, and logical.

Richard's personality is dominated by an almost equal amount of Leo and Virgo influence, with both his sun (core self) and venus (love and beauty) in Leo and his moon (emotions) and mercury (mind) in Virgo.

Aries and Virgo are said to be the most difficult Chiron signs, because they are the wounds tied directly to your self-worth (Aries is the wound of Self and Virgo is the wound of Perfection). With Aries Chiron you feel a core sense of worthlessness, like you're missing a fundamental piece of your core self. This deeply felt lack of self-worth leads people to be people pleasers and have issues with confrontation and conflict.

Aries rules the planet mars. It is the warrior planet of passion, drive, and combat. A conventional Aries is confident, outgoing, impulsive, and strong willed. Aries and mars are definitely the rowdiest sign and planet in the zodiac. However, with Chiron here the traits are inverted, and so someone like Richard is much more likely to be scared of his inner passion, confidence, and willpower – depending, of course, on what the rest of his chart is like.

That leads us to Virgo. Chiron Virgo feels impure, like there is something fundamentally wrong with them. This kind of low self-esteem makes you feel like you have to constantly try to 'fix' yourself so people will love and accept you. It's an OCD type of perfectionism that only ends in failure and heartbreak.

A good example of how this works is when I talked to my therapist recently. I hadn't quite succeeded in meeting my goals, and so my automatic response was to condemn myself for failing. My therapists immediate response was to congratulate me on how much progress I had made.

Ironically, unlike with Aries, this isn't an inversion of the conventional Virgo. Conventional Virgo is meticulous, detail-oriented, focused, patient, efficient, practical, perfectionistic, systematic, and pessimistic with high expectations. If Aries is the official warrior of the zodiac, Virgo is the official nit-picker.

This means that Richard's subconscious intellectually (mercury) and emotionally (moon) expects and demands perfection, whilst simultaneously feeling fundamentally worthless. In short: ouch.

Interestingly, a significant number of celebrities have their Chiron conjunct their MC. Personally, I think Richard hit the nail on the head as to why in his essay on the Human Condition for Cybersmile:

The answer in my humble opinion, (and believe me it is humble, to a point of taking 43 years to be shared) is actually something which applies to my work as an actor. It’s why sometimes actors are called in to work with therapists, in large corporations, in schools. It’s why drama therapy is fantastic to understand what we do, how we do it and what the outcome might be, and in an improvisation where we aren’t playing ourselves sometimes we explore avenues that are too frightening or unacceptable in our own lives.

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So going back to my very first point, the “social media society” in which we’d all like to feel safe, supported, excited, creative, spontaneous, innovative, courageous, is really in our own hands. And back to acting, it’s taken me a long time to shake off the effects of bullying in school. That people were always laughing behind my back. I was always looking out of the corner of my eye. I now have incredible peripheral vision which is so useful, (as is Kinesthetic sense…Google it) but try being a brave, experimental, uninhibited actor with all of those hang ups. Wasn’t happening.

So here is the thing, and it’s key to my work and I think ours as a community. When we speak or write, we ultimately desire to ‘affect’. If we aren’t watching the destination of that affect, then how do we know our words have landed and the ‘effect’ they have caused?

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If I have a strong opinion about something which I want to express I really task myself with backing it up with the ‘why do I feel that?’

Again it’s part of my work building a believable character, and actually part of building a believable ‘me’ outside of my work. Just.. “because that’s what I feel” is a bit of a cop out.

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As for Bullying, it’s like the moment the pot boils over, or it’s the poisoned stream that can’t be cleansed, so why bother. Well I think that’s what art is for. It’s can support the best and the worst of ourselves. We can ‘attack’ a canvas with black angry paint, we can ‘savage’ a piano keyboard, we can dance until we drop, we can read about a Puritan society who executed elders, we can explore the psychology of a serial killer, and when we can’t do this ourselves we can experience it, and witness it through others.

It’s more than being nice. Edward Munch’s “The Scream” is far from nice. Francisco Goya’s “Saturn” is horrific, Metallica, Die Antwoort etc etc. But then there is Monet, Faure, Renée Fleming, Peter Jackson, Ariana Grande (ok it’s getting a bit eclectic I admit) but when we look, listen and empathize, we tune in to the Human Condition.

We are all part of The Human Condition, whether we like it or not. Social Media. Expression. The Human Condition.

Us human beings are wired for emotion and connection. For actors, their career gives them a way to safely process and explore their personal wounds through the characters they play. For Richard in particular, his mars is conjunct his North Node. So, his mars and North Node are sextile his Chiron and MC.

Remember, Aries (the sign of Richard's Chiron and MC) is ruled by mars. Mars is the warrior planet, like Aries is the warrior sign. This means that Richard's spiritual journey/life's purpose (North Node) deals directly with healing his soul wound so he can accept and embrace his inner confidence and willpower. This explains why he ends up playing a lot of ultra-masculine characters – mars/Aries are the most macho of them all.

This isn't to say I think Richard should change who he is! I wouldn't be interested in him if he was ultra-masculine or macho. However, for his own sake, I would be overjoyed to see him gain more self-esteem and inner confidence.

Extrapolating from my own personal experiences, the constant criticism and judgement I received during my adolescence from my peers and various authority figures (like family members and teachers) for being unconventional and 'over the top' caused me to turn on myself and repress my passion and will-power for several years. I think it's highly likely that Richard experienced this too.

Here are some quotes from Richard that illustrate everything I've been talking about (emphasis is mine):

Armitage is still notably handsome, but, within minutes of meeting him, it’s apparent how incongruous it is that this bookish, sensitive, self-described ‘melancholic, philosophically-minded softie’ and ardent fan of The Great British Bake Off was cast as beefcake killer totty for a considerable part of his career. ‘It’s ridiculous. It’s the complete opposite to who I am. I’m such a pacifist,’ he laughs. ‘But then, part of me always felt: “Well, isn’t that why we’re actors?”

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'I think the turning point was losing my mum,” he says. “Up until that point, I felt like I mustn’t put a foot wrong, that if I said the wrong thing or revealed too much about my personal life, it could all come crashing down, and it would come down on my parents, and they wouldn’t be proud of me anymore.” He shrugs. “Now that I’m past that I’m actually much more carefree about the choices I make.” (source)

Richard Armitage puts his head in his hands and emits a noise that's somewhere between a sigh, a laugh and a groan. “Oh no! Why would you want to pin this up?” he says with a horrified whisper.

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Never has a man seemed more ill at ease with the heartthrob label. He squirms with embarrassment in his chair every time the subject comes up. He is grateful for the loyalty of his fans, he says, but worries that “there is this thing of, 'Is he just totty?' Because the industry will sometimes write you off as a serious actor if they think that. I have always been conscious of that and fought against it, because I don't really see myself like that at all.”

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This brings us back to Astrov, who looks so relentless towards the future that he can't see the truth in front of his eyes. “It's interesting that he's an outsider in the play. I've often felt like that myself in life. I'm quite a solitary person. I enjoy my time with me, and sometimes it's not necessarily healthy, because I can talk myself into quite a dark place.

I'm an optimist, but at the same time, there's a discipline in me that will attack me for not working hard enough, not achieving enough, not being good enough. You always think, 'I'll grow out of that. With success, those voices will disappear.' But they don't, they get louder. I suppose I'm learning a bit about myself through Astrov.” (source)

The answer in my humble opinion, (and believe me it is humble, to a point of taking 43 years to be shared) is actually something which applies to my work as an actor. … And back to acting, it’s taken me a long time to shake off the effects of bullying in school. That people were always laughing behind my back. I was always looking out of the corner of my eye. I now have incredible peripheral vision which is so useful, (as is Kinesthetic sense…Google it) but try being a brave, experimental, uninhibited actor with all of those hang ups. Wasn’t happening. (Human Condition essay)

So I kind of travelled on that line for a while, and I was bullied for it as well. The problem with me is that as soon as you try to push me down or say “you can’t do this” and “I don’t think you should do that”, I immediately push back. So I did – I’d decided really young that I was going to try to make a career out of it.

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Actually, there was something I wanted to add to what Shaun said, about inclusivity, is that um, no matter how – how much confidence you have or how, in my case, lack. Y’know, I always felt like a misfit, or an oddball, or that I didn’t belong. But I always – I always told myself that ‘you exist in the world, so therefore there’s a place for you in this industry’. I think anybody who feels like, “I can’t become an actor because…” – you exist. And, y’know, the job of filmmakers is to write about our life and society, and if you are a part of that, then there’s a place for you in the industry. (source)

I'm a bit of a brooder. I don't like confrontation, so I think I suppress things. When my temper does come out, it goes all the way – the kind of temper you can't apologize for. Yep, the chair getting thrown out of the window. Those emotions are scary, but hey, they come in useful when you're acting. (source)

Armitage is a noticeably calm presence but he talks with passion.

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In the past, he has described himself as a shy person. “Not any more,” he says forcefully. “I mean… if I’m very, very honest, I’m a big guy, I think I’m at times quite a frightening person.”

In what way?

“I think I’m quite uncompromising. I can’t bear bulls---. And in a way the shyness is me protecting other people from that. I can feel that there’s an intimidation that can happen if I own my full height, and speak at my full volume. So I’ve learned over the years to just tone it all down a bit.” (source)

I've become one of those actors who find it difficult to say no when things are offered. I think if I had come out of drama school and been an instant Hollywood superstar I would be taking long, leisurely holidays. But I always feel somehow it's going to be taken away from me so I work when I can. When you struggled with work as I did when I left drama school you make hay when the sun shines. There was a time when I thought, and my agent thought, it wasn't going to happen for me. We both sat down and I actually said I don't know if I can stay in this state. The interesting roles have only come since I got into my 30s. But I didn't know that was going to happen. I'm a bit of an all or nothing kind of guy. To be honest, I had no blind faith in myself. I don't think I could have stayed around as a jobbing actor. I would probably have quit. Who knows? I think I would have found that too frustrating. But at the moment when I thought I was going to quit, something happened and it all changed again. (source)

[talking about being cast in the Hobbit]

There was a little bit of guidance as to what they were looking for. I felt that I was too young for the character, too tall for that character, so I thought, you know, ‘I’ll just look at the scene they’ve written’. And then I realised the essence of the character that they were aiming for. So I went to meet Peter and Phillipa and we read some of the scenes. I think we spent an hour-and-a-half talking about the character and what their vision was, and I sort of explained who I thought he was, and that was it.

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Yeah, my first instinct, whenever that kind of thing happens, is to say, 'Well what's wrong with the part? Why did nobody else want it'? Which is kind of the story of my life really. When I get offered something, I'm like, 'Well there must be something wrong with it if they're offering it to me!'

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But you know, the thing is, you talk about all of this: ‘How did you get the role? And how did it feel when you got the role?’ And once all that’s died down you start to think, ‘I’ve actually got to go and play this now’. They’ve trusted me. Everyone’s happy, everyone’s celebrated, the phones have gone down and the deal’s been done. Now it’s over to me to make the role work. And that’s the scariest moment, because you do have that elation and then the work begins and you think, ‘How the hell am I going to do this?’ (source)

How was it for you taking on this beloved role, this character that has such a huge responsibilty on his back? Could you relate in some ways?

Richard Armitage: Yeah. There is always building within him this paranoia that he’s not a good enough leader, and that weighs him down. I have experienced that same feeling as an actor in this role. And I was aware of taking on the responsibility of that character, so there was something I could latch onto there, as one of the people who loved ‘The Hobbit’ book and had envisioned that character. It took me a while to be convinced that I could do it, it wasn’t until I saw some sketches, this one particular pencil sketch….there was something about this characters eyes and the way that his hands are crossed, I thought, “I think I can do this, I can pull this off.” (source)

Q: I wanted to ask you about what your Arkenstone is. For you personally.

A: Me personally?

Q: And I meant for this to be materialistic. What's the thing that you covet so much that it makes you mad that you don't have it?

A: Well, it's actually not material. It's not material, and it's – (laughs) You want a comedy answer, don't you? But it's respect. It's the thing that always eludes you, you know. You have to fight for it and when you get it, your arkenstone, the thing that crowns you, is respect.

Q: And also a sweater.

A: And a sweater. I do have this little natty number.

Q: It's a good one man.

A: Tom Ford made this personally. But hey, he can have it back. I don't covet wealth and material. (source)

Q6: You’ve done a variety of different roles, I wonder what influences you to pursue those roles?

R: More often than not, you go where you’re wanted. So getting hired is still kind of a revelation to me, a shock and a surprise. Sometimes you have very flat periods, where I don’t really care what comes next, I just want to work on something. I feel like I’ve got a little cloud of luck over my head so the right thing always seems to come along. But again, I’m easily excited about literature and stories, so I’ve always said I don’t really pursue glory, I’d happily do acting for two people in my living room if it was a role that I really enjoyed with a story I’d really like to tell. So it’s chance, I would say.

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Q8: Once in an interview about Thorin, you were asked what your arkenstone was and your answer was respect. I like this answer a lot. So I was wondering what’s your red dragon? As you said yesterday he’s a character who sheds his skin, improves, and becomes something. I was wondering if there was something you’d like to improve, become?

R: I guess the antithesis of that is disrespect. Do you mean in myself?

Q8: Yes.

R: Yeah I try not to be too disrespectful. I guess I value the truth. I think we’re living at a time at the moment where the truth is warped and there’s a word that’s been in my head for a long time, and particularly recently it’s come to the surface. When I was studying Macbeth, at the RSC, I read a long thesis about the gunpowder plot, which was one of the things they thought that Shakespeare (or whoever Shakespeare was) was stimulated by to write Macbeth. And the word equivocation was used in this thesis, it was actually about equivocation and what equivocation is. And if you look it up in the dictionary, at the moment most politicians are equivocating. When you don’t answer a question, or you bend the truth to make it seem like you are answering the question, and in fact you’re telling a lie. So I would say my red dragon would be equivocation.

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Then there was the physical form that I was studying and observing, but also, I do sometimes enjoy locking myself away in a room and reading a book or just doing something alone, and you sometimes can go a couple of days without speaking to anybody. I don’t know whether anyone else experiences this or whether I’m just a weirdo. But I find that when that happens my voice changes, and I always forget how to make a noise, I have to do a warm-up before I go into the world and start speaking again.

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Q15: I was wondering if you ever had to pull out of a project because it felt wrong or something, and what is the point where you say “nope I can’t do this”?

R: Um, no. But that’s partly to do with the fact that I have a lot of loyalty, probably too much loyalty for my own good, really, and there’ve been moment when I’ve been on board a project, and actually it happened this year with The Lodge, I was already on board that project and something else came along which was bigger and better and brighter and more money, and your agent says “look we can pull you out of The Lodge, they can probably recast it,” and here I think “I’ve already started this process, I don’t want to let people down,” and I don’t have a problem with that at all, I never have any regrets over the things that you miss or the things that you decide not to do, I think there’s a strong enough reason why you’ve decided not to do it, but in general no I haven’t ever pulled out of something. There was one television show I remember, I’m not going to say what it is, but after the first readthrough, I did call my agent and asked, “can I get out of this?” And then he quickly got back to me and said, “don’t do it. Don’t build a reputation built on disloyalty.” So I try not to.

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Q18: I think you are very handsome, but your character Francis hated the way he looked, how did that make you feel?

R: Francis hated the way he looked? Yeah. I guess there is something we relate to in that. Without getting too personal, I don’t always enjoy looking at myself in the mirror. I don’t do it very often, to be honest. I do it just to be sure I don’t have food on my face. I do it in character, actually. I do spend a bit of time studying my own face when I’m playing a character, which is interesting because your face does change. (source)

He cannot see the handsomeness: “I think I am odd-looking. I have big lines on my forehead.” I squint, looking for them, but he is talking over me, sounding slightly panicked. “I shouldn’t draw attention to it, because then everyone else will see the oddness.”

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Laziness is what makes him angry: “Laziness in myself. Laziness in other people. And dishonesty. All things I feel capable of myself. I have a propensity to be lazy and lie about it. Fear makes me rageful. There are words in The Crucible I actually find it quite hard to say.” I beg for an example — The Crucible is in the public domain. “No,” he says, “you’ll see it in the play.” I tell him it will make no sense in print if he will not tell me. But he won’t. So I change the subject. It works. “OK, I will give you a line.” He inflates a little and says: “Is there no good penitence but it be public?” And then: “Were I stone I would have cracked for shame this seven month.” (source)

Q: How would you describe your evolution as an actor since you started?

