#ah spellcheck. never change

[sky-scribbles]

... yes, Google Docs, that is exactly what I meant to write. How could I have been so foolish.

[justauthoring]

change in perspective.

you never thought jamie tartt could be anything but a prick.

a/n: i have no explanation for this other than i just finished ted lasso (fashionably late as always) and this man makes me giggle like a little school girl :) (this is also not spellchecked! i'll do it later ;))

pairing: jamie tart x f!assistant coach!reader

“Does someone want to explain to me just what exactly Jamie Tartt is doing out on the field?”

All three coaches turn to you at the sound of your voice, but it’s Ted’s eyes that light up the second he registers your presence. A smile curls onto his lips as he turns to face you, posture nonchalant with his hands shoved into his pockets. “Ah! Well, if it isn’t my favourite assistant coach, Y/N! I was worried something had happened.”

Blinking back at Ted, you simply cross your arms over your chest. “What is Jamie doing out on the field?”

Ted lets out a laugh but it comes across more as a grimace as he rubs the back of his neck, turning his head to glance at Nate and then Beard. 

It’s Beard who explains. 

“Ted invited him back to the team.”

The water bottle you’d been holding in your hands promptly falls to the ground with a thud as your lips part, mouth left wide open, staring blank faced at Ted who continues to laugh somewhat uncomfortably.

“What?”

Beard raises his hands as if to gesture that he is an innocent party in your accusation all whilst you shift your shocked expression to a glare at Ted.

“Well, you know… I–I just thought that, well… he’s a good player, yeah?”

Shaking your head, you huff; “regrettably so.” Because even you weren’t bitter enough to not admit that Jamie was a great football player. Fantastic really. But–But he was an absolute prick who you’d thought you’d never have to work with ever again.

“And this team needs a little something to spice us up, yeah?” Ted, in Ted style, does a little dance (that’s meant to make you laugh) to add to the effect of his words.

“No,” you say blankly, before Ted raises a brow at you. Sighing, your shoulders fall. “Yeah.”

Offering you a smile, Ted rests his hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Give him a chance, okay?” He asks, his eyes pleading as he nods down at you. “I think he really means to make up for it all.”

You seriously doubt that. But, you don’t voice that opinion.

“Fine,” you surrender, dropping your hands to your side. “But I’m allowed to laugh at him when this team kicks his arse. Which they will because he deserved it.”

Ted snorts at that, “don’t worry, Nate’s already got you beat on that front.”

Your eyes shift to said man, and he’s sending you a wide grin and a thumbs up in a way that makes you chuckle despite how truly unhappy you were with Jamie only a few feet away from you, on your team.

-

The only thing that had made practice somewhat bearable was seeing Jamie repeatedly knocked on his ass.

And then mocked by the rest of the team.

Truly, it brought a smile to your face.

You’re still laughing to yourself about it as you finish packing up your stuff in the office you shared with Nate. Him, Ted, Beard and pretty much most of the team were already gone or on their way out the door, but you usually elected to stay a little longer than everyone else trying to come up with new gaming strategies, plays and honestly, team bonding exercises since you found it incredibly important that the team genuinely care for one another if they were going to play on a team together.

You’re just sliding your laptop into your bag when a knock pulls you from your musings.

“Oh, Sam, just give me–”

Except, it isn’t Sam when you finally glance up. It’s Jamie.

You’re leaping to your feet before you can stop yourself, a surge of panic running through your body as your wide eyes meet his. He’s blinking back at you, as if as shocked by your reaction as you were, and before you know it you’re glancing around, half expecting Ted or Beard to be there because why else would Jamie be here?

But neither of them are there, of course, they’d left twenty minutes ago.

“Coach Lasso and Beard have already left,” you explain before he can say anything. “You’re gonna have to wait until tomorrow to talk to–”

Shaking his head, Jamie takes a step towards you. “I wasn’ lookin’ for them. I, uh… was lookin’ for you actually.”

You blink. Once, twice, before your brows furrow. “What?”

He steps towards you again, fully stepping into your office as he scratches at his face absentmindedly, looking just as uncomfortable as you felt. He glances around for a moment before his gaze focuses back on you, and the serious expression on his face is one you’re not used to or know how to react to so you continue to stare blankly at him.

“I wanted to, em, apologize, I guess? Actually, no, not I guess. I am sorry. And I want to apologize for how I treated ya in the past. You know, for all the shitty things I said and did.”

You must be dreaming.

Surely, you’re dreaming.

There’s no way that the Jamie Tartt, famed football star and resident asshole, is apologizing to you. Some random female assistant coach on a team he’d once laughed at for existing? Yeah. Not possible.

But… it’s either that or he’s taking the piss out of you.

Whatever it is, the shock fades in seconds and is quickly replaced by an indescribable amount of anger. 

Because, honestly? Screw him. Screw him for thinking he could walk in here, say sorry and it’d all be okay. After all that he did.

“You’re sorry?” You ask, pointing at him.

He nods, slowly. 

“That’s funny,” is what you end up saying, letting out a snort as he blinks at you in surprise. “You sure didn’t seem sorry all those times you laughed at me when I tried to coach you. What was it you used to say?” You quirk a brow at him as his face falls, the hopeful glint that you’d accept his apology fading from his eyes as you laugh at him. “Oh, that’s right! That I wasn’t meant to be a coach because I’m a woman and rather, I should just look pretty and help make you look good. And if it wasn’t you belittling me for my job, it was you trying to get in my pants and then laughing about it as if that’s some sort of joke.”

You finish your rant with a huff, shoulders rising and falling heavily as Jamie continues to stare back at you.

You hadn’t really realized how much his comments had truly hurt until that moment. Or, rather, you’d pushed them down so far to the back of your mind that it had been bubbling up until this very moment where he tries to apologize offhandedly like that was going to somehow make things better.

“I may have only known you for a little bit before you left us for Manchester, Jamie,” you add, voice considerably calmer as you frown at him. “But you sure left an impression. And one little apology is not gonna make up for the amount of times I went home crying and feeling worthless, because of you.”

Jamie doesn’t say anything. His lips part like he means to you, but he ends up just gaping at you like a goldfish, looking rather stupid, before there’s a light knock on the door and you’re pulled from your thoughts only to find Sam poking his head into the office. He looks concerned, eyeing Jamie out of the corner of his eye with a certain edge, before turning to you.

Biting your lip, you blink, hating the way your vision blurs and quickly you wipe at your face before any tears can fall.

You refused to cry in front of Jamie.

“Just a second, Sam,” you call, offering him a small, somewhat forced smile. You turn to your desk, grabbing your bag and doing a quick survey to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything before promptly pushing your way past Jamie and slipping past Sam. He sets a hand on your back to guide you forward, blocking you from Jamie’s view and you don’t see it, but just before Sam turns to walk away himself, he’s sending Jamie a rather nasty glare.

The message is clear; leave her alone.

-

The next morning there’s a vase of flowers sitting on your desk.

Nate is eyeing them when you walk in, before he blinks at the sight of you and quickly turns away as if afraid you caught him staring. You just blink at him, before looking at the flowers once more.

Poking your head out to the main office, you gesture over your shoulder; “where’d the flowers come from?”

Beard raises his hands in a silent gesture that they’re not from him, before your gaze falls to Ted.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “You’d know if I got you flowers,” he winks with a light chuckle and rolling your eyes as you make your way to your desk. There’s a card in front of the vase and as you take a seat, you take the card, flipping it open.

All that’s written on it is the name of the flowers; Lily of the Valley.

Frowning, you let your eyes wander across the white flowers, leaning forward to smell them and letting your eyes fall shut at the sweet scent. 

Only thing is, who sent them?

Leaning back on your chair, you peek into the locker room, trying to see who of the players is there. There’s not too many. There’s Sam, but you walked in with him so you know it’s not him, also he most likely would’ve just given them to you if he was going to get you a bouquet of flowers. Isaac’s there, but you doubt he’d give them to you. Richard and Dani are there, but they're much too forward to try and secretly give you flowers.

And then your eyes fall on Jamie. He’s already looking at you, but he’s quick to glance away the second your eyes fall on him, his cheeks turning a bit red.

Your brows furrow.

It couldn’t–

“Apparently, Lily of the Valley symbolizes apology. Specifically when one doesn’t know how to apologize.” Nate explains, reading off of his phone, the card from your desk in his other hand, before he glances at you with a curious smile. “I wonder who wanted to apologize to you?”

You glance at Nate, before the flowers, before peeking back at Jamie who’s tying the laces of his boots, pointedly not glancing up.

Moving back towards your desk, you stare at the flowers a moment longer.

What the actual hell.

-

“Oh, just–”

Before you can properly register the voice, a blur of blue is suddenly in front of you, opening the door you’d been about to open yourself before your hand can even reach for the handle.

Slowly your eyes flicker upwards to fall on Jamie as he stands beside you, holding the door wide open, a rather proud smile plastered onto his face.

“There ya go,” he offers, head tilting towards the door. “Ladies first.”

Quirking a brow, you nod at Jamie slowly, stepping through the door while you try to fight the smile that threatens to curl onto your lips.

“Smooth, Tartt,” you offer over your shoulder.

He grins back at you, nodding at you.

You can’t help the laugh, however, when instead of stepping through the door like you expected (assuming he’d only done it cause he needed something from here in the first place), he lets the door shut with a goofy wave, leaving you alone in the room.

Pausing, you shake your head.

That was new.

-

“And you, Coach?”

It takes you half a second to realize Jamie is talking to you and you only really realize it because Ted, Beard and Nate are all looking at you, waiting.

Blinking, you swallow thickly, eyes falling back on the team only to see they’re all staring at you as well, also waiting. Your eyes fall on Jamie and he’s smiling at you, happy and all teeth as he rocks on his feet, patiently waiting for you to say anything you might or might not have to say.

It’s not like the rest of the team hadn’t ever asked you for your opinion or if you had any pointers. And of course Ted made sure to consistently ask for your suggestions, wanting to make sure you felt your voice was heard and included.

As the only female coach for a male’s football team, you’d managed to find yourself an incredible group of boys who listened to you despite your gender and actively made sure to try out anything you suggested.

But never had you ever had all their attention like you do in that moment. All of them just standing there, solely focused on you.

And that was because of Jamie.

Biting your lip, you shuffle on your feet. “Oh, well… I–”

But your voice is shaky and you’re not sure how to say what you want, but as your eyes flicker back over to Jamie he’s still grinning at you, smile never wavering and he’s sending you a thumbs up.

As if to say; you got this.

And then the words just seem to pour from your lips after that.

-

The addition of Roy Kent to the line up of coaches is both positive and negative.

And really, it isn’t negative for anyone but yourself. Not that having Roy on the team was negative, just, well… It was already hard enough being the only women assistant coach with two other men, but now you were competing with three men and Roy was nothing if not an intimidating and commandeering addition to the team.

His desk had been squished in between yours and Nate’s and while the man was lovely, if not a little aggressive, by the end of his first day you found yourself drained and feeling like a fool. Roy wasn’t just another man, but he was a previous football star himself; he had the on field experience to back up his suggestions and he knew what he was talking about so that when he did say something, no one really batted an eye to his suggestions.

Or, at least, questioned them.

Worst part was you liked Roy. Sure he swore a lot, and sometimes he’d grunt instead of replying to you but before he’d had to leave the team, he’d always listened to your suggestions with an open mind and never made you or the suggestions feel less just because it was a woman saying them. He was an absolute sweetheart underneath all of the gruff, and you knew him outside of work quite well as well because he was dating Keeley.

So, with the jealousy that you couldn’t help but have, you also felt extremely guilty. 

“Are… Are you alrigh’?”

Gasping, you sit up at the voice, panicked eyes glancing around until you settle on Jamie.

“Jesus, Tartt,” you breathe, pressing a hand to your chest as you shake your head. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” he offers with a light laugh. “I didn’ mean to.”

“It’s fine,” you sigh, letting yourself relax once more as you slump against the wall behind you, pulling your knees closer to yourself. “I just thought I was alone. Didn’t think anyone would come wandering in here.”

Jamie steps into the room at that, letting the door shut behind him as he nods. “Saw you come in ‘ere,” he explains, taking a seat across from you. “Wanted to make sure you were alrigh’”

Shaking your head, you brush him off; “I'm fine.”

“You, um… you sure?”

Turning to Jamie, he’s staring back at you in a way that tells you he doesn’t believe you. He’s got a concerned look in his eyes and he’s fidgeting with his fingers, his knee rocking nervously as he tries to find the words to say.

Sighing, you shake your head; “it’s stupid.”

“Not when it comes to ya.”

Blinking, you turn to Jamie, lips parted in surprise. Except, he doesn’t seem shocked by what he said or embarrassed. He continues to stare back at you with that concerned look in his gaze, patiently waiting for you to explain what’s going on.

“It’s just… It’s hard,” you start, struggling to find the words. How do you explain to him, not only a man but the same man that used to belittle you for the exact same thing you’re feeling self conscious about, that you feel like you’re being tested in your own job everyday just because you’re a woman? You weren’t sure he’d understand. And honestly, although you’ve seen the changes in him and regrettably started to believe them, you weren’t positive he wouldn’t just laugh at you for it anyways.

And yet, you continue to speak.

“Being what I am at my job,” you add, eyeing him carefully.

Jamie frowns. “Being a woman?”

Inhaling sharply, you nod; “yeah. I know Ted and the rest of the guys would never belittle me or make me feel less because I am, but… It’s just hard being the only woman coach for a team of men. Even if you guys don’t mean to, and I know you don’t, you all naturally gravitate towards Ted and the guys more than you do me.”

Lips parting, Jamie stares back at you.

Avoiding his gaze, you glance down at your lap. “Makes me doubt myself sometimes.”

“Oh.”

Nodding, you pull at a thread on your pants. “Yeah. Oh.”

Silence follows and you feel ten times more uncomfortable as the seconds pass. You can still feel Jamie’s gaze on you, watching, waiting, maybe trying to find something to say, and it’s making you feel more and more embarrassed as time goes. 

Shaking your head, you suddenly move to a stand.

“Anyways, it’s late so you should–”

“I think yer an amazing coach.”

Lips left parted, you turn, only to find Jamie suddenly standing in front of you.

“You make great strategy plays, you are undeniably smart about the terminology and nobody cares about the wellbeing of the team more than you,” he continues, his gaze never once faltering. “You cheer us on and never ever make us feel like we’re doing something wrong or stupid for askin’ for help. I know it feels like we listen to the guys more, but every single one of us leans on your advice heavily and we’d be lost without yer support and guidance.”

Eyes widening, you don’t realize it until you blink that you’re crying.

Your hand falls to your cheek, feeling wetness.

“Shit,” Jamie curses and your eyes fall back on him. “I didn’t mean to make ya cry, I just–”

Your arms wound around him before he can finish, pulling him flush against you as you press your head into the crook of his neck. Jamie freezes at the touch, body tensing but just for a second before he eases, his own arms coming around to wrap around you in return.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, “I… Thank you so much.”

“O-Of course,” he murmurs, voice low and you can feel his chest rumble against your cheek. “I just… thought ya should know.”

Biting your lip, you pull back at that, quickly wiping the tears off your cheeks as you step away from him. Jamie lets you go with ease, both of your cheeks red, yours burning when you realize you’d not only just flung yourself at him but you’d gotten his shirt wet with your tears.

“I.. I’m sorry,” you whisper, gesturing to his chest. “I didn’t mean to cry on you.”

Jamie shrugs; “no worries, love.”

Meeting his eyes, the two of you stare at each other for a moment, before you’re quickly stepping past him. “Anyways, I should… I should go.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Me… Me too.”

