#also Riddle deserves a better mother figure

[thelost-teller]

ok, but

A twisted wonderland au (perhaps even twisted wonderland x ever after high?) where the dorm leaders (and Jamil) are the sons of the original villains.

I will not be quiet about this concept :)

[jalpari-spouts]

wei wuxian is not an oblivious fool, there is a deeper reason he is ignorant of lan wangji's feelings; in this essay i will...

Disclaimer: all of this is just my personal interpretation.

TLDR; Wei Wuxian believes he is unworthy of love, that it is hard to love him, and he doesn’t want to burden anyone with himself.

There are three main traumas that are probably so deeply ingrained in the fiber of his being that Wei Wuxian might not even realize that he's carrying that emotional baggage with him. As always, these three issues stem from his formative experiences as a child since he was roughly six years old to well into his teenage years.

The sudden death of his parents when he was only around six years old.

Having to fend for himself as an orphan on the streets of Yiling for almost three years until Jiang Fengmian found him.

Being adopted by the Jiangs and then becoming the 'reason' for a lifelong conflict within the family.

One. Sudden loss of parents.

The death of Wei Wuxian's mother and father was sudden. As per canon, they died during a night hunt unexpectedly. Given that his father, Wei Changze, had left the Jiang clan to elope with his mother, Cangse Sanren, who was a rogue cultivator with no affiliation to any clan or sect (as she was an orphan herself and had left Baoshan Sanren's mountain and thus could not return there), this left Wei Wuxian quite literally, orphaned and homeless.

No matter how much one tries to understand and accept such a misfortune as just that – a misfortune – and not something that was their fault or something they deserved; the baggage stays, usually in the form of abandonment issues.

The abandonment issues could lead to not wanting to get too attached to people for fear of being abandoned again. It also develops the harmful mentality that all people will leave eventually because he has bad luck or because he doesn’t deserve that happiness or because he is just not meant to have such blessings.

Two. Living as a street orphan.

Wei Wuxian spent around three years, from the age of six to nine years old, as an orphan on the streets of Yiling — fending for himself, diving into dumpsters for scraps of food, surviving every season in his tattered clothes, fighting off dogs that probably thought he could be their next meal because surely such a feeble child wouldn't live longer than a few more hours in the frigid snow.

Such trauma, especially at that young age, is bound to leave deep scars in someone's psyche. Trauma manifests in different manners; loss of memory is one such way. People who have experienced trauma are known to either block out those memories entirely or disassociate from a large chunk of them.

Wei Wuxian jokes that he has always had bad memory. But it's true. He does. And one of the reasons is his childhood trauma. And now, because of that, he doesn't remember a lot of his childhood, only vaguely remembering a few bare details. The baggage of not remembering his parents and what a happy family is like, makes it harder for him to believe he can have that – because what you can’t even envision, you can’t begin to believe in. He just doesn’t remember what unconditional love and a harmonious family truly felt like for him and so can never truly reach out to take that for himself.

Three. Adoption into an unhappy home.

His adoption into the Jiang family was riddled with issues like conflict with the maternal figure, conflict between both parental figures, rumors and gossip mills, being better than the actual future clan leader and always being compared to him, being taunted by the “son of a servant” label anytime he was deemed wrong or caused an inconvenience.

No matter how much he says he didn’t care or no matter how much he smiles and shrugs, such an environment still has an impact. Especially for someone like Wei Wuxian who is already carrying the previously mentioned baggage.

Wei Wuxian always felt like a guest in the Jiang residence and a burden on the Jiang family and therefore felt like he owed them for everything. His actions make it very clear that he feels that he needs earn a place in the clan, in the house, in the family. He thinks he needs to be of value, to be useful, in order to receive their love and affection. Sometimes, he thinks his use is just to be a punching bag for Jiang-furen. And he was okay with that too.

This is not to say that Wei Wuxian didn't consider them his family. He did. It's just that his definition and understanding of his family by this point was already torn and twisted.

Important side note: Wei Wuxian did truly, from the bottom of his heart, love Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He always tried to forge a strong bond with them, partially because he genuinely loved them and saw them as siblings. But partially also because he didn’t want the conflict to pass onto the next generation and continue. As the Yunmeng trio grew up together, they truly did form that bond. Wei Wuxian truly did allow himself to accept Yanli's unconditional motherly love, to rely on her, to make demands of her. He let his inner child, that had been deprived of all these things, reach out to Yanli and hold onto her tight. Which is why the fate of the Yunmeng trio was the saddest part of this whole saga. And also why, when it all went downhill for Wei Wuxian, his shijie's death was the final trigger for his own.

thus, therefore, thence...

Wei Wuxian had a hard time accepting people’s love. 

Speaking from experience, childhood abuse and trauma does that to a person. You feel like a burden when you want something, when you express something, when you need something. You don’t want to push your luck and try and get more than what they’re giving. You don’t believe they will stay. You basically apologize for your entire existence if you feel they are getting inconvenienced by you and you go out of your way to eradicate the problem you think you are the cause of.

A lot of Wei Wuxian’s insecurities are embedded so deep within his soul and are so ingrained in his mentality that even he doesn’t know it sometimes. Wei Wuxian looks up to Lan Wangji, he respects him, he likes him, he wants his attention, he wants his friendship, maybe more. But he never truly acknowledges what else he might want from him or what else Lan Wangji might be willing to give.

He isn’t oblivious. He is ignorant.

Oblivious means that he is aware of it and actively ignores it. Whereas the latter means he is just genuinely unaware. Because Wei Wuxian absolutely cannot fathom the possibility of being the recipient of such love, that he could have the chance to have a real family again; because he isn’t worthy of any of it. He is just paying his debts and making sure he does the right thing, helping others and being of some use. Anything beyond that is something Wei Wuxian has forgotten how to believe in, how to reach out for, how to accept.

In conclusion, Wei Wuxian isn’t some dumb boy who is oblivious to something that is very obvious (allegedly, but that’s for another essay). He just simply has too much baggage and trauma to think something like that could even exist for him to just reach out and take.

Thankfully, by the end of the story...he does realize this. They both do.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Go stream every MDZS adaptation!

<meta musings masterlist>

[atyd1960]

Here’s an in depth explanation about why if the plot holes in Harry Potter weren’t bigger than the of the plot itself and things actually MADE SENSE, the books wouldn’t have had any plot and everyone would’ve been happy and alive:

Voldemort’s attempted murder:

How do you fail to kill a 1 year old baby? I truly couldn’t come up with an easier murder scenario. DROP HIM FROM THE WINDOW. SLICE HIS THROAT. PUNCH HIM REALLY HARD OVER HIS HEART. If Harry actually died Voldemort would win the war.

Harry’s residence with the Dursleys:

1. Dumbledore said that the only way to keep Harry safe was to keep him living with Petunia, but he was comfortable with putting Harry in Grimmauld place 2 month after Voldy came back, or having him living him with the Weasleys at the height of the war a year later? So he clearly could’ve let Harry live with a good a loving adoptive wizarding family with means to defend/protect him magically instead of by blood or whatever it is the Petunia had.

2. If the UK is the center of the war and the place where Voldemort was most powerful then why putting Harry there? He could’ve lived in some little village in France and then go to Hogwarts when he was 11 (I know only people from the UK can get into Hogwarts but I’m sure they could make and exception for Harry). In that scenario Harry also would’ve had a choice between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons \ the magical school of whatever country he lived in, and I think any school that isn’t Hogwarts would’ve been safer for him.

3. Even if for some reason Harry really did have to grow up in London with the Dursleys, that’s no excuse for the neglect he got from Dumbledore. The man could’ve gotten the Muggle Child Protection Services involved, he could’ve kept track on Harry’s life- like put a guard or something, or visit/make someone else visit him regularly to threaten the Dursleys and make them give Harry a ROOM??? And treat him better?? He could’ve let Ms Figg be actually kind and good to Harry and be somewhat a mother figure to him bc god knows little Harry needed somebody like that in his life. He could’ve been PRESENT in Harry’s childhood??? He could’ve gotten Harry into a good elementary boarding school or whatever. SO MANY OPTIONS. Harry deserves better.

Harry’s first year in Hogwarts:

1. Dumbledore could put the philosopher’s stone in a magically secured vault and hide it in his office and then not tell to anyone about it / lie about its whereabouts.

2. It’s explained that Dumbledore KNEW that Quirrell had some sort of involvement with Voldy/the dark forces, so he could just FIRE HIM???

3. Dumbledore could confront Quirrell and kill him by himself instead of leavig it to a dumb 11 y/o?

4. The options are literally endless.

Side note: it’s definitely not talked about enough in the fandom or in the books that Harry literally murdered a guy on his first year in Hogwarts? That’s some heavy shit.

Harry’s second year:

Dumbledore could’ve just sent all the tiny little helpless pupils back to their homes after a cat got PETRIFIED in a hate crime and hung on a wall with a racist writing that’s a warning to all the muggle borns in the school?? And then he could’ve found the chamber of secrets himself and confront Tom Riddle and bring the kids back when everything’s safe. Who keeps their school open when there’s a continues terrorism attack going on in it???

Side note- if in MY school a cat got petrified and hung on the wall, with her blood used to deliver a hateful message, I would call my mom crying and shaking and ask her if I can move to different school. And possibly a different country while we’re at it:)

Harry’s third year:

None of that shit would’ve happened if Sirius just got his trial like he should’ve and like what’s required in any civilized society??? Dumbledore really did him dirty- that’s your student of 7 years and the guy who gave up his youth to fight by your side, he put his life on the line under your order countless times and then you just give up on him at the first sign that something’s wrong???? FOUL.

They could give Sirius the truth serum after locking him up at the end of the book. And then they would know that he’s telling the truth and they would let him go.

Harry’s fourth year:

1. HOW DO U FAIL TO REALIZE THAT THE GUY YOU WORKED WITH FOR LITERAL DECADES AND WAS PRACTICALLY YOUR SECOND IN COMMAND DURING ONE OF THE WORST WARS YOUR WORLD HAS FACED IN CENTURIES IS NOT ACTUALLY THE SAME GUY AS THE ONE YOU HIRED TO TEACH A BUNCH OF INCOMPETENT LITTLE BRATS HOW TO DO MAGIC FOR A WHOLE YEAR.

2. All the signs were there and were so obvious, Dumbledore should’ve acted to reveal Barty before everything went down. All it took was an OFFICE CHECK??? Bro.

Also- Barty could just kidnap Harry on his first day back in school and apparate to the graveyard with him. Why wait a whole year?? Why give Harry such an easy way out (the Portkey)???

Harry’s fifth year:

1. If the ministry of magic put their truth serum and ability to read minds to use they could confirm that Voldy’s back and join Dumbledore in his efforts to prevent the upcoming war. Voldy was fairly weak at that point so if the ministry did a sufficient investigation and properly warned everyone, Voldemort could’ve been locked up and killed very quickly.

1. We all know this book is nothing but a big 896 pages long chunk of MISCOMMUNICATION. If Dumbledore just told Harry the truth about the prophecy and about his mom’s spell in the beginning and not in the end everything would’ve been fine.

2. Dumbledore could just let someone from the order blow the prophecy up or something. Set it on fire and shit. Make it gone.

Harry’s sixth year:

1. If Dummydore actually gave a shit about his students he would have helped Draco and give him and his parents a shelter and work harder to make the school impossible for death eaters to get into.

2. If he didn’t willingly refuse the privilege of treatment to his curse then he wouldn’t have DIED and left poor 16 y/o Harry all by himself.

3. Dummydore could’ve just kept dumbass 16 y/o Harry Potter out of the hunt after the cursed&deadly soul pieces of his parents’s murderer. He could get someone appropriately old and competent to help him.

Harry’s seventh year:

1. If Dumbledore didn’t refuse medical treatment he could’ve just hunt for the horcruxes himself.

2. Dumbledore could’ve left Harry & Hermione & Ron a little more than a children’s book and a lighter??? Like he could actually give them means to protect themselves.

3. Dumbledore could’ve gotten older more competent order members to go after the horcruxes and not leave it in the hands of a bunch of teens.

4. The only thing that must involve Harry in the whole of the 7 books JK wrote about him, is his death. Harry had to die for Voldy to be defeated. And that’s the only thing he had to do. Ever.

In conclusion: Everything’s Dumbledore’s fault

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, sad reader, Bucky being Bucky because he don’t quit.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You try to make things better.

Note: Finally it’s the weekend! Got this done catching up on FATWS and just kind went with it. Also if anyone’s interested in making a moodboard/banner for this, I’m not sure if I like the one I have and I might play around with it. I would forever be indebted to you.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

You were frightened by the gentle touch on your elbow. You were so ensnared in your despair, you hadn’t heard the soft footsteps or sensed the figure right beside you. It was only May’s sweet voice which woke you from your drunken malaise.

“Oh dearie, what is the matter?” she rubbed your arm, “I did see how you left but Peter did not say what upset you. It wasn’t him, was it? I swear, I taught that boy better--”

“No, no, it wasn’t him, never, I… No, he has only been kind to me,” you sniffed, “it is only… I have been untrue. I do not deserve his, or your kindness.”

“Dearie, that is ridiculous, you are a good girl, you deserve all good things. Perhaps we only did just meet days ago, but we care for you. We could not be unhappy with you for anything,” she cooed.

“You don’t understand,” you daubed your eyes with your knuckles, “I… I lied to you, to your husband, and your nephew. Everyone here.”

“Is it a lie that would hurt us? Truly?” she asked, “would it lead any true plight for us? Would we lose our livelihoods or our lives?” She tried to look you in the eye, “I do not think so and so I do not worry of it.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” she blinked in confusion.

“Yes, everyone wants something of me. If it is to be your friend, I do not know I could be much of one, and if it were to be… something else to your nephew, that surely could never be, and whatever it is, it cannot end well.”

“You speak in riddles, girl, and no doubt foolishly because you are already my friend and I would not rescind that title for anything.”

“And if I have no other title? Hmm? If I am only a servant painted to be a lady?” You looked at the floor and more tears streamed down, “do you still call me friend?”

She was silent. Her hand fell down your arm and she took your hand. You were surprised as she embraced you and pulled your head onto her shoulder. She rocked you as your tears spilled onto her gown.

“Whatever you are, you are good,” she whispered, “I, nor my husband, nor my nephew would take offense at your true bearing. The lie is small, but your character has shown true.”

“I can’t--I couldn’t--”

“What you will do is you will come with me for the night. You will let the wine drain from your veins and your tears subside,” she coaxed, “and whatever it is that truly troubles you will wait until then.”

“But what about--”

“Those men can tend to themselves,” she hooked her arm through yours and carefully drew you from the wall, “now let us go. I am weary myself.”

You let her lead you away even as uneasiness boiled in your stomach. You should go after Lord Barnes, find your way back to his chambers, but you were just as afraid to appease him as to defy him in that moment.

🏰

You slept beside May. Actually slept. You hadn’t done much of that in a long time. She was warm and reminded you of your mother. When you were young and she served the former Lord Barnes and you slept between her and your father on a straw mattress. He always smelled of hay and she smelled of some indiscernible pollen.

May smelled of cinnamon or something like it. You woke with a heavy head and limbs. You sat up in nothing but your shift as the older woman moved around in the dim. She hung a kettle over the small hearth in the tight chambers, nothing so roomy as the duke’s.

She stood and arranged two cups on the table. She wore a plain robe over her shift and rubbed her hands together in the morning chill. She smiled at you as she neared the window, “I didn’t mean to wake you, dearie.”

“No, I should,” you slid out from under the blankets as she pulled back the curtains from the only window, “I should go--”

“You should stay. I’ll brew some berry tea, it’ll do your head well,” she insisted.

“You don’t understand. I shouldn’t have come here last night, I should have--”

“Is this anything to do with Lord Rogers?” she interjected, “you did not say exactly how you knew him.”

“Rogers? No, he is not…” you pulled on your gown but it droop as you could not reach the laces, “please, help me dress. I must be back.”

“Back to what? To who?” she urged.

"Just back," you walked to her and turned your back to face her, "please, you've been so kind but you cannot know what should ensue should I delay."