A: I think everything has to do with the fact that today I’m not afraid anymore. At first, I was embarrassed to do something wrong or do things badly or make myself ridiculous. Today, I am almost looking for opportunities to be ridiculous or vulnerable or to make as much of a mistake as possible. In a sense, it’s now the opposite of being undercover.

Q: Are you the actor you dreamed of being when you started?

A: Not yet. I am not yet fearless enough. It’s in waves, actually. But I have already approached this dream. There were moments, especially during Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, which I performed on stage, where I felt I had no control over things. That’s what I’m looking for: to lose control.

Q: You often play bad guys. What do you like in these characters?

A: I like disobedience. I like the fact that you can be disobedient thanks to your creativity. As a person, I must always be polite in life, be careful and correct so as not to hurt anyone. In a fantasy world, I can be as offensive as I want. It’s an outlet. (Laughter)

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Q: Many actors are moving to directing. Is this also your goal?

A: I would like to, but I do not think I’m smart enough. I am good when it comes to working with another’s vision. I do not think I have that creative spontaneity that creates a vision from scratch. But the future will tell. (source)

I applaud Richard for being so open and direct about his fears and insecurities. It takes a lot of bravery to do so. And while I've seen some fans get annoyed with his continual self-deprecation, I think his honesty and openness is much more significant, and shows his inner strength. He doesn't try to pretend to be someone he's not.

He recently described himself as “patient, obsessive, and silly” (source). The patient part is classic Virgo, and the obsessive part comes from an element of his natal chart that I have not mentioned.

The silly part, however, is classic Leo. Like I said above, he has an almost equal amount of Leo and Virgo in his personality. Personally, I'm proud to be a Leo, but I also know we get misunderstood a lot of the time. I wrote the following for an essay of mine on Leos in Disney:

Your sun sign represents your core identity. Just like the physical sun is the center of the solar system and its energy creates life, the astrological sun is our consciousness and life force. Each of the twelve sun signs are ruled by a different planet and element.

Since Leo is the fixed fire sign, we don't inherit the reckless and impulsive nature of fire, but instead are a steady flame. No sign is more reckless and impulsive than Aries, because they have the double combination of being a cardinal sign and a fire sign. Meanwhile, all four of the fixed signs struggle with stubbornness and admitting when their wrong.

Leo's are well known to be natural leaders and the rulers of the zodiac. We are ruled by the sun and our animal is the lion. We dream big and are born with big personalities, and we can't help but be theatrical and dramatic. This means we are always self-centered in the sense of being strong-willed and having a strong sense of self. It does not mean all Leos are egotistical.

Unhealthy Leo traits all revolve around the ego: attention-seeking, egotistical, selfish, bossy, controlling, pushy, jealous, possessive, lazy, vain, arrogant, aggressive, and obstinate.

Healthy Leos, however, are known for our fire-based traits – being animated, theatrical, happy, outgoing, independent, competitive, charismatic, creative, open-minded, open-hearted, confident, assertive, playful, warm, social, courageous, idealistic, affectionate, romantic, optimistic, and adventurous.

What isn't often talked about is our steadiness, our fixed-based traits. Leos are authentic, steadfast, fiercely loyal and protective, consistent, persistent, full-hearted, dedicated, need to do their best, generous and selfless, honorable and moral, genuine and direct, extremely supportive, hard-working and responsible, dignified, strong-willed, and ambitious and determined.

Something that is often mentioned but highly misunderstood is our trait of courage. Having courage doesn't mean you're fearless or reckless. The definition of courage is “the power or quality of dealing with or facing danger, fear, pain, etc.” It means that instead of running away from our problems or denying our emotions; healthy Leos face them and be genuine and direct with ourselves, embracing our vulnerability.

Having a big personality doesn't necessarily mean someone has a big ego. C.S. Lewis once said, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less.” Leos have huge hearts and are incredibly generous. The sun never goes retrograde, always shines, and gives life and energy to all living beings – it isn't selective or discriminatory. Healthy Leos are like mini suns; which is why we are also irrepressibly upbeat, optimistic, and fun-loving.

We're not pushovers. We are like roses – we have both flower petals and thorns. If you mess with someone we love you're going down. We're too loyal and protective to let major things slide; and even if we forgive, we never forget. Little things? We'll try to work them out with you.

Being naturally strong-willed and assertive is healthy – it just means we usually make horrible subordinates and yes people. There's nothing wrong with having high standards and being open about them. In fact, in relationships it's far better in the long run to open and frank about what you need and what you consider a dealbreaker from the beginning.

And oh yes are we ambitious and competitive – but most often with ourselves. We're natural leaders who always dream and think big. For a healthy Leo it's not about being the best, but doing your best. We have to be grand and intense, we're ruled by the sun. It's all or nothing for us. Settling is not something a Leo does. We need to be the best leader, the best friend, the best partner, etc. that we possibly can.

Also, in astrology each sign rules a different body part, and Leo rules the heart and upper back.

Adding to this, Leos are known as the Kings/Queens of the zodiac not because we're egotistical, but because our sun sign is the sun. It's like a double amount sun. I could go into significantly more detail about this, but it involves a lot of technical astrological details; so if anyone wants to know more just message me!

Going back to Richard, having his core self (sun) and love/beauty (venus) in Leo explains why he is an actor and artist; and why he is often warm, silly, and dramatic when he feels comfortable – his long interview with The Anglophile Channel (and it's deleted scenes) does a great job of showing the synergy between his Leo and Virgo sides.

We see Richard express the heartfelt, generous, sincere, and honorable side of Leo all the time. This is why I'm sure he has the inner-confidence and strength hidden within him to overcome the deep pain his Chiron causes him (like it does to us all). I hope he continues to find projects and people that help him on his journey to heal.

Thank you for reading this, I'm wishing him and you all the best. Take care!

#Richard #Richard Armitage #Astrology #Mine

34 notes · View notes

wanderingchocolateeclair · 4 years ago

Note

For the asks, 11, 18, 19 for Edgeshot and the soggy noodle (Jeanist) please?

Oohhhh, thank you for sending one in!! I actually did number 11 for these two way back when I reblogged this for the first time in this post (one of your asks actually aha) but I’m going to write out some more/re-write what I’ve written slightly different most probably lmao

Warning: will be mentions of bad coping mechanisms, depression, death and self destructive tendencies and thoughts. Please read with caution. I’ve put number 19 under the cut for this reason.

11. Bad or petty habits.

Okay well, they’re both incredibly bad at dealing with stress and tend to have a habit of overworking themselves.

Jeans gets incredibly fidgety when nervous, however always tends to pick and scratch at his hands. So he’ll always have something with him that he can fiddle with, such as a ring or charm or just the hem of his clothes.

He also is really bad at taking care of himself for some reason, mainly with things like injuries and stuff like that, but still.

Also. Petty habits? His puns. Please, it’s his puns he just cannot stop himself.

Shinya overworks himself, as said earlier, but it just has to be emphasised.

Sometimes (very rarely) he can tend to make a snarky remark relating to someone complaining about their family, with a response along the lines of “oh yeah same” or “ahaha yeah, it’s really annoying huh?” or literally just hitting them with the “yeah, they’re dead.”

He mostly does it to villains as a way to make them actually hesitate, when they say stuff like “oh I’ll kill your friends and family blah blah” he simply answers with a “too late” and he hates how spontaneous he says it.

Obviously, this doesn’t happen often because, well it’s kinda obvious and he has respect towards his family, but some days he just cannot help himself, he considers it a very bad habit.

18. Things they’ll never admit.

That they are tired. Or stressed. Or overworked. Or mildly injured.

They are so stubborn and they just will not admit it.

Also, when one is mad at the other, they don’t like admitting when there is something that they’re mad/wrong about.

They are just incredibly stubborn and will wait for ages. And eventually they feel bad but are still stubborn so don’t want to admit that they want to speak to the other.

Not that they need to admit when one of them feels lonely or sorry or just really bad about something when they aren’t speaking. Because it’s definitely plastered all over their body language.

(To those who don’t want to read number 19 because it does have some pretty heavy angsty stuff, please feel free to leave it here ❤️)

19. People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them. (Read carefully, contains some sensitive stuff as specified in my warning ^^)

Okay, like I said, these are pretty heavy and contain quite sensitive stuff so please be careful. I’ve wanted to talk about these particular headcanons for a while, but didn’t know how to.

I have a headcanon that Tsunagu has killed someone in the past, and possibly more than just one person. It was all accidental, well, mostly.

When he was younger, about 12, I can’t remember what age I said in ‘When it Rains...’ but he was young. He couldn’t control his quirk and his quirk often would be way too powerful for him and his body to handle.

He found himself rushing to help some kids from a villain but his quirk ended up going haywire and he basically strangled the villain to death, whilst doing serious damage to himself and hurting his sister by doing so. He was just so angry and out of control, his mind was screaming at him.

This spirals him into a very very dark mindset, and he starts to blame himself for everything. The kids at school knew what happened and called him a “freak” and he had no friends.

As time went on, he often got told that “his quirk wasn’t suited for being a hero” and taunted that he should just stick to “making dresses and playing hairdressers” which had a really big effect on the way he saw himself.

He started to agree with them and when they told him that “you can’t be a hero now, you killed someone! Better to just start fresh, yeah?”...he also agreed...and well, I’m sure you can imagine what that leads him to, since I’d rather not go into the details of that too much at the moment...

His sister has to feel all of this pain that he goes through, and this makes him feel even worse.

He manages to get through this with the help of his sister, and a couple of friends that stuck with him throughout it all. And he goes to UA with his mind still clouded with doubts.

He knows he’s weak, he’s thin and not of a suitable fighting form. His quirk is too powerful for him to control and also not suitable for being a hero, but with the help of others and teachers and family he manages to pull through.

As he becomes a hero, he starts to feel better and more proud of himself, however there is still that little comment at the back of his mind telling him that he is weak.

Everytime he fails to rescue someone, or accidentally injured or goes too far with capturing a villain, it takes a huge toll on his self confidence and he starts spiralling again. Even if it wasn’t his fault he will still take the blame. It all brings him back to that moment when he was 12.

This often leads him to overworking himself to the point of passing out or collapsing, and often one of his friends or interns will have to usher him to somewhere he can recover. He lets his health deteriorate and lets any injuries go untreated.

He is the type of person to carry every failure, tiny mishap and any failed missions, completely on his own back. He converts it all to regret and this makes him feel weak, stupid and helpless. He could be on the other side of town and hear of a villain attack that got someone injured and he’d blame it on himself. These thoughts get carried with him until he finally just has to break down and let it all out.

This usually happens at home, where it’s obvious to anyone that he needs to talk about it, even if he doesn’t want to. Or at their usual top 5 meet ups, because they understand and they all listen to him and comfort him beca they know how much it affects him.

Often, in these mindsets, he will end up over using his quirk and injuring himself with his recklessness, however....this time it’s quite deliberate...he just lets it happen.

This carries on until he’s quite a bit older, and even then he still gets moments where his mind starts to slip.

When he meets Shinya, it helps a lot with his mental health, due to them having so much in common (and just being a couple of generally traumatised and depressed heroes who can barely look after themselves properly). They help each other get through the hardest parts and they understand when one feels the way they do.

(I’ve got many other little things that relate to this rather depressing headcanon, but it’s a heavy subject so I won’t write them out unless someone asks and actually would like me to, just for me to make sure you guys are comfortable and okay)

—————got to switch to Shinya now aha—————————

Okay so we have his backstory (which I am still working up the motivation to finish the whole thing)

Shinya ends up killing a large group of the villains that ambushed his village. He didn’t know how it happened, how he did it, or anything like that. But in a moment of rage and adrenaline and pure unbridled emotion, he shot forwards and killed them instantly, brutally.

In the moment he didn’t care. He was scared and had just seen his family and friends die in front of him.

However, once he learnt exactly what he’d done, and how severe it actually was, that’s when he started to feel the regrets.

At first it was not much, but as he started to try to live a normal life again and interact with others, that’s when it became an issue.

He noticed how others glared at him. He noticed the fear in the other people’s faces as they walked past him. The looks on their faces as they acknowledged the broken, empty face of this child and how scared they were of his past.

Slowly this all made him very self conscious and worried about how others saw him. He started to feel more doubtful and less trusting than he was, even with barely any trust left in him.

He trained and trained, overworking himself and using his quirk way too much. This allowed him to gain experience, yes, but it also drained him of having any sense of what a childhood should be - draining his memory of living a normal life.

People were always intimidated by him, and over the years he got used to it, but there are always times where he felt that no one would see him how he really was. Just a lonely person, robbed of a happy childhood and innocence and someone who can’t find it in him to trust anyone ever again. The only person who would understand was his sister, since she wen through the exact same experience and was with him through it all.

When he meets Tsunagu, he finds himself starting to trust again, and found that he was one of the only people that he felt safe with.

Then he started meeting other pro heroes, some with tough backstories themselves, and it just made him feel less alone.

Of course, there will be days where his past haunts him, and he feels the blood of all the lives he’s taken and failed to save on his hands and it terrifies him. It drags him down. These days he ends up shutting himself away.

He doesn’t take care of himself properly and ends up collapsing and becoming ill and rundown.

However, these moments happen. And being with those who he finally trusts and those who are there to help him feel safe...that’s what allows him to recover

That’s what allows them both to feel human once again, despite their pasts and doubts. Despite their flaws and failures. They seek happiness in each other and they find safety in their friends...and that’s what keeps them going.

Thank you for asking! Sorry for how morbid that end one was, but it really is one of my most prominent headcanons for these two, especially poor jeans, and I actually kinda feel a little better to have you guys know it now, so that when I sort of reference it in my writing, you know what I’m going on about.

Please send some in guys, I would love to give you some headcanons on whatever character you’d like to send in! Love you ❤️ This is the post for the questions!! I’m going to bed for now, but please feel free to send some in for me to answer tomorrow, I’ll get to them as soon as I can!!

#eclair responds?#eclair rambles a bit :)#bnha #edgeshot #best jeanist #hakamada tsunagu #kamihara shinya #edgejeanist #ajsjsd soggy noodle #yes.#yes he is #my headcanons #thankssss #I love doing these #send them in guys!#I’d love to give you some of these headcanons!#for any character!#could be someone that regularly gets posted about on my blog #or someone I’ve never even spoken about befor #just need to give you guys warnin #tw depression #tw self deprecation #tw death #tw self destructive behavior #hmm #sorry it’s quite sad and proper angst there #a bit heavy but #these are some of my headcanons that I haven’t really had the opportunity to talk about before #I know I put Shinya through a lot with his backstory and everything but Tsunagu’s my favourite character and I think it shows through how #much I put him through and well. let’s just say that he gets the majority of my seppressing headcanons because of that...sorry hon

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beanzybrandon · 6 years ago

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High School! PRETTYMUCH — Austin Porter

A/N: this isn’t even important i’m just overly amused by the fact that you can see my writing slowly devolve as this goes on

like, proper capitalization and punctuation who?? we don’t know her

literally, if it wasn’t for grammarly there wouldn’t even be apostrophes pFFT

• LOOK • I'm not saying Austin Dale Porter is the biggest nerd to walk this planet but that is exactly what I'm saying • Everyone and their grandmother knows that he watches more anime than any healthy individual should, but his interests delve far beyond the realm of Japanese animation • He's also extremely fond of all sorts of games • Computer gaming? Yes • Console gaming? All the better • RPG fantasy games? Ohmanohman, now we're getting excited!! • Magic and monster intensive card games that bring on more anxiety and competition than they should? Say no more!! He's right there screaming with the best of them • Given his penchant for these types of activities, he's actually one of the founders for the schools’ gaming club which includes, but is not limited to, various types of electronic gaming, card games such as Magic: The Gathering and Pokemon, and tabletop games like Dungeons and Dragons • The thing that makes him the happiest is knowing that he's able to share his interests with like-minded individuals with whom he can share educated discussions and formulate genuine relationships • It's actually kind of interesting to see how much effort he places in the club. He cares so much about everyone who has joined and does his best to make sure that he listens to all the ideas and concerns that are presented to him. He does his best to ensure that each meeting is enjoyable and that special gatherings are well-planned and running smoothly • The club is lowkey like his baby and he's very proud of how wonderful things have turned out • Though a great deal of his time is spent focused on these types of activities that is not to say that they are his only priority • He's actually an active member of several other clubs, including robotics and the book club (mayhaps he made it a point to try and coax the president into incorporating manga into some of their group readings. it didn't exactly go the way he wanted it to, but it was a valiant effort indeed) • It's in the latter of these that Austin meets you • It's not uncommon for the group to get walk-ins throughout the semester, curious students wanting to sit in on a meeting to see how things flow or to pose whatever questions they may have • More often than not, those who wander past the doors of the senior-English teacher's classroom don't make a second appearance, but you and a few of your friends had proven to be part of the exception • The initial excitement he felt upon hearing that four students had come to join them melted into mild astonishment when his gaze came to rest upon you for the first time • If love at first sight is a thing, he was certain cupid had hit him with more than one expertly aimed arrow • If it were possible for it to do so, he was sure that his heart was about to beat out of his chest • He's a bit shy so he doesn't talk to you right away • If we're being completely honest, even doing so much as sparing a glance in your direction has his face flushing a shade of red he didn't even know existed • His friends have noticed what's going on by this point (in fact, the entirety of the club seems to have put two and two together...the exceptions being you, of course) and after some not too gentle coaxing, he's shuffling over to you and your friends, hands buried in the front pocket of his paint-stained hoodie • Seeing as though the giggle your friends let out upon seeing him was something you didn't quite understand, you chose to ignore it