Reaching for the door, you glance back at him; “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Nodding, Jamie grins down at you; “see you tomorrow.”

-

“We’ve got a problem.”

Both Keeley and Rebecca turn to you at your words, whatever they’d been saying promptly getting cut off the second they see the panic on your face.

Rushing you inside, they settle on either side of you on Rebecca’s couch in her office, Keeley’s arm wrapped around your waist and Rebecca offering you a cup of tea as they turn to you with concerned eyes.

“Okay, lay it out,” Rebecca says, “what’s wrong and who do I have to fire?”

Letting out a light laugh, you shake your head. “You don’t have to fire anyone.”

“Good,” she nods, “because I didn’t want to fire anyone.”

Rolling your eyes teasingly, you take a sip of your tea before reaching forward to set it on the table.

“Okay, then, babes,” Keeley speaks up, frowning at you, “then what’s the matter? You came in here looking like something horrible’s happened.”

Letting out a groan, you press your hands to your face; “that’s because something horrible has happened.”

“What?” Keeley presses, squeezing your arm.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitate a moment, eyeing the both of them, before you whisper in shame; “I think I fancy Jamie.”

There’s a beat of silence, before;

“Like Tartt?” Keeley asks, eyes widening in absolute surprise. “Jamie Tartt? Our Jamie Tartt?”

“Like on my team Richmond, Jamie Tartt?” Rebecca adds, pointing at herself before gesturing to her office.

Cheeks burning, you hide your face in your hands again. “Yes.”

Keeley and Rebecca eye each other for a moment, before Rebecca’s pulling your hands away from your face.

“Y/N.”

You just shake your head, trying to grab a pillow to further hide yourself.

“Babes, stop,” Keeley laughs lightly. “Explain to us why you fancy Jamie.”

“Yeah,” Rebecca encourages. “It’s alright.”

Hands falling to your lap with a huff, you frown. “It’s all his fault,” you whine. “Because he’s trying to be better now and I can’t handle that. Before, you know, when he was a prick, that’s just it! He was a prick. And I’m sorry Keeley for saying this but I always found him a little attractive.”

Snorting, Keeley shakes his head; “babes, why do you think I dated him?”

Biting your lip, you sigh. “But he was awful, right?” She nods and Rebecca snorts, clearly feeling that’s an understatement. “And when he came back, I was so mad. Mad because he was so mean and laughed at me and belittled me for being a woman, and not to mention he was terrible to the whole team. Like when he used to bully Nate or hog the ball and never give Sam a chance to show his skill.”

They both nod to your words.

“So I was upset. Upset because he was back and because Ted didn’t tell me or ask me how I felt. And I said to myself that this whole apology thing was just an act and he’d go right back to being his old self in a few days. I was proud of myself too because when he tried to apologize, I didn’t let him.” Keeley squeezes your arm at that and Rebecca smiles proudly. “But then the next day I came in and he bought my flowers!”

Their eyes widen.

“He did?”

“Yeah,” you nod at Keeley. “A big bouquet of Lily of the Valley and you know what Lily of the Valley symbolizes?”

Keeley shakes her head and Rebecca sighs, shoulders falling. “Apology,” she explains for you. “You give them to someone you hurt and don’t know how to apologize to.”

Keeley’s lips part in disbelief; “I never got fucking Lily of the Valley’s.”

Sinking into the couch, you cry out; “exactly! And then he starts opening doors for me and helping me pack things up… he’s listening to me in practice when he never used to, deliberately asking for my opinion after practice after the rest of the coaches have said their pieces. He tells the rest of the team to shut up if he feels they’re not listening to me and he asks me for pointers alone so he can get better. And! God! I was upset and he made this whole big speech about how amazing a coach I am and how the team appreciates me and shit and then I hugged him and cried on him and he didn’t laugh at me or make me feel like shit. He… he was actually really fucking sweet.”

The second you’re done ranting, Keeley and Rebecca glance at each other, before coming to the same conclusion.

“Well,” Keeley says hesitantly. “It definitely sounds like you fancy him.”

Pulling at your hair, you let out a cry. 

“No, no,” Rebecca shakes her hand, pulling your hands away from your face and holding them safely in her own. “It’s fine, love. Jamie has really turned himself around.”

“He has,” Keeley is quick to agree. “I mean, he never did any of that stuff for me and we were already in a relationship.”

“But it isn’t fine,” you argue, shaking your head. “Because he’s Jamie Tartt, and he’s fucking fit and now he’s nice too… and he’s a star football player and I’m just Y/N Y/L/N, some random assistant female coach on a team of male football players. No one knows me and I’m not special and I’m not a model or a celebrity or any of the usual types he goes for.”

“That is absolutely not true,” Rebecca says instantly, face appalled as if she can’t believe you’ve just said what you have.

“You are Y/N fucking Y/L/N.” Keeley adds, moving to grip your cheeks tightly between her hands. “The first and only female assistant coach of Richmond who has come up with more strategy plays that have helped us win than anyone else. Not to mention, you are proper fit. You are an absolutely fucking gorgeous and successful woman that Jamie would be incredibly lucky to have.”

Lips parting, you blink. Keeley and Rebecca are both looking at you in a way that leaves no room for arguments and feeling your eyes water, you pout; “you mean that?”

“Of course I fucking mean that.”

“Y/N,” Rebecca calls, squeezing your hands tightly. “I am so proud of you and the woman that you are and incredibly lucky to have you as a coach for my team. I know that, Keeley knows that, the team knows that and it looks like Jamie is aware of that more than anyone else. I know it’s hard to leave yourself vulnerable like this, but at least give him a shot.”

Biting your lip, you meet her eyes, finding the reassurance in them you needed before you glance over at Keeley who is grinning widely, nodding.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

-

You’d believed what Rebecca and Keeley said.

Of course you did because you know they’d never lie to you.

And you’d promised them you’d give Jamie a chance before simply believing there’s no way he’d like you. But promising and doing was a lot different, and it’s hard to find the chance to say anything to him over the next few days.

The whole team is anxious because of the game against Manchester City coming up, especially since the last time they’d played them, it was the match that had gotten them regulated. Adding even more to that, Jamie had been on the Manchester team when that had happened and even though you know he’d made great strides towards making up with the team since coming back to Richmond, he was just anxious as the rest of them.

For a multitude of reasons you didn’t understand.

So, there wasn’t a chance to say anything.

And there certainly wasn’t one now that they’d lost. You’d briefly wondered to yourself that if they won, maybe you could run to Jamie and just confess your feelings then, thick in the adrenaline of it all. Like they did in the movies. All sweet and romantic.

Only, Richmond hadn’t won and you certainly weren’t going to now.

Especially when you were just as disappointed as the rest of them.

You’re speaking with Ted and Roy in the locker room when Jamie’s father comes in, and any conversation you’d been having falls silent the second he does.

You watch in stunned silence as Jamie’s father makes an embarrassment of himself, laughing and joking as he makes fun of the team's loss before zeroing in on Jamie himself. He says the cruelest things, and everything clicks in that moment why Jamie was the way that he was before he’d left Richmond.

And when Jamie punches his father straight across the face, you jump and your hands fall to your lips but you’re not shocked and you don’t think Jamie is wrong either.

No one says anything and no one does anything as Beard drag’s Jamie’s father out of the locker room and Jamie stands there, still standing in a defensive position. You want to do something, you want to say something, but you don’t think it’s your place. And you don’t know if Jamie would even feel all that much comfort with having you do anything.

Roy steps past you in the next second, taking Jamie into his arms and he loses it then, his sobs echoing throughout the otherwise silent room.

Ted runs past you at one point, but you don’t notice, eyes stuck on that of Jamie and Roy.

Then, Roy’s pulling away, but Jamie’s still got tears in his eyes, pressing his hand to his eyes as he tries to hide away. Suddenly, Roy’s eyes are on you, and he’s smiling in a knowing way, before promptly kicking everyone else out of the room. Your eyes widen as he does, body tensing in panic as Roy nods at you just before shutting the door behind him, leaving just you and Jamie in the room alone.

You can hear him sniffling to himself, a small sob breaking past his lips as you stand there, feeling out of place and like you’re stepping past his boundaries. So, slowly, you step towards him. “I can, uh, leave too if you’d like some–”

“No,” is all Jamie says before he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you tightly as he presses his face into the crook of your neck. You freeze at the action at first, unsure what to do or say, before slowly your body eases, and your arms are raising, hands falling to his back as you squeeze him tightly.

He clutches onto you, sobbing into your neck, and you let him wordlessly, rubbing his back in smooth, slow patterns in a way you hope is comforting.

And the two of you stay like that for a while.

-

Your relationship from then on changes.

More than it already had.

You find yourself willingly hanging out with him when you would’ve avoided it otherwise before. Jamie always seems to be there, lending a helping hand or letting you talk his ear off about something or another.

The two of you never really spoke about what had happened in that locker room but you didn’t need to. It went without saying. You understood Jamie in a way that you hadn’t before, and although it didn’t excuse it, it made sense why he’d been the way had been before and it showed him trying to be better meant a lot more than it had before.

So, the season ends, and you watch the changes Jamie’s doing with a smile and a completely different attitude. When he gives Dani the shot, or when he joins in on team chants before matches. He’s still arrogant and cocky, but it’s in a more loveable way than it had been before, and now when he comes in every morning wearing his stupid ICON hat and dumb sunglasses, you can barely hide the smile that curls onto your lips.

Or the way that despite him wearing such stupid things, you think he looks ridiculously hot.

The season ends and then the new one starts up with one less coach after Nate had left only to join West Ham. It had certainly been a betrayal and you’d be lying if you said it hadn’t hurt. You’d always felt like Nate had understood you in a way maybe some of the others didn’t and the two of you had shared that office alone for so long that you couldn’t help the way you’d cried when you’d realized what he’d done.

Jamie holds you through it. 

A soft, gentle and comforting presence that never makes you feel silly for feeling so hurt and betrayed and for that, you’re eternally grateful.

Suddenly, Jamie is someone you can’t live without. You look forward to every morning you see him walk into the locker room, and you find yourself texting him at night, unable to stop the giddy feeling that floods you every time you hear your phone ding and see it’s him calling or texting you.

Keeley and Rebecca tease you all whilst constantly trying to get you to confess. You always say that you will, but you never do.

You’re mad for him, that you know but you don’t know if he’s mad for you and you don’t want to ruin the relationship the two of you have built just because of your stupid feelings. It was nice having him as a friend, and although every time you saw him you just wanted to kiss him, you didn’t want to lose that friendship either.

So you never say anything.

-

“So, I would suggest just–”

“Y/N–?”

Lips left parted at the sound of Sam, you turn to him as he pokes his head into the office. He freezes when he sees Jamie standing behind you, the two of you going over one of his plays, your hand left held with the whiteboard marker and he winces. “I’m so sorry. I did not mean to interrupt you two.”

Jamie is waving his hand in reassurance as you smile at Sam, letting your hand fall; “it’s fine, Sam. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to drive you home tonight,” he explains, chancing a quick glance at Jamie before focusing back on you. “I have to run by the restaurant before heading home and I’m not sure how long it will take.”

“Oh,” you blink, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Sam. I can walk home tonight. It’s no problem.” Then, cheekily, you can’t help but add; “as long as when you finally do let me see your restaurant, everything is on the house.”

Laughing, Sam shakes his head; “it already was. And for you,” he points at you with a grin, “it’ll always be.”

Smilingly, you nod, waving him goodbye as he does the same, slipping out of the office. You laugh quietly to yourself as he does, before turning to find Jamie’s eyes on you, and you blink; “sorry,” you offer bashfully. “Where were we–”

“I didn’t know Sam drove you home?”

Pausing, you shift back to face Jamie. “Oh, yeah. He saw that I was walking home one night, offered me a drive and it’s been like that since.”

Jamie nods, slowly. “You two are close.”

“Um, yeah?” You agree with a shrug. “Sam is easy to talk to, I guess. Super friendly and kind.”

“Hm,” Jamie hums lightly. “He does look like he’d make a good boyfriend.”

It takes you half a second to register what Jamie’s said both because you feel that’s a weird observation for Jamie to make and also because when in that conversation did you say he was your boyfriend?

“We’re not dating,” you explain, shaking your head as you laugh. “We’re just friends.”

Jamie’s eyes widen, cheeks warming in faint embarrassment but… is that a hint of relief you see? Probably not, you’re just psyching yourself out.

“Oh.”

Nodding, you bite your lip; “yeah.”

“Cool,” Jamie hums and you raise a brow at him, before turning back to the whiteboard.

“Did you wanna…?”

Jamie is quick to agree, shifting on his feet to put his focus back on what you were saying before Sam had stepped in. But then, just as your lips part to continue, Jamie is interrupting you;

“I could drive you home.”

He says it so nonchalantly you think you imagine him saying it at first.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and he turns to you.

“If you’d like.”

“Um,” and you hate the way your voice shakes or the nerves that rattle your entire being. “Sure… Sure, that’d… that’d be great. If you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he assures with a grin. “Why would I mind having a pretty girl in me car?”

Cheeks burning you quickly glance back ahead of yourself to not let him see how much that simple comment made your heart flutter and your insides feel like jelly. Inhaling sharply, it’s hard to fight the smile from curling onto your lips as you move to continue saying what you’d been trying to say before.

You’re so focused that you don’t see Jamie watching you, a grin curling onto his own lips when he sees how flustered you are.

-

“Pretty coach.”

Halting in your step, you glance up, only to have to crane your head upwards when you find Zava, the star player Rebecca had managed to score, staring down at you. He’s tall, very tall, and you’re not exactly sure why he’s here, in the middle of the hall, or why he’s talking to you.

“Zava,” you greet nervously, offering a small smile.

He’s stepping towards you, effectively closing the distance between you as your eyes widen, freezing when he reaches forward to take your hand in his own. Before you know it, he’s pressing his lips against the top of your hand, a gentle, swift kiss as he glances at you through his lashes, smirking.

“I look forward to working under you as my coach,” he explains, accent thick as he pulls his lips away. It doesn’t escape your notice that he doesn’t let go of your hand, though.

“Oh, um, me–me too. But you’ll mainly be working under Coach Lasso since he’s the head–...”

Your words trail when you realize he’s not really listening. He’s just… staring. Directly at you.

Swallowing thickly, with your free hand, you touch your face; “is there something on my–”

“Oh no, no,” he laughs gently, squeezing your hand. “You just have the most beautiful eyes.”

Feeling yourself warm, you meet his eyes in surprise before glancing down at your feet, “oh, um, thank–”

“Oi.”

The new voice is sharp and your head is spinning over your shoulder only to see Jamie promptly making his way over to you. You’re surprised by how angry he looks, but his attention isn’t focused on you and rather Zava as he quickly makes his way over, pulling your hand out of Zava’s and gently pushing you behind him as he blocks you from sight from Zava. You flush when you realize Jamie’s still holding onto your hand, before slowly peeking over his shoulder.

“Tartt,” Zava grins, “it’s wonderful to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie huffs. “Just keep your hands to yourself, okay?”

Raising his hands in surrender, Zava laughs, stepping back as he moves to walk away. His eyes catch yours and he winks at you before turning to walk off.

“Prick.” Jamie hisses under his breath.

You pause at that, turning to him only to see his eyes set in a glare, watching Zava disappear down the hall before you let out a giggle. Jamie’s eyes fall on you the second you do, gaze softening when he sees you giggling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, biting your lip as you glance up at him. “Just funny. You're calling him a prick.”

Jamie’s eyes widen in mock hurt; “he is!”

“Sure,” you shrug. “And so were you.”

“But not anymore,” he teases, rolling his eyes at you.