"Because you won't tell me," she pulled the laces tight and jerked your entire body, "if you did, perhaps I might help."

"You couldn't even if you knew," you murmured as she knotted the ties, "I'm sorry. Thank you for all you've done," you faced her again, "but…"

"It's Lord Barnes." She declared staunchly, "isn't it? I saw him last night with you and Peter. My nephew would not share what was said but he was as out of sorts as you."

"As I said," you took your cap and pulled it over your head, "I am only a maid dressed to be another," you reached around your skirts to wiggle into your slippers, "I was remiss to lie to you, to involve you in my mess. You should stay away from me and I will do the same."

"You don't have to go back to him," she stopped you as you tried to flit past her.

"Where would I go?" You asked, "he will find me. He found me before. He is close with the king and every man of esteem in the kingdom and I haven't a coin to shield me."

"You could go to our stead. We could take you back with us, we are ever in need of another hand--"

"To be what? I would serve well but I expect you mean as more. Your nephew's interest in me is misplaced. I am not of his stature, in title or repute." You brushed past her and grabbed the long door handle, "I am a whore, that cannot be undone."

"Dearie--" you left her and pulled the door to clatter loudly behind you. It was early still but too late to please Barnes. You would face his wrath so it did not again stray to Peter and his kin.

You found Lester outside his door. The horse-faced guard snickered as he let you through and you hid your sneer from him. You knew how he listened through the door and there were times he mocked you when Barnes was not around, mimicking those whines and whimpers drawn from you in your torment. He would have more fodder that day.

The duke was awake. He sat only in his nightshirt before the blazing fire as he stirred it with the iron poker. He grumbled as the latch fell back into place. 

"You're overdue," he stated bluntly, "how is the boy? Hmm, were you so desperate to beg his pardons that you could not be troubled with mine?"

"It was his aunt, she saw me through the night. I was drunk," you neared him cautiously, "I wanted to be back but she kept me. It is no excuse for my… straying." 

You went around him so that you stood between him and the flames. He raised the poker to point it at your throat as he glared up at you. You grabbed it lightly and pushed it aside. He let you and dropped it to the floor with a clunk. He squinted up at you curiously. You bent slowly and gathered your skirts to lift them.

"No--" Bucky began and you put a finger to his lips, a shaky finger, and came closer as you hushed him.

You straddled him as your skirts bunched behind you as you held yourself up with your knees against the bench. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, that one which did not lead to more, and bent to kiss him through the thin linen.

"I came back, my lord," you said, "I wanted to all night but the wine… let me make it right."

He grabbed your chin with his other hand and forced you up. His jaw clenched as he looked you in the eye and held you there. You slid your hand down his chest and stomach and rubbed him through the tails of the shirt. He responded quickly as you felt him growing hard.

"You tell me all the things you want of me but do not allow me to be them," you leaned in so that his lips were close to yours, "so let me."

His blue eyes glimmered and you felt him gasp as you hand slipped under his nightshirt. His hand slipped down to your chest and squeezed as he moaned airily.

"You think I would forgive you?" He asked, his lips grazing yours hotly.

"For what, my lord? You thrust me into another's arms but what more did I do but dance," you struggled to keep your voice from quivering, "you left me there alone but I came back to you…" you stroked him and he gulped, "don't I always come back to you, my lord?"

You kissed him and forced down the revulsion and anxiety of what you were doing. This was the only language he understood. You angled his member and lifted yourself over him. You angled him against your entrance and shuddered as you let him inside. You croaked as you parted from his lips and sheathed him completely,

"I don't want that boy," you whispered as you moved you hips and latched onto his shoulders to keep on him, "only you, my lord, as you want me."

"Sweeting," he murmured, "ohhhh…" 

His hand went to your hip beneath the layers of your gown and shift. He grasped your thigh as you kept your motion steady. You flinched only as his fingers crawled to your vee and he flicked your bud. You moaned without thinking and focused on your hips.

A heat built at his fingertips as he kissed you again, deep and desperate as his hips tilted into you from below. The bench creaked under your weight and the fire flickered against your back. You slung your arms around him and closed your eyes, they stung but you would not cry.

You huffed as the tension coiled inside of you, his fingers working faster and faster, urging you on as his smoky voice filled your lungs. You tore your mouth away from his and hung your head back as your body moved out of instinct. 

You felt the same rise as that day in the carriage when he first touched you. Ripples rolled over you and you exclaimed as they rained over you like hail. Your walls clenched him and the tenderness that lingered dissolved. It had never felt this good, never felt good at all.

He pulled his hand from between your legs and hooked his arm around you. He stood and flipped you swiftly so that your back was across the bench. Your legs dangled down, splayed before him as he took control. He hammered into atop the narrow bench as you head and shoulders hung off the back. 

Your hood fell onto the floor and sweat gathered beneath the silk and linen of your day-old attire. You swooped your arm around Bucky's neck as he pinned you on the thin cushion and the noise of his frantic intrusion filled the room. He smelled of leather and smoke. He felt like fire and ice at once.

He rammed into you as hard as he could and pushed his face into the crook of your neck. His heavy pants warmed your flesh and his bit into your throat as he groaned. His hips spasmed wildly and he came with a final pinch of your tender skin. He stopped at his hilt and rested atop you like a stone.

The blood pounded in your head painfully as you hung over the bench. He pulled you up with him and your vision swam from the disorienting rise as he kept inside of you. He staggered around the seat and carried you to the bed, falling atop you on the cushy feather mattress. 

He pushed himself up on his elbow and gazed down at you. He shoved his cock as deep as he could and watched you squirm. His eyes were alight as he delighted in your helpless whimpers and you grasped the front of his nightshirt.

"You will always come back to me," he rasped and thrust hard, "always."

"Always… my lord," you squeaked as the pain once more filled your core and soul alike.

[hydroponicjj]

No Body, No Crime [2]

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Peterkin!Reader

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Mentions of Drugs/Alcohol, Swearing, etc

Summary: Rafe is finding himself having trouble trusting Y/N, even after what she did for him.

A/N: Hello! This is the second chapter of No Body, No Crime. Please enjoy and, let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist! <3

「 ₊˚.༄ 」

The entire drive over to Topper's made you extremely nervous. Your stomach felt as if it was in a knot that couldn't be undone.

It only got worse when you began to recognize the scenery of Figure 8.

It was unusual of you to be so anxious.

Usually, you’re hyper-focused. You don’t have time to worry about all the possible things that could go wrong but, Rafe made you feel different.

Typically, the two of you would only interact in passing. Oftentimes in the kitchen at his house when you needed him to help you reach something on the top shelf.

Now, you’re about to see each other in a brand new light. Going from strangers to...

Honestly, you didn’t really know how to classify this blossoming relationship, considering it hasn’t started yet.

Turning a corner into a neighborhood, you recognized Topper's mansion almost immediately.

It was the second house on the right with pillars and a baby blue door. There were tiny American flags pitched in the yard with small lights showcasing their entrance.

There were so many cars parked on the street and in the driveway that it was nearly impossible for you to get close without clipping a vehicle.

Finding a good spot near the sidewalk, you emerged from your car, making sure to check that it was locked (a habit you learned from your mother).

Drawing closer to the front door, you spotted Rafe.

He was sitting ominously in a rocking chair on the porch, looking out into the yard.

"Hey." You called out. He broke from his intense gaze and glanced at you.

"Shit, I totally forgot that you were coming." He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning his head.

"Well, I'm here so.." You trailed off, taking a seat next to him.

Instantly, Rafe began to draw away from you. You noticed but refrained from commenting on it, not knowing what his problem was.

It wasn't long after that the tension started to fill the air. You’re usually the one keeping your distance from him, not vice versa.

“Are-Are you going to say anything?” You asked, nervously.

You had no idea what made his energy shift from the last time you spoke to him but, this wasn’t the same Rafe that you saw that afternoon.

“What do you want me to say?” He replied sharply, glancing over in your direction.

You were taken aback by him, “Rafe. You asked me to meet you here. I have no idea what the hell is going on. So, I just— I wanna know what’s happening.”

He froze, inhaling deeply. It was clear that he was searching for the right words to say that would get his message across.

“Y/N, I don’t trust you. You might be Sarah’s best friend but, you’re also the sheriffs' daughter.” His voice was cold and distant.

He genuinely viewed you as some kind of threat. Less than 7 hours ago, he was more than willing to rope you into whatever he had going on, and now, you’re just a burden to him.

You scoffed, “You seemed pretty happy to get your drugs back this afternoon. Was I the sheriffs' daughter then?”

“I stole from my mom, Rafe. That’s not something you just do for fun. Especially when you have a lot to lose on your end, okay. So, if I rat you out, I’m going down too.”

Guilt instantly flashed behind his blue eyes. It was evident as his features began to soften and he lowered his eyebrows.

He began to speak but, you cut him off, “Listen, Rafe, I don’t expect us to go out and get matching tattoos anytime soon but, we have to learn to trust each other, or else this thing isn’t going to work.”

He chuckled lightly, flashing you a crooked smile, “Yeah.” Rafe replied simply.

The loud booming of music coming from inside filled the silence.

“Didn’t you graduate high school yesterday?” Rafe asked, quirking his head to the side.

“Yeah... I-I did.” You replied, still surprised.

You weren’t valedictorian like your mother planned but, you were pretty damn close. Still, it wasn’t enough to satisfy Susan Peterkin so, you spent the entirety of graduation sulking.

You didn’t even get a chance to enjoy your High School graduation.

A sour taste formed in your mouth as your throat began to get tighter by the second.

Rafe noticed your sudden discomfort, “Well, you’re at a party. Why don’t you go inside and have fun? Celebrate the milestone.”

“You should celebrate too. I mean- finishing your first year of college.” You acknowledged, awkwardly trying to shift the conversation toward him.

“I took a gap year. Too many things to do and not enough time.” He shrugged.

You were so entranced by the way Rafe spoke. He wasn’t like you, who felt the need to give the deepest, most profound explanation for everything.

He was simple.

You liked simple.

Standing up, you extended your hand in his direction, “Come on,” you paused, grabbing him by the wrist, “We’re going inside.”

“No no no,” he protested, “I already told my friends I was leaving so,” Rafe resisted your grasp, staying firmly in his seat.

“I think we can handle Topper and Kelce.” You scoffed, giving him a playful look.

Rafe knit his eyebrows together, contemplating. It had already been an extremely long night. But, he was having a hard time pulling out the response from his chest.

"Shitttt," He drew out, "What the hell. It'd be nice to see you pull the stick out of your ass and relax."

Eyes lighting up and a smile tugging on your lips, you yanked on his wrist again. This time, he rose from the rocking chair, peering down at you, "Don't make me regret this, Peterkin."

"How could you possibly regret anything when you're with me?" You sent him a sly wink.

Twisting the front-door handle, you entered the Thorton household.

Your senses were instantly triggered. Your ears struggled to determine which was louder, the music or screaming of teenagers. Your eyes reacted to the fluorescent light projected on the ceiling.

The scent was absolutely putrid. Sweaty bodies and alcohol were not a good mixture, not under any circumstances.

"Ugh," Covering your nose with your right hand, you peered back at Rafe. He seemed completely fine.

This was normal for him.

Watching as he maneuvered around this situation with such ease inspired you.

Rafe was a complete mystery to you. Although with every interaction, he became less of a riddle, it was still a challenge trying to figure him out.

Abruptly, someone from behind you yelled, tearing you from your trance, "I said that you'd be back!"

Turning around, you saw Kelce and Topper making their way towards the two of you.

"Yeah, yeah," Rafe responded, playfully, drifting closer to his two friends.

A mere seconds later, Topper noticed you standing at a feeble 1 and a half feet shorter than Rafe.

"Holy shit," He gasped, "A-Are my eyes deceiving me, or is Y/N Peterkin at a party?"

This caught Kelce's attention and, he certainly couldn't resist making a sly comment, "How's your mom? Is she still 6 feet up the Pogues ass or....?"

Scoffing, you began to walk away but, something caught your shoulder.

"Listen, she's a bitch but, not as nearly as much as you think." Rafe defended.

You couldn't help but laugh, “Thanks.”

Yes, it was a shitty, backhanded compliment. But, it was coming from Rafe Cameron so, that's the best you're gonna get.

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," Commented Kelce, turning his head to look around at the scenery.

“Rafe,” Topper paused, “Are you trying to get even more fucked up tonight?”

Glancing at Rafe, you noticed how tired he looked. Drooping eyes and hunched shoulders gave away how he was feeling.

“No, he has other priorities on his mind.” You chimed in.

“Ohhhhhhhh.” Kelce raised his eyebrows.

Wiggling two fingers between the two of you, “Are you guys....? You know?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kelce. You’re a goddamned idiot.” Rafe rolled his eyes, pushing his friend lightly.

“Relax. I’m not gonna swoop in on your girl. Just curious who you’re fucking this week.”

Glancing up at Rafe, he appeared extremely fed up with the current conversation.

“Come on, man,” Topper said, pulling Kelce by the shoulder, “Let’s leave these two alone. I’m sure they’ve got loads of shit to catch up on.”

The two walked out of the entryway, side by side, and floated right back into the epicenter of the party.

“Why do you do that?” You questioned, almost instantly.

Looking in your direction, he responded, “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you began, “You willingly hang out with Dumb and Dumber,”

“You could be surrounded by people that are on the same intellectual level as you. Yet, you surround yourself with people like those 2 that are only interested in being so high that they can’t remember their name.”

Rafe shook his head, “It doesn’t matter.”

There he goes again. Being simple. Summing up everything he has to say in a mere 3 words.

"He deserves better than that." You thought but didn't say.

In your head, you could see Rafe walking away from the conversation and, you wanted him as close as possible (because you're not used to parties.... no other reason.... of course).

"This is stressing me out," You commented jokingly, running your hands through your hair.

If you weren't so hyperaware of your surroundings, you would've missed the way that Rafe was glancing at you.

He looked as if he was trying to decipher what was going on in your head.

“Come on.” He nodded his head in the direction of the living room (aka where 90% of the party-goers were).

You grinned slightly, “I was deprived of partying my entire 4 years of High School. I don’t think I should start now.”

You turned around and sat on the love seat in the Thornton entryway.

“You dragged me back in here so, the least you could do is sway your hips to some shitty music.”

“Maybe.” You smirked, teasing him.

“Alright, I’ll find Topper and Kelce. I’m sure they’ve got something interesting for me.” Rafe began to exit the room.

“Fine,” you rose from your seat immediately, catching his attention.

You shook your head in disapproval, “So manipulative.”

A smug look was plastered on Rafe’s face, “Yeah, well.... it worked.”

He shrugged and sent you a smirk.

「 ₊˚.༄ 」

You had never felt so free in your entire life.

It was surprising that such a wild atmosphere made you feel a sense of comfort and enjoyment, rather than fear and anxiety.

Maybe it was the fact that you clung to Rafe for the majority of the time.

He was such a social hotspot.

People of all ages and demographics were speaking to him. He kept the conversations brief and, it was clear that he wasn't very interested.

Nevertheless, he was dragged into a game of beer pong, and (with the help of Topper and Kelce) he agreed to play BUT, only if you did.

At first, you were hesitant, having no idea how to play but, there was something inside of you that hated the thought of saying no to Rafe.

You indulged him and decided to play, with the exception that you didn't drink, considering that you had to drive back home to the Cut.

It took a few tries for you to actually get the hang of things but, Rafe helped a lot.

He would often adjust your form, wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you in another direction.

It made you nervous yet excited having him in such close proximity to you, whispering in your ear which direction to throw the ball.

Ultimately, the two of you ended up winning against Topper and Kelce (who were pissed that they lost to such an inexperienced player).

That was the beginning of the fun.

After that, you didn't feel the need to cling to Rafe as tight as you had been before.

You went off and had conversations with people that didn't go to your High School, which also meant they had no clue who your mother was.

You used to be extremely familiar with Figure 8 and you often found yourself missing it from time to time.

It was very nice to be able to surround yourself with people that weren't foaming at the mouth to run and tell your mother everything they saw.

It wasn't until you began to dance, swaying your hips to the beat that Rafe found you again.

"Y/N, I--I need a ride home." He began, speaking in a low but rushed tone.