• "Mind if I sit with you guys?" He asked, motioning toward the vacant chair beside you • You'd merely nod in response, shifting your own seat to the right some to accommodate his frame as he slipped between the chairs and sat himself down. A relieved smile would break out across his lips the moment the seat of his jeans met the rough plastic of the chair • "I'm Austin," he'd continue, offering his hand to everyone in the rough circle that had been formed. He seemed nice enough, and it wasn't long before all of you were chatting like you had known each other for years. Conversation flowed easily amongst everyone, and you found that you quite liked the adorably-awkward young man on your left • Time passed rather quickly, and before you could present the argument you had as to why Jonathan Joestar was the best JoJo in the JoJo's Bizarre Adventure universe (how ya'll ended up on the topic on anime is beyooooond me. It's totally not like it's some sort of mutual interest) the groups coordinator was standing, calling out that it was time for things to come to a close • "This discussion is far from over," you'd quip as you shoved your things back into your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder as it stood • "You're right," He'd answer, an amused lull clinging to his words. After a moment of two of silent deliberation, he'd hit you with a "You should give me your number. I've still gotta crush your argument and I don't think I can wait a week to do that." • And did you? • The only correct answer is yes • A cute boy with mutual interests and a great personality?? You'd be dumb not to

• The smile he offered you after tucking his phone back into the pocket was so sweet you could practically taste the honey on your tongue • You weren't really expecting him to reach out to you later that night, but he did, and sure enough, the argument the two of you had found yourselves in the midsts of earlier that afternoon kicked up, stronger than ever • The capabilities of fictional characters weren't the only thing you found yourselves discussing, though. • As the night drew on, it became clear to see that you guys had more in common than you had anticipated • And goodness was he full of jokes • The better part of about five hours was spent wheezing into your pillow in a feeble attempt to keep from waking your family • You were insanely tired come the next morning, but that was okay with you • Because you made a new friend and couldn't remember the last time you had had so much fun just texting someone

• The progression of your relationship was a quick one. In a matter of months, the two of you had become the best of friends and were doing quite literally everything together. You were prettymuch (HAH) attached at the hip • By the time the year had come to a close, Austin was certain the feelings he held for you ran deeper than the fleeting crushes he had experienced thus far, and you were growing to realize that you liked him more than you let on • Had either of you mentioned this, though? • Of course not • Because high school is weird and what are emotions and literally how do you convey these things to other people without coming off weird or them looking at you like you ate their first born child • It's never really that intense, but that's what it fEELS LIKE and neither of you wanted to subject yourself to that type of humiliation • Or ruin the relationship that you had built

• the fact that your relationship had gone from being platonic to romantic at all was surprising • but not undesirable in the slightest • it had happened rather spontaneously. he had come over for your weekly movie-marathon, a bag of snacks in hand and a warm smile on his face • the night had followed the same pattern of those that had come before them, but the air that had fallen over the two of you as you huddled together on the couch was different • neither of you could quite describe what it felt like, just that it was odd and left you with a dry throat and a small knot in the pit of your stomach

• every so often, Austin would shift a bit closer, muttering something about being cold and you hogging all the blankets • which very well may have been true but?? You had laid claim to it first • After enough pestering, you'd let out an exasperated huff and throw your arm up, holding the blanket open • "Hurry up and get under it before I change my mind and let you freeze" • He wouldn't need to be told a second time

• honestly, he's not even watching the movie • he's pitching little glances in your direction every so often, gaze softening when it falls across your features • oh man • thisismorethanacrush.jpg • he's not exactly subtle about his staring, so it isn't long before you've caught him • uhoh.exe

• "why are you staring? is there something on my face?" • uHOH.EXE • ABORT MISSION • poor boy is broken though, he doesn't even know how to answer • "seriously, is there snot hanging out of my nose or something?" you'd ask, wiping fervently at your face with the sleeve of his your hoodie • nope, just beauty • but he doesn't say this • because his brain is BROKEN and all that's inside of his head right now is a pile of GOO • so what does he do instead? • the only thing any logical teenage boy would do, of course • he kisses you • and maybe it's his first kiss so it's rushed and unsure but it's a kiss all the same • and maybe, just maybe you kiss back • and then maybe dating doesn't seem like it would be so bad after all

• boyfriend Austin is honestly the softest thing in the world?? • like, being in love with someone is already a phenomenal feeling but sharing that type of relationship with your best friend is immensely better because you've already established a strong bond and you know each other better than anyone else • that doesn't mean he doesn't still love to learn more, though • if you thought he was interested in your hobbies before, you should see him now • he does his absolute best to learn about the things that intrigue you that way you're able to do more together • has asked you to teach him how to do some of your favorite things on more than one occasion • it doesn't always turn out (you tried to show him how to bake a cake once and he had flour in his hair for at least three days afterward) great but he's making a genuine effort and the look that fills his eyes when he's working with you is easily the sweetest thing in the world • you being happy makes him happier than he knew possible • he loves showing you his favorite things, too!! • taught you how to skate, likes to paint and game with you whenever time allows

• 110% okay with you stealing his clothing • if we're being honest, he kind of encourages it?? his hoodies practically swallow you and he thinks it's the cutest thing in the world • he's also very fond of skinship • like, it doesn't matter what it is, he just wants to touch you. he loves how perfectly your hand fits in his, the warmth that rolls off of your body when you cuddle up to him, the way your lips feels against his

• spEAKING OF KISSES • they're this boys' biggest weakness?? • like, give him kisses and he will instantly become a pile of goo • he's especially fond of the sweet little kiss you press to the corner of his lips, or the ones he gets on his forehead and the tip of his nose when he has his head resting in your lap • he has no issue with pda whatsoever • he's not one of those dudes that try to shove his tongue down your throat in the middle of the hallway or anything like that, but he does like to show people that you're his • it's not even a possessive thing, he's just really happy to have you • his entire mentality is literally "lOOk aT mY pArtNer!" • "aRenT tHey So DOpE?!" • "iM DatIng LItErALLy The MosT aMaZInG PeRsOn In thE wOrlD!!" • kisses between classes • kisses after school • soft lil kisses just because • walks you to all your classes • carries your books despite you telling him it's cheesy and unnecessary • "it's cheesy but you love it" • you do love it, you can't even argue

• absolutely head over heels for you • and you for him • the likelihood of the relationship lasting until graduation is very high, and it's almost guaranteed you'll be together well into your young adult years • in short, you're the sweetest of high school sweethearts

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leowenila · 6 years ago

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On The Brink (Day One, Again)

Hello! I started writing this about a month or two ago, but never finished it because life got in the way and prevented me from writing it; but I finally took the time to finish this from just missing early season fifteen Omelia and how spontaneous that kiss was. Throughout the beginning of this story, it may seem like it favors a particular ship more but please read the entire fic for the real and true ship; Omelia! There are many moments in this story that actually pained me to write and might be slightly out of character, but I guess that’s the feeling that happens in writing fanfiction that sadly will never be canon. I wasn’t sure of a good title, so it has two titles. 😊 Please enjoy this very angst filled (reunion worthy) and long one-shot!

Part two of “Shepherd’s Superheroes” will be posted eventually (I promise) and part two of “Strength Runs in the Family” is being written. Thank you all for your patience!

Regardless of the alternative pain relief she sought out with the blonde orthopedic surgeon and the delicious donuts they shared on an occasion as of late, there was one thing Link and Amelia never seemed to come to an agreement on or at least an understanding. The course of treatment and bedside manner they used with their patients in doing so. His charisma and overly optimist charm usually disallowed the realism she had always used with her patients as explaining possible complications or side effects. That terrible evening was no different than all the others.

The emergency department was crowded yet under control from the management of Teddy Altman; who hovered back and forth between triage beds as doctors of all rankings treated patients lying on beds. Once seeing the female attending from the main elevator; Amelia walked towards her for where a neurological consult was needed.

“You needed a neuro consult?” The brunette asked with tiredness but awareness heavy in her voice. Teddy checked the electronic tablet in her hands that listed all the patients that made their way into the hospital.

“Yes; bed seven. The paramedics said when they found him he was unconscious due to a potential overdose but needed confirmation. Is that okay with you?”

Amelia confusingly looked at the blonde cardiothoracic surgeon, in hopes to receive an answer as to why she questioned if it was okay with the brunette. But her mind was focused elsewhere. Choosing not to question, the neurosurgeon casually made her way over towards the seventh bed along the wall. Once standing in front of his lifeless and extremely pale body, Amelia removed her penlight to confirm if the man’s bright green pupils were fixed and dilated. She then moved onto a nerve test which came back with no response. Amelia glanced up towards the ceiling and sighed with disappointment after having a small hope for the middle aged man.

“Damn it.” She cursed under her breath quietly as she tore off the blue gloves from her hands and stopped by the main nurses station to inform them.

Over the past six months with no matter how many fake smiles or AA meetings she attended, a rather large part of her was craving an icy vodka tonic or maybe several; since the trauma surgeon’s daughter was born. And although Teddy chose Tom as her partner and to be Allison’s father; Amelia still felt on the brink of losing everything if for some reason Owen wanted the blonde in his life permanently again. With the constant arguments with Link, having to watch her sister-in-law’s children more than she did before due to Meredith picking up more hours at the hospital and finally, the patient that strangely resembled Ryan that night; everything felt overwhelming in Amelia’s life again and panic was ever so present. She missed the family life she had been creating with Owen. And Betty; she missed that girl everyday. If she was being honest with herself; she even missed her mom dearly ever since returning home from New York.

Roughly twenty two minutes after she had confirmed that the patient was dead, the brunette made her way towards her quiet but well lit office and sat back to hopefully catch her breath, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Broadcasting a large smile on his face that caused almost tooth in his mouth to appear, Link beamed upon seeing the woman in front of him who held the handset of the business phone, his smile lessened.

“What’s going on?” The blonde orthopedic surgeon questioned the brunette. She exhaustively looked at him and shook her head before speaking. With Link she always felt as though she had to be careful of what she would say to him, he was so positive about everything and the brunette did not want to drag him down into her sorrowful mood; but with the trauma surgeon, she felt herself. Eight months without Owen was exhausting. Eight months of being a shell of the person she was becoming after her surgery, was slowly killing Amelia as the days passed by.

“I am about to call the girlfriend of a man who suddenly overdosed and I already know the unimaginable pain she will feel, from the second I tell her.” Amelia told him flatly. The man in front of her looked confused as to why she would know the pain of losing someone to an overdose; and although he had many questions, he allowed her to make a phone call and walked out of the neurosurgeon’s office for privacy.

“Ms. Copeland; this is Dr. Amelia Shepherd, the chief of neurosurgery at Grey Sloan Memorial, I am calling in regards to your fiancé Lucas Bishop, who came into our emergency department about three hours ago now. Do you have a moment to discuss this matter?”

Once the phone call was made; the brunette grabbed her rather large purse and light sweater hanging over a wooden coat rack before switching the light in her office off. Amelia walked past Link with an electronic tablet in her hand and set it down on the nearest nurses desk.

“If Marie Copeland comes into the emergency department; ask for her to speak to Dr. Korarick for further details. I called him and he should be here in about ten minutes.” The neurosurgeon told the charge nurse, sitting at the desk. The nurse shook her head as she watched the brunette with understanding eyes.

Link saw Amelia and ran towards her, and placed his large hand on her back. He sensed her anger and sadness but looked past it before speaking to her, the orthopedic surgeon needed an honest answer to his unsaid question; but hopefully wishing he could take her back to his place to enjoy some seafood.

“Hey; so uh, How about we have some sushi delivered to my place tonight, and we could maybe talk about whatever is bothering you. I know you care deeply about your patients; but there is going to come a day when his fiancé forgets about this day completely. You know? Let’s go and get some sushi.”

The brunette quickly whipped her head back around, causing her hair and coat drift slightly. Her nose was a pinkish-red tone and her eyes were bright red with the slightest bit of puffiness to them. Amelia was about to break sooner or later, the sharp yet crystal clear vodka was screaming her name, she knew that she was going to order the moment she sat down at Joe’s Bar and the voices in her head telling her to stay sober were whispering in the distance but she was trying to shut them out; just like she was trying to do so with Link.

“A woman’s fiance just died and your first response is that “she will get over it some day” I told you that I know the pain she will feel, so what? Do you expect me to be over the loss I had years ago due to an overdose? What makes you seem like the nicest guy to all your patients but whenever it comes to your co-workers, you nitpick every detail they do in their personal lives! Why does it even matter if this case is bothering me or not?”

Nearby doctors began to form a small crowd around once hearing the chief of neurosurgery scream the last question to the orthopedic surgeon. He stood there confused and surprised that the woman confessed such a private thing to him in practically the entire intermediate care unit and doctors on the floor.

“Because Amelia! That is what people do; they take care of each other when they spend almost half their work lives together! Who was it? Your brother? Oh; that’s right, it couldn’t have been. Because your sister-in-law didn’t call you when the great god of neurosurgery was his death-bed so you didn’t get to say goodbye to him. How does it make you feel knowing that if you were called; he would still be walking these halls? He is dead because of you!” Link bravely told Amelia with not an ounce of regret in his voice and allowed his true feelings to come out. The neurosurgeon stood still where she was standing as a silent tear escaped her sky blue iris; never in her life did she have someone say something quite like that to her. Trying to stay strong as long as possible, Amelia needed to leave and without her knowledge her legs ran faster than she knew.

From afar stood Maggie with an electronic tablet in her hand; unbelievably shocked and saddened to hear what the orthopedic surgeon just had said to her sister, she quickly removed her phone from her lab coat pocket and placed the phone in the crook of her neck.

The streets were dark and nearly empty as the brunette traveled through the quiet suburbs of Seattle. Just like the people in them, many of the homes were sleeping while a few remained well lit. Although the roads were pitch black, there was one home and it’s driveway that she could never forget. Before she shut off her engine after pulling into the familiar driveway, Amelia wiped away the constant flow of tears that escaped from her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were tears of sadness over her life as a whole lately or tears of realizing that just an hour earlier; she could have potentially relapsed but stopped herself. The young neurosurgeon knocked on the colored door until it felt like her knuckles were bleeding from the cold air she waited in, she began to grow anxious. Maybe she should drive to the bar. She thought to herself right before the door opened to reveal a still very awake trauma surgeon.

”H-Hi...” Amelia started to speak to Owen as to why she was currently at his doorstep that late at night; but because he essentially knew everything about the woman who he still considered his soulmate and based on the phone call he had received from Maggie, the man watched the brunette try and attempt to form sentences and at least give him a small clue how he could help. He received no response.

“Amelia? Is everything alright? Would you like to come in?” He offered and questioned, the brunette continued to stand outside of the house as multiple tears fell down her face and her arms were wrapped tightly across her own smaller frame. She shook her head, Owen could sense Amelia was embarrassed by showing up this late, he just didn’t know why she was or why it was so hard for her to show her emotions.

“I don’t want to interrupt your nighttime routine with Leo or your dinner or whatever, I am just gonna go.” Amelia hesitated and began to walk away before the trauma surgeon’s calm voice called her back.

“Amelia; it’s ten at night and I think it’s trying to snow, maybe. I put Leo into bed about two hours ago and the only time I eat dinner late is if I was on call. Please come in, and at least let me make you some of your favorite tea.”