“True,” you agree, shocking him by how easily you do. You just continue to smile at him, “definitely not anymore.”

Jamie stares down at you, eyes never leaving your face. “He’s right about one thing, though.”

Quirking a brow, you tilt your head; “yeah? And what’s that?”

“You do have the most beautiful eyes.”

That was the last thing you expected.

Lips parting, you’re burning red as you promptly slap Jamie in the arm.

“Ow!” He hisses, pulling away as his hand (regrettably) leaves yours. “What was that for?”

You just stare back at him, pouting, embarrassed, hoping he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.

Or notice that the way he said it meant way more than it did coming from Zava.

“Prick.”

Jamie just blinks, pouting; “what did I do?”

-

You let out a laugh as Jamie comes running up on the bus cheering about seeing Windmills, shaking your head with a grin as the rest of the guys cheer him on.

He walks down the aisle, high fiving a few of the guys until his eyes settle on you. Leaning your head against the seat, you grin cheekily up at him. “Did you have a fun night?” You ask with a head tilt, biting the inside of your cheek.

Smiling down at you, Jaime nods; “yeah, you?”

“Perfect,” you assure. “Spent a quiet night in my room.”

“The boys didn’t keep ya company?” He frowns, and he looks like he’s about to say something before you quickly reach forward, grabbing his wrist.

“That was team bonding stuff, silly,” you roll your eyes. “Besides, I had the most relaxing bath. It was fine.”

He glances down at you, not saying anything, but you feel your chest tighten when you see the way his eyes glance across your entire figure at the word bath.

Ignoring the butterflies, you smile; “saved you a seat, see?” You gesture to the empty window seat next to you, and Jamie laughs.

“You want the window seat?”

“Yup,” you grin, shuffling over to the other side as Jamie takes your old spot. You settle down next to him, arm brushing against his as he grins over at you.

“You got lots of training done last night?”

Jamie nods, “yup. Taugh’ Roy how to ride a bike.”

Brows furrowing, you briefly wonder how that happened in the midst of training but you let it go all the same, shrugging as you laugh. “But you made sure to get some rest, yes?” You add, turning to him with a quirked brow. “Because you remember what I said about training? If you push yourself too hard, you’re not going–”

“–to help anyone,” he finishes for you with a chuckle. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good,” you nod, squeezing his arm. 

“And you?”

Blinking, you turn to him.

“Did you get some rest last night?”

You nod, touched by his concern. “Yeah,” you assure, “like I said, spent the night in my room, resting.”

“Good,” he repeats your words from earlier and you turn your head away to the window when you feel yourself smiling.

Yet, despite that, an hour later, you’ve passed out on Jamie’s very own shoulder, softly snoring away.

Jamie is careful not to move, not wanting to wake you up, but when Dani turns to take a photo excitedly, he doesn’t stop him.

“Hey,” he whispers to Dani, “send that to me, okay?”

-

“You need to talk to Jamie.”

Raising a brow, you glance up at Roy.

“...I do?”

“He’s a mess,” is all Roy says.

“Okay…?”

“And you need to talk to him.”

Biting your lip, you hum; “because?”

Huffing, Roy rolls his eyes like you’re the one being annoying. “Because you’re the only one he’ll listen to, so you need to talk to him and get him out of whatever funk he’s in.”

“Okay,” you nod, “I’ll talk to him.”

-

You don’t get the chance to talk to him until you’ve arrived at the hotel the night before the game and even then it’s not really you talking to him.

The movie you’d all watched together is over and Ted had set a curfew but Jamie is taking your hand in his, throwing his hood up and leading you out of the hotel without another word. You glance over your shoulder to see Roy glancing at you in confusion, but you just shrug your shoulders and then Keeley is sending you two thumbs up with a bright grin and before you know it, you both are out the hotel and making your way across the street.

You let him lead, expecting him to say something, but he never really does. He’s eerily silent the entire walk, and it isn't until twenty minutes have passed that you finally tug on his grip and pull him to a stop. He glances back at you in surprise but you’re just shaking your head up at him, confused.

“If this is your way of getting me alone to murder me, I’m going to be really upset.”

He blinks at your words, confused at first, before he shakes his head. “No, no… of course not. I… I want you to meet someone.”

“Oh,” you mumble, feeling yourself ease as you meet his gaze. He’s staring back at you, obviously waiting for you to agree and with a gentle smile, you nod.

“Okay.”

It’s his mom.

He wanted you to meet his mom. 

You’re confused, extremely so, as Jamie leads you up the steps to a house, knocks and some older gentleman opens the door. He recognizes Jamie and invites the both of you in, and you’re left standing in the entrance way, baffled as you hug your coat closer to yourself, until a woman comes running down the stairs, screaming Jamie’s name and then suddenly she’s in his arms and he’s spinning her and calling her ‘mommy’ and it all clicks.

You can't help the smile that curls onto your lips at the sight, feeling like you’re being allowed to see a side of Jamie others rarely were.

And when Jamie introduces you to his mom, the smile turns into shock when she says; “you’re the one Jamie’s told me so much about!” And before you even have time to register those words or see Jamie glancing at you, she’s wrapping you up in her arms and hugging you so tightly as she gushes about how much she’s wanted to meet you.

You spend the night being welcomed by his mother and her boyfriend, before you leave Jamie to have his much needed conversation with his mom. Simon shows you around the house, before leaving you to glance around Jamie’s childhood bedroom yourself. You all but squeal at his Roy Kent poster, before rolling your eyes at Keeley’s, but happily glance round the rest of the room. You look at all his trophies and childhood photos, little drawings he’d done or books he’d read.

Before you know it, Jamie’s poking his head into the room and calling for you.

“Oh, Jamie,” you smile, “are you all done catching up with your mom?”

He nods, “yeah, you wanna get out of here? Go back to the hotel?”

“Sure,” you agree with ease, stepping toward him. He sets his hand against your back, leading you back towards the door where you say your final goodbyes. You thank Simon for the tour and give Georgie a huge hug, expressing how happy you were to meet her before she makes you promise you’ll come by and visit again.

You’re not quite sure how to reply to that, but it’s okay because Jamie does it for you, promising the two of you will stop by for an actual dinner soon.

And then, it’s just the two of you, making your way back to the hotel.

“So,” you call out, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “You told your mum about me?”

Jamie rolls his eyes at that, huffing. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

That certainly isn’t the response you were expecting, so, with warm cheeks, you glance at your feet.

“Got it all sorted now?”

Jamie hums, “yup. Sorry if I worried ya.”

You shake your head. “Think you had Roy in more of a panic, if I’m being honest. Poor man couldn’t breathe, he was so worried.”

Jamie snorts at that, lightly nudging you with his arm. “So, ya weren’ worried at all?”

Turning your head, your smile fades as you meet his gaze. “No, I was. I just didn’t want to overstep.”

“You could never overstep,” Jamie assures, “I should’ve been open about how I was feelin’. Just needed to sort it out for meself.”

Smiling softly to yourself, you hug your hands behind your back. “Well, I’m glad you figured it all out, Jamie. Really. Now you can kick some serious ass tomorrow, yeah?” You’re smiling as you say it, nudging him back with your own arm as the two of you continue to walk.

Then, suddenly, Jamie stops.

Frowning, you glance back at him; “are you–?”

“Me mum helped me with somethin’ else.”

“Oh,” you mumble, not sure where he was going with this. “What’s that?”

“Said I should stop being such a pussy and tell you how I really feel.”

Lips parting, you freeze. “Oh.”

Jamie nods, slow, and you can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s shuffling on his feet. “So… here goes.”

Your eyes widen when he steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you until he’s right in front of you, inches away. Your eyes follow him, head tilted back as you stare up at him, unsure what to do or say. But you don’t need to, because Jamie is speaking up in the next second.

“I’m in love with ya,” he confesses, letting the words just slip past his lips. “I’ve been in love with ya since you hugged me after me dad in Wembley. Maybe before that, I dunno. All I know is that when I came back to Richmond, all I was focused on was makin’ everyone like me again and then you yelled at me that day in yer office and I realized it was more than that. It wasn’t just about makin’ people like me, but makin’ up for the cruel things I'd done. I’m so sorry for the way I treated ya before, but I want you to know that I think the absolute world of ya. You are kind and sweet and smart and proper fit and… I dunno, you might not feel the same but I don’t wanna go on another day not having you know how crazy I am for ya.”

His words settle, carry on in the silence, as you stare back up at him, lips left parted, disbelief coursing through your veins.

Jamie’s confidence wavers as the silence carries and he’s shuffling on his feet in worry as he swallows thickly. “You don’t have to say anythin’,” he assures, rambling now with nerves. “I just wanted ya to know, so–”

But you cut him off by pressing your lips firmly against his own.

Jamie stumbles back from the pure force of the kiss at first, before he catches his balance and the shock fades and his hands are falling on your waist as he squeezes, returning the kiss with just as much passion. Maybe more. He kisses you like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks, and you realize, he maybe has. He holds you like you're the only thing in that moment that matters and you let yourself sink into his touch, turning to putty in his hands as you thread your fingers through his hair.

Then, slowly, you pull away, breathless as he smiles down at you.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “since the day you left me those flowers.”

Jamie’s eyes widen and his lips part but you don’t have the care to be embarrassed by your confession; it just felt good to finally, finally be able to say the words out loud.

“And I am so excited to see you kick ass tomorrow.” You breathe out, pressing your hands to his cheeks as you smile up at him, eyes dazed and sparkling with delight. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, Jamie presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“And I can’t wait to see you kick ass tomorrow.”

[krosaceae]

💖, 😐, ✏️, 👖 , 🍰!

Ah thank you for indulging me :) I'm excited to answer these bad boys. So we have:

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

✏️ Do you write every day?

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

I will answer below the cut because I write way too much :)

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

Damn, kinda wish I was answering this while having one of my god-complex moments... but either way lmao I like that I don't give a fuck in a lot of regards. Like, I write to give my writing its own unique voice, not to necessarily follow writing rules... if that makes sense? If I'm going to toot my own horn, I also think I can be pretty funny and I have my moments of being clever. I also like my dialogue but only after I've spent at least an entire week agonizing over it.

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

God, where do I even start lol. All of it? I'm really bad at spelling lmao. I always have been. It's definitely super embarrassing when spellcheck or my beta can't even read what I'm trying to say, but I'm getting better. Sometimes I also get embarrassed at the amount of cursing I write into my fic lolz. Like, I delete so many fucks before we get to a chapter worth posting, if you can believe that. I also think I can be a little cliche and redundant, but also I don't really give a fuck because it's fanfiction--of course, it's going to be a little cliche.

Okay, wait. I thought about it more. Probably the most embarrassing part of my writing right now is how personal some of the shit is to me. Like putting my own struggles with sobriety and mental health out there by projecting them onto fictional characters (my fave coping mechanism lol) and then having people comment on said struggles, its embarrassing as fuck. Especially when somebody comments and calls a character on their shit, and the shit is something I used to do or maybe even still do, sometimes it makes me want to self-destruct from embarrassment. But also it's helpful for me, so idk. I think that teaching teenagers has helped me learn how to embrace the embarrassment and use it to my advantage to like... grow and shit, y'know? 

✏️ Do you write every day?

During the summer, especially yes. And during the school year, I definitely try, and my definition of writing is very loose and inclusive because of that. If I open the document and like add at least one word, I have written. And maybe you disagree with me, but it makes writing accessible to me and gets rid of a lot of the guilt I feel about writing 'enough'. 

Something is always better than nothing and ‘something’ is not 'half-assing' it, are both things I constantly remind myself about writing.

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

I love this question hehe. I'm somewhere in the middle. When I first started re-writing Barriers from its original 2013 shitshow, I kinda just went full fucking pantser trying to edit the original chapters without any clear vision of where I was going other than the hazy goal I had as a fucking 16-year-old lmao. This was about a year ago, like end of summer before I started posting on AO3.

Then as the school year started approaching and I was planning my curriculum for the year... I was like wait a damn minute, why don't I use the same backward planning I use to teach, in my writing? So I spent a few days compiling a super sloppy (kind of chronological) list of what I wanted to happen in the fic and how I wanted it to end. Then I sat down and hammered out a neat(er) outline of the entire fic, starting from the end. It's not a super detailed outline, but it helps me think about what needs to happen in order to get the ending I want. I never thought teaching would help me with fic writing, but here we are lmao.

So then the points in the outline help me write chapters, but from there I kinda let the characters do them lol. Of course, I always have like a chapter goal and a basic outline (backward planned of course~) on the top of the page, but sometimes I have a scene in my head that needs to get on that fucking page and I'll do that before I even get an outline down. I also have an entire Google doc of Random Scenes that don’t have a chapter home yet, so sometimes I dump those kinds of Need To Be Written ASAP type drabbles there and then plop them into the outlined chapter when ready. I’m not sure if that made any actual sense lmao but moving on

So if I’m writing and shit gets so off the rails that it doesn't exactly follow the outline anymore, I'll go back to the outline and reevaluate. If it fits and I prefer what I’ve written to the outline, I can change it. I don't like to think of my outline as like a set in stone type of deal, more so a dynamic guide document that might shift with the story as it's written. Which is okay :)

So long answer short: Big planner girl with occasional pantser tendencies lmao.

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

I may or may not be the most predictable bitch ever... but @modern-tsunamis wrote Long Story Short (the world's cutest fkin Graire oneshot) for me as a gift in the Bokumono Winter exchange this year, and I shit you not I read it more than I'd like to publicly admit lmao. Its just such an easy, relaxing read that makes me feel. So like... if you haven't read it, do it!!!

Thanks again for the asks @dougs-inn!! These were a blast to answer :) 

[soundwavereporting]

What about the concept of that affection post you reblogged but like with prowl for the prompt thing???? I'm v bad at coming up with stuff so forgive me

i present:

false starts and casual physical contact, starring prowl, cosmos, and a couple of random, very unimaginatively named OCs. technically it’s future!prowlcoswave, but is currently coswave, ft. three emotionally stunted characters. it takes place a couple months after the end of ‘redux’, (which i still haven’t finished.)

unbeta’d save for spellcheck and a repetitive word detector. ao3 link in the source. feedback is always appreciated!

Of all the things Prowl had ever imagined he might end up doing if and when the war ended, reuniting Decepticons with their conjuxes had never been one of them.

“I mean, we’re not technically conjuxes,” Outburst was saying. “After the siege at the Perseus Veil, Sparknote and I were separated before we could complete the fourth step. So we’re technically not conjuxes. Yet.”

Outburst was very obviously an MTO—likely one of the last batches. He had that overeager, slightly desperate look of a mech who didn’t know what to do with himself off the battlefield, and he was gawking at Prowl as though Prowl was a sparkeater who had decided to sit himself behind a desk and devote half a day to locating a long-lost-almost-conjux.

“Uh-huh.”

“We never even discussed the fourth step,” Outburst said. “And even if we had—I still don’t know what I should do! It’s been half a million years since we saw each other. Sparknote’s been traveling the galaxy and I’ve been spinning my wheels patrolling warworlds. All the stuff he’s seen—how can I even compare?”

Prowl looked over the edge of his screen and peered at Outburst.

“It seems Sparknote has been looking for you as well,” Prowl said. “Changing your designation resulted in the queries being erroneously rerouted.”

“I told—I told him I was thinking about changing it,” Outburst said. “Are you sure that’s the right person? Maybe he doesn’t want to see me. Maybe—”

Wordlessly, Prowl pushed the datapad over to Outburst, who took one look at the image of the Deception named Sparknote (third lieutenant, last assigned to the Alpha Exploratory Corps) and let out a sharp, static-laden exhale. His tactical HUD flashed, and Prowl had a microsecond of warning before Outburst leapt over the desk to tackle Prowl in a strut-crushing embrace.