"What?!" You yelled, not being able to hear him over the music.

You took a glance at him and, he looked horrible.

His eyes were extremely red and he reeked of alcohol and plenty of other illegal substances.

Not only that but, Rafe seemed extremely jittery. Almost as if something bad was going to happen if he didn't leave immediately.

Seeing the stress of the situation, you gripped Rafe by the arm and tugged him out of the hectic scene and into the nearest quiet room.

Finding a bathroom right before the kitchen, the two of you entered.

You sat him on the edge of the tub, crouching in front of him.

"Rafe," You paused, clutching the sides of his face, "Look at me. What's going on?"

Opening his eyes, he began to speak, "Please, just, please. Take me home." He buried his head into your shoulder.

You were stunned by his actions, having no idea what drug he took that made him act like that.

But, now was not the time to question Rafe, he needed your help and after all the progress the two of you made that evening, you weren't going to leave him behind.

"O-okay, okay. Yes, I'll take you home."

You stood up, continuing to hold his arm, afraid that he'd fall back into the tub.

"Rafe, can you stand? Can you walk?" You asked.

He nodded then rose, towering over you.

"Here," You directed him towards the sink, "Splash some cold water onto your face, okay?"

He did as you told him, gathering a scoop of water in his palms and splattered it onto his face.

After, he seemed slightly more coherent but, not nearly enough.

The two of you emerged from the bathroom. You were still clung to his arm, leading him in the direction of the exit.

Once, you left the inside of the house, you were bombarded with cars from all angles.

It then hit you that you had to park on the street.

As you led Rafe down the infinitely long driveway, you cursed in your head, upset at the universe for making you work against gravity in order to keep him from face-planting.

Finally, making it to your car, you reached in your pocket and unlocked it.

Opening the door to the passenger's side, you plopped Rafe in the seat and buckled him in.

You ran around the front of the car, trying to get back to Rafe as soon as possible.

"Rafe, do you have everything? Your phone, wallet, keys?"

"Mhm." He replied, setting his head on the back of the seat.

With that, you took one last glance at Rafe and put the car in drive.

「 ₊˚.༄ 」

Pulling into the driveway, you noticed that the Cameron household was quiet.

The only light coming from inside was the glare of the TV from Wheezie's room.

"Rafe, we're here." You said, shaking him. He had fallen asleep seconds after you started driving.

He didn't waste any time getting out of the car. Unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door, he headed in the direction of the garage.

As he approached, it opened.

"I know they're rich but, damn, motion detected garage?" You commented, continuing to watch, making sure Rafe made it inside safely.

It wasn't until you started saw him stop that you noticed a figure standing in front of him.

It was Ward Cameron.

"Shit."

You knew Ward was going to give Rafe crap for staying out late, partying so, the least you could do was try and cover for him.

Emerging from your car, you walked towards the garage.

"Rafe, I need you to do it, okay? I don't want Sarah getting involved-" You caught the end of what Ward was saying before he stopped.

"Y/N!" He greeted, a smile on his face.

"Hey, Mr.Cameron." You waved awkwardly, sending a forced smile.

"Thank you so much for bringing this one home," He grabbed Rafe by the shoulder, pulling him into a side hug.

"No problem! I just needed his help with some things. The least I could do was take him home." You replied.

"Yeah, yeah," Ward nodded his head, looking back at the door.

"Listen, Y/N, thanks for putting in a good word with your mom. We really appreciate it."

"I'm sorry?" You knit your eyebrows in confusion.

"I got a call from the station today saying the charges against Rafe had been dropped. All of us are so thrilled that we can resume a normal life and move past this." He placed a hand on his chest.

You had no idea what he was talking about. Your mom wasn't home yet. There was no way she could've seen the drugs had been taken from her safe yet.

But, you had to play it cool, not wanting Ward to ask any questions "Sure, sure." you answered.

"Okay, welp," He paused, "Have a nice night, Y/N. Come by tomorrow and see us." Ward finished, hurridly.

With that, he turned around swiftly and went back inside his house, through the garage door.

That entire interaction was odd. You had never seen Ward act so tense.

Also, you couldn't help but wonder what was so urgent that Sarah couldn't do?

It had been less than 24 hours and, you're already wrapped up in things you couldn't begin to comprehend.

"I need to sleep."

Walking back to your car, you entered the driver's seat.

Putting the car in reverse, you exited the Cameron house and began your journey back to the Cut.

TAGLIST *strikethrough it won’t let me tag*: @oopsiedoopsie23 @a-bolanos @cocobutterqween @gabiatthedisco @athenastarkey @halsmultibitch @water13 @avaspringtime @niamhvivo @haterpenny @nerdypartytrashpsychic @casually-kook @mynameberose @malfoylaufeysonweasley

[cto10121]

Harry Potter Clown Takes—Part 4

Featuring more fandom myths, a Le Guin quote literally nobody asked for, Rowling’s ~surprising knowledge of what she has been literally writing, and fansplaining about how Actually, Dumbledore Being Gay is Homophobic If You Think About It.

“Marauders Mah Bbys!!!1!”

If Rowling were so opposed to depicting non-blood related families, then she wouldn’t have made the blood relations so abusive and have Harry be unofficially adopted by non-blood family. As it is, it’s one of the main themes of the series, which focuses a lot more on non-blood friendships and relationships. Even Sirius doesn’t really count as a blood relation.

That said, to give OP due, it’s clear Rowling depicted the Marauder generation as an inferior version of the new, more enlightened generation, with key parallels already picked up by fans, who ironically tend to love the Marauders more than the books themselves. Sirius was a father figure, so regardless he’d get the axe, but Remus’ character very visibly deteriorated as the series went on (unsurprisingly, though. Remus’ internalized self-hatred was well-established early on). His and Sirius’ friendship was not strong at all, with Sirius still more emotionally invested in his friendship with James. But that is all part of the growing up—shedding your illusions and the tendency to hero-worship people.

…So the other characters “bullied” Lupin into being with Tonks, eh?

“I’ve said all along you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus,” said Mrs. Weasley over Fleur’s shoulder as she patted her on the back.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” said Lupin steadily. “Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.”

“But she wants you,” said Mr. Weasley, with a small smile. “And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.” (624).

Monsters!!!

(But seriously, if anything Clown OP is the one who is condescending and patronizing towards Lupin. Absolutely nobody forced Lupin to be with Tonks, let alone marry her; it was his decision. No part of his union with her can be said to be toxic at all.)

“Retcon!1!!1”

Tom Riddle’s love potion-based sociopathy is a clear fandom myth. Rowling clearly stated that love potion conception was meant to be symbolic, not part of the HP universe, and that had Merope survived to raise her kid, Tom Riddle would have turned out quite normal. Or, well, capable of loving and knowing love, at least.

That said, to give OP’s due, there is a reason why this mythconception is so prevalent. Voldemort’s backstory is fascinating, no question—Rowling consistently shows her understanding of intergenerational poverty and the cycle of abuse. And yet despite the fact that his background alone would have been enough to drive him to seek power at all costs and corrupt him—loveless marriage, orphan, poor—Tom Riddle is very much sociopath-coded. It’s still better than the terrible Damien-from-The-Omen creep portrayal of the film version (at least the actor sold it well), but it does undermine the message of choice vs. abilities somewhat. It would have been just as psychologically true if Tom Riddle had been a driven, ruthless striver doing all he could to survive, and then to reach for power, charming and manipulating along the way. In his quest to immortality, he loses his humanity and thereafter descends into tyranny, abuse, and terrorism. There is definitely some hints of this in HP—compare the way Voldemort manipulates Slughorn with the way he manipulates Hepzibah Smith.

There is also the matter of a possible retcon. Voldemort states in CoS and GoF that his father left his mother when he found out she was a witch. In HBP we learn that his father was a love potion victim, and when Merope most likely stopped using the potion, his father left. Retcon or not? Occam’s Razor says Voldemort simply assumed it was his father at fault. But then there is the strange assertion: “He didn’t like magic, my father.” Is this another assumption, based on prejudice? Or did Voldemort, before he killed his father and grandparents, confront him directly? It’s possible Riddle Snr.’s trauma could have manifested as a hatred of magic, if he even realized himself that Merope was a genuine witch.

Well, this is awkward. I feel the exact same way about Le Guin’s own writing: “The Ones Who Turn Away from Omelas,” her most anthologized short story, and the first Wizard of Earthsea book—y’know, the one Harry Potter was accused of plagiarizing at one point along with other. I found it cold, emotionally distant, overly abstract, morally and ethically indifferent, with no life and zero substance. There was nothing in it that did anything remotely special to the Hero’s Journey template—except make the hero a shade of brown. #representation

By contrast, a great deal of Rowling’s writing in HP is quietly deconstructive, writing against the Bildungsroman core of assimilating to the status quo. The tension between the Hero’s Journey storyline and Rowling’s own purposes is probably what made the series such an unprecedented success and why it does deserve to be called original. Rowling managed to keep the charm of the fantasy by imbuing it with a sense of social and material reality—and at the same critiquing the conservative values underpinning that fantasy. It was the literary embodiment having your cake and eating it too. I grant that Le Guin may have been critiquing the first few HP books—but as it is, this is straight up writer envy.

“Surprising knowledge” lol, OP, you crack me up.

Occam’s Razor here, Rowling knew exactly what she was doing. Like Hermione’s distinctly white feminist activism, Slughorn’s middle-class soft bigotry is just one tiny but explicit example of the wizard’s overall dismissal of Muggles and Muggleborns, slowly built throughout the series. The revelation that Dumbledore himself once harbored anti-Muggle (or at least the liberal version of anti-Muggle sentiments) is the conclusion of that thematic arc. Rowling was writing a spectrum, not two poles. It is clear the Death Eaters are at the extreme end of the spectrum.

“Dumbledore Being Gay Is Actually Homophobic!!1!!”

In what world does Clown OP live that says teachers should divulge their personal life and sexual/romantic partners to their students?????

This isn’t the 2020s where US teachers info-dump their personal life unto the students or students even want them to. This was the 90s where nobody gave a fuck. Teachers were there to teach and students to learn from them. Some teachers were really likeable and warm and wise and personable and everyone liked them—and you still didn’t know jack shit about their personal lives except very accidentally. Maybe that they were married or single at most. Because it just wasn’t relevant to the subject. I know, because I was there.

In HP we never come to learn the personal life of the majority of Hogwarts teachers, much less their sexuality. Because it’s simply not relevant. Dumbledore’s backstory with Grindelwald does become very relevant to the Deathly Hallows, and so does his relationship for Grindelwald.

McGonagall got married once. She had an offscreen forbidden love affair with a Muggle and got all of (1) marriage proposal, which she turned down several times. None of that backstory was in the books proper, but in Pottermore. Harry had all of (1) kiss with Cho Chang and (1) on-page one with Ginny. Snape’s great love for Lily is revealed literally at the last quarter of the last book, the definition of last minute.

If anything, this series is priggish about sexuality and eroticism in general—this started, of course, as a series for middle school children. Where romance does occur, it’s almost always a fiasco, part of growing pains, and/or ends tragically for plot or character-related reasons: Harry/Cho, Cho/Cedric, Ron/Lavender, Hagrid/Maxime, Lupin/Tonks, James/Lily, unrequited Snape/Lily…if anything, you could conclude almost all straight couples in the HP world are doomed to fail or are tragically cut short, ha. Dumbledore/Grindelwald fits neatly into that general pattern.

Also. The fact that some people cannot accept Dumbledore’s offscreen forbidden gay romance as Word of God canon and yet easily accept McGonagall’s offscreen forbidden straight romance as Word of God canon is very telling to me. It’s almost like an aversion or something. You know, like a phobia.

[divinerulerluvr]

Show Me How

Summary - You run away with Warren Lipka after getting proposed to by your long time boyfriend

Pairing - Warren Lipka x Fem!reader

A/N - Since i have a lot more Warren lovers than i thought following me, i figured i should do a fluff thing to keep you guys fed. No warnings for this one, just fluff :) Also, i feel like we've all imagined running away with our comfort characters one time or another so you cant lie to me and say this isn't romantic.

- - -

Rain hit the roof loudly, making a soft ambiance outside the cracked window of Warren’s apartment. Laying in his bed, his hands travel my warm skin, his lips pressing butterfly kisses all down my neck and collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n,” he compliments, his lips grazing my skin. I hum softly in response, my fingers threading through his messy hair.

The past few weeks I had been seeing Warren in secret. I had to keep it a secret due to the fact I’m in a serious relationship with another guy. Warren made me feel alive in all the right ways. He made me feel like I had been missing so much the past year and a half I’ve been dating Jack.

Of course I felt bad about cheating. It was always in the back of my mind whenever I was with Jack. But Warren was also always in my mind. I found it hard to stop thinking about him anymore.

Warren lays back on the bed, pulling me into his arms. “You have to break up with him,” he says, throwing me off guard. “Hm?” I hum in response, looking up at him. “Jack. You have to break up with him,” Warren clarifies.

I sigh, my eyes falling off of his. “I know,” I admit shyly, my finger drawing small circles on his chest. “I’ll do it tonight,”

-

Sitting nervously on the couch of Jack’s apartment, waiting for him to come home from work.

He finally enters the apartment, a smile spreading on his lips when he sees me. “Hi, baby,” he greets, running his fingers through his hair as he walks up to me. “We need to… to talk,” I say nervously, standing from the couch.

“Yeah, we do,” Jack agrees but in a tone that sounded more excited than it should’ve been. I have a feeling we aren’t on the same page here.

“Y/n, we’ve been dating for almost two tears now and I think it’s time to go to the next level,” Jack says. We had already moved in together a few months back. That means the next level would be something I can’t even bring myself to say.

My heart stops when he gets down on one knee. He pulls a ring out of his pocket and I feel my eyes widen. “Y/n, will you marry me?” he asks.

My first thought was no. But that’s too harsh. I mean, Jack is a nice guy. He deserves more than a short and rude ‘no’ as an answer. And fuck, that ring looks too expensive to just deny. This was too soon and we’re too young.

What I want is Warren. No matter how mean or cold that may sound. If I was going to spend the rest of my life with someone, it’d be him. Warren gives me adventure. He’s so wild and spontaneous all the time.

You never know what you’re getting yourself into when you’re with him.

He cares so much about me and it's just so fun being with him. He doesn’t allow a boring and monotonous life. With Warren, I feel like a teenager rebelling against my mother again.

“Can I think about it?” I answer after a suspenseful silence. Jack nods, standing from his knee. “Take as much time as you’d like,” he says, kissing my cheek before walking out of the room and heading down the hallway. I hear the shower turn on and use this as my opportunity to pack up my things. Once everything I need was in a simple backpack, I write a note and put it on the counter.

‘I’m sorry but this won't work. You deserve someone better than me. Sincerely, Y/n’

Sneaking out of the apartment, I jog downstairs and out into the dark of the night. It was still raining but it had calmed down to a light drizzle. Walking down the sidewalk, my mind races as I try to think about my next move.

I had just left my almost two-year-long boyfriend over some guy I’ve been seeing for not even a month.

Arriving at Warren’s apartment building, I use a key he had given me to get inside of the lobby. I get into the elevator and click on his floor. My heart beats in my ears as I walk down the hallway and stop in front of his door.

With a deep breath, I knock three times.

The door opens, Warren’s eyes meeting mine. I can tell he notices the red that lines my eyes when his brows furrow. “Y/n. What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks right away, confusion riddling his face as he stands in the doorway.

“Let’s run away together,” I say, fully aware of how bizarre my words sounded. “What?” is all he says in response. “Jack proposed and I said I’d think about it. But it’s not what I want, Warren. I’m twenty-five, I need to be free for longer,” I respond, a pleading look on my face.

“And you just left him?”

“I left a note,” I shrug, hoping he’ll agree. He stays silent for a moment, a perplexed look in his dark eyes. “Come on, Warren. I came here because you’re the king of spontaneous ideas. Let’s run away to New York and start over. Me and you,”

“Where would we even stay?” he asks.

“I have more money saved than I thought,” I tell him with a weak smile. His face softens and he eventually nods. “Give me five minutes,” he says, leaning in and kissing me quickly before disappearing back into his apartment.

