#;;v: most faithful mirror (past).

[chiisana666]

strangers in the night

synopsis: a red-haired captain stumbles into the bar late one night, and out of your bed early the next morning.

warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, shanks x barmaid! Reader, no use of y/n or shanks’ name, yes he has one arm, alcohol consumption, dubcon? (they’re drinking but not trashed), unprotected p in v, brief anal fingering, creampie

wc: 2107

a/n: sorry if this is trash, i have had no motivation to write these past few months. credits for dividers here. hope y'all enjoy <3

“And another for you, sir?” The once-vibrant aura of the bar had long since quelled, mirroring the calm ebs of the bay of which the establishment overlooked. It was half past midnight, and you were multi-tasking between closing duties and entertaining the lingering drunken seamen and women.

The man you were currently occupied with had long since been weaned off alcohol, none the wiser to you substituting the vodka for water; he will thank you in the morning, though. He tosses a couple Berry across the bar top, slurs out a ‘thank you’, and stumbles out into the night. Only one more hour and then you’ll be home, free to tear off the corset that had you cinched for the heavens.

You held out hope that the patrons would disperse sooner rather than later, perhaps you could close a little earlier tonight.

But all faith quickly disappeared, fleeting in rhythm with the hoard of footsteps bounding down the board walk and right to the bar’s doorsteps.

It was a small but rowdy crowd, and a vaguely familiar one too. You had seen a few of their faces before, but never so late and never on such a quiet night. You approach the bunch as they seat themselves at the bar, adorning your best customer service smile despite the evident exhaustion tugging at your eyes.

“Evening,” you start, less chirpy than you typically are, but a sultry undertone remains. You had learned quickly during your time as a bar maid; men are so easy and will lay down all their Berry for you, if you know how to talk to them.

A low whistle rings, courtesy of a man with thick, dreaded lock, and the others do little to hide their satisfaction at the sight of you.

“Good evening, indeed,” Another drawls between puffs of the fat cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. His face and arms are littered in scars and his long gray hair is slicked back from the salty sea air.

They waste not a moment requesting several bottles of sake. As you flitter around scrounging up what remains behind the bar, you can feel a pair of dark eyes training on you.

He is tall, and broad, with a black cloak slung around his shoulders, obscuring his left arm. His crimson hair hangs languidly atop his head and does nothing to hide the three scars carved across his face. He is undoubtedly handsome, definitely higher ranking amongst the many faces you have seen come and go during your time here. In the past, a lucky handful of men and women were blessed to share your bed following a late-night shift. But those were still few and far between, and you could feel a familiar itch start to creep into your core.

They moved to whiskey once they had polished off your remaining supply of sake, and by then you had lost track of time, completely engrossed in their company. You didn’t know their names, didn’t really care to, but they made good conversation.

They rotated in tandem, sharing stories of their adventures in an obvious guise to impress you, the pretty barmaid keeping their glasses full. The red-haired man threw a wink or a lip bite your way whenever your eyes connected. You had seen the desperation that months at sea could bring someone, and typically it was repulsive. But there was something so smooth about this one.

“-until our good ‘ole captain here led us straight into the line of fire!” One of the men howled, slapping the red-haired man across the back so hard that he aspirated on his whiskey, dark eyes bulging from their sockets.

“Captain?” you giggle in genuine surprise. Most of the captains you had come across were egotistical, narcissistic, and made their status known from the moment they enter the establishment. A cheeky smirk tugs at his peachy lips, coupled with another thigh clenching wink. Your heart flutters and you return a coy smile, “I never would have guessed.”

Perhaps it was the liquor, or perhaps you were just that funny, but regardless your quip left the group keeling over in laughter. You tuck a stray hair behind your ear, face flushing you’re your own fits of giggles. You turn to grab an unopened bottle of whiskey, the small clock hanging on the wall behind the bar catching your eye. You gasp, noticing it was almost 3AM; you should have closed an hour ago!

“I’m sorry boys,” you turn back, whiskey bottle in hand and offering an apologetic smile, “But you’ll have to take this one for the road.”

The men groaned in protest, but understood when you nodded towards the clock. The captain plopped a fat pouch full of Berry of the bar, watching as his men filtered while you began collecting their glasses.

A throat cleared from behind, startling you, “Mind if I give you a hand, darling?” He was already bringing over the other glasses left on tables by previous patrons.

“Oh, that is very kind of you Captain but-“

“Please allow me, you must be eager to get home.” And who were you to argue? Although you had enjoyed the time spent with his crew, he was absolutely correct. So you both work silently, him wiping tables and sweeping the floor while you wash and dry all the dirty dishes and refresh the bar for the when it opens again later that day, thankful to be off for the next few days.

He insisted on walking you home, tension blooming with every brush of his right arm against your left, every bump of your hip against his. The dim streetlamps perfectly illuminated your figure, and he could not help but stare, entranced by your beauty. In all his time at sea, with all the women he had crossed paths with, none of them measured to you. None made him feel so weak with a simple smile.

An unusual pang of sadness struck him when you turn down the boardwalk, now in a residential area of your small seaside town, his heart growing heavier as you approach your quaint cottage. For some odd reason, he was dreading this goodbye, dreading to already part with the beautiful stranger he happened to stumble upon in the bar that night.

So he could have not been quicker to blurt out a “yes!” when you invited him in for one more drink.

And one drink turned to two, three, four, any hint of reservation dissipating as the alcohol coursed through your veins and warmed your body. You’re overcome by a new-found boldness, and perhaps that is how you end up straddling the captain, arms lazily slung around his shoulders, fingers curling into crimson hair, lips meshing in sloppy, wet kisses, hips dragging across his.

His toned hand paws at your hip, bunching up the fabrics of your skirts so that your panty-clad cunt can grind against the bulge of his cotton trousers. Deep groans spill from his mouth into yours, tongues prodding at one-another in an intimate wrestle.

A hand awkwardly tugs at the laces of your corset; a string of saliva droops from your lips as you pull away from him, making quick work to undo the garment, moaning at the relief, and carelessly tossing it across the small living area. He follows suit, unsnapping the buttons of his white shirt so it can slip off his shoulders, his black cloak having long since been discarded. Your eyes flicker to the stump of his left arm, a small gasp escaping, absentmindedly reaching to run your fingers over the scarred skin.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it sweetheart,” he mumbles between sloppy kisses to your neck, “is just an arm, m’dick still works perfectly well.”

His lips meet yours again, a twinge of yearning persisting with each wet smack. Your hands trace up and down his bare chest, committing to memory the dips and curves of his impressive abs. He tugs at your thin chemise, pulling it over your head, exposing your pretty tits.

A giggle escapes you as his eyes widen at the sight of your breasts but is stifled by a moan when he takes one nipple in his mouth, expertly circling and flicking at your sensitive bud with his soft tongue, spurring you to grind your wet panties harder onto his groin, undoubtedly leaving a damp spot of his trousers.

Your face down, tits squished into your plush bedding and ass in the air as he ferociously pounds into your weeping cunt. His fat balls smack against your swollen clit with each thrust, obscene squelches echoing off the walls.

Your moans muffle into the pillows, his penetrating the air, shameless groans of oh baby… ohhh fuck… s-so fu-uckin’ good…

A loud smack and a piercing sting of your ass cheek sends shockwaves straight to your core, causing your pussy to clench and spasm around his cock. But it is followed by a soothing rub, kneading your round cheek like dough, and spreading it wide to see your pretty puckered hole.

“Eeeek!” You screech, instinctively pulling away when you feel a fat glob of spit land right on your hole; and he chuckles, thumb circling his saliva around, his brutal thrusts never relenting.

“Easy love, relax f’me…” A few gentle prods and he slips his thick thumb in, easing down the knuckle, massaging your walls; your seeing stars and your trembling thighs about give out beneath you, hips bucking in an uncontrollable convulsion.

“Shit baby… don’t run from me,” he groans, popping his thumb out of your tight asshole and pulling your hips still, the mushroom tip of his cock bullying your cervix. You can feel it coming, toes curling, cunt clenching, eyes rolling as he drives you further up to the crest. And if the wavering of his once steady pace is any indication, he is nearing too.

Your crimson-haired lover falls atop you, sweaty chest molding into the curve of your back, arm reaching under and around your neck, large hand caressing your jaw to turn your head. Puffy lips find yours as his hips falter, fucking into you like a mindless wanton manwhore. His hand reaches down to your mound, ferociously rubbing your sensitive bud.

“Ohhh f-fuckk, right th-there!” You moan into his kisses, pushing your hips back into his, sinking his cock impossibly deeper.

“Yeah? That good darlin’? Mmm,” he pants into your ear with hot breath, dragging his tongue across your cheek and sucking on your sweet lips, “So fuckin’ perfect, fuckin’ obsessed with this pussy.”

The coil in your abdomen winds tighter and tighter with each thrust, each rub of his fingers to your clit, each kiss of his lips, before finally snapping, a screech of ecstasy tumbling from your lips. White-hot heat electrifies your body, fisting the sheets tightly as your eyes roll back and cunt spasms around his dick, sucking him in with violent pulses. You lose yourself as waves of euphoria wash across you, trembling wholly, sending your lover over the edge. His thick cum fills your needy pussy in fat spurts, haphazard thrusts plunging it deeper into your womb before mercifully slowing, slowing, stopping.

You lay there for a moment, finding your ground in reality while the man atop you grows heavier, less conscious of his weight bearing down on you. His hand gently strokes your belly, soft kisses pressing to your shoulder and neck while he too chases his breath.

Eventually, he pulls his softened cock from your achy cunt with a hiss, rolling off and plopping onto the bed next to you. You stretch your legs out behind you with a groan, fully relaxing onto your stomach. A soothing hand reaches over to rub your back, and you finally open your eyes to meet his, vision still slightly blurred. He greets you with a content smile, one you return when he leans over to kiss you once more, far more sensually than before.

“Alright, love?”

“Mm,” the only response you can elicit as you’re overcome by drowsiness, but it is enough for him. You curl into him, feeling a final press of his lips to your forehead before succumbing to sleep.

You are not surprised to wake up to an empty bed, although a part of you hoped he would have stayed. Another part hoped it was just a dream, that the strange yearning for the red-haired captain that your heart and body are overcome by is nothing more than a fabrication of your mind.

Until you see it, a small, torn piece of parchment on your nightstand:

I’ll be back someday.

            -Shanks

[deusvmachina]

I'll say it with my whole chest that I believe that Songbird lying to V about the neutral matrix was never done out of malicious intent. She knew the risks of reaching out to V—for putting her faith in V out of sheer desperation and involving them in what would become a dire and bloody escape. She just wanted to stop losing more of herself physically and mentally to what's beyond the Blackwall, to stop being a weapon of mass destruction for Myers. A tool for the NUSA.

She joined their ranks to keep herself out of trouble for breaching that Militech data fortress (among other things I'd imagine). And she was probably hoping it was a huge opportunity to become one of the best netrunners with all of this top-of-the-line tech at her disposal but she just didn't realize back then that she'd be pushed into breaking international laws or be forced to reach beyond the Blackwell to the immense power beyond. She paid the price tenfold. So yeah, players can be mad that Songbird dangled a carrot (the cure) in front of V's nose. Most people likely are mad or feel played and that's valid. But the choice is there to not take that anger out on someone just as desperate to survive as V is and have them push through to the end and help as they had promised. V states several times throughout the game that they keep their word and do what they say they will do. V and Songbird are mirror images of each other: Songbird losing her memories/identity and organic body to the AIs just like V's brain is being forcibly overwritten by the biochip and her body is slowly degrading. During that conversation she and V had on the couch and through texts, Songbird expressed how she couldn't trust anybody in the FIA. She was alone. Wanted a way out.

Even Reed who thought he could help her was only making things worse. So when she discovered V and their dilemma (probably after she delved into the Cynosure Project is my guess), I say it's what drove her to finally break the (wires) and chains she'd been bound with. She devised a plan with Hansen—always two steps ahead as Reed had said—and reached out to V on the day of reckoning knowing them being in the same boat would be enough to make V fight like hell. It's possible she knew about V for weeks or even months prior. V can question (sorry, forget which part of the game they mentioned this) if perhaps a 'backdoor' was created when she went past the Blackwall with the Voodoo Boys. Songbird then used the Blackwall protocol to tap into the Relic, as confirmed by Slider.

The stakes were too great so Songbird withheld the truth, not wanting to chance V refusing to help her otherwise. She didn't have anyone else, didn't have much time left either so she lied.

I think it boils down to this: V can decide to put someone ahead of her own survival and sacrifice that guaranteed cure OR she can be just as shitty as Myers and let Songbird be the pawn that's sacrificed. What separates humans from anything else is how we are driven by our emotions and our hearts. We take leaps of faith and we make mistakes but what matters is the content of our character. Sometimes 'doing the right thing' isn't doing the right thing.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. And I leave you with this quote:

"I always marvel at the humans’ ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces." —Markus Zusak

[asgoodeasgold]

If you 💜 Brideshead, check My Archive for more - I am blogging about the whole film.

I am starting a rewatch of the 2008 movie adaptation of Brideshead Revisited, a 1945 novel by Evelyn Waugh. This is my most loved Matthew Goode film, based on one of my favourite novels, so it is very close to my heart.

I’ll be using the Director’s Cut bluray.

The collage above shows Charles Ryder's journey from young innocence to loss, love found and disillusion.

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited (2008)

The cast of Brideshead Revisited (2008) is magnificent and includes, in addition to Matthew Goode (Charles Ryder), Hayley Awell (Julia Flyte), Ben Wishaw (Sebastian Flyte), Emma Thompson (Lady Marchmain) and Michael Gambon (Lord Marchmain). Emma Thompson took the young actors, who really got on well together, under her wings.

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited 📀 bonus features

Brideshead Revisited: The Sacred & Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder is a 1945 novel by Evelyn Waugh. It follows, from the 1920s to the early 1940s, the life and romances of Charles Ryder, his encounter with the aristocratic Flytes and their beautiful stately home Brideshead and his journey of discovery. It explores themes around nostalgia for the past and English nobility, happiness, love and loss and Catholic faith and guilt.

The novel (and film) start and end with older bittersweet Charles as an officer during the war billetted at Brideshead and reminiscing about the past.

📷 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brideshead_Revisited

Brideshead Revisited was turned into a stupendous 11-part mini-series in 1981 by Granada TV with Jeremey Irons and Anthony Andrews. It is an excellent adaptation which received critical acclaim. A high bar for the cast and crew of the 2008 movie who must have felt the weight of history on their shoulders.

Trailer:

https://youtu.be/_ZtPGYLEzpw

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited and IMDB

Brideshead Revisited was directed by Julian Jarrold and cinematography is by Jess Hall (both pictured with Matthew Goode). The screenplay is by Jeremy Brock and Andrew Davies. I think the film is a cinematographic gem and feast for the eyes. It’s a shame it got a lukewarm reception. I think the comparisons with an 11-part miniseries, which had the time to unfold the story, are unfair. The film had to condense quite a lot of the book and made some adaptive choices which may be seen as a departure from the novel but it remains, in my view, true to the spirit of the book and is a very good adaptation in its own right.

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited 📀 bonus features

The main locations for Brideshead Revisited are Oxford, Venice and Castle Howard, a stately home in Yorkshire. The miniseries used Castle Howard for Brideshead so the director Julian Jarrold hesitated about reusing it, wanting to forge his own path. But he decided to go for it in the end as it fits the descriptions in the book and the baroque architecture “instinctively evokes Catholicism”.

It is a stunning place and one understands why Charles Ryder fell under its spell.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_Howard

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited 📀 bonus features

The original score for Brideshead Revisited was written by Adrian Johnston and is one of my many favourite things about the film. It is beautiful and mirrors wonderfully all the emotions of hope, loss, heartbreak and nostalgia from the story.

Here are a few samples:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yjq62bxvWE8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Chp7LszUYp8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2YXscQND64 

[thewahookid]

Mother of the Church, the destroyer of all heresies



August 21, 2024

St. Pius X

Dear Family of Mary!

This is a special feast day, St. Pius X! St. Pius X wrote extensively against the great menace to the faith, Modernism (see Pascendi Dominici Gregis - On Modernism, published on September 8, 1907)). He taught that modernism was the synthesis of all heresies. And we see what a terrible wreak it has made of the Christian world today.

I do not think it is a mistake that the Feast of St. Pius X is placed the day before the Queenship of Mary! St. Pius uncovered the danger of Modernism, and Our Lady, Queen of Heaven and Earth, demolishes Modernism!! She it is who stands as a witness to the reality of all her Son has revealed to us and we must accept as a matter of faith.

Our Lady gave us this message in 2015:

March 25, 2015 "Dear children! Also today the Most High permits me to be with you and to lead you on the way of conversion. Many hearts have shut themselves to grace and have become deaf to my call. You, little children, pray and fight against temptation and all the evil plans which the devil offers you through modernism. Be strong in prayer and with the cross in your hands pray that evil may not use you and may not conquer in you. I am with you and pray for you. Thank you for having responded to my call."

Modernism is the great deception of our time. It is the great temptation and evil plan that the devil has been offering us for the past 200 years. And Our Mother, Mary, has come to equip us to defeat this plan. Through her messages and her presence, she has been building up a people of faith and trust in God. We are called to stand against the enemy, not allowing him to use or conquer in us!

St. Pius X wrote these words at the end of Pascendi Dominici Gregis:

"May Jesus Christ, the Author and finisher of our faith, be with you in His power; and may the Immaculate Virgin, the destroyer of all heresies, be with you by her prayers and aid!"

Amen, and amen!!

Let's pray the Litany of Loreto with all our hearts today. Our Mother, Mary is with us to protect us from all heresy. May we listen to her words and rely on her guidance in these days! We look forward to Thursday with anticipation!

The Litany of Loreto:

V. Lord, have mercy.

R. Christ have mercy.

V. Lord have mercy. Christ hear us.

R. Christ graciously hear us. God the Father of heaven, have mercy on us.

God the Son, Redeemer of the world, have mercy on us.

God the Holy Spirit, have mercy on us.

Holy Trinity, one God, have mercy on us.

Holy Mary, pray for us.

Holy Mother of God, [etc.]