“It’s him,” Outburst said, as Prowl tried to decide whether to shove the Deception away or return the gesture. He wondered if Outburst could hear his processor spinning. “It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.”

Decision made, Prowl stiffened his shoulders and Outburst jumped back as though he’d been shocked. His leg banged the desk and a datapad clattered to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” Outburst said. “I just—”

Prowl held up a placating hand as his vision slowly returned to normal. “It’s fine. Good luck with your act of devotion, Outburst.”

Outburst beamed.

Within the hour, Prowl’s shift was finished, and sooner rather than later, Prowl set down his datapads and locked the door to his office. The halls were no more crowded than they usually were—most mechs completed their shifts at the same time Prowl had finished his. Prowl made a mental note to adjust his schedule tomorrow in order to accommodate mechs who needed to see him after hours. Carefully, Prowl navigated the throngs of Decepticons as he made his way back to habsuite.

Since accepting the position of deputy security chief two months ago, the rate of glares and side eyes had dropped significantly. His first week on the station, he had received 39 such looks, up to a high of 988 the week he began his job, to a low of 19 this week.

Prowl opened the habsuite door and stepped in.

His plating was warm where Outburst had embraced him. Not overly so, not nearly enough to be irritating. Just warm.

“Hey.” Cosmos said. The Autobot’s frame was relaxed—he had hardly bothered to turn and see if it was actually Prowl entering the habsuite.

Cosmos usually worked the overnight shift at the comms, since it was quieter, and, Prowl knew, gave him ample time to flirt with Soundwave via comlink.

Prowl grabbed a cube from the dispenser and sat beside Cosmos. He tried to peer over the Autobot’s shoulder to see what he was reading, but Cosmos was simply too tall. After a moment, Cosmos tilted the datapad up so Prowl could see.

“Translating again?”

“Yeah.” Cosmos tapped the datapad. “I’m on the classics—but I’ve got circuits older than the ‘classics’.”

“It’s a relative term,” Prowl said neutrally. “Anything interesting?”

“Unless you’re into uncomfortably saccharine, human, descriptions of forbidden love, not really.” Cosmos paused. “D’you think Soundwave’d get it if I sent him some of these?”

Cosmos held up the datapad.

“You’re not experiencing forbidden love.”

“Hah.” Cosmos gave the datapad one last, irritated look and switched it off. “Feels like it, sometimes.”

“If it helps,” Prowl said, entirely unsure whether or not his next words would actually help. “Soundwave feels the same—about the whole ‘forbidden love’, thing, at least.”

“Oh.” Cosmos gesticulated with the datapad, waving it mere inches from Prowl’s face. “I knew it! You two do talk about me.”

“No more than we talk about anyone else,” Prowl lied, and Cosmos scoffed. “He has shown me a few of the exchanges you two engaged in.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Cosmos mumbled and tossed the datapad onto the table. “I’m really gonna kill him.”

“I was the one who asked,” Prowl offered. “I wanted to know why he was so distracted.”

“He could’ve lied!”

“I would have known.”

Prowl picked up the datapad Cosmos had been translating and studied it for a moment. Saccharine indeed.

Prowl set it down.

“He needed help,” Prowl said, finally. “Sometimes, he doesn’t exactly know how to reply.”

“Primus.” Cosmos said. “Is that why he sometimes takes two hours to respond?”

Prowl nodded, unsure if the level of embarrassment he was feeling was proportionate to the current situation.

“I was the one who suggested comparing you to the green circuit nebula,” Prowl admitted.

“So instead of overworking yourselves in your off duty hours,” Cosmos began. “You overwork yourselves trying to come up with ways to flirt with me.”

“That is only a small fraction of what we do,” Prowl said.

“Figures.”

And that seemed to be that.

Prowl finished his cube and debated getting up for another, then decided against it. Cosmos’s frame was pleasantly warm against his side, and the mech would be leaving for his shift in a few minutes anyway.

“I liked it,” Cosmos said, finally. “What you wrote. Or he wrote. Your collaboration, I guess.”

 “He meant it,” Prowl said, and judging by the tilt of the Autobot’s head, imagined Cosmos was smiling under his battlemask.

“Some forbidden love, “ Cosmos said. “When I’ve got someone helping the guy I’m trying to court. Hey—if I can’t figure out what to tell Soundwave, does that mean I can ask you?”

As if on cue, Cosmos’s comlink chimed.

Cosmos looked at Prowl, then sheepishly looked at his chat log, then equally sheepishly showed Prowl the message.

“Send him a song,” Prowl suggested. “Some of that earth music he likes.”

“Hm.” Cosmos typed his response, and together, they waited.

A moment later, the comlink chimed again.

“He said…” Cosmos trailed off. “To tell you the gesture was appreciated?”

Prowl looked up, half-expecting to see Soundwave emerging from the ceiling.

“Telepath,” Prowl realized. “I told him not to listen to me.”

“You want me to tell him that?”

Prowl shrugged.

“He’s—oh.” This time, Cosmos was the one to look up at the ceiling. “Not listening to you. I’m thinking loudly enough for the both of us, I guess.”

“…ah.” Prowl dared to sneak a glance at Cosmos, who looked like he had just been caught in an uncomfortable, interpersonal crossfire. “You are sitting next to me, Cosmos,” Prowl said. “It’s only natural you would be thinking about me.”

“I know!” Cosmos keyed in his reply and sent it, then turned to face Prowl fully. “It’s just…thinking, y’know?”

“Thinking?”

“Yeah.” Cosmos gestured at the datapad, then at himself. “The way he wrote it, it got me thinking.”

“About?”

Cosmos sighed.

“I think I’m in a little over my head,” Cosmos admitted. “Flirting’s nice and all, but I’ve never been in a serious relationship before. Not one I was really invested in, anyway. It’s never gotten to the point where we actually do anything, and he listens to me, which is fine, so I know he knows I’m thinking about it, but it’s like…I want to, but the concept of it is just so uncomfortable. Does that make sense?”

Prowl thought back to Outburst.

“Yes.”  

“I kinda hoped you wouldn’t,” Cosmos said. “Just so I could ask you what I should do. You know, being an impartial, flirting-assistant and all.”

Prowl remembered how Outburst had so effortlessly cast aside thousands of years of war and hate and trauma in a moment of pure, unfiltered reliefs and joy. Would it be possible to learn to do that? Did he even want to want that?

Prowl wasn’t sure.

But Cosmos did.

“I suppose the first step is to get comfortable with casual physical contact,” Prowl said. “And to define casual physical contact.”

“Makes sense,” Cosmos said. “But, I can’t really go up to a random Deception and go ‘hey I’d like to work up to kissing Soundwave, can I practice by giving you a hug?’” Cosmos looked away, then back at Prowl, and Prowl tensed, instinctively dreading the next question, simply because he didn’t have an answer. “I mean, unless you’re willing to, uh, help? Is that the right way to put it?”

“I don’t mind,” Prowl guessed. “I think. I’d…I’d tell you if I did—or when I do, at least.”

That seemed to be the safest answer—better than I don’t know, at any rate.

Cosmos let out a slow exhale. “Okay. Here goes: Prowl. Can I give you a hug?”

He hadn’t expected Cosmos to ask, but he supposed that was the proper way to do it.

“Yeah,” Prowl said. “I mean, yes.”

“Okay.” Cosmos coughed awkwardly. Prowl hadn’t yet decided if that habit was endearing or annoying. “Okay?”

Moving just quickly enough to make it slightly less awkward than Prowl feared it would be, Cosmos moved forward, arms outstretched, and pulled him into an embrace.

A moment later, Prowl realized that he should probably return the gesture, and he awkwardly lifted his arms up to rest on Cosmos’s back.

“Oh.” Cosmos tensed, and for a microsecond his angles and trajectories shifted, indicating Cosmos was uncomfortable, but they settled back just as quickly, and Cosmos relaxed against Prowl’s frame.

“I guess a good hug is supposed to be two-way, huh?”

“It would seem so.” Prowl said dryly. His plating itched, but not unbearably so. He could stay like this for a while, Prowl thought, and realized with some relief that Cosmos seemed to be indicating he felt the same.

“My shift starts in a few minutes,” Cosmos said. “I should really get going.”

But he made no move to pull away, and Prowl didn’t encourage him.

[lukas-sucks-at-life]

You wanna find out some personal shit ask: can you do the whole pls? 😅 thank uuu 🙃

Yes thank you!! I love doing these dlfldl

The Numbers got fucked oops, this might be messy i dont wanna spellcheck oop

(Soz for the long post, am on mobile)

Any scars?

A few, 1 tiny from my cat and the rest from myself (some accidents when cutting Food, some not)

Self-harmed? yup

Crush? nah

Kissed anyone? No lol

Pepsi or Coke? Capri-Sun

Someone you hate?

oh, many people from school, in my family, famous fuckers

Best friends? Agnethe n Gabriel (none of then have tumblr)

Have you ever done alcohol or drugs?

Only tasted, never drugs.

What���s Your dream job? Something with art if i live to see 20 at all lol

Ever been in love? yes

Last time you cried? When i watched endgame

Favorite color? Black or anything dark

Height? 162cm short man

Birthday? 10th of July 2001

Eye color? Blue

Hair color? Faded bright red at the moment

What do you love? Sleep and my cats

Obsession? My cats, minecraft (games in general), bands, anything horror and true crime

If you had one wish, what would it be?

that my mom could earn a bit more so we didn’t have to worry about having enough for Food each month

Do you love someone? No

Kiss or hug? None

Nicknames people call you? don’t have any

Favorite song?

it changes almost every day but at the moment it is Undead Ahead 2 - Motionless In White

Favorite band? Rammstein, Ice Nine Kills, Twenty One Pilots, Palaye Royale and a few more

Worst thing that has ever happened to you? Life lol

Best thing that has ever happened to you?

My cats, my tattoo (of my cats paws)

Something you would change about yourself?

EVERYTHING. At least eVERYTHING about my body.

Ever dated someone? once, long distance

Worst mistake? Dating

Watch the movie or read the book? Depends on the story

Ever had a heartbreak? Yup

Favorite show?

AHS, RPDR, final space, rick n morty, Hemlock grove n many more

Best day of Your life?

I have 6, the concerts i’ve been to

Any talents? No lol

Do you wish you could ever start over?

All the time

Any bad habits?

Forgetting basic hygiene stuff / forgetting anything and everything really

Ever had a near death experience? Many

Someone you can tell anything to?

Agnethe and Gabriel

Ever lost a loved one?

Not really, family has passed but i wasn’t close to them

Do you believe in love? Not anymore ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i don’t care either

Someone you hate/dislike?

Many social media humans, teachers, people in class

Are you okay? No

Relationship status? Single

Selfie?

A few months old but i like my hair

[crimsonbluemoon]

Some conversations had between me and Bels last night

Ever wondered what it’s like to be in a writing session with an author? Well, I’m here to provide you with the wonderful process that @firstaidquarters and I went through last night! Please, enjoy =)

“So then Delirious gets skewered-” -C “Again?!” -B “No, this is the first time! The other ones happen way later...” -C

“BELS its doing it again!” -C “Calm down, I’m gonna fix it for you” *Tabs the bullet that wouldn’t move for Crimson* -B “Ah thank you thank you my savior....” -C

“Okay, so then they Naruto-run through the woods, and Tyler is like ‘YEET’...” -C

“Maybe they could fight here? And then...I don’t know where I was going with this. I give up. Let me die.” -C “No to that last piece, please.” -B

“I wish I could remember that line about the furries! It was perfect!” -C

“I don’t even care that I spelt that wrong, moving on” -C “You do know I know what you mean when you say that, right? I’m like your spellcheck. Belscheck.” -B

“I need a name for the villian.” -C “Here let me look up Evil Angels Names” -B *five seconds later* “Okay, never doing that again.” -B “What happened?” -C “It just brought me to porn sites.” -B

*Crimson makes weird, animalistic noises throughout 50% of the call*

“So then Greg-” -C “Thats not his name, Crimson.” -B “That’s what I’m calling him until this outline is over” -C

“And then uh....uh...ghost boy” -C “Smiity?” -B “Too late, already wrote ghost boy, not going back” -C *an hour later* “AW you changed his name!” -C “Do you want me to change it back?” -B “ *grumbles* No...”-C

“Oh...OH OH OH I have an idea!” -C “Oh no, that’s never good...” -B

“What chapter did I say this in? *five minutes later* Did I day he was in a large clan?? *two minutes later* What wrist was it on??? *twenty seconds later* Why don’t I know my own story!?!?” -C

“Did I have them kiss yet?” -C “Yes.” -B “Good. Then I can this couple kiss now.” -B

“So then they report they found the body-” -C “Oh, right. Not gonna lie, forgot that was why they went into the forest to begin with.” -B

“Aw....aw Bels this is really sad.” -C “You’re the one writing it.” -B “I know but it’s really sad!!!” -C

“Then Minicat can have a moment here�� -B “Of course you want MiniCat to have a moment...” -C

“Who is going to get Tyler?” -B “Oh yeah...OH MY GOD we left him tied to a tree this whole time!” -C

“I don’t know where to put this character...” *One hour later of talking about it* “Still don’t know where to put this character.” 

“And then this scene happens” -C “Oh my God you’re putting that angsty scene right after that super cute scene?!” -B “Yes...? I can’t have too much happienss!” -C

“Well, my pie chart says-” -C “You made a PIE chart?!” -B “I had to! For the story! ...It’s also color coordinated by the species souls.”- C *Bels dies of laughter when Crimson actually SHOWS her the pie chart*

  I’m sure there were 100 others, but my brain can’t think of them. Bels if you remember, add em on but either way, enjoy this craziness that is the writing process! 

[kuriquinn]

Penthesilea [16/?]

Cover & Disclaimer:

Chapter Summary:   The world around lies in ruin, and he can see it with a clarity that is a hundred times stronger than he has ever been able to see. It is as if everything has been magnified, as if every colour is more vibrant and distinct.

Chapter Beta: None besides my own eyes. I’ll go through the spellchecker tomorrow or something, but I kind of wanted to update early. I’m busy recording my writing tutorials for patreon so I kind of need as much time as possible to do that before work starts up again...

戦国時代

Sasuke hears screaming and he doesn’t realise right away that it’s his own.

As Itachi pitches forward, Sasuke throws himself across the distance, skidding into place to catch him before he hits the ground. In the background, he is dimly aware of Sakura stumbling forward to him and his brother, and of Danzō’s Susanoo regaining its footing. His brain screams at him to move, get them out of the attack range, but his body too concerned with providing cushioning for Itachi.

Sasuke’s fingers slip with blood as he turns him over, cradling him close and protectively.

“Sasuke! Watch out!” Sakura cries.

A dark shadow looms over them, and out of the corner of his eye he sees that Danzō is moving forward to crush them beneath the heel of the Susanoo. Sakura is trying to stand straight, to bring her uninjured fist up over her head to meet the oncoming blow, but she can barely keep upright anymore.

He thinks he might be able to push her out of the way – maybe Itachi as well, but to what end…?

There is a sudden pulling sensation behind his navel, the world around them twisting and distorting like a heat warping the air. At the same time, Danzō steps downward on the three of them, and yet Sasuke feels nothing.

Is he really so numb?

But then the world shifts, and he finds himself, Sakura and Itachi huddling several feet away from where Danzo attempted to crush them.

“What…?” Sakura begins, but her eyes widen then as she stares at something behind Sasuke.

“Obito…” Itachi rasps. “Thank…you…”

And it’s true – their cousin stands behind them, shoulders heaving with effort to breathe. His mouth is pulled into a vicious snarl, made even worse by the bloody mess of mottled skin and crushed bone that is the right side of his head.