He comes back with a bag and the keys to his car. “Let’s go,” he grins.

We walk down to his car, getting in and pausing for a second. I turn to face him, my lips pressed together nervously. “You sure you wanna do this?” Warren asks, wanting to make sure this wouldn’t be a regret of mine.

I just nod, smiling softly as our eyes stay locked. He leans over the center console, his hand resting on my cheek as he kisses me gently. I gladly kiss back, matching his slow and passionate tempo.

His hand runs down my jawline as he pulls back from me, his eyes studying my face. “Where to, darling?” he asks. I chuckle softly, feeling heat rush up to my cheeks at the pet name.

“New York City,”

[lectophile]

I Love Nesta Archeron

SPOILER ALERT for Sarah J. Mass's A Court of Thorns and Roses Trilogy.

With the newly-released title and release date of Sarah J. Mass's Nessian spin-off, A Court of Silver Flames, I have noticed that the YA fantasy community, or at least a good enough portion of it, has begun to become very vocal about its lack of fondness for Nesta and their displeasure at her being matched with Cassian, who they believe "deserves so much better". As the self-proclaimed number one fan of Nesta, I have an urge, that will not go unrequited, to dispel the idea that Nesta is a terrible person.

I have to admit, when I first read the series, I disliked Nesta, Elain, and their father an unfathomable amount. I relished in the idea that somewhere, later on in the series, they would each be served a mouthful of the crap they deserved. I would say, in terms of relativity, Nesta was highest on my dislike meter, Elain next, and then their father. Elain having bought Feyre the small tins of paint and Feyre's father telling her to never come back and live out her dreams were small redemptions in their favor. I admired Nesta's protectiveness over Elain, but disdained her for so easily having forgone attempting to protect Feyre, because, after all, she was the youngest.

After having read the series three times, and having deliciously bathed in gallons worth of putting-Nesta-and-occassionally-Elain-in-their-place, compliments of our wonderful, and even more scrumptious, winged friends: Rhys and Cass, I have come to the new conclusion about our dear Nesta. As the oldest, Nesta was able to receive the most education out of all three of the Archeron sisters. She learned valuable skills for women in society, making her a suitable match for eligible bachelors—but that was worthless when their family became poor. Nesta had no skills in surviving in a world where you had to fend for yourself. All she knew was which fork to use with salad and how to greet gentlemen. Feyre, on the other hand, had not even learned to read and write, making it easier for her to adapt to their new situation and assume the role of interim head of household while the rest of the remaining Archeron family pondered on a life Feyre had never had the chance to be a part of.

Nesta began resenting Feyre when Feyre successfully began taking care of their family. Nesta was being showed-up by a fourteen year old girl that couldn't even read, and all Nesta had succeeded at doing was mope around and wait to die. Nesta was ashamed of herself for this, blamed Feyre for her shame, and, in turn, wanted to make Feyre feel it as well—hence, abusing Feyre, I do not excuse it, but I don’t know when the book community decided to cancel characters for being terrible in the past and GROWING to become better people. Nesta also never looked after Feyre like you would hope an older sister would do for their younger sibling because Nesta didn't feel that Feyre needed taking care of. Feyre could hunt, make money, make food, and anything she set her mind to—she didn't need Nesta for anything. Nesta took this as a jab, feeling that if Feyre thought she was so good that she could do everything for herself, why should Nesta even lift a finger? Feyre was doing it all and seemingly handling it perfectly fine. Because of this, Nesta preferred Elain to Feyre; for one, Elain needed guidance and someone to follow, which appealed to Nesta's superiority complex; secondly, Nesta took care of Elain as she did because Elain gave her a purpose, to find someone for Elain to marry off to and care for her in the meanwhile.

Later on in the series, when Feyre shows up to their home as Fae and with part of the Inner Circle, Nesta feels a whirlwind of emotions, which makes her lock up even more than she always did. Nesta is scared of letting people see how weak and frail she is and how she has no real purpose in this world; and she is especially wary of letting Feyre see it because, even though she always resented Feyre, she liked that Feyre admired her for her steely exterior and unbendable will. For one, Nesta was shocked out of her mind because Feyre was Fae, something that all humans south of The Wall were taught to fear; Another thing Nesta felt with Feyre coming back into her and Elain's life was fear. Nesta feared that Feyre was going to disrupt everything Nesta had achieved while Feyre was gone: getting Elain engaged to Graysen. With Feyre gone and their father on his secret voyage, Nesta was finally the one in charge, the dependable one, the one protecting their family—even if that was only Elain—and Feyre was not only throwing off the balance, but threatening to destroy it altogether.

After having felt like we, the readers, had gone hand-in-hand with Feyre through everything, from the trials Under the Mountain to her neglect by Tamlin, we were angry and enraged that Nesta had the audacity to be so rude to Feyre, who had done absolutely nothing to Nesta all the months she was gone. For heaven's sake, Feyre hadn't even made contact with Nesta up until this moment. But, we have to understand, Nesta uses her anger to keep people out and prevent them from seeing how insurmountably weak and riddled with dark emotion she is. Feyre seems to have the world figured out: a mate, a close group of friends, wealth beyond imagination, and a beautiful home; and Nesta is upset that Feyre would want to take away the little her and Elain do have for, what she believes, is Fae business.

After having realized all of this, I loved Nesta with my whole heart—the most out of the whole Inner Circle, Az coming in close, close second. She reminded me of myself: flawed, jealous, wrathful, prideful, and resentful. Feyre seems to be some kind of unnatural super-being—ignoring the fact that she actually is for the sake of my argument—able to overcome everything in her way, making me want to be like her and making me resent the parts of myself that she overcame within herself. Nesta is Sarah J. Mass's way of letting us know, we can be powerful, strong, courageous women that surprise ourselves with our ability to do anything we set our minds to, as well as being flawed, broken, and distant. We do not have to be Elains: so kind that an other-worldly Cauldron gifts us power out of its sheer amazement at how lovely we are inside and out. We can be ferocious and take power for ourselves, just as Nesta had ripped power from the Cauldron with her teeth as repayment for making her and Elain undergo what they did. Nesta is devastatingly beautiful, graceful, collected, cool, intelligent, determined, curious, wrathful, prideful, resentful, and most of all, humiliated with herself for not being the strong person she wishes she could be. I love Nesta so, so much. I wish her all the luck and happiness in the world.

And, last but not least, something to remind everyone of. In A Court of Frost and Starlight, Nesta behaves outrageously—but this is her way of trying to cope, trying to get some sort of feeling back after having been turned Fae. Her transformation had occurred during the chaos of the battle to save humans from Hybern, and so there was no time for her to take for herself and understand what had been done to her. Once the adrenaline of battle and victory had faded, she was left with a hole within herself in a foreign body, leading an immortal life with an even more foreign power within her. Feyre also suffered from post-traumatic disorder, but in a different way—as all people go through trauma uniquely and individually. Nesta does not want to admit how broken, how weak, how confused she is, and all the Inner Circle wants to do is what they think will make her happy—but they don't get that she can't even feel. Personally, I find that everyone, except for Cass and Az, seems to have their own opinion of her behavior without really trying to understand why it's happening—especially Feyre. I think Feyre has always felt responsible for the well-being of her sisters, and so she does this the most. She has never truly understood Nesta, why she’s so closed off, why she’s so distant, and it hurts her as well, because Nesta is the only sort of mother figure—a strange one I know, but she was the oldest, wisest woman in her life for a long time—Feyre had, as their mother was basically absent and then died. Feyre is also young, so we have to understand that she does not truly understand how trauma can be different for each person, and so she tries to solve this by assuming that Nesta’s trauma may be similar in some way to that of what she went through in Under-the-Mountain. Feyre isn’t doing anything wrong, it’s just a younger sister trying to make her older sister as happy as she is—think Anna with Elsa. Also, Feyre is confused because she would have thought that the beauty and power of the Fae realm would have made Nesta feel better about being Changed, but, as I will dive more in depth below, the circumstances surrounding their views on being Fae are completely different, and frankly opposite for Feyre and Elain/Nesta. Feyre’s seeming misunderstanding and attempts at helping Nesta infuriate Nesta because she feels like some broken doll her sister wants to sew up new so that she can look pretty for the rest of them.

I also want to add that being Fae means completely different things for each of the Archeron sisters. Feyre loves being Fae, and I think it’s because she has associated it with the insurmountable happiness that has been brought into her life after she had Changed: she found Rhys, became strong enough to defend herself and anyone she cared about, was able to paint whenever, whatever, and however she wanted, found a family that truly supported her and loved her and required nothing of her, and was finally able to dream of a future that was only for her, not for her sisters or father. Elain hates being Fae, or at least hated it at first but seems to be adapting to it, because it took away the future she had always dreamed of. While Feyre never really had the chance to dream of anything for herself, Elain did—because, she’s sweet and I also love her, she really didn’t lift a finger until she shoved Az’s knife into the King of Hybern’s neck. Elain was raised in a society where domesticity are the best characteristics of a woman, and it is what she should strive for. She strived to be a loving wife, with a beautiful home to decorate, to have parties and socialize with everyone, and to be the sweet angel her husband came to after a long day’s work. She had that, and being Fae took that away because her fiancé hates the Fae. The man she thought would love her no matter what she was or looked like, hated her. I mean, if that happened to any of us, we’d all have been destroyed from within: she trusted this man with her heart, she trusted that he would always love and care for her—and for her to trust men was difficult because she had trusted her father to always look after her, but he failed her—and then he said he hated her for the abomination she was, for something she couldn’t control. Being Fae took away Elain’s dreams, and so it is not all the pretty, supernatural stuff that we, the readers, would love to be a part of—because, remember that the series was written in first-person from Feyre’s point of view, so obviously we’ll have some bias towards being Fae and her beliefs. Nesta hates being Fae. Nesta demands control over her life, she demands being the one in charge of it. If she’s gonna die, it’ll be because she said so; if she’s gonna eat, it’s because she said so. She will not let anyone or anything control who she is or how she lives her life, and then she was forced to be immortal. Imagine, feeling so lost, so insurmountably despairing, in an immortal body. While she was mortal she could at least wait for death to take her away from the tortures of being poor, cold, starving, and out of control, at least death was something she had decided on accepting, not forced upon her—but as a Fae, she would have to wait hundreds to even thousands of years for merciful death to take her away from all these feelings, emotions, and general environments that she has absolutely no control of and feels she could never truly be a part of. I have not ever been depressed or suffered from PTSD, but from what I have learned, I have heard that it feels like a never ending hole you fall into, where you are consumed by darkness and there is nothing else you can see, and anywhere you are within that hole, you are alone and no one can reach you. Imagine that, but feeling like you will feel that way for the rest of your immortal life.

Last, last thing: Nesta and Cassian are mates. If she had an instinct within her to call Cass from battle just in time to save him from the Cauldron; if her willingness to sacrifice her life so she could die with him because she could not live without him, didn't convince you of their status as mates, I *clap* do *clap* not *clap* know *clap* what *clap* will.

Anyways, thank you for reaching this point of my fanatic rant over Nesta.

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Arrangements

(Aragorn x fem!Elven!Reader)

Warnings- swearing, injuries, removal of shirt and that's about it

Note: This is my first Lord of The Rings Fanfiction ever. So... Go easy on me I don't know all of the lore of the world... Yet.

Aragorn seemed to enjoy his life in solitude. He didn't mind traveling the land as a ranger on his own, he didn't mind facing the world's troubles alone, he didn't mind this at all. He simply was content on being by himself.

He sat on a log in the forest, keeping a small campfire lit to cook the fish he had caught earlier. It was night now, the stars acting as a blanket as they hung over him. If he wasn't so deep in the woods he might've cared to admire them. However his main sky was tree branches and bird's nests that he would probably raid for eggs in the morning. He knew he was near some sort of town but wasn't exactly sure of his location. Sometimes he'd just wander the lands, seeing the ruins up close to pin point where he was. Now though he decided to venture into the forest.

He waited patiently for the fish to be properly cooked when a cloaked figure sprinted into his area. He drew his blade and the figure jumped back with a gasp. "Woah there! I mean no harm!" He blinked at the voice. A woman? The figure pulled back their hood to reveal an elven woman. You. "Why are you running?" He asked. "Trying to avoid someone." You said frantically. Something in your eyes didn't show fear. No the look you bore was one of annoyance. "Your highness!" Someone called. "Shite!" You whispered. "HIDE ME." You begged. Aragorn blinked. "Sorry, what?" He asked. "Look I will offer you a free place to stay and as much food as you want if you HIDE. ME." You begged. Aragorn blinked but stepped forward. "Trade cloaks with me." He finally said. You took your cloak off, handing it to him as he wrapped his around him. "Pull the hood up and sit on the log over there." He sighed.

You obeyed, pulling the hood up and sitting on the log. Two elven men ran over. "that's her cloak." One of the elven men noticed. Aragorn looked over. "Have you seen an elven woman?" He asked. "Yes, she just took off after handing me this cloak." Aragorn said. "Oh we're done for now." One of the men whined. "I cannot believe we lost the princess again!" The other huffed. You bit back a snort as they groaned. "If you see her again, tell her Arwen is looking for her. That usually gets her to come home, right?" One of the men pointed out. "Right! Yes, if she passes through again tell her that." The other said. "Best of luck to you and your friend!" The elven men yelled as he ran off. You waited a few moments before taking off the cloak.

"I cannot believe that worked." You laughed. "So you're a runaway princess?" He asked. You cleared your throat and sighed. "Something like that." You said. "I just hid you, I think I deserve an explanation." Aragorn said. You sighed. "Okay it sounds so ridiculous and you're going to think I'm two." You breathed. Aragorn rose a brow. "I am avoiding my royal duties because they are SO. BORING." You breathed. Aragorn bit back a laugh as he sat down. "Your sending your men on a goose chase because you're avoiding royal life?" He asked. "Do you have any idea how boring it is to learn which fork does what task? Because I do." You huffed.

Aragorn looked at you. "How many times have you done this?" He asked. You let out a pondering sigh. "Too many times to count." You said. "You'd think your father or mother would have realized you don't want your claim to the throne." Aragorn said. "It's not that I don't want it." You said, looking at the flames of his campfire. "It's that my father wants a kingdom that doesn't get involved. Something is brewing. I can feel it. When that time comes I want to actually do something. I don't want to sit in Rivendell and watch my people worry while we do nothing." You said. "Stop." He halted. "Your father is Elrond?" Aragorn asked. "Met him?" You asked. "I've met your sister once." He said. "Hm. Arwen. She's so much better at royal life than I am." You said. "She's calmer. Not better." Aragorn corrected as he pulled the fish from fire. "I agree. There is more to ruling than etiquette." He nodded. "Never thought I'd ever have someone agree with me." You chuckled. "You don't stray very far from home do you?" He asked making you chuckle. "No. I always go back." You said.

"why do you flee instead of voicing your concerns?" He asked. "Oh I voice my concerns. I am very vocal with my opinions. So I take action on my own, I scout my lands and I ensure things are safe for my people." You said. "So you're out here to... Better your kingdom's safety and don't question a strange man in the woods?" He asked. You chuckled. "The trees say very odd things about you Mister Strider." You said. "...The trees alert you of danger." Aragorn said. "Yes." You nodded. "You do seem a lot more alert than Elrond." Aragorn said. "Father doesn't get involved unless war is brought here. Which is never. So he never gets involved." You sighed.

"Do you have a particular crave for something outside of these woods?" He asked, noticing a look in your eyes. "I want adventure. I want to be known for something. Something more than this." You said, motioning to your royal looking clothes. Aragorn nodded. "I don't see the appeal but I understand you." He said. You noticed a gash on his leg after he stood up. "Your injured." You said. "Ah. Horse was spooked and knocked me off. Hit my shoulder as well." He said. "Come with me to Rivendell then!" You said. "...What?" "We have some of the most talented healers and it's an actual safe place to sleep. Can go wrong with that now can you?" You asked. "Why do you want to help me?" He asked. "Because you helped me." You said. Aragorn looked in your eyes and strangely felt at peace.