Holy Virgin of virgins,

Mother of Christ,

Mother of the Church,

Mother of Mercy,

Mother of divine grace,

Mother of Hope,

Mother most pure,

Mother most chaste,

Mother inviolate,

Mother undefiled,

Mother most amiable,

Mother most admirable,

Mother of good counsel,

Mother of our Creator,

Mother of our Savior,

Virgin most prudent,

Virgin most venerable,

Virgin most renowned,

Virgin most powerful,

Virgin most merciful,

Virgin most faithful,

Mirror of justice,

Seat of wisdom,

Cause of our joy,

Spiritual vessel,

Vessel of honor,

Singular vessel of devotion,

Mystical rose,

Tower of David,

Tower of ivory,

House of gold,

Ark of the covenant,

Gate of heaven,

Morning star,

Health of the sick,

Refuge of sinners,

Solace of Migrants,

Comfort of the afflicted,

Help of Christians,

Queen of Angels,

Queen of Patriarchs,

Queen of Prophets,

Queen of Apostles,

Queen of Martyrs,

Queen of Confessors,

Queen of Virgins,

Queen of all Saints,

Queen conceived without original sin,

Queen assumed into Heaven,

Queen of the most Holy Rosary,

Queen of families,

Queen of peace.

V. Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world,

R. Spare us, O Lord.

V. Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world,

R. Graciously hear us, O Lord.

V. Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world,

Have mercy on us.

V. Pray for us, O holy Mother of God.

R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us pray. Grant, we beseech Thee, O Lord God, that we thy servants may enjoy perpetual health of mind and body, and by the glorious intercession of blessed Mary, ever Virgin, may be freed from present sorrow, and rejoice in eternal happiness. Through Christ our Lord.

In Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Cathy Nolan

(c)Mary TV. TV

Mary TV. Inc. | www.marytv.tv

[tonkibands]

Spellforce 3 cheat engine attribute points

#Spellforce 3 cheat engine attribute points full#

#Spellforce 3 cheat engine attribute points series#

The real time strategy aspects of SpellForce 2 mirror the Warcraft fantasy real time strategy games. However, the capacity to control multiple heroes often makes the gameplay comparable to that in the Baldur's Gate or Neverwinter Nights video games. The role-playing game aspects of SpellForce 2 parallel games such as Diablo, Diablo II, and Sacred in character development, skill trees, equipment customization, and top-down isometric viewing.

#Spellforce 3 cheat engine attribute points series#

The 'SpellForce' series stands out from the other sequels in the series as one of the few releases attempting to fuse the role-playing game and real-time strategy genres similar games include Dungeons & Dragons: Dragonshard and Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos. The game received generally favorable reviews by critics, who agreed that SpellForce 2 improved upon the first game in many areas. Print Cheats Similar trainers/cheats: SpellForce - The Order of Dawn cheats SpellForce 2 Anniversary Edition V2.01 trainer +5 SpellForce 2 Demons of the Past V.0 trainer +8 Spellforce 2 Shadow Wars 1.02 trainer +3 SpellForce 2: Demons of the Past cheats SpellForce 2: Dragon Storm cheats. Then, type one of the following case-sensitive codes and press Enter to activate the corresponding cheat function. Cheat Codes While playing the game, press Left Ctrl + ^ to display the console window. Type one of the following case-sensitive codes then press Enter to activate the cheats. SpellForce 2 - Dragon Storm Cheat Codes: - Submitted by: RM Press Left Ctrl + ^ to display the console window. Mysterious powers arise from darkness and shadow. SpellForce 2 - Anniversary Edition presents the award-winning SpellForce saga hits: 'SpellForce 2 – Shadow Wars' and the add-on 'SpellForce 2 – Dragon Storm' for a spectacular game experience! Experience the age of heroes: roleplaying action & realtime strategy in a perfect mix of genres. Additionally, the game includes skirmish features, allowing players to fight battles against the AI or other players outside of the campaign. The game's campaign can be played by a single player or up to three players online or via a local area network. Additionally, players take control of armies from three different factions that allow them to erect buildings and gather resources to train and command further units with limited and fixed abilities. Characters can be equipped with items and weapons like in most role-playing video games. Similar to the first game, the game requires the player to lead the main character and his band of heroes in forging new alliances.

#Spellforce 3 cheat engine attribute points full#

In December 2017, a full sequel, SpellForce 3, was released. A version of the game and the first expansion pack, Dragon Storm, with updated engine and widescreen support was released in April 2017. Three expansion packs were released: SpellForce 2: Dragon Storm (2007), SpellForce 2: Faith in Destiny (2012) and SpellForce 2: Demons of the Past (2014). It is the second full entry of the SpellForce series, following 2003's SpellForce: The Order of Dawn. SpellForce 2: Shadow Wars is a 2006 video game which employs both real time strategy and role-playing elements created by Phenomic and published by JoWooD Productions.

[coffinseas]

[reidyoulikeabook]

the battery was dead

Ship: GN! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mention of case-typical violence (more specifically, a bomb), told from Spencer's perspective and he experiences anxiety about reader having been harmed (they're okay though!), Spencer's self-deprecating thoughts, general mood of anxiety throughout, stressful team situation, big feelings of guilt, very much hurt/comfort.

Word count: 1.6k (i did not intend for this to be this long but it's basically a whole thing)

A/N: This is not what I intended to write today but my brain's on a whole hurt/comfort vibe apparently so here we are: something I wrote all in one go in about half an hour. Oops.

Everybody was in different places when the bomb went off. Spencer was with Derek, in an SUV headed uptown. The explosion was downtown. Where you'd been headed. Alone.

The geographical profile had indicated he wouldn't strike downtown. The geographical profile that he had made. The geographical profile that the team had trusted, that the team had based their assignments off, that had led Hotch to conclude it was safe to send you downtown alone.

"Garcia," Derek answers, putting her on loudspeaker and glancing at Spencer who could be pictured and pasted into the DSM-V as the definition of anxiety right now, "Garcia tell me you can patch everybody through."

"I'm trying," She rambles, her voice pitching upwards, "I'm patching ___ through now I'm trying their cell."

Spencer's leg bounces. It bounces so hard it's a miracle the velocity of it doesn't send Derek veering right across the road. He scratches at his neck. There are no words to be said. No words in any language in the world can describe the fear coursing through his body as he hears Garcia scramble, pressing keys and typing and he's only vaguely aware of Derek's hand coming to rest reassuringly on his bouncing knee, managing to still it just a little bit.

"___ will be fine," He reassures him, "Just fine. I promise. It's not your fault kid, you couldn't have known, how would you have known?"

"It's my job to know."

His tone is bitter, angry, and he feels even worse for it because it's not Derek's fault. Derek is trying to help. Derek is trying to be kind and somehow that's worse because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anybody's kindness right now and he can't get your face out of his mind. How you'd smiled at him before walking out of the door of that precinct and how it might be the last time he ever got to see you smile and it was all his fault. All his fault.

His stomach is in knots. Garcia's practically smacking her precious equipment in her hurry and then the line goes mute.

"Garcia?" Derek asks again, "Garcia are you still there?"

There's a beat of silence and then the background noise returns, "I'm just trying ____'s cell."

What's taking so long? She could have tried by now. He's never known Garcia to be slow at her job and even though it feels like time has stopped. Fractured like a mirror, throwing off pieces, and he's trapped inside a piece that has all of the horror and guilt he's ever felt in his life staring him in the face. But she can work faster than that. Why isn't she working faster than that?

It all becomes clear as he hears her clack again. Then your voice floods the line.

"You've reached SSA ____ ____ of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Please leave a voicemail, or if you're calling regarding an urgent matter then please direct your calls to SSA Aaron Hotcher at the following number-"

"Maybe she's already on the phone," Derek suggests, cutting over your recital of his number, "Maybe her line's already busy. Right Garcia, is her line already busy?"

"I can't tell."

She's lying. Spencer knows she's lying and it knocks him sick. He practically wrenches the handle to the window off in his quest to get it open. The cold air pours in and he feels worse. He can't allow himself to bask in any feeling of comfort when you're God knows where.

He can't let himself think like that. He blinks hard, shaking his head as if he can physically remove the images from his brain. They flash through, his neurons defying him as they keep picturing you in worse and worse scenarios, and he can't breathe.

"Pull over," He directs Derek, wrenching off his seatbelt before Derek even manages to get the car in park.

Somewhere amidst all of it, Hotch has been patched through.

"We're convening downtown. Our presence has been requested at the crime scene."

Derek is saying something to pacify him. Or he's telling him something. He can't tell because his head is swimming and then Derek is squeezing his shoulder, physically pulling him back into reality.

"Kid. Listen to me. You're not helping anybody getting yourself all worked up like this. We need to focus. We've got to work this through."

He nods. He nods because Derek is right. They do have to work this through. Even though they would be better working this through without him because he's the one who made the profile that was wrong and his contributions clearly can't be trusted and-

"Put your seatbelt on. Talk to me. Let's talk through how it could have gone wrong."

Derek's voice strikes just the right balance between commanding and reassuring. It always does. So he does it. He clips in the seatbelt and starts to ramble, discussing avenues they haven't explored before, suggesting why he could have been wrong. He's never doubted himself like this before, and it's an uncomfortable feeling. What's more uncomfortable is the realisation he's never failed you like this before.

They pull up to the crime scene. Derek scrambles out of the car, but he pauses for a beat. It's only when Emily opens the door, that he's pulled back into reality again.

"Spencer," She says, "Spencer, come on."

There are SUV'S everywhere. They've tried to contain the scene as much as they could but they needed the bomb squad, needed paramedics, needed FBI.

She's walking him somewhere and he's frantically searching around him, frantically trying to orient himself. It doesn't help that it's dark, gone midnight by now, and the street lights were taken out in the initial explosion. Most of the lights come from torches, or headlamps that people are wearing. It's not enough, he can barely make out Emily let alone find your face in the crowd.

And then he hears it. His name. Your voice.

You found him.

"Spencer," You call, and he can't possibly turn around fast enough.

He barely has before you come crashing into his arms, cinching them tightly around him. He practically scoops you off of the ground, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as he can possibly get you to his body, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo and there's tears coming out of his eyes, tears of relief and fear and-

"Spencer," You tell him, sniffling, "Spencer you're kind of crushing me."

You let out a little laugh, and he lets out one too. But it's puffy, practically just air. He releases his grip a bit and you lean up, your arms looping around his neck and playing with the baby hairs situated at the nape of it.

"Spence I'm okay, I'm right here," You reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm right here."

You are right here. He can hear the pound of your heart, he can smell your perfume, he can feel you playing with his hair in a way that tickles but is so comforting, so domestic, so reassuring that you still love him despite his fuck up, that he couldn't bring himself to tell you to stop even if he wanted you to.

He doesn't even know he's still crying until he speaks, his voice wavering as it manoveurs past the lump in his throat, "I-Garcia tried calling you. You didn't answer your phone."

"The battery was dead," You tell him, "I plugged it in in the car and next thing I know I'm getting pulled over. I got brought straight here when I told them I was FBI and I tried to borrow somebody's phone to call but they cut off cell reception here in case there was a second bomb."

He swallows. He can't say anything else, can't do anything else. He manages to open his eyes, and you lean up, apparaising him. You thumb at the tears on his cheeks, a kind of softness and love entirely exclusive to you filling your eyes along with a couple of tears. You don't look at him like you're angry. You don't look at him like you're disappointed. You look at him with a kindness he's entirely undeserving of at this moment in time and the thought spurs two more tears out of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, "Spence what's wrong?"

"It was my fault," He chokes, his head dipping a bit, too ashamed to make eye contact, "I made the profile. I was wrong. I sent you here, I-I sent you directly into danger."

"It was a copycat," You tell him, "It was a copycat, he didn't get away in time and got caught up in the blast. Our guy is smarter than that, so they think this guy tried to imitate it. It's not your fault. You couldn't possibly have known, you can't profile a person you don't know exists."

The revelation is like foam on a petrol fire. It quells the pain in his chest, the one that had maliciously licked at him, igniting all his own wounds and insecurities.

It wasn't his fault.

He holds onto you even tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Thank you. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being okay."

"I'm always okay," You tell him, your voice nothing but sincere, "I'm always okay because I always have you."

With that, the fire is out. You reluctantly wiggle out of his arms, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He's not okay yet. Not entirely. It all still feels surreal, and he knows it'll take a long time for his heart to settle down. But you're here. By his side. And that's enough for now.

In fact, with you? That's enough for always.

-

Permanent Spencer tagslist:

@ssa-m-187 @reidingmelodies @cyanide-mustard @shesalatesh

@sapphic-prentiss @geostarr @kathrynisadogperson @rem-ariiana @spoonielivingfree @starsandshit90 @spencerreidat3am @takeyourleap-of-faith @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @reidsnose @wheelsup @ellesgreenaway @sunlitspence @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reiding-recs @bauemily @cmily @retrxbarnes @jhillio @txmhoelland @spenxerslut @amoeebaa @veridianluv @sad-bitch-h0ur @reidtome @converse-spence @randomfavtingswall @bethc54 @sebstan-is-the-man @justanothercrazyfangirl @eli-side-blog @vntgreid @reidmeastory @reidemandweep @ggublerss @s1lverhand @cigarette-day-dread @newtmyheart @i-understood-that-reference @willowrose99 @v-is-obsessive @awesomebooklover17 @youarethereasonimsmiling @xhopingthis-worksx @agentdilf @spencerreidsconverse @nomajdetective @brown-eyedshell @randomficsandshit @bvttercupbby @thatsonezesty13 @spookydrreid @kurtuinna @loverboyspence @jswessie187 @sammicabrera @idontwantyourcookiesthanks @sweetandsunny @reidstulips @midnightstan @stylesstreet @iamhowieson @reichelhache @screennamealreadyused @joyclubie @mrs-dr-reid @measure-in-pain @slaytherinthoughts @inlovewprentiss @citlalireedus @love-you-to-saturn @drayshadow @makailaa @idonotexiste @hercleverboy @disasterwriter @kuolonsyoja @thosecriminalminds @sun-flower-seed @singularityjc @adanae91 @uwu-queen-420 @broken-stardust

Link to join tagslist!

[dongofthewolf]

Dancing in the Deepest Oceans- Chapter 3

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

Your first date with Abby doesn’t go quite as planned.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury, swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, uhhh yea I did that

Here’s chapter three! It definitely took way longer than I expected to do since I really wanted to get a lot of those requests done, so I’m v sorry about that.

Also I kinda cheated and included someone’s request for a bath scene with Abby in this so shhhhh it’s fine I’m just lazy productive like that okay LOL. I hope you all enjoy (esp if you requested the scene) ! :)

Read the previous chapter here

You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. You felt like the protagonist in one of those cheesy rom-coms from back in the day; the ones where the girl suddenly stumbles into the arms of her true love and everyone sings a happy song, except this isn’t a movie and also it’s kind of the apocalypse or whatever. You didn’t care though, this was the closest thing to rom-com perfection you were getting and you couldn’t complain, because it was with her.

Though you had only known Abby for a few short days, something inside you couldn’t help but feel like you had known her your entire life. The intimacy of those few stolen glances, the slight brushes of your shoulders, the way your hand fit perfectly in hers; it all felt so natural. You just hoped she felt the same way. 

--

She should be here.

You glanced down at your watch again, it was 8:15. Maybe you had heard her wrong? No, she definitely said eight o clock. Your mind swarmed with possible excuses as to why she wasn’t here; perhaps she thought you were meeting at seven and now she was the one who thought you were standing her up, or maybe she thought you guys were meeting at your room and this was the fault of some kind of miscommunication, or maybe she simply forgot. You racked your brain for any possibilities as to why she wasn’t here, trying your best to neglect the most obvious reason out of denial or maybe fear.

The hallway was dark and quiet, the tile floor cold against your skin as you sat with your knees tucked tightly against your chest. Your back ached from leaning against the steel door, and you had become increasingly more embarrassed every time someone passed by. Their lingering gazes made you want to disappear into the earth beneath you. 

For at least an hour, you sat outside her door contemplating whether or not you should wait for her. Was this whole thing a mistake? Your heart began to sink at the frightening possibility that she had been toying with your feelings this whole time, that you were just a naive girl with a childish crush on this person you barely even knew. God, how could you have been so stupid? This is exactly why you never formed attachments; they always ended in heartbreak, disappointment, or both. As more time passed, the fear and sadness that occupied your thoughts slowly began to fade into frustration.

This was dumb. Why were you waiting around for her like some lost kitten? You scoffed at how pathetic you felt. Anger began to rise in your chest as you thought of all the things you’d say to her when you saw her—how you’d scold her for standing you up, dreaming up this gigantic speech about how if she wasn’t interested she should’ve just told you. Or maybe instead of yelling you would just never speak to her again. Give her the silent treatment for the rest of your life. That is what she wanted anyways, right? 

As you sat there arguing silently with yourself you heard a pair of heavy footsteps headed towards you. You craned your neck to try and see who or what was approaching you, but the hallway was too dark to get a clear view. Panic quickly replaced the anger that had been occupying your heart just seconds ago as you stood up from your uncomfortable position. You could hear the adrenaline pumping in your ears as you squint your eyes at the dark figure headed towards you. A sudden rush of relief fell over you when a familiar face appeared out of the shadows.

“Y/N.” Manny emerged from the darkness. His hair was slicked back into a bun and he wore a nervous expression on his face. The sole of his boots were caked with a thick layer of mud that left a trail of footprints in the hallways, and you pitied the poor soul who would have to clean it up.

“Where’s Abby?” There was a sharpness to your words. You knew you should've been a bit more conversational (Manny had done nothing to you after all), but after sitting on the floor for an hour, you didn’t feel like wasting time on bullshit small talk. If Abby was going to send Manny to get rid of you instead of doing it herself, then the last thing you cared about right now was seeming polite.

“Right, about that…” You raised your eyebrow, Manny’s expression was difficult to interpret and you could tell he was here to break some kind of news to you, but for some reason it felt like whatever bomb he was about to drop was far worse than what you had expected.

“Manny, what’s going on?” You took a small step towards him, searching his face for an answer.

“Isaac sent Abby and I on a supply run this morning. Nothing too difficult, just transporting a few things to another base but…” Manny looked down at his feet as he contemplated his next words “but we ran into a group of scars on our way back and we got separated.”

You suddenly felt a tinge of guilt for thinking all those things about Abby. “W-what do you mean you got separated? Where’s Abby now?” 

Manny’s eyes were fixed to the floor as he delivered the news, his thumbs twiddling together nervously. “I uh… well, I don’t know.” Manny noticed your face twist with anger at his answer and tried to diffuse some of it “But Isaac’s already sent out a group to find her. It’s going to be okay Y/N, Abby is one of Isaac’s top soldiers and you know he’ll do whatever he can to find her.”