And so the brunette accepted his offered request and walked side by side him. The two made it into the warm and dark home before Owen switched on the main living room light. Amelia sat on their comfy couch as she saw Owen wander into their kitchen near where she kept the tea steep. Water rushed through the pot before he placed it on the oven and watched Amelia from afar; without her knowledge. He has seen her broken but in the current moment, for the second time since knowing the brunette, he felt afraid of what she might have done if he did not open the door or like the first time; find her.

“You know? There are days that I still get really angry at the friend that gave me my first pill. She told me it would take all my pain away.” Amelia said out loud, not sure if Owen had been listening or not but sensing his lake blue eyes on her. A laugh escaped from her lips after the last sentence before telling the rest of her story.

The trauma surgeon removed the now warm liquid into his soulmate’s favorite mug and began to walk back into the living room to place the glass mug on the coffee table in front.

“It is funny, because ever since that day; instead of Oxy taking the pain away, it only adds to the pain. I have been so in pain recently, and I think that’s because I miss the relief.”

Amelia’ mind wandered off as she stared into the distance and replayed the last eight months in her head, and how being in the present moment with Owen again was the first time in a long time she felt safe. She felt like she could request a hug from trauma surgeon and he would wrap his arms around her without feeling ungenuine. She felt at home. And in the current moment she felt unafraid. Before Owen could think or offer for himself to drive her to a meeting in hopes her cravings would pass, Amelia leaned back and brought her lips to match his to passionately kiss him. As if no time had passed between them Owen reciproted her passionate kiss and matched her rhythm. Once getting comfortable, the two stood up at the same time and knowing exactly what the trauma surgeon was planning, Amelia nodded to Owen indicting that he could lift her up in his arms.

So he did. Carefully Owen supported her legs as he made his way towards his bedroom; their bedroom. Gingerly Amelia removed one of her hands that held onto Owen’s neck to quietly turn off the living room light as he continuously held her and kissed her soft neck.

Owen’s heart felt complete while Amelia felt rescued from being on the brink of making the next day; day one again, but instead she chose to make that night day one again with her soulmate. The whole time it wasn’t the drugs she craved; instead it was Owen who she craved the most.

Thank you so much for reading one of my favorite stories, I’ve ever written!

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illogicallyextra-blog · 5 years ago

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Better fourth (Pt. 1)

Title: Better fourth

Chapter: 1

Soulmate/Human Au.

Warning(s): Bullying

A/N: This is my first fanfic so I'm sorry if it's bad, I tried to do my best. Also I'm not sure how I'm gonna update this but I'll post as much as I can.

Virgil was around four when the weird letter like scribbles started to appear on him. His parents were so grateful that their son had a soulmate, just like them. They could tell whenever his soulmate would write to the young kid becuase he would either start to laugh, like someone was tickling him, or he would cry and scream. Virgil's parents were unsure if it was his soulmate that was writing so hard or someone else. They just hoped the other kid was okay.

Virgil was around Seven when the words on his arm started to become clearer. It was obvious that the previous choices of red,baby blue, and indigo were not from a single person. It was hard to really tell as they all wrote kinda sloppy, who could blame them though they were so young. The one with an indigo pen always seemed to write the best and that would continue throughout elementary. Virgil's mom already had a favorite, the light blue soulmate who would always write nice messages and little hearts over their arms. Virgil's dad on the other hand favored the red and indigo soulmates. One was very smart and the kid already seemed to speak very fluently, both parents wondered if he was older but obviously not by much. Red was a bit more spontaneous, he randomly wrote all the time whatever he wanted. Virgil and his dad found it funny when he would complain about his parents or sibling only to erase it moments later.

Middle school was when Virgil's parents started to grow worried. Why? Virgil had refused to write back to his soulmates. They were okay with this before, it was Virgil's soulmates and they didn't want to force the kid. The only thing was Virgil's soulmates seemed to be getting closer and closer each second while Virgil was getting farther away. Virgil started wearing hoodies, long sleeved shirts, and sweaters to cover his arms. His mom asked continuously why he would cover up his soulmates writing. One time Virgil freaked and told his mom that he hated his soulmates. Virgil's mom didn't ask again after that, she avoided the topic. Virgil's dad on the other hand tried to get Virgil to open up about why he suddenly hated them. Virgil told him everything. Virgil told him how kids would push and shove him teasing him for having three different soulmates. Virgil's dad was understandably angry when he heard his kid was being picked on for something uncontrollable. His dad had tried to figure out a compromise with the school. Virgil had started to stay home when it got worse, occasionally he would just sit in the nurse office all day doing work. It was almost half a year later when they had worked out a situation where they would move. Virgil worried about being the new kid but he was going into highschool so he knew he wouldn't be the only one.

Virgil already was more comfortable in the new school, no one knew him. Or his soulmate situation. Virgil finally felt he belonged even if only by a bit. His mom started to ask about his soulmates and he was happy to reply. Virgil didn't want to write still, his parents understood why. He had already grown so used to reading the responses and not replying, not only that but they seemed happy. He didn't want to ruin that and he didn't want to disappoint them. Virgil's parents would openly try to encourage the kid without trying to force him too much. One night Virgil's dad came home with a box full of different gel pens and gave them to Virgil

"I know you don't want to write to them just yet-" Virgil's dad had started to talk only to get interrupted.

"I think you mean ever." Virgil snarkily replied.

"But I wanted you to pick a color, maybe practice wrighting to them on paper."

Virgil had bitterly grabbed the box, thanking his dad before storming back into his room. Both his parents shared a look of disappointment. Virgil did start practicing though trying to find a style and a color. He chose a vibrant purple, he loved purple as a color and well it was a nice mix of the three colors his soulmates already had. It was around a month later at dinner when he decided to announce something.

"I'm doing it." Virgil spoke softly, his anxiety started to rise.

"Doing what?" His parents asked, laughing when they realized they spoke in harmony.

"I'm gonna write to them." His parents silently celebrated and Virgil shook his head.

"When?" His dad voice asked.

"Like n-now. I thought you guys could help." Virgil spoke his voice now obviously unsure.

"Oh!" His dad expressed confused only for his mom to swat him lightly in the arm.

"That's great, sweety. Why not start with a nice hi or hello." Virgil's mom spoke leaning over to point to a blank spot on his arm.

Virgil nodded, taking in a small breath as he pushed the purple pen to his inner wrist.

#virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders side fic #soulmate #soulmateau #betterfourthau #lamp #sanderssidessoulmate

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writeawayharry · 7 years ago

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The Kindergarten Teacher (Daddy Harry, Part 4)

For previous parts, click here.

The excitement in the air was so abundant it was almost tangible. You were glad you decided to schedule a little party for the day; with the way your students were anticipating summer, you doubted they would sit still long enough to get some learning done.

It was the last day of school, a day that left you feeling a mix of emotions. It was so gratifying to see the once shy children who didn’t know anyone play freely and joyously with each other. But of course, you were going to miss them dearly. And it looked like they were going to miss you too.

Throughout the course of the day, your students came up and spontaneously wrapped their little arms around your waist, declaring how much they loved you. It nearly brought a tear to your eye.

There were only minutes to go in the school year, and all but one had said goodbye.

“I don’t have to tell you goodbye,” little Darcy Styles said, hand over her mouth like she was sharing a secret. “We’re going on vacation tomorrow!” Her eyebrows wiggled excitedly.

“Oh yes, Darcy. We will be seeing lots of each other this summer.”

She smiled broadly and ran to her classmates excitedly. You held your breath momentarily, hoping she wasn’t going to tell them all.

You didn’t know why you still felt self-conscious over your relationship with Darcy’s father. It had been steady for a few months and you wouldn’t be surprised if a few parents put two and two together by now. But still, you were relieved—today being the last day officially meant that you were no longer dating the father of your student.

With the clocking nearing three o’clock, you gathered your students on the carpet and read them one last story. By the time you were finished and ready to dismiss them for the summer, quite the crowd of parents had already gathered in the hall. And one of them was your boyfriend.

“Be safe, everyone! I’ll miss you!” you called as the kindergarteners trickled passed you.

You smiled as Darcy ran into her daddy’s arms. However, you weren’t the only one smiling. A few of the single mothers—and some of the married ones—were practically ogling Harry. You doubted it was the first time.

Harry’s eyes met yours and he rolled them playfully. You shrugged. Your boyfriend was one hell of a man.

And he was all yours.

“So, Ms. Y/L/N,” Harry said, leaning towards you, his hand intertwined with Darcy’s. “It looks like you’ll be free for a few months. Any plans?”

“Mmmm, not really,” you teased. “Just going on vacation with a few special people.”

Harry laughed for a moment before his lips pressed firmly into yours. The kiss was deeper than you expected it to be, considering the setting.

“Harry, geez, there still may be children around,” you told him red-faced.

Harry looked sheepish. “Sorry, whenever you’re around I tend to get tunnel vision.”

“Smooth, Styles, smooth,” you blushed, stepping back into the classroom to gather your things.

“Bye-bye school,” Darcy sang as the three of you walked hand-in-hand to Harry’s Rover.

…

“Wow! I am so excited to see the Mafia Coast!” Darcy clapped her hands.

You and Harry exchanged an amused look. Your fellow first class passengers didn’t bother to hide their looks of confusion.

“I’m glad you’re excited, Darce,” her dad said, “but we’re not going to the Mafia Coast, we’re going to the Amalfi Coast.”

“It’s a good thing, too,” an older man a few rows ahead of you said. “If you went to the Mafia Coast, you might never return.”

You let out an awkward shuffle. At least Darcy didn’t hear that comment; she was too engrossed in the picture books you had packed for her.

“These damn flights are so damn long,” an elderly woman spoke loudly. She was wearing a tracksuit and a white headband. Her mouth was surprisingly potty. “Bill, did you bring my iPod?”

Bill turned out to be the man who spoke earlier. “No, Iris, I forgot. Sorry, dear.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

“You can borrow mine,” Harry offered.

Iris turned around, and her eyes widened appreciatively at his appearance.

“What a sweet young thing, and handsome too,” she winked.

Harry blushed. “There’s a new album I just downloaded. It’s called Harry Styles Greatest Hits. Give it a listen.”

“Who the hell is that? I’ve never heard of him. Eh, he’s probably crap. All the new music is these days.”

Harry gave you a quick look before the two of you burst out laughing. Reluctantly, Iris popped in the headphones. You could see from the little screen that she was indeed listening to Harry. He just had such a way with people.

Harry and you talked a bit once the plane took off until you got drowsy. He began to caress your scalp and within minutes, you were fast asleep on his shoulder.

You were gently woken from Harry when the plane landed. Wow. You had slept for eight hours. The two of you went to carefully rouse Darcy as well. Surprisingly, Bill and Iris were awake. She popped her headphones out.

“This chap’s not bad. Hey Bill, get me a kiwi, will you?”

…

You had never been to Italy before, and the Amalfi Coast was exceeding any of your expectations. Deep blue water surrounded the mountains and hills covered in rocks and white and clay homes. It was stunning. And the company wasn’t bad either.

If you didn’t know if your boyfriend was big in Italy, you got your answer. Everywhere you went—whether it was a shop or a restaurant or the beach—fans came up to him, saying little more than ciao, but very passionately. Even the shades did nothing to hide his charisma.

You leaned back in your white bistro chair, content and relaxed at lunch. Harry spoke as he dipped a piece of bread in olive oil.

“So, Ms. Y/L/N, Darcy, how does an afternoon at the beach sound?”

“Beach, yeah! I love beach!” Darcy cheered.

“So that’s a yes from you.” Harry laughed, ruffling Darcy’s hair.

“What about you Ms. Y/L/N?” she asked you.

“Sounds good to me. And by the way, Darcy, you can just call me Y/N,” you offered gently.

The little girl had yet to call you anything other than what she was used to. However, so was Harry. And that was more than a little odd.

…

You and Harry were lying on a chair in the sand while Darcy was hard at work on a sand castle. Harry’s torso was bare, his shirt buttons open and you ran your hands along the hot surface. You smiled as you watched Darcy’s hair blow lightly in the wind.

“I can’t see!” Darcy complained. “My hair is in my eyes!”

You rummaged through your bag until you found a hair band. “Come here, little one.”

Slowly and gently, you twisted Darcy’s fine hair into a simple braid. When you were done, you gave a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you Ms. Y/L/N. I look very beautiful now.” Darcy raised her chin in the air.

You laughed, looking back at Harry. He looked surprisingly tender.

You leaned back into his hard body and put a finger to his chin. “What’s wrong?” you whispered low enough so that Darcy wouldn’t hear.

“Nothin’,” he answered in a thick voice. “That was just the first time a woman other than Gem or my mom did Darcy’s hair.”

You bit your lip and ran your hands over Harry’s chest. “I’m happy to.”

…

Harry was quiet that night at dinner. At least you thought so; it was hard to tell, considering Darcy wouldn’t stop chit-chatting. She was barely eating her pizza.

“Everything okay, Harry?” you asked him in between bites of your ravioli.

“Mmm hmm, yeah.” He seemed a little nervous, but you didn’t press.

“Ready to go, Darce?” he asked about a half hour later. “It’s almost bed time.”

You frowned. It was only just after seven o’clock.

Darcy’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah! Is this the night I go to bed early?”

Harry winced. “Yes, Darcy. Remember our secret?” He gave her a knowing nod. Darcy covered her mouth with her tiny hands.

A Styles Secret. Okie-dokie.

…

You had just taken off your heels in your bedroom of the villa Harry had rented when he walked in from putting Darcy to sleep.

“So, Ms. Y/L/N, what do you want to do tonight?”

“How about a movie?” you asked easily. “And what’s with you calling me that?”

Harry went to his suitcase to retrieve something. “No reason,” he shrugged, picking up a medium sized box. “I just wanted to use it up considering I don’t know how much longer I—or anyone—will be able to call you that.”

A chill came over your body. “What does that mean?”

Harry didn’t answer with words. Instead, he walked towards you and got down on one knee.

Oh my god.

He opened the box and revealed the diamond.

Oh my god for real.

“I want you to be Mrs. Styles, if that’s okay with you.”

Tears spilled over as Harry continued to profess his love for you.

“Yes!” you interrupted. “Yes, Harry, the answer is yes.”

He stood up and pulled you into his arms, spinning you around. You squealed and giggled and nearly came undone when you saw that Harry’s eyes were wet as well.

He gently threw you onto the bed and began kissing your face, your lips, your everything.

You didn’t even notice the little girl enter your room.

“Did she say yes? Did she say yes?” Darcy practically screamed.

“Yes!” you laughed as Harry tickled your stomach. “I said yes!”

“Yes!” Darcy repeated, running towards the bed and nearly knocking the two of you over.

All situated on the couch, Harry wrapped his arms around both of his favourite girls.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you Darcy,” he said, face full of joy.

“I love you Darcy, I love you Harry,” you said, meaning every word.

He grabbed your hand and squeezed gently. And just when you thought the moment couldn’t get better, Darcy Styles went and said this:

“I love you Daddy, I love you Mommy.”

Your heart nearly burst, fresh tears springing to your eyes. How in the world did you get so lucky to be her kindergarten teacher?

This concludes The Kindergarten Series! Thank you so, so much for reading! Daddy Harry has become my new favourite thing to write, and there will definitely be more to come! I can’t thank you enough for the response to this series! I love you all. x

#harry styles #harry #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #daddy harry #one direction #1d #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb

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parker-1962 · 7 years ago

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Beautiful-Peter Parker

Ta-Dah, Omg I loved writing this one, it was too much fun. It’s so fluffy, or at least I hope it’s fluffy. And I’ve posted two fics within a weeks, I’m so proud of myself.

Request- ‘Peter Takes a break from fighting crime to attend reader’s cousin’s wedding; he’s nervous but it can be as fluffy as you want’ @cantshakethenoiseinsidemybones

Requests always open

Masterlist

__________________________________________________

Spontaneous visits from your cousin weren’t an un-common occurrence, however this time her visit wasn’t just to discuss life over a cup of coffee-she could only do this with you, she claims nowhere could beat your coffee. But it was to discuss something quite important, very important actually. You opened the door to see her brilliant bright smile looking back at you, accompanied by a loud squeal of excitement.

“Ahhhhh!” she screamed as she hooped into your family’s apartment-your parents were out, so screaming was allowed, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” she said roaring your name louder each time she chanted it still bouncing up and down.

“What is it?” you said, looking a bit confused as your cousin, Amy, began danced into the living room with you following closely behind. She thrusted her left hand out towards you. An oversized diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds lay on silver band around her thin ring finger. Now you understood why she was squealing earlier and you couldn’t help but join in. Dancing around in circles, singing the first pop song that popped into your heads and squealing loudly ever chance you got.