But his Mangekyō Sharingan gleam undamaged in both eyes.

He and Itachi appear to share a silent conversation, because then Obito abruptly moves, flexing his left hand; small tongues of fiery chakra manifest on each finger, and he drops down, slamming the palm to the ground in front of him.

Giant walls of flame roar up in front of him, spreading around them in a cylindrical barrier that towers into the sky, dwarfing even Danzo’s Susanoo.

“Get your shit together, kid,” he tells him coolly, eyes flitting briefly to his younger cousin; his mouth is set in a grim line that Sasuke has seen too many times to not know the meaning of. “However this turns out, it’s going to be bad.”

And then he lurches forward, right leg dragging slightly, and passes through the protective barrier unharmed. 

“He’s going to face Danzō like that?” Sakura cries. “He can’t, he’ll be killed!”

“Buying…time…” Itachi whispers. “Sasuke…you must…leave—”

“Leave you?” Sasuke cuts him off, glaring fiercely down at his brother. “I won’t.”

“You don’t…have a choice…I’m—”

“No! Don’t you dare die,” he snarls furiously. “I will never forgive you if you die, Itachi! Not after we spent so much time trying to save you!” His eyes slide to Sakura, the paralysed  expression of horror on her face, and he demands, “Heal him!”

She’s fumbles a little, arranging her uninjured hand to his chest, and concentrates, but nothing happens.

“Sasuke-kun…I can’t…” her voice trails off, the dawning realisation not needing to be spoken.

She is completely tapped out.

“No!” Sasuke yells, agony and disbelief saturating his words. “He—you can’t!” He shouts at his brother. “You’re the future of this clan—you’re the only hope we have for—I can’t—”

“You…can,” Itachi rasps. “You will…I’m not…the only…” His eyes slide to Sakura, who kneels there with wide, tear-stained eyes, hands shaking and useless.

“No…”

“Sasuke…” Itachi coughs. “You don’t…have to forgive me…” He attempts a smile. “No matter what…you decide to do…from now on…I will…love you…forever.”

He reaches up, agonizingly slowly, to tap two fingers against Sasuke’s forehead. Before he can complete the action, however, his eyes roll back and his arms drops beside him, smudging blood across Sasuke’s eye and cheek.

Sasuke stares in disbelief at his brother’s still form, unable to comprehend what has just happened.

The ground around them shakes, within the barrier and outside of it.

He glances up, eyes taking in the action unfolding around him without truly understanding it, ears listening to Sakura’s sobs.

Obito fights Danzō’s Susanoo, using his Mangekyō to dive in and out of tangibility whenever the green leviathan comes close to harming him, and then retaliating with ninjutsu. In his state he obviously can’t maintain a Susanoo, but it doesn’t stop him from summoning a giant spiral of flame that roars through the air and sends Danzō staggering backward and away from them all.

Once he has him disoriented, Obito gives a scream of effort, and then suddenly a portal – no, several portals, open around the chakra giant, and a barrage of shuriken, kunai and other projectiles comes shooting out from the Kamui dimension where he has been storing them.

Slowly, the weapons chip away at Danzō’s defences, until even his stolen Susanoo’s rib-cage vanishes, leaving only the scarred man standing there. With a grave expression of acceptance, Danzō reaches for his scabbard and draws his katana.

He approaches Obito, who is crouched over and breathing hard; his abilities have drained the last of his strength, and he is without any weapon but his hands.

Sasuke slowly unfolds his body, getting to his feet. It’s hard to lift his head – his tears seem to drag it downward, and an almost physical ache lances through him. A gnawing, grasping sensation that rises and peaks, claiming every nerve and replacing every other feeling with pain.

Then this pain begins to recede, fingers of flame dragging it back toward his core; he expects it to settle in his heart, but it moves higher and higher, gathering behind his eyes. There is searing burn there, though the rest of him is utterly numb.

He opens his eyes.

The world around lies in ruin, and he can see it with a clarity that is a hundred times stronger than he has ever been able to see. It is as if everything has been magnified, as if every colour is more vibrant and distinct.

“Sasuke-kun!” Sakura gasps. “Your eyes—!”

But he already knows, without even seeing his reflection, that his Sharingan has changed.

Finally, he has seen the same horror and pain that his brother and cousins have, has experienced the last catalyst needed to unlock his family’s strongest Sharingan.

“Sakura,” he says quietly, staring across the space at his brother’s murderer. “Keep him...” He voice cracks, but he makes himself finish, “Keep the body safe.”

“I…” she begins, and then he hears her swallow, because in a softer tone she whispers, “Of course.” 

As Danzō gets within striking distance of Obito, Sasuke summons a blade of lightning to his hand and stretches it forward, barring the old man from his cousin.

“Your fight is with me,” he tells him quiet. “And I’m going to kill you.”

“We shall see,” Danzō replies.

They eye one another warily, facing one another with Sharingan exposed.

Then, Danzō’s fingers fly and he makes a run at Sasuke, hauling back his arm and throwing a chakra infused fist at him. It’s too fast for him to duck, but before the blow can land, a glowing purple barrier flies up, stopping him.

Danzō’s stolen eyes go wide. “This is…!”

“Susanoo,” Sasuke replies coldly. He wasn’t sure he would be able to create it on his first try, especially given his condition, but the absolute rage and pain in his heart have made him strong. That agony is focussed now, as if every cell is burning.

A giant, skeletal arm grows out of the rib cage, the rest of his guardian filling in with every second, and snaps forward, grasping Danzō in its fist. Although Sasuke isn’t touching him, he has an awareness of Danzō within his grasp, can sense his unsuccessful attempts to wriggle free.

He takes a step forward.

“You murdered people gathered for peace,” Sasuke snarls.

“Niceties do not create peace, they simply encourage further weakness,” the old man retorts breathlessly. “The deeds of those in the shadows are what creates a world of safety for others. Surely, you’ve learned that, sneaking around to organise this sham of a conclave?” Sasuke’s eyebrows rise. “Yes, of course we knew of your machinations. There are traitors amongst your people—how could there not be? Those of your blood are notorious for treachery – ah!”

Sasuke’s Susanoo tightens on Danzō, muscles and flesh growing over the bones of the hand.

Danzo shakes his head, as though trying to ignore the pain, and continues matter-of-factly. “My death will not change a thing. Perhaps you’ll have a few years of harmony. Perhaps even an entire generation, but inevitably one of yours will grow dissatisfied. Your kind have always courted war.”

“Itachi did not court war,” Sasuke says quietly. “Out of everyone in my clan, you killed the one man who could have brought it about.”

“There will never be true peace as long as the Uchiha exist.” Danzō coughs up blood now. “As long as they walk the earth with the Senju, there will be war.”

“Sasuke-kun…” he hears Sakura whisper behind him, almost in warning, but he ignores her for plea. Now is not the time to entertain her merciful notions.

“Two sides are needed for there to be conflict,” Sasuke tells Danzō. “The Senju are equally at fault. Today, you attacked not only your enemies but your allies. Your death will not be mourned, and your name will forever be shamed by your treachery. Clearly it is not only the Uchiha who court war.”

Danzo smiles coldly. “And yet I die with a clear conscience. What I have done, I have done for the greater good. I have lived, as always, true to the will of the Senju.”

“This is not the will of the Senju!” Sakura shouts.

“This is the true will of the Senju,” Danzo growls back. “Not the watered-down excrement Tsunade and the idiot Uzumaki boy would push forth. Tobirama-sama was right when he declared the world would be better off without such a cursed clan.” His eyes narrow at Sakura. “And those that whore themselves out to—”

His words end in a sudden loud, wet squelch.

One moment Danzō is there, the next there is only a broken, bloodied stump of flesh and bone crushed within the palm of Sasuke’s Susanoo. Blood drips into the earth beneath him, while Sasuke stares emotionlessly on.

Sound is the first sense he regains, and with it an awareness of an ongoing struggle. Up on the bluff, Naruto continues to fight against Danzō’s forces, who even with their leader dead, obviously have no intention of giving up.

Sasuke’s eyes narrow, Sharingan magnifying the fight up above, and he can see that Naruto is beginning to flag.

He feels something pass through him then, a different power than he felt with the Susanoo. Where that felt like a painful burn, there is something cold and sharp about the chakra he summons now.

Black flames erupt across the bodies of Danzō’s men and several of Naruto’s clones – whoever happens to be in Sasuke’s line of sight. He is vaguely aware of the original Naruto ducking out of the way of a flailing enemy, but his awareness ceases there.

Instead, he watches with determination as all of Danzō’s men are reduced to charred, smoking corpses.

There is no satisfaction here; only a sense of purpose, a need to eradicate every last vestige of the man.

The ground beside him is disturbed, someone materialising, and Sasuke whirls around reflexively, a snarl on his lips. He barely notices Naruto’s face as he summons more of the black flames, the blond man’s clothing beginning to smoke—

“Sasuke-kun!”

He freezes.

Slowly, as if emerging from beneath water, Sasuke becomes aware of other things. The sensation of an arm surrounding him from behind. The familiar smell of a woman’s hair, and the heat of her body.

“Please,” he hears her whisper – or feels it, the way her face is pressed into his back. “Stop.”

Seconds pass, Naruto’s expression remaining tense and guarded, but Sasuke finds himself relaxing into Sakura. Nearby, he senses Obito staggering toward them.

The cool rage is gone, but the pain doesn’t leave him.

“Naruto,” Sasuke says quietly, and he doesn’t know how it’s possible that his voice doesn’t tremble. “Take your people – those that live. Leave this place.”

“Sasuke, it’s not—”

“It’s over.” He gingerly disentangles himself from Sakura’s embrace. “Whatever was meant to happen here today won’t. See to your wounded and we will see to ours.”

He begins the difficult walk toward his brother’s body.

“Sasuke-kun…”

“Sakura, I can’t have you here right now,” he tells her, pausing in his stride to direct this over his shoulder.

“But—”

“Please.”

Maybe she can hear the raw desperation in his voice. Maybe it’s because he has never asked her for anything since that first time—the only thing he ever wanted, and which has just been cruelly ripped from him before his very eyes—she does.

“Once I’ve seen to the wounded, I’m coming back,” she tells him, daring him to argue. He has neither the energy nor the inclination to do so. A beat later, both Sakura’s and Naruto’s presences vanish, leaving Sasuke standing there with his dead. Obito is kneeling over Itachi’s body, crying openly, but Sasuke can’t do the same.

To cry would mean he had to feel pain; as he falls to his knees and pulls his brother’s body into his arms, he can only feel numb.

戦国時代

The entire army – the Uchiha and their vassals – are stunned by the loss. Itachi was a beloved leader, and it’s no secret that people preferred him to his younger brother. It goes deeper than this, however.

Itachi was not the only loss at the failed peace conclave; everyone on the Uchiha council except Yakumi and Obito were killed in the collapse of the shrine.

In one fell swoop, the entire leadership of their clan has been decimated. People are scared and angry, and though Sasuke can hear the discontent murmuring, he can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

As it is, he is too beside himself to even attend the funeral.

For days, he remains silent and unmoving inside Itachi’s tent, numb to the world except on the separate occasions when Obito and Inabi come to him, They tell him the people require his presence and leadership, demand answers to what happens next.

He tells Obito to go away; he physically throws Inabi out.

It isn’t until Kakashi comes to him and threatens to carry him out that he ventures outside.

“Sitting on your brother’s bed is not healthy,” he tells him quietly. “Itachi wouldn’t have wanted it.”

“Itachi is dead. What he wanted no longer matters.”

“If you truly think that, you do his memory a disservice,” Kakashi tells him. “And if you’re too far gone to care about that, I am not. Itachi was a good friend, and I cared for him too deeply to let you throw away what he worked so hard at.”

“Then you take his place,” Sasuke snarls. “You can be the next one to throw your life away over a stupid dream. I’m sure Obito and Rin will be greatly comforted by your memory.”

Kakashi narrows his eyes. “You want to leave this tent now.”

There’s a cold note in his voice that Sasuke has never had directed toward him. Though he remains numb, the logical part of his brain that has been submerged in grief reminds him he is in no condition to fight his mentor right now.

He clenches his jaw in reply, and stalks from the tent, heading toward his own quarters; at least there he will be left alone.

Whispers follow him as he proceeds through the camp, but they barely penetrate the fog in his brain. He longs only for the emptiness of sleep.

Yet when he enters his tent and finds Sakura there, he is unsurprised.

“You shouldn’t be here anymore,” he tells her dully, taking note the arm she has in a sling. Clearly she remains unable to heal herself, even after so many days. “Masking your chakra won’t fool people much longer.”

“You’re in pain. There is nowhere else that I should be than right here,” she tells him softly, but with her usual stubbornness.

“Sakura…get out.”

“No.” She approaches him slowly, like one would an abused animal, and something primal in him wants to lash out at her. But when she pulls him into her uninjured arm, he feels his strength drain out of him.

It is here when he finally breaks down, unable to hold back the tears that burn like acid from the inside. He clings to her like a child, burying his face in the thick collar of her haori, and weeping, because out everything, she is the one good thing that he still has.

It’s minutes, perhaps hours later, when she breaks the silence.

“I know nothing I can say can make it better,” she tells him gently, combing her fingers through his hair in a comforting motion. “But I am so sorry about you losing your brother.” He hears her swallow thickly, and when she speaks again there’s a strain to her voice, a suppressed sob. “I cared a great deal for Itachi. He was…he was a good, kind man, and it’s not…it’s not fair.”

His eyes narrow, and he pulls away. “No. It’s not.”

She is watching him with empathy, clearly wanting to draw him back in, but respecting his need for distance.

“I remember how this feels,” she murmurs sadly. “I remember being so hurt and angry when my parents died. I expected the hurt, but the…I was so livid with them for…for leaving me. I couldn’t be around people for so long afterward. If it weren’t for Ino and Naruto and Tsun—” She cuts herself off here when she feels him tense at the near mention of the name, and corrects, “—my teacher, I would never have come out of it.”

“It’s not the same,” Sasuke says flatly. “There’s a different between parents and a brother.”

He’s lost both now.

“You’re right. I can’t understand exactly,” she agrees. “But I can imagine. If I lost Naruto, I think it would feel a little similar.” Under normal circumstances Naruto being in the brotherly category would please him but right now he can only stare at her uncomprehendingly. “Whatever you need, I will be here for you.”

He pulls even further away from her, clenching his fists. “I need my brother to be alive.”

“Sasuke-kun…” She begins, and then exhales tiredly. “This shouldn’t happen. This shouldn’t…” A fierceness enters her eyes. “We shouldn’t be killing each other’s family members! Not when people already die all the time from disease or…or stupid accidents or…” She trails off, eyes filling with angry tears. “It’s a waste…”

“It’s reality,” he says dully. “People live and die. Wars are fought. Families are destroyed.”

“But…but that’s not all the time,” she points out, voice raising at the end as if in hope. Her hands are clasped in front of her heart now, and she bites her lip. “Sometimes families can be made new. Sometimes there’s hope for the future even when things seem so dark.” She looks down, and a tiny, sad smile creeps over her face. “That’s what he was protecting, I think. The possibility of us – all of us – having that. A world where we could be happy and safe and have a family.”

It’s probably just her usual way of seeing a silver lining in everything – like the barely blooming flowers on the gravemounds of the battlefield. Yet something about it hits the raw nerve of his psyche that has been exposed since Itachi’s death.

“It’s a dream,” he tells her coolly.

She frowns. “Why?”

“Because it’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible!”

“We’re at war.”

“Not at this moment we’re not,” she argues. “And it’s still simple enough that we can stop ourselves from being at war! Sasuke-kun, you…you have the power to do that now!”