You were speechless, but more than anything you were frustrated. Frustrated at yourself for thinking such horrible things about Abby—for having such little faith in her. You wanted to scream at your past self for being so ignorant. Tears began to well in your eyes and Manny’s words did little to comfort you.

“I should be out there.” You marched down the hallway determined to find Abby but Manny was quicker.

His hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you back “You can’t go out there Y/N, you’ll die. Abby’s smart, okay? She’ll find her way back.” 

You tried to resist his grip on your wrist even though you knew he was right. You weren’t a soldier nor did you have the proper training to leave the outpost alone. And while a large part of you knew it was stupid to try and leave, a much bigger part of you didn’t care. You had to find Abby; you were willing to do anything, even if that meant putting yourself in harm's way. 

“I don’t care, I have to go out there.” You managed to yank yourself free from his grip and booked it towards the door but Manny was quick and caught you. Wrapping his arms around your stomach and hoisting you over his shoulder Manny carried you into his and Abby’s room while you fought and cried like a little kid. 

“Fucking let go of me Manny!” Tears stained your cheeks as you sobbed into Manny’s shirt. 

When Manny finally set you down on his bed you were exhausted from crying; the only thing left in your heart now was an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. You weren’t even allowed to leave the outpost to look for Abby, and the only thing you could do was sit in this wretched room praying she didn’t get mauled by a clicker or hung by a Seraphite. 

Manny didn’t feel any better about this than you did, in fact it was his job as Abby’s partner to watch out for her and he failed. Now his best friend was missing and it’s all his fault. The guilt weighed heavily on Manny as he tried to comfort you while you wept silently into his pillow. Even though he couldn’t have possibly predicted the surprise attack, he still felt like this entire thing was his doing. He tried to plead with Isaac to let him go back out and search for Abby but he refused, so Manny figured keeping you safe was the least he could do. 

Hours later you got up from Manny’s bed to use the bathroom, and he was nowhere to be found. You figured he probably went to bother Isaac about Abby or something, he was persistent like that.

You splashed some cold water on your face before tipping your head under the faucet to help ease the dryness in your throat. When you brought your head back up you almost didn’t recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror. Your eyes were red and puffy and there were dark circles under your eyes like you haven’t slept in days. You looked like a mess. Your hair was wild and unruly but at least with that outfit you had spent way too long picking out, you still looked pretty cute. 

At least you were a hot mess.

The longer you stared at yourself in the mirror, the more unrecognizable your face became. And then for reasons you couldn’t explain, you started laughing. A hysterical laugh that echoed off the walls in the bathroom like a sick symphony fell unwillingly from your mouth, and you couldn’t stop. There was something so incredibly sardonic about the events of these past few hours, that your body just decided to break out into a breathless cackle. It was a twisted reaction to a terrifying situation but for some reason it wouldn’t go away. Your stomach began to ache and your throat was dry and sore again. It felt like this sickening nightmare would never end. 

You felt tears begin to well up again when you heard something that immediately shook you from your shocked state: the rattling of the doorknob.

Your heart swelled with hope as you ran towards the door, not concerned about waking up the people in the rooms next door with your loud footsteps. The door creaked open, flooding the dark room with a pale yellow light that blinded you, and from that light emerged a figure you knew all too well— one that you had become intimately familiar with.

Abby limped through the door, at first not even realizing you were standing right there. You were looming in the darkness like some kind of monster, and you tried to speak but nothing came out. The only thing that snapped you out of it was the sound of Abby’s voice, hoarse and hushed like she was speaking into the darkness rather than you. God, you almost forgot how much you loved the sound of her voice. 

“Y/N?” Abby wasn’t sure if she was imagining this. She thought maybe the expired pain meds had some hallucinatory side effects and you were just what she wanted to see the most. Abby’s doubts faded into nothing when you took a small step into the light. In that moment she knew that this was real—that you were real.

When your eyes finally adjusted to the harsh lights you saw her face and gasped. To say Abby was in rough shape would be putting it lightly. There were cuts and bruises all over her face and body, and her clothes were absolutely filthy, but you couldn’t be bothered with that right now. You ran into her arms to embrace her tightly and Abby winced at the contact. Quickly you pulled back out of fear you hurt her, but Abby’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you back in.

Abby let out a loud exhale and for a small moment the jabbing pains all over her body ceased to exist. The only thing occupying her mind was the warmth of your body—how she could feel your heart beating with how tightly she was holding you, and she could finally exhale.

When you pulled away, a flood of emotions suddenly began to flow through you, filling you to the brim until the only words you could manage to mutter out through choked sobs were “I thought you were-“

“I know. I’m sorry.” There was a somber expression on Abby’s face as she wiped the tears from your cheek with the pads of her thumbs. 

You sniffed, looking up at her, you cleared your throat before speaking “Jesus Abby, your face.“ you softly grabbed Abby’s chin, examining her injuries in the light. There were crimson slices all over her face, and she was beaten black and blue. A particularly deep cut on her forehead had been stitched carefully and there was a cotton bandage wrapped around her left forearm. The state of your distress now seemed like peanuts compared to Abby’s state.

Without thinking you hugged Abby again tightly, revelling in the comfort of her embrace. Abby’s eyes were closed when you wrapped your arms around her, her eyebrows were furrowed and you weren’t sure if she was about to cry or scream. Though you didn’t know much about Abby, you did know she was a soldier—a warrior who wasn’t disturbed easily. You had no idea what she had just been through, but whatever happened had shaken her up pretty good. 

“Here.” Bringing your arms up to the strap of her backpack, you helped her ease it off her shoulder. She let out a breath of relief as you lifted the weight from her back and placed it near the door. 

Looking at Abby now you finally realized how dirty she was. There was mud and grime all over her clothes and her braid was loose and unruly. 

“Hey, uh I’ll run a bath for you, just wait here.” Considering her state you figured a bath would be more relaxing than a shower. Besides, you needed to feel useful right now, and if that meant taking care of Abby for a bit? You didn’t mind at all.

Hesitantly, you made your way to the bathroom and laid out a small towel on the tile floor. Turning on the faucet, you placed the plug in the tub and made your way to Abby, guiding her to the edge of the tub. “Let me know if the water is too hot, okay?”

Abby nodded as she ran her hand under the running water, letting the warmth fall between her fingers. When the tub was full, you turned off the faucet and stood up, using Abby’s shoulders to help steady you as you started for the door but something stopped you. 

“Wait-“ You stopped, Abby’s hand was over the one you placed on your shoulder, securing it there so you wouldn’t leave. She looked at you with pleading eyes as she spoke “Can… can you stay?” Abby didn’t say anything more but you could tell by the look in her eyes she needed you here. 

“Sure. I’ll turn around and you can get undressed.” You turned to face the door, looking down at the tile floor as you traced the crevices with your finger. The only sound that could be heard was the droplets of water that fell from the faucet echoing against the walls and the soft rustling of Abby removing her clothes. Eventually you heard Abby lower herself into the tub, she let out a loud sigh as the tension in her muscles dissipated from the warm water.

“You can turn around now.” Abby’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

Slowly you turned around to see Abby sitting in the tub, her legs tucked against her chest as she hugged herself tightly. Her eyes were fixed on the floor of the tub while she rested her chin on her knee. It broke your heart when you saw her injuries in the light. There were deep purple bruises along her shoulder blades and scabbed over cuts along her arms and legs. You also saw scars, a lot of them. Some were old and faded, while others were new, probably sustained within the last couple of weeks.

The steam from the water floated up, fogging the mirrors and warming the room. You made your way to the edge of the tub with a small washcloth, dipping it into the water just slightly. “Here.”

Bringing your finger to Abby’s chin you lifted her eyes to face yours. Her features softened when you met her gaze and lightly you brought the washcloth to her face. Careful to avoid the stitches on her forehead, you rid the dirt from her face, dipping the cloth into the water every once in a while before bringing it back to her face.

Her freckles were more prominent in the light and her eyes stuck attentively studying your movements. When all the grime was gone, you couldn’t help but notice a whisper of a blush on Abby’s cheeks. 

“One hell of a first date, huh?�� Abby spoke seriously but you could see a hint of a smirk on the edge of her mouth. A bit of her normal self was beginning to return.

Sitting up more straight now you gave her a small smile. “This is definitely the most interesting one I’ve ever been on.” 

You reached for her braid, undoing the elastic and separating the strands from each other while Abby spoke. “Oh so you’ve never bathed someone during a first date?”

“I can confidently say that this is my first.” Grabbing the small bar of soap from the dish in the corner, you dipped it into the water and lathered it between your fingers. 

The soap filled the air with the scent of pine and rain and you sighed at the smell. It filled your senses and reminded you of the first time you saw her. Not the time in the cafeteria but on that rainy day when you bumped into her for the first time. You inhaled deeply; it smelled like her.

Gently you began massaging the bubbles into Abby’s hair. Weaving the blonde locks through your fingers, and purposely taking longer than necessary. Watching closely as Abby’s muscles relaxed and her eyes fluttered closed from your touch. 

“Lean back.” Shielding her face from the water you grabbed a cup and poured the water over her head, letting the bubbles wash away from her scalp and into the water. “Is this okay?” 

Abby hummed in response and you took that as a yes. You repeated the process while you washed the soap from her hair, doing it a couple more times than needed because you knew it calmed her. 

The bathroom was quiet again, the only sound coming from the steady flow of water from the cup onto her head, and into the water. It was peaceful, and the both of you were content in this familiar silence. Appreciating each other’s company without the need to fill the air.

When you were done you sat up and laid out a towel for Abby, drying your hands on your shirt. “I’ll grab you some clean clothes, just give me a sec.” 

You left Abby to dry off while you searched for some clean clothes. Grabbing what you assumed was a clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants, you made your way back to the bathroom. Standing outside the door, you knocked lightly. “Can I come in?” 

Before you could wait for an answer, Abby opened the door a bit, hiding herself behind it. You handed Abby the clothes and she gave you an appreciative smile, it was small but genuine. “Thanks.” 

You sat beside the bathroom door waiting for Abby and trying not to think about the fact that she could’ve died out there. She was here and that’s all that mattered for now.

Your mind wandered as you picked at your sleeve, you noticed there were a few wet spots on your shirt from the edge of the tub. The cool air made you shiver and you regretted not bringing a sweater, even if this was supposed to be a night in. 

When Abby finally emerged from the bathroom you quickly stood up, unsure of what to do next. Her hair was still damp and spread across her shoulders; this was the first time you had ever seen her without that signature braid and you were in awe of how beautiful she looked. It was such a strange thought but it was the only thing occupying your mind. There was something so rare about seeing her like this that you couldn’t stop the flutter in your heart when it happened. 

Grabbing her hand, you led her to the bed on the opposite side of Manny’s and pulled the covers back so she could slip in. When she settled under the sheets you neatly tucked her in before standing up again. 

You didn’t know what to do now. Would it be rude to stay? Abby clearly needed the rest, but something in you desperately wanted to stay. You decided to let her sleep and started towards the door when you heard a small voice from beneath the covers. “Stay. Please.”

Abby’s voice was quiet and you could hear the exhaustion behind it. You looked at her with a smile and sat down on the bed next to her, pushing a strand of hair from her forehead before smoothing it down softly. She looked at you apologetically as you caressed her head, and  you gave her a look of reassurance even if you were scared out of your mind. Her eyes fluttered closed and her features softened from your touch. You stayed like this for a while, continuing even after her breathing had slowed and you knew she was asleep.

You stayed up watching her sleep; studying the way her mouth was slightly agape as she let out small breaths. She looked so peaceful.

A small teardrop escaped from your eye, and you quickly wiped it away. You knew this wasn’t going to be the last time she’d be like this; battered and bruised and fighting a war that seemed to never end. It hurt your heart to know that she was on this path of self-destruction, but what hurt most was knowing she’d likely never stop. 

You tried not to think about that right now. Eventually letting your attention fall onto the wet shirt that was still stuck to different parts of your body. Removing the item you walked over to the drawer where you had found the clothes for Abby and slipped on one of her t-shirts. It was devastatingly oversized on you but it was warm and smelled like her. 

You settled onto the space next to Abby’s bed, ignoring the ache in your back as you lay flat on the floor beneath you. Though the pain was worth enduring with the knowledge that Abby was here, and that’s all that mattered to you right now. 

While you lay on the floor you began thinking about how different things were just hours ago. It wasn’t long ago that you were practically dancing like an idiot in your mirror because you were going on a date with Abby. It’s strange how many emotions you had gone through in one day, you were almost positive you had broken some kind of record. You chuckled at yourself; surely no one was going to spontaneously break out into a song like in the movies, but you didn’t mind. This was enough— being here with Abby was enough. 

Eventually, exhaustion overtook your body and you quickly felt your eyes becoming heavier. The floor was beginning to feel a lot more comfier than when you had sat down and before you knew it, you had fallen into a deep slumber.

[multific]

Uprising (Part 2)

Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hydra!AU

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes, the most powerful man in the whole wide world, but even the most dangerous and influential people had to have a weakness.

Bucky arrived home late at night, work keeping him in the office for way too long.

He felt bad, he promised you he would be back early tonight so you two can have a nice dinner, just the two of you.

Yet, here he was, 2am arriving home to a dark house. Everyone was asleep, all staff and you. 

Bucky took his tie off and threw it on the couch. He had to admit ever since you decided to give the place a makeover, it looked a lot like home. Although he never understood the purpose of all the pillows and knickknacks, now those grown on him. 

He made his way to the kitchen to grab a drink and noticed the blown-out candles on the table, he could see that the table was nicely set and it made his heart clench. 

You waited for him, for who knows how long, before you decided to just put everything away, realizing he won't make it. And the worst part? 

He didn't have the time to call.

He just left you waiting and waiting while he was busy handling Hydra. Something he promised himself he will never do. He promised you'd always come first, and he broke that promise the very first opportunity. 

He slowly made his way up the stairs and to your bedroom, the door was slightly open, but no light came, you were sleeping.

He screwed up.

He made his way inside, closing the door behind himself and this is when he saw you, lying in the bed, in deep sleep.

You didn't even stir when he sat down on the bed and looked at you.

Bucky ran his hand down your cheek then your arm and finally stopped at your stomach.

Your baby bump was now big.

Having to house two of his babies was certainly a challenge.

Yes, you were pregnant.

With twins at that.

Bucky remembered when you told him.

It was a few months after your honeymoon, both of you still living in that phase, naturally, he would make time for you.

Bucky was a passionate lover. And a giver.

He planned a romantic date for the two of you on one of his many yachts. He got your favourite snacks and drinks. He thought it was strange that you didn't want to drink the champagne he offered you, but he didn't think too much about it. 

Not until later when he was slow dancing with you under the moonlight.

"I'm pregnant," you were very forward about it, no paraphrasing, straight to the point. 

He stopped in his tracks and searched your eyes, thinking you were joking or pranking him, but no, it was true.

He picked you up and started laughing. 

"I'm going to be a father!" he yelled so the whole wide world could hear.

You slightly stirred in your sleep, but you didn't wake up. Giving your husband more time to think about the past and admire you at the same time.

Bucky could easily recall when the doctor broke the news to you.

"Twins? As in two babies."

"That is correct Mrs Barnes. Congratulations." said the doctor as she smiled at you then left the two of you alone to process the whole thing. 

You couldn't comprehend what was going on. Not in the office not in the car. Bucky and you just sat in the car, already home, in the garage, staring at the wall.

"Two babies." Buck broke the silence. Then you smiled and looked at him. 

"Two." you said as he hugged you and laughed.

Bucky came to the conclusion that you are dreaming, he watched as your mouth formed a pout, which reminded him of something.

You pouted as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

"I'm HUGE!" you threw a pair of jeans against the wall, unhappy that the clothing didn't fit.

"Darling?" of course your worried husband had to run and make sure you were okay. 

"Nothing fits," you were on the brick of crying when he hugged you.

"My Love, you are beautiful, amazing and so strong. You carry not one, but two babies." 

Bucky could recall how it took him a bucket of ice cream to calm you down.

He placed a kiss on your forehead before he moved to take a shower.

Once he was out of the shower the first thing that caught his eyes was that the light was on, which meant you were up. 

He changed into his sleepwear and headed out but to his surprise, you weren't in the room. 

A second later you walked in.

"Bucky, hi. I was starting to get worried."

"Hello, Love, how are you?" you went to him to kiss him on the lips. 

"All of us are perfectly fine, I just needed a drink. I assume you had some business to take care of."

"I should have called you. I'm so sorr-" he started to apologize, wanted you to know that he was sorry and that he will make it up. 

"It's okay, really. After an hour I realized what must have happened and I watched a movie, it's okay really. Don't stress about it."

"But I promised."

"It's fine, please let's just go to sleep."

Bucky quickly fell asleep with you by his side, holding you and the babies.

A few hours later, he was woken up by you.

"Bucky," you said shaking him. "Please wake up. I-" because of the desperate tone of your voice he got worried. 

"W-What is it? Are you?"

"Yes. My water just broke."

***

Two beautiful baby girls.

You two were blessed with identical baby girl twins.

Labour was long and hard, but holding them made it all worth it. And seeing Bucky hold them for the first time was just an added bonus.

The most feared man on the planet all soft with his daughters.

You couldn't be happier. And you couldn't wait for them to be home, in the room which you spent so much time decorating for them.

"I love you," his sentence got you out of your imagination as you turned to smile at him. "Thank you for giving me a family."

"I love you too, Buck, so so much."

The two of you shared another kiss before you both turned to admire your daughters. 

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart​ v-2bucky ehsebastian crunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow​ ablogbypeteparker liamssmiler smexylemony @greenarrowhead​ feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster​ celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll​ snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch​ @puknow​ crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith​​ @soleil-dor​ @alex12948​ scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl

 ~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

My taglist is open!

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank You for reading my story!~

Part 1

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Introductions (AU; the government are introduced to the Emperor’s right hand man)

Emperor Palpatine sat at the helm of the table, his expensive ornate satin cloak pulled up to cover his deformed features. He had made a rare exception to the never appearing in public rule, if only to summon his little group of closely affiliated followers for a less than chummy supper. The Coruscant sun had already begun to set, its pinkish rays disappearing behind the skyscrapers visible from the large single viewport of the Emperor’s dining hall. Two months had passed since the fall of the Republic. Two months since the war came to an end, two months since the Jedi were declared traitors and executed en masse. Two months since Palpatine declared himself dictator, since his regulations had begun being pushed onto all known systems. Two months, and Governor Tarkin had thought himself to be lucky with his role.