“It’s Kevin your marrying, right? Just so we’re clear” you quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Yes! You dumbass” She smirked at you, “I’ve been dating him for 2 years”

“Well you’re lucky I like him, or we could have some problems”

She began to giggle, “Don’t be stupid he is amazing, I love him and you will too”

“I better, or the wedding is off”

“You know he’s great you’ve meet him”

“I know, I know, I’m just teasing”

She shook her head at you, “Since we are on the topic of love, how is your boyfriend? Patrick? Oh, Oh, I know Pablo? Right? It’s definitely Pablo” she beamed a convincing smile at you and began to nod almost convincing you his name was Pablo.

“Peter!” you rolled your eyes at her, “he’s great, we’re great”

“How long have you been together now?” she had settled down now, and you were both sitting adjacent on your parent’s couch.

“5 months nearly” you stood up and headed towards the kitchen already preparing the inevitable cup of coffee she was going to ask for.

“oh impressive, he should be your date for my wedding” she said winking your way, “Coffee please?”

“Already on it” You said, beginning to pour the brewed coffee into the cups and heading back to the couches, passing the steaming mug over to her. “I’m not even sure that we will last that long”

“The way that you speak about him I’m sure you will. I would absolutely love if he came to my wedding, I would finally get to meet your Romeo" she said, causing you to blush which you promptly concealed with a groan, accompanied with an eye roll. As much as you would love to go to the wedding with Peter he was too awkward and so were you. Plus, relatives live to see pda, it helps to fuel the gossip that constantly circulates and neither of you could deal with that.

“Oh, and you would look gorgeous in your bridesmaid dress, he has to see you in that” she smirked at your confused face, “Did I mention you were going to be one of my bridesmaid?”

“I am!” you squealed almost spilling your coffee on the both of you.

“You are” and the two of you began dancing around again, squealing loudly.

“You’re going to be beautiful” she squealed at you, “And he’s going to fall in love with you”

“You’re going to look more beautiful, walking down the aisle in your white gown” you twirled around the couches, “And he’s going to cry because you’re the love of his life” Once again you squealed grabbing each other’s hands and spun around jumping together. Just like a cliched scene in a movie.

Her Wedding was going to be amazing and with you as one of her bridesmaids it was going to be spectacular.

—————

It was two weeks to the wedding, Amy was right you were still dating Peter, and you couldn’t wait to go to the wedding together. The only problem was you still hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask Peter to be your date yet, as much as he loved to go dates with you this was different. It was a wedding, it would be super romantic and Peter has not formally meet your parents or any other relative and he’s not exactly the best equipped for conversations.

As usual you went over to Peter’s to ‘study’, it never did involve studying. You had decided that you were finally going to ask him about the wedding and Throughout the school day you had slowly convinced yourself to do it whilst you ‘studied’. Now you were awkwardly playing with a loose thread on your jumper in an attempt at building your confidence, it wasn’t working. Peter began to pull out an assortment of books which he stacked high with papers wildly sticking out.

“Ready to study? I actually mean it this time, no distractions Y/N I have a test coming up” he said, as he rummaged further in his chaotic backpack.

“Y/N, Y/N hey what’s wrong?” he looked up at you concerned, now with worry in his eye

“Nothing, I’m fine Peter I was just thinking…” you trailed off, Peter’s intense gaze intimidating you.

“What? What is it?” he began searching your face for signs of what you were talking about, “Are you breaking up with me?” Panic now spreading across his face.

“Oh God no you idiot, I would never” you grabbed his hands to reassure him.

“well, what is it then?”

“My cousin, Amy, do you remember me talking about her?” he responded with a ‘mmm’, and you continued reassured by his hand squeezing yours gently, “She’s getting married in two weeks, I’m one of the bridesmaids and she really wants me to bring you with me. But I know it’s a big deal, and if you don’t want to go it’s…” you trailed off once again doubting yourself. You had been dating Peter for over a year and you cared for him but, you knew this means a lot.

“Don’t Panic” he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, “I’ll go with you baby don’t worry, I’ll go”

“If you can’t it’s fine, with all your responsibilities and if you don’t feel ready I understand, I can go by myself” you said nodding towards him.

“Baby, Spider-man can wait a day whilst I go to a wedding with you, you’re important to me too” he smiled softly at you, and it was set, you were going with Peter to Amy’s wedding.

You blushed at his compliment, “Alright as long as you’re okay with it”

“I’m more than okay with it” he beamed and returned his eyes to the books in front of him, starting to study.

—————-

The wedding was grand, it was set to take place in a hotel on water. Amy had secretly been planning the greatest wedding of all time, she had a feeling that Kevin was going to propose. The location was perfect, the decorations were flawless and Amy’s dress couldn’t be more beautiful if she tried. The same could be said for yours, it was long and flowy, a deep blue colour the same as Amy’s eyes- she claims- regardless the dress is beautiful and you looked even more beautiful in it.

The ceremony was set to take place any minute now, Peter had secured himself a seat awkwardly beside your parents and everyone was awaiting Amy’s arrival in her white gown. You fixed a curl behind your ear trying to pour more confidence into yourself, hoping that the longer you stared into your own eyes you would be able to stride down that aisle. Everyone would be watching, it wasn’t even your wedding but you were still far too anxious. Amy appeared behind you holding your shoulders,

“You look beautiful, maybe even more than me” She smiled, her cheeks straining to contain her happiness. You looked down shyly, redness rising in your cheeks- you were not convinced. You still felt silly in such a beautiful dress but not yet beautiful yourself,

She continued to gaze at you lovingly, “Aww come on, Peter would think otherwise” It’s like she was reading your thoughts.

“Alright, let’s go before I actually hold up your wedding” you say letting out a deep breath.

The procession began, the two young flower girls- daughters of one of Amy’s many friends -heading down first, dusting the aisle with white and blue petals. Then it was you, anxiety built up inside your stomach but you walked anyway, clinging onto the bouquet for dear life listening to the sound of your heels softly hitting the wooden floor. Then his brown eyes meet yours and your heart almost feel out your chest. His mouth was open, gazing at you as you tried not to stumble down the aisle.

You sat down in the soft seats and glanced back around at Peter sitting rows behind you still gazing at you as if you were the only person in the world.

‘Stop staring’ you mouthed to him.

‘I can’t, you’re too beautiful’ you blushed a bright pink, not being able to handle how much you love this boy. You just haven’t told him yet.

‘I’ll wait for you after the ceremony’ you winked at him, suddenly gaining more confidence.

‘I’ll see you then beautiful’

____________________

The prolonged ceremony seemed to take for years, you only wanted to talk to Peter. Finally, the party left and you pleaded with Amy to stay longer so you could walk back with Peter, instead of in the over filled cars.

“You were far too beautiful in the ceremony” he said, gently holding your hand and swinging your arms back and forth slowly.

“And you look far too handsome in your suit” you looked up into his brown eyes, then down to his horribly disfigured tie, “Oh my God, Peter!” you began giggling at the knot, “Didn’t anyone help you?”

“Well they were kinda busy with the wedding thing”

“Let me fix it then” you released his hand and turned around, setting your nimble fingers to un do the knot. He watched transfixed by you, staring at your small hands. You fixed his tie pulling it up closer to his neck, feeling his pulse quicken the closer you got.

“Y/N” his voice cracked, “I-I-I”

“What is it Peter?” your eyes a big as the moon tentatively looking back up into his.

“Y/N, I think I love you”

“Peter, I Think I love you too” both of your cheeks matching the same colour crimson, “No, I don’t ‘think’ I love you, I do love you Peter”

“God, I love you too Y/N” and with that his lips crashed onto yours, his hands reaching down and grabbing you at the waist. Your bodies were held as close together as possible, his tongue dancing with yours. Your hands destroying his perfectly gelled hair. Both your hearts racing, the tossed confetti twirling around you, dancing the same dance as your two tongues.

“Peter as much as I love doing this with your we’re going to miss the reception if we don’t start walking again”

“Alright, on two conditions though” he said, letting go of your face and once again grasping your hand.

“What are they Parker?”

“One. We take a break after 5 minutes of walking to kiss again” he raised an eyebrow at you.

“I can arrange that” you squeezed his hand.

“Two. The next time I see you walking down that aisle, it will be in a gorgeous white dress and I will be waiting for you at the end”

“Can do, where do I sign?”

“Right here” he pointed at his lips and puckered them slightly.

You rolled your eyes but complied, settling your lips once again on his.

You love Peter Parker, almost as much as he loves you.

He was beautiful. He thought you were too.

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getyouhoylake · 7 years ago

Text

Top 10 Sweetest John Moments With Cynthia (Big Finale!!!!)

Hello everyone! Well, the time has come for me to reveal the NUMBER 1 SWEETEST JOHN MOMENT WITH CYNTHIA! YAY!!!

When looking back at each moment, you’ll notice that all of them emphasize one particular part of John’s character. Moments like number 10 and 7 show us that he could be considerate, while moments like number 6 and 5 show us that he could be very romantic. Moment number 9 showcased his chivalry, and moment number 2 is a true example of his dedication and loyalty for another person, and so on and so forth. All these characteristics and acts that he did for Cynthia, are all done in a very tender and sweet manner… But there’s one moment, one single act, that combines all these characteristics and more. Not only do I considerate the sweetest thing that John has ever done for Cynthia, but it’s perhaps the most eye-opening, heartwarming, honest, and passionate thing he has ever done for anyone….

Ladies and gentlemen……I give you……

Number 1: John’s First Love Letter aka I Love You Like Guitars

Yeah, I imagine everyone saw this moment coming from miles away. Forgive my predictability. But who cares!!! I LOVE this letter. I LOVE IT! I LOVE IT! I LLLLOOOVVVEEE IT!!! This is the cutest thing I have EVER read. It’s so adorable! Yes you heard right. ADORABLE!! When you think of John Lennon, you don’t really think of him as adorable (and physical looks don’t count in this case). John gave the impression to many of his fans and even to many of his friends, that he was a tough man, with a very witty sense of humor, and a lovable, if not questionable, form of sarcasm. As he got older, he became known as a intellectual man, who had some very interesting opinions on life, politics, religion, etc. And while you may not agree with his viewpoint about everything, he was fascinating to listen to. But you don’t really see anything in him that would indicate that he was a softy at heart…and that mainly has to do with the fact that John’s early days as a kid growing up in Liverpool were hard.

His father abandoned him when he was 5 years old. His mother was supposedly bipolar, but either way wasn’t capable of taking care of him. He was raised by his Aunt Mimi. Although she loved John, she was a harsh woman, who was better at chastising and scolding John, then showing him tenderness. She hated that he wanted to be a rock n’ roll singer, and showed absolutely no support in his career choice, until many years later. She also treated Cynthia badly, and was furious that John married her. She didn’t even go to the wedding. His uncle was the closest thing he had to a father, but he died when he was just an adolescent. And to make matters worse, at ages 16-17, John was really starting to become very close with his mother. But all that ended when she tragically died from an oncoming, drunk, off-duty policemen, in his car. She was killed on impact…an event that truly shook and broke John’s heart.

With such a childhood, it’s no wonder John was the way he was. The truth is that, even if you love John’s wittiness and spontaneous personality, that was only a part of him. In many ways it was a facade to the true person. Paul has often said in interviews that he believes John was really a scared little boy, underneath the tough exterior. He had undergone so much in his life, that jokes and sarcasm were really a defense mechanism. And whenever conflict crept into his life, he would either shut himself off from it completely, or act like a scumbag in order to feel in control. But deep down, he was a vulnerable and sensitive human being, with the heart of a poet. And thankfully, although it came in rare doses, John would demonstrate his softer side now and then, especially with Cynthia and even with Paul. And this letter is a true testament to that.

I’m sure many of you know the backstory of the letter, but I’ll enlighten those who don’t know. This letter was written in 1958, and it was a Christmas gift for Cynthia. In it, John basically gushes out all his feelings and emotions to her. Since it’s a little hard to read, here is a transcript of the letter:

Dear Cyn, I love you , I love you I love you I love you I love you I love u I lllllove U I love you Like Mad I do I do love you YES YES YES I do love you CYN you I love I love you Cynthia Powell John Winston love C.Powell Cynthia Cynthia Cynthia I love you I love you I love you forever and ever isn’t it great? I love you like Guitars I love you like anything lovely lovely lovely lovely Cyn I love lovely Cynthia Cynthia I love you. You are Wonderful I adore you I want you I need you. I need you don’t go I love You Happy Christmas Merry Chrimbo I love you I love you I love you Cynthia Cyn Cyn Cyn Cyn Cyn Cyn Cyn is loved by John John John John John I love you. Love John

I can’t help it. Every time I read this letter, I find myself smiling, laughing, and blushing all at once. Can you imagine how Cynthia must have responded when she first received this letter? And yes, it’s very corny, and very cheesy, and all it really says is “I love you” over and over again. But come on guys, you know how hard it is for some people to say those three words? It takes guts to tell people how you really feel about them. Your liable to make yourself look like an idiot or be sourly turned down. For John to be so willingly open, is a rarity and even an act of bravery on his part. And John isn’t just stating his love here, he’s PROCLAIMING it. It’s almost like he was screaming and shouting out the words as he wrote it, in a Helga Petaki sort of way (Hey Arnold reference). And he’s not just saying he loves her. He ADORES her. He practically pleads to her to never leave him. AND…he loves her like guitars. For John to say that he loves Cynthia like he does his guitars, is the highest compliment he can give her. Also, I really love that little part where he says “I love you forever and ever isn’t it great”!! It’s so cute and funny, and you can here the overwhelming joy in his voice. You can feel his earnestness. This is a young man who has fallen so desperately in love with a girl, that he is pouring out his heart, practically making himself look like a fool, just to show her how crazy he is for her.

Also, the illustrations that he drew of himself and Cynthia are just beautiful! I mean, he literally took the time to draw TWO pictures of them staring into each others eyes and holding one another. This didn’t need to have so much effort, but he gives her a five page letter, filled with doodles and everything! There’s only one word to describe this letter, and that is “darling”. It’s absolutely darling!

It’s been said that John could truly express himself in his writing/lyrics, and I think this love letter to Cynthia is the pinnacle of his sincerity and honesty. It’s such a bold and passionate declaration of his love for her, while also showcasing his vulnerability and utter affection. And although he wrote countless of other letters to her throughout their ten years together, all very lovely and beautiful, none of them will ever be quiet as special as this one. It’s raw, it’s intense, it’s pure passion, it’s mushy in all the right ways, and I love, love, LOVE IT!!! It’s by far the sweetest thing John has ever done for not only Cynthia, but for anyone. What else can I say but, “John Winston love C.Powell”!!!

And there you have it! That’s my list for the top 10 sweetest John moments with Cynthia. I truly enjoyed making this list, and I also enjoyed everyone’s response and feedback for these moments as well. It’s nice to know that despite all these years, these stories and memories live on in some way, shape, and form. And hopefully by making this countdown, I have not only helped you guys appreciate John and Cynthia’s relationship more, but also enlighten your knowledge about a couple I think is worth knowing and remembering. So until next time, God bless and thank you all very much!

(Quick note: the above illustration is another piece of fanart by greengal14, from deviant art. I thought it was a perfect match for this discussion :-))

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awkwardnessandbaseball · 8 years ago

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Not Enough? You Are Everything

Hey everyone! As some/most of you know, I’ve been working on an Office fic, centered around Jim’s inner dialogue throughout the seasons.

As it turns out, there’s been a really amazing response to it, so I’ve been invited to share it on a site called More Than That.

I’ll still be updating on FF.net as well, and you’ll find both links below, as well as what chapter has been posted on each site most recently.

I’ll also post the first chapter under the cut, just in case anyone wants to try it out before going off-site :)

ALSO, if anyone is artistically inclined, and is particularly inspired and wants to create a cover for this, that would be amazing and lovely, and I would of course give full credit on all sites where the story is posted :)

Fanfiction.net (Chapter 5: Season Three - Part Two): https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12590569/1/Not-Enough-You-Are-Everything

MTT (Chapter 2: Season 2 - Part One): http://mtt.just-once.net/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=5447&textsize=0&chapter=1

Chapter One: Season One

Jim had never intended to fall in love with the girl who sat across from him every day. He had never intended to date anyone from work, so when he found himself with a crush on a girl he had no choice but to stare at for a good portion of the day, he was almost grateful she was engaged.

Almost.

