#girl hit me right in the worst sort of trauma I have and I finally have the opportunity to do what I wish I could have done years ago. leave

[krewekreep]

2.K Words. Sukuna Smut + Plot.

What if Sukuna doesn’t want you…but nobody else can have you?

Tags: dubcon, whatever that kink is with someone being asleep (ITS SOMNOPHILIA!), mentions of possible SA…reader is not SA’d…well.. rough mean sex with a Demon King…what you expect?

“I want to be yours…for as long as you’d let me…forever.” Sukuna was stumped, wide-eyed, and suddenly feeling angry. He looked down at your quaking sweaty frame. His hand squeezing your breasts roughly, nails piercing you lightly. Your hands covering your face in embarrassment, flushed and vulnerable. You had enough (sort to speak) of Sukuna refusing to accept you. He could Fuck you, he could make you submit until you were actually begging him to stop. How he thought he did enough to finally scare you away. How he already felt like he lived forever, and how companionship was useless to him at this point. But here you were a filthy mess of whatever he wanted to do…feeling like you had a right to ask of him anything.

You knew he would never love you. He couldn’t love nor did he really have an inclination towards liking anyone. Not as a friend and for damn sure not as a partner. He didn’t understand your persistence for deeper acknowledgment. What the fuck had to be wrong with this mortal girl? What trauma they must’ve faced…to want him. How he saw you weak and easy. How he didn’t have to break you because you were already pathetic in his lap. How you begged to see him and would whisper into the air you missed him. How you knew he was watching over you and he was…but to him all for the sake of confirming you are nothing more than a whore, a needy slut who’d fuck anything.

So when a group of men cornered you in an alley, he thought you so silly and stupid to just accept them. His dick felt heavier and heavier, jealous? No. Of course not. Those disgusting mortal men can only be the dogs they are. But are you dumb enough to let them? He scoffed at you slapping one, easily being caught by the wrist and pushed hard to the ground. At the force of your head hitting the concrete Sukuna rose up…overseeing, observent…had no desire to protect you. Not at all. They just…are annoying him beyond belief. How cowardly to assault you as a group. The bugs before him stirring a rankled growl from his throat.

As your head connected you were dazed fearing for the worst as you knew you now had lost all sense of direction. How your hearing was a whir and your eye sight blurred. How you asked what you believed in to save you, how you asked Sukuna to save you. You blacked out soon after only remembering the group of men turning their backs to you and the confusing loudness of screaming and shouting.

Your body felt in love. You were still dazed but the sensations and tingles of pleasure confused you. How you unknowingly had been squirming and moaning and being fucked. How the more you slowly came to you felt the gentler thrust, a genuinely thoughtful, slow but bucking pace turn rougher and less considerate. How your brain snapped back to being cornered and your eyes shot open in fear.

It was Sukuna. Both arms at either sides of your head. His eyes lidded but penetrating as he penetrated deeper and deeper in you. “Wha—“ you rode up and down him moving to his pace. “What happened? I was…” He wanted you to shut up. Why if he were pleasuring you, you thought back to those abhorrent, eviscerated meat sacks. They are no more. Shut up about it. “You are where I demand you to be.” He leans up grabbing your hips roughly, burrowing even deeper into you with unbearable velocity. You had a mind splitting headache so doing as he told, not thinking about earlier, not thinking about anything was the best choice of option. Your arm was draped over your eyes, biting your lips so hard you hoped to not break skin.

Sukuna in the beginning never allowed you to look away. Or cover your face. He liked robbing you of shame. His mortal slut, so young with no idea of all that’s wrong in the world. The unforgivable things he’s done…how stupid you are to expect more from him. “So stupid.” He spat. His dick spreading you as your warm muscles contracted and felt the veins of his immense cock. He only let you begin to cover your eyes after a particularly rough session. He didn’t feel bad but…you shook like a dog for over an hour…and when he reached to command you stop that you retracted from him terrified. How he leaned back, eyes returning to their usual pensive glare, knowing for certain that was last he’d see you…good riddance.

How he heard his name falling from your lips a few weeks later as you drove your fingers into your cunt madly trying to recreate his mean cock. How you just weren’t doing it right. How suddenly a painful halt of your wrists…Sukuna in your bedroom…made you lay back ashamed. “You use my name in vain, Y/N.” The first and last time he ever actually acknowledged you by name. How now you made him especially angry. Stupid dumb slut who can’t even fuck herself properly. Of course you wanted to be claimed by him. You’d likely die so easily the minute a curse found you. How while not around per se, unknown to you, a heavy menacing shadow loomed behind. How it seemed only others saw this and steered clear of you making you always turn around in confusion. How he had assigned some of himself to…you’re so stupid. Wasting his time as you just are so irresponsible and dumb.

He didn’t care if you died. But it would only be by his hand…no one else’s. Not an accident, not a murder, not a numbered victim in a mass tragedy…no only by him and when he so chose to. So as he bent your knees to your chest lifting to sheath himself flush, balls and second dick grinding into your ass…you couldn’t even handle all of him…so weak and pitiful. How dare you think you enough to be claimed. How he only needed to release this energy because…because he said so. How you clawed pathetically at him. Your deep impressions painless and nothing to him. How you let it all go every time he came to you…biting, clawing, t digging your nails hard into him. He could handle it. His skin didn’t even register it. But he could tell you were using all your power… how he’d never admit it stung softly, that you did have a little bite to you…but not enough.

“How fucking idiotic are you, whore?” He usually fucked you silently, even when upset with you. His dick was the punishment, the principal, the authority figure. And you respected it as such. You felt ashamed of being in such a situation knowing worse was likely to happen. “Didn’t I say don’t fucking think about that?” He spat hitting your cervix with the express purpose to stun you. Your head flew back, nails clawing into his chest as you futilely tried pushing him away. “Oh…you still have some fight in you? Really? How dare you…” you quaked at his sinister tone. You didn’t actually want him to hurt you…you didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know anything but how devastating his dick was to your cunt.

How you were going through throes of emotion that didn’t matter. His dick was all that mattered. Him cumming was all that should matter to you…he gripped your face roughly. “Look at me,” it was hard to…you were crying. “Look. At. Me.” You fought to open your eyes at the sting of your salty tears streaking down your face. “Those…bugs…are gone. Do you hear me? There is nothing left of them.” Your eyes fluttered…was he…speaking to you reassuringly? His mean cock still driving into you mercilessly. It was so hard to understand him. And he didn’t want you to. “Think about them or any other man again…” he unleashes your face to grip your throat just as fast. “I will fucking kill every last one of them…do think I joke? I will take every man from every one of their loved ones…” What? That extreme? He wouldn’t…but his hollow stare affirmed he was completely sincere. You did mental gymnastics to not think of anyone at all…clearing your brain of everything. Mind numb. “Hmmm,” he said. “How much prettier you are when you don’t think.”

You threw your head back giving up. The migraine, Sukuna’s threat, and the impossible way he fucked you silly—all resounding to you going limp. Intentionally. You could trust him…somehow. And you knew better than to say it as he’d likely do something to sabotage it. So in this moment, unbeknownst to him, you gave him the power. You technically always did. But this time…you deserved to feel this good. You made him feel good all the time…it was his turn as “saving” you is what he should’ve done. You don’t realize Sukuna can…hear you sort to speak…the smallest twitch of a smirk forming, he couldn’t lie you didn’t amuse him. His little mortal cum bucket. His little dumb slut. His little…he shook his head. What the fuck? Before he could even confront himself on that slip you grabbed at him pulling yourself up to make him hold your ass in his palms. You bounced up and down on him your head up towards the ceiling nails in his shoulders.

He knew you were chasing an orgasm. He could’ve came by now…he can always cum whenever, wherever he so chooses. But he’s curious to see how you’d crumble if he came in you as you hit your climax. He let you bounce, still rough mewling his name. He just watched you…mortal women and their sick, whining cunts. How greedy your walls felt. How he brought you to the wildest climax yet when he stuck one of his girthy fingers in your ass pumping you. It was too much and soon your body failed you…a rickety mess on his stable dick. How you screamed so besides yourself and unlike you as he came in you…how he made sure you were so full to the brim you had no choice but to try pushing off of him. How he let you get to the tip before slamming you down and cumming some more. It was too much, way too much. “Sukuna!!! Ahh!!! I can’t keep it all in!!” He knew that, that wasn’t the point. But he silently acknowledged you for trying. What he wanted to see was y’all cum mixed and slicked on his cock as he pulled out. A creamy, white film that dripped onto his heavy balls. That’s it. That’s what he meant when he said he’d break you. What he didn’t say was that he was breaking you in…

You panted, pulling yourself feebly into a fetal position. He scoffed at how openly weak you were. His domain extensive enough, beyond enough to be his own countryside of sorts. You in his gigantic bedroom, on his enormous bed…a weakened kitten. He moved to lay down, not to join you but because…why it’s his bed he doesn’t need to explain. But what he did next was truly uncharacteristic. “Come here now.” You barely had the strength to even lift your head. “Now.” You huffed frustrated but knew to do as told. You pawed over to him shakily, making it to his chest before crashing on it in exhaustion. He resting his hands behind his head sending a threatening eyebrow your way. It didn’t matter. You were fast asleep breathing shallow already. “Mmm,” he bellowed. “I’ll allow this…for one time only.” Speaking really to no one but himself. Promising that to no one but himself. He didn’t need love…he didn’t need companionship. But you weren’t going anywhere. No further explanation needed.

[lgbtqlegends]

Hi! Do you have any prompts about ava getting to see saras worst memories or past traumas first had? Like maybe a mission involving saras past or a head injury or something that requires someone going through her memories? Thanks! Love your prompts 🥰🥰

oooo yes i love it, the a n g s t :) thanks for the ask n hope you enjoy!

-okay so, imma go with the head injury thing, bc i think i can cover more ground more easily that way. or some demon or magical creature or something puts her in a a coma where she's stuck reliving or witnessing all of her past trauma happen to herself inside her head, and she can't get out unless someone is able to pull her out

-obviously ava is the one to do it, because she knows sara, they All know sara, and they know that sara would never be okay with any of the rest team seeing her darkest moments, would never be okay being so completely Vulnerable with them (and they know her well enough to know that ava is her safe place, and they all figure she could really use something like that if they're gonna be able to get her out of her head)

-so they send ava into sara's mind, and no one really knows for sure how it's gonna go down or anything (except maybe john or nora or astra, vaguely), but ava absolutely will not take no for answer because she's gonna get her girl back, goddammit

-once she's in, she finds sara (her sara) watching everything play out, the memories clear as day. she tries to pull her out then and there, but they quickly realize it doesn't work like that, and they have to sit there and watch all of sara's past traumas play out right before their eyes, as if it were in real time. sara looks tired, resigned, as if she knew she shouldn't have expected it to be so easy. so she grabs ava's hand and sits down to let it all happen, and softly whispers something along the lines of "you get to know all of me now, even some of the darkest things that i never managed to voice." and at first ava feels kinda bad bc this wasn't sara's choice and of course she wants to know all of sara, but she only ever wanted that on sara's terms, when sara was ready to tell her, but then sara continues a moment later and says smth like "i think it's easier this way. i think it's easier for you to see what it was really like if you watch it happen right now, cause i'd never be able to voice any of it like this." it's melancholy though, and ava can tell that it's still gonna hurt sara, so she just puts an arm around her shoulder and they settle in to watch

-it starts with the gambit, because that's the first big thing, the thing that started everything,, for sara. it's hard for ava to hear sara's scream, or watch the way she gets pulled underwater, but she still does, and anytime she hears a small gasp coming from sara, she holds just a little tighter, silently letting her know she's not alone

-the amazo is next, and that's even harder for ava to watch because of everything ivo put her through. it's especially hard though because sara's clearly not okay at all, if the way she's curled in on herself and the way she's close to a panic attack is anything to go by. they both end up in tears, because sara's time on the amazo never fails to make her feel so so vulnerable, and ava can't help but cry with her because it hurts, a lot, to see sara's younger self going through that

-after the amazo is lian yu and then the league of assassins, and that takes the longest because she spent so many years with the league. ava can tell that watching all of her league memories play out is really hard for sara too. she can see in sara's eyes, the guilt that gets heavier and heavier with every league hit that they have to watch

-watching sara die, three arrows to the chest and falling off of a rooftop is the hardest for ava. no matter how many times she's seen sara die, it never gets any easier and it hurts just as bad everytime. sara hugs ava tight, and she's more or less stoic during this memory, but ava notices the way her free hand hovers lightly over her chest/abdomen, where 3 scars from 3 arrows mark their spot

-memories of the bloodlust aren't easy, either. sara gets really restless and ava has to hold her tight to keep her from getting self-destructive

-ava hugs sara extra tight, gives her a small, comforting kiss while they watch her break down in her dad's arms after finding out her sister died

-the memories start to go by a little faster after that; snart dying, getting shot and killed by rip, stein's death; mallus and the death totem lasts a bit longer, hurts a bit more; rip's death, and the death of her dad (ava hugged her extra tight then, too), neron, crisis and oliver's death, atropos and her loss of vision/gift of foresight, and everything she went through in space (purposely vague lmao)

-once they're finally out of sara's head and out of her memories, the team's first instinct is to give them both a hug, but they hold back because they can see that sara (and ava too, honestly) needs a little time, and that she'll shut down if they all crowd her and overwhelm her

-they both kinda stumble out of the medbay, holding tight to each other, neither of their minds entirely in the present, to go somewhere, most likely their room, where they can be alone together (and also probably have a drink or two because that was,,, a lot, for both of them, and they're both exhausted and emotionally drained)

also!! choco and I have a fic planned that has a similar concept to this, where all the legends have to go through a sort of nightmare scape thing, that picks one trauma for each of them,, kinda whatever hurts them the most,, and they all have to witness each other go through it again!! it's gonna be p angsty so,, if you like our angst writing, stay tuned and be on the lookout for it!!