He found himself agreeing to your want to help him and you helped him put out the fire, walking with him through the woods. "It doesn't hurt when you walk does it?" You asked. "Not too much, no." He assured. You nodded and finally reached Rivendell. The kingdom seemed more mystical at night. No one was really active with the exception of the guards who seemed relieved to see you. You escorted him to what appeared to be a medical wing.

You took a cloth and soaked it in warm water as Aragorn removed his shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed when your turned around. Scars from battle were riddled across his chest and shoulders. "You seem to be injured quite regularly." You said, taking the cloth and wringing it out. "part of being a ranger." He said. You stood behind him, gently touching his wound. He clenched his jaw at the stinging sensation and you noticed him tense up. "What's it like? Being a ranger?" You asked. "For the most part normal. It's like being a guard but instead of waiting at a gate I watch the lands." He said. "is it exciting?" You asked, grabbing a blend of healing herbs from the small table behind you. "It can be." He answered. "Have you ever actually passed through here before?" You asked. "Once or twice. I usually avoid the major cities. I'm not very... Social." He said. You weren't surprised considering he was alone when you found him.

"does it ever get lonely? Being alone all the time?" You asked. He pondered. There were very few times he actually felt alone on his journeys. But as time was beginning to pass he actually was feeling more and more alone. "It can be." He admitted. You nodded and lightly applied the herbal blend. He winced and you looked up. "Sorry" you apologized. "you're helping me, it's fine. Just stings." He muttered. You noticed a few extra open cuts on his arm. "Were you aware of the injuries on your arms?" You asked. "Oh. No, actually I was not." He said.

You walked around and kneeled, rolling his pants leg up and cleaning the gash on his leg. "You're good at this." He said. "I have a knack for falling out of trees." You joked making him chuckle. You continued in silence for the most part, Aragorn watching your small yet careful hands work. Now that the light of the moon was filling the room and you weren't wearing a cloak he saw the necklace that rested around your neck. You definitely weren't joking about your status.

"That's quite a jewel." He said. You looked down. "My sister has one as well." You said. "Right. I remember." He nodded. "When did you meet Arwen?" You asked. "I--" "Strider?" Your sister's voice said. You looked over and stood up. "Hello." Aragorn said. You pulled away from him and cleared your throat. "You're injured?" She asked. "Just a incident with my horse." He said. "Father wants to speak with you Y/n. He's not happy." Arwen said. "Of course he isn't, I've returned." You said sarcastically. "Y/n he loves you, you know that." She said. "I know. He just has a funny way of showing it." You muttered before leaving.

"she has a spark." Aragorn said, pulling his pant leg back down and pulling shirt back on. "She will make a brilliant leader one day." Arwen said with a smile as she looked at you from the window. "I agree." He said. "Talked to her for a while, hmm?" Arwen asked, a small amused smirk playing to her lips. "What are you implying?" Aragorn asked. "Nothing. Nothing at all." She said before leaving Aragorn alone. He watched you talk to Elrond in the square. You seemed bored by the conversation and he seemed upset. He read your lips, gathering that you were speaking Sindarin rather than native tongue Westron. You however definitely mentioned you bringing Aragorn there because Elrond nodded before walking away.

Aragorn sat back down, looking over at his pack. Your cloak was neatly folded and with his things. "Are you this... 'Strider' my daughter has mentioned?" Elrond asked. "Yes. I am." He said, pulling his cloak that was also neatly folded with the rest of his things. "I have a proposition for you." Elrond said, closing the door behind him. Aragorn halted and looked over. "A proposition?" Aragorn asked. "Yes." Elrond responded.

"My daughter, in case she hasn't told you, has gotten into the habit of leaving Rivendell with no warning. She's done this for about seventy years now, and I have no idea where she goes or if she's even safe. My proposition is that you return here once a month for a few days and take her to wherever you go. In return of this I will give you equipment, food, bed and my daughter can provide you with protection." Elrond said. "Why are you entrusting me with something so precious as your daughter?" Aragorn asked. A valid question indeed considering there are literal tales of what happens when you try anything with one of Elrond's children.

"Because unlike my daughter I know exactly who you are." He said simply. Those words seemed to pierce through Aragorn. "Aragorn." Elrond added making Aragorn swallow down his own anxiety. He sighed and looked over through the window seeing you. You were talking to Arwen now, laughing. A lot more relaxed than when Elrond was speaking with you. "Once a month?" Aragorn asked. "Once a month." Elrond repeated. "Fine. But I get a new horse." He sighed. "You will have a fine steed. Tell Y/n she's leaving. The girl might just fall over from excitement." Elrond said. "Now?" Aragorn asked. "It can be in the morning. Either way I'd still alert her so she actually has what she needs." Elrond said leaving.

Aragorn sighed, sliding on his boots and walking down. You looked over and seemed to cock your head in confusion. "You survived a conversation with my father I see!" You said making Arwen roll her eyes. "Actually we made a deal." He said. "a deal? Do tell." You said with this confused look. "You are to come with me once a month and we will travel to whatever destination is needed. In return I expect your assistance when I need it and equipment whenever I am here." He explained. "By the Valar, my father has actually listened to me!" You gaped. "We leave in the morning." He said. You nodded. "I have one rule though." You said. Oh joy. More add ons.

"No one tells me what to do if I do not want to do it. If you're making me do something you best have a damn reason. Do not look at me as some princess either. I am your equal. nothing more. Nothing less." You said. He nodded. "More than fair." Aragorn said. "I'll pack my bag." You said leaving. Arwen looked at him. "So my father has entrusted you with Y/n... Curious." She muttered. "Do you believe I am not to be trusted?" Aragorn asked. "I never said that. I just think you might see Y/n as something different from what you expect." She said. "I asked you earlier and received little to no answer so I will try again. What are you implying?" Aragorn asked.

"Did you know foresight runs through most elves?" Arwen asked. "I was aware of this to a degree." Aragorn sighed, figuring she chose to ignore his question. "I've seen you. You and Y/n." She said. Aragorn blinked. "You will come to love her. She will love you as well. She will change your life and you will change hers." Arwen stated. "You're saying you believe that I find her attractive?" Aragorn asked. "I never said that either. I said you will love her. I never specified in what way that may be." She said.

You and him hmm?

Maybe he'd just have to see if Arwen is right.

[bestworstcase]

i’ve been thinking about this post from a couple days ago and how i shared my four questions of character development but didn’t actually give an example of what my answers look like and it’s bugging me a bit because it occurs to me that it’s kinda just. lobbing a tool out there without documentation on how to use it properly rip

so uh. further details with examples ft. the bitter snow cast.

#1: what are they looking for?

all characters have an UNFULFILLED DESIRE that motivates them to action. the more central to the story the character is, the harder this must be to attain, as a general rule. this is, ideally, NOT an exterior goal. instead, it is the intrinsic wellspring from which the character’s goals and aspirations emerge.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: it’s complicated. she is a character defined more by what she lacks than what she wants, per se; she does not feel secure of her place in the world, she craves trust because she feels she is distrusted, she craves respect because she feels she is overlooked, she craves love because she feels unloved. she doesn’t want to be a servant. she is terrified of insignificance, of being forgotten. she does not fit, and this hurts her. she is riddled with self-loathing and self-doubt because of the discrimination she has endured due to her saporian heritage. but if pressed to explain what she wants… she can’t summon a true answer. she doesn’t know what she wants, so what she is looking for fundamentally is to figure that out.

rapunzel: complicated again. she is a character defined in large part by what other people want from her. a people-pleaser who becomes anxious, persistent—even forceful—in her efforts to make everyone happy. she isn’t accustomed to paying attention to her own desires, and tends to neglect them unless she is acutely unhappy. i think she is looking for herself, more than anything.

varian: he is searching for answers. he wants to understand how the world works, to discover what it has to teach him. simple.

caine: she is looking for freedom. her life has been a long succession of horrific losses: her father was brutally taken from her, her mother became horribly ill, poverty and familial obligation robbed her of what remained of her childhood, she became disillusioned with the faith her aunt tried to share with her, her best friend died in her arms. she wants vengeance, and she also wants to stop carrying these ghosts with her, and she also wants to stop looking over her shoulder all the time and waiting for the next loss to catch up with her.

zhan tiri: she is looking for peace. she is the oldest living being in existence, and she came from nothing, and every single significant moment in her unfathomably long life has been soaked in blood and pain and death. her intrinsic nature is to hunger—always needing, always restless, always empty—and more than anything, she longs to break this endless circle of want.

#2: what’s stopping them?

every character must have an OBSTACLE which DISRUPTS their pursuit of what they’re looking for. it is the thing standing in their way. this is NOT the antagonist—it is the reason the character cannot easily overcome the antagonist. ideally it is something intrinsic.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she has, again, a complicated answer—because the very thing she is looking for is the same thing that stands in her way. how can she discover her basic, most primal want if she can’t even articulate her goals? she wants, at the beginning of the story, to join the watch—but not because she wants to join the watch, so much as joining the watch is a proxy for cassandra assimilating fully, for being coronan through and through, for scrubbing herself clean of the stain of her parents’ legacy—and that proxy is itself merely a proxy for her desire to belong—and her desire to belong is, in turn, a proxy for the agony of not knowing herself. she is piling bandaids on top of bandaids on top of bandaids on top of hemorrhages.

rapunzel: she is trapped in her own story. an evil witch kidnapped the magical lost princess, who escaped and came home; a miracle. the sundrop gifted its power to the lost princess; destiny. she a peacemaker and a mediator; it is her job to fix problems. narratives piled on narratives and she’s lost—or rather, never had—the insight to recognize that there is more to her than the stories people tell about her.

varian: his crushing need for approval is the key thing standing in his way. it isn’t just that his father’s disappointment or his village’s distrust make him warier of free experimentation; it is also, and perhaps even more so, that he is afraid of finding the wrong answers. answers that won’t help people. answers that his friends and allies won’t like. answers that change his basic view of the world in ways that feel antithetical to who he is. this fear holds him back from pursuing the truth.

caine: she is looking in the wrong direction; she is trying to not care, as if by not caring she can trick the universe into not taking anything else away. she is someone who cares so deeply trying to sever herself from everything she cares about without actually letting it go, which is of course an exercise in futility.

zhan tiri: what she wants is, quite simply, impossible. this is not a human answer because she is not human. contentment is and will always be something she is not capable of feeling, and chasing it is nothing but another exercise in insatiable hunger.

#3: what are they going to do about it?

this is about ACTION. it is not an option for a character to do nothing; the nature of the unfulfilled desire is that they are COMPELLED to seek it, somehow, by some means. if the answer to this question does not involve the character DOING SOMETHING, you need to return to question number one and fix the answer there.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is going to fling herself headlong and without hesitation after whatever concrete goals feel like they might “fix” the lack she feels. even if a short term goal (like helping rapunzel sneak out) clashes or is contradictory with a longer term goal (like joining the watch). even if it is an obviously stupid idea (like her secret correspondence with rosalia morcant). even if it is an impulse with little if any rational basis (like fixating on finding varian, or joining the fight in socona). she is, essentially, throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks, because without knowing what she wants, she can’t form a coherent “quest” for herself.

rapunzel: she is going to follow the path of least resistance with whatever narrative feels the least restrictive to her at any given time. when she is fresh out of the tower, reconnecting with her real family and throwing herself into becoming a princess is that narrative. later, taking adira’s and xavier’s advice to pursue her destiny by questing for the moonstone replaces that narrative. since none of these narratives fully suit her—they are all boxes she tries to fit into—she will eventually grow discontent and cast them aside to try something new, until she finally breaks this cycle.

varian: he is going to fall into a cycle of hesitant side-stepping leading to crisis leading to frantic charge forward until he identifies this pattern and chooses to step calmly but courageously into unknown territory. his instinct is to try to go around, to find an oblique solution, but to get what he wants he will ultimately need to just face his fear head on—and deep down he is willing to do that.

caine: she is going to run, and fight, and keep running and fighting until her legs give out beneath her. vengeance appeals to her, and she’s going to chase it with everything she’s got while trying to protect what she has; her intense drive is tempered by caution, which manifests in a pragmatic approach to pursuit of her exterior goals.

zhan tiri: she is going to continuously and experimentally refine and broaden her definition of “hunger” with the aim of hitting on something that allows her to feel satiated. she is going to line up goals and systematically chew threw them until there’s nothing left. she is, eventually, going to devour the whole cosmos and then probably die.

#4: who do they think they are?

this is a question about the character’s SELF-IDENTIFICATION. how do they PERCEIVE themselves? how do they choose to DEFINE themselves? what do they see when they look in the mirror?

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is untrustworthy. she is ignored. she is likable but not lovable. she doesn’t fit anywhere. she’s empty. she’s unsure. she’s drowning in doubt. she is insignificant, unimportant. she has been wronged, somehow. she wants to be a hero. she is someone who wants to do the right thing. she never stops trying. she’s stupid and reckless and incapable and doesn’t deserve any of the things she wants. she probably cares too much.

rapunzel: she is good. she is kind. (she is better than other people, in some small way. she sees the potential for goodness that other people can’t, or won’t.) she is worthless. she exists to make the world a better place. she is a princess, so she has to lead. she is the sundrop, so she has to heal. she is strong. (she is weak.) her determination to be kind and willingness to trust are her best qualities.

varian: he’s probably a lot smarter than most people he knows. he doesn’t know anything, but he wants to. he’s reckless. he’s not good enough. he can’t replace his mom. he’s accident prone. he’s a disappointment. he moves too fast. he thinks too fast. he doesn’t really need to sleep. he’s better with chemicals and formulas and machines than people. he’s not someone people want to be friends with. he could do great things if people—especially his dad—would just believe in him for once.

caine: she is an asshole and there is nothing wrong with her. she’s callous. she’s selfish. she’s out for her own interest first. she’s fine. (it was her fault cornaīn died. it’ll be her fault if her mom dies, or if neasa dies, or if any more of her crew dies, or if cassandra dies.) she isn’t afraid, she isn’t hurt, she’s angry. the only person she can rely on is herself, and the only person she wants to rely on is herself. she’s not anxious, she’s being smart.

zhan tiri: she loves, and it hurts, and she loves anyway. there is a way to break the circle and she is going to find it; it isn’t over until the end; but nothing lasts but hunger. she has done nothing wrong, ever, in her life. she has so many regrets she could drown in them if she weren’t immortal. she is beautiful, stop screaming.

…and that’s the bedrock of a character. 

every individual action, every specific goal, every thought and feeling, is ultimately guided by the clash between this internal core with the realities of the setting, plot, and choices of other characters. cognitive dissonance between answers #1-3 and answer #4 is a breeding ground for inner conflict, and answers #1-3 are the raw material from which the spine of the character’s arc is sculpted.

[bonus round: this method comes from a scene in the pre-broadway houston run of the musical wonderland, wherein a character poses these questions to alice; her answers are:

#1: “i’m looking for my lost child.*”

*this being both literally her child who is lost but also metaphorically her own sense of wonder and discovery, which she has lost touch with.

#2: “i do! i keep getting in my own way, it’s all i do!”

#3: “i’m trying to figure that out!”

#4: “i’m chloe’s mother. i’m married to jack. these people are my friends. i’m a writer. i’m a teacher. i’m the dreamer of this dream. i’m lots of things; i’m my own invention!”

and when i first listened to this audio i was blown away by just how perfectly this distilled the character of alice down to her purest essentials so i immediately adopted it for character building purposes and i have never looked back because it is simple and it works.

in this scene there is also a fifth question, “what are you afraid of?” (paraphrasing: “losing the people i love”) which i have over time sort of just lumped in with how i answer the other four, because i find it to be less evocative on its own. however, it is useful information to know about a character and i recommend keeping it in mind when answering the other four.]

[noonmutter]

Revelation pt. 3

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 18: Precognition/Collapse

Flecks of gold plumed up and curled into ashy powder in his wake as Terry's exposed flesh went up like kindling. The fine dust was caught up by a draft that he couldn't feel and disappeared into the ether. Immolation felt surprisingly peaceful, once the initial, horrifying agony had reached critical mass and he simply stopped processing it. This felt rather more...floaty?...than shock, even.