He grits his teeth at this, the truth of the statement still a bitter new truth.

“The war could stop – the war Itachi wanted to stop, and the two sides could be at peace. They – we – could even unite them. The way they used to in the old days, and then we could be happy.”

“Happy?” he sneers.

Sakura immediately knows she’s said the wrong thing. “That’s not what I meant—!”

“You think your happiness means anything to me with my brother’s ashes in the wind?” Sasuke demands. “While the clan that spawned his murderer still walks upon this earth?!”

“No, of course not! Sasuke, I’m just trying to tell you this isn’t the end! There’s…there’s something else—”

“And the only thing you can think of right now, is having your little make-believe fantasy of happiness play out?” he snorts. “‘Unite’ the two sides? I was right, all those months ago. Your notions are childish.”

“There are worse reasons to unite the warring factions than two people being in love!” she defends.

But the idea of being in love – of love or feeling or emotion in general – makes him recoil. He is still suffused with grief and loss, and the idea of anything outside of that feels corrosive somehow.

“That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?” he demands. “All this time – your entering my life at such a cost to your own, pursuing me—”

“Sasuke-kun—!” she protests.

“—making me feel for you,” he finishes, the word dripping with disgust. “It was all a ploy. A means of ensuring I’d be receptive if you were to ever make such a proposal.”

“Why are you saying this?” she cries, hurt flashing across her face, but he continues mercilessly.

“There’s no logical reason for you to have returned week after week,” he goes on, suspicions gaining momentum with every passing second. “And the fact that you could do so with such ease, even before Kakashi began to…” He looks up suddenly, narrowing his eyes. “I was too stupid to see it.”

Sakura takes a tentative step forward, worried. “Sasuke-kun, you’re not thinking clearly. Just, take a breath and think about this—”

But he shoves her roughly away from him.

“You’re just another product of Senju treachery,” he spits. “Danzō had it right.”

“Danzō did not speak for the Senju!” she shouts back; at this point neither of them are concerned with being overheard. “He did not speak for Tsunade-shishou, or Naruto, or me! He spoke for himself, and what he believed was needed for peace, can’t you see that? And you killed him, so that threat is gone!”

“You said yourself he had influence,” Sasuke counters. “Even in death it’s not enough. His reach has to be completely eradicated – all traces of the Senju must be eradicated.”

“And what will that do?” Sakura challenges. “It will just take us further and further from peace!”

“Peace is an illusion.”

“You don’t believe that…if you love Itachi as much as I know you do, I know you don’t believe that.”

He bares his teeth at the mention of his brother, but can’t argue that point.

“As long as the Uchiha walk the earth with the Senju, there will be war.”

Danzō’s words ring in his mind.

“Both can’t exist at the same time,” he murmurs to himself.

“Sasuke-kun? Did you hear me?”

“There can only be peace if one of them is destroyed,” Sasuke realises. “Itachi was right. There can be peace. But he was going about it wrong.”

Sakura’s eyes become round as she catches on to his train of thought. “No. No, that’s the absolute opposite of what Itachi wanted!”

“You didn’t know him long enough to know what he wanted.”

“I knew him long enough to know it wasn’t this.”

“He was tired in the end. And sick. It affected his mind,” Sasuke dismisses. “But I can see it better, with these new eyes of mine. It’s the only solution. Sakura…” She watches him, and for the first time since they’ve met, he sees something like fear in her eyes. “Either you will stand by my side, or you won’t.”

“Sasuke-kun…”

“You said once you would,” he points out. “You said if I asked you to come with me, you would.”

“To leave this behind!” Sakura protests, the slashing flourish of her hand indicating what this is. “To stop fighting, to put aside this stupid feud and have normal lives! That’s where I would follow you, but what you’re talking about…”

“Make a decision, Sakura,” he tells her. “For too long you’ve flitted through the shadows and moved in the side-lines. You cannot be both friend to me and to Uzumaki. You cannot embrace the teachings of the clan that sought to destroy mine, and in the same breath say you support the peace my brother wanted.”

“Please…don’t ask this of me…” she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Sakura…”

“Sasuke…I…I can’t…”

It’s as if the blade that pierced Itachi’s heart has shattered his own, and he takes a step back from her.

“Then you’ve made your choice.”

“No! That’s not – Sasuke, this shouldn’t even be a choice.”

“And yet it is,” he says, turning away from her. “It seems from here on out, we will follow different paths.”

“But don’t you see? This path will kill you!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismisses. “I’ve been marked for death since I was born. The least I can do is go to my grave avenging my brother’s death.”

“No—no, you’re wrong! Come on, let’s…let’s sit down and discuss this,” she attempts, voice going high with panic. “There are things you don’t know, things I need to tell you. I didn’t want it to be like this, but you have to—”

“The time for listening is past.”

“Please, Sasuke – don’t do this. If I…if I still have a place in that heart of yours, even if it’s just a little…please don’t…”

She’s crying in earnest now, and he knows with perfect recall the look she turns on him right now. Tearful and pleading, her damned green eyes trying to bespell him once more.

But his pain is too powerful for her now, and his heart too hard.

His mouth tugs upward into a bitter smirk, and he says, “You’re still so damned annoying.”

His Mangekyō spins to the surface and he turns to ensnare her in his own spell.

There’s a split second before she realises what he has done, and she gasps. “No! Sasuke, don’t, I’m p—!”

He casts a genjutsu over her, stronger than he’s ever used before – so strong that he can feel the crush of her heart in his palm even from across the room. She stands, frozen in place, cheeks streaked with tears and eyes gleaming with disbelief.

Ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of her betrayal and of what he must do, Sasuke reaches for his katana.

つづく

Um…yeah. So that happened *peeks out from underneath blanket* Please don’t kill me?

Hope you guys don’t mind that I didn’t give Danzō a huge long fight scene with Sasuke. I mean, the anime already did that, and besides, I never got over feeling cheated because Sasuke crushing him didn’t actually kill him when he badmouthed Itachi.

Besides, the big confrontation is still to come, so…again. Please don’t kill me?

Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated! Also, if you are in a supportive mood, I have a ko-fi button at the top of the page, or you can find my tip jar here.

Thanks for your interest in my work!

クリ

Next Chapter

[thehalfworld]

Fanfic MST: Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen, a Twilight fanfic

I was talking to an online friend on Twitter not too long ago, and the subject of bad fanfiction came up. My friend had been reading “My Immortal” and losing his shit over it. I asked if he’d read “Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen” and it turned out he had not. He’d never even heard of it.

Indeed, while this story is one of the best-known badfics out there, it’s still considerably less popular than “My Immortal” is, and I think that’s a damn shame. This may be my personal favorite work of bad fanfiction; it’s a fantastic example of the “so bad it’s good” genre. Author BeckyMac666 writes like no other English-language writer has ever written, and this is both a good and a bad thing. She’s almost certainly a troll, given the blatant use of established badfic tropes and several parallels with “My Immortal,” but when you’re this good at being terrible it really doesn’t matter how serious you are about it.

For the record, there are folks who believe that this fic and “My Immortal” share an author, due to the aforementioned parallels. I personally don’t think that’s true, since the prose is very different, but if it amuses you to imagine that they’re written by the same person, be my guest.

Like virtually all Twilight badfic, this story is about a mysterious new girl arriving in Forks and shaking up Bella and Edward’s relationship by creating a love triangle. As usual, Bella is made out to be completely awful in the process, Jacob is largely forgotten about, and the protagonist may not be entirely human herself. This is far weirder, and more entertaining, than your average shitty Twilight fanfiction, though. Mark my words.

I first MSTed this fanfiction back on the old WordPress version of this blog, but, as that was a long time ago and I like to think I’m funnier nowadays, I rewrote most of my comments. It’s not wildly different, but hopefully it is an improvement over the old version.

AN hey guys this is the new improved verson of my story, hope its better this time!

I have no idea what the unedited version of this thing looked like, but I honestly can’t imagine it being any more ridiculous than the final story.

btw i am young and have dyslexia i find spellin hard but its meant2 be unformal ok !

Use spellcheck, you fool! Or get a proofreader!

no critisism pls!

Oops.

tis story goes out 2 my bf zac(kisses!) amd my besfreind Tiffi LOVE YA GRRRL!

The Tara parallel here is probably intentional. Zac never gets mentioned again, much like Tara’s boyfriend, but Tiffi isn’t Becky’s beta reader and they don’t have a spat partway through or anything of that sort.

EDWARD IS OUR GODD!(we wanna SEX him gud!)

Honestly, I think this is how all fanfiction should open. Just tell me straight-up what character you wanna bang before the story’s even started. Save us all some time.

love &blood becky mac! xxx x x xx

Aww. That’s kinda cute.

UPDATE: I have a proofreader and I have cleaned up the spelling and grammer on this chaptor a hell of a lot as you will see (thank u vickie!)

Yeah, Vickie, thank you. Looks like you’re doing a great job and you’ve got everything under control here.

i will be imrpoving the next chaptors soon.

Since this fic got “abandoned,” subsequent chapters have not actually been improved. Not that one can tell, anyway.

Altantiana

Yes, that is a typo of her OC’s name. Off to a great start.

Hey, my names Atlantiana Rebekah Loren (but everyone calls me Tiana or just plain Tiaa).

Virtually no one calls her Tiana during the course of the story. Just so you know. “Tiaa” isn’t a typo, either, though I have no idea why the author felt the need to add an extra A.

Notice the middle name? Subtle.

I am a 16 year old girl and I live in Forks, Washington!

This actually makes her a year younger than Bella, for the record.

My hair is long and pale like spun gold and skims to my waist like a pale shimmering amber mist.

It’s pale and it’s pale? Also, gold and amber are not the same color.

My eyes are deep forgetminot blue and my delicate fentures are lilly white and pure as the winter snow in moonlight.

I’ve been complimented on my fentures before too, but it’s nothing worth bragging about.

I've been told by loads of sleazy, ugly, HORNY guys that I'm real pretty and look like a model or a bunny girl (some of the guys who like me are really old and try to make opt with me its disgusting and weird!) but basically a lot of the girls I meet tell a different story.

Well, gee, after that modest description of yourself I’m shocked that boys think you’re attractive, Tiaa. You sounded so plain and ordinary.

Am guessing that the girls who don’t tell a different story are gay.

They say I'm too ivory white and ethereal and too skinny and that I look anorexic which i don't care about, but I think its seriously disrespectful to people with REAL eating disorders (btw i'm so totally not anorexic! I eat loads I just never gain weight and I'm not thin enough to be anorexic anyways, I think they were just being BIATCHES especially this one ratty brain called Ellie Mayfair who I hope freaking DIES in PAIN with SHIT ON HER FACE! Sorry, I'm not really such a batch but she is SO horrible if you met her you'd think the same!)

I hate when girls pick on me for being too ethereal.

Even though we’re using the “attractive character looks anorexic but isn’t” trope, and that’s obviously not so great, I guess it’s nice that Tiaa/Becky took the time to point out that the comparison is disrespectful to people who actually have anorexia or another eating disorder.

The bit about Ellie Mayfair is one of the best things I’ve ever read. I hope you guys all understand why I had to run this fic now.

Anyways I am quite tall and slim and but with really big boobs that I used to HATE because they look noticeable on my slender body and draw to much attention but now i like them and don't care who stares at me!

Ah, the “skinny yet improbably busty” body type. Strangely more common in fiction than in real life.

Tiaa totally does care who stares at her, by the way. As we’ll see shortly.

I have a lip ring and recently put black and indigo and magenta streaks in my long pale blond hair. I smell like mint and cinnamon.

I have no idea why we’re supposed to care about any of this, but I’m particularly unclear about why we should care what she smells like.

I wear mostly black and hot pink, deep purple and neon blue and listen to COOL music!

Tiaa’s specific music taste never comes up, to my recollection, but I’m betting My Chemical Romance is involved.

It is my first day at school in forks as I just moved here to live with new foster parents Dave and Marie. They are nice and all very hole some sweet people but it is not like having a real family.

Yeah, Tiaa is adopted. This is sort of plot-important later on, but we never get to learn much about her life prior to Dave and Marie.

I've been hurt to many times to let people close to me and I don't talk to them very much.

I mean… you just moved in with them.

My real mom died when I was born and I never knew my real dad. I sometimes wonder what he is like and if I will ever get to met him.

Foreshadowing!

Dave gave me a ride to school and I smiled faintly as he wished me good luck and I got out of the car and went into the school. Loads of people freaking stared at me as I walked down the hall.

Presumably because she’s too ethereal.

I was wearing tight black leather pants with silver chains at the waste and a red fishnet-like top and you could see my black lacy bra through it.

That could have something to do with why they’re staring.

I ignored whispers and the big pink cheerleader imbosils pointing at me. I was used to it and I paid no at-tension to the guys asking desperately for my number(like hell I'd even LOOK at the horny little donkeys!) and told a ditsy blond cheerleader called Jessica to STFU(!) when she called me a freak!

God I love this author’s writing style. Truly, no one has ever written like this, before or since. BeckyMac666 is one of the unsung geniuses of our time.

Next time she tries anything I'll hit her in the eye cause NO ONE messes with me nemore!

Most of the rest of the story is about various people messing with Tiaa. For the record.

My first day I was relay board, I sat gazing out of the window into the gray cloud-embittered sky for most of the morning, My teachers all looked at me disprovable but said nothing cause they probably new I was a foster kid and a Gothic and didn't want to upset me in case I cut them up as they slept,.

I’m a pretty big fan of the phrase “cloud-embittered,” although it is of course completely meaningless.

Hey, uh… why the hell hasn’t she gotten dress coded? I went to a private school and I guess our dress code was a bit stricter than most, but most high schools will get upset at teenage girls for not covering their knees and shoulders, let alone having any undergarments visible. Tiaa’s entire bra is showing through her fishnet top. This is a situation in which I think it’d be reasonable to ask her to change.

My ears are pierced four times, I have a tattoo of a scorpion(like S my birth-sign!) on my ankle and a Gothic cross on my shoulder, and on my hand i have a weird birthmark in the shape of a seven-pointed star that I've had all my life.

I don’t know why we’ve gone right back to (over)describing Tiaa, but I do think I should delete my entire OkCupid bio and replace it with this opening chapter.

Your probably wandering why I'm bothering to tell you this, well I tell you now I am no ordinary sixteen year old girl.

Could’ve fooled me!

I have a secret, a dark and forbidden secret witch I am only just beginning to understand. When I sleep I hear whispers in another language and even though I understand them at the time, when I wake up i can't remember it!

That’s nothing. I had a dream once where I explained the meaning of Nirvana lyrics to somebody (obviously not possible in real life), and I couldn’t remember my explanation when I woke up either.

I also see weird faces in my dreams that fade to nothingness when I open my eyes and I swear out the corner of my eye my birthmark glows shocking bright gold and gets relay hot sometimes but when I look properly it is back to normal boarding scar-color!

I’d like to remind you that this is set in the Twilight universe. It’s already got magical creatures, and there are rules established about their abilities, appearances, and behavior. Tiaa is clearly not quite human, but she doesn’t seem to be a vampire, a half-vampire, or a werewolf. She’s completely unique within her universe, for no defined reason, and the rules governing other nonhumans don’t apply to her.

Like, the physical description and the obvious homage to “My Immortal” already made it clear that this girl is a Mary Sue, but this author clearly gets that Sue status isn’t just about looking unreasonably pretty. It’s about defying the rules of canon. Tiaa’s outstanding at that, as you’ll see later on.

I am really gracefull like the running anti-lopes when I run very fast and am stronger and faster than most people.

God, what a sentence.