[hoeforminhoee]

<Forget Me Not>

(not my image!)

➳ pairing: Lee Know x female reader ➳ genre: fluff, angst (if you squint real hard), husband!leeknow au, Slice of Life ➳ warnings: mentions of Alzheimer’s, miscarriage and trauma ➳ word count: 2.4K ➳ author’s note: This is the first fic I’ve written in almost 4 years and I’m rusty as hell I really hope you guys like it♡ฅ(=・ᆽ・ฅ=) (also please spare me if its bad, I tried hahaha)

I listened to my uwufeels.com spotify playlist while writing this! So check it out if you guys wanna! 

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You don't know how long it had been since this recurring dream started, where you find yourself sitting in a wheelchair in a quaint garden overlooking a small lake. You were confused, to say the least.

It felt like an out-of-body experience, yet everything felt so real.

Your eyes traveled down to your hands as you let out a sigh and cursed under your breath.“These hands look way too wrinkly for a 23-year-old! What kind of dream is this?” 

Looking around, you saw a few other people in the garden. Some of them in wheelchairs like yourself, and others on the benches under the cherry blossom trees, all wearing the same lilac striped gown. 

You quickly realized that this had to be a hospital of some sort. 

Why were you in a hospital, and why does this particular hospital always appear in all your dreams? Sometimes you would be 16, 23, or even 50 years old in your dreams, but you were always in the same hospital and the same lilac gown.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you sat there, lost in your thoughts, reveling in the warm spring air that smelt of petrichor. You hummed to the sound of the magpies chirping and watched as the cherry blossom petals danced in the breeze, a few of them landing in your hair.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of hands in your hair - presumably picking out the fallen petals. You spun around and peered over your shoulders and were shocked when you came face to face with a man in his 70s. He looked at you intently, with a small smile adorning his face. And if you looked closely, maybe you would have seen his eyes flash a tinge of melancholy.

The man immediately regained his composure. His eyes softened and resumed picking the petals out from your hair.

“Sorry if I startled you, my dear” The man let out an amused chuckle.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was a weird sense of familiarity with this man. 

Then it clicked. 

“Dad?” you gasped, and the elderly man burst out in a fit of laughter.

He then quickly shook his head while trying his best to calm down before putting his hand next to your ear, and whispered: "My name is Minho, and I think I may have a crush on you

Your eyes widened in shock and you moved away from the man.

You were certain that the man, Minho, was a delusional old man who enjoyed flirting with girls 50 years his junior. 

Before you could even retort, a nurse was walking towards you. “Mrs. Lee, it’s time for lunch!” The nurse called out as he smiled at you and Minho. 

You peeked at the nurse's name tag and tugged at his shirt while Minho wasn't looking. "Nurse Jisung, I think this man is crazy. He just told me that he has a crush on me! And I'm barely half his age!" 

Jisung held in his laughter but couldn't help let a chortle escape "Did he tell you that? Well, Mrs. Lee, you'd better make your move quickly! Mr. Lee's sure popular around here!" Your face contorted at Jisung's response.

Well, you guess Jisung wasn’t wrong after all. As you were being wheeled back into your ward, you noticed some ahjummas looking at you and Minho enviously.

Minho walked next to Jisung, asking the nurse about his wife, and you figured that Minho’s wife was probably also in this hospital.

Then, things got weird when Minho followed you into your private ward.

“Uh, excuse me 어르신…” (eoreushin: how people usually address an Elderly in Korean)

Minho looked up at you, hurt evident in his eyes, but you didn’t know why.

“Yes Y/N?” He plopped himself onto a plush chair next to your bed and held onto your hands.

You haven’t had the chance to look at Minho up close, but dang, you had to admit that he was handsome and charming even at this ripe old age.

You didn’t speak as you looked into his eyes.

These eyes. You were sure you’ve seen these eyes somewhere before.

You watched, as the golden specks in his hazel brown eyes sparkled under the ray of sunlight streaming in from the large french windows. You couldn’t explain why you were feeling the way you felt, god you really couldn’t. 

You held your gaze on him for what felt like an eternity. Everything about this peculiar old man felt so familiar, yet foreign at the same time. 

Think, Y/N. Think! Where have you seen this man before? Why can’t you remember?

Your hands flew to your head as you started panicking.

Why can't you remember? Who is this man? Why does he know my name?

Minho rushed to your side when he noticed you shaking and panicking. 

He pulled you into a hug and started stroking your hair.

“It’s ok Y/N ah, It’s ok. I’m here, don’t be scared.” 

Why was this scene so familiar?

- Fall of 2033 -

You sat on the examination bed, looking at the foliage outside, heart-thumping while holding onto Minho’s hand.

It was your first ultrasound after hitting your second trimester and both you and Minho were so excited to see how big your baby has gotten.

Your ob-gyn reclined the examination bed and began applying the ultrasound gel on your belly and Minho squeezed your hand, sending you a reassuring smile. 

This wasn’t your first ultrasound since you were pregnant, so you knew something was wrong when the ob-gyn spent almost an hour on your ultrasound. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified, but you tried to calm yourself down.

Minho slung his arms around you and drew small circles on your shoulders. “I’m sure everything is going to be ok, Y/N ah. They probably just wanted a more detailed scan or something. Don’t worry too much baby, I’m here.” and he placed a small kiss on the back of your hand.

The ob-gyn sat you back down in her office and your worst fears were confirmed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Lee. We couldn’t detect your baby's heartbeat.”

Your world came to a standstill. It was like everything was moving in slow motion.

You haven’t fully processed your miscarriage until you were sat on a hospital bed, waiting for your abortion. You were shaking and sobbing violently in Minho’s arms.

“It’s ok Y/N ah, It’s ok. I’m here, don’t be scared. It’s ok, we can get through this together. 

I love you.” he kisses your forehead and rests his chin on your head, silently sobbing.

- End of flashback -

You sat there in Minho’s embrace, confused. 

That wasn’t my memory, was it?

“Minho?” you squeaked, voice small and hoarse.

“Yes, baby? Are you ok?” Minho bent down and looked into your eyes, searching for any signs of anxiety, and was relieved to see that you have calmed down a little.

“You’re my husband, Minho?” You finally saw Minho smile ear to ear for the first time that day.

“You remember! You remember me today!” He stood up, pulling you along with him, and twirled you around before giving you a soul-crushing hug.

Placing both his hands on your cheeks, he looked at you like you were the only person that mattered to him in this world. You noticed tears threatening to fall from his eyes and you pulled the sleeves of your cardigan over your knuckles and wiped them away.

Minho chuckled a little, before placing a small kiss on your forehead.

“Y/N ah, look what I got you!”  Minho said excitedly as he pulled out a bouquet of little blue flowers from a paper bag.

“Forget-me-not,” both of you said at the same time.

You looked up at Minho and he looked so content, you couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe this wasn’t that bad of a dream, or so you thought.

It wasn’t until you went to sleep every day and you could not wake up from this dream, no matter how hard you tried. You woke up in the hospital every day and you didn’t know what to do. What if this was reality? You were scared and you just wanted to go home. 

You were visibly anxious and scared when the nurse, what was his name again? Right, Jisung. Jisung came to check up on you when he heard some commotion coming from your ward. 

When he walked in, he found you thrashing around, throwing all your belongings into a bag, and throwing cups and utensils onto the ground.

“Mrs. Lee! What’s wrong Mrs. Lee?”

Jisung tried to hold onto you but you were adamant about going home. 

You scanned the room to check if you missed anything. Then you looked down and opened the cabinet right next to your bed and were shocked at what you saw.

There were hundreds of post-it notes stuck all over the cabinet.

You stretched your hand out and picked out one post-it note.

“I Love You, Y/N ah. I will remember you even when the day comes when you don’t remember me. - Minho”

You picked out another note:

“Y/N ah, today was our 40th wedding anniversary. You didn’t seem to remember me today, but I will remind you every day for the rest of my life if I have to, about how much I love you. I love you, Mrs. Lee Y/N! - Minho”

“Y/N ah, it’s been 3 years since I’ve brought you a bouquet of forget-me-nots every day, in hope that you will never forget me. Is it working? I think it is! Sometimes you even call me yeobo like you used to! I love you so much Y/N - Minho”

“Y/N ah, it's been so long since I have been living without you and I miss you so much. But I’m content with being able to see you every single day here. Please don’t forget me, Y/N ah. I love you - Minho”

You slowly placed the post-it notes back into the cabinet and looked up at Jisung.

He could tell that you were a little confused, so he sat you down on your bed before beginning to explain.

“Mr. Lee has been writing and leaving a note for you every single day for the past 3 years.”

He said while picking up the things you thrashed onto the ground.

“He has been visiting you every single day, no matter rain or shine. And he always brought you a bouquet of forget-me-nots” Jisung looked at you with a small smile.

“But why do I not remember him?” You asked, throat dry and tears trickling down your face.

“Mrs. Lee, you have Alzheimer's disease. The doctor thinks that it was an early onset triggered by your trauma from your miscarriages.” Jisung explained calmly.

Everything made sense from then on. The recurring dreams and the odd flashbacks that didn’t seem to be my memories. The sense of familiarity that Minho radiated, all made sense.

- Spring of 2023 - 

You fluffed out your white dress and looked at yourself in the mirror before sitting down, letting out a nervous sigh.

"Y/N ah it's me, mom. Can I come in?"

"Yeah mom, come on in" You checked yourself for the last time before walking to the door.

"Oh my gosh, my beautiful baby! I can't believe you're already getting married!"

"Mom! Don't cry, you're making me cry!" you giggled while trying to hold in your tears.

Right then, the door opened and dad walked in and you caught the tears shining in his eyes.

"Oh god, not you too dad!"

When the time arrived for you to walk down the aisle, you nervously looked around for a mirror to check that everything was in place as you smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress.

"Darling, relax," dad said while patting your shoulders. 

"You know I never really liked any of your exes-"

"Dad!" you giggled, not knowing where this conversation was going.

"But I knew he was the right one for you since the first day I met him. So don't be nervous. He really loves you, Y/N ah" 

Once the doors to the garden opened and you started walking down the aisle with your dad, you saw Minho in a clean black suit at the end of the aisle, and you started tearing up.

I love him so much, and I'm so happy I get to spend the rest of my life with him.

Minho saw you walk down the aisle and he covered his mouth with both his hands and started tearing up as soon as you did.

How did you two get so lucky to have found each other?

“I see these vows not as promises but as privileges: I get to laugh with you and cry with you; care for you and share with you. I get to run with you and walk with you; build with you and live with you.

I get to have you be the person I spend the rest of my life with. I get to be there for you and support you."

"In sickness and in health, till death do us part"

"I love you, Lee Y/N," Minho said, before placing the sweetest kiss on your lips.

- End of flashback -

There was a knock on the door before it slid open, and Minho stepped into the ward and greeted you.

"How's my Mrs. Lee doing today?" He smiled brightly before replacing the bouquet of forget-me-nots from yesterday with a fresh bouquet he brought.

You stood up and ran towards him, pulling him into a hug.

"Minho, I remember you. You're Minho, my husband Minho!"

Minho almost drops the flowers but he sets them aside and hugged you back.

"Y/N ah..." His voice cracked but you could tell that he was smiling.

You pulled away from the hug and looked down at your feet "I'm sorry, Minho"

Minho shook his head "Why're you sorry, baby?"

"For making you go through being forgotten by the love of your life every single day. I'm sorry, Minho." You finished your sentence with a sob.

Minho wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back into another hug.

"Y/N ah"

"Hmm?" You sniffed.

"Remember when you were first diagnosed with Alzheimer's? You said that you were scared of forgetting me. And remember what I told you?" Minho said while stroking your hair like he always did.

"You told me that you will be here for me, to remind me every single day for the rest of your life if you had to."

"And do you remember our wedding vows?" Minho cupped your cheeks and made you look at him.

"In sickness and in health, till death do us part."

"I love you, Lee Y/N, and I always will," Minho said, before placing a kiss on your lips.

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♡author’s note: That’s it guys! I hope you guys enjoyed this fic. ISTG i’ll write something more lighthearted soon lolol (or you guys can send in your requests anytime!) Stay safe wherever you are!♡ also if the year of the wedding and the wedding anniversary doesn’t add up i’m SORRY i can’t math sksksksksks

[hamliet]

The Girl Who Gets to Have It All: Buffy Summers

So with @linkspooky​‘s encouragement, I have binged Buffy the Vampire Slayer and relived my childhood culture. And, it's a 10/10 for me. Not that it doesn't have flaws, but it's genuinely one of the best stories I've seen, with consistent character arcs, powerful themes, and a beautiful message. It's also like... purportedly about vampires and demons and superpowered chosen ones, but it's actually all about humanity.

Buffy was able to be a teenage girl, allowed to like the things teen girls are scorned for (boys, shopping, etc), to be insecure about the thing teenage girls are insecure about (future careers, dating, school, parents), and to be a superhero with its good and its bad aspects. The story wasn’t afraid to call Buffy on her flaws (sometimes she got in a very ‘I am the righteous chosen one’ mode) and to respect and honor each of her desires (to be a good person, to be loved, and more). The story listened to what she wanted and respected her desires, giving her the challenges needed to overcome her flaws while also never teaching her a lesson about wanting bad boys or romance is silly or any manner of dark warnings stories like to throw at teenage girls. 