With monumental effort, he raised his right hand, and was surprised to find a hand still there. Not his hand, obviously--his hands didn't glow like this. It was almost like trying to see the shape of the sun: staring at it longer made it both easier and harder to pick out the edges and boundaries of his fingers, and even more so to tell if they were moving. It occurred to him after a moment that his hand was also much too big. He could probably crush his own skull with this meathook.

Do you hear me now, outspoken child?

His mind was trying very hard to ...not shut down, shutting down was too abrupt, and still a function. His brain was simply trying to stop. It was tired; he was tired. And more and more of his body was going all... glowy. The sensation was oddly comfortable, like slipping into warm bathwater after a long day, a stark contrast to the searing nightmare that had happened moments ago. It was impossible to speak, and thinking was another herculean trial.

...e...on...ar?

He was immediately awash in warmth and the inexplicable scent of a summer breeze that would have brought homesick tears to his eyes if he'd had the ability. There was also the intense urge to climb a tree that wasn't there. That one was familiar enough that he let out another weak huff of a laugh, at once relieved and resigned. Finally, something that wasn't out to kill him.

No, my ally. I am most certainly not here to kill you.

It was impossible to be certain, with the mass of Revendreth immense in his vision and badly blurred, but Terry thought he'd stopped falling. Or drifting. Or whatever the right word was. Everything was either grey or black and, immeasurably far up above him (and just below his chin), gleaming gold.

Why..?

You called for me. I came.

I called? ... I did... yes. So long ago. Where... Terry couldn't quite muster up the strength to be furious, only heaving the question like a great mental sigh. Where were you?

Your enemies are...very dedicated to keeping you to themselves. I heard only that plea, and tiny remnants of others. I could not see, and could barely hear. I am sorry for the way I found you. It is never my wish to cause pain.

He could feel himself squint. ...the elementals? That was you?

Yes. It was the only way to bring you into my sight.

There was a pregnant silence where he would have been laughing if he could. When he actually did hear himself bark aloud, he startled himself. The exhaustion was still there, but some of the rawness... he felt a little less like a fragment of himself. And as he had that thought, he noticed that he could feel pain again. As much as he would have preferred not to, he knew that that was an improvement, not a punishment.

What are you doing?

To Terry's puzzlement, there was another pause, a feeling that the Lifebinder was hesitating. I had intended to save you. But I realize... this was not our agreement.

Terry closed his eyes, now that he knew he could and it would matter. It was nice to actually see darkness, instead of seeing nothing or not being able to change his view at all.

You are so tired, child. She sounded very much like his mother in that moment, and he found comfort in that without fighting it, for a change.

I am. ...Will I get to see them again?

No. But that is not your fault.

Instantly, his eyes flew open. What does that mean?

You have gone where you were likely destined to go, as you were. But had you gone there the proper way--at the end of your part in the cycle--you would not have ended up there.

Before he had a chance to get cross and tell her to stop talking in circles and riddles at him, Terry felt himself shifting around, rolling over until he was no longer looking at the rocky underside of Revendreth. Instead, he faced a gaping, awful hole like a collapsing star that would consume entire galaxies, and the warmth in his body suddenly disappeared. The longer he stared, the easier it was to make out the constant flow of countless little specks disappearing into the gaping gullet. Raw dread filled him when he figured out what the specks were.

The balance is undone. You, as they did, would have ended up in this consuming pit called the Maw.

What?!

Forgive me, child. There is chaos in the fabric of all things. I could not see.

His heart sank to the same depths as the day he'd woken up in Darnassus and learned that not only had his parents died, his country had too. At the same time, his jaw clenched, and he was warmed again by his own boiling blood. Maybe he might have deserved whatever the Maw was, but his parents sure as shit didn't.

But I see now. And I return to the bargain we made.

Terry was turned over again, and he couldn't decide whether it was better or worse to look away from the hole in the universe. At least he felt less hollow inside this way. A new wash of exhaustion rolled over him, and he closed his eyes once more. When did it end? Was there always going to be something worse waiting in the wings?

I have already borrowed your strength, and it served me well. I have returned it thus. But... it seems to me that I must offer you the choice, before I lend my own.

...How do you mean?

You are tired, and it seems to me, deservedly so. I can end your suffering, and usher you to the fate you would have properly earned if you so wish. Revendreth would likely have been your proper destination. This time, you would encounter it as a soul, rather than a man.

He frowned a little. And the alternative?

I can finish what I already started, burn away the twisted shell that contains your essence, and build it anew. You would return as a living man to Revendreth, and from there, seek a remedy for this sickness on the cosmos. There will be great suffering in this endeavor, as all battles create. You might not return to your mate or offspring for a very long time. You might not return at all, and die, and be condemned to the Maw regardless.

You are a terrible salesman.

You demanded honesty. She was being cheeky. He appreciated that. I now ask you to place your trust in me, and accept the mantle of champion.

Either way, he wasn't going to see Dwyn or his children again. Not for a while, if at all. He'd already thought it impossible a dozen times over, all the way back in the desert on Azeroth. It was hard to hold out hope in the face of that; harder still to do it after that, and being stolen away to what turned out not to be Hell, but Purgatory. He'd clung to determination, to stubbornness, instead; he could accept those in place of hope. He would see them again because he swore that he would, not because things had to turn out okay somehow.

And his parents were down there, somewhere, too. Was that going to happen to the rest of his family? To Leon? To Vember? Alynore? Ansul? Pin? Jia?

What good was his oath if he didn't try everything to follow it, even blind, mad, dangerous faith?

What did he have left to lose?

If ever there was a worthy price for his free will... this was it.

All right. I guess I'm storming Hell.

( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

[tooobsessedwithfandoms]

Magnetic (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Summary: Y/N is a witch, but she's powerful. Too powerful. She has a bloodlust nothing she has tried can fulfil. Not to mention the magnetic pull she feels towards something (or someone). Is it related to the piercing blue eyes she sees in her dreams?

A/N: So this is my first AHS imagine, so if it's bad please let me know! I know that technically Michael is five, but I'm going to pretend that that little fact doesn’t exist for this. I'm also really sorry if this is too graphic, if it is please let me know and i can change it. This is part one, so it's basically an introduction chapter to the series I'm probably going to make this into. And just to clarify ‘before the move’ means before moving near the murder house!

Warnings: Death, car collision, blood, mention of dead animals.

Words: 813

Master List

Y/N had known Michael for quite some time, her parents moving in opposite the infamous ‘murder house’ had initiated the first connection between the two. 

Before the move.

Y/N was an explorer, and fascinated with death, destruction and gore. She had been from a very young age when she saw a collision between two vehicles, she watched as a middle aged man flew through the window and landed on the solid concrete that was littered with tiny pieces of glass from the shattered windows. She watched him, as he was surrounded by those nearby in her small neighbourhood. She watched him bleed out. 

Y/N knew she could help, she had found out the year prior that she could bring things back to life. Of course she didn’t know how she had these magical abilities but as a five year old she didn't care, at that point she felt like an angel, giving life back to those who deserved it. Oh how wrong she was. 

When her parents found out, chaos had occurred. They had figured Y/N was bound to indicate that she had powers (thus making her a witch) at some point, but they had not expected resurgence and not at such a young age. This had immediately triggered many different thoughts in the minds of Y/Ns parents, primarily her mothers as she was a witch herself, but she hadn’t put her powers to use or even practiced them in years. They thought Y/N could use this resurgence for good and help people, especially because she could bring large animals back when only being a child. Imagine what she could do when she was older, resurrecting human life would be an easy task for her. And if she could master resurgence, who knows what else she could do. But as a year went past and they watched their daughter, their only child, their powerful little witch watch and stare as a man bled out from the prominent bones protruding from his body, they watched as she did nothing. Her small eyes wide in fascination and excitement, they didn’t expect this. They didn’t want this. But Y/N was only young, they could change her, make her a better person. Right?

So that's what they tried to do, they made sure she wouldn’t be within reach of any knives or objects that can do harm. They taught her positive subjects and ideals only, whilst Y/N's mother still taught her how to control her powers, they made sure to never let it get out of hand. It worked, and it had been working for years. Y/N now being a teenager in her prime and one of the most powerful witches to exist. They knew this due to the many calls they would receive from Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies about how Y/N would be better off at the Academy to help her progress with her powers, but Y/Ns parents couldn't send her. What if she went back to her fascination? What if she killed? They wouldn't be able to forgive themselves. So they didn’t send her, they tried to tell Y/N that it was because she didn’t need the Academy which wasn’t actually a lie. It just wasn’t the truth. But Y/N knew. She knew exactly why she wasn’t able to attend Robichaux’s like all other witches her age, and she understood.

Because she knew that she would kill every single soul in that building, she would rip them limb from limb because she couldn’t control it anymore. Her bloodlust became too much to handle, the neighbouring animals not becoming enough to quench it. See, what her oblivious parents didn’t know was that she would kill the animals her neighbours would purchase and let roam freely in the streets. She had at least eighteen animal corpses buried in her garden. How her parents didn’t know was beyond her, just the thought of it made her narrow eyes roll in annoyance. Y/N knew she was different, she was meant for more than an all girls academy that would only tell her what she already knew and teach her what she had already mastered. 

One thing she didn’t know however, is why she always felt a pull. A pull that was almost magnetic, guiding her towards something-or someone. She couldn’t explain why she saw the same blurry face in her dreams. The only feature she was able to fully appreciate was the pair of piercing blue eyes that would hungrily stare at her when she was submerged into a subconscious state. That confused her, but equally intrigued her. She needed to follow that pull...and see if it had any connection to her thirst for blood or the beautiful eyes that riddled her dreams. She just needed to work out how to get away.

And so a plan began to formulate in that twisted head of hers.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Heroes: Sweet or Shite? - Part 2: CREAM

There are some heroes I like. And there are some heroes I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a series in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the heroes in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves over the course of time. Two things to keep in mind:

1. These reviews will be focusing mainly on game portrayals. Though alternate media will occasionally be mentioned, it’ll be for the sake of adding onto a point if a portrayal is similar enough, or to compare and contrast if a portrayal is different enough.

2. These are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, it's a vast departure from the mayhem of Silver’s world. A much more down-to-earth character, it's the Chao-approved little girl who only the most Eggman of Eggmen could possibly hold in contempt... Cream the Rabbit.

The Gist: One day, Sonic was off on another advance adventure. Eggman was starting shit again, so Sonic was obligated to cause shit for him. This time though, upon confronting the doctor early on, he noticed there was an unfamiliar hostage on the doctor’s metal-fisted person, in the form of an adorable bunny girl.

This was how she was evicted from Team Sonic Racing.

Sonic may not have recognised her, but that's okay, because he's Sonic, and no Sonic that isn't the Fleetway one discriminates. With his good heart - and more importantly, his skill in breaking apart Eggman's machines like they’re made of tissue paper - he saved the day, and the bunny was eternally grateful. But all was not sorted out, as it seemed that Vanilla, her adoring mother, was still under threat...

No matter. With the help of her little Chao partner named Cheese, she would handle the problem herself.

“How the fuck did this happen?” - Eggman, Sonic Advance 2 (2003)

And... that's about it? I told you this was a far cry from Silver, didn't I? Compared to Sonic's other friends, Cream just kind of showed up without much fanfare. No elaborate backstory, no dramatic plot twists, just a girl wanting to help out.

Well, if it makes this part of the job easier...

The Design: Just like her story (or lack thereof), there isn’t too much to say here. Her design is fairly simple, but it gets the job done.

“We’re going to have so much fun when we turn our enemies into dust and make them feel inadequate, won’t we Cheese? ^__^”

The best Sonic character designs are perfect at blending the right colours together, and Cream is no exception to that rule. The mix of cream (of course) and brown makes for a suitably warm and cozy package, and the further addition of orange and yellow provide a nice contrast to the reds and whites of her older sister figure, Amy. And speaking of Amy, although it might not be completely intentional, I like that Cream’s style of clothing isn’t too far off from that of the pink hedgehog, given their close dynamic.

I know some may take issue with the fact that her ears are technically backwards, but I personally don’t care. It’s cute, it’s fiction, don’t worry about it.

The Personality: Simply put, Cream is a kind, polite, innocent soul who would feel immensely guilty in the event of accidentally hurting a fly.

“I was not programmed to d’aww...”

This is in large part because she’s a devoted pacifist by nature, meaning she would only be willing to annihilate the absolute shit out of you if she had no other choice in the matter. Not that you should push her if it came to that, since I’m not exaggerating when I say that she’d wreck your shit. No mortal should have the awe-inducing power that Cream wields. (Seriously, is there any game she’s playable in where she’s NOT broken?)

Did I mention she’s cute as a button? Cause I’m gonna mention it again.

Come on, how could you hate this bunny? Is there no place for cuteness in this franchise starring plush-sized cartoon animals and giant red springs?

The Execution: If you haven’t noticed by how shorter this is than the average Sweet or Shite review, Cream is an extremely straightforward character to describe and discuss. But is that a bad thing? No, not necessarily. It doesn’t hurt for a character to have more to them of course, but compared to being as ridiculous and as complicated as, again, the whole mess involving Silver, it’s easy to appreciate when things are kept nice and simple.

If you also haven’t noticed, I would protect this girl with my life.

“Thank you for bowing down to your superior, mister!” “Chao!”

Okay, so maybe her voice can get a little ear-piercing at times, even though I’d argue that hasn’t been the case with her most recent voice actress. Maybe her dedication to her pacifism rubs some the wrong way, since it can cause some unnecessary complications from time to time, most notably during Sonic Battle, when her (initial) refusal to fight in an intense situation led to Emerl getting beat up by Original Gammas, Do Not Steal. Or maybe she’s simply not ~radical~ enough, if you’re that sort of fan.

But me? I like her. I think she has a place, and I think she deserves to keep that place. As such, I also think it’s a tragedy that it appears as though she’s been getting phased out from a lot of Sonic products, possibly due to all these accusations directed at her. IDW has been the biggest exception to this trend thus far... but we all know what happened there, don’t we?

MFW I’m told to sign up on Bumbleking to understand a comic’s piss-poor writing.

Still, even if this unofficial phasing out continues, I’ll continue to defend Cream with the same passion I’d reserve for plenty of Sonic’s other chums. For one thing, she’s not wearing a ganja leaf.

Regardless of the game, Cream’s interactions with the rest of the cast are genuinely sweet, whether it’s Amy, Sonic, a weapon of destruction like Emerl, or a complete stranger like Blaze. She even managed to be nice and understanding to Chris Thorndyke, which is an amazing achievement considering it’s Chris Thorndyke. (Of course, even she lost her temper with Chris Thorndyke at one point, because it’s Chris Thorndyke.) Cream is not the only character who adds heart to the Sonic universe - other examples include Amy, Tails, even Sonic himself at times - but she has her place in doing so all the same... unlike Chris Thorndyke.

I’m always going on about how it’s important to acknowledge Sonic’s world for all it has to offer, rather than take one aspect of it and take it up to eleven at the expense of everything else. That belief of mine also applies here, because as much as it may be a balls to the wall playground filled with cartoon edge and badass attitude, the main star is still a blue hedgehog who rolls into a fuzzy ball, the Ultimate Lifeform with a tragic past is still a black hedgehog who wears hover skates, and the main villain, horrible and brutal as he is, is still shaped like an egg. Appealing charm is inherent to this franchise, no less so than bodaciousness. So Cream isn’t any less appropriate than someone like Shadow.

Although how she hasn’t yet been traumatized by all that she’s been through will be a riddle for the ages. Abductions, abductions of her mother, dead robot friends...

“Shit happens, kid.”

Crusher Gives Cream a: Thumbs Up!

Well, that was a refreshingly easy one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I better get out of here before Trudy takes issue with me for swearing so much in a Cream-related context... oh god, here she comes-!

[whump-town]

Snippets From My Drafts That Have Been Collecting Dust 

(but I don’t know what to do with them and they’re going to waste so..,)

Head propped up on a thin throw pillow, Hotch is laying out on the cheap carpet of the motel floor. One of his elbows rests leaning against the couch beside him. This arm holds the majority of the weight of the book he’s reading. Which he holds up over his head. The hand not holding the book, rest leisurely along its side. This hand loosely leafs a single page free from the other’s behind it, waiting for him to turn it over when he finishes it.