I used to just think i was relay athletic but now I'm not so sure, I think there might be something else at work, something so much more mysterious and eeire.

Something like… bad writing?

The truth hovers so softly on the brink of my memory sometimes but if only i could remember the weird things that clung to the edge of my mind as I slept!

There are so many bad fanfics where the prose is bare-bones, with few or no adjectives/adverbs and simple sentence structure. BeckyMac666 tends in the opposite direction, and it’s awesome. Everything is phrased as though it’s super dramatic, nonsense metaphors abound, and our author has clearly never met an adjective she didn’t like. Hey @ aspiring trollfic authors: take note. This is how you write an entertaining badfic.

At lunch I sat alone in the corner and scanned the cafeteria quietly with my eyes smoldering dark blue beheath my long black lashes and my slim thighs curled under me.

Also a big fan of how Tiaa always talks about herself as though she’s checking herself out.

It was the n I noticed an unbelievably jaw-droopingly hawt HAWT HAAAAAAAAWT dude with tusseted blondey-brown hair, golden yellow eyes like wells of hot caramel and pale sexy features. He was tall and mussel and looked like he was wearing eyeliner and my body got hot and cold all at once as I looked at him.

Kind of like an erection only she’s a girl so she didn’t get one you sicko.

I'd never felt this way about anyone before and I'd totally never felt this weird feeling that I'd met someone before but I had no idea where and i knew it was impassible because I'd freaking remember someone THAT hawt!

Foreshadowing! Again!

A girl sat next to him with long brown hair with her arms dripped over him like a freaking flesh-eating plant so i thought well whatevah, hes taken.

Straight-up one of the greatest similes I’ve ever seen. Like, I study English literature and I don’t think I’ve ever read a metaphor better than that one. I’m not joking, it’s brilliant.

She wasn't nearly as hawt as he was, she wasn't ugly though. I figured I was maybe prettier then her. I never really saw myself as beautiful but i'd guessed from thinks others had said, plus this girl wasn't great looking but anyways I'd never try to pilch with another girls' BF cause thats just low.

The modesty act might be a little more convincing if we hadn’t just read several paragraphs of Tiaa talking about how hot she is.

So I got up to leave the hall thinking I'd go and smoke some bald drugs in the locker room while no one was there.

Hey, what’s a “bald drug”? I go to a liberal arts college and I’ve watched the entirety of Breaking Bad multiple times, so you think I’d have heard of it.

As I waked over to he exit I couldn't help but notice the hawt pale guys musky eyes as they met mine.

Musk is a substance some male animals secrete for scent-marking purposes. The word comes from the Sanskrit for “scrotum.” Thought you all should know.

I locked away hurriedly. I smocked dope in the locker room for a bit then I wondered to my next class.

This bitch just hotboxed a locker room on her first day of school. 

I bumped into someone in the corridor and my bocks fell everywhere! FRICK! FRICK! FRIIIICKK!

Remember that this is the beta-read version of the chapter.

"WTF!" I screamed loudly, "watch where your FREAKING going you asshole!" (i have anger problems)

So you know how self-insert characters, particularly Sues, often have self-proclaimed “anger issues”? I wanna talk about that, actually, because it’s a trope I see not only in fanfiction but in published fiction, and it honestly bugs me.

In real life, anger issues are a totally legitimate character flaw, and one that can have serious negative consequences in-universe. A character with a bad temper may make rash decisions, screw up their relationships with others, have trouble holding down a job, get in trouble with the law, and so on; people who have anger problems are often mentally ill and/or traumatized, too, and the anger may be just the tip of the iceberg. Many morally ambiguous characters, well-written ones, have trouble with anger. There’s nothing wrong with this trope when it’s executed correctly.

In the hands of a less-than-competent writer, however, anger issues are the opposite of a problem, because the character’s show of anger will invariably cause others to back down or apologize and there will be no negative consequences. Writing a character who’s so sweet and charming that they always get their way has exactly the same effect, but as that trope falls out of style “anger issues” has taken its place and the authors who write these characters have no idea that they’re doing the same thing as the trope they thought they were avoiding.

Of course, this is the work of a troll, and the use of this trope is almost certainly intentional, but there are way too many authors who employ it unironically as a way to give a “flaw” to a character that even they realize is bordering on unrealistic.

"I'm so so sorry" he said in a voice like wet heaven "please forgive me my lady”

Author’s so fond of weird phrases that I have no idea whether or not “wet heaven” is intended as innuendo.

It was the hawt pale guy!

Dun dun dunnnn!

Next chapter

[conflictandscotchblog]

ishouldhavehad10ofyou - a blog by KLC

Friday, August 03, 2012

18 years ago at 5:04 a.m., my mom died. I remember it clearly. The night before, I was in

her hospital room. It was a Saturday night. I fed her dinner. I chose her menu every day.

It was spaghetti. My mom loved spaghetti. She was actually eating, which was a first. I

was feeding her. I had her napkin all tucked into her gown and when it fell, I reached over

her to put the napkin back and she started kissing my right cheek. “Ok, OKKK. I get it.

You love me.” We were actually making plans to take her home, complete with a hospital

bed at home. That secretly terrified me as I knew I would be the one at my parents’ house

alone. Even though I had taken care of her both at home and at the hospital since

Christmas, she was somewhat mobile when at home. I fed her and helped her in and out

of the tub (Have you seen that scene from the movie “One True Thing” with Meryl Streep

in the bathtub with her daughter Renee Zellweger ? = my life), but the thought of a

hospital bed in our living room seemed odd. Of course the cost would be astronomical

and I turned on the tv and said, “Don’t worry. I bought a lottery ticket and they are about

to call out the numbers. I got this taken care of.” [We obviously did not win, but it

lightened the mood for a second.]

 I was then joined at the hospital by my dad, my Uncle Jack and my Aunt Vicki. She was

doing fine and putting on make-up, her wig and painting her nails when this pain in her

legs hit her half way through painting her nails. She told me to finish her nails (through

the cries) and I said “NOW?” and she said, “No, for the funeral.” “You are being silly.” It

was the only time I heard her cry out in pain. Her room was a suite (what I guess to be

now as the death suite – what they give to patients who are about to die: big screen tv

(rare back then), sofa, recliner, a private bath and her bed). I was sitting on the sofa

facing her bed and she screamed out “I love you Kellie. I love you Kellie. I love you

Kellie.” Those were her last words. We had just witnessed her last surge. It seems to a

non-medical person that cancer patients are on the verge of death (as she was in ICU)

and then make a huge comeback, only to die soon thereafter. They never tell you that

part. So, they come in and do some things to her that I won’t tell you and give her a pain

shot. She was out.

 They actually said to us, someone should stay tonight and my Dad and I simultaneously

said “I will”. Still, it did not occur to me it was her final night. My dad and mom never told

my brother and I she was dying. For four months, we had no clue while Colin lived in

NYC and my dad traveled for work. She said to me one day, “I should have had 10 of

you.” Sometimes I write that on a post it and put it on my computer in my office at work. It

makes me feel loved. When I feel down or I am going through struggles (more on that

later), I think of what my mom went through and say to myself: “People dying of cancer

would love to have my problem.”

 I asked the nurses to please give her a pain shot consistently because I was not

witnessing the cries I had seen earlier again. I slept on the sofa bed, my dad in the

recliner next to me. My mom had on a plastic oxygen mask and every time she would

take it off, this horrible siren would go off. My dad and I took turns getting up and putting it

back on. This went on about every hour. The last time my dad got up he was baby talking

her, “Keep the mask on Schulzie [he called her Schulz after Charles Schulz, the illustrator

of Peanuts, because she was such a tiny peanut]. I wuv you so much.” The last time she

pulled off the mask at about 4am, it was my turn. I got up. I was irritated and tired and I

said to her, “Look, these are your options. You can keep the mask on and stay with the

daughter that loves you or you can keep the mask off and visit Jesus. Which is it going to

be?” She looked at me and tugged on my hair, which was then in a short bob, and the

mask went back on. “Good choice,” I said.

 An hour later, my dad and I awoke to nurse Dee Dee in the room. Her vitals were

dropping. We jolted up and my dad grabbed me and said, “Say a prayer, this is it.” I did

as I was told and said a prayer. Then we heard over the hospital page system, “Code

blue room 922, Code blue room 922″. That was my mom’s room. It was weird to hear

them calling my mom’s room after I had been hearing other people’s rooms for months.

 They started to usher Dad and I into the hall and the nurse asked me what she could do.

I said, “If she opens her eyes, come and get us.” I did not want her to die alone.

As we entered the hallway, the sleepy, empty hospital on an early Sunday morning

suddenly had everyone in scrubs running toward my mom’s room. Ah, but she had a

living will. So they wheeled the crash cart out and my dad went to the pay phone right

down the hall. This is 1994-no cell phones. We could see her room door from the phone.

My dad called, I think, Uncle Jack (his brother) and basically sat on the phone with him

saying over and over, “God, I think this is it.” Then, the scrubs started walking out of my

mom’s room slowly, one by one, heads down. Nurse Dee Dee came out to me with tears

in her eyes and said, “I am so sorry.” My dad was still on the phone. Uncle Jack and Aunt

Vicki were on their way. I remember actually feeling bad for Dee Dee – as if we ruined her

day. While they unhooked my mom from everything, they ushered us into a small wooden

room with her respiratory therapist and some other medical personnel with a telephone. I

still remember what I was wearing. Red long sleeve shirt, jeans and beat up brown

loafers my friend Trish gave to me. My dad called Colin first in NYC. As we all sat silently

in that room, my dad said “Answer the phone, Colin” each time it rang. I don’t know what

Dad said but he handed the phone to me and I said, “You don’t know what it is like to be

here.” Colin said, “You don’t know what it is like NOT to be there.” Then my dad called my

mom’s brother Uncle Rich and that is when he broke down. My dad loved Rich like a

brother, who died suddenly a year later (which crushed my dad – he still carries his

funeral card in his wallet). I went to another pay phone and called my sorority house –

Mulligan’s room – and Deirdre’s apartment. I left them both messages that my mom had

died and if they could let everyone know I would appreciate it. [It is those very same

wonderful sorority sisters and friends that have loved and supported me then and now

with my current struggles, even going so far as surprising me with an ipad so I can write,

thus, the blog...]

 When I returned to my dad, he and I got to go in with Mom. Just the three of us. I then

remembered two things my mom said. Remove my jewelry so the undertaker does not

steal it. I put her necklace on me and kept it there for years -never taking it off. Her

wedding rings had been previously cut off due to the swelling from chemo. I removed her

earrings and put them in my change purse where one remains today. I then recalled what

she told me the night before. She asked me to finish painting her nails for the funeral.

That was my mom. Big on clean nails, clean shoes and haircuts. So, Dad held her fingers

and hands while I painted her nails. If nothing else, she did not want to have her nails half

done.

Uncle Jack and Aunt Vicki arrived and I remember driving back to my parents’ house to

clean it up. I was actually mowing and planting flowers within four (4) hours of my mom

dying so our house did not look like white trash with relatives arriving. Then I heard a

door slam. “Col?” It was my brother. “Helloooo, Miss Green Jeans.” I have no idea how

he made it home so fast from NYC but he said he walked up to the counter at the airport,

said, “My mom died. Get me on the next plane.” He was home. I then went to my home,

my sorority house, and sat in my room “The Zoo” with my sisters telling them this very

story, followed by pizza and beer at Street Scene and pool at Polo’s.

 I still miss her, especially now that we are having a hard time after 9 years of not

conceiving and over three years of failed adoption. I always wanted to name our child

after my mom. I was thinking Schulz as a middle name. I hope I can one day. She was

human and she made mistakes, but she totally redeemed herself in my late teens and

early 20’s. Just when she became my best friend, I lost her. I also remember everything

my friends did for me, my family and my mom. 18 years later, I am grateful and can still

remember the contributions and sacrifices you all made to be there for us. Like my mom,

your good deeds will never be forgotten (including the overwhelming generosity of the

recent ipad gift after my miscarriage so I could write again).

 When you have to go to a funeral, please remember this. 18 years later, I remember who

was NOT there just as much as who WAS there. It means a lot to be there for your

friends and family during a loss – whether that be the loss of a mother in 1994 or a

miscarriage I had a month ago. As my dad said, “Funerals are not convenient for

anyone.” And when you think you have problems, say what I always do to myself. People

dying of cancer would love to have your problem(s). xoxo (aka “socks”, according to my

spellcheck) :)

Photo added by Conflict and Scotch

Photo by DESIGNECOLOGIST on Unsplash

[peacefulheartfarm]

What is A2A2 Milk

You have heard me talk about A2A2 milk. Some of you may not know what that means. You may wonder if it really matters to you and your family. I’m going to fill you in on some of that information today.

First let me say welcome to all the new listeners and welcome back to you veteran homestead loving regulars who stop by the FarmCast every week. I appreciate you all so much. I’m so excited to share with you what’s going on at the farm this week, a little bit about A2A2 milk and a great and tasty recipe. Let’s just jump right in.

Today’s Show

Homestead Life Updates

What is A2A2 Milk?

Ice Cream Base Recipe – with downloadable document with flavoring ideas

Homestead Life Updates

Cows

The cows are doing great. We have a new calf and the last one for a while. There is likely one more, but that cow is way behind the others. In fact, we are getting ready to breed some of them again in a few weeks. Cloud will deliver so late that she likely will not get bred back this year.

We are selling all of our bulls. We have six. Yes six. There is 2-year-old Sam. He is 95% Normande genetics and the sire of this year’s crop of calves. Then we have 1-year-old Ray’s Rocket – mostly we call him Rocket Man. Lastly is the group of newlings born this year. All four are for sale. Some are currently being negotiated for but I’ll put a link in the show notes to the Facebook page where all of their information can be found. If you are looking to improve the genetics of your herd, this is the bull for you. 

Sheep/Goats

Lambert is so fat right now. He will be receiving his bottle twice daily until nearly all of the milk replacer is gone. Then I will switch him to once a day for a week or maybe two before weaning him completely off.

If you want to get a whole or half lamb, speak up now. It will be months yet before these are ready for your freezer. We have one lamb and/or 2 half lambs currently available.  A whole lamb yields 30 to 35 pounds, sometimes more of meat. Half lambs, half that. You can see the cuts that come on a whole or half lamb on our website. www.peacefulheartfarm.com/shop/lamb-package. 

Orchard and Garden

There is always so much going on around here that a lot of stuff gets pushed back. Thinks like birthing, gathering and storing milk, making cheese, taking care of animals all have the highest priority. The garden and the orchard, not so much. My garden is still overrun with weeds, though I was able to dig out my carrots and surprisingly there are lots that beat the grass. Watering the garden does have a priority or it would all simply die. Other stuff slows down or stunts growth. The bottom line is we will still get a crop, but perhaps not as large as if we had gotten the weeds out and fertilized more often.

The peas are just such a crop. They are producing like mad and I will be picking them within the week, I think. Then they will have to be processed in some way. I’m scaring myself with all of that. There are just not enough hours in the week.

I still don’t even have everything planted. The green beans need to be put in the ground. The peanuts need to be replanted; I have no idea why not a single one sprouted. And the eggplant is going to wither away to nothing if I don’t get it out there in the garden.

Everything needs to be weeded. Everything needs to be fertilized.

Scott is diligently digging out the orchard from the waist high grass. It would be great if we could graze some of the animals in there, but they all eat the trees. We are still investigating how to get the sheep in their without having them raise up on their back legs as high as they can and eating all of the leaves off the branches they can reach. The goats are a complete disaster anywhere near the orchard or the berries. They will eat the bark off of the trees, killing them. And because they like to eat woody stemmed plants, they will decimate blackberry vines and blueberry bushes. No, we don’t want them anywhere near the orchard.