It respected teenage girls--nerdy girls like Willow, jocks like Buffy, lonely wallflowers with trauma like Dawn, and popular/snobby ones like Cordelia, girls gone wild like Faith. It never once reduced them to the stereotypes that were lurking right there: each character was fully rounded, human, flawed and yet with respected interests and goals. This is so rare for a story that I’m still in awe. 

The story as a whole follows Buffy from 15 to 21, of her as she grows from teenager to adult. She acts like a teenager and grows to act like a young adult, wrestling with loneliness and duty. The adults, like Giles, Joyce, and Jenny, are not perfect either, but neither are they “bad parents” or “bad mentors” necessarily. Joyce in particular says something terrible to Buffy, but she tries to do better, and it’s rare to see a parent in YA stories shown with such nuance. Basically, it wrote the long-lasting adult characters as human beings, too. 

Speaking of growing up, I appreciated how Buffy’s love interests mirrored this. Angel was someone Buffy loved and admired, wanted to be like, but who was always either extreme good or extreme bad, and combined with Buffy’s own tendencies towards black-white thinking, made for a beautiful relationship to help her grow, but didn’t necessarily form a foundation for a long-term partner. Spike, on the other hand... they both saw each other at their worst and were drawn to each other even then, and were inspired to become better because they couldn’t bear to be a person who treated the other person so wrongly. They pushed each other to become the best them they could be, and believed in each other. Also, Spuffy is an enemies to lovers ship for the ages. 

(Also, most of the other ships were well-done or at least can be understood. Riley was very obviously wrong for Buffy which paralleled Harmony and Spike in being 100% wrong for each other. Cordelia and Xander were a fun ship even if we all knew it would never last, and Willow and Oz were beautiful and cute. But Xander and Anya and Willow and Tara? OTPs. As were Giles and Jenny, the librarian and the computer teacher.) 

That said, it’s not a perfect series. No story is. All of the characters and ships had problematic aspects to them worthy of critique, and the writing is very 90s in a lot of ways. It’s a product of its time, and in many ways it’s good society has progressed beyond some of the tropes/metaphors used in the show. In other way, though, the show was ahead of its time, and in a good way it wasn’t bound by the fear of purity policing with its takes on redemption (many characters would never fly today). 

So, in order of seasons ranked from my very favorite to my “still enjoyed it very much” (no season was actually bad, imo), here’s my review. I’ll also review my top 10 villains in the show, because Buffy does villains very well in terms of the redeemable and irredeemable.  

Season 7:  Yep, the final season was my favorite. 

Overall Opinion: Buffy's finale is literally "f*ck them men, our power is ours" and while it seems cheesy it actually works (also, f*ck in both a literal and figurative sense). The series strongly hit all the themes: love as strength, and redemption. Buffy consistently shows love as her strength--*all* kinds of love. Friendship w Willow/Xander, familial with Joyce/Dawn, romantic with Spike/Angel. These types of love are also never pitted against each other as is so often the case in current-day media. It's beautiful. Also, Spike’s confrontation with Wood was so powerful in terms of exploring forgiveness, redemption, and reconciliation: where they overlap and where they don't, and what it means to move forward. 

Unpopular Opinion: I have seen a lot didn’t like the inclusion of Potential Slayers, and while I agree they could have been better incorporated/characterized, it was a great way to show Buffy’s final stage of growing up to be ending her chosen one status and projecting/multiplying her powers over the world. 

Biggest Critique: Kennedy was female Riley--the anti-Tara to Riley’s anti-Angel (by ‘anti’ I mean opposite in every way). Kennedy was annoying and immature. Her role, like Riley’s, was less about exploring her as a character and more about her just being stamped as “love interest: lesbian.” 

Favorite Episodes: Beneath You, Lies My Parents Told Me, Touched, Chosen

Season 6: 

Overall Opinion: I said this on Twitter, but I felt like this was Buffy’s The Last Jedi or Empire Strikes Back moment. It is polarizing and dark, deconstructing the tropes it stands on--but by digging to the core of these tropes, it actually makes what’s good about them shine brighter. Everyone’s enemy was the worst versions of themselves. Giles left Buffy, Willow's struggle to relate to the world led to her trying to destroy it, Buffy hurt everyone through her anger, Xander abandoned Anya at the altar, Spike... yeah. It ages well as an integral part of the story, and the Trio were eerily prophetic. 

Unpopular Opinion: Dawn is a great character with a good arc. A traumatized teen acting out and struggling to come to terms with loss and identity? She wasn’t whiny; she was realistic. 

Biggest Critique: Willow’s addiction coding (I’ll discuss this below) and Seeing Red as an episode. I see the argument for both of its controversial scenes from a narrative perspective: Willow starts the season not grieving Buffy but instead being determined to fix it with magic and needs to learn to grieve, but. Still. Bury your gays is not a good look. For the Spike scene... he conflates sex/passion and violence (”love is blood, children” is something he said way back in season 3), but like Tara’s death, it had more to do with Spike (as Tara’s death did for Willow) than with Buffy’s arc, and as for the actual execution... they really botched that. Did it like... have to go on that long or go that far? No. Also, the framing was good, but inconsistent with the rest of the series (Xander to Buffy in the hyena episode, Faith to Xander and to Riley, etc.) 

Favorite Episodes: Once More With Feeling, Smashed, Grave

Season 3 (tied with Season 5):

Overall Opinion: The opening continuity of Buffy meeting Lily/Anne after saving her life in Season 2 was sweet. The Witchhunt episode had really powerful subtext: stories of deaths that aren’t even true are actually demons that possess the town and convince them to turn against their children in the name of protecting the children. It’s a good commentary on, oh, everything in society. Faith’s character arc was fantastic, and her chemistry with Buffy was off the charts (look, I may be Spuffy all the way, but Fuffy has rights). The finale was satisfying in so many ways, seeing the entire graduating class unite to destroy the Mayor and the school with it, symbolizing Buffy et al’s readiness to move on to college. Oz's relationship with Willow was very sweet and meaningful for a first romance for Willow. 

Unpopular Opinion: I actually don’t really have one. Maybe that the miracle in Amends was earned? I think you can make a decent case that Season 3 is the best written of the seasons, but can only truly be thematically appreciated to its full potential in the light of subsequent seasons (which finish Faith’s arc and deconstruct Buffy’s).  

Biggest Critique: It forgot Buffy killed the hyena guy in Season 1, making her continual insistence that she can’t kill people very ????? 

Favorite Episodes: Lovers Walk, Amends, Graduation Day Part 2 

Season 5, which ties with Season 3:

Overall Opinion: The entire season is about family and what it means, from Tara’s to Buffy’s to the Scoobies. I loved Glory aka Enoshima Junko as the Big Bad, I loved Dawn’s interesting meta commentary on retconning (like, the fact that she’s retconned in matters), and most of my ships are still alive. Joyce’s relationship with Spike is one of the most heartwarming aspects, and Spike’s arc’s desire is clearly highlighted: he wants to be seen as a person. The episodes after Joyce’s death are the most honest portrayals of grief I’ve ever seen, and absolutely brutal to watch. 

Unpopular Opinion: Buffy’s choice at the end seems a deliberate inversion of her choice at the end of Season 2 (sacrifice a loved one to save the world), but it actually isn’t: much like at the end of Season 2 where Buffy skips town because she’s devastated after killing Angel and doesn’t want to sort out being expelled, her mom knowing she’s the slayer, and her own trauma, Buffy’s sacrifice here was as much about her wanting the easy way out of relationships, family, college, etc. as it was about saving Dawn. Buffy’s death is coded as a suicide, which Season 6 emphasizes as well. 

Biggest Critique: Like Season 3, I don’t have a lot to critique here. I wish the suicidal coding had been a little more obvious in Season 5 itself, but also I’m not sure it could have been more obvious; it’s pretty apparent if you pay attention. Maybe also that Buffy and Riley’s relationship failing should have been more squarely blamed on Riley, you know, being insecure and cheating. 

Favorite Episodes: Family, Fool for Love, Intervention. 

Season 2:

Overall Opinion: Heartbreakingly tragic but exciting and revealing at the same time. It asked the viewer interesting questions about redemption and forgiveness and atonement through Angel being honest about his past, and then decided to show us his past now reenacted, challenging us. And still, we saw them save him in a parallel to saving Willow in Season 6 (but Season 2 was tragic because it wasn’t enough, while Season 6 was not). Jenny’s death was agonizing, and the scene were Angel watches Buffy, Willow, and Joyce get the news through the window was powerful. We didn’t have to hear them to get the grief. 

Unpopular Opinion: Jenny’s death isn’t a fridging; it works for her arc too when you consider her history. She worked to save the person whose life she was tasked to ruin, and it cost her her own--yet she still succeeded, because Jenny brought joy and wisdom to the show. Kendra’s death, on the other hand... was because they needed the stakes to be high--but we already knew that before she died. So, her death was useless. 

Biggest Critique: The subtext was Not It. It was essentially “do not have sex. Your older boyfriend will lose his soul, kill your friends, you’ll lose your family, your school, your home, and have to kill your true love or else hell will literally swallow earth.” 

Favorite Episodes: School Hard, Passion, Becoming Part 2.

Season 1:

Overall Opinion: I really liked it; it’s just lower on this list because the others are just better. It’s a great introduction to the series and to its characters, from Giles to Buffy to Willow to Jenny to Cordelia. It has great subtext a lot of the time (for example, Natalie French as She-Mantis is a literal predatory bug who engages in predatory behavior with students). Additionally, it subverts the typical YA trope of two guys and a girl, in which the girl is usually the least interesting character. Buffy and Willow were both fully fledged characters from the beginning with distinct strengths (even before Willow became a witch, as she wasn’t one in season 1 yet), while Xander was the more ordinary of the group. 

Unpopular Opinion/Biggest Critique: Xander’s arc showed its first flaws that unfortunately continued throughout the series: his writing was either very good or very indulgent in ways it never was for other characters.  (cough, the hyena episode, cough, in which he gets to skirt responsibility--and acknowledges that he is skirting it--for something the show will later hold others to account for). Xander’s just kind of inconsistent, which weakened his character over all. (Which is why both his love interests--Cordelia and then ultimately Anya--were good for him: they did not indulge him.) 

Favorite Episode: Witch, Nightmares. 

Season 4:

Overall Opinion: it’s still a good season. It’s a good portrayal of college and the growing pains of branching out, the strains of college growth on relationships (romantic and platonic). It shows us the first hints of Spuffy, giving us some serious Jungian symbolism between Spike and Buffy early on, and does well in establishing Xander/Anya and Willow/Tara as beautiful OTPs. Faith and Buffy’s foiling is fantastic. The Halloween episode was very fun as well. However, it suffers because its Big Bad, Adam, is not all that compelling thematically--yet, he could have been. See, the final battle pulls off the Power of Friendship in a really strong way but notably the season does not end there. Instead, it ends on dreams of each character’s worst fears, continuing what we saw in Nightmares in Season 1. Why? Because it shows us that the characters’ wars aren’t against monsters, but monsters of their own making: their flaws. Adam, as a literal Frankenstein, exemplifies this, but it wasn’t capitalized on as well as it could have been. 

Unpopular Opinion: Beer Bad isn’t a bad episode, at the very least because Buffy gets to punch Parker. It’s not one of the series’ best, obviously, but it does give Buffy an arc in that she gets her daydream of Parker begging her to come back, but she has overcome that desire and her desire for revenge. If we wanna talk about bad subtext in Season 4, Season 2′s Not It sex subtext continues in the Where the Wild Things Are episode in this season; it’s a powerful callout of abusive purity-culture churches, until the fact that the shame creates a literal curse undermines the progressive message it’s supposed to send. Also, the Thanksgiving episode (Pangs) is a nightmare of white guilt and Oh God Shut Up White People. 

Biggest Critique: Riley is awful. Like Kennedy, he had “love interest:normal” stamped on him and that was it. The thing is, he could have worked as an Angel foil, representative of the normal-life aspect of Buffy to Angel’s vampire/supernatural aspect, but the writers never explore this and seemed to even try to back away from that later on. They threw all the romantic cliches at the wall to see what sticks, from klutzy “I dropped my schoolbooks, that’s how we met” to cliché lines that had me rolling my eyes. Do you know how bad a romance has to be to make me dislike romantic tropes? 

Favorite Episodes: Fear Itself, Hush, Restless

Villain rankings: 

Dark Willow, the only villain to be truly sympathetic. While the addiction coding was insensitive and, while unsurprising for its time, aged extremely poorly. That said, Willow’s turn to the dark side after Tara’s death worked well for her character and the story: it was believable and paid off what had been building since Season 1's “Nightmares” episode (Willow’s inferiority complex). 

Glory managed to be genuinely terrifying, and humorous/enjoyable too. Her minions and their numerous nicknames for Glorificus were hilarious, as was her intense vanity. Her merging with Ben--a human being who genuinely wanted to be kind and good--added complexity and tragedy to her role. 

The First. A really good take on Satan. The seventh season as well as the First’s first appearance in season 3′s “Amends” had kind of blatant Christian symbolism, and so the First being essentially Satan works. Their disguising themselves as dead loved ones and the subtle manipulation they used to alienate people was really disturbing and well done. 

The Mayor, who was a terrible person but a truly good father. He provided an interesting contrast to the normal ‘bad dad’ bad guy character, in that he provided Faith exactly what the other characters refused to: he saw the best in her and offered her parental support, while the heroes didn’t and wound up pushing her away. 