A few faces, he recognized. Former admiral Wullf Yularen was a welcome addition despite being a bit below the required rank, fighting the just fight against outliers and naysayers. Orn Free Taa was a more unfortunate case (he had likely invited himself by flattery and empty promises), while Vizier Mas Amedda was an obvious presence. Sate Pestage, Janus Greejatus, Ars Dangor, Kren Blista-Vanee and Verge’s smug faces had Tarkin fighting the urge to roll his eyes at their insipid subservience. Artist Eveli Charis was, Tarkin figured, the most surprising member of the meeting - serving as the only female face of the small crowd. Her aside, and finance minister Gagh rounded off the gathering. 

These people were - each in different ways - the most influential people of the new Empire.

“I have not gathered you simply for the sake of sharing a dinner in the wake of our victory. Indeed, I have been wishing to relay to you my plans for the grand future of our Galaxy,” said Palpatine suddenly, his voice gravelly and his gnarly hands reminiscent of claws where they rested against the table cloth.

Tarkin thought he could see a pair of golden eyes gleaming beneath the shrouded darkness of Palpatine’s hood, but chalked it up to a trick of the light. Instead, he focused on the hand stitched embroidery of the Emperor’s burgundy robes. The man had always had an affinity for fancy dress.

“It is clear that you shall provide eyes and ears for me, and I trust you to fulfill your duties towards the Empire, and subsequently to me. However, I’m afraid I must offer you a small surprise.”

“Another, Your Highness?” Tarkin said with an amused smile, and he couldn’t help but feel triumphant when Palpatine let out a pleased cackle in response.

“I’m afraid so, Governor. Surely, you shall all take this little revelation in stride. Are we not in dire need of powerful allies?” he responded, gesturing with one clawed hand towards the Vizier who stood poised by the doorway.

On each side of the hydraulic sliding doors themselves, a royal guard clad in crimson stood at a patient salute. The Emperor’s personal bodyguards, their faces cloaked and hidden from view much like Palpatine himself. Their presence was an odd mixture of reassuring and oppressive, Tarkin had decided. But he saw no reason to fear them, given his own standing with the Emperor. If anything, he benefited from their presence as protectors.

“Will you reveal to us this secret, Your Highness?” asked Charis, her expression curious and incredulous at once.

“My child, have you not been taught the virtue of patience?” was Palpatine’s response; a thinly veiled insult that put her in her place, as she shrank back in shame and lowered her head in an obedient bow.

“Forgive me my insolence, Your Highness,” she offered, apologetic and the Emperor simply shrugged her words off.

“Think nothing of it. You are correct, it appears to me that I have unfairly omitted mentioning this to either of you. Alas, it is time I remedy this arrogance.”

Tarkin noted how the Emperor turned his head briefly, giving the Vizier a barely perceptible nod and the man stepped back. On cue, the guards uncrossed their electro-staffs and parted to the sides. Confusion seemed to overtake most of the party’s faces, as the doorway slid open with ease - only to reveal a man. Clad in black armour with red and silver accents; broad shouldered, tall and visibly disdainful towards his company. He stalked wordlessly up to Palpatine’s right hand side, where he lingered - gloved hands folded in front of his hips, legs wide apart. His eyes were glowing, an amber shade to their irises, a bloodshot sclera. The man’s face was scarred, rugged; and the only visible emotions seemed to be anger and resentment. One single dark blonde curl fell over his creased forehead.

But that wasn’t the oddity. Someone in the company - Tarkin suspected it to be Yularen, judging by the tone - gasped.

Indeed, it was difficult not to recognize the young man by the Emperor's side - the Emperor, whose features had twisted into a toothy grin. The man said nothing, taller than Tarkin remembered him. Something warped and cruel and twisted distorting his rather handsome features into something unrecognizable, all charm vanquished. He was pale, peering in distaste down at the dining party as if they were beneath him. It didn’t sit right with Tarkin, given that they all knew who he was and what his past profession up until about two months ago would have been.

Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker had joined them for supper.

“May I introduce to you Lord Vader,” said Palpatine, breaking the eerie silence. “Some of you may believe you are familiar with this man. I assure you, you are mistaken. The man whom you may recall is long gone. Lord Vader has seen the error of his ways, and accepted the Jedi traitors for what they are. He came to my aid during the assassination attempt ordered by master Windu.”

Tarkin listened closely, but he was not the only one who seemed unable to tear his gaze from Skywalk-- Vader’s stern features. He looked so much older than his age, as if he had seen a million lifetimes of suffering pass him by. His hollow eyes seemed haunted, but their inherent glow was more reminiscent of a predator locked in a cage. Simply biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. Still, he made no move and did not utter a single word.

“Lord Vader has turned out to be, much like you, one of my most trusted advisors. He is my right hand man, and while I have neglected to provide him with an official rank - he outranks every single one of you. It is my belief that only he has the means to do what needs to be done,” the Emperor continued.

Yularen seemed to shift uneasily in his seat, his eyes wide and a blunt disbelief etched into his aging features.

“You wish to speak, Colonel?”

Tarkin heard himself say; wondering if they were the only ones present - apart from the Emperor himself - who had maintained some sort of personal relationship to the man Palpatine had renamed and retooled so viciously.

“No, Governor. I--” he began, but was immediately cut off by Palpatine.

“You are wondering how the man you knew as a Jedi could turn on his own kind, is that not so? You are surprised to see that his loyalty towards the Empire could outweigh his loyalty towards his kin. Am I correct, Colonel?”

Yularen seemed to pause a bit longer than required, but gave a curt nod as he found the voice to speak up.

“Yes, Your Highness. I am merely… surprised, as you put it,” he said as a manner of surrender.

“It is understandable that you would be shocked. Should you like to speak of your own decision, Lord Vader?” the Emperor drawled, his voice menacing and sing-songy at once as he gestured to offer Vader the opportunity to speak.

“No,” the young man simply said, standing so still that his lips barely even seemed to be moving; his gleaming eyes scanning each and every person present before it landed on Tarkin - the only man who’s amusement outweighed the concerns. “I believe my actions will speak for themselves, as will your evident trust in me, my master.”

The voice was a bit deeper and gruffer than Tarkin recalled it - but that could be maturity - but its monotone quality was new. Vader spoke as if the words held no meaning to him, as if whatever he said was pointless and a waste of breath. As if his words were unbefitting of anyone but the Emperor. Yet, at the same time, he was matter of fact and to the point. A quality Tarkin had enjoyed in the past, and one he presumed Yularen had as well.

“Oh, I implore you to amuse this unspoken inquiry, Lord Vader,” Palpatine pressed, and as much as it came off as if being in good faith, it was an obvious demand no loyal servant could ignore.

“As you wish, my master,” Vader simply obeyed, his burning eyes still holding Tarkin’s in a cold, disgruntled stare. “I was the single man to commandeer the troops as they marched on the Jedi temple. I surveyed the situation, and I made sure not a single soul present escaped their fate. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to serve my Emperor, and I will not be frowned upon by the likes of you.”

The last word was delivered with such pure, unbridled loathing that it seemed to lower the temperature of the room by several degrees by proxy of mere intent. Vader nonchalantly folded his arms over his chest, lips drawn into a thin line and the perpetual scowl of his forehead had already begun to carve out fine lines in their wake. Palpatine was still sneering, grimy teeth bared in a ferocious grin.

“As you can see, Lord Vader’s conviction is admirable and undeniable. He has proved himself worthy of my trust, and so, I expect you to follow my example accordingly. I expect you to show him the reverence he requires,” the Emperor concluded, that odd glow to Vader’s eyes mirrored by his as he briefly peered up from beneath his hood - this time, it could be no trick of the light.

“I trust your infallible judgment, Your Highness,” Tarkin finally said, being the first to accept the new norm. “I may not be completely assured of Lord Vader’s motives as of yet, but he shall gain my respect when he has proved himself worthy of it.”

“My friend, you need not fear. However, I understand your concerns, and I have no doubt that you will come around quite soon,” said Palpatine, and while there was malice to the tone, he was also unusually honest and benevolent.

Tarkin suspected that was entirely on him, and their long history as colleagues and friends. He nodded, glancing over at Vader whose eyes regarded him still. Their gaze was arduous, and heavy, and vile - but that seemed to be their natural state, rather than any personal vendetta.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” was Tarkin’s only reply, and he shot a defiant glare back at Vader. “You are much too gracious.”

“Will you cease your repulsive display?” Vader snapped, and while Tarkin at first almost expected Palpatine to defend him; he found that the Emperor seemed humored enough by the obvious insult to allow the man to finish his trail of thought. “The Emperor will offer you no favours based on your fawning. You embarrass yourself, Governor.”

“Now, now, Lord Vader. I believe such childish bickering belongs elsewhere,” he finally shushed, as Vader relented like an obedient school boy fearing punishment. “However, I must agree. It would serve you well to evolve your attempts at flattery into a less… tacky matter.”

That triggered a reaction from Vader, as one corner of his lips twitched briefly upwards in a mocking, superior half smirk. He said nothing, but the triumph in those golden eyes spoke for itself.

“Now, with this out of the way, I wish to return to the matters at hand - but there is one more thing I wish to clarify. Lord Vader will not tolerate any mentions of the man you might recall him to be. He is no longer the naive child of yesterday. There will be a penalty for such insolence - no matter whom it may derive from. Lord Vader is a reinvented man. You shall address him only as such, and by no other name. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” was the singular response - and a brief hint of delight, and perhaps relief, crossed Vader’s scornful face.

“Very good,” said the Emperor with a cackle.

__________

I am not generally a fan of suitless Vader, but this idea came to me and it kinda required that so I went with it for once. Enjoy!

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029582

[papergirllife]

Bitter/Sweet Drabbles

*gif credits to owner

full masterlist

to request

The way he smiled at her, the way their chemistry made fans of both fandoms cheer made you worry. It’s common for artists to have stages with each other, especially if they took on emceeing jobs or during award shows.

You weren’t angry, nor disappointed in any way. But the way they were smiling at each other made you nervous. You always had a very serious case of insecurity, it started ever since your ex started cheating on you, you hadn’t dare to leave the relationship, until you confronted him, then he left you permanently, only leaving a huge scar on your heart. You hadn’t known that the wound would reopen until today.

When it all became too much for you, when SM announced that he’ll consider taking on the role, you went to look for his co star’s account on instagram, and she’s so beautiful, Jaehyun is way out of your league, you knew this from the start. Yet she’s at the same level of beauty as he is, what if he finally sees that he made the wrong choice? And leaves you for her?

Then you found a short clip of a fan pointing out that Jaehyun panicked when he received a text from someone during his birthday live a few months back, you looked at it a hundred times to see a sunflower emoji saved as the contact’s name. But you were most definitely not the sunflower emoji. So who was it?

You could feel yourself panicking as you laid down on your shared bed with Jaehyun, has he shared this bed with anyone other than you? You try to bury your thoughts as you switched on some random movie on netflix, yet your heart wasn’t really into anything that’s happening on the screen.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

You woke up to the voice of Jaehyun calling for you, it was a Sunday, and he just got back from another inkigayo episode. You soon felt his arms wrapped around your tired body. You tensed up when he did so, flinching at his touch like fire being burnt on your skin.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I think I’m just feeling a bit cold from the constant rain, I’ll be fine, you can go get dinner with the boys, I want to sleep.”

“Oh, okay. Should I get you some medicine now?”

“There still some in the cupboard. I won’t be needing any.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

You successfully avoided his eyes, the eyes that make you want to give him the whole world if you could, the eyes that would send you into cloud nine, as well as a painful death over the cliff.

Once he left the door, you cried and cried even though you didn’t really know what you were crying for at this point, until you tired out yourself, slipping into slumber.

Jaehyun could sense something was wrong when he woke up to find that you had left his embrace, when he clearly remembered that he pulled you against himself as close as possible, and when your hugs were short and tensed. He finally decided to ask when the both of you sat down for lunch, when you finally came out of the room saying you had lots of work to do.

“Is something up, Y/N?”

“Nothing, why would you think so?”

“I feel like you’re a bit distant these days.”

“I’m just busy.”

You weren’t looking him in the eyes when you answered him, instead your eyes were trained on the plate of noodles in front of you, suddenly finding them very interesting.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not, Jae, it’s going to be month end, I just have lots to fix before passing it up to my boss.”

“Look at me then, look up Y/N, stop avoiding my eyes.”

When you did as he said, Jaehyun was shocked to see how tired and swollen your eyes were, and he had only seen you like this once, when you got out of your last relationship. 

“Y/N, tell me what’s wrong, babe. Why have you been crying so much?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It can’t be nothing.”

“I’m just insecure okay?!”

You hadn’t meant on lashing out at him, but your emotions had been running high these past few days. You could see the shock in Jaehyun’s eyes, the realisation that it was your doing, made tears leak at the corner of your eyes.

“I’m sorry, it has nothing to do with you, it’s just me”

Then you rushed into your bedroom, locking the door behind you.

Jaehyun was trying to decipher what you had said, were you back with your ex? Are you leaving him? Are you still conflicted on who to be with? Jaehyun laid down on the couch after clearing up the plates, not knowing what to do.

When you heard complete silence outside your bedroom, you sneaked out and laid a blanket on top of his sleeping figure.

That very night after having dinner with his members, Jaehyun tried his bedroom door once again, finding that it was unlocked. He went in to see your sleeping figure, so beautifully peaceful unlike earlier that day, what did he do to make you so distressed? What if your ex was looking for you again? Would you choose that trash over him?

Jaehyun sat next to your sleeping figure, his hand brushing away hair that was stuck onto your cheeks by your dried tears. When you woke up with such hurtful eyes, Jaehyun could feel his heart clench.

“Can I ask you something, Jae?”

Your voice was croaky from all the sleep, but you didn’t care, you needed to know now.

“Who’s the person you saved as a sunflower on your contacts that contacted you during one of your v lives when you were showing your phone to your fans?”

“What are you talking about? That’s the florist shop that I buy your flowers from, their shop’s logo is a sunflower and their name is very long, so I was lazy to type it out, and put the emoji instead. The reason I was worried was because they sent a text to confirm my order being sent to this address. You didn’t trust me?”

You looked up to see Jaehyun sporting hurtful eyes at what he was suspicious about, you let your gaze fall back down on your hands clasped upon your thighs, emitting a loud sigh.

“It’s not you that I don’t trust, I don’t trust myself.”

“What do you mean, Y/N?”

“What I mean is that I don’t have enough faith in my plain old looks and boring personality to keep you interested in me for forever.”

Jaehyun’s feelings went from being hurt, to being heartbroken, not for himself, but for you. The words you said had such heavy feelings that his broad shoulders sagged, he thought you were suspicious towards him, but it was self doubt. When did this start again? He thought he had brushed all your worries from your past relationship away, is he the source of all your insecurities now? 

You got up and walked inside the connected bathroom, standing in front of the mirror to look at your own tear stricken face, too emotional drained to even bother putting in the effort to wipe them away.

You looked back at Jaehyun who sat hunched on the bed, his own tears crinkling at the corner of his own eyes. You didn’t know what are his feelings towards you are now. Anger? Disappointment? 

“I’m sorry, Jaehyun.”

Your voice rang loud and clear as the echos bounced off the walls of the bathroom towards the bedroom, letting it ring into Jaehyun’s head a few times. He heard it loud and clear, shaking his head, not wanting you to apologise when you’re most clearly not in the wrong, but he couldn’t utter the words yet, a lump in his mouth as his head spins.

“I’m like a broken mirror, no matter how much effort you use to put the pieces back together, I’ll still be broken.”

You felt more tears escape your eyes as you said this, you knew the truth all along, but you still let yourself love another being, even when you knew how heavy your emotional baggage weighs.

When Jaehuyn heard what you had said, he made himself force down the rock in his mouth, you’re not broken, no one is allowed to say that, not even yourself. He walks to the bathroom, and pulls you into his embrace, out of the cold and empty toilet.

“A mirror will never be broken Y/N, they reflect the same thing at different but all very unique and beautiful angles, that’s how you see me, you’re the only one who sees each and every one of my sides but yet you choose to stay next to me.”

Jaehyun knew what he had to do to heal your aching heart when he first met you, he swore to himself that he’s never going to give up. He knew the weigh on his shoulders wouldn’t be an easy fit, but as long as he’s standing tall, there will always be a place for your head on his shoulders, right now, tomorrow, and many more days to come.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 14

Warnings: possible body dysmorphia, mentions of past trauma and abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip​

Author’s Note: I have a serious case of extremely low self esteem (thanks anon hate!) and I can’t promise when the next chapter will be out. I’m hoping within the next few days. Fingers crossed!  So I’d post the one I was holding ‘hostage’. 

“I’m not too sure about this, Des,” Esme grumbles from behind a change room door in Bloomingdales.

It’s the last stop of the afternoon before a well deserved lunch; highly praised Thai food at a restaurant near Rockefeller that Desi had to book weeks in advance. It’s been years since she’d been THAT engrossed in a shopping trip; her feet aching and her cheeks hurting from laughing so much and dozens of bags in her possession. For twelve years she’s been caught up in her role as a mother; putting her own needs and wants on the back burner in favour of always making sure the kids never went without. Even with a ridiculous amount of money in the bank, she’d never concentrated on herself; perfectly content with her quiet and unassuming life in Australia, living rather simply and not needing much more than shorts, t-shirts, a small selection of bathing suits and a handful of jeans. It feels strange to be out in something other than her normal and preferred attire; used to choosing comfort over actual style and doing little more than throwing her hair up into a ponytail or messy bun. It had been nice to experience all of that again and had found herself most missing those younger days. When she’d pass the time with hours of window shopping and mindless browsing; daydreaming about all of the designer clothes and shoes and handbags she’d one day purchase if she ever won the lottery. But back then, it had been just that: daydreaming. And she can’t help but feel slightly guilty for splurging and buying things just for the sake of having them; outfits she may likely never wear and will hang in the closet with their original price tags still attached.