"So, are you going to Angela's cat party?" she's asking him, and he laughs because the idea of a cat party is absurd, but also because he always laughs when he talks to her. Everything seems funny when she says it, and he's fairly certain he's never laughed so much in his life as he does from that spot at reception, with his hands hanging over the desk, almost touching hers.

And when Dwight pulls out the Jell-O encased stapler and she laughs like that, it's almost more than his heart can take. If she didn't laugh like that - a hiccup-y laugh that means he knows he's caught her off guard, done something extraordinary - he might have stopped pranking Dwight ages ago. But if it makes her laugh, he'll keep doing it forever. He loves her laugh.

Shit. Jim is in trouble, because he is in deep. And he is in deep over a committed woman. And God, he'd never want her heart broken the way it would be if Roy left her, but he also knows that a jerk like Roy definitely doesn't deserve a girl like Pam. He knows it's dangerous to put a woman on a pedestal like that, but he also knows that Roy is literally The Worst ™ .

Well, except for maybe Dwight. But that's a whole different story.

But really, he knows Roy keeps her from socializing with her co-workers - and yeah, okay, maybe he's being a little selfish and obvious there, wanting her to go out for drinks and then bailing when Roy says she can't go, but he DOES like spending time with...some of the people from the office. He knows Roy doesn't appreciate her art - which is REALLY good, by the way. And if he doesn't appreciate her art, does he really appreciate her?

Okay, that's a stretch and he knows it. But he still wonders.

He tries to make conversation with Roy, tries to see what she sees in him. Maybe if he could make himself like Roy, he could make himself stop loving her. But Roy is not as chatty, not as bright and bubbly and friendly as Pam. And Roy does not want to talk to Jim. Ever.

And when Jim sees Pam leave the bathroom, clearly trying to hide the fact that she's been crying, he immediately wants to comfort her. He wants to go to her, hug her, tell her whatever happened, it's going to be okay. A tiny part of him hopes that it's about Roy, but that's stupid because he knows Roy is waiting for her outside in that dumpy old truck, that nothing between them could have possibly transpired in the last 10 minutes or so. Right?

But either way, the urge to comfort her is so strong, but he knows that's inappropriate. So instead he just casually asks her about her headache, and she awkwardly asks if he wants to walk out with her, and he's about to grab his coat and really try to savor these few moments completely alone with her…when a truck honks and suddenly she's back to reality, back to her fiance. And Jim is back to being alone, watching the girl he's in love with leave to go home with the man she's in love with - the one who isn't him.

He has learned, over time, to cherish the small moments. The moments when the office is bustling and he and Pam both have nothing to do but observe the madness. The times when he can stand at reception and laugh at Dwight's antics or Stanley's unforgiving attitude. He dangles his hands over the desk, inches away from her fingers, daring himself to grab her hand with his own. He never does, but God does he want to.

It's strange to see another face at the desk when Ryan takes over reception during the horrible, awkward Diversity Day antics. Jim walks over out of habit, feeling awkward once he arrives. He makes conversation with Ryan to ease the strange tension he's feeling. He's barely listening to what Ryan is saying, but then something grabs his attention.

"She's cute, right?"

Cute? Cute doesn't begin to cover Pam Beesly. Pam is wonderful and smart, kind, open, and friendly. Pam is talented and-

"Yeah, but, y'know, she's engaged."

He tries to play it cool, but inside he is screaming. Now the temp is interested in her, too? He knows she'd never go for Ryan, but then again, he certainly didn't see her with a guy like Roy when he found out she was-

"Oh I meant the...the girl in the sketch."

….oh. And Jim can breathe again. He mumbles something about her being hot and pretends to watch whatever Ryan has on the screen. He's already forgotten, more focused on the fact that he needs to stop being jealous over a girl that isn't even his.

Later, he sneaks back into the conference room, feeling defeated over the loss of his biggest client - to Dwight of all people - and breathes a small sigh of relief that the seat next to Pam is still open. It's a small thing, being able to sit next to her. But in another life, she'd comfort him after his rough day, tell him he could go out and get an even bigger client tomorrow. He's imagining this, not listening to a word Michael is saying, when he feels a soft pressure on his shoulder. He turns, and sees her curls very close to his face. He can smell her shampoo. She's leaning on him. She's fallen asleep on his shoulder.

And now he's seeing them curled up on the couch, watching a movie. Seeing a life where Pam falls asleep on his shoulder all the time - she seems the type to fall asleep and then wake up and ask when they're going to bed. And he's hearing her voice, sleepy and wistful, and he's carrying her upstairs-

And suddenly everyone is leaving the conference room. And he waits, cherishing this moment, trying to get back to his imagined reality before the real world comes crashing down around him. He smiles as he wakes her. He whispers softly to her, the same way he imagines he'd wake her up if she had fallen asleep on the couch. She wakes up and walks out of the room with barely a word.

It's the first time he's ever sad to see the end of a Michael Meeting.

"Uhhhhh, not a bad day," he tells the crew. The champagne celebration long forgotten, he knows he's going to remember this day for a long time.

It actually kind of amazes Jim sometimes that no one has called him out for his time at reception. He tries to do it subtly, casually, when no one is really looking that way, but then someone interrupts them and he feels caught, cornered. Even if the conversation is innocent and casual, he feels like he should be in trouble for being at reception, talking to Pam.

He also finds it hard to hide his annoyance at the constant interruptions. He knows it's wrong to be annoyed, because really, he's not supposed to be there anyway - for a multitude of reasons - but he can't help but roll his eyes when Michael interrupts a sentence with some offensive impression or random question for Pam.

But when Michael interrupts one of his favorite moments of the day to ask him to do some menial task, Jim finds himself extra annoyed. He barely listens to whatever it is Michael wants him to do and instead offers an immediate escape route for himself: "Dwight."

He does not, however, anticipate the consequences of his actions. The power that goes to Dwight's head over the smallest task is amazing. He and Pam decide to confront the beast together. They enter his lair - his workspace, if you will - and face him side-by-side. It does not go well.

The good news is that now he has another excuse to talk to Pam as they make up - er, properly notate… - diseases together.

"Don't write Ebola or Mad Cow Disease," he warns her, and he laughs at her surprised face. She thinks he doesn't want her writing anything false, making a joke out of this nonsense Dwight has presented them with? Pshaw, she should know him better. "Because I'm suffering from both," he adds, and she finally laughs, relief evident in her smile. They spend a good chunk of the day - time he should be spending making sales calls - creating fake names.

"Spontaneous Dento-Hydroplosion," he suggests, with a look of confidence. He relishes in the look she gives him in return, clearly impressed with his idea. He sticks that look into the compartment in his brain of Things He Loves About Pam.

Later, another interruption when he is just trying to spend some time with his girl- erm, best friend. This time, from Dwight. He barely listens, but one thing sticks out in the list of false diseases Dwight is reading:

"Killer nano robots?"

"It's an epidemic," Pam responds. And it's his turn to be impressed.

As payback for this interruption - and, of course, for just generally being a jerk to the whole office - he locks Dwight in his workspace. Dwight calls from inside the room and Jim is humoring him until, oh thank God, there she is. The extension number for the reception desk pops up on his phone. And with Dwight yelling in the background, they have a meaningless conversation, where he can picture her face while not even looking at her. And he know it was just a prank on Dwight, that she's just being silly, but he'll always take any excuse to talk to her that he can get his hands on.

Of course, Dwight hands him another "talk to Pam ALL DAY" gift the day he asks for an alliance. The downsizing rumors haven't really bothered Jim all this time. He does his job. He arrives on time, never leaves early. He hardly ever calls off. He tries his best to stay under the radar, not doing so well as to be named Salesman of the Month, ahem, but doing well enough to get by. And he's competent enough that Michael seems to always want to give him all of these tasks, despite the fact that he never wants to take them on.

And maybe, on the off-chance that he did get let go, he could actually move on with his life and stop thinking about the girl at reception that he had to see day in and day out for all these years.

And yet, he spends his time in this alliance with Dwight, talking with that very girl. He has an excuse, as far as Dwight is concerned anyway.

"There may be chatting and giggling and you just gotta pretend to ignore it, wipe it away," he's telling Dwight. And he buys it. So now he can just sit at reception and talk to Pam about absolutely nothing, and someone will back him up if he's ever asked why.

When Jim pranks Dwight alone, it's pretty good. He's come up with some insanely creative ideas, some more subtle than others. But when Jim and Pam combine forces and prank Dwight together, they're unstoppable. By midday, they've got Dwight in a box in the warehouse, listening to pretend phone calls that Pam is making about the downsizing.

They work so well together, and he can't help but love her even more whenever they do stuff like this as a team.

"She's...so...great," he hears himself tell the crew during an interview session. At this point, they've all gotta know how he's feeling. Of everyone in this office, that crew has to know. Michael is oblivious to everything, and everyone else there is so absorbed in their own stuff, there's no way they've noticed. They're also nosy - unapologetically so - so if they'd noticed his constant visits to reception, one of them would have questioned him about it ages ago.

But the camera crew, they know. They see the look on his face when she walks in, see the tension whenever Roy comes upstairs. They see everything; it's their job. And maybe it should occur to him that someday, this will all be aired for the entire world to see, but at that point, he'll hopefully be long gone, the girl at reception long forgotten.

His real fantasy, of course, isn't that she's long forgotten, but that they're together. In this imagined future, she leaves Roy, comes to her senses, and he can finally tell her how he feels. He really, truly thinks there are times when she feels something, too. He also knows that she'd never give into any of those feelings while engaged to Roy. She's definitely not that type. And her feelings for Roy are real, he knows that, too. But the feelings she would have for him, he strongly suspects, would be much stronger. He tells himself on a daily basis that it will never happen, but he still holds out just a small shred of hope. Hope that, one day, when the camera crew finishes filming, however far into the future that may be, he'll be watching the final product with Pam by his side, and maybe their kids. Maybe a dog, too.

So he doesn't care when he slips up and says things that expose how he really feels about Pam. Not really.

The excitement of the final nail in the coffin on Dwight's alliance is killed immediately when Roy comes rushing in. Jim really is innocent, just playing a prank on an annoying workmate; he just got overly excited and affectionate with Pam. He'd been grabbing her hand to tell her how excited he was when suddenly the door slammed open and Roy was asking him if he was trying to cop a feel.

He's embarrassed, caught off guard. He's never had such a close call before, in all the times he's stood at that desk, so obviously flirting with her. He tries to explain, but of course Dwight is no help. Roy seems to back off once Pam explains that it's just office pranks.

He really should have been ready for that to happen eventually. But he usually stands on the opposite side of the desk. He's never had anything to worry about before.

But when he thinks of how her shampoo smells, how soft her hands are, he doesn't regret being that close to her. He doesn't, for one moment, wish he'd said his piece from the other side of that desk. Even if she hadn't stopped Roy and he'd come right across that desk and decked him square in the face, he doesn't think he would regret it.

The only reason he thinks twice about it is because Roy practically shoves Pam out the door. He knows Roy doesn't hit her; he knows Pam well enough that he'd be able to tell if something like that was going on, or at least he hopes so. But he does get rough, and Jim doesn't like that.

But, as always, there's nothing Jim can do. He's not her protector. He's just some guy, sitting at a desk, in love with the girl who sits across from him.

The day Michael makes them all bring gym clothes to change into just might be one of the most bizarre since he's started working at Dunder Mifflin. It starts off with Pam making a phone call about a toaster she'd received at her engagement party. Three years ago.

He's not happy that she's upset. He hates that she's upset about anything at all, ever. But he's a little happy that they still haven't set a date. How committed can Roy really be if he doesn't even want to set a date? He doubts Roy will do anything else when it comes to planning, so how hard is it for him to just pick a damn day? But again, Jim is a little happy that Roy is such a flake, just this once. It's bad enough pining after a girl with an engagement ring on her finger, reflecting in the bright fluorescent lights every day, reminding him that she's taken. But adding a wedding ring to that, making her Mrs. Pamela Anderson...well, that would be too much. All jokes about the name aside, it would be too much.

If they ever do set a date, he really might lose his mind, as if he hasn't already.

So, maybe he sounds a little smug when he talks about Pam needing to return something that was an engagement gift. But that's only because he really believes they'll never get married. She'll come to her senses. Even if she doesn't end up with him, she can't end up with a guy like Roy.

She just can't.

He knows it's dumb to be so competitive against Roy in this dumb game of basketball. At least he has the excuse of not wanting to work on Saturday. And honestly, if Roy and Pam hadn't started making out right next to him, maybe he wouldn't have gotten quite so competitive on the court. He tries to get Michael to let him guard Roy, but Michael is being Michael and won't hear it. Which is a shame because he has some choice words ringing in his ears that he'd love to get back at Roy for, suddenly:

"Tip it my way or you're sleeping in the car."

Still, Jim hears Pam's tiny little "Woop!" when he scores. And he loves that she's cheering for him. He loves it more because they both know she shouldn't be. After the close call at the desk, especially. But she cheers him on anyway, and he plays all the better for it. And when Michael finally gives in, lets him guard Roy, he plays better than he has since high school. He's blocking, stealing, shooting, scoring. He knows basketball isn't the way to Pam's heart, but it sure can't hurt to show her that he's better than Roy at something.

When Roy elbows him in the face, he feels like maybe it's karma. Like he deserves it for loving Roy's fiance, for trying to impress her. He keeps playing, but it's with a little less drama, a little less flair. A little less trying to impress Pam.

And he's excited his team wins, disappointed that Michael ruins it by being his usual self and now he'll have to come in on Saturday. But he's mostly excited that he actually is better than Roy at something. He's excited that Pam cheered for him. That she was impressed with more than just his pranks on Dwight. That she smiled at him while he played.

And now he's seeing her at one of his pickup games with his buddies. There's a hoop down the street and sometimes they'll play on an odd weekday holiday when they're all off with no plans. And he's imagining Pam sitting with all of the other wives and girlfriends, rolling their eyes at this group of grown men, playing basketball on their day off. And she's smiling at him in the same way, and they're remembering this moment right now, when he's just wiped the floor with the guy she was supposed to marry. And it's like this little inside joke-

But it's not real. She's really engaged to Roy and she's really leaving with him, talking about getting him into a tub. And Jim is really, really disappointed in that reality.

When a cute girl enters the office a few days later, he shouldn't be at all surprised by the ruckus it causes. He should know by now that anything with a slim figure and nice eyes will get Michael Scott's weirdest side to come out.

Still, he doesn't really see the big deal. She's just a girl. (Of course, he guesses, to some people, Pam is probably just a girl, too).

He wonders if the irony of Roy asking him what his type is will ever be humorous. He wonders if it's a moment he'll look back on and say, "See Pam? See the way I looked at you before I answered? And you didn't even notice!" or if he'll watch that moment alone, or with some other girl, and think about how weird it was for the fiance of the girl he was in love with to ask him what kind of girls he was interested in.

He wonders if he'll ever stop feeling weird about his awkward answer: "Moms."

He doesn't have to wonder if he'll ever stop hating Roy, though. That's a definite yes. Everytime Roy opens his mouth, Jim hates him more and more.

"We're not dating, we're engaged," and she's gone. He feels awful for Pam, truly. He feels awful that she's been with this guy for so long - high school sweethearts? He feels like maybe, just maybe, if she went on just one other date with one other guy, maybe she would realize that Roy isn't normal. Roy isn't the standard for dating. Normal guys, guys who care about the women they're with, don't make comments about other girls in front of them. They set wedding dates soon after proposing and then they stick with those dates. Normal guys, guys who are really in love with the person they're with, want to get married as soon as possible so that the rest of their lives can begin.

Right?

Still, after a day of antics, a day of awkwardness, a day which included Pam being tickled by Roy on Jim's own desk, Jim is pretty frustrated. So he asks Katie out. Not because he thinks she'll be the solution to his problems. But because she is pretty, and she's nice, and she took a chance coming into this office. And she put up with a lot of crap from Jim's weird co-workers, so he's gotta give her that; she's tough.

And maybe it's wrong for him to ask someone out to distract himself from his real life, but he can't help it. And maybe he's hoping that Katie will be The One. That she'll finally get his mind off of the engaged girl at reception.

But when he sees that tiny twinge of jealousy in Pam's eyes when he tells her he's going out with Katie this weekend, he knows that will never be the case. He still hopes he'll end up wrong, but he knows that little bit of jealousy has just reignited every feeling he's ever had for Pam. That bit of jealousy has kickstarted his hope that maybe, just maybe, he's got a chance.