The Trio, who were villains ahead of their time: whiny fanboy reddit dudebros, basically. The stakes seemed so much lower than fighting Glory, a literal god, the previous season. But that’s why they worked so well for Season 6′s human themes, and were especially disturbing because we all know people like them. I also appreciated the surprisingly sensitive takes on Jonathan and Andrew, who got to redeem themselves, but Warren did not, and I don’t think he should have either. 

Angelus + Drusilla. I’m ranking them below the Trio because Angelus was just sooooo different from Angel that it was difficult for me to feel the same way for him. He was still Angel, so it wasn’t possible to enjoy his villainy, but he also wasn’t nearly as sympathetic as Dark Willow, had no redeeming qualities like the Mayor, and wasn’t as disturbingly realistic as the Trio. However, the emotional stakes were excellently executed with him as the Big Bad, in that you were never quite sure how to feel and it just plain hurt. Also, Drusilla was a favorite recurring character. She was sympathetic and yet batsh*t enough to be enjoyable as a villain at the same time. 

The Master, who was just completely camp and really worked as an introductory villain. He was scary enough to believe he was a threat, and was funny enough to introduce the series’ humor as well. He was, like Glory, an enjoyable Big Bad. 

The Gentlemen, the one-off villains of Season 4′s Hush who were genuinely terrifying. It’s not as if they got a lot of explanation or any backstory, but they didn’t need it. 

Caleb, the misogynist priest. Fitting with the First’s Christian symbolism, Caleb serving as a spokesperson of all bad religious beliefs felt appropriate. He was also a good foil to Warren--being actually supernaturally powered instead of a wannabe--and to Tara’s family in being full-out evil. I despised him. 

Snyder. Okay Snyder is not a Big Bad like Adam is, but let’s face it: Adam is lame compared to the other villains. But Snyder as a principal? He was so irritating and yet really well used in the series to critique overly strict, hypocritical teachers. Like, we all know teachers like him. I loved to hate him, and his ending was so satisfying. 

[scrawnytreedemon]

Shit I’ve Been Winding Up For A Long Time Now But Am Very Aware Will Probably Hold No Relevance Should I Actually Go Into This More--

This is about Bhunivelze.

I.

You know, when I was chilling out, on my bed, that evening on that half term in early June, deciding to check up on ClementJ64′s FF retrospective because-- Hey! It’s been awhile, I wonder if he’s got around to doing the final bit of the FFXIII saga --You know, I was there, chilling, just for a laff. Just a laff.

The rest of that week was spent spiralling into a hyperfixation I absolutely did not anticipate in any way, shape, or form, because the way they introduced that character was “wwhdhfjjhHJDFJKHKJHW H A T??”

That retrospective and a good amount of wiki-scrounging is all I have as a basis for this. This is not a coherent character analysis-- Though I might tag it as that for ease of access. This is not, by any means, the thoughts of someone deeply familiar with FFXIII on the whole beyond plot synopses and overarching themes.

I don’t think I’m brave enough for that.

Reading the vast yet surface-deep lore on those wiki pages on my birthday while in a delirious state of mind was enough to make me somewhat nauseous.

Do you think I’m going to go through all of that in real time?

(Someday, someday.)

Ugh, I don’t know how to begin, but let us, I guess. I’d recommend you read this church-mime-demiurge’s FF Wiki page if you want the same level of base-knowledge I had, and maybe the aformentioned retrospective if you want the experience, because I don’t think I have the wherewithal to get into all of that from the bottom-up.

I am also, so, so fucking sorry for any remaining FFXIII fans in advance. There is like, a good chance I may be butchering the characterisation completely, so bear with me here.

With that... we begin?

Where do we even start with this guy?

How on earth to you begin to explain the absolute monolith you’ve constructed from crumbs of a Guy, some material no doubt spliced in from the Pale King, Sephiroth, y o u r  o w n  G o d  O C and other characters, and the mountains of religious trauma you carry around at all times that is probably the only reason you’ve been able to latch on as hard as you did?

I’m going to try.

What gets me, in summary, about Bhunivelze is how he’s a prime example of how love and concern can become deadly forces if in the wrong hands. His first acquainting with human emotion was by deceiving and possessing Hope, reverting his body to a teenage state, and planning to live among humanity through him. He sees human sorrow and suffering, and decides that, to End This(because it must be ended, you see) he’s going to destroy all the souls of the deceased that make up the Chaos that’s been eating this world for the past five-hundred years so they all forget and Are Happy. :).

Capital G God here hasn’t been present for the vast part of human history because he’s hidden himself away from Everything due to paranoia from killing his own mother and throwing her body into the Cosmic Basement, THEN creating the beings that would come to create humanity and OTHER beings because he didn’t have the keys to the cosmic basement. And also he believes death is a thing because she’d’ve somehow cursed all things to pass(including him) out of Spite.

Which explains why he’s so fucking averse to it and anything to do with it.

Bhunivelze, to put it lightly, is Shit at stepping into others’ shoes and Getting their experiences-- All the FalCie in FFXIII are, but him especially. It’s clear(again, in the f u c k i n g JP--) that he makes attempts to sympathise with them and does what he can to help, but it’s with such a loftiness and a complete inability to Understand why anyone would want grief, The Worst Fucking Experience In Existence, and even less why they’d be willing to Go Up Against Him And HisThe New Perfect World just for it-- And what would it matter, anyway, forgetting their loved ones. It’s not like you can grieve lost memories, right?

Right.

It reminds me of when at the end of the story of Job in the Bible, where, after putting this man through hell on earth, God rewards Job by giving him ten new children to make up for the ones that he lost. I. And that’s fucked! Nothing can replace the sheer uniqueness of each individual person you loved so dearly! But if you were a nigh-omnipotent deity high and mighty, with a cursory, almost mechanical knowledge on the functionings of the human psyche, that would seem adequete; enough.

Bhunivelze is doing that on a cosmic level.

I now want to get onto the romance: that being, his affections for Lightning. I don’t know how much I’m going to say, but it’ll probably be alot. It’s something that hits very close to home.

There is this... thing, within certain branches of Christianity, perhaps even in those of various Abrahamic faiths, where God’s love is posited to be the love-- The ultimate, most-fulfilling, all-encompassing love you could ever imagine --Because, well, he is love, so the story goes, and so often the best way to convey that is through the imagery of...

Marriage.

Giving up yourself so completely, to serve, to be the Bride; to be bound by him for all eternity; and for there to be no higher bliss than this.

This angle is pushed on young girls and women the most; from the mere parallels to the woman’s role in marriage, all the way down to downright-horrifying ultra-Evangelical purity pacts. With men, God is your dad, your best bud and confidant, your boss, your king, your this, your that, and the ‘marriage‘ as it were is relegated to a sort of half-thought; a metaphor.

For me, God was an attempt at all that, and my arranged groom.

(It was almost incestuous; was incestuous, that my own Divine Father would reach for my hand in marriage.)

Bhunivelze experiences Emotions™ for the first time through Hope, experiences Hope’s sheer overwhelming admiration for Lighting(whether there were any baby-crush feelings mixed in, I can’t say), and promptly falls into a nigh-romantic obsession with Lightning, deciding that she will be Etro(his all-but daughter)’s replacement, will be his Goddess of Death to-be-- He even calls her as such, before the final boss-battle--

...In the JP.

What happened in localisation, probably due to a number of factors, all the way back in early 2014, was that everything emotionally challenging about Bhunivelze was scraped off, like it was extra fat, and tossed aside, leaving us with the bland, clichéd shell of a foe-god we’ve seen time and time again. And I mean everything. I mean his very love for humanity; the fact his ploy was, in his eyes, to save them. Because if they’d left that all on, then it would raise the question of even if there was such a seemingly pure, all-knowing, loving being hell-bent on setting things “straight,“ would they truly be unquestionable? Would we have the right to fight for our humanity in the face of the Creator of the Universe?

To reject a love so personal?

That’s what gets me about FFXIII’s tackling of God, no matter how hackneyed and poorly-executed. It’s personal.

It’s from a feminine experience.

I know that terming is... vague, and problematic, but the way Christianity and much of the video game industry handle femininity itself is weird and problematic, so as it stands, I’ll have to simplify it. Apologies.

What sets FFXIII’s Let’s Kill God™ plot aside from most JRPG Let’s Kill God™ plots is that with our protagonist being a woman, and one who is very in touch with her femininity alongside her sheer strength; often, in these stories, God is reduced to Yet Another Foe, expected or unexpected, and you are tasked with taking him down unquestioningly for the Good of Mankind-- You will fight God, because you are right to, and you will go man-to-man-to-however-many-men you decide to bring along for the bloodbath.

And that just, doesn’t speak to me.

Even as an Extian.

Especially as an Extian. And an AFAB one with a deeply complicated experience with my gender, at that.

Leaving Christianity was painful. Questioning God was painful. Coming to terms with the fact that I had been mentally, emotionally, and spiritually traumatised under the guise of All-Encompassing Love was so, so fucking painful. I had been taught since I was five years old to devote myself to him, spent my life desperate to feel something, anything, to stay connected because I just, I never could Feel It on a deeper level, never could Give Up Myself, all I was, couldn’t Die A Spiritual Death And Be Reborn As His Eager Vessel, thus deeming myself to be worthless and a broken vessel for years and years on end... And for all that to have been... Nothing.

Lightning is hollowed out, the shards of her dead sister ripped from her in-stasis, leaving her emotionally numb for the majority of the game, Bhunivelze sweeps it under the rug, pretends he’ll perform a miracle and return Serah to life in exchange for her compliance, then sends her on her way to do his work, all the while knowing he’s going to pull said-rug from under her and elevate her such dizzying heights in the aftermath--

That he’ll deny her humanity.

Sand down all the rough edges that make her her, and polish her up afterwards, gild her as he is gilded, make her a Goddess.

And he’ll do it all because he loves her.

You can’t fight God like you can everything else. To fight It is the fight Existence Itself; FFXIII even conveys that by making Bhunivelze’s model part of the arena; it’s baked into the fabric of the game, no matter how minute.

While Lightning Returns is far from perfect in its execution of this concept, and that in itself makes me wince, not even taking into account the horribly botched excuse for a localisation Bhunivelze endured, it speaks to me more than anything else I’ve seen so far.

And it’s helped uncover some things within me. Helped me untangle them, just a little more.

So, yeah. I have alot of Thoughts on Bhunivelze, I want to share them, and I’m kinda really sad I have no one but my currently-absent friend Vee to share them with. I could get into alot more, like his very Fucked relationship with familial bonds, and how Lightning’s role as saviour so deeply parallels the overwhelming panic and never-ending guilt of Evangelical proselytisation, but I think I’ll leave those for another time.

In short, Bhunivelze is the epitome of Divine Love gone deeply wrong; on all fronts.

And if all of that isn’t enough to intrigue you, then, in Vee’s words, Lightning and Velze are literally canon endgame Sefikura lmaOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--

[rrickgrrimes8]

I’ve Got You ~ Mitch Rapp

Mitch marched into the room - masculinity shrouding every inch of his toned body. Unknowingly to him her attention immediately switched to his presence as soon as he entered. Her eyes lingered and mismerised his entire body - from his chocolate orbs to his flexed bicep - awe and arousal oozed off of her.

If she wasn't in the midst of her own conversation believe me she would be drooling a river over him. "So, (y/n), I would like you to train with someone else - perhaps one of the higher tiers. I don't think that it is working out between you and I. I think you need more of a challenge." Her trainer, Daniel, informed wearing a friendly childlike smile.

Since she started this training program at her gym the employees there which also happen to be all men underestimated her abilities and strength. So because of their ignorance and blatant misogyny they paired her with the - said in the nicest way possible - weakest dude in the whole place. Don't get me wrong Daniel is a good guy and is now a great friend to (y/n) but they clearly aren't the best pair due to the clear superiority of (y/n).

"Yeah... yeah sure who?" She muttered kind of dreading the fact that she would have to leave the only friend she made in this place for probably a disgusting sexist pig. "Ugh well I have no clue who it is but you're meeting him in..." Daniel paused checking his watch, "right now." He smiled sweepingly but the nerves in (y/n) just stared to settle in and a hurricane of anxiety bombarded her. She had never been good with new people let alone people that already see her as a inferior.

"What?! I-I can't do it now. I should have time to prepare -you know like about two weeks and I'll be ready." She informed hopefully but was met with the familiar sound of Daniels chuckle. "Oh c'mon you'll be okay. You need to get out of your comfort zone anyways then maybe you'll get up enough courage to ask out walking muscle man." She shook her head ferociously before breaking out into a burst of laughter at the nickname 'walking muscle man.'

"Excuse me what the hell is a walking muscle man?" (Y/n) chuckled into the palm of her hand while Daniel gave her an amused look. "You know who I am mean (y/n)." He insisted but she shook her head. Daniel leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Mitch." Her face immediately darkened at the mention of him.

How did Daniel know about my obsession? Is it that obvious? Who else knows? Does everyone know? These thoughts swam around her head like fishes in a tank. Her cheeks were basically inflamed and the nervous tick she had adapted from her childhood of tapping her foot has returned.

"W-what are you talking about?" She whispers back fear evident in her question. "Oh don't act dumb I know you like him. It's pretty obvious." She groaned. "It is?"

"So you admit him?" Daniel clapped back causing (y/n) to fall into a deeper pit of embarrassment. "Oh god." She said burying her head into her hands. "Oh yes." Daniel smiled content with the fact he finally got it out of her.

Daniel had caught on to the fact whenever Mitch ever entered a room her attention was drawn to him regardless of what she is doing at the time - which includes them being in the middle of a boxing match which happened many times and believe him never ends well. He also caught on to the many times she attempted to go up to him and introduce herself but quickly ran away before he noticed.