The end of the cigarette bobbing loosely between his lips lights a dark orange as he inhales its fumes. Embers. Reid can hear it sizzle, crack. Before Hotch’s face lips part once more and the smoke comes out his nose. It’s a slowly released force, a patient exhale. Relief.

Without a word, he shifts the weight of the book and reaches down to take the cigarette from between his teeth to pinch it between his fingers. Emily, who lays with her head propped up on his stomach, glances when she senses the movement. Without so much as a word, she takes the cigarette from him. Placing it in her own mouth she hands him the wine she’s eloquently made easy to drink via a tasteful neon pink straw.

He takes this without comment, sipping at it. He grimaces as soon as it hits his tongue, making a distinctly unsatisfied “ech” sound. “I thought you were making a screwdriver,” he mumbles, still grimacing but taking another sip.

Emily looks up and over at him. She shakes her head and her reply comes in a puff of smoke. “I was,” she mumbles, voice thickening with the smoke coating her throat. “Dave said we had to finish this before he was letting me near the vodka.” She returns to her own book, thicker than Hotch’s. With a cover, that’s effortlessly recognizable: Dr. No. James Bond. “I know you don’t like white wine. I wouldn’t have even poured it if Dave had let me pick.”

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

(for “100” Season five episode nine)

Jack hands JJ a Captain America doll. “For daddy,” he instructs with a nod of his little head. His mother and father’s blood has mixed into his cotton blend baby blue t-shirt. An intangible stain on his most prized possession. His Captain American shirt.

JJ cups the figure in her hands, tears swelling in her eyes. His traditionally blonde hair has been crudely drawn over by a sharpie. Making it black.. “I’ll give it to him.” she promises. Lightly, she touches the tiny details of the figure. The belt and features that have worn down with use. With Jack’s love.

“Miss JJ?” Jack’s sucked his thumb into his mouth. A habit she remembers Hotch having a hell of a time getting the boy to kick only a few short months ago. A time that feels so far from now. Another lifetime. Today has been enough already, this isn’t a fight worth having.

JJ’s jogs him up in her arms, holding him a little tighter to her chest. His head having found her shoulder he swings his little legs as he looks up at her. “Yes, Jack?”

He yawns and rubs at his eyes with his fist. “How much longer tell I can see Daddy too?”

Hotch had been taken away in the ambulance. Nearly drunk with confusion he’d gone where directed with no complaint. Raspily asking Dave questions as the EMTs had strapped him to the stretcher, he hadn’t even been aware of the tear streaming down his face.

“In a while,” JJ whispers. She hopes.

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

(I might have used this one in a fic already but I don’t know and can’t find it if so…)

Jack is a baby when Emily Prentiss dies.

Independent, for a five-year-old, Jack still has no formal grasp on what it means to die. He knows Mommy is dead. She’s sleeping in the cemetery and sometimes he and Daddy dress up and go put pretty flowers on stone that says her name. Aunt Jessica tells him Mommy isn’t with the stone anymore but Daddy still talks to it.

Jack doesn’t understand death but he doesn’t have to.

Aunt Pen holds him for a moment too long. His chest feels wrong, his little heart pounding because people hold him like that when something’s wrong.

Uncle Derek’s hand rest on his shoulder, his eyes wet.

JJ presses a kiss to his forehead and sends him to play with Henry. Jack loves Henry but he gets the feeling today isn’t a playing kind of day.

Eventually, Daddy comes and gets him. They sit on the floor-- despite the fact that Jack remembers his father playfully grumbling that he’s getting a little too old to play on the floor anymore. That was only just last week but Jack as the faintest memory of visiting his father in a hospital. Meaning, he understands how things can change very quickly.

And Jack knows. He knew the minute he had to put on the itchy shirt with the collar even though Daddy said they were only going to Uncle Dave’s.

“Buddy--” Jack crawls into his father’s lap and Hotch’s breath is knocked from his lungs. Emily used to fuss with him, constantly reminding him that children are smarter than they’re given credit for. Hotch knows now, as Jack curls his tiny body around his own, that in some small way Jack already knows. “Emmy... Uhm, Emmy’s gone.”

He remembers Daddy was gone once too.

He and Mommy went on vacation. The mean man found them. Then Mommy was gone and Daddy wasn’t.

He’s not so sure that’s what his father’s trying to say.

It’s all he says though because they’re talk it interrupted by Uncle Dave.

“Come here, bub.” Rossi picks Jack up, balancing him on his hip. “Let’s give your ol’ dad a minute, huh?”

Until then Jack hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down his father’s face.

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

Every time Hotch asks someone to come to his office there’s a split second- no matter who is it- where they just sit dumbstruck and anxiety riddled because all they can think is “Am I about to be fired?” Then logic kicks in.

Hotch hasn’t fired anyone. Never. Not even when they deserved it.

Tell that to the seven coffee machines Reid and Prentiss have broken.

The time Morgan took his shirt off and did a hand-stand in the middle of the bullpen- of course, he thought Hotch wouldn’t look but that mother hen sees all.

Garcia’s, very much so, against regulation outfits and sexual innuendos that not only has he been on the receiver end of but also Strauss and the Director.

And he’s Hotch. Those perfectly manicured suits can only do so much to hide away his soft heart and goofy laugh.

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

His fuse is running low. A candle drowning in it’s own wax.

Jack’s sick on the one day off he’s had in two weeks and so the one night he had procured for sleep has just been swept out from underneath his feet. Another cruel joke the world seems to love playing on him. Not that he can be mad at a toddler for being sick.

The team notices the next day. The bags under their eyes have dulled to light bruises, nothing a cup of coffee or two can’t fix. Hotch is late. Not actually late but late for his standards. For the decade or better that Derek Morgan has known Hotch, he gets to the office at 7:30, makes a pot of coffee, and hides in his office until 9:30. Today, he’s nowhere to be found.

When he comes trudging in at 10, two black eyes half-lidded and his suitcase nearly brushing the ground as he makes his way to his office. It’s the kind of sight that makes the busy bullpen sputter to a stop.

He sighs as soon as he notices the attention has shifted to him. He knows today is about to get 10x worse before it gets any better.

[songtoyou]

Chapter 12: Switch - Part One

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 3,791

Warnings: Swearing

Story Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

Chapter Summary: Easter has arrived. Tommy is spending it with his family, while Rose is forced to spend time with her ex. We learn that Tommy does not always want to be in control. 

A/N: This chapter will have two parts.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars​

There was a part of Tommy that wished he did not have to be in control all of the time. It was understandable that he be the one in charge of his business as he had no other person to rely on to step up to the plate. Michael was still too young. Also, Tommy had been developing doubts and distrust towards his cousin. It didn’t help that Michael would schedule secret meetings with potential business partners and act as if he was doing it to help Tommy and the company. Tommy used to rely on and confide in his Aunt Polly. Yet, she began to distance herself more and more from the company, especially since getting remarried to Aberama Gold, a fellow business associate to Tommy. John and Arthur had their business deals to worry about, and Ada spent most of her time in the States.

He wished Grace was still alive. She was Tommy’s number one supporter. He shared almost everything with Grace (the legal side) and truly valued her advice and opinions. When Tommy was with Grace, he was able just to be himself. He was allowed to be calm and not have to overwork his mind. He didn’t have to be in control.

It was only with Grace that Tommy allowed another person to have total control over him in the bedroom. Both he and Grace shared characteristics of a dominant and submissive. They often switched roles, with Tommy as the dominant and Grace as the submissive, and vice versa. He loved it when Grace used to dominate him. No one would have suspected the sweet-natured blonde woman had an alpha personality behind closed doors, who was and controlling and overtly sexual.

With Grace gone, Tommy never allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of anyone. Lizzie tried to get Tommy to open that side of him up, but he denied her. He couldn’t do it. A part of Tommy felt as if it would be a betrayal to Grace. Both Ada and Polly constantly told Tommy that it was okay for him to move on from Grace.

“She gave you, on her deathbed, the permission to move on, Thomas. Respect your deceased wife’s wishes,” Aunt Polly would tell him. 

“Find someone to have a family with, Tommy. Charlie deserves to have a mother figure in his life and possible siblings if it were to happen. Let yourself be happy,” were Ada’s words of encouragement. 

No doubt Tommy would hear those exact words at his sister’s house this Sunday afternoon to celebrate Easter with the entire Shelby clan. Boy, it was going to be a long day. Charlie ended up spending the night at Ada’s with his cousins. Tommy was glad for that as indeed his sister would provide his son with an Easter basket. Tommy was not one for decorative or holiday pleasantries. That was all Grace. When Grace passed, Ada, Polly, or Esme would be the ones to step in and make sure Charlie celebrated his birthday with a party or invite him over for holiday festivities. Guilt would riddle Tommy at that notion that he could not provide his only child with a happy environment. Yes, Tommy loved Charlie dearly. However, Tommy could not deny that he lacked in other emotional departments. He was not one for sentiments or terms of endearment.

Another subject Tommy was not keen to have brought up was his “relationship” with Rose Turner. Unfortunately, he knew better than to expect his family members to rile him up about her and ask questions. None of them knew how Tommy met Rose. It was the same with Lizzie. While both Arthur and John were not faithful to their wives, neither were allowed to be members of Excelsior Club. He had mentioned Arthur and John to Tatiana to inquire if they could become members. Tatiana stated that they were both a liability. “Your brothers are too reckless and don’t fit the standards of our usual clientele. They are, how do I put this nicely? They are too ‘rough around the edges,’ so to speak,” Tatiana said dismissively when Tommy first started going to the Club.

It didn’t matter to Tommy either way; his brothers still managed to do fine all on their own. Besides, Arthur and John were not the faces of Shelby Company Limited; Tommy was and had an image to protect. If Tommy went down in disgrace, it would be for his business dealings, not that he kept himself in the company of whores.

However, Tommy could not help his growing feelings for Rose. There was an energy about her that was attractive to him that he could not quite understand why. Tommy was not sure if it was because Rose was able to adhere to his wicked desires. It amazed Tommy how she was keen on submitting and doing almost anything to please him. During scenes, Rose responded to Tommy as if he was the only man she needed, the only man she desired. And it felt genuine, not put on. There would be moments during aftercare where Rose would look at Tommy with such admiration and respect, that at first, it made him feel uneasy. But after a while, he came come to desire that look. That Tommy would do whatever it took to make sure Rose always looked at him in such away. Tommy found that he craved Rose’s respect, which caught him off guard. 

Tommy soon realized that he also respected Rose and how she would do anything for her son. He admired that notion about her. She willingly entered into a line of work that could be demanding, demeaning, and possibly dangerous to provide for her child was not something that Tommy took lightly or was flippant about it. He would never refer to Rose as a “hooker with a heart of gold.” No, she was much more than a trope. Tommy knew Rose did not need a knight and shining armor to save her. 

Lizzie wanted Tommy to save her. At the time, Tommy was in no position to be someone’s hero. He was too bruised, too shattered, too broken. 

Now, here Tommy was at his sister’s home celebrating Easter. He sat back and watched everyone. The laughter, the smiles, Tommy felt like he didn’t belong. Tommy felt like he couldn’t breathe, so he stepped out back to smoke a cigarette since Ada did not allow smoking in her home.

The inhale of nicotine helped soothe Tommy’s anxiety and calm his nerves. Often, he wished he was back on opium. It was his way of coping after coming home from Afghanistan. He was only able to get clean because of Grace and her support. He never touched the stuff after getting clean, but there were still cravings. The feelings that came with the high brought such bliss. The satisfaction that nothing could harm you. Those weren’t going to go away magically overnight. 

Tommy’s solitude was interrupted when his son, nephews, and nieces ran outside with their baskets to search for eggs. He looked at his watch and sighed. He was not sure how much longer he could stand this. 

As the children flittered around the yard, Tommy took out his phone. He opened the message from one of the Blinders he had assigned to watch over Rose that day. The text message Tommy received earlier unsettled him. It was a picture of Rose exiting her house with Louis and a man. The three got in a car and drove off. At first sight of the image, Tommy felt enraged. He immediately wanted to know who this man was and why he was with Rose. Tommy was livid. Fortunately, he calmed himself down when Rose sent him a text an hour later.

Rose: I know you have your guys watching over Louis and me. While I do appreciate that, it is a little much. The man I am with is Louis’s father, Nick. We are going out for an Easter brunch. Nothing for you to worry about, and Happy Easter. 

Tommy didn’t respond, but he was grateful that Rose cleared things up. He knew his reaction to the picture was ridiculous. The slight pang of jealously surprised Tommy. He didn’t quite know where it came from; it was the same feeling when Rose told him that Changretta contacted her. He was still unsure about what to do with Changretta. First, it was only business that Changretta was causing Tommy grief; now, the man was gearing up to steal his girl. Tommy realized that he must have been too lenient when dealing with the Changrettas now overstepping their boundaries. Tommy and the Peaky Blinders would have to put them in their place for good. 

Tommy would make sure that Rose was not a casualty if a war broke out. He was not going to lose her or the war.

“Mum! Come on!” Louis yelled. He was dressed and ready to go, but his mum was taking forever. “What is taking so long?”

“In a minute!” Rose shouted back. She was ready but was busy doing making an Easter basket for Louis. Rose placed the items strategically in the basket. She grabbed the basket and walked down the stairs. “Happy Easter, my little man.”

Rose handed the basket to Louis, who had a look of confusion and annoyance on his face. “What the Hell, Mum? Is this what you have been doing for the last thirty minutes?”

“Yes,” Rose said. “Don’t you like it?”

Louis sighed and placed the basket on the table. “I’m too old for an Easter basket,” he moaned but still looked through the basket to see what he got. “Holy shit! A new iPhone! AirPods!”

“Still want the basket?” Rose questioned sarcastically. “I mean, I’ll take it back if you don’t want it.”

“No, I want it. Mum, thank you,” Louis beamed with happiness and hugged Rose. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’re a good kid. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mum.”

Their tender moment was cut short when the doorbell rang. “Who the bloody Hell could that be?” Rose asked, confused.

“It is probably Dad. I told him it would be easier to pick us up,” Louis explained and went to open the door. “Dad! So good to see you.” 

Rose stood back, arms crossed, as Louis hugged his father. It was a sight that had Rose feel a pang in her chest. It reminded her that the three of them could have been a family, a typical family. That is what Louis deserved. Nick looked over at Rose and smiled at her. It was a warm and genuine smile. Rose felt like she was sixteen all over again.

“Rosie, you look…beautiful as always,” Nick complimented and went in for a hug but stopped himself. “We can hug, right?’

Rose scoffed, “Of course we can hug, weirdo.” The former lovers embraced, and Rose felt a familiarity, the feeling of being safe and uncertain. She pulled away. “Well, we better get going. Louis, where did you decide we go to eat?”

“Bella Roma. Can we stop by an Apple store after we’re done eating? I want to be able to switch over from my old iPhone to the new one. Mum, got me a new iPhone.” Louis held up his phone to his dad.

“Nice,” Nick admired. 

“We’ll see. Come, let’s get going,” Rose ordered and ushered everyone out of the house. Locking up, Rose turned around to see Louis and Nick walked towards a car. “Wow. Is this your car, Nick?”

“Don’t act so shocked. It is a used car, but yes, it is mine,” he told Rose. “It is a 2017 Hyundai Elantra. Got a pretty good price for it too.”

“Very nice,” Rose approved as she got inside, with Louis settling himself comfortably in the back seat. 

“Dad has a full-time job now. Isn’t that right, Dad,” Louis spoke up eagerly.

Nick started the car and drove away from the house. It would not be too long before they arrived at the restaurant. “Where do you work?” Rose asked, trying to hide the tone of suspicion in her voice. 

“My father took pity on me. I work at his insurance company. It took a while for him to trust me again. But Mum told Dad to give me a chance, especially when I got out of….”

“Prison,” Rose interrupted, and she noticed Nick straighten up in his seat. “That is good to hear. I’m glad your relationship with your parents is better. Better than mine, that is for sure,” she added under her breath. 