#the office #the office us #the office (us)#the office fanfic #jim x pam #pam x jim #jam #pb&j #pb & j #jim halpert #jim and pam #Pam Halpert #pam beesly

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violetandstarlightgirl · 8 years ago

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Sacrilege, Chapter One

aka the Thiefshipping fic I came up with because I just wanted to write something with the title “Sacrilege”.

Read on AO3!

Sacrilege (n.)- the misuse or desecration of anything regarded as sacred or as worthy of extreme respect

The terms of their partnership weren’t strict, per se, but it wasn’t bad to assume any ties the two made with each other would be cut-off as soon as the goals of one or both of them were met. Nevertheless, accidents were bound to happen; certainly both of them ought to have known after getting this far...

It was only supposed to be a brief affair. Was affair even the word you would use for this sort of thing? Marik didn’t know for sure. He was certain it had something to do with the minimal amount of people he spoke to throughout his life.

In any case, he knew at first he didn’t mind the briefness of his partnership with the Spirit of the Millennium Ring--no, he had a name...it was Yami Bakura--and he knew there was a chance they wouldn’t succeed at reaching either of their goals. That was a bit of a given considering how spontaneous his partner tended to be. He had to do most if not all of the planning, but he appreciated the other’s enthusiasm, even if it made a mess.

But within the next few days, and with each conversation they had with each other, an abrupt realization struck Marik in the face one day, and as small as it was it changed the entirety of the way he saw this mission. He didn’t want to part ways with Bakura when this was over.

The biggest problem was figuring out what to do with these new feelings. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and frankly it scared him a little.

“Just tell him how you feel, I’m certain he’ll understand,” Rishid had told him. He was the only one who knew about Marik’s situation.

“But what if he doesn’t understand?” Marik asked.

“If you can’t tell him, then show him.” Rishid stood up. “Master Marik, you mustn't let this overwhelm you. The sooner you can get your feelings out, regardless of the outcome, the better you’ll feel.”

Marik took those words to heart. As soon as he at least got those words out of his head he would feel better, the weight would be gone. He’d bring it up in his next meet-up with Bakura.

The day came. It was cloudy and dim for a summer morning, and Marik wasn’t used to the humidity. He snuck off to an alleyway, much like the one he drove through when he first came here about a week before. Bakura was already there; arms crossed over his chest and leaning back against the wall. With the way his eyes were closed and his head tilted slightly skyward, he seemed to be napping.

The illusion broke when his eyes flashed open and he turned his head slowly toward the other. “You’re late,” he growled. “When did you start keeping track of the time?” Marik asked, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“Usually you’re the one who has to wait for me to show up, not the other way around. I don’t like it this way.” Bakura eyed his companion as if looking for something out of the ordinary. Finally, he spoke up again, “You look different this morning.”

Marik flushed a little. “I do?”

“Yes. You look like you’re itching to tell me something.” He was...but now he didn’t know if this was the right time to tell him. His chest felt hot like a fire was kindling in there. “Actually...there is something I’d like to talk to you about before we get on with it.” Bakura raised an eyebrow, adjusting his posture a little but keeping his arms firmly crossed. “Go on.”

Panic rose in his throat in place of actual words. Time seemed to crawl in the few seconds before his response, and a small part of his brain was screaming at him to bail out before things got ugly. However, a larger part of his brain urged him onward.“I’ve been thinking about...our previous arrangements,” he began, “where you said we’d part ways as unlikely friends. I...don’t think that’ll be happening.”

There was a scoff. Bakura had unfolded his arms and had placed his hands on his hips. “What do you mean by that? I thought it was made quite clear you couldn’t help me find the remaining Items unless I helped you in turn, and so far that isn’t working for either of us.”

That’s right; things weren’t working out too well on their end.

Marik was running out of things to say, and he was certain that even the plainest way of saying how he felt would fall upon deaf ears.

“I don’t care,” he murmured, “I enjoy working with you even if everything’s been going south lately. And I’m sure you’ve been enjoying it, too.” He gave a forced laugh. “I mean, when was the last time you met somebody who didn’t actually freak out in your presence?”

Bakura said nothing, standing still as a statue with a blank expression on his face.

Marik decided to continue, feeling a little braver with every word he said. “It’s true this was only supposed to last until we achieved one or both of our goals, or by the looks of things when the Spirit of the Puzzle screws us both over. But as I’ve been spending more time talking to you, I’ve felt something I haven’t felt before. It’s something I want to be able to enjoy for a long time, and I’m scared it’s going to go away when we finish our affairs here. Don’t you know what it’s like to be that scared? So scared you can’t imagine your life going on beyond that moment where everything falls apart?!”

No response. Not even the bat of an eyelash. Even an argument against what he was saying would have been better than this!

Marik clenched his hands into fists, genuinely considering turning around and walking away, but he remembered Rishid’s advice.

If you can’t tell him, then show him.

He looked back up. Bakura was still standing close to the wall, and he still wasn’t saying anything. Here goes everything...

He moved so fast he could barely process what he was doing, but within the next moment he had firmly pinned Bakura against the wall and was kissing him hard. Marik hadn’t kissed anyone before, and the panic that had been building up inside of him up to this point was making him desperate. He just continued kissing, only parting briefly and a hair’s length away from Bakura’s mouth for one moment to catch his breath. Something still didn’t feel quite right, though.

Suddenly he was knocked away with a snap ringing in his ears and his right cheek stinging as though it were on fire. He stumbled to the side and fell onto his rear, glancing up to see Bakura taking a defensive posture with his left arm out.

“It’d do you a great deal of good to slow down when you talk,” he growled, wiping his mouth in a way that would suggest he had just ingested poison, “and you could at least give me a damn minute to process this gibberish you’re spewing rather than pin me to the wall. Need I remind you that this isn’t my corporeal body?”

Marik’s lip curled. “That didn’t stop you from nearly slicing off your whole arm. Why should that stop what I was doing? Compared to that this was completely harmless!”

Bakura stepped over Marik. Even the clouds seemed to get a bit darker and he could’ve sworn he felt a raindrop or two land on him. “You’re damn lucky I don’t have a weapon on me at the moment,” Bakura snarled, “because I wouldn’t have hesitated to slice open your throat instead of striking you across the face. If you would like our partnership to continue--and I’m quite certain you do, given your soliloquy from a moment ago--I would strongly advise against doing that again. Are we clear?”

Marik couldn’t say a word; his head was fogged and no logical sounds could form. He only nodded obediently.

Bakura smirked, and his teeth seemed to flash in the dim light. “Good. I was beginning to worry you had lost all of your common sense. Now, before we actually get to our original plans, I’d like a moment to recollect my dignity.”

And with that, he walked out of the alleyway, leaving Marik alone with the static in his brain just as the heavens opened and rain poured upon them both.

#yugioh #ygo #thiefshipping #marik ishtar #yami bakura #ygo fanfic #sacrilege fic #leopard does the author thing

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ghostmartyr · 8 years ago

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How do you think Ymir's idea/founding of Freedom in 89 connects or contributes thematically throughout the series and how it may come up in future chapters? Or what Isayama has left to address in these final arcs/chapters. Honestly I'd just love to read your thoughts/writings on the characters, the details you've noticed that are tying it all together and where it may end up. (not concrete predictions, your chapter 90 thoughts highlighted the joy in the spontaneity and odd choices the writing)

This question is my new favorite.

The intensely interesting thing about Ymir is that in her story, it is spelled out as explicitly as you ever could ask for that Paradis is her freedom.

Chronologically, at this point in the story, everyone is running around screaming over their home being destroyed. They’re buckling down and racing further inside the walls as fast as they can, filling their cage to max capacity and throwing people out to die so the rest of them can survive.

Ymir opens her eyes in this place, and she sees freedom. She’s alive, and she has her mind back, and there’s no one nearby who wants her dead. She can do whatever she wants, and it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

That’s the vision we’re presented with as Paradis comes to grips with the fact that they’re hated by the entire world. Ymir doesn’t see the walls closing in; she looks up at the sky and finds life.

And she opens that statement with how little individual humans matter. They’re sort of meaningless, right? There’s no real value in any of her flailing, or anyone else’s.

Except when she reaches Paradis, she can choose.

She doesn’t matter. There’s no significance to her struggles.

She still has the power to do whatever the heck she wants.

That’s so cool.

What makes it cooler is that what she wants, over and over again, is to protect people. Does it Matter? No. But it matters to her. Historia matters to her. Sasha, Connie, and Reiner and Bertolt all matter to her.

And all of these people live in a world where they are so tiny that they can be smacked down in an instant. Some by titans, some by mean ol’ humans. The girl she’s in love with has a death wish and joins a military branch with the highest mortality rate. The two randoms she saves are alive to live out indentured servitude with a dash of genocide until death.

Ymir still finds personal value in keeping preserving the lives of people she cares for.

It’s particularly telling with Reiner and Bertolt.

She saves them from being executed, but Bertolt still dies his next time out. Reiner barely survives, and he’s now alone. There’s no great end game for them just because she gets them out of the most pressing sign of trouble.

She does it anyway. Even if it’s just earning her people one more day of life, that means something to her.

Ymir’s one of the smartest characters in the series when it comes to personal motivation and basic human emotion. She diagnoses and makes snide remarks about everyone’s issues as a character trait. She’s clever, and sees the big picture, and a whole lot of other smart things.

But there’s a reason that Historia has repeatedly called her simple. Her tactics aren’t about saving the world, or any deep, grand meaning. She just wants certain people to keep breathing. That’s how she ends up revealing her powers to two people who can turn her in (and to the Survey Corps, which never had the opportunity to turn into a problem, but could have easily headed that way), and it’s how Reiner and Bertolt survive to assist in slaughtering the comrades of people she cares for. Heck, it’s why she’s looking at a death sentence.

Ymir has the simple, straightforward strategy of a person who cares deeply, but lives so much in the moment that very basic flaws get pushed aside until the moment where it’s become a problem.

To put it in a way that makes this post easier to write, she’s grown into the kind of thinking that drives Eren in his early days. The difference is that it isn’t the consequences of impulses she can’t control; she’s looked at those impulses and decided that yeah, that’s what she wants to be doing.

That all works together to make her marvelously relevant to the recent happenings.

In my chapter post, I bring up how the question of what will end up winning at the end of this series. Will fighting for your friends be rewarded, or will learning to make hard sacrifices? Or will both those choices end in death, eliminating the conflict.

Everyone cares about this question, right? They’re soldiers, brandishing the flag of humanity’s best qualities and fighting for them. The motives that fuel their cause are never without an answer, but they’re still human. They are thinking of the larger picture, and they do believe it matters, and they want to do the Right thing–but they want their friends to be okay, too. Enter question marks.

Then you have Ymir.

Ymir doesn’t give a damn about that question. She has her answer. She’s going to look after her and hers, and nothing exists that can change that priority.

From a series perspective, that’s incredibly neat.

She’s uniquely personal in all of her experiences. The selfish whims that get constant censure from older and wiser parties are what she’s chosen to build her life around.

What makes that more interesting is that, due to the connection her arc has with Historia, you see the direct way that ripples. Historia happens to be the kind of person who wants to look after orphans and keep people safe--but the only reason that gets discovered is thanks to her deciding she’s not willing to sacrifice her autonomy or her friend.

The only reason anyone survives that is because Eren wants to try believing in himself, and downs the armor vial.

Out of that mess, Historia claims her crown, bringing a peaceful end to the coup, through her personal desire to settle things with her father herself.

Ymir’s particular brand of selfishness is the inspiration for Paradis’ current stability.

There’s this line at the end of the Fellowship of the Ring. Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn stand on the river’s shore, contemplating their very recent failures. Their ring bearer has chosen to go on without them. The fate of Middle Earth is seemingly beyond their hands.

“Then it has all been in vain. The fellowship has failed.”"Not if we hold true to each other.”

Then, you know, holding true to each other leads to there being a Middle Earth left for the ring bearer to try saving.

On the surface, the Serum Bowl, following up and concluding Erwin’s arc, is about adhering to the responsibility the Scouts have as humanity’s, and learning to let go despite the great personal agony.

That lesson is presented, and it’s made very clear that all of its good sense loses in the face of how much Erwin means to Levi (and arguably how much Armin means to Eren). Levi, who is responsible for dragging Erwin back to the side of the greater good, flies right in the opposite direction.

So we’ve got all of this angst for easy pickings, and I think a... possible key concept skates on through without standing out too much:

How much do individual lives matter?

After the 104th makes its way back to the walls post-kidnapping arc, Eren looks around at all of the lives sacrificed to get him back. It isn’t the first time, and it might not be the last.

Jean, being Jean, adds his two cents.

“Whether you’re really worth paying that kind of price... is something I still don’t know. As to whether the people who were killed to get you back died for nothing... That depends on you now, doesn’t it?”--51

It’s a fair statement, if a bit demanding. That’s what Eren’s position means, though. He’s humanity’s hope thanks to his abilities. That’s why so many people die trying to get him back; there’s a real chance he can do something against the titans in a way no one’s been able to for a hundred years.

Of course, it turns out, smack dab in the middle of Historia’s arc, that the powers Eren has could be more useful in someone else’s hands, and he self-destructs over his appalling lack of value.

But the part about it being Historia’s arc is important, not just a side effect of me name-dropping her at every opportunity.

In the moment Eren tells her to eat him and save humanity, he’s thinking of himself as a tiny human being with no significance. He isn’t humanity’s great hope; he’s one more instrument keeping them chained. There’s no reason for him to stick around keeping that up.

Historia rejects that on every level.

She doesn’t save Eren because she’s thinking about humanity and what he can do for them.

She saves him because he’s her friend, and she’s his. She saves him because in a world full of terror and trauma too big for either of them to bear, Eren’s emotions reach her, and it doesn’t matter what he isn’t. He is her friend. He can be insignificant, and ineffective, and sure, maybe someone else could do his job a little better than he can, but Eren, as a person, is still valuable.

Flying further down the road, that’s a similar philosophy to what his mother tells Shadis.

“He’s already great. Because he was born... into this world.”--Carla, 71

The desperate need to Matter isn’t a requirement. A human’s worth is argued for through their ability to be alive.

In the huge, ongoing fight for humanity, the lesser concept of humans is not treated as lesser. Humans make up humanity, and each one has a life of value that can’t be replicated or repudiated.

Bringing this back into a post that has, like, a point or something, that presents a new side to the argument of individuals versus the world; without individuals, there can’t be a world.

And once you’ve gone there, you bring in the FMA concept of humans continually looking out for each other on a person-by-person basis, which eventually turns into everyone being excellent to each other and etc.--

--Which finally brings us back to Ymir.

Who owns looking after the little guy.

A pastime that gives Paradis a Queen, and keeps the First King’s philosophy separate from the Founding Titan for the first time in over a hundred years.

Um. I think that’s it. Thanks a million for the compliment and the ask, and pardon the ludicrous bouncing around this post does.

#Shingeki no Kyojin #Ymir #asks #attack on asks #tl;dr

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blackandred83 · 8 years ago

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Working with Democrats to Stop the Right? Not This Crap Again.

The verdict is in, Trump is an absolute disaster; worse even than most people predicted throughout the campaign season. In his first ten days in office he managed to sign eighteen executive orders1, enacting a slew of reactionary policies ranging from dismantling the [grossly inadequate, but better than nothing] Affordable Care Act; revoking US funding for foreign NGOs that perform abortions; approving the Dakota Access and Keystone XL pipelines; denying federal funding to sanctuary cities; halting the processing of all refugees for 120 days; closing the borders to everyone with origins in Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen for 90 days; and requiring that executive agencies nullify two regulations for every new regulation enacted.

Yeah, absolute disaster. One upside to this disaster, however, is that the moderate neoliberal hue and cry of “just give him a chance!” has already died off almost completely. If this is the first ten days, only the devil could guess what the next few months will be like. The burning question is: what can be done about it?

In the short-term, the answer has been protest after protest after record-shattering protest. The Women’s March on Washington on January 21st drew no less than 500,000 people2, with millions more marching in solidarity across the US and around the world. In response to the Muslim refugee ban—and resulting detention and deportation for many unlucky souls who were en route to the US when the decree went into effect—protestors packed out dozens of airports demanding that the banned people be allowed into the US.

These spontaneous acts of grassroots resistance won’t exactly overthrow the Trump regime, but they are giving it a massive headache, which is an excellent start. Things get more complicated when trying to translate spontaneous anger into a long-term strategy, however. What strategy is best to keep things from reaching this point again in the future?