"Is it really that obvious?" She complained. "Not to anyone but me. You see sweetheart I know you very well indeed and I know for a fact that you cannot take your eyes off of him." Daniel paused looking around the room. "And from the looks of it neither can he." (Y/n)'s head shot up at his comment and furrowed her eyebrows.

"W-what?" Daniel laughed at her like he had been doing for the entirety of their conversation. To say the least it seemed that he was enjoying this little matching making session a little to much for (y/n)'s liking. "Don't look now but a certain Mitchy moo is looking right at you." He said nodding over to where Mitch was stood.

(Y/n) didn't hesitate to shoot her head over to where he pointed and as soon as she did she was met with Mitchs familiar pair of dreamy eyes. As soon as (y/n)'s gaze hit his his head instantly pulled down avoiding her at all cost. "And you looked anyway." Daniel sang. "Shut up." She replied sticking her tongue out at him.

"Oi (y/l/n) aren't you supposed to be training right now?!" Someone bellowed from the other end of the room. "Shit." The (y/h/c) girl collected all of her stuff recklessly and ran off to where she usually had her training sessions but obviously now she wouldn't be so kindly blessed with his presence but now instead she is going to have to do the worst thing imaginable- socialise.

She entered her little room of the gym and placed her stuff down ordering it as best as she can. "Finally I didn't think you'd show up." A deep almost intimidating voice acknowledged her. Usually she wouldn't be so panicked just by one voice but now it panicked her beyond belief knowing who that voice belonged to. Mitch. "I-oh right oh s-sorry was caught with...-"

"With chatting with your boyfriend?" Mitch interrupted coldly while strapping the straps in his boxing gloves. "W-what? Boyfriend? Never!" She spluttered still not facing Mitchs way scared of what kind of shade of red her face had formed this time. "You know very well who I am talking about (y/l/n). I went out there and saw the two of you so don't act dumb. It's not a good look on you or at least I would say that if I could actually see your face but alas it seems that you have lost the ability to face someone other than the guy your fucking." He spat causing (y/n)'s jaw to drop and her eyes slightly water at the tone of his voice - which may I add reminded her of the trauma she came her to overcome.

"T-the guy I'm fucking? I don't understand M-Mitch." She heard Mitch let out a heavy stressful sigh which she guessed was probably accompanied with an eye roll or two. "God you can't be serious." He laughed humourlessly as if it was obvious who he was talking about.

(Y/n) stayed silent waiting for him to actually form a sentence that didn't ask for more questions than answers. "Daniel." He muttered causing (y/n) to spin around a little to fast causing her to begin to fall down. The girl closed her eyes preparing for the hard impact of the ground but instead was embraced by  a pair of toned arms.

"I've got you." He whispered as she opened her (y/e/c) eyes. "I'm not dating, fucking or even thinking about Daniel in that way. I never have and certainly never will. He's just a friend." She reassured him despite not understanding why it mattered so much to him that he need some reassurance.

The words brought a small curve to his plump lips as he held the (y/b/t) girl softly. "Why do you care, Mitch?" (Y/n) finally said breaking the silence that had formed between the pair. "B-because I think I like you." She smiled at him disregarding the feeling that this might be a trick or some sort of weirdly realistic dream and she started to lean in. As their lips inched closer and closer she could tell Mitch was become more anxious by the second.

Just when their lips were about to join Mitch let go. (Y/n) fell back first onto the flooring and surprisingly Mitch accidentally fell too - on top of her. "What the actual fuck, Mitch?" She snapped feeling as if the dream that she was about to experience was completely ripped away. (Y/n) pushed Mitch off of her and sat up waiting for some sort of explanation.

"I-I'm s-sorry." Mitch said not even making a move of getting up but instead completely giving up and just laid there - heart broken. "I thought you said you liked me." The now sat upright girl spoke timidly the tears building up rapidly. "I do." The broken man admitted. "Then why did you let go?"

"I'm scared." (Y/n) was shocked with his confession clearly not expecting the great Mitch Rapp to admit when he's scared of something but now the question is - what? "Scared of what Mitch? Of me?" She asked fear dripping from every syllable.

"Yes! No! Maybe! Kinda! I don't know (y/n). I don't know anything except that I like you and I'm scared." Mitch bursted his hands subconsciously running through his dark hair. (Y/n)'s eyes narrowed in on me hoping for a better explanation than what he had shown so far.

"I-i lost someone. Someone really important to me- someone I loved. A-and now I have to figure out a way to understand how to get by without her. Looking at what am I now compared to three months back I'm better, yes, but not fixed. And with you despite not even having a conversation I feel at peace and sometimes when I just watch you train or eat lunch or anything I sometimes forget about that person. And that makes me hate myself. Then when I almost kissed you that made the hate I have inside overflow." Mitch paused looking over at the teary eyed girl.

"I-it just feels like I'm falling. Like I'm falling from the tallest building I've ever seen and no matter how long I fall for I never hit the ground and you have no idea how much I wanna hit the ground. But I also know if I do hit the ground then I'll lose myself and all the steps I have taken to change from that broken person I was. I want to hit the ground because I want to stop falling but maybe instead of meeting the ground maybe I need someone to catch me. I know I need someone to catch me. So I'm scared hell im petrified b-because I think that person might be you." Mitch concluded his voice cracking at different points and his eyes wouldn't dare to look at her anymore not after the amount of over sharing he just did.

He closed his eyes ready to attempt to settle his thoughts thinking that maybe (y/n) had just left due to the shock bomb he had just dropped on her until a pair of soft perfect lips landed on his. He immediately kissed back grabbing the sides of her face deepening the kiss of that was possible. (Y/n) pulled away causing him to reluctantly open his eyes to see her red and puffy ones.

"I've got you."

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 25) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6900 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 25: Y/N and Dean struggle with the aftermath of their split. Working together proves to be difficult, but other relationships within the ranch family took a hit as well. When the cowboy thinks the day can’t get much worse, complications arise, forcing him to make yet another difficult decision. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff,  angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood  trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of  addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of  blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: (opening scene) The Eye - Brandi Carlile. (Ride with Meadow scene) Home - Hans Zimmer. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Beta’d by my mom (yes, you read that right. My mom reads my stuff and is on Tumblr). Thank you, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​, @kittenofdoomage​​, @manawhaat​​, @waywardbeanie​​, @atc74​​​​​, and @winchest09​​​​​ for helping me with this story. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​​​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​​​​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     With frustrated motions, Y/N stuffs her clothes into a bag, not even bothered to sort the items out. Her cheeks are tear-stained once again and she wipes at them angrily. Stop crying, it won’t get you anywhere, she scolds herself, done with feeling this emotional. After all, today is Monday, just another day at the ranch, and they have a lot of work to do. Garth and Ellen did the necessary stable work, but the horses which are usually trained by Jo, Dean, and herself had three days off while their riders were in Flagstaff. 

     Dean. Just the name reverberating in her head forces her to pause her actions. She dips her chin, closes her eyes, and takes a breath. Why? That’s the question she keeps asking herself. Why did he break up with her? Why did he pretend to care, only to hurt her the way he did? Why has he become so bitter, so selfish, so unlike the man she thought he was?

     The questions remain unanswered, and she doesn’t expect they will give her any consolation either. That was the whole issue to begin with, wasn’t it? He can’t be honest. Apparently, he doesn’t think she’s capable of bearing the load he is meant to share with his partner. Apparently, she’s not good enough. Just like she didn’t meet her first boyfriend’s standards, who got tired of her spending more time with her horses than with him. Her second relationship ended in a fiasco as well, this time it was his jealousy of her success that caused the split. Yesterday proved that the third time clearly isn’t a charm. But neither of her previous significant others ever caused a cataclysm as the one Dean has left behind. Her heart is a wasteland now.

     “Are you leaving?”      She’s pulled away from her thoughts by Jo’s voice, her tone matching the horrified expression on her face. She stands in the doorway, looking down at the open suitcase on the floor and the unzipped bag. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes what the scene must look like.      “No. I’m just sorting out my washing,” she says quickly.      “Oh…” the blonde cowgirl sighs, relieved. “For a second there I thought--”      “I won’t let your scumbag cousin chase me away, Jo,” her friend assures her.

     Truth be told, though, she has been thinking about it. Last night she had typed down her information on a booking website, ready to confirm her flight back to Freeport, but as her finger hovered over the ‘confirm’ button, she closed the tab and slammed her laptop closed. The intern came here on a mission. She is going to prove to her parents and to herself that she has what it takes to run her own ranch and that she deserves that business loan. She is not going to abort just because her heart is broken, come hell or high water.

     “Well, good. I would have roped you like a cow and tied you to the saddle anyway,” Jo scoffs, leaning against the doorframe. 

     The cowgirl chuckles as she collects the last of her dirty laundry, zips up the bag, and puts it on the bed. The sight of the not-particularly comfortable mattress has her wishing she could crawl back under the covers and get some much-needed sleep. That’s not an option, however, and so she takes her hat from the corner bedpost and places it on her head. Before she goes out, she quickly checks her makeup in the mirror, but thankfully her tears haven’t smudged her waterproof eyeliner and mascara, and her foundation is still covering the bags under her eyes. It’s been a while since she hid behind the beauty-products, but the confidence Dean gave her has disappeared the second he ended their relationship, so she put her mask back on. There is no way she will give her ex-boyfriend the satisfaction of witnessing just how broken she is.

     Y/N inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin as she stares at her reflection. The woman who looks back at her is fierce and resilient; the complete opposite of the little girl that’s hiding inside. Of course, she doesn’t want to face the day nor the man who hurt her, but she is left with no choice. There is so much more at stake here; her future, her career. This is business, and she will treat it as such. Y/N glances at Jo, giving her a nod, and her friend smiles faintly doing the same.

     Rubbing his tired eyes, Dean pours himself his third cup of coffee. Saying that he had a rough night, is putting it mildly. The first digit of his alarm clock had already changed into a ‘2’ when he finally drifted off, only to jolt awake an hour and a half later, his bedsheets clinging to his sweat-covered skin. For the first time in years, a nightmare has caused havoc, images of his worst memories coming through cracks in the walls he built around all that childhood trauma. After freshening up, he laid in bed again while last night’s events alternated with those same disturbing scenes he saw in his dreams, the sad motion picture of sorrow and heartbreak projected on the ceiling. He gave up on sleeping around four-thirty in the morning, got dressed, and sat out on the porch until the sun came up. But no matter how hard he focused on the sounds of the night that tried to soothe him, he couldn't get her out of his mind. The pain laced in her desperate voice, the tears that fell because of him. But after those hurtful images, he also remembers that bright smile, her giggles, the sparkle in her eyes when she has achieved something. Her tenderness, her touch… It hasn’t even been twelve hours and he’s already craving Y/N, fighting an addiction for a drug he can never have again. The girl who is no longer his Yankee.

     A door squeaks and Dean glances aside, immediately redirecting his gaze back to the coffee mug on the small kitchen counter when Y/N comes into view, followed suit by Jo. Instantly, the tension in the living room shoots through the roof, the crooked, little bunkhouse barely able to maintain the strain. He doesn’t say anything, but thankfully Garth and Benny do exchange a ‘good morning’ with the girls, the silence interrupted by the casual exchange. 

     He spots her perfectly applied makeup, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail that doesn’t  allow a single strand to escape the rubber band. Her shirt is neatly tucked into her jeans, ironed and spotless, just like the day when she arrived at the ranch. Even though she looks breathtaking, the vision saddens him; she’s back to being the woman who needs to have everything under control. He gets it, though, because when she took his advice to loosen up, she let her guard down. If she had kept both hands on the reins, Y/N would have never allowed him to get so close and comfortable. Dean only made things worse for her, and now she was left to pick up the pieces of all that he broke.

     Without saying a word, he grabs his coffee and pushes the door handle down to make his exit, not wanting to make her life more difficult than he already has.

     Ultimately, this Monday was bound to get worse with every passing minute. Dean decided to get an early start before breakfast and got on the tractor, but when the ranch hand tried to back up in order to drag the arena, he couldn't get the old John Deere into reverse. A glance underneath soon determined why and he exclaimed a loud ‘fuck!’ when he detected the puddle of gearbox-oil on the dusty ground. Turning the fresh horses out only added to his agitation, especially when the youngsters stirred up the palomino stallion Led while the wrangler was hand-walking him. The Quarter is still recovering from the nasty tendon injury he suffered on the job, and isn’t supposed to be bouncing off the concrete like a rubber ball on a leash, but tell that to an energetic horse who has barely been out of his box for the past month. Garth readied a horse for his boss, which he managed to ride before breakfast, but Dean was unfocused and gave up after thirty minutes.

     Now, they were all quietly eating their breakfast, the delicious meal giving them some consolation. Ellen observes the awfully silent crew, exchanging a look with her daughter, who with a slow shake of her head tells her mother to not bring it up, and so she doesn’t. The head wrangler is the first to get up from his seat, rinse his plate in the sink, and return to the stables. The others follow his example, the barn soon buzzing with activity. 

     Y/N works like a dog, mucking out the stable in record time without pausing. It’s a good distraction for her reeling mind, the hard labor ridding her of the frustration that boils her blood whenever she thinks of the man who ruined her faith in true love. Garth, sensing that the intern was fine on her own, took the tough job of raking the arena by hand, since machinery has let them down. Meanwhile, Jo and Dean train the animals as per usual, but there’s no bantering between them during the cool down. In fact, the wrangler’s cousin has decided to ignore him altogether. 