It’s hard to break free of that line of thinking; easily remembering the hard times when there’d been hardly any food in the cupboards and there’d been real worry about whether the utilities would be shut off or not. When Millie was still growing inside of her and she’d been trying to adjust to her new life in a new country; living with a man she barely knew but she already was already falling madly and crazily in love with. Materialistic things have never truly mattered; never heartbroken when she couldn’t afford brand new clothes or when their little apartment was filled with mismatched second hand furniture. Despite the financial concerns, they’d been truly happy. Engrossed in a ‘honeymoon stage’ of unbridled passion and lust; finding themselves thoroughly exploring and enjoying one another’s bodies while getting to know each other. It hadn’t been the most conventional of lifestyles; two broken people finding solace and healing in one another in Dhaka, an unplanned pregnancy, and quick and hasty cohabitation. And there’d been hard times; little quirks and hangs up the other had that annoyed them, heated arguments over stupid things, lingering trauma and plenty of nightmares thanks to their harrowing experience in Bangladesh. But somehow they’d made it work; a temperamental and moody Australian and a feisty and over emotional American. Falling in love despite their often enormous differences and making something so beautiful and lasting out of almost nothing.

“I don't know if this dress is my thing,” she frets, and smooths her hands down the side of the ridiculously expensive dress. It’s far more than she’d ever imagined paying for a single piece of clothing; immediately checking the price tag and having a small coronary when Desi had shoved the garment in her direction. Money is of no concern; in a thousand lifetimes the personal bank account will never run dry, nor will there never be a steady flow of impressive income coming in. But it just isn’t who she is; a woman with her wardrobe filled with designer apparel, far more comfortable in sweats from Target and one of her husband’s ratty t-shirts. “I’m just not too sure about it.”

“What is there NOT to be sure about?” Her friend’s voice filters in from the waiting area. “It’s Herve Leger. One of his best pieces yet. And it’s fabulous and it will look even more fabulous on you.”

“It’s too short,” she laments, and tries in vain to pull the hem down closer to her knees. “I don’t have the legs for this.”

“You don’t need legs for days to slay in that dress. And Big E, I’ve seen you in shorts. I know you’ve got killer stems. You can definitely pull this off. You’re worrying over nothing.”

“But it’s too tight. Way too tight.”

Desi sighs in exasperation. “It’s supposed to be tight. It’s a bandage dress.”

“It shows my rolls.”

“Excuse you? WHAT roles? Like you have rolls. Bitch, please.”

“I’ve had seven kids. Believe me, I have rolls. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when I first met Tyler. Twenty-two, actually.”

“And does he give a shit? No. I bet he likes the curves. I don’t see him complaining. Or looking at other women. He only has eyes for you.”

“Most biased man on earth,” she mutters, and studies her form from all sides. Easily remembering what her body had looked like almost thirteen years ago; thin and toned and extremely fit. A far cry from the ‘softness’ she possesses now; dips and valleys and curves where none had ever existed before.

“Isn’t his opinion the only one that really matters? Doesn’t he find you a straight up hottie?”

“That is not the point. He could be just trying to spare my feelings, you know.”

Desi gives a derisive snort. “Isn’t he still tripping over himself trying to get into her pants every available chance he gets? Quit your bitching. You’ve got a beautiful man that worships at the temple of YOU. Now get out here and let me see you.”

“Rolls, Desi. I have rolls.”

“Bullshit. And even if you did, that dress is like a corset. All the different bands built in? They hold everything. And I doubt you have anything to hold in the first place. Don’t make me break down the door and drag you out here. I am not above creating a scene. You should know this by now.”

“Don’t you dare go full queen diva on me.”

“Oh, I will. I will kick that door in and drag your tiny ass on out here for the world to see. Desmond Brownell does not play games. He’s on a mission. And his mission is to see you in that Herve Leger. Don’t make me pull a mommy move. Don’t make me count to three.”

“I tend to go with five, but…”

“Five then. Don’t make me go that direction. Because it will not end well for you. Or me. There’ll be tears. And not on my part. And most likely security guards tossing us both out on our asses. So we do this either the easy way or the hard way. And believe me, you don’t want the hard way.”

Sighing heavily, she smooths down the back and sides of the dress and once more tries to pull the bottom closer to her knees. To no avail. It is so far out of her comfort zone; a woman that insists on always covering her bathing suit with a t-shirt and refuses to remove it. “I am going to sneak into your house at night and kill you in your sleep,” she declares, as she undoes the hook latch on the door and swings it open. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Keep your eyes closed. Until I tell you to open them.”

“I can’t believe YOU don’t realize that you’re a bonafide MILF. Even if it’s not for you, how bad could it be?”

“Ever seen a sausage when you try and stuff too much into the casing?”

“Have you ever talked to a shrink? You do not look the way you think you look. What DO you see when you look in the damn mirror?”

“I see gray hair, wrinkles, and stretch marks. I see frumpy and plain and boring and just…” sighing, she steps into the middle of the waiting area and frowns at her reflection being cast in several different mirrors. “...old. I see old.”

“I think you’ve done lost your damn mind. Shred brains cell with every baby you had. Because you sure as hell don’t look old. Not even close. Can I look yet?”

“Do you want to be traumatized?”

“Do you WANT me to beat your ass? Tell on you? I’ll tell your hubby. Don’t underestimate me. Then both of us will get on your ass and then what?”

“He’s hardly a good judge. He’d tell me I look good in a garbage bag. He is proof that love IS blind.”

“He is proof that there’s good men out there. Good loyal, faithful men. That love every inch of their woman. Inside and out. You know how lucky you are? To have someone like that? Do you see anyone strong enough to drag him off? I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“If the thirsty housewives back home and the new neighbour had their way, he’d be getting all kinds of ass. All kinds of variety.”

“What new neighbour?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over lunch. But yeah, he’s got a harem of women that would love for him to be tapping it.”

“But he loves tapping YOUR ass. And only your ass. Does he have a brother? Have I ever asked that? A gay brother by chance? Or a gay friend? Bi friend? Help me out here.”

“No brothers. No siblings at all. No gay friends. Not that I know of. But you know who WOULD have a gay friend? My sister in law.”

“I thought he didn’t have siblings?”

“Not Tyler. My sister’s wife. Shaena. She’d for sure have gay friends. And hot ones. You’ve met her.”

“Both her and your sister are fine as hell. I wouldn’t mind getting in the middle of THAT. Hook a brother up. Make it happen. I’ll be at your little Aussie Christmas. Score me a date for then. In the meantime, can I open my eyes now? Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

“As long as you promise you won’t laugh.”

“I am calling you a psychiatrist. You need help.”

“Fine,” she turns her back towards her friends, hands perched upon her hips. “ Look. But no smart ass comments and no laughing. My confidence can’t take it.”

“Your confidence needs a serious makeover. Now let me see.”

She watches through the mirror as his eyes flutter opening; slowly widening as far as they possibly can, followed by a dramatic collapse back into his seat and a hand placed over his heart.

“Fuck…” she grimaces. “...that bad?”

“That bad? That GOOD. Desmond Brownell approves. You look…” he gives two chef’s kisses. “...delicious. I’d bang you. And I have high standards.”

“I’ve seen some of your dates. Your standards are questionable at best.”

“You wound me, Big E. Mortally wound me. That…” he nods in her direction. “...was made for you. Your body is tighter and hotter than you obviously realize. Curves like a back road. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or should I say, too little? I am forty-one.”

“Who gives a shit? You look amazing.”

“I’ve had seven kids.”

“Especially amazing for someone that’s popped out that many crotch goblins. Sold. The dress is sold. This isn’t up for debate.”

“I can’t buy something like this. It’s just...not me.”

“It damn well is YOU. I’ll buy it for you. A little extra Christmas gift.”

“A thousand dollar dress is hardly a little Christmas gift. And it’s a little pricey, don’t you think? For fabric?”

“Honey, you really need to get out of Target and up your shopping game. I know how much money you all have, I know you can afford it. I know you could probably afford this whole store. And then some.”

“It isn’t about money. It’s about me. And being out of my comfort zone. I don’t dress like this. I live on the beach. In Australia. We wear shorts and tanks and never wear shoes. Where the hell would I wear this?”

“Date night.”

“Like we have places I could wear this to. I mean, I guess we could go to Cairns. I’ve seen women in some pretty expensive clothes there. I could always talk him into a weekend away. It wouldn’t be hard. And we are going to Santorini in April.”

“That’d be perfect for Santorini. Hell, just wear it in the house. In the bedroom. Just to spice things up a bit. I’m sure he doesn’t see you dressed up very often.”

“Try like never,” Esme laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I DO wear makeup when we go out. And cute little sundresses.”

“What about when you got married?”

“I wore something off the clearance rack at a bridal store in Sydney. Cost a hundred bucks. It was nothing fancy.”

“But you wore a little tiara and veil and all that, right?”

“It wasn’t that kind of wedding. I was five months pregnant with Millie. It was a little wedding chapel. We had six guests. It wasn’t fancy.”

“E, you’ve been robbed. You need that bride moment. What about the first time?”

“Las Vegas. Even more casual. Zero out of five stars. Would not recommend.”

“Oh no, honey. No. That’s wrong. So wrong. You deserve so much better. You deserve a big day. You deserve to be a bride. A REAL bride. Poofy white dress, little bling in your hair, fancy little shoes…”

“Seven kids and I’m going to wear white? I think not.”

“I’m having a serious talk with that man of yours. Vow renewals are a thing you know.”

“He’s brought it up. A couple of times. Which is weird, because I never thought he’d ever think of something like that. This is Tyler we’re talking about. This is a man that can kill people with his bare hands. Who has his own brand of romance. Which I love, by the way. But it’s very odd he’d bring up something like that. Getting married again.”

“Maybe he wants to see you all done up. Looking like a bride.”

“Trust me, Des. Tyler doesn’t care about that stuff. That isn’t him.”

“Maybe he’s come to care about that stuff. Maybe he’s getting a softer side to him. Or, his soft side is getting even more soft.”

“Don’t ever tell him that. He’d kill YOU with his bare hands. Do you really think I should get this dress?”

“I think you’d be stupid not to. And you, are NOT a stupid woman. Treat yourself. You deserve it.”

“You know what? I do. I DO deserve it. And I think he’ll really like it. Maybe I’ll even give him a little sneak peek later. You know, to judge his reaction to it.”

“Oh I think I know what his reaction is going to be. Don’t wear any underwear. Just let him yank the dress up and have his way with you.”

“Maybe you know him better than I realize,” Esme laughs. “Fine. I’ll buy it. But if he hates it, I am totally throwing you under the bus.”

“Alright...alright…” Desi holds his hands up in surrender. “...I’ll take one for the team. Now get your little ass in there and get changed. This big man needs to eat.”

*****

“So this neighbour you mentioned,” Desi says, as he nods his appreciation at the hostess who seats them at their table, then gallantly pulls Esme’s chair out and waits for her to sit. “What’s that about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Natalie. She just moved in a few doors down. Her and her little girl.”

“Are you talking about the blond that has the goddamn gall to wear real fur?” Desi slides into the seat across from her. “The one that needs a chisel to take off her makeup at the end of the night?”

“That’s her. The one who looks like Sephora threw up on her face. Too bad you can’t apply makeup on the inside to make something more attractive. Because she is a real peach.”

“Bottle of your best house red,” Desi requests, and then flips open the leather bound menu placed in front of him. “How’d you meet her?”

“Well, it turns out she doesn’t just have the gall to wear real fur. She also has the gall to go after married men. And in this case, MY man.”

“Uh oh. Something tells me this didn’t end well.”

“I’m very protective of what’s mine. Maybe some people would call it possessive.”

“I definitely would call it that. Not that I blame you. I’d be the same way. Hell, I’d probably never let him leave the damn house.”

“I know what a good thing I have. I know how hot my husband is. I’ve seen him naked. Many times. What’s underneath? Even better than what’s on top. And what’s on top? That’s really damn good, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. And I’m just saying, I wouldn’t protest if you sent me nudes of him. Our little secret.”

“My husband IS hot. And he’s beautiful and he’s amazing and he’s this walking study in masculinity. But he’s just that. MY husband. I don’t share. With anyone.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve spent three years begging you just to let me cop a feel.”

“So I don’t appreciate some thirsty female from five doors down, honing in my territory. No one is pissing in my front yard. No one. And it’s not just that I’m possessive and there’s no way in hell I’m sharing great dick, but Tyler isn’t like that. He doesn’t do shit like that. He is a lot of things, but a cheater is not one of them. That is one thing I’ve never had to worry about. He is loyal. Fiercely loyal. And he’s had his chances. If he wanted to stray, he would have. Easily.”

“Never struck me as the type who would. He’s way too in love with you. Way too faithful. I see the way he looks at you. Stars and hearts in his eyes. He definitely thinks rainbows and butterflies fly out your ass. So this Natalie…”

“They met at the park. He took Tanner there; after their morning out. And this Natalie was there. Tyler made small talk. And small talk is even exaggerating. Tyler doesn’t do small talk. Any talk, for that matter.”

Desi nods in agreement. “Took me damn near a whole weekend just to get him to say two words. That voice though? Woody. Instant.”

“Well I guess Natalie took his small talk for something else entirely. Which I don’t get, because Tyler is civil, at best. He’s just not a people person. He tries. But you know what he’s like. How he comes across. He’s very rough around the edges and doesn’t take shit and doesn’t care for formalities. He’s a man of very few words. Whatever words he said, she read way too much into. She showed up at the house. Looking for him.”

Desi looks up from his menu, a scowl forming on his face. “She did not.”

“Oh, she very much did. And get this. She made him cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?”

Esme stares at him pointedly.

“I like details. I’m detail oriented. I can’t help it.”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“The most traitorous cookie out of them all. For shame. I’m disappointed. If you want a man to climb in your bed, you don’t lead with oatmeal raisin. Please tell me your man don’t like that shit.”

“Rest assured, he hates them and your opinion and lust for him can stay intact. But you can believe that? She came calling on my husband. She brought him cookies. And I’m pretty sure if he’d been home, she would have offered him HER cookie.”

“Probably just as nasty as the ones she makes. Probably got cobwebs and dust bunnies and all that shit. Maybe even a barbed wire fence blocking the entrance. So what happened?”

“Well, she got the cold shoulder and snarkiness from Millie first.”

“That’s my girl.”

“And then I talked to her and she was bitchy and off hand and she’s lucky I didn’t throat punch her. She had all kinds of snarky things to say. About my name, about my appearance, about having so many kids. I let her know that I wasn’t having any of her shit. That I was onto her. I told her I didn’t know what kind of married men she was used to, but my husband isn’t one of them. That he wasn’t...and never would be...interested.”

“And?”

“And she left. We fed the cookies to the dogs. Or tried to. Even they didn’t like them. Man’s best friend, indeed.”

A waitress brings the wine; cheerfully introducing herself before taking their orders. Desi waits until she leaves before uncorking the bottle and filling both glasses. Offering a toast to a warm and safe Christmas holiday and the perks and perils of love and friendships. And they’re in the middle of sharing stories of his last trip to Australia -his encounters with the both the ‘friendly neighbourhood Aussies’ and the wildlife that so freely roams and enjoys their stretch of land- when her cell phone loudly vibrates within the confines of her purse. Had Tyler not been out with all of the children and it not been a common thing to often run into some kind of issues with handling so many bodies, she would have just ignored it. And she wishes she had; frowning at the number splashed across the screen and then dropping the phone back into her bag.

“Your mom again?”

Nodding, she takes a swallow of wine. “Third time already today. Only four or five more to go. Maybe she’ll even make it an even dozen before sundown.”

“Can she not read the signs? It’s quite obvious you don’t want to speak to her. What’s her issue?”

“It’s probably easier to ask ‘what isn’t her issue?’. There’s many. So very, very, VERY many.”

“I already know about what she was like you when were growing up. I’m surprised you turned out as normal and sane as you are. It’s more than that?”

“So much more, Des. Where do you want me to start?”

“Start with the biggest one. Or most recent.”

“She hates Tyler. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns. The seventh layer of hell? I don’t think that even burns as hot as her hate for him.”

“Why? He’s a good guy. Treats you right, loves his kids. Will fight like hell to protect what’s us. Die for it, even. What’s to hate?”

“So you know how Tyler and I met. The whole ‘pretend husband and wife’ thing.”

“Yeah, to find Ovi and save him. What about it?”

“Well you also know what happened. During those five days in Dhaka. Between Tyler and I. Believe me when I say that I’m not normally like that. Spend nearly a week banging a guy I barely know. Unprotected, at that. And at the risk of too much information, Tyler was only the third guy I’d ever been with. Sexually speaking. So what happened between us? Totally uncharacteristic for me. It was unconventional. How we met. But, it worked out. We wanted more. We wanted to get to know each other. See if we could make something out of nothing. And we did. We made a life. A beautiful life. And seven little human beings.”

“And she’s got a problem with that because…?”

“After what happened on the bridge, I decided to stay. At the hospital he was flown to in Mumbai. It was touch and go and he didn’t have anyone else and if he wasn’t going to make it, I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserved better than that. And a week later they brought him out of the medically induced coma and he was breathing on his own and he woke up and he was so happy to see me. You should have seen how he smiled at me, Des. He has a beautiful smile. But that? That smile he gave when he realized I was real and I was actually sitting there? By his bed? I had never seen anything like that and I’ve never seen anything like it since. He was happy and relieved and he wanted me there. He even said he was scared to close his eyes at night because he was afraid I wouldn’t be there when he woke up.”

“He was already head over heels for ya. Guess that was his way of telling you.”

“When the hospital said they were shipping him to another back in Australia, he asked if I would go with him. By then I was already invested. I mean, it was three weeks later and I’d already spent time helping him feed himself and getting him on his feet and to the bathroom and taking him to in-patient physio and all of that. I was already in love with him. Of course I was going to Australia. It was never in doubt.”

“And let me guess, it ruffled your mother’s feathers.”

Nodding, Esme takes a long sip of wine. “She wasn’t in control. Of me. And she couldn’t stand it. Neither she or my brothers no longer had in any say in how I was going to live my life. The Esme they knew? She died on that bridge. Or maybe she was left behind. I had a chance. To make a new life for myself. And I took it. I went to Australia and I decided that was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with HIM. So I took what money we had and I got us an apartment and he put me in charge of handling everything; medical decisions, financial stuff. And then, I found out I was having Millie. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a huge surprise because what do you expect when you spend five days having totally unprotected sex? And I told Tyler and I gave him a choice. If he didn’t want me or the baby, I’d walk away and I’d go home and I’d never contact him again. I told him I didn’t expect anything from him. And I didn’t want him feeling obligated to me or the baby.”

“That must have went over well.”

“Well, needless to say, he wanted the baby. And me. So I stuck around. I was by his side through his whole hospital stay and through all the therapy and his stint in rehab and then we settled down in our new life. And we got married and had Millie. My family? They couldn’t stand it. They couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t accept HIM.”

“All because you decided to make a new life for yourself?”