On the upside, they did a really great job of clearing out the wild blackberries on the island in the big pond. It is now quite pleasant to sit out there and enjoy being surrounded by water and nature.

Quail

We are newbies with the quail. It is unbelievable how quickly those quail grew. They outgrew their brooder box a good week before we had planned. Outside they went as we were having a warm spell. There were a couple of cool nights but these are wild birds and they faired very well. They are only barely over 2 weeks old and are fully feathered. The tiny birds that were barely the size of a gold ball are now the size of a baseball – perhaps even a softball. It’s amazing. They will begin laying eggs in as little as six weeks from now. Yum, yum, we look forward to it.

Four eggs are required to equal one chicken egg. Our plan is to have about 30 laying hens and 6 roosters for breeding. We will need to continually hatch out new ones as their lives are actually quite short and they only lay for a year or two.

Creamery

The creamery – ah the creamery. So much still to do there and Scott has so little time to do it. We really need that building completed. However, as I mentioned earlier, there are priorities. First the animals, then the perishable milk and cheese, then the garden and orchard. The creamery, as an inanimate object comes in last place. There are even maintenance projects that take precedence. Fences, driveways, pathways, other infrastructure – all has to be kept up to ensure the safety of our animals.

It’s a lot but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. We work long hours every day – very long hours every day. Alarm goes off at 6:00 am and though 10:00 pm is bedtime, more often it is 11 or 11:30 before that happens. And every bit of it is worth it. There is never any lack of meaning in our lives. Boredom is something very distant in the past. The constant attention to the next task makes us know that we are alive in God’s wonderful creation.

One thing that evolved through nature is the composition of milk in cows. Recently, some of the genetic content and protein structure of milk has changed.

What is A2A2 Milk?

There is a great deal of scientific gobbledygook about the proteins and how they are broken down or not. I’ll try to keep this layman friendly and skip most of the mumbo-jumbo lingo. By the way, did you know that gobbledygook is an actual word that my spell-checker knew? Who knew? Well, my spellchecker knew.

A2 milk is cow's milk that mostly lacks a form of beta-casein proteins called A1 and instead has mostly the A2 form. 

A1 and A2 beta-casein are genetic variants of the beta-casein milk protein that differ by one amino acid. Casein is a family of related phosphoproteins. These proteins are commonly found in the milk of mammals, comprising about 80% of the proteins in cow’s milk and between 20% and 45% of the proteins in human milk. Sheep and buffalo milk have a higher casein content than other types of milk with human milk having a particularly low casein content. Casein has a wide variety of uses one of which is being a major component of cheese. We respect our casein.

A genetic test, developed by the a2 Milk Company, determines whether a cow produces A2 or A1 type protein in its milk. The test allows the company to certify milk producers as producing milk that does not metabolize to beta-casomorphin which is an opioid peptide or protein fragment derived from the digestion of the milk protein casein.

I know, I’m getting too scientific with the lingo there. All that means is that the chemical composition of A2A2 milk may benefit our health because it is digested without inflammation that might arise from BCM-7 produced by A1 beta-casein. Consequently, A1 proteins may be detrimental to our health. That causes great push back from the gigantic dairy industry as A2A2 genetics is rare in Europe (except France) and the US. That would really disrupt their operation if their milk was found to be harmful – while others had milk that was beneficial.

As with so many health-related topics, the science is divided on whether or not there is reason for concern regarding the A1 protein in milk – whether there are adverse health effects from its consumption. Personally, I’m erring on the side of caution, as I do with so many other foods. I’ll go with tradition as opposed to modern fads in nutrition. We are breeding our cows for the A2A2 genetic conformation.

And when I say modern fads in nutrition, I mean everything that came pouring out of the 20th century and that continues to pour out in the 21st century. I’m talking about three square meals a day, the food pyramid, and the modified food pyramid. I’m talking about low fat diets, vegan and vegetarian diets, the Mediterranean diet, the South Beach diet and so on. All of these so-called nutrition experts are literally experimenting with our health as human beings. We evolved over thousands and thousands and thousands of years eating locally grown food, whatever it was. Historically, in the tropics the diet was heavy in fruits, nuts and greens, in Alaska fat predominated. In other regions protein was the main source of dietary sustenance. You must find what works for you.

Which brings me back to A2A2 milk.

History

In the 1980s, some medical researchers began to explore whether some peptides (including peptides from casein) that are created during digestion might have negative or positive health effects.

Interest in the distinction between A1 and A2 beta-casein proteins in milk began in the early 1990s via epidemiological research and animal studies initially conducted by scientists in New Zealand. The scientists found correlations between the prevalence of milk with A1 beta-casein proteins in some countries and the prevalence of various chronic diseases. The research generated interest in the media, as well as among the scientific community and entrepreneurs. If it were indeed true that BCM-7 created by A1 beta-casein is harming humans, this would be an important public health issue.

Scientists believe the difference in genetics originated as a mutation that occurred between 5000 and 10,000 years ago—as cattle were being taken north into Europe with the mutation subsequently spreading widely throughout herds in the Western world through breeding.

The percentage of the A1 and A2 beta-casein protein varies between herds of cattle, and also between countries and provinces. While African and Asian cattle continue to produce only A2 beta-casein, the A1 version of the protein is common among cattle in the western world. The A1 beta-casein type is the most common type found in cow's milk in Europe (excluding France where our Normandes with predominantly A2A2 genetics originate). It is also the most common type found in cow’s milk in the US, Australia and New Zealand. 

Let’s talk about the possible health benefits.

Health Benefits

Symptoms of stomach discomfort, such as gas, bloating, and diarrhea that occur after consuming dairy products, are typically attributed to lactose intolerance. However, some researchers believe that it is BCM-7, not lactose, that affects digestion and produces symptoms similar to lactose intolerance, in some people.

A study on Chinese adults with self-reported milk intolerance compared the effects of drinking regular milk that contained A1 and A2 proteins with A2-only milk on intestinal function, stomach discomfort, and inflammation.

The participants consumed 8 oz of milk twice a day for 2 weeks. They reported worse stomach pain after they consumed the regular milk but no change in symptoms after they drank the A2 milk.

Participants also reported more frequent and looser-consistency stools while they drank the regular milk. These symptoms did not occur after they consumed the A2 milk.

So, what MIGHT be happening on the other side of the coin?

Potentially Harmful Effects of non A2A2 Milk

Notice the words “might and “potentially” there. I’m not making any claims here. Some of the effects can include:

Inflammation

In the same study mentioned above, researchers also looked at markers of inflammation in the blood. They found the participants had higher levels of inflammatory markers after they drank the regular milk.

Brain function

The research showed that milk could impact brain function. Study participants took longer to process information and made more errors on a test after drinking regular milk compared to A2 milk.

Type 1 diabetes

The potential risks associated with milk containing A1 proteins include an increased risk of developing type 1 diabetes.

Some studies have shown that children who drink cow's milk protein at an earlier age than others have a higher risk of developing type 1 diabetes. However, other studies have not shown the same association.

The research also suggests that the amount of milk a child consumes could influence their risk of developing type 1 diabetes, with higher milk consumption observed in children who develop the condition.

At least one study showed a link between the consumption of A1 protein and incidence of type 1 diabetes, although this kind of study fails to prove that it is a direct cause.

Some animal studies have shown associations between cow's milk consumption and a higher incidence of type 1 diabetes. One study in mice found that 47 percent of the mice that had A1 protein added to their diet developed diabetes, while none that had A2 protein added did so.

However, other research does not support the hypothesis that there is any association between milk consumption and a higher incidence of type 1 diabetes. There are links in the show notes for both sides of this discussion. Debate about the potential health effects of A1 and A2 milk is ongoing.

Research suggests that A1 beta-casein causes adverse digestive symptoms in certain individuals. But the evidence is still too weak for any solid conclusions to be made about the supposed links between A1 beta-casein and other conditions, such as type 1 diabetes and autism.

That said, A2 milk could be worth a try if you struggle to digest regular milk.

There you have it. The basics to the why of A2A2 milk. I’ll let you decide. Again, we like to err on the side of caution. We have two A2A2 certified cows and will be testing the rest of the herd as we move forward with our dairy operation. Go to the show notes for the links to the research I referenced.

Speaking of milk, how about an ice cream recipe for your A2A2 milk and cream.

Ice Cream Base Recipe (Download Flavorings)

When it’s warm outside, a cold refreshing dish of ice cream can really hit the spot. This is a basic ice cream recipe that can be used as a base for many different flavors. I’ve included a download link to the flavorings.

This silky, luscious and very classic custard can be used as the base for any ice cream flavor you can dream up. These particular proportions of milk and cream to egg yolk will give you a thick but not sticky ice cream that feels decadent but not heavy. For something a little lighter, use more milk and less cream, as long as the dairy adds up to 3 cups. You can also cut down on egg yolks for a thinner base, but don’t go below three.

Time: 20 minutes plus several hours’ cooling, chilling and freezing

Yield: about 1 ½ pints

What You Need

2cups heavy cream

1cup whole milk

⅔ cup sugar

⅛ teaspoon fine sea salt

6 large egg yolks

Your choice of flavoring (download here)

What To Do

In a small pot, simmer cream, milk, sugar and salt until sugar completely dissolves, about 5 minutes. Remove pot from heat. In a separate bowl, whisk yolks. Whisking constantly, slowly whisk about a third of the hot cream into the yolks, then whisk the yolk mixture back into the pot with the cream. Return pot to medium-low heat and gently cook until mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon (about 170 degrees on an instant-read thermometer).

Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. Cool mixture to room temperature. Cover and chill at least 4 hours or overnight.

Churn in an ice cream machine according to manufacturer’s instructions. Serve directly from the machine for soft serve, or store in freezer until needed.

Final Thoughts

I hope your days are filled with as much love and joy as you can stand. We love our lives here. Yes, we are busy beyond belief. Yes, it’s a little stressful sometimes. I just find it so fulfilling. From the time I was a child I was told to work hard for what I wanted. I was also told that I was too smart to not be college educated and have a career. So, no physical work. That was for those not smart enough to get out of that poor and decrepit existence. Funny isn’t it? In the end, educated to the max, I prefer the hard work. And indeed, some of it is smart brain work. But the best and most enjoyable part involves sweat.

Particularly, I love our cows and our dairy operation. Check out the references I provided for the research around A2 beta-casein. Then sign on to our herd share program with our A2A2 milk and value added products, go to www.peacefulheartfarm.com/virginia-herdshare. Read, ask questions, download the documents. We’d love to do business with you.

And as this Memorial Day weekend stretches into Monday, I hope you’ll try that ice cream recipe. There is nothing more traditional than everyone taking turns operating that crank on the ice cream machine. Well, we use the electric method. Likely you do too, but the principle is still the same. Enjoy your time with your family and friends.

If you enjoyed this podcast, please hop over to Apple Podcasts, Subscribe and give me a 5-star rating and review. Also, please share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content.

As always, I’m here to help you “taste the traditional touch.”

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

References

Peaceful Heart Farm Bulls for Sale

NIH published study

Nutrition & Diabetes Study

The A2 milk case: a critical review

Recipe Link

Ice Cream Base

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NEW!! Peaceful Heart FarmCast Episode. Enjoy!!

[thismountainhastigers]

What’s love?

No, I’m serious. What is it?

It’s been something on my mind recently. (Valentine’s Day, I guess.) Genuinely, I honest-to-God do not know if I know what love is or what it feels like.

I feel like we can all agree that it’s mostly an action, not a just feeling. But... is it really that simple? I used to think so, but I don’t know if you can separate the two. (Perhaps one motivates the other.)

What is it that makes us abandon self-interests?

What is it that makes us do things that are rationally incredibly stupid and illogical?

So let’s take apart love and put it back together the only way I know how.

The Greeks got a head start on all this by creating different categories for love (Romanized here and probably with spelling errors, deal with it, stream of consciousness has no spellcheck): eros, storge, philia, agape.

A’ight, thanks guys, but that classifies love, it doesn’t explain what it is. But if we’re going to understand it, I guess it’s a start to see how action and feeling come together at each level.

Eros

Ha. This one is fun.

Let’s call him Inigo for the purposes of this... essay? (Pretend the tilde’s there, I don’t feel like changing keyboards.)

The action side is easiest, because there’s nothing there. I might feel like I have zero control over my emotions (hi, Spock), but I can damn well control my actions. I logically know that I have no future with this guy as everything stands right now.

SO WHY CAN’T I STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM.

It’s not even on a biological, let’s-spread-our-collective-genetic-material-around kind of way. It’s a tell-me-about-your-family-and-where-you-see-yourself-in-10-years kind of way.

A’ight, let’s get one thing straight: this ain’t love. I know that. It’s attraction. I know that word has a physical connotation to it, but I mean it in the charged particle/magnetic kind of way. It feels like I can’t get away from him.

Could I? As 2017 me when I tried to give him up for Lent.

In summary, I have kept everything on the feeling side and not let anything spill over into actions (...for the most part).

Storge

This is where I think most of us get the idea of what love looks like.

This is also where that actions/feelings stuff gets complicated.

Hoo boi. 

Like, I know they are trying to love me (in the action sense of the word, cannot confirm the feeling side of it with measurable data). I have all my needs met and then some.

So... why can’t I respond to it? 

I’ve noticed that I can’t tell them I love them. (Though to be fair, it feels like I’m lying if I say it to anyone, so this isn’t exclusive.) I don’t know what that feels like.

I could be wrong, but I think this was a one-way love in the minds of the Greeks. For the purposes of this experiment, we’re going to leave it there.

Philia

Ah. Now we’re back to lying to people/not knowing if I’m lying to people.

Is love wanting to see someone succeed and be happy? Is it hurting when they’re hurting? That seems more like empathy.

Action-wise I think it’s caring for one another’s physical needs, standing up for people, and listening to them.

But feelings-wise...

Agape

If I know any love, it is heavenly love. 

Which is good, because I already know I can never measure up to it perfectly. Maybe helps my perspective of it, I don’t know.

From a Christian perspective, everything was created out of love. Everything is sustained out of love. Everything is redeemed out of love. Everything has a hope for a future because of love.

Those seem like straightforward actions from where I’m standing. The only thing is, this is also probably the only love that doesn’t depend on feelings... I don’t think, anyway. It is unconditional love, that’s kind of it’s whole thing. Of all the loves identified by the Greeks, it has the most to do with making a conscious decision. It’s almost like faith in the extreme cases: “yes, I see all the terrible stuff going on here, but there’s something more in me that says none of it really matters in the end because something is going on at a deeper, more important level.” Then that something moves a person to faith in the unseen, or a decision to love without holding back.

Well. I’m no closer understanding it.

The actions that love takes are basically infinite, whereas feelings are a bit more limited. The latter is the one I have the hardest time understanding anyway, so let’s move that way.

One of the reasons I’m still hesitant to calling love a feeling is that it is capable of producing so much more. Happiness, sadness, anger... they can all come tinged with a little bit of love.

SO WHY IS THAT. Why does it have such a hold over our lives?

For happiness, that one I think has more to do with empathy again. If you love someone and want them to be happy, and they do something that makes you happy, then you technically get what you want and get to be happy too.

Sadness is more complicated. You can be sad for someone experiencing sadness, but because of the intensity that love produces, it is not limited to empathy. Unrequited love is a common theme in poetry, but I think you can summarize most of it into expecting love and not getting it in return. The love in you breaks your own heart.

So.

Introduction: Love is confusing. It’s a mess of actions and feelings that bind society together. The Greeks broke it into a number of categories.

Methods: Looking at the love in my own life.

Results: Ha...

Conclusion: Love is still confusing.