     Getting more irritated with every second passing, the horseman dismounts the six-year-old gelding named Santana, deciding that a light workout is enough for today. The wrangler is always careful to not let his emotions bleed into his work, but he’s finding it difficult to keep himself in check. Jo has already parked her horse next to the bay Quarter and has tacked down the buckskin without granting Dean a look. He sighs; Jo is not easily going to forgive him for hurting her friend, but he still tries to break the stifling silence.

     “Can you pass me the water?” he asks, nodding at the yellow garden hose that’s rolled up by the faucet.      Without even granting him a look, the ranch owner’s daughter throws the showerhead in his direction, the nozzle clattering on the tiles in front of Dean’s feet. He sighs, annoyed.      “So this is how it’s gonna be?” he scoffs. “I get that you’re mad, but you can at least t--”      “I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps. 

     It’s not the first time Jo is angry with him, because the two have a habit of getting on each other’s nerves. This time it’s different, though, and the bitterness in her tone sends a clear message that he has burned his bridges. Gritting his teeth, he lets the comment slide, deciding that it’s useless to fire back a counter. She has a solid point after all; he doesn’t deserve her sympathy in the slightest. Figuring that these will be the only words they exchange for at least a couple of days, the cowboy begins to hose down Santana, when Jo turns on her heels with her horse’s lead rope in one hand and her fist firmly planted on her waist.      “You know what? I do have something to say. You just don’t get to speak in return,” she kicks off, about to unleash her wrath.      Dean lifts his gaze from the dirt and sweat that he’s washing out of his horse’s coat, for the first time looking into his cousin’s fiery eyes. The petit cowgirl, who is easily nine inches shorter than the man before her, is intimidating nonetheless. He takes a breath, bracing himself for impact. Here it comes.

     “You’re a cold-hearted, spineless, self-absorbed dick, know that? For once in your life, you’ve got something good goin’, someone who was willing to look past your gigantic ego and your daddy issues, yet the first thing you do when life gets tough, is drop her like a hot potato. Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused the poor girl? Because I do! She wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she cried for hours, hours, and that’s on you! Guess who had to comfort her, huh?” Jo goes off. “I am so far past mad; I am furious! I really thought you had finally found a reason to change into something better than the abbreviated piece of nothing that you are now, but it seems like Y/N wasn’t the only one who was naive.”      “You done?” the wrangler says coldly when she pauses to catch her breath.      “Go hump a cactus, Dean,” she sneers.

     With those words, Jo strides away, the large animal next to her obediently following her, well aware that now is not the time to be stubborn. The man who’s left with the poignant insults still echoing inside his head, pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, staring at his feet for a second before he sniffs and focuses on the task at hand again. He might have pretended that her message left him unbothered, but the opposite is true. Jo could as well slap him across the face; it would hurt less. 

     Defeated, the wrangler takes Santana to his box and removes the halter from the large animal’s head. The sweet horse seeks contact, nudging her nose against Dean’s shoulder. He rubs the Quarter’s withers before he exits the stable, appreciating the only kindness that he’s received so far this morning.

     “Dean?”      He tenses, not expecting his name to fall off the lips of the woman who he parted from only yesterday. When the cowboy meets her gaze, the look Y/N gives him is as cold as the tone of her voice.      “I need a word,” she says, although it sounds more like a demand.      “S - sure,” he stutters, glancing down briefly before he looks back up again, suddenly nervous. He’s not sure if he can handle being scolded by his ex-girlfriend as well.      “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together anymore,” she states formally. “I’d like a new supervisor.”

     Dean cocks his head back slightly, unbalanced by the appeal. He rubs his temple, averting his eyes but then nods, acknowledging that she’s probably right, even though the request is a painful one.      “Yeah, uh - sure. I’ll ask Garth,” he stammers, estimating that he would be the obvious choice since she’s so close with Jo. He wouldn’t want their friendship to be tainted by the difference in rank.      “Okay,” the intern responds, her expression stark and strained, before she walks past him.

     Motionless, the head wrangler remains on his spot, setting his jaw and closing his eyes for a second. Somehow, he didn’t expect their first exchange to be strictly business. Her stance is so different from what he’s grown used to. Even on the night they met when she gave him a hard time, the tension between them didn’t feel as heavy as it does now. He realized when he called it quits that she would struggle with his decision, but Jo’s confirmation that she spent most of last night crying over their separation has him desperate to ease the pain.

     “Y/N…” he says softly while turning before she’s too far gone to pick up on his voice.      “I have work to do,” she cuts off, shooting him a short glare over her shoulder.

     Dean swallows thickly while watching her leave, fast and determined strides taking her as far away from him as possible. Damn it, he really did ruin his chances of even maintaining any sort of a friendship, didn’t he? He’s not sure what else he expected after the way they parted, but despite the loathing and vexed look she just shot him that feels like a bullet to the heart, he’s glad. Let her be angry, let her hate him. It will be easier for her to deal with those emotions, than just the overwhelming sense of sadness. He knows, because he hasn’t felt this devastated, empty, and incomplete since his family fell apart; he’s talking from experience.      Wishing the day was over already, the cowboy adjusts his hat and gets back to work, hoping that riding will offer him the therapy he so desperately needs.

     Unfortunately, the day doesn’t pass by nearly as fast as Dean would like to. After riding five horses, he, Benny, and Garth use their lunch break to look at the beat-up tractor that once again has let them down. The head wrangler doesn’t mind skipping his midday meal; he would rather avoid sitting across from Y/N in a room overflowing with awkwardness, plus, he’s not hungry anyway. 

     The machine from 1979 was bound to die on the crew sooner than later, but after the farrier slash mechanic discovers metal particles in the gearbox fluid, it becomes clear that a simple oil change isn’t going to cut it this time.      “Yep, she’s toast,” Benny sighs, wiping his dirty hands with a cloth.      “Just what we need,” his friend grunts. He’s not looking forward to his uncle’s response to the setback. “I’ll tell Bobby.”      “I can if you want me to,” the stable boy - who is also responsible for the machinery - offers.      Dean purses his lips slightly, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans while he stares at the old John Deere absently. “Nah, I’ll do it. I got a question for you, though. Do you mind supervising Y/N from now on?”      Garth shakes his head, taking in his boss, somewhat confused. “No, not at all.”      “Good,” the wrangler replies quickly, thankful that the slender employee takes on the task without question. The clueless young man didn’t pick up on the relationship between Dean and the intern to begin with, and he would rather keep him in the dark, especially now that it has ended. He knocks on the rusty hood of the tractor before he heads off. “I’ll see y’all in a bit. Can you start rolling out the hay to the pastures with the wheelbarrows? It’s gonna take a hell of a lot longer without this old thing.”

     The shade inside the stables is welcoming, and not just because it offers cooler temperatures. Dean’s eyes are still painfully sore from the lack of sleep and he rubs at them again, trying to stop them from burning. Shit, and it’s only Monday, he sighs to himself. The three-day event over the weekend means no time off for the employees who attended. The last time he didn’t have to show up at seven in the morning or earlier was late September, which means that he has been working twelve-hour plus shifts for fourteen days straight now. Work never stops on a ranch. The horses depend on him; they will always need food, a clean stable and exercise, no matter how tired, lovesick, or miserable he is. 

     The cafeteria is already empty. His aunt is probably at the guesthouses to change the sheets and towels, giving the accommodations a quick once-over. However, he finds a post-it on the long table with his name on it; ‘Don’t forget to eat. Bacon sandwiches are in the fridge - Ellen’. As the cowboy smiles for the first time today, he wonders if Bobby has told his wife anything about John’s unexpected visit in Flagstaff, hoping that he hasn’t. Knowing his aunt, she’s going to sit him down for some sweet tea and a talk, even though previous attempts of having a conversation as such proved to be unsuccessful. He appreciates her concern, though, the idea of his surrogate mom caring about him offering Dean some solace.

     The wrangler walks through the high barn doors on the other side, the sun doing its very best to cheer him up, but the rays don’t reach his soul. He makes his way to the Singer’s home, reckoning he will find Bobby there. As per usual, Dean takes off his hat and hangs it on the coat hanger, kicking off his boots before he proceeds to the office in the back of the house. After knocking, he pushes the door ajar, finding his uncle behind his desk. The place is still a mess, but the occupant’s features aren’t draped in shadows like the last time he was here. The blinders are open, the window a passe-partout of the Joshua tree, together with the paddocks and pastures surrounding it. 

     The rancher looks up when his nephew enters. “Hey, son. How’s the tractor comin’?”      “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s fried. The oil is swimming with debris,” Dean tells, taking a seat on the other side of the desk.      “Metal?” Bobby questions. When the young man across from him nods, he curses. “Balls!”

     Dean presses his lips into a firm line, keeping still in the worn chair to prevent it from squeaking. His uncle seemed to be in a good mood after the successful show, but he can tell that this setback has put a strain on the old man’s frame of mind. 

     “You’re gonna call the service station?” the head wrangler wonders.      “No, that’s gonna cost us. We finally managed to make some money, I ain’t planning on spending it on that damned thing.” The rancher adjusts his ball cap before leaning back in his chair. “You boys can give it a go first, open up that gearbox, see what’s broken. I’ll order parts once you figure out what’s wrong with that piece of shit.”

     Scribbling something down on a piece of paper, Bobby sighs, but then returns his focus to Dean. “There’s somethin’ else I need to discuss with you.”      His right-hand raises his eyebrows slightly, his interest peaked. “What’s that?”      “It’s about Cain,” his uncle murmurs. “Apparently MacLeod didn’t tell the entire story.”      Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Should I be surprised? I’m not sure what kinda vibes you picked up from that shady dude, but I sure as hell don’t trust him for the life of me.”      “I don’t either. That’s why I think we should reconsider that deal.” Bobby rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair, forking his fingers together in his lap. He expected some resistance from Dean, but not such a strong reaction as his nephew fires back.

     “What?! Are you serious?” he counters, perplexed. “You’re just gonna wipe it off the table?”      “Not ‘just’, but we need to consider our options,” his boss returns.      “How many options do we have exactly? Because the way I see it, this arrangement is a pretty damn good one. It’s good money, a steady income with the prospect of a huge bonus, not to mention what doors it might open for the future. This horse might be the break we need,” Dean advocates, remembering Y/N’s words clearly when she summed up all the possibilities that Cain might bring with him. “Look, I know Fergus is a proper dick, but he has a reputation to protect. There’s too much at stake for him, and I don’t believe he will double-cross us. If we deliver, he’s gonna pay good bucks.”      “And that’s where we might have a problem; actually delivering,” Bobby returns, taking in his head wrangler.      Dean draws his head back, slightly hurt, frowning at his uncle’s words. “You don’t think I can get the job done?”      “I’m not sure if anyone can, son,” the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch states calmly. “The horse doesn’t just have ‘some behavioral issues’, as Fergus put it. He’s unapproachable, unpredictable, aggressive. That stallion is dangerous to everyone in a square mile radius. Jody rang me this morning to warn us.”      “Jody?” the cowboy returns, puzzled. He’s aware that the female rancher knows a lot of people in this business, but he didn’t expect the news of the famous stallion’s arrival would spread so fast. “How did she even know that Cain was coming to us?”      “Because MacLeod is a client of hers. Cain is currently in her stables.”

     Dean’s eyebrows hit his hairline, emerald greens staring over the desk at the man on the other side. While gaping at his uncle, questions begin to race through his mind. Jody did business with Fergus? Jody is a good trainer with excellent judgment, so if she claims Cain is untrainable, that says something. Their last conversation in Flagstaff comes to mind, the news about Gabe’s hospitalization shocking him at the time. Could his friend’s injuries be the stallion’s doing?

     Bobby watches his trusted worker process the information, rolling his chair a little closer and resting his forearms on the varnished wood, closing his hand over his fist. “I know this complicates things, but I’m gonna leave it up to you. If you think you can handle the stallion, I will trust your judgment. But I don’t want you to risk your neck for the money, Dean. We will find another way.”

     The horseman chews on his lip as he ponders, his focus capturing nothing in particular as his eyes flick over the items and documents on the desk. “We’ll have a week to evaluate him. I’ll make the call after that,” he decides. “Mind if I contact Jody to get some insight on what I’m up against?”      “Knock yourself out,” Bobby consents. “Just leave the numbers that we agreed to out of it.”      “Will do.” 

     Dean gets up from his seat, pushing the chair closer to the desk before he intends to slip out of the office before he’s stopped by his boss.      “One more thing,” the wise man says, looking over his enclosed hands. “What’s going on with you and the intern?”

     Caught, the head wrangler freezes, eyes wide with shock and pure horror staring into the hallway. Shit. How the hell is he going to answer that? Is he referring to the dance at the opening night of the horse show or the palpable tension that has surrounded the former couple whenever they were in close range of each other? Dean doesn’t know, but he has the feeling that the continuation of this conversation is going to be anything but pleasant. Composing himself before he turns back to face his uncle.

     “Nothin’. What do you mean?” He shrugs as the corners of his mouth draw down, pretending to be careless.      “Don’t play dumb, boy. I was born at night, but not last night.” Bobby glares at him knowingly. “Are you messin’ around with her?”      “No,” Dean says firmly, the truth in his words hurting him deep down.      His uncle lifts his chin, holding the cowboy’s gaze while narrowing his eyes. It’s clear that he’s not buying. “You wanna explain then why you two were like two peas in a pot in Flagstaff, but can’t even look at each other now?”

     With his hand still on the door handle, his nephew attempts to keep his act together, but then he sighs. Damn it, he was so close to making it out of this meeting alive. Oh well, what’s one more lecture, right?