“That was it. Tyler became public enemy number one. My mom convinced everyone that he stole me away. That he was manipulative and abusive and that I was scared to leave him.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Right? Tyler is so far from manipulative or abusive. He lived that life. He was on the receiving end of that. And he’s tried his hardest not to walk in his father’s footsteps. And believe me, he’s nothing like his old man. Not in the slightest. But no matter how much or how hard I argue, she doesn’t listen to me. She sees him as this horrible person. That took her baby girl away. And when he had the nerve to stick up for me? Against her and my brothers? That made things worse! You think they would have been happy. I found this amazing man who’s totally in love with me; who sees past all my bullshit and my ugly parts. That should have been enough for them. A guy that’s made me the centre of his universe. Who makes me happy and who I love more than I ever thought I COULD love someone. Who helped me make seven incredible little human beings. Why isn’t any of that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Desi says. “I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. ALL the answers.”

“Yet they practically idolize Mark. It makes no sense. They knew what he was like. They knew he was abusive. And they enabled him. They gaslighted me just as much as he did. And I would have left a thousand times over had they not constantly pressured me into giving him another chance. Had they not convinced me that everything was my fault. My mom stayed friends with him. Right up until he died. What kind of sick person does that? Stays friends with their own kid’s abuser?”

“You hit the nail on the head. A sick one.”

“Constantly kissing his ass and making him out to be some kind of white knight yet having all this shit to say about Tyler. They hate him because he refuses to be like them. Because he stands up to them. Because for once, someone loves me enough to have my back. That’s it. That’s why they hate him. And the things they’ve said? Especially since finding out he’s a mercenary? Constantly wishing death on him? Saying him dying would be the best thing to happen to me and the kids? Who says things like that? I almost lost Addie because of her. I came back from Ireland because I found out I was pregnant and my mom got on her bullshit and I almost lost my baby. Tyler came all the way back just to make sure I was okay. He wouldn’t have done it if he’s even a fraction as evil as they claim he is.”

“You realize it that isn’t really about him, right? That it’s all them. Because they don’t have that control. Over you.”

“I thought it would be all over and done with when we kicked my brother to the curb. I thought once he and Tyler had it out and Tyler kicked the shit out of him, that would be it. That we’d never hear from any of them again. You know how peaceful it’s been? Five years of no phone calls, no text messages, no emails. Five years of pure bliss. And now this…” she nods down at the purse sitting in her lap. “...her on my ass every day, multiple times a day. Isn’t it enough that I acknowledge that the kids received their Christmas gifts? That I showed appreciation and I said they’d send thank you cards? You think that would be enough. Our lives have been so good. Quiet and happy and peaceful. And it’s like she knows that. It’s like she knows how good things are and just has to screw it all up.”

“Normally I say just ignore them. Just wash toxic people out of your life and keep them out of your life. But if she’s as determined as she is, it’s only going to get worse. She won’t stop trying to get a hold of you. And as hard as it’ll be to talk to her, that might be the only way to get her to stop. Let her know. Say ‘thanks, but no thanks’.”

“I can not allow her back into my life. OUR lives. I can’t allow any of them back in. I will NOT have my kids surrounded by that ugliness. I will not have people around them that talk shit about their father. Because you know what? I know he’s not perfect. I know he has his issues. He’s the first one to admit it. But he is an amazing dad and he is totally devoted to those kids and they love him beyond all comprehension. And I won’t allow people to talk about him like that. I won’t allow them to break my kids’ hearts…” her voice cracks with emotion, and she takes a swallow of wine to clear away the lump sitting square in her throat. “....I won’t let anyone talk about Tyler like that. He’s not a perfect man, but he’s a good man. And he loves me and he loves his kids. He saved me, Des. In every way a person can be saved. And I won’t let anyone disrespect him like that.”

“Tell them that. Tell them EXACTLY that.”

“I have. I have said it until I was practically blue in the face. They don’t care. They say I’m ‘defending my abuser’. In what alternate universe is he considered an abuser? He has never...ever...raised a hand to me. He’s always said he’d kill himself before he ever let things get that out of control. That he’d never be able to live with himself if he even thought about hurting me like that. And maybe in a way, I DO understand some of the way they think. He’s lived a hard life. A violent life. First the military, then as a mercenary. Yes, he’s killed people. With his bare hands. But he’s never done it because he wanted to. Or because he enjoyed it. He did it because he HAD to. Because it was either him or them. He is not a monster. Regardless of what they think. Or even he thinks sometimes.”

“You’ve never been scared of him?”

“Never. And you know what? If he WANTED to, he could do some serious damage to me. He could kill me. No question about it. But that thought has never, ever crossed my mind. I’ve never been afraid of him. Not even at his worst. When he went back to drinking all the time and abusing the pain meds and we fought constantly. And yeah, there were times he DID lose it. Where he put a fist through the wall or grabbed me trying to stop me from walking away or trying to calm me down and talk some sense into me. But I’ve never been scared of him. Because even at his worst, I knew he loved me. I knew none of his issues were about me. That was him and his brain and not knowing how to cope. And they just don’t get it. They think he’s somehow frightened me into sticking around. That he’s been forcing me to have children. Because it somehow keeps me around.”

“Sounds more like they have the issues. Not you guys.” Desi reaches for the bottle of wine, refilling both their glasses.

“We’re not perfect. And Lord knows we have had some really shitty times. Where we didn’t think we were going to make it. But you know what? We did. We fixed our shit and we made things work. We both busted our asses to change. And he still busts his ass every day to make up for all the bad. We work at it, Des. Every day we work at it. Because we love each other and we both know what it's like to be from a broken home. And we won’t do that to our kids. We won’t let them grow up like that. So we work at it. And it hasn’t been easy. But there’s been more great times than bad times.”

“You two are strong. What you got is strong. No one can deny that. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.”

“I will not let my family ruin us. They tried. And in Colorado, they almost succeeded. But we got away. We moved back home. Our REAL home. And we never looked back. I won’t let them destroy things for us. Not when we’ve worked so hard to get where we are.”

“You’re going to have to deal with her, Esme. She isn’t going to go away. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“And I will. I WILL talk to her. After Christmas. I just want to get through the holiday. I just want things to be happy and peaceful. Especially for the kids. I don’t want anyone ruining Christmas for them. Once it’s over and things calm down, I WILL talk to her. But right now? I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“It’s all going to be alright,” Desi assures her, and reaches across the table to give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“Tyler isn’t perfect. He’s the first one to admit that. In the same way I’m not. But you know what? We’re perfect for each other. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

*****

When she arrives home she finds the three littlest fast asleep; tightly snuggled together on the area rug in front of the Christmas tree and covered by the knitted throw usually draped over the back of the sofa. Saju and Mac nap close by; curled up together in front of the front of the fireplace and merely blinking their eyes in a form of acknowledging her presence. She can hear Millie and Alannah upstairs; giggling and chattering, their feet stomping overhead as they play a dance game on the XBox. The three oldest boys are out in the backyard; laughter drifting inside as they hide behind ‘fortress’ walls and lob snowballs at one another. It's rare to see the three of them enjoying time together. Tanner normally not comfortable with the more raucous play and choosing quiet time; up in his room reading a book or writing stories or building intricate lego scenes in front of the fireplace.

She stands in the sunroom and watches them; smiling at how jovial and lighthearted they are. Their faces bright and happy; no cares in the world aside from the balls of snow and ice being tossed in their direction. Despite everything they’d been through, they’re spirits so brilliant and bubbly, continuing to love the world and everyone in it. Tanner and TJ (along with Millie) are able to remember the more difficult times in Colorado and being whisked to Mumbai under false pretenses; told they were going on a family vacation only to be sent back to Australia without either parent and then told their father very well might never come home. They still talk about it from time to time; how scary it had been to be away from both mom AND dad and how worried they’d been when they thought their daddy may never make it back to them. They’re able to vividly recall visiting him in the hospital; the scars and bruises on his face that had been in various stages of healing, the sling keeping his badly wounded and surgically repaired shoulder in place, the ‘cage’ that had encased his right thigh, the tremendous amount of weight and muscle he had lost. It HAD been traumatic; more than two months without their father under the same roof and seeing him so wounded and vulnerable.

They’d needed their own therapy; the trauma manifesting itself through moments of rage and aggression and troubles sleeping at night. A child psychologist recommended to them by Doctor Klein had done them all a world of good; disguising therapy with music and play and helping them express their emotions and their fears. And within six months they were back to their old selves; grades climbing and their social skills improving, the rage and aggression diminishing. It still haunts them from time to time; a fear that returns whenever daddy has to leave home for work. But for the most part they’ve healed exceptionally well; full of energy and light and humour and possessing enormous amounts of compassion and empathy.

She finds Tyler in the main floor office; a central area of the main floor that had been the previous owner’s sewing and craft room. It’s close enough to keep an ear out for the kids; able to hear them both inside and out. And a security system enables him to keep an eye on any area of the house; live images cast back to the flat screen television mounted on the wall above the desk. Five years years ago she would have called him paranoid for insisting on such measures. Overprotective, even. But that was until someone had gotten close enough to Addie to steal a stuffed animal right out of her crib. Had the culprit wanted her, she would have been long gone in the middle of the night. And they most likely never would have seen her again. The terror of that night is still very real; the thought of someone reaching across her tiny body to take something so simple in the course of sending a very clear message.

After that, Esme had vowed to never call him paranoid or overprotective again. Evil had gotten too close. WAY too close. And she now understands his fierce and rabid determination to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe.

She watches him from the doorway; intently working at the computer. Admiring the glasses perched upon his face and the lines of his profile; the strong, stubbled jaw and the curve of his lips and the bump in the bridge of his nose. The scars that had long ago become part of him. Marring the left side of his forehead and by his left eye; old wounds that he’d possessed when they’d first met. A handful of others have been added since then. The edge of a metal shovel cutting wide and deep; the scar travelling from the very corner of his right eye and up his forehead and snaking up into his hairline. And the ones left behind from Nathan. The one above his eyebrow thin and faint, the one below his eye much wider and jagged and stretching all the way to his temple. That one had been the worst; deep enough for the knife blade to hit bone and cause irreparable damage to nerves and muscle. And while most would see them as blemishes and flaws, she sees it as adding to his beauty; souvenirs of not only a hard and dangerous life, but of survival.

“Hey,” she greets as she wanders into the room. “What’cha doing, handsome?”

“Just some shit that came up. I would have ignored it, but…”

She stands at the back of his chair. Fingers and thumbs rubbing at tense shoulder muscles before wrapping both arms around his neck; leaning over him and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, followed by his temple. “Everything alright?”

“Koen ran into some issues. On the job he took. Not going as smooth as we’d hoped it would. Just had to send him some extra cash. And put him in contact with someone who could get him some extra gear.”

“He’s alright though? He’s not in any trouble?”

“He’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. I know I said I wouldn’t bother with work stuff until we go back home, but…”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s the nature of the beast. It isn't the most predictable of careers. I’m glad to see you survived your day out with the spawn. Is your sanity still intact?”

“What was left of it. I don’t know how much I had to begin with.”

“I also noticed all seven AND Alannah made it back. Success.”

“They were good. No trouble. They all behaved themselves. Shockingly.”

“Your feral offspring all behaving at once? Hell must have frozen over.”

He gives a small chuckle, then turns his face into her and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. A frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to look at her.

“What’s that look for?”

“Why do you still have your hat on? It’s fucking boiling in here.”

“It’s part of my surprise. I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” A slow grin begins to spread across his face. “I’ve already seen you naked. Many times. Not that it’s not awesome each time it happens. I’m not complaining.”

“As much as I’d love to just drop my clothes right here and rock your world, it’s something else. I did something. While I was out.”

“New ink?”

“Nope.”

“You got something pierced, didn’t you. Something naughty. Something very naughty.”

“You wish. Those days are long behind me. But it is a surprise. And I want you to promise you won’t freak out. When you see it.”

“How bad is it? Usually when you tell me not to freak out, it’s pretty fucking bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just...surprising. You ready?”

“Is it a good thing I’m already sitting down?”

“It’s probably for the best. Turn your chair towards me and close your eyes.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…”

“What the hell have you done?”

“Just do it. Humour me. Please.”

“Fine.” Turning his back towards the computer, he closes his eyes. “This isn’t where you tell me you want to try pegging is it? Because I thought I’ve already made it perfectly clear that there is no fucking chance of that happening. EVER.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s nothing sexual. Get your mind out the gutter, sheesh.”

“I’m sorry, have we met? It permanently lives in the gutter.”

“Never mind viagra. Maybe they can give you something to calm your dick down.”

“You’d miss it. Don’t deny it. It would hurt you just as much as it would hurt me. Are we going to do this surprise sometime today or…?”

Removing the knit beanie from her head, she tosses it out the desk and then runs her fingers through her hair. She feels naked and exposed; the dark tresses that had once reached the middle of her back now shorn and styled into a side parted, sleek bob that skims her earlobes. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“I promise I won’t lose my shit.”

“Okay...open them...but remember, no freaking out.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. If it’s nothing dirty or kinky or piercing of some kind…” His eyes flutter open, then slowly widen as the reality of what’s before him sets in.

“You hate it don’t you.”

“I don’t hate it. I just...wow...that’s...NOT what I was expecting.”

“You do, don’t you. Hate it. I knew you would. You always hate when I do something with my hair. Like when I decided to get bangs.”

“In all fairness, I didn’t hate them. I just wasn’t a fan.”

“But you HATE this? This haircut. You hate it being so short, don’t you.”

“Actually…” he slides the chair closer to her and lays his hands on her hips. “...I love it.”

“Yeah?” A smile replaces the nervous frown. “Really?”

“Really. I wouldn’t lie to you, Me. That’s not who I am. Not anymore, anyway.”

“You sure you like it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I think you look beautiful. It suits you. You got this cute, tiny little face. Your hair shows it off. I really do love it. You look amazing.”

Placing her hands on the sides of his face, she leans down to kiss him. “It was time for a change. Something different. Something I didn’t have to spend hours on when we go out. You’re sure? One hundred percent? You really do love it?”

“I do. You look beautiful.” Laying a palm on the back of her head, he pulls her down into a kiss. And she laughs into his mouth when his free hand latches onto her hip and she loses her balance and topples into him. “You’re beautiful, Me. Always.”

“I really was worried you wouldn’t like it,” she says, as she settles herself sideways on his thighs. “So you’ve made my day. My year, actually.”

“It suits you. You look amazing, baby. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Speaking of making my year, I’m about to make yours.”

“We’re talking about butt stuff, aren’t we.”

“No!” she laughs, and playfully tousles his hair. “I mean, maybe later. When the kids are out.”

“Where are they going? You banishing them to the backyard?”

“Desi offered to take them.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one. Even Alannah. He’s going to take them out for dinner and to Central Park. To see Santa and the reindeer. Maybe do some skating. And then, he’s going to take them to his place. They’re going to have a camp out. In the living room.”

“So we get the house to ourselves? All night?”

“All night,” she confirms. “And well into the morning. You know what that means?”

“Butt stuff.”

She sighs in exasperation. “I means you don’t have to wait until New Years Eve for wild and crazy AND noisy sex with your wife.”

“We might have to tone down the noise. The kids will be right next door. They could still hear us.”

“That’s a fair point. So noisy is out. But wild and crazy are definitely in.”

Tyler grins. “I can do wild and crazy.”

“Oh, I know you can. You’re a master at it. A master at anything sexual, now that I think about it. Man, did I ever luck out. Landing you.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m the lucky one. Girl like you putting up with my shit? You’re one in a million, babe. No doubt about it.”

“I love you,” she says, pressing a kiss to his ear and then nuzzling his temple with the tip of her nose. “More than you could ever know. And thank you. For being you. And for loving me the way you do.”

Smiling, he turns his face into hers and places his lips to her brow; a hand coming up to comb through her hair, palm settling on the nape of her neck. “You’ve made it pretty damn easy.”

[adrischrv]

REGNUM [L.H] — Chapter One

REGNUM [L.H] — Chapter One

Summary: Princess Amberly begins her adventure in Gardenstone’s Homecoming ball. // The first chapter of my King!Luke fanfic.

Author’s Note: Welcome to Regnum, hope you enjoy! English is not my first language so let me know if there are any mistakes. Gif made by Sheisbea in wattpad!

Word count: 2,452

“… The paradisiacal view of Gardenstone is, without a doubt, one of its greatest attractions. With special mention to the Flaney Forest, the national pride full of ruins of the ancient world …”

The presentation brochure did not lie at all, if in mere images the forest looked beautiful and imposing I can imagine how majestic it would be to see it live. But for now, I could only do that, imagine the places that Gardenstone offered as the time passed since my arrival locked in a room.

One day passed since my picturesque journey from my kingdom to Gardenstone … my kingdom-to-be. I was traveling like a bunch of lobsters, the most important thing Maredale exchanged with Gardenstone, to realize the longed-for union between both kingdoms and in the process, marry someone I had not seen in my entire life.

I’m trained to be a strong leader but not arrogant, humble but not naive, and seductive but not easy, but something had been missing from the list and that was how to be a good wife. I knew how to run an entire country, but the heart of a man? Lost cause. And it was normal, with only 19 years it is not my fault to know absolutely nothing about the subject, more than the common and what I read in my romance books, of course. I kept telling myself over and over how important it had been to pay attention to my parents’ relationship when I was a child, maybe I would know how to start a conversation with my husband, was that important? Should I speak to him?

“Your Highness, I’m sorry to interrupt. Queen Susan has sent this maid to you.”

The guard’s words helped me get out of the spiral.

I nodded as I watched a freckled red-haired girl approach with a box in her hands that she balanced as she bowed.

“Good morning, Your Highness. My name is Lidia and I have come to help you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lidia. You can call me Amberly,” I smiled. “Excuse me, but help me with what, exactly?”

Lidia gave a little laugh, taking brushes and makeup from the box and placing them on the dresser; the only piece of furniture in the room along with the bed. I took a seat watching Lidia inspect my curly hair in the mirror.

“King Robert has organized a homecoming dance in your honor, Queen Susan seems to have convinced him that leaving you locked up until the coronation is done is not the way to treat a guest … much less if it will be our future Queen.”

“Future queen.”

The words echoed in my mind, realizing the seriousness of them.