I’ll preface this next part by noting the stereotype of average Americans having remarkably short political memories. Who can blame them though? Politics in the US is hardly accessible to working class people. Corporations run the entire election process at every level and intentionally present information in a confusing way in order to influence votes in their favor. Elected politicians are paid with public taxpayer funds to carry out private corporate agendas. Legislation is made in backrooms away from the eyes and ears of working people, and the content of bills is unclear behind the haze of legalese and plain bad writing.

Following politics costs more time and energy than most working people are willing or able to expend, so they can’t really be blamed (up to a point) for halfhearted interest in a political system not meant for them anyway. Short political memories are far less forgivable for the socialist left—who allege to be politically astute—an astonishing number of whom have fallen into reviving the perennial myth of the progressive Democrat. Again.

The Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) has always been open about their objective to act as the left wing of the Democrats, dragging them kicking and screaming into something at least vaguely resembling a progressive party. Now self-described revolutionary organizations like Socialist Alternative (SAlt) have taken up the progressive neoliberals’ call to unite with “progressive Democrats” to stop Trump. This position is based on the idea that the Democratic Party is deeply divided in the wake of the Bernie Sanders campaign and therefore it is possible to “work alongside progressive Democrats” while “not limiting our program... to what is acceptable to corporate Democrats.”3 Obviously, there are a few misconceptions behind this analysis that need to be sorted out.

The first problem is the assertion that the Democrats are divided because Bernie Sanders is, like, totally awesome. The Sanders campaign was monumental in awakening droves of people looking for a progressive answer to the subtle, charming conservatism of the Obama administration. Sanders could have mobilized these newly awakened droves into putting some pressure on the Democrats at least, but he gave that up when he started campaigning for Hillary, taking a vast majority of those droves with him. Most of the rest went right back to sleep. The Clinton campaign clearly didn’t feel any pressure from this awakening, which was made clear by the selection of Tim Kaine, literally one of the most conservative Democrats in the party, as Clinton’s running mate scarcely a week after Sanders conceded. Even the revelation by WikiLeaks that the Democratic National Committee conspired to undermine Sanders has become insignificant, because Sanders just accepted the results as if there were no foul play and allowed the Democrats to pretend to change course by vetting some of their “progressives” as candidates for the DNC chair position. Now Sanders has consigned himself to carrying out his “political revolution” by getting more progressive Democrats elected to Congress. If you think this is new, I encourage you to do some reading on the Rainbow Coalition in the 1980s and the George McGovern campaign in 1972 (for starters). Make no mistake, the Democratic Party may have had a bit of a scare, but now is back to business as usual.

The second problem with the idea of working with progressive Democrats against corporate Democrats is the assertion that distinctions can be drawn between this rogue progressive wing and the leadership. Let’s not forget, the Democratic Party has no membership structures for working people. The only actual members of the Democratic Party are politicians run by the Democratic Party. No one in that party, alleged progressives included, are beholden to working people, only to corporations. I feel compelled to draw parallels between “progressive Democrats” and “good cops”. Are there good people who are cops? Absolutely. Are there good cops? Absolutely not; the fact that these people belong to the racist institution of the police and will be expected to carry out the racist concepts, attitudes, and strategies behind policing in order to remain police will always take precedent over whatever personal instincts they may have to be good people. In the same way, there may be progressive people who are Democrats (may is a key word here, but more on that later), but there are no progressive Democrats because these progressives’ loyalties lie second with their own progressive instincts and first with the anti-progressive Democratic Party. In fact, the Democrat leadership will never have to answer to its working class voters because there exists a servile layer of “progressives” determined to make sure working people remain loyal to the party, regardless of their actions. You can’t work with progressive Democrats against corporate Democrats because the progressive Democrats are corporate Democrats and have no inclination whatsoever to distinguish themselves from them. They have proven so numerous times before and will very soon do so again.

The third problem with the “progressive Democrat” strategy is in assuming that Democrats of any variety even want to stop Trump. They do not. It is extremely disconcerting how little attention has been paid to the Podesta emails revealing that the Hillary campaign and the DNC helped boost Trump to the top of the Republican field, consequently helping him win.4 It must be emphasized not only that Democrats helped Trump win, even if inadvertently, but that they promoted him because they thought he was so incredibly reactionary that he would drive people to the relatively safe choice of Hillary, in spite of her own reactionary tendencies. This is par the course for Democrats: after Reagan and Bush I, Bill Clinton genuinely could paint himself as a progressive in relative terms; same for Obama after Bush II. Of course neither of these men actually was progressive, even relative to their predecessors, once they got in office, because they never intended to be. The Democrats have not genuinely run a progressive presidential candidate since JFK (this is purely by Democrat standards) because they do not want to. They want to keep running conservatives, taking for granted that their conservative can pass for progressive compared to the Republican candidate, who will undoubtedly be worse. The Hillary campaign was the latest chapter in this strategy, except it backfired because Hillary is too conservative to pretend to be a progressive, even compared to Trump. So less people voted and Trump won. Trump winning isn’t really a problem for the Democrats though, it actually gives the Democrats the opportunity to run another not-actually-progressive progressive in 2020—which is why there’s already talk of Hillary running again as if this isn’t a profoundly stupid idea.5 The problem is that Trump is operating outside of the Democrats’ control. Democrats were shouting “just give him a chance!” loudly and often when they thought they’d be able to control him, but somehow they didn’t consider the possibility of Trump being a megalomaniac (which is what he is famous for) and recreating the state in his own image (not that it was far off to begin with). Even now the Democrats are putting up a rather weak fight to stop Trump’s excesses, because they would rather wrangle him into an acceptable position and be able to use him as a distraction to cover their own slow but steady rightward shift than to do away with him entirely. It remains unclear if they can do such a thing, but if they can, they will.

All the above applies to “progressive Democrats” as well. If they wanted to stop Trump, they would be open with working people about how the Democrats repeatedly use the Republicans as an excuse to move right and how working people do not have a voice in the party, not insisting that working people continue to be loyal to the Democratic Party and vote for progressives until it produces results. If these progressives really wanted to fight the Trump agenda, they would be calling to break from the Democratic Party to form a working class party with radical demands. Whether or not to work with “progressive Democrats” wouldn’t be a question because these people would have broken with the Democrats by now if they genuinely wanted to build with the working class. And besides, who are these alleged progressive champions fighting the “corporate Democrat” agenda and causing a rift in the party? Bernie Sanders, who despite his progressive credentials is “100% pro-Israel” and ensures that “their very existence will be protected by the United States”?6 Elizabeth Warren, who is famous as a consumer advocate despite not once attempting to bring charges against bank executives found to have committed fraud, and who, despite her stage-worthy performance denouncing Ben Carson in his confirmation hearing, voted to confirm him as the head of Housing and Urban Development?7 Tulsi Gabbard, who has lately been speaking against banning refugees from the US but who in 2015 voted with Republicans to toughen refugee vetting procedures for Syrian and Iraqi refugees?8 Chuck Schumer, who cried on live television at the thought of Trump sending refugees back to their deaths in their war-torn home countries, but who himself stated as recently as November 2015 that “a pause may be necessary” in admitting Syrian refugees?9 Cory Booker, who voted with Republicans, and against seventy-two percent of Americans, to kill a bill that would have allowed cheaper prescription drugs to be imported from Canada?10 It’s enough to say that progressive Democrats aren’t a solution for working people as long as they are still Democrats; the fact that all the alleged progressives in the Democratic Party aren’t all that progressive is just more icing on the cake.

All that said, is it not past time that the left stop beating this dead horse in saying “we need to reform the Democrats”? This popular front strategy has been in play since the realignment days of the 1960s—when efforts were made to push the staunchly conservative Southern Democrats into the Republican Party—and not only has it not moved the Democrats left, it has failed to stop them from moving right. The Democratic Party is a dead end, we should have learned that back in 2011-12 when they led the Wisconsin uprising and Occupy Wall Street down the rabbit hole without taking up any of their demands. We absolutely need to create a fighting force to stop Trump; we do that not by expecting the Democrats to work against their own interests and move left, but by building working class resistance in our workplaces and in the streets, by building a program of shutdown actions to show that there will be consequences for reactionary measures, and by realizing that what is happening is not a product of Trump or Trumpism, but of capitalism itself. Overthrowing capitalism and establishing a system of socialism by working people, for working people, is the only way to overthrow Trump, Hillary, and their ilk for all and for good.

Sources

1. http://www.politico.com/agenda/story/2017/01/all-trump-executive-actions-000288

2. http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/inpictures/2017/01/washington-dc-women-march-equal-rights-170122073242260.html

3. https://www.socialistalternative.org/2017/01/31/100-days-build-resistance-trumps-agenda/

4. https://www.rt.com/usa/372856-wikileaks-democrats-podesta-trump/

5. https://www.aol.com/article/news/2017/01/26/hillary-clinton-reportedly-mulling-talk-show-to-kickstart-2020-election-platform/21663644/

6. http://forward.com/news/breaking-news/341527/bernie-sanders-insists-i-am-100-pro-israel-despite-convention-push-for-pale/

7. http://www.bostonmagazine.com/news/blog/2017/01/24/warren-markey-trump-cabinet-picks/

8. http://hawaiitribune-herald.com/news/local-news/gabbard-supports-gop-bill-syrian-refugees

9. http://thehill.com/blogs/floor-action/senate/260471-schumer-refugee-pause-may-be-necessary

10. http://thehill.com/blogs/floor-action/senate/260471-schumer-refugee-pause-may-be-necessary

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donnamiscolta · 5 years ago

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This past year I read good books and experienced good things. Here are a few of each of them matched up in a semi-random, teeny bit calculated way, introduced by a few lines from the featured book.

From “1989” in How to Write an Autobiographical Novel, a deeply perceptive and intelligent collection of essays by Alexander Chee:

Everyone is running now and everywhere batons rise. The screams lift out of the street, and in restaurants up and down the block doors are locked and the diners are informed.

In “1989,” Chee writes about the AIDS march in San Francisco and the response of the riot police to the disruption of traffic. It’s a short, powerful essay about his realization that the police were directing their brutality not just at the people who were protesting, but at what they were fighting for – all of this happening in the country he lived in.

I read this essay months before I went to Ecuador, landing during street protests in Quito where students, workers, and indigenous activists were tear-gassed by police and military units. This was not my country, but I sided with the people and their demands for social and economic justice.

From The Friend by Sigrid Nunez, which won the 2018 National Nook Award for Fiction:

Rather than write about what you know, you told us, write about what you see. Assume that you know very little and that you’ll never know much until you learn how to see. Keep a notebook to record things that you see, for example when you’re out in the street.

I read this beautiful book on our flight to Spain in May. A woman grieving the death of her lifelong best friend recalls the above advice from him. I’ve never been good about keeping a journal or recording thoughts and observations in a notebook. But during the three weeks we were in Spain, at the end of each day I logged our activities, typing them into my phone, including this incident in Segovia: We arrived at the tiny Casa-Museo Antonio Machado to find it closed during the siesta hours. On the step outside sat two middle-aged men, one of them reciting poetry in beautiful, lilting tones, and the other listening, nodding. I missed out on seeing the museum, but I was grateful to have witnessed that.

From “As Luck Would Have It” in Staten Island Stories by Claire Jimenez, an engaging collection I reviewed for Seattle Review of Books:

One day Chrissy had the bright idea to reach out to the ghosts. She thought that perhaps we could make peace with them if only we could all just sit down and talk.

I believe in ghosts and I fear seeing strange ones, that is, the ghosts of people I haven’t known. But I welcome the ghosts of beloveds. If not their ghosts, then their living, breathing doubles. One hot Sunday afternoon in February, while I was walking down a nearly empty street in Oaxaca, an elderly woman was walking toward me. There was something familiar about her dress, her shoes, her pace. I prepared to greet her as we neared each other. I can’t remember if I managed to extend a “buenos dias” to her. I don’t even remember if she looked my way or if she was focused on the gently upward slope of the sidewalk ahead of her. But as soon as she passed me, I stopped immediately and whirled around to watch her walk away, resisting the urge to rudely catch up to her for another look at her face, which eerily resembled my long-dead Mexican grandmother.

From The Vexations by Caitlin Horrocks, a smart and enthralling fictional account of the life of composer Eric Satie:

“You a writer?” a man asked, glancing at Philippe’s notebook. The man was wearing a jacket, not a smock, and his collar was gray and crooked. He made a strange tinkling sound as he leaned over the bar, as if he were strung with wind chimes. His nose was a nearly bloody-looking red, and his eyes were already glazed.

Still, Philippe thought this was possibly the best single thing anyone had said to him in his life. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’m a writer. What are you?

“A drunk,” the barman said, refusing to serve the man the absinthe he’d requested.

This novel, rich in character and setting, includes among its themes art and genius versus art and talent and the ever-constant doubt that accompanies both. The passage above features Phillippe, who comes to Paris from Spain and encounters obstacles in trying to make his name as a poet. Imposter syndrome is real for writers. Even when we feel confident that the work we’ve finished is good and deserving of publication, once we send it out into the world seeking a publisher, we are beset with doubt that anyone will find it worthy. So, it was with gladness and relief that I learned in late May that Jaded Ibis Press will release my third book of fiction Living Color: Angie Rubio Stories in fall 2020.

From Hezada! I Miss You by Erin Pringle (forthcoming March 2020), a beautiful novel about the change, loss, nostalgia, and memory that accompanies a dying circus and the dying village it visits:

The tumblers run up the street and jump high into the splits. When they land, they raise their arms to applause, then take off again, running, jumping, now twisting too many times to count before they land facing the other side of the street. More applause. They rise up on their toes, arch their backs, and reach as though to touch the sky, defiant at the rain.

Who doesn’t love performers? They are deserving of our applause. Especially improv actors. Last April the multi-faceted Jekeva Phillips invited me to participate in BIbliophilia. My part was easy: I read an excerpt from one of my Angie Rubio stories. Then, in one of the most creative acts I’d ever witnessed, a group of improv actors took over where I left off. After a brief huddle, the actors took the stage and continued my story in spontaneous and incredibly funny, smart, and seamless dialogue and action. Like an ice sculpture that melts or a sand painting that is erased, that performance was a one-time thing – unscripted, unrecorded, never to exist again. I suppose that’s the point of improv – its ephemeral nature, its beauty and power. But how I wish I could’ve wrapped that performance up and taken it home with me to watch again and again.

From The Body Papers by Grace Talusan, an exquisitely crafted memoir about trauma, identity, and family:

Inside a few cells in my brain, I believe there’s a part of me that still knows Tagalog. I feel pain when I attempt to speak it, as though there is something I want to say desperately that can be expressed only in my ﬁrst language. But I can’t access words, or that part of me that named the world ﬁrst in Tagalog. When I hear strangers speaking Filipino languages, I am as drawn to them as kin.

I have a similar response to Spanish, though I have never spoken it fluently. It’s a language that I heard throughout my childhood and one that I feel connected to despite my failure to exit from intermediate purgatory in my speaking level. At least my desire for connection through the English language is met through community with other writers through readings, conferences, and retreats. Among the opportunities I had this year was participating on panels at the Orcas Island Literary Festival and teaching at the Hedgebrook Summer Salon. Both times I had the pleasure of hanging out with writers I admire who are also exceptional human beings.

From The Importance of Being Wilde at Heart by R. Zamora Linmark (which I reviewed for Seattle Review of Books), a YA novel about first love, which centers the thoughts, desires, and concerns of gay, trans, and gender-fluid teens:

He closes his eyes. He lies there, very still, and with his shaven head, he looks like a newborn baby who wakes up to greet the world, then returns back to sleep.

These are the protagonist’s observations about the boy he falls in love with. Linmark’s reference to a newborn gives the moment innocence and intimacy because we understand the purity of that moment when a baby wakes up and the tenderness of falling back into slumber. I have a grandson now to remind me of the hope we feel when we behold this innocence. I saw him in the first hours after his birth, sleeping in all his newness. I saw him open his eyes to a world still small to him. Now every time he opens his eyes, his world increases and his awareness of himself in it increases. As he grows, he will always have the support of those who love him to be whoever he wants and needs to be in this world that is big and often beautiful, but not always welcoming.

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Some Things I Read and Did in 2019 – A Mash-up This past year I read good books and experienced good things. Here are a few of each of them matched up in a semi-random, teeny bit calculated way, introduced by a few lines from the featured book.

#Alexander Chee #books #Caitlin Horrocks #Claire Jimenez #Erin Pringle #Grace Talusan #R. Zamora Linmark #Sigrid Nunez

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