     “Look, there’s nothing going on, not anymore. I - uh, I got carried away and I shouldn’t have let it,” he admits. “I broke it off. It won’t happen again.”      “Is this gonna be a problem?” his boss asks sternly. “If you two can’t work together--”      “It isn’t. Garth will supervise her from now on. Just to prevent any issues in the future,” he continues, hoping the fact that they actually discussed how to carry on as colleagues from this point forward will put the concern to rest.

     “There better be a future for her here on this ranch. I can’t afford to lose a free worker, especially not one as skilled as she is,” Bobby warns, not convinced. “I’d pray that she won’t pack her bags if I were you, ‘cause I’ll give ya one guess who’s gonna have to work twice as hard and whose ass I’m gonna bust.”      “She won’t leave,” his head wrangler guarantees, willing to bet his life on it. 

     His promise might seem based on a hopeful hunch, but Y/N hasn’t given Dean any indication to question her professionalism. She even approached him in order to change the conditions of her internship, which couldn’t have been easy for her. Their interaction will be minimized and strictly business from now on, something he reckons she will handle much more gracefully than he will, simply because she has a bigger purpose to focus on. This placement is a stepping stone to her dream of owning her own ranch, and that goal hasn’t changed. He knows she won’t leave Gold Canyon.

     Bobby observes his nephew, still bothered by the fact that he didn’t listen to him when he specifically told the bachelor not to get involved with the intern. He’s going to save the rant for another time, though, the sight of an already dejected man before him having him hold back. It seems like this is doing a number on young fellow, and considering how they were with each other at the horse show this weekend, he’s not surprised. The two reminded him of his twenties when he first got together with his Ellen. The boy is hurting, more than he lets on.      “Alright then. Get goin’, I’ve got bills to pay,” he eventually says, shooing Dean out with a flick of the wrist.

     Relieved that his uncle is cutting him some slack, he nods and silently pulls the door shut, putting a barrier between himself and the conversation he has been dreading for weeks. If only he could be able to tell Bobby that he’s with the girl he’s in love with; he would have taken the grumpy rebuke with a grin on his face. If only.

     While stepping outside, the cowboy pulls his cellphone from his jeans pocket, looking up Jody Mills’ number in his contacts. He begins to slowly stroll back and forth on the porch in its sheltering shade, the floorboards moaning and cracking under his boots as he waits with his Nokia pressed against his ear. The steady tone beeps twice before his friend picks up.      “Hey,” it sounds from the other side of the line. “I was hoping you’d call.”      “Yeah, Bobby told me about Cain,” he returns. “Kinda complicates things, don’t it?”      “I need to listen to me very carefully,” Jody starts, earnest and worried. “Do not take that horse into your stable.”

     The cowboy sighs, glancing over the land while hooking his thumb behind his belt. He figured the female rancher would try to convince him to back off.      “It’s good money, Jody, and I’ve handled difficult cases before. Cain deserves a shot. I have to try.”      “I get it, but hear me out. If Fergus offered you a deal that seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. I know you’re an excellent trainer, hell, the best that I know. But I’m telling you, we’re not talking about a stallion with some authority issues here. That horse is twisted, has wires crossed. I have never seen such behavior,” she presses. “So many people have tried to straighten him out already. I did some digging, and Fergus’ supposedly ‘million dollar prospect’ has moved in and out nine different stables over the past year. No one has succeeded.”

     He ponders, not taking her warning lightly. Jody is an experienced equestrian who has dealt with many tough animals. She even passed some horses on to him when she couldn’t get through to them. The woman is well aware of the limits to her expertise and has always been honest with clients when a horse was too much for her to handle, but never before has she doubted that the wrangler from the Gold Canyon Ranch could do the job.

     “When Gabe got hurt, was it…?” Dean wonders, hesitant, not finishing his sentence.      “It was Cain.”

     He sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. Although he assumed it was the stallion who has put his former colleague into the hospital, it still shocks him. He continues to pace the deck in front of the Singer’s home.      “How is he doing?” he wonders.      Jody pulls in a deep breath, the message she’s about to deliver clearly a difficult one. “He’s never gonna walk again. Paralyzed from the waist down.”

     Dean closes his eyes and swallows thickly. It’s the outcome they all feared, but hearing the confirmation makes his gut churn. Losing one's legs is a nightmare for everyone, but for a rider? He can’t possibly picture it, becoming wheelchair-bound. Honestly, he would rather die than to never be able to get in the saddle again.

     “Dean, I know you believe every horse deserves a second chance, but please, let this one go. He is beyond repair. I’m not asking, I’m begging,” she pleads, a tremor in her voice. “If you take on Cain, it’s only a matter of time before you get hurt, or worse.” 

     The words are backed up by a heavy silence. The two stay quiet for a while, the words sinking in with the wrangler. Flight animals fueled by fear can do either two things; run or attack. If getting away from the supposed threat is impossible, they tend to go for the last. It’s not something the horse will even think about; it’s a survival instinct. When a naturally kind creature takes a turn like that, it becomes a thousand-pound killing machine. If Cain is truly that far gone, it is likely that he is indeed beyond saving. The trainer has to see it for himself, though, and not just because the ranch can use the cash. He realizes that if he doesn’t take on this task, someone else will, someone with less experience. If this stallion is really that lethal, the next novice trainer might make an error of judgment that will be his or her last. At least Dean has the skills. It seems like he is Cain’s last resort, because if he isn’t trainable, he will get the bullet at some point. He wouldn’t be the first horse to be put down because of similar problems.

     “Thanks for the warning, Jody,” he responds after a long pause. “I’ll keep it in mind.”      “Dean--”      “I know. I know what you’re gonna say, but if I don’t do this, who knows what might happen to him. I’ve got a week to decide if we wanna go through with it. That’s the least I can do.”      He can hear his friend grunt, frustrated, probably realizing that changing his mind was a long shot to begin with. “Just… be careful, okay?”      “I will, promise,” Dean assures. “Talk to you later.”

     The cowboy hangs up, staring at his phone for a few more seconds before he puts it away and steps out into the sun, heading back to the stables. The admonition continues to ring in his ears, and he allows the caution to imprint the decisions he needs to make in the upcoming days. After all, warned is forearmed.

     Y/N wishes anyone had warned her how painful it is to have her heart broken by the person who made it beat just for him. Maybe she would have been more mindful then, more guarded. Maybe she wouldn’t have let him have it, had she known how careless he would be.

     Around 5 o’clock, her new supervisor said it was okay if she wanted to take her own horse for a ride. Normally she trains Meadow either before or after shift, but she got all the work done at record speed, desperate for a distraction, that all her daily tasks were fulfilled two hours before dinner. Maybe Garth detected that she needed some alone-time with her four-legged friend, because he suggested the ride with a sympathetic smile and a kind nudge, sending her towards the Quarter’s box.

     After straightening out the saddle pad, the cowgirl tightens the cinch. Meadow, who can be a bit of a grumpy mare when it comes to tacking up, stands still without moving a muscle, allowing her owner to ready her for a ride without pulling a prank like she usually does. Sometimes the cheeky horse will try to fish Y/N’s phone from her back pocket, nibble at her hat or her sleeve, or refuse to take a step aside when requested, but not today. Maybe she can sense that such an action could set her human off. 

     The horse accepts the bit when the cowgirl offers it to her, after which she pulls the headpiece over Meadow’s black-tipped ears, securing the straps skillfully. She sniffles, wiping her nose and forcing herself to keep her composure a little while longer. In a few minutes, when she’s away from prying eyes, she will allow to let the tears flow again, but not now, not yet.

     Y/N unties her horse, places her left foot in the stirrup, and swings her right leg over the back of her bay mare, softly landing in the saddle. Picking up the reins, she steers her horse away from the tack up area, the smooth leather between her fingers giving her a sense of control that she’s missing in her love life. 

     Instead of leading Meadow towards the arena, the rider guides her towards the gate that leads to the trail. Her horse had an eventful weekend and gave it her all in competition, so it wouldn’t be fair to put her through a full workout. The performance took a lot out of the willing horse who never seizes to bring her best efforts and more. Even though the freestyle only lasted minutes, the athlete peaked with a brilliant execution of the routine, which takes a lot of skill and strength. Then there’s the ambiance of a show, the new environment, all the sensory overload. The combination of all those factors did a number the Quarter, and she deserves a calm and relaxing ride, much like the young woman she’s carrying on her back. Y/N is in no state to train, well aware that the heightened emotions will get the best of her if something might not work out the way she planned, and that’s not something she wants her companion to bear the consequences of. If anything, Meadow has been absolutely wonderful, seeming to understand that her person is sad and needs someone to lean on.

     After closing the fence behind them, the girl and her horse follow the path that leads towards the hills. Cacti flank the road ahead towards the Superstition Mountains, which stand tall in the backdrop. The beautiful amber colored volcanic rock formations seem even more vibrant now that the setting sun blesses nature with a warm glow. The vegetation is much greener than it was when they searched for the herd of youngsters in the reservoir. Autumn is here, and within a couple of months, the ridges that reach for the sky will be covered in snow. It’s supposed to be a beautiful sight, at least that’s what Dean told her.

     Now that it’s just her and Meadow, Y/N finally allows the suppressed tears to fall. The battle she has been fighting all day is one she knew she would lose eventually, she just wanted to be with her most faithful friend when the levee breaks. She doesn’t even intend to wipe the drops of despair away, knowing that she has to let it out now in order to keep up the facade later. And so the last rays of the day catch the shimmering pathways down her cheeks, similar to how the water cobbled at Willow’s Creek, where she and Dean shared their first kiss. All the memories, those perfect little moments that she thought to cherish forever, they are worth nothing now. It was all just a dream.

     Y/N transits into a slow canter, hoping that the wind in her face will chase the sorrow away. She has to feel something completely opposite to the grief that is ripping her apart. She needs to experience freedom and the bond that comes along with this unique partnership between her and Meadow, the simplicity of moving across the desert like men and their horses have been doing so for centuries. No engines, no computers, no engineering. Just two souls of completely different species merging as one. 

     Resting her free hand on her horse’s neck and gripping the black mane, she pushes her heels into the Quarter’s flanks, aiding her to pick up speed. The bay mare takes over, her rider is no longer in control, but she no longer has to be. Y/N doesn’t need to direct this movie, because she trusts Meadow with her life. If there is any being on the face of the planet that she would follow blindly, it’s her companion. Meadow has never let her down, not once, and her owner knows there will never come a moment when she will. And so she breathes in, welcoming the wind to fill her lungs with newfound courage, brought on by the majestic animal that gallops across the landscape, carrying Y/N on her wings. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if   you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog   my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-six here

[deathonyourtongue]

Sanguine Nocturnus | 1

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : I know I said I’d wait. But y’all have been clamoring...

Death has a way of manipulating time. Moments meant to go slowly end in a blink, while junctures that ought to speed past, linger like dew on the vine...

Carla Montanari stared at her mother’s corpse, waiting for her to move. Waiting for the only family she’d ever had to open her eyes and say it was all a joke. Her mother had always had a cutting sense of humor; no topic was off-limits, and as she aged, death was a favored punchline. Now, it seemed, her mother had pulled off the ultimate prank, though Carla failed to see the humor in it.

The mortician had done an excellent job all things considered, but Carla could still pick out the differences between the body that lay at the altar of Saint Vincent’s and the one she had grown up with. A jaw that had been given too much lift, makeup that was a shade or two darker than what her mother normally wore, wrinkles that had disappeared when her face had been sewn back together. She’d been told she was lucky to get an open-casket service at all, given how much trauma her mother had suffered, as if it were some sort of consolation prize.

Looking behind her, Carla did a headcount of those in attendance, smiling softly when she saw that her mother’s bingo group were all in attendance, each woman donning their Sunday best in order to pay their respects. What her mother lacked in family, she’d more than made up for in friends who were all cut from the same cloth. Good, salt-of-the-earth people. Carla had always envied how easily her mother made friends, how she could chat up anyone, no matter how different their background and find something in common. It was a skill she hadn’t passed down, leaving her daughter to carve out a small handful of friends who were more acquaintances than anything else. 

Crossing herself, Carla took a deep breath, looked down at her mother once more, and finally leaned down to kiss the cold, clammy skin of her forehead, doing her best to ignore the faint waft of formaldehyde that filled the casket. A solitary white rose tucked beneath her mother’s hands was Carla’s final act before turning away. 

Time blinked, and she found herself seated across from her mother’s lawyer, a slab of mahogany separating them, the coffee she’d been offered growing cold as the AC hit it from overhead.

“I suppose we can do away with formality, since it’s just you,” the older man said, his smile tight and distant. Carla nodded, feeling as though the man wanted to be done so he could attend to other, more important, matters. 

“Your mother left all her possessions and accounts to you, no surprise there. She gifted her friends each an item from her apparently extensive purse collection, so we’ll facilitate that for you. The accounts are all in order, and what isn’t used to pay off her final bills, will be transferred to your account by the end of the month. Lastly, there’s the matter of the inheritance. This may be news to you, but your grandmother set up an inheritance in your name when you were born. Initially, it was meant to pay for college, but when you got your full ride, your mother decided to keep it going until her passing. Her hope was to give you a nice nest egg for retirement, or your first house...something to that effect.” 

Carla looked down at the document, counting and recounting the total in disbelief. Her mother had always been terrible at keeping secrets, having given away things to her friends that had mortified Carla when she was younger. 

Guess you were better at it than I thought.

Inhaling deeply, Carla sat back in her chair, hoping the meeting was over. The quicker she could get out into the fresh air, the better off she’d be. 