Years ago, “The International Revolution” had been present, everything got out of control. There were no intermediaries, intentions to fix it, faith, or hope. In a world where more than 80% of the earth was uninhabitable, a scattered society grew up and far from all the horror; Lauxwell, Gardenstone, and Maredale; three kingdoms that from the beginning asked for their expansion. Lauxwell and Maredale boast coastlines and rivers, while Gardenstone lives in the middle of both. There was a deal to be made and everyone knew about it, two united kingdoms would cause the fall of the one who was left behind, it was fate. My mother, Queen Elizabeth, had made a deal with the Kings of Gardenstone where both kingdoms would unite, and eventually, Lauxwell must do so as well, leaving one of the kings’ children and me in command.

I watched Lidia place four different dresses on the bed, needing to ask her a question.

“Lidia, what do you think of the princes? Jake and …?”

“… Luke, Your Highness.”

“Yes, Luke … I’ve heard about both of them but I need to know more. Tell me your opinion, without fear.”

Nervous, the maid spread one of the dresses in my direction. Immediately, I went to change behind a curtain while she spoke.

“Well, if you want to know … Prince Jake, your future husband, is charismatic and reserved. Nothing like the brother.” She shook her head. “Prince Luke is an open book, predictable and, excuse the audacity, extremely spoiled. I’ve lost count of all the girls who claim to have been with him, your high- Amberly.”

I chuckled when I heard how Lidia spoke about my future brother-in-law. She wasn’t wrong; Prince Luke was handsome, his blond hair looked like pure gold, and his blue eyes weren’t far from a replica of the ocean, but his arrogant, carefree, and selfish personality made him look like the worst candidate for any throne, or so they said. It was curious to analyze the capabilities and goals that I possess compared to those of Luke, who despite being two years older than me, seemed to have practically no training as well as his interest in the crown.

“I appreciate your honesty, Lidia,” I said sincerely. “I haven’t had the honor of meeting them yet, but something tells me that Prince Jake is a good person.”

“He is, and you will be astonished when you see him. You’re ready, by the way.”

The dress she had given me was light pink; made of pure silk, short sleeves raised slightly at my shoulders that guide the viewer to the factory V-cut, and a remarkable length to the floor, without being floaty. This color highlighted my light brown hair -like my eyes- which reached a little before my ribs dropped in majestic waves - my favorites. I looked radiant, although I would always prefer to wear a pair of pants and a jacket on casual days.

Two knocks on the door made Lidia cross the room quickly to attend to it.

“Excuse the interruption, Your Majesty.” A rather formally dressed boy appeared. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Hood, the son of the Diplomatic Advisor of the Kings, but to be honest, I think I am a bit of everything. The dance guests are here. The kings asked me to escort you to the ballroom.”

“Right away. Thank you very much for your help, Lidia.”

The maid nodded, a little taken aback by my thanks. Hood extended an arm and I reciprocated.

“So Hood… that doesn’t seem like your name, is that your last name?”

“You’re perceptive, Your Highness, I like it. It is my last name, my name is Calum but my father does not approve of saying my name. In the palace, I am best identified by my surname.”

I allowed myself to look away from the virtual paintings that adorned the halls, slowly reproducing old and new photographs of the royal family. Prince Luke looked happy in the older ones and there was no sign of him in the newer ones.

“… So I recommend you not drink the yellow liquid, it leaves a pretty bad mouth odor.” For a second I had forgotten that I was walking with Calum. “Any questions, princess?”

I opened my mouth to reply, being interrupted by some strong footsteps coming down the stairs at the end of the hall.

“There you are, Calum! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

A youthful voice was present, it was Prince Luke.

I allowed my eyes to roam his face. If I weren’t going to marry his brother, I would dare to think of his features as those of a Greek god I read so much about. So thin they were shocking. His blond curls gave a familiar air after having seen the queen’s hair, he had stopped at a point where the sun was shining on him, making the delicacy of the fabric of his white shirt revealing a little of his body. Suddenly, I was not surprised because he had many young women at his feet.

The blonde stopped when he noticed my presence. His demeanor changed radically and he became serious, his look bordering on arrogance.

“Good night… princess.”

His blue eyes peered up and slid boldly over my silhouette. My body tensed and the prince smiled when he noticed.

“If you allow us … Even if not, I honestly don’t care …” He laughed. If he hadn’t said that, I would have found him adorable. “I’ll take Calum with me for a moment.”

The prince tugged at Calum. I looked at the young man with concern, I still needed to know where to go.

“Follow the hall to the end, the door is open. See you later, Your Highness.” Calum indicated as if reading my mind.

"Thanks, Hood.”

I smiled walking past them with my posture restored. I regulated my breathing as I made my way to the living room when I realized that I had stopped breathing.

¥

The queen had wanted to mix the past of our world with the modernity of the present, starting with a classic giant chandelier right in the center of the room. Below, a circular platform with the thrones for the hosts of the evening. The people of the kingdom enjoyed the food displayed on a long table to one side of the room and the classical music that played in the background invited them to dance.

The sigh of someone behind me caught my attention.

“Oh! Nice to see you, Prince Jake.”

Prince Jake perfectly wore a suit that undoubtedly highlighted his arms, which looked strong and his spectacular form. Years of difference and experience showed in his handsome face adorned with a blond beard.

“Let’s not be formal with each other. We’re going to be husbands, after all, ”he suggested, extending his hand at the invitation of a dance.

I had a hard time knowing if his tone was friendly or serious, however, I took his hand and we began to dance.

“You’re right”.

“What would you like me to call you? Amberly, your highness, fiancée…?” Jake asked, this time clearly friendly.

I smiled.

"You can call me Amberly, Ams … My father used to call me Amber,” I said, too lost to notice that I had said it in the past tense.

“I heard about your father, I think he was one of the best kings the new world could witness. And he was very considerate in changing the laws to allow your mother to reign without him … Ams.”

My father had left my mother to take a year off, a year that lasted since I was seven. He left, leaving my mother in charge of the kingdom as the first queen to do it on her own.

I looked at my mother across the room. She was the older, talented, and brave version of me. She was talking with the King and Queen of Gardenstone using an air of born charisma and smiling. Our eyes met, suddenly I wanted to ask for the thousandth time the true importance of this union. But I couldn’t, it would be absurd, so I just smiled.

King Robert was a man with a fair complexion, brown hair, and a not very expressive face that was affected by stress and age lines, wearing a suit with insignia representing different achievements. Next to him, the flawless Queen Susan settled in a red dress noticeably longer than mine and long sleeves that her collected blonde hair revealed. Her air of excellence and at the same time warmth was incomparable, I felt happy with the simple idea of ​​being able to exchange ideas, doubts, and advice with the queen.

The king gave his wife a kiss on the palm of his hand and looked at Jake just as the current piece was coming to an end, asking him to join him in talking with my mother.

"See you after my speech,” Jake apologized.

Queen Susan approached silently offering her arm, I reciprocated and we began to walk around the people in the room.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” the queen said, breaking the silence. “Sorry we didn’t have time to talk earlier, but tell me how are you handling all this?”

I had even thought-rehearsed the correct answer.

“It is new and certainly a little scary, but I am not closed to the advantages and possibilities that there are in achieving this union, your majesty.”

“It’s a real honor to have you here, I can’t wait to show you everything so that you will soon be queen, I mean it. But we can start with my son, what do you think of him?”

"I don’t know him well enough, he seems to be a man who knows what he wants and has good manners.”

The truth is, I just thought he was very attractive and I only knew what Lidia had told me before. What I couldn’t help was being curious about Prince Luke.

“He can be when he knows what he wants but he doesn’t know what that is yet. Hope you help him figure it out if it’s not too much to ask.”

I nodded. In an instant, the king was beckoning me from a table set discreetly in the corner of the room, Luke was beside him. He was holding the hand of a fair-skinned blonde girl who looked almost angelic in the white dress she was wearing. She might seem like a princess. Seem.

The queen followed my gaze and lowered her arm.

"Oh, don’t worry dear, go to the King. We´ll have plenty of time to talk.”

I bowed and walked over to the King and Prince.

“Princess, excuse me for abusing your kindness, I know that you have received war planning lessons since you were little and I thought I would show you this simulator. My useless son does not know what would be the necessary movement to attack this blue base.”

The king says indicating the piece in the center of the map. I began to analyze it, the king had three large troops occupied and two small ones unoccupied and the base did not seem large. Luke moved the two little ones to the base, getting a glare from his father. I looked at them curiously for a moment, was this a test for me or for Luke?

Regardless of the answer, I took a large one taking it to the side with a small one, and did the same with the ones that were left at the base, leaving them balanced. The king smiled and applauded.

“Wonderful! Very simple, isn’t it?” The King exclaimed, clearly annoying Luke.

"As simple as there is, actually.”

An unknown voice caught the attention of everyone at the table. The owner was unknown to me but seeing that raven-haired man move in my direction, I knew it was his intention to change it.

[boopypastaissalty]

Here sre some of my Sanders Sides theories. Long post btw so yee

Roman and Remus were originally one all-encompassing creativity, then they split and become the two different sides of creativity, or the "Creativitwins". Their names seem to follow a theme: Ancient Rome, specifically the legend surrounding the creation/beginning of Rome. I think that the original creativity's name was Romulus. Here's why: Remus killed Romulus over a land dispute and then started the city of Rome in his brother's name. Citizens of Rome are called Romans. Though it could be argued that Thomas's moral sense as a concept, not necessarily Patton, separated the two, thus "killing" the original creativity.

Patton may have suffered from anxiety and could have created Virgil as a way to relieve some of his stress, therefore making him Virgil's "dad" in a sense, in Patton's mind warranting him calling Virgil "kiddo" all the time.

We all know that Patton is allergic to cats, but what about the others? What are their weaknesses? My speculations are that Virgil is iron deficient, as he doesn't like to rise up because it makes him dizzy, he is also described by Roman to be the "fairest of them all" and then admitting it was a pale joke in Virgil's expense. Roman is lactose intolerant, as when Patton is feeding him cream of broccoli soup, Logan says that it will "upset Princey's stomach". Logan is OCD: Always planning and organizing things. He gets upset when things don't go exactly as he plans it. He also feels the need to always be right and to make sure everyone else is kept in line. Also: Patton seems to suffer from depression. Oftentimes depressed people crack jokes and give people the general idea that they are happy. They also try to make other people happy. Patton also sometimes gets into these sad funks and even says "I had this problem where I'd hide my less than awesome feelings, so when I would feel like sobbing I'd just smile and crack jokes. I thought that was coping, only joking, never showing sadness, hoping it would just go away".

The thumbnail for "Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux" has a character selection screen telling the viewer to "select a side", but one thing I noticed is that there is a blank box, indicating a locked character or a character who hasn't been revealed yet. Another thing I noticed is that the sides have a rainbow theme going on. Thomas even says that he is "full rainbow all the time" as an allusion to his sexuality, and possibly even the sides in general. Roman is red, there is no known orange side, Janus is yellow, Remus is green, Patton is light blue, Logan is indigo, and Virgil is violet/purple. Red is the color of physical strength, power, confidence, and passion, which suits Roman's personality. Yellow can be happiness and joy, but also directly means cowardice and deceit, which is self explanatory. Green is a color of healing, life, and vitality, but the flip side being greed, jealousy, pessimism, and superficially. Blue is the color of trust, loyalty, faith, wisdom, truth, patience, and understanding, which sums Patton up pretty well. Indigo resembles wisdom, integrity, fairness, impartiality, and justice, which is all right up Logan's alley. Violet is the color of ambition, dignity, devotion, pride, mystery, independence, magic, being cynical, and mourning, which all makes sense in Virgil's case. Now to orange, which resembles joy, sunshine, risk taking, adventure, enthusiasm, creativity, attraction, success, rudeness, frivolity, and untrustworthiness, which is a balance of traits that both Roman and Remus have and directly resembles creativity, so orange could be a fusion of Roman and Remus, the original creativity before they split. Another possibility for the next side is someone who resembles ethos, as we have pathos and logos (Patton and Logan).

All the sides have an ancient Rome theme going on. Roman and Remus, after the legend surrounding the beginning of Rome. Virgil, after the Roman poet Publius Vergilius Maro, who is often called Virgil. Janus (formerly known as Deceit) after the Roman god of the same name (Janus is the god of new beginnings and transitions, often depicted with two faces facing in opposite directions, one for the past and one for the future). All of the sides except for Patton and Logan, whose names are derived from pathos and logos, an ancient Greek concept proposed by Aristotle. And have you noticed that they mirror each other in almost every way, suggesting that, much like Roman and Remus, they are brothers, possibly even twins?

Dukes tend to not be a part of the royal family, but if so they are princes who have gotten married. Does this mean that Remus is married?!?!? If so to whoooo?

Welcome to me overthinking things again! What if Roman has control over the other sides? Like he's creativity and the sides are figments of Thomas' imagination, so like what if one day he was just done with Logan's nonstop fact train he just (this is extreme) went: "Fuck you, Logan, you're dead now" and Logan straight up dies? Like where would his power end if he could do that? Overthinking things can be scary kids, let me do it for you.

If you overthink it: Patton basically just was like "Nah" in POF SvSR. So he said in SvS that going to the wedding would make Thomas feel good, something that he basically controls because he is Thomas' moral sense and at the center of most of his feelings. Basically Thomas went to the wedding and Patton was like: "This is nice and all and you did the right thing, but uhmmm about those happy feelings. No." And then got all sorts of frustrated about being wrong. So yee. I am just doing the overthinking things thing again.

What if creativity split solely as a big "Fuck you, Logan"? Like I just imagine: C: "Hey Logan, I'm performing mitosis"

L: "Yes, your cells- *he looks up* Whaaaaa?"

R&R: "Cha cha real smooth, Logan"

And thus the twins were "born"

Logan thinks feelings are bad and claims to not have feelings, even though he clearly does (cough, cough, Crofters the Musical? Getting angry in some episodes? Logan, you're a bad liar, bud). So he bottles up most of his feelings, for all practical purposes making him a ticking time bomb. Something's probably going to happen and he won't be able to hold it all in and he'll have an emotional breakdown of sorts. Another thing is he will not duck out. He knows he's too important to Thomas' mental wellbeing for that. He is also getting progressively more angry as the others listen to him less, so he's probably going to overwork himself trying to get everyone to listen to the point where he physically can't be there for Thomas. Cuz like I suspect Logan leaving would have the same effect as Thomas having a massive stroke: The right side of his body wouldn't work, he wouldn't be able to talk/communicate, and his reasoning skills would be gone.

Janus just loves philosophy. Every episode in the main timeline, he makes references to famous philosophers to get his point across.

Patton is always the first of the light sides to accept the dark sides. First with Virgil and then with Janus. He may be taking them in as his troubled but lovable children who he will defend under almost any circumstance.

Virgil's name is not Virgil. People think his full name is Virgilius, though Thomas and Joan have previously stated that it isn’t. Bc of that, some people have theorized that Virgil was lying about his name, or that when he moved to the “light sides” he changed/used a different name, and maybe they’re going to reveal that sometime. Like the scene with Remus and Vee where Re goes, “I would never hide anything from you” looks pointedly at Virgil, and you assume it’s bc he took forever to tell Thomas, but what if it’s bc he was lying about his name from the moment he told Thomas??? And also the moment when Janus says "It takes a liar to know a liar" and Virgil says "Don't" and the response was "What? I'm only talking about your name" I think his name could be Acanthus

Ya know, Patton probably has an indirect role in how the other sides look. Not like "But you're anxiety, you wear the hoodie" but closer to Thomas beliefs of stuff like lying is bad and the fact that Janus often plays devils advocate, so he has a snake face

Random thoughts:

Virgil has the most ace/demi aesthetic and I love that

SvS: Multi part episode, "bad/evil/dark" side gets accepted, the FEELS, angst. Hmmm…

The twins getting along and just like sitting at a table causing minor chaos.

Patton randomly hugs everyone. He just does.

Janus and Patton: animal bros

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Real Story Behind Krampus (2017), And The 17 Other Terrifying Christmas Tales And Traditions You NEED To Know About

Christmas is a time for family, a time for laughter, and a time for drinking volumes of alcohol that make your cousins concerned about your emotional wellbeing.

But most importantly, it's a time for demons to hunt down children and stuff them full of straw and pebbles. No, I’m not talking about the Eastenders Christmas Special - I’m talking about the Christmas traditions they don’t put in Hallmark movies.

As Christmas has been celebrated for 2000 years, it has amassed a collation of equally terrifying traditions and monsters that only the dark corners of history could conjure up. 

Although confirmed by the Dickensian tradition of sharing ghost stories (see Matthew Mcconaughey movie - or failing that some old book about poverty in Victorian Britain), it seems we’ve forgotten the true terror behind the most wonderful time of the year!

So, as your favourite paranormal blogger, I’ve taken it upon myself to bring together everything creepy ‘bout Christmas. 

Today’s post is gonna take y’all through the mythical monsters you should be on the lookout for, plus the Christmas traditions that bare a dark, twisted backstory.  

Which is all of them.

Let’s get spooky! 

First, Let’s All About The Monsters Of Christmas

Hands up if you’ve watched Krampus (2017).

Here’s the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6cVyoMH4QE  

It might not be Love, Actually, nor will it ever score a set of great reviews, but it got everyone talking about the mythical creature titling the film. 

Need a summary?

This dark-comedy/horror film centres around a dysfunctional family at Christmas. When the youngest child loses faith in Santa, he rips up his letter to him, sending a signal to Krampus that he has lost his Christmas spirit and thus must be punished!

Okay, this film doesn’t fit the actual legend that well. But the kid does get dragged to hell - and unfortunately, that’s what sticks closest to the creature titling the film. 

On top of this, the movie features the classic mysterious European grandmother that has a story about the war (as a European I can confirm this). But her story isn’t about an air raid, or some long-gone past ruler; instead, it explains a twisted tale regarding the most famous companion of Father Christmas. 

That being said, it provides an introduction that only scratches the surface of the mythical creatures of Crimbo:

Krampus is the half-goat, half-demon creature that is often witnessed wandering ‘round with Santa Claus. Concieved in the pre-christian era in central europe, his aim of existence was to punish naughty children. 

“So, Santa provides for the nice kids, Krampus provides for the naughty kids? Got it.”

If only it was that simple.

Krampus’s family tree is more twisted than the British royal family - and has a similar collection of dodgy relatives:

Son of the Norse goddess, Hel (ruler of the underworld and the dead), Krampus is a Perchten, a race of beasts born to scare away Winter. Never heard of ‘em? Well, you’ve probably heard of his grandfather, then: Loki.

Given his famous hegemony, it follows that he is always believed to be the Horned God of the Witches, and sticks to a devilish image.