It was not long until Nick parked near Bella Roma. Once they entered the restaurant, the three were seated quickly. Rose sat on one side, while Nick and Louis sat together on the other side. Rose sat back and watched the interaction between father and son. It was sweet to watch Louis interact with his father. As Rose looked between the two, she was reminded how much they both looked so very much alike. It was eerie. Dark brown hair and brown eyes were two of the features they shared, along with a dimple on their chin. 

Soon, their waitress stopped by to get drink orders. “I’ll just have water, thank you,” said Rose. Truthfully, she would have liked a glass of wine to help take the edge off. However, Rose didn’t want anything to hinder her guard up around Nick.

They ended up ordering pizza to share and a plate of arancini as a starter. Louis was the one to dominate the conversation. He was desperately trying to get his parents to interact more. Louis kept praising his dad’s accomplishments to get his mum’s attention. “Mum, did you know dad volunteers to help underprivileged kids. It’s like, what did you refer to it as, a nice version of scared straight?”

Nick chuckled, “Something like that. I figured I could do something good and help guide kids to not make the same mistakes as me.”

Rose bit her tongue. For Louis’s sake, she would be nice. However, she wanted to bite back and ask Nick what he considers mistakes he has made throughout his life. Rose hoped he didn’t view Louis as some mistake. That would set her off. Rose picked at her pizza; she found herself not hungry all of a sudden. Nick and Louis continued to talk amongst themselves about mundane topics such as school, sports, music, etc.

At that moment, Rose’s thoughts drifted to Tommy. She wondered what he was doing, and kind of wished he was with her. That thought caught Rose off guard. She pulled out her phone and sent him a quick text. She wanted to let him know that she was out with Louis and Nick, along with wishing him a happy Easter. There were times where Rose wished she didn’t have to leave Tommy after their rendezvous in the hotel that Friday. She always felt safe with Tommy. There was a sense of security and a feeling of being protected. 

Rose found herself that the more she hung around Tommy, the more she began to trust him, and the more Rose began to like Tommy, which scared her. She was not supposed to develop feelings for him. He was a client, after all. He paid for her services. She willingly allowed him to do unspeakable sexual acts to her. Rose was willing to let Tommy do things she would never allow any other man to do to her. She wondered what made Tommy different compared to someone like Luca or Alfie. Probably because, in a weird sense, Tommy treated Rose like a human being and not some toy. Yes, she knew Tommy tended to be possessive, but he still respected Rose’s boundaries. Rose trusted Tommy not ever to cross them. 

“Rosie, are you still here?” Nick asked. He waved his hand in front of Rose’s face to get her attention.

“What?” Rose shook her head to clear her mind. “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“Dad asked you about the guy you are currently seeing,” Louis answered. He was frustrated that his dad brought up Tommy. 

“Oh yeah, what about Tommy?” 

“Just wondered how long you have been seeing this guy? How did you two meeting by the way?” Nick questioned. “I’ll be frank; I was stunned to find out that the mother of my child is dating the one and only Tommy Shelby. Isn’t he an OBE?”

Rose shrugged her shoulders at the question, “I guess he is an OBE. I don’t know; he has yet to show me his medal or whatever it is they get. You know, Tommy is just a guy I met, and we hit it off. Nothing too outrageous.”

“Is it serious?” Again, another question from Nick.

Louis sighed in annoyance, and Rose quickly picked up on her son’s discomfort on the subject of Tommy. “Let’s see if they have dessert,” Rose changed the subject and tried to wave over their waitress.

“Have you met him, Louis?” asked Nick turning towards his son.

Rolling her eyes, Rose interceded, “No, he has not met Tommy.”

“And I don’t want to,” Louis mumbled under his breath.

“Hey, here is an idea, how we don’t talk about Tommy, okay,” ordered Rose, and both guys agreed.

After sharing a tiramisu, Rose had enough and was ready to get back home. Nick offered to pay, and Rose didn’t fight him on it. She figured it was his way of showing he had his own money and could provide a meal for them. With their leftovers boxed up, Rose led the way back to Nick’s car. 

“Louis, did you still want to go to the Apple store?” Rose asked him. 

“Can we? I thought you wanted to get back home.”

“I do, but we can get the leftovers in the fridge, and I can take you,” replied Rose. Truthfully, she did not want to go. She had enough excitement for one day.

Suddenly, Nick piped in, “I can take him if you feel like staying home.”

Rose turned around to look at Louis, “Is that okay with you?”

“That’s fine,” answered Louis, happily. He was excited to get to spend some alone time with his dad.

Nick parked in front of the house. Rose and Louis and got out of the car. He handed the pizza boxes to Rose and got in the front seat. “I’ll see you late, sweetie. By Nick. Take care.”

“Bye, Rosie. Talk to you later.”

Rose waved them off and walked towards the house. She breathed a sigh of relief upon entry. She went upstairs to undress and put on a pair of comfortable sweats and sweater. All Rose wanted to do was relax. 

Looking at the clock, it was only 3:30 PM. Lunch with Nick felt like it went on longer. As Rose was about to settle herself on the couch to watch television, the doorbell rang. “Now, who the Hell is that?” 

“Fucking ‘ell, people. It’s Easter Sunday, for God’s sake.” She walked to the front door and opened it to find none other than Tommy Shelby. 

“Tommy, what are you doing here?” inquired Rose, totally not expecting it to be him. 

Clearing his throat, Tommy shuffled on his feet. He looked down, then up at Rose. “I…I needed to get out and away. It was all too much.” 

Rose was confused by what Tommy was telling her. She motioned for Tommy to come inside, and he obliged. “What do you mean it was all too much? Are you okay?”

Guiding Tommy to the couch, Rose sat down next to him. She was concerned since she had never seen Tommy like this before. It was as if he was lost.

Tommy sighed, “I was at my sister’s house. Everyone was there, my brothers, their wives and kids, Aunt Polly and her husband, his kids. Everyone had someone but me. I was alone. Charlie was there, of course, but it if feels like the bond we once had is dwindling. He doesn’t need me. I watched him play with his cousins and interact with his aunts and uncles and realized that my son is better off without me.”

Rose was shocked at Tommy’s words. She scooted closer to him and placed a supported hand on his knee. “Tommy, no. That is not true. Of course, your son needs you. You are his father. You’re his family.”

“He has other family members who can give him the love and attention he deserves. Maybe I should have listened to Grace’s parents and had Charlie live with them.”

“No. Tommy, listen to me,” Rose began and made Tommy look at her. “Charlie is your son. You love him. You told me that you love him. He is a part of you and Grace. If you give Charlie up, you will regret it. Then you truly will lose him.”

“It would be better for him….”

“No, it would not. It would only scar that child for the rest of his life. He will feel that you abandoned him,” Rose stated firmly. “You’re not thinking clearly. It’s a holiday. We all get weird when we are forced to hang around family members. Just stay here for a while and relax.”

Rose found that her hand moved from Tommy’s knee to his hand sitting back on the couch. He was holding on tight as if he was afraid Rose would disappear. She used her other hand to cover his. Rose wanted Tommy to know that she was not going anywhere. Taking in Tommy’s appearance, he was dressed in blue jeans, a black sweater, and black boots. It was the most casual look Rose had ever seen Tommy. She was always used to seeing him in suits. It was a nice change. However, the look on his face was one of sadness and defeat. 

“Tell me what you need, Tommy?” Rose asked. She pulled Tommy closer to her and wrapped an arm around him. “Tell me how I can make it better,” she crooned in his ear and ran her fingers through his hair. 

What did Tommy want? He was unsure. A part of Tommy didn’t want to feel always in control. That he could let go and be in the moment. That’s what he wanted; he wanted to be in the moment with Rose. Just the two of them, sitting together. “I just want to sit here, with you, Rose. That’s all I want right now. I don’t want to think about anything.”

Kissing the top of Tommy’s head, Rose leaned her head on his. “Okay, we can do that, Tommy. I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

[lonestarbabe]

Some Worlds Are Better Left Apart

A conflicted TK talks to his mom about how he feels about her and Owen starting up their relationship again. (AO3)

“What’s with you and Dad?” T.K. asks his mom one day when his dad had gone out and it was just him and his mom left at the house. These moments just between the two of them were rare, so he had to take the opportunity when it arose. The relationship between his parents has been bothering him more than he let on, mostly because he thinks it’s going to end up hurting both Owen and Gwyn.

“Why? Did he say something?” She looks up from her lunch, putting her fork down to listen to what he has to say. She’s been less busy lately, so she has more time to stop and talk. Plus, she’s actually in the same time zone now. He likes having his mom around, but having his mom around also complicates things in a way that T.K. isn’t sure how to manage. Mostly, he goes over to his boyfriend’s house. Carlos gave him a key so that he go there whenever his parents are too insufferable. So even when Carlos isn’t home, T.K. has a refuge.

“No,” T.K. shook his head. “But why are you doing this?” He can’t quite fathom it— why his mother has decided that his father deserves a second chance. “What even is the point?” Gwyn had given a lot to the relationship, especially after 9/11 when she had to hold the family together and still try to balance her blossoming career. She’d been the one who had always somehow found time to be there while Owen had devoted more time to his other family of firefighters.

“Are you not okay with your dad and I starting things up again?” Her voice is gentle, and she’s trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Years of family therapy had taught them some skills, even if they didn’t always apply those skills. Owen had missed most of the sessions, but Gwyn had always made the time.

“I don’t know that you’re thinking this through clearly,” T.K. tells her. She thinks that they’re moving too fast, and he thinks it's weird that after so much time they’ve decided that they want to try to go back to old times. He gets that the pandemic has made everything weird, but he never would have expected that it would it this weird. There’s part of him that likes the idea of his parents being together again, but the bigger part of him is already thinking of the end.

“Honey, I know what I’m getting into. I’ve known your dad for a long time. I know exactly how he can be, and I’ve taken that in mind when I made my decision.” Owen is stubborn and riddled with guilt, and with all the emotions that are still so poignant, it’s not just T.K. mom who is going to get hurt, but he’s focusing on her for now. He doesn’t like to think of how Owen might react when things go wrong. He might push away. He might crumble. Owen and T.K. are a lot alike, and T.K. knows how badly he’d react if things went wrong with Carlos, who T.K. has a far less complicated history with. T.K. doesn’t want his mom to go through the heartbreak, but he knows that she’ll survive it because she’s never been able to be the one who breaks down.

“Which means that you should know that he’s going to hurt you, Mom. That’s what he’s always done. Or have you forgotten what he did? What he put us through.” T.K. loves his dad. He’d give his life for him without any questions asked, but he also thinks that his parents getting back together is a stupid, impulsive idea because they’ve never fixed whatever it is that broke them. Their wounds are still open, and while they’ve forgotten about them because they happened so long ago, nothing has really changed. T.K. doesn’t want to go through the turbulence again, and once the honeymoon period is over, he thinks the turbulence will come. He’s an adult now, and he can better handle everything, but they’re still his parents. He worries.

“He’s been through a lot, T.K. I know we had our hard times, but it’s different now. We’re working on being different.”

“How is it different? He left us! I know he was dealing with a lot, and I know that he lost more that day than I can ever imagine, but he left his family when we needed him most.” T.K. can’t talk about this with his dad, so he’s taking it out on the one person who probably could best understand how he felt.

“He never left you,” his Mom tries to console him. “He left me. Our relationship crumbled, but he was always your dad.”

“But he did leave,” T.K. yells because he’s been trying to say this for so long, and his words have always fallen on deaf ears. No one seems to understand that while Owen may have been around after 9/11, he wasn’t serving as a father to T.K., and whether it was fair to Owen or not, T.K. felt abandoned. He always thought, at least in the back of his mind, that Owen didn’t care about him. Owen was either at the firehouse or thinking of the firehouse. He burdened you with a crazy, angry kid who gave you both more grief than you needed.”

“I never felt burdened, T.K. You were going through a hard time like the rest of us were.” It doesn’t make him feel like less of a burden when his parents tell him that he isn’t one. He always thinks that they’re too nice or too guilty to tell the truth about how T.K. had messed up their life.

“The hard time lasted over a decade! I made your life hell, and dad didn’t do anything to help you.” He’d been a menace, finding trouble wherever he could and trying to get his dad to pay attention, but nothing he did could ever be as big as a disaster for Owen as 9/11. He always fears that Owen sees him as a responsibility and not otherwise important.

“He did what he could. I wasn’t perfect either, you know that. I dropped the ball too, and I’m sorry for that.” He doesn’t want apologies. He doesn’t want them to try to wipe the past clean and act like that’s proper atonement. He’s let most of those mistakes go, anyway. The one he holds onto is the refusal to pay attention to what he’s trying to say and what he needs. He feels guilty for these feelings because he knows they never meant to make him feel bad. They weren’t bad parents, but life threw them all off course, and they never found their way back to the path they should be on.

T.K. takes a breath. He levels his tone so that he’s not yelling. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m not mad at you for not having all the answers. I’m mad at him for not even trying. I’m mad at him for not admitting what he did to his family. Whenever I try to bring it up, he always makes me feel like a fool. He brings up stats of how many people died that day and acts like my feelings make me childish. I was a child, and just because I’ve grown up doesn’t make the hurt go away.”

“We should talk about this with your dad.” Her voice is calm and diplomatic. She didn’t get her name on the door of a big New York law firm without knowing how to keep her calm. Owen knows how to push all her buttons and unsteady her calm, and T.K. still isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. It results in fights, but it also can help Gwyn open up.

“And when we do, we won’t get anywhere because he feels too guilty over what happened to even talk about it with me. He’d rather pretend that none of that bullshit even existed.” After he’s said it, the anger starts to fade, and he just feels exhausted. “I wanted us to be a family again for so long, but this doesn’t change anything. We’re just more civil about our issues now,” and sooner or later, that’s going to blow up into a civil war.

“So, you think this is a bad idea,” his mom confirms, and her voice tells T.K. that he is confirming what she already suspected about her relationship with Owen— that it was a silly mistake and that she should be smarter than to fall for Owen’s charm again.

“I just think that we all need to slow the hell down.” It’s not even that he wants to put a halt to his parents doing whatever they’re doing. They’re adults and they can make their own romantic and sexual decisions, but it’s all been happening too fast for T.K. to process. He tries to tease and joke about the whole thing, but deep down, it all makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to kill his parents’ vibes, but he can’t stand to stay silent anymore.

Gwyneth is quick to piece together a plan. She’s always been good at planning. Those plants don’t always become reality, but she can’t help but try. “We’re going to start by talking to your Dad about how you’re feeling, and then, we’re going to keep open lines of communication. That includes you, T.K. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep your feelings from us to spare our feelings.”

“I still don’t believe this is going to work.” All he can think is that the whole thing is going to go up in flames, and he’s going to stand between two walls of fire. They’ll want him to choose one or the other. They’ve always had the bad tendency to use T.K. as a mediator. He wants no part of that because he doesn’t have the mental energy to deal with that, and he doesn’t want to regress. He wants to move on with his life and grab the future, which he can’t do if he lets his mind get stuck in the past.

Gwyneth puts a hand on his arm, “And maybe it won’t. Some worlds are better left apart, but if we do this the right way, we’ll know that we did everything we could.” If T.K. ever had to make a similar choice with Carlos, he knows that he would make it. He wouldn’t be able to resist the chance of having such a great love. It wouldn’t matter if he was deluding himself. Sometimes, you just had to try to escape the chance of regret.

T.K. sighs. “I don’t want to be forced to take sides,” and he feels brave saying it because years ago, he never would have created that boundary. Maybe therapy is doing good things for him.

“We won’t make you do that,” and T.K. wants to believe her. He knows that she has the best intention, but the scars of the past remind him of the tug of war that has always happened in the past.

“Even during little fights,” T.K. adds. “They all feel the same.” Every time he is put between them, he feels like a little kid with an impossible decision. He’s torn between his loyalty for his mom who was always there and his dad who he wants to convince to be there.

She purses her lips and nods. “We’ll work on that,” and only time will tell how hard they will work because they’ve got so much shit to sort through, and T.K. can’t figure out how they’re ever going to get through so many years of dysfunction, but the child inside him wants to hope. He wants to believe that a second chance at love is possible. He wants to think their family can be simple— and isn’t that a joke— because no family in the history of families has ever been simple.