With a dark, hairy body, large fangs and a tongue hanging far below his bottom lip, beast-like is an understatement. Accessorising his frightful look is a grasp of birch branches or a whip, as well as a sack or basket (to put children in and take to hell or save for a quick drink and snack later), and chains.

However, the chains part is still subject to debate: some believe it is an attempt to bind the devil by the Catholic Church in attempt to control him, while others claim it is because Krampus is Santa’s slave.

This directly relates to the position of Krampus and his fellow monsters - they are all believed to be Santa’s companions. 

So, we know who Krampus is. But did you know he has a whole night devoted to him?

Krampusnacht falls on the 6th December, a day from which people put on masks and get drunk, scaring kids. Alternatively, you can dress up and hand out coal, mirroring the Krampus spirit! Nevertheless, both serve as a reminder to children not to be naughty, as does the bundle of golden birch branches you can have in your house. 

Now, who’s ready to get their feminist on?

Frau Perchta is the female counterpart of Krampus. 

This goddess-monster goes about giving good kids silver coins, and giving naughty kids, uh, well, death.

She’d slice ‘em open, and stuff ‘em full of straw and pebbles. But her backstory goes much further than simply murdering children: as she oversees spinning as a part of the 12 days of Christmas, she focuses on people that get their work done.

And if you slack? Then you gon’ get murdered. 

Given her name, it’s obvious that like Krampus, she’s a beast-like creature. But her animalistic tropes only go so far as her feet - just like Krampus’ single goat hoof, she has a swan foot. 

“So, she’s a swan?”

Nope - she’s either regarded as a beautiful young woman, or an old crone. 

Classic Patriarchy. 

Next up is another animal, but this time, it comes in the form of a cat. Unfortunately, the Yule Cat is less Instagram, and more deadly. Yep - this Icelandic beast eats the kids that fail to complete their chores before Christmas. 

Just like Frau Perchta, it can be traced back to farmers attempting to scare their workers into getting shizz done. If they hadn’t processed the autumn wool, they’d be eaten by the cat. If they had, they’d receive new clothes.

You’d better be thankful for those socks, then!

But it turns out the Yule Cat isn’t the only monster from Iceland. In fact, he’s actually the pet of a family of ferocious Christmas beasts!

Gryla and Leppaludi are a couple hell-bent on detecting naughty children. Gryla, the matriarch of this famalam - is a Norse giantess, who wanders round each and every village in iceland. Once she’s found said children, she eats them. 

Often she is described as a beggar, asking for parents to turn over their disobedient children so she can chuck ‘em in her sack, and add them to her signature stew!

Her husband - well, third husband but who’s judging - Leppaludi, is what the Daily Mail would label a benefit-scrounger as he hangs about in their cave all day. On top of this is their 12 children: The Yule Lads.

(God, this has a Daily Mail story written all over it.)

Each lad has a different, um, quirk.

One harasses sheep. One steels tupperware - no, seriously, he makes a point of stealing pots with lids. And another steals candles from children.

So that’s Iceland covered - let’s head back to continental Europe!

Hans Trapp is our next contender for the ultimate creep of Christmas. Trapp is a resident of Alsace-Lorraine, and comes from near the border of France and Germany. But what’s really terrifying about this monster is that he once existed. 

Hans Von Trotha was a French Knight and man of particular political distinction. From his feuds with the church, to his ever-roaming spirit after he died, the following myth was by no means a random creation. However, the backstory to Hans Trapp took a bit of a detour from his past:

Trapp was reportedly a Satanist who would kill children. Yeah, you can see a theme here…

This rich, greedy man was excommunicated by the church, and then exiled to the forest where he would hunt children. Well, he would until struck by a bolt of lightning sent by God. But despite his rather dark past, his backstory is less really-demonic, more redemptive.

A bit like Krampus, he seeks to remind kids to be virtuous, teaming up with St. Nicholas to ensure children would be nice. 

Next is Romanian Werewolves. 

Yep, that’s plural. 

Sure, these man-beasts show up during the full moon, but also makes a point of unleashing their true forms at Christmas. This has merged with caroling in Romania - dressing up as animals and pissing off people busy having a cheeky Baileys rather than see their family is a common occurrence there.

Oh, and they go around and tell you not to have sex.

No, seriously, you aren’t allowed to have sex on Christmas Eve cause Jesus or somethin’. 

The other Christmas mythical creatures include:

Le Pere Fouettard, some fella who tags along with St. Nick, delivering lumps of coal to naughty kids. Well, when he’s not beating them up, that is!

Knecht Ruprecht joins Santa on his rounds too, but he isn’t like Pere, don’t worry! He kidnaps children, instead.

Next up is Zwarte Piet, one of Santa’s helpers who listens at the chimney of family homes to deduce if kids have been naughty or nice. Guys, we got a wholesome helper! Wait - people dress up in blackface to celebrate him?

I think we can all agree that racism is far scarier than anything else on this list…

Lastly, we have Belsnickel. And don’t worry, there’s no racism here. This bloke clad in fur and random clothes asks kids if they’ve been naughty or nice during the year.

Let’s Talk About The Terrifying Traditions

Well, we did it, guys! 

We made it through the monsters behind a Merry Christmas. 

And you can rest easy knowing these are all mythical creatures that can add a smidge of spook to your Christmas. But now it’s time to discuss the spooky side to the traditions we pull out of the attic year-upon-year.

So, no, these aren’t based on myths or religion - its based on historical fact!

Great.

Anyways:

If there’s one thing that defines Christmas - and is currently crippling my bank account - its gift giving.

Thinking of giving someone scissors for the most wonderful time of the year? It will literally cut your friendship or relationship in two. And shoes? The receiver of your gift will metaphorically walk away from your relationship. 

But if you’re looking for a more, uh, positive gift, a wallet or purse should be on your shopping list, instead. 

Wallets with money in them are believed to ward off demons, ghosts, and all other scary things.

Another creepy Christmas fact is the historical origins of mince pies. As a Brit, seeing Americans attempt to comprehend mince pies always figures as a solid meme. But the origin of it doesn’t steer too far from ‘Murican attempts to replicate this Christmas treat.

Back in the 16th century, cannibals would add human meat to pies, selling it off as actual meat. Oh, and this parallels some vague rumour of Santa being a cannibal. Basics, a holy man told him to give gifts to kids instead of eating them. 

In some strange and convoluted way this somehow chocks up to mincemeat now insinuating that there is no meat in there, instead.

*shrugs*

Speaking of tasty treats, why not make sure you stick to the rule of the Baker’s Dozen at Christmas?

When bakers would make batches, they would provide 13 of something instead of a dozen in case something turned out wrong. But they would also provide an extra roll, or a bun, at Christmas!

It’s for that reason that on the 12th day of Christmas, you have to take down your Christmas tree. Fail to do so? You’re gonna have to keep it up all year, then. It’s a mouldy pine tree, or its bad luck.

Our next tradition stakes it claim as the twisting of a Crimbo icon: it’s Santa Claus, himself.

But this time, he takes on an urban legend that I’m sure many actually believe: understandably, ‘santa’ can be traced to ‘satan’, as if it is the unholy being himself but in disguise. And ‘claus’? It can be translated to ‘hoof claws’, a running theme we see with the monsters like Krampus. 

So, could it be the devil in disguise?

Satan aside, who else likes trooping up to midnight mass and singing about the JC?

Well Christmas carols - and even carolling itself - actually sticks to a relatively dark past. Take Good King Wenceslas - this bloke let in peasants and encouraged them to join his bountiful feast! 

Unfortunately, his charitable efforts were not rewarded. He was stabbed with a lance repeatedly outside a church upon his own brother’s orders, and was then dismembered.

Yikes.

Historically, carollers would partake in similarly violent activities, demanding food and drink from their audience. Heck, they would even so so far as to start attacking, raping, and destroying their property! 

Guess it wasn’t a very Silent Night, then…

Our penultimate tradition is that of the Nutcracker: Whether you’re watching it, or using it to have a Christmas-specific nibble, there’s no doubt that this is pretty popular image of the festive season. 

But - and it’s a big ol’ ‘but’ - it’s based on a truly terrifying story.

No, there’s no ghosts, no ghouls, and certainly no demons. But there is a child marriage.

The story goes that a girl, Marie, sees a nutcracker come to life. Her Grandfather than launches into this story of how men can be cursed with the ugliness of a nutcracker. She replies by saying she’d marry one no matter how they looked.

She is then whisked away into a magical world from which she marries a nutcracker. 

This all goes down whilst she is 8 years old. 

Our final tradition of terror is less about the abuse of young girls, and more about evil beings breaking into your house. Merry Christmas?

See, you’d think that people coming down your chimney is reserved for one bloke in particular, but it turns out that European tales of malicious spirits taking the same route is a common tale frequently told. 

Belsnickel does the same, as do Greek goblins in order to terrorise the residents of the house.

So - What’s Your Verdict?

Which tradition left you shook?

And what Christmas film are you now going to watch to try and wipe this from your brain?

Be sure to hit follow to see a real spooky story tous les jours (everyday for the unsophisticated among us)!

At this point, I would tell you to have a Merry Christmas, but I think a safe one where, you know, you don’t get dragged to hell by Krampus, is best. 

[amwritingmeta]

15x03: Oh hell yes!

I don’t even know what to say. Honestly, does anything have to be said? It was grand! It delivered on all the levels. And it set us up for a run toward the midseason finale that’s already making me sweat along the edges. 

I mean, here, three episodes in, we have, let’s see, what do we have? We have:

Sam shushing Dean with that epically impatient gesture, yeah? 

Yeah. Or more like... WHAAAAAAAAT?? He actually did that? *rewind* Yeah, no, yeah, he did. He put his hand up as Dean was doing his “We’re not just giving up that’s not who we are” infuriated rant at anything inevitable (I mean, yes faith in their abilities is good, just not how it’s delivered bulldozer style) and Sam SHUSHED his brother.

Leader!Sam. Tick-a-box.

We have, what else do we have, oh, yes, we have Dean SENDING CAS TO HELL.

Wow. Woooooooooooow. Like. w o w.

That was h a r s h. No, that was Harsh with a capital H and I knew it would come back and bite him on the ass, the damn stubborn dickhead. Because of course he knows Cas isn’t to blame, logically, for what happened to Mary. He’s just dead set on pushing Cas away for a myriad of reasons all tied to his skewed sense of self, which is still skewed, I believe, no matter how far he’s already come in his progression, and this slight skew-age is making him dig himself into this hole of self-punishment. 

Because, logically, he knows what Cas means to him and, perhaps, he’s starting to get to a point where he can actually see and believe what he means to Cas and he can’t have that. Why should he get to be happy? E v e r?? And, of course, this is mirrored in what Cas is going through with his shadow representative telling him that the moment he is feeling even a breath of happiness, he’s bound for the Empty and eternal oblivion. Alone.

I can’t.

Only CAS will NOT HAVE IT, Dean. *sorry for shouting* *it’s just so perfect*

Cas says: “Jack is dead. Chuck is gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.”

I’m cry. I’m cry so hard. I’m not cry really but on the inside I’m cry and I’m hap. I’m so hap. (wtf stop that) (that’s not even language-ing) (it’s just confusing af) Sorry. Crying from goddamn happiness at the CHOICE Cas makes by the end of this episode to fucking move on from a situation where he’s getting no emotional support from this man with whom he’s been through so much, no benefit of the doubt this time around, because of Dean’s own internal hangups, and Cas is saying, for himself, that that’s enough now. 

Cas is saying, for himself, I’m clearly not wanted. 

Cas is looking at the situation before him as though soon he won't even be needed, because it seems his powers are failing and without them, what use is he to Sam and to Dean exactly? (coming off of what the abominable Belphegor said to him about being used and discarded, of course)

And so Cas is saying, for himself, time to move on from this. Time to let you go. Because I can’t continue on like this, being rejected and sent to my death as if I mean nothing to you, not being listened to, only here to be blamed for everything that’s going wrong. No. You’re not putting that on me. You’re not putting all of it on me. You do that - and you lose me.

Head. Fucking. Exploded.

Cas just drew a goddamn line. 

And look. Look at it. Look at the narrative as a whole. Look at what they represent to one another.

With Cas as representative of Dean’s Faith (in himself and in the future) 

Dean as representative of Cas’ Humanity (mildly dormant until Dean)

then what needs to happen narratively for these two to actually be truly GOOD for each other is a closing of the arc that has seen them standing in as representatives of these core traits for the other, and for these core traits to exist within either of them without the other’s direct influence.

See? See what is happening?? They are letting each other go. They are stepping away from needing the other to find their way into their true identity - which is the function they’ve both served in each other’s individual arc since 4x01 - and, instead, they are moving into the final lap of actually reaching insight and understanding and self-actualisation of their own accord.

I swear.

It is breathtaking. It’s taken my breath. My breath is gone. I’m suffocating. Send help. Send. Help. Now.

Okay, I’m good.

Letting each other go means letting go of need and making way for want, for choice, for invitations to stay and for actual proof that they know who they are whether they have the other in their life or not, yeah? 

Oh man I hope we get this. Whatever form it takes, however subtly they play it, I do hope we get the spirit of this!

Imagine Cas powering down and dealing with humanity on his own, no longer lost and alone and afraid, but choosing to hunt without a second thought. No more dressing himself up as Steve and trying to find purpose in human everyday activity, because his purpose - whether angel or man - was always and will always be to protect. 

And even his worry about dying, if it even comes up, might be dispelled if he realises that death means a 50/50 chance of Heaven and absolutely no chance of the Empty... Taking away Cas’ powers is the ultimate way of making him realise he can cheat that deal plus give us insight into what will make him truly happy! But. We shalleth see-eth!

And Dean? He needs to boost that good old faith in himself, and that faith, to me, is all to do with chilling the fuck out. With allowing Sam to take the lead (and boy is he starting to). With easing up on the need for control. With relaxing into himself, his true self, and letting his facade, his performance, fade away. I wonder if we’re bound for one final short deconstruction arc. 

I’m interested in the cheerleaders next ep. Would be nice to not get a single white straight male dudebro comment out of Dean, you know? It’d just be creepy at this point anyway. But yeah, seeing the underlining of how the kid full of bravado and faked self-confidence is now becoming a true adult would be wonderful. That said, part of the real Dean, I believe, is his giddiness at nerding out over stuff he truly loves and that childlike side of him should never ever go away. More of it, says I! :)

Dean needs to believe he deserves to be saved, but he’s the one doing the saving now, opening up to himself and, more importantly, to actual, real, raw vulnerability. Will he act as though Cas leaving means nothing to him? Most likely. But for how long? Sam will see right through it, right? It would be amazing if Dean’s not being defensive about it. You can tell the moment he says the damning words “And why does that something always seem to be you?” that, the moment the words are out, Dean’s questioning them like he can’t believe he actually said them out loud.

No faith. Stated. 

Dean’s faith in Cas - an expression of Cas being representative of faith to Dean - is gone. And it’s gone for a reason. Because it has to be. Because Cas isn’t representative of faith anymore. Because he shouldn’t be. Dean isn’t aware of it, of course, but narratively he’s being pushed into a position of letting go of Cas. So. It would be amazing if that’s what we get. Not Dean being defensive of Cas’ need to go, but rather Dean being quiet, accepting, perhaps a little defeated, because he literally drove Cas away, but thinking (erroneously but still) that this is for the best. Cas is moving on and so should they and all is well.

Except.

He’ll miss Cas. He’ll miss Cas for who Cas is, not what he represents. He’ll want Cas back, because he loves him. But he can’t want Cas back... maybe hopefully... before he feels deserving of it. Before he believes that what’s actually for the best is for Cas to come home.

The “Where are you going?” is enough to show that Dean cares, that Cas is not really dead to him and that he doesn’t want Cas to leave, no matter how much he’s pushing and pushing and pushing Cas away. And, yeah, the expression on Dean’s face as Cas walks out the door says more than a thousand words. *hot damn Jensen Ackles*

Cas is taking control and he is done being taken for granted. Glory Effing B.

Now I’ve gone into an absolute melting pot of fantabulous setting up for possible character progression for both Cas and Dean, I cannot leave Sam out of it, because I dance, you dance, we all dance under a pogo stick at how this was a fantastic ep for him!

Rowena and Ketch both dying in the same episode is interesting to me, but instead of looking at Dean mirrors (going from dark to light - shadow to integration) I’d like to look at Rowena as Sam mirror this episode.

Sam is at a point where he’s going to have to deal with some deeply buried memories of Hell and of Lucifer, as well as some deeply repressed fears of his idea of being tainted by the devil, if he’s to heal the wounds of his past.

In 13x12, Sam’s conversation with Rowena in Baby revealed that he’s scared all the time, pushing his fear down because it’s necessary, not talking about it because, basically, it’s private/he doesn’t know how to. How can anyone relate to the fear he carries around? Only someone who’s seen Lucifer’s true face would know. 

But Lucifer - for better or worse - is Sam’s dark mirror, his shadow manifested, and all the sides to himself that he’s tried for so long to pretend aren’t a part of him, out of fear that they are all that there truly is to him, should begin to surface so that he has to face them, only to look them in the eye and realise that they don’t hold sway over him, because he’s learned, throughout this journey he’s been on, what matters to him, deep down, what he stands for and what he believes in.

And, front and centre, Sam believes in saving innocent lives. Just as Dean and Cas, Sam is Protector and Shield first, Killer and Weapon second. 

I believe Sam needs to lose his so tightly held and finely tuned control over himself, his ability to push things down, in order to reach proper self-liberation and move into self-actualisation and inner balance. What better way for him to lose it than through a possession. Very intrigued to see what that flash of black eyes from the Godwound might bring us. And Sam is still wounded, lest we forget, so there is still some healing to be done here.

So the symbology of having to kill Rowena then becomes Sam killing someone mirroring his fear, his memories of Lucifer, and this mirror then falling into the Pit through a gaping wound in the ground, bringing back thoughts of Sam’s first sacrifice that brought him to the cage and started his entire journey into true self-repression. 

I see the symbology as calling out Sam’s need to stop pushing things down, to stop burying them, but also, through him being the only person who can kill Rowena (face and integrate his fears) the symbology becomes an underlining of how he, and he alone, holds the power to heal his wounds.

We shall see how it develops, but I have all the hope that it’s going someplace good, that we’re moving towards healing for all of them. And nope still not expecting rainbows and daffodils galore but... a few rainbows would be so nice.

Understated rainbows. In sort of washed out colours. On the wall of a lake house. Mayhaps?

(come back, Jack) (we miss you!)