“There’s one more thing,” her mother’s lawyer said, keeping Carla rooted to her seat even as the muscles in her legs twitched in readiness to stand up. “Your mother wanted to ensure you were aware of the fact that you have legal claim to Italian citizenship, if you should ever choose to take it. They call it Jure Sanguinis; Right of Blood. The process can be expedited, given that you’re only second generation American. Sign here and we can get it in motion for you.” 

Carla signed blindly, eyes unblinking as she tried to process the information. Her mother had always been a planner, but had never once mentioned so much as a will to Carla. Now, seeing everything packaged up so neatly, her mind spun wildly.

“Think you know a person…” She muttered mostly to herself, the lawyer giving her another one of his performative smiles, his eyes going to his watch for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. 

Leaving the office with a folder and the untouched coffee, Carla couldn’t help but feel time begin to crawl, reinforcing the feelings of numbness and solitude that would haunt her for weeks to come.

Working steps from Wall Street had its perks. Tips were usually far more generous than in other parts of town, fights were rare, and drunk girls crying over their shitty boyfriends were nonexistent. None of that made it any easier, however. Frat boys turned into day traders, socialites grew even more entitled as their brunches turned into botox appointments, and there was never a shortage of patronizing stares for those that had to actually work for a living. For Carla, navigating the catcalls, one-liners, and straight-up sexual misconduct was easy enough; it was the entitlement that never failed to get under her skin. 

“Um, hello? Waitress? This is wrong. I asked for a Negroni.” Looking up, Carla swept her long black hair over her shoulder as she processed the words that were spoken. Having decided to keep living life as though things hadn’t irrevocably changed, Carla was doing her best to ignore the stress that had been slowly creeping higher and higher each day. Busy nights at the bar were proving the worst, with Carla coming through the door at the end of her shift ready to rant about the night to her mother, only to find the place pin-drop silent and utterly empty. 

Looking down at the drink, Carla gazed back up at the woman with the blond, news anchor hair and cocked her head to the side in confusion. 

“That is a Negroni.” 

“Uh,” the woman snorted in disbelief, “no it’s not. Remake it, and do it right this time.” 

“This is a Negroni. One part gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari each, with a peel of lemon.” The woman laughed condescendingly and Carla could feel her patience start to disappear. 

“No, a Negroni, if you knew anything about bartending--which you clearly don’t--is made with Rye and dry vermouth.”

“Lady, I make at least ten of these a night. I work six nights a week. You’re the first, and only, person to ever tell me it’s wrong. You’re thinking of an Old Pal, and I’d be more than happy to make that for you, but this? This is a Negroni, which is what you asked for.”

“Fine, we’ll see about that.” The woman huffed, her manicured hand slicing through the air in a dismissive motion. 

“That’ll be $10.99.”

“Absolutely NOT! I’m not paying for your mistake. Make it again, make it right, and make it now!” The woman crowed, her hair imobile as she shook her head, looking for all the world like Carla had slapped her.

“It’s a different drink. You paid for a Negroni, you got a Negroni. You want an Old Pal, you pay for an Old Pal.” Carla replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for the woman to make up her mind. 

The alcohol burned Carla’s eyes and she stumbled back in shock, moving towards the large sink she knew was behind her on pure instinct. Washing her face to get as much of the cocktail off as she could, she knew she’d reached her breaking point. 

Any other time and she’d have brushed it off, had security kick the woman out and gone about her night. Now? She’d had enough. Moving slowly to the back, Carla took off her apron, hung it up next to her coworkers’ and slipped out the back door. 

Nearly sprinting the whole way home, it was only as she stepped through the door of her apartment that the tears came unbidden. Sliding down the wall, Carla cried for the first time since her mother’s passing. 

The next morning, after calling in her notice, Carla allowed herself a day to simply be. To scream, to cry, to let out all the emotions that had befallen her since answering the phone that fateful night and hearing that her mother had died in such a vicious and preventable way. She let rage fill every vein as she thought about how the person who hit her hadn’t even bothered to stay at the scene. She lamented every missed moment, every fight, every what-if. Finally, she curled up in her mother’s robe, and cried herself to sleep.

Knowing she couldn’t handle another day at a bar like the one on Wall Street, catering to bratty adults who’d never been told no a day in their lives, Carla began leaning more and more towards escaping it all. Her now-empty apartment, her routine assortment of familiar faces (none of whom had even bothered to call and offer condolences), and more than anything, the city itself; all of it seemed worthless and foreign without her mother’s smiling face. As she sat and scrolled through picture after picture on her phone, the promise of a new life in Italy seemed more feasible, and more and more necessary.

On day three, after a day spent mostly in bed, dreaming about the possibilities of what life could bring now that she was committed to leaving, Carla put in a call to the lawyer, vaguely remembering the document she’d signed. There was nothing but relief when she was told they were simply waiting for a few more documents to finalize it all. 

With the foundation for her new life in place, Carla began to flesh out the bones, focusing her research on where to live, and who was hiring. Though the inheritance was enough to live comfortably for several years, Carla didn’t want to squander it. Moreover, she still wanted to work and feel useful in some way; early retirement could wait.

While she was spoilt for choice when it came to renting, a job was harder to come by. Carla started her search with the lofty goal of finding something where she could put her history degree to good use; a research assistant, a curator, hell, a tour guide. When it became clear that her lack of experience was a hurdle she wouldn’t be able to cross so easily, Carla reluctantly turned to what she knew. 

Weeks went by like thick molasses as she looked at bar after bar, finding that they either weren’t hiring, or looked like the kind of place people went into and never came out of. Her options were narrow to start with, since Carla had her heart set on Rome, the need to entrench herself in one of the world’s oldest cities, one she couldn’t possibly ignore. With each day that passed, she felt her dream beginning to slip away. Carla was nothing if not tenacious, one of the few traits she’d shared with her mother, and despite feeling discouraged at her prospects, she kept looking.

Finally, as the clock nearly ran out on her deadline to provide proof of employment, Carla found the perfect spot. Though the bar catered to a higher-end clientele, gone were the stockbrokers and lawyers, and in their place, a younger, cooler set. Attracted to the dark, almost feral, atmosphere the bar promised in its advertising, Carla applied, crossing her fingers in the hopes that they’d call. 

She was still browsing the site when her phone rang and the owner greeted her in a thick, Italian accent. Breezing through the interview questions, Carla’s eyes roved over the pictures of all the beautiful people that frequented the night spot, pulled in by how effortlessly cool each of them looked. With the promise to call her by the end of the week to confirm the position, the owner ended the call, and it was all Carla could do not to jump for joy. 

Flopping back on the bed, she couldn’t help but let herself feel true happiness, happiness which she’d unconsciously been denying herself while she mourned her mother’s death. Though she’d been dealt a life-changing blow, Carla felt as though, slowly but surely, time was going back to its usual pace, and her life was taking a turn for the better. 

With a smile from ear to ear, she sat back up and emailed the lawyer, confirming she’d gotten a job, an apartment, and a plane ticket to Rome. As the message zipped away and the window closed, Carla found her eyes drawn back to the website, and her new place of employment. 

Romulus

[rowanwhitethornisbae]

Faking It Ch 2

A/N: Thanks for all the love on chapter one! I’m defiantly going to make this at least ten chapters so buckle up haha. TW: Language 

Aelin couldn't remember when she’d lost count of the number of shots she’d taken. All she knew was that the alcohol coursing through her veins offered temporary relief from the breathtaking pain. The pain that had her sobbing so hard that she vomited her guts up each and every night. These pointless high school parties were her only escape from reality. Her parents were dead. Who gave a fuck about anything. Stumbling a little, Aelin made her way over the kitchen sink, prepared to vomit if need be. 

“Are you okay?” A low voice asked from behind her. 

“Fine.” She muttered and leaned against the counter for some semblance of balance.

“You don't look it.” The stranger said kindly. 

“Well isn't there some saying; Don’t judge a cover by its book or whatever.”

The mystery man laughed and Aelin finally lifted her head to look at him. He was handsome. So much so that if she hadn't already been leaning on something she might have swooned. His eyes were green, the colour of a pine tree in the dead of winter. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled and a tattoo crawled down the length of his arm and decorated the edge of his collarbone. 

I like men with tattoos. She thought. 

“Thanks.” He said, laughing awkwardly under his breath. 

Oh shit. She avoided meeting his eye, instead landing her gaze upon his silver hair. 

“Do you dye your hair.” She asked casually. 

He seemed slightly taken aback, but smiled all the same. “No. Do you?” 

She gasped as if it was the most preposterous thing he could've said and ran a hand through her long blond hair. 

“I’d sooner eat snakes.” Aelin grinned.

“People all over the world do that voluntarily.” The green eyed man mused. 

An image of someone eating snake popped into her head and Aelin suddenly felt bile rise in her throat. Before she could vomit on the perfect stranger, she bolted from the kitchen and into a vacant bathroom. Gagging, she fell onto her knees and was violently ill. 

So gently that she barely even noticed, her hair was pulled back from her neck and shoulders as her stranger eased himself onto the cold tile beside her. When Aelin had finished vomiting, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and slumped against the wall. 

“Thanks.” She said, tying her hair into a messy bun with shaking hands.

“I’m Rowan.” He answered, extending a hand. 

For the first time in weeks, she felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. 

“Aelin.” 

“Miss Galathynius are you even listening.” Her math teacher’s voice snapped her out of that very unwelcome flashback. 

“Do you want me to lie to you?” She asked, earning a few laughs from her classmates and an elbow to the ribs from Aedion. 

“Take a walk.” He snarled, and Aelin breathed a sigh of relief. She needed fresh air anyway. 

The hallway was practically empty, save a few students on their way to the bathroom, and Aelin started towards the side doors to the parking lot. She passed a locker that had been decorated for someone’s birthday. Streamers flowed down from the top, framing the collage of photos perfectly. The girl in question looked to be a freshman, with a bright smile on her face and eyes that screamed innocence. The things Aelin would do to go back to freshman year. To live with that lack of knowledge and trauma that she so desired. But she couldn't. 

She was rounding the last corner when something made her stop dead on her feet. There, leaning against the wall in a way she’d seen so many times before, was Chaol Westfall. Still, it wasn't the sight of him that send her heart into a flurry. It was the girl fiddling with her hair opposite him. It took Aelin a minute to recognize her. Nesryn Faliq, they had advanced chemistry together. She laughed at something Chaol said and reached out a hand to brush his arm. Shivers ran down Aelin’s spine at that hint of a touch. Chaol smiled back at Nesryn and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. 

Unable to watch anymore, Aelin turned on her heels and bolted to the women's bathroom. She was breathing too hard, her heart racing much too fast to be healthy. God this was an awful time to have a panic attack. Slowly, she managed to calm her breathing enough to splash water on her face. 

This was bad. Really fucking bad. They’d broken up barely 24 hours ago and Chaol was already flirting with the entire female population of Terrasen High. Fine, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration.

Clearly Lysandra had been right. Aelin slumped down against the wall and curled her knees to her chest. She needed a rebound, and fast. Aelin pondered names as she ran her fingers through the grooves in the bathroom wall. Name after name came forward and she found herself subconsciously shooting them all down. 

Nox, Fenrys, Sam, Lorcan, Sartaq. None sounded right. 

In fact, the only one she could ever see herself with was Rowan Whitethorn. The silver haired senior who’s heart she’d held in her hands sophomore year. Held and crushed. She deserved every ounce of the hatred he had for her. 

Still, he wasn't a bad option. She knew he found her beautiful, he’d told her as much. The only problem was that he would never go for her again. People tended to put up a guard after having their heart shattered. 

Flirting with him would be futile and unfair. The only way she could ever get him to date her was if she gave him something in return. 

“Holy shit.” Aelin swore, jumping up so fast that she nearly hit her heat on the sink. 

If there was anything Aelin knew about Rowan, it was that he wanted to play on the football team. He’d gone on and on about it before. According to him, he had been deathly ill during tryouts and had ended up vomiting off the side after one hit. He’d begged and begged the coach to let him try out again but it was four years later and Rowan still wasn't on the team. Lorcan, Fenrys, Vaughn, and Gavriel all were and Rowan was half miserable because of it. 

There it was. A plan. She’d get him a tryout, somehow, and in exchange he would help her beat Chaol in whatever sick game they were playing. With a newfound purpose, Aelin washed her hands and walked back to math class.

Lunch. She’d make her move then. 

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

The cafeteria was mostly empty, a normal occurrence for Tuesday afternoons. The lunch provided was some weird crossover of meatloaf and mashed potatoes that had most students eating out. Unfortunately for Rowan, Fenrys had convinced them to eat in the cafeteria today in his attempts to stalk a blonde girl on spare in the lounge. 

Now, he was picking at his food as his friends discussed the football game tomorrow. Rowan was just beginning to think his day couldn't get any worse, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. 

“Can I talk to you?” Someone asked from over his shoulder. He knew that voice. Had heard it in both his dreams and his nightmares. Rowan’s grip on his fork tightened and his knuckles went white. His foot began drumming against the floor as he braced himself for impact. Everyone else at the table was rapidly flicking their gaze between Aelin and Rowan. 

“No.” He said harshly, not daring to turn around. Rowan didn't think he’d have the will to deny her anything if he was forced to meet her eye. 

“Please.” Aelin pleaded. “I have something to say to you.” 

“Well that’s too fucking bad because I have nothing to say to you.” He responded, voice carefully exempt of any emotion. 

“Then just listen.” She begged. “If you don't like what I have to say than we can go back to ignoring each other like you wanted.” 

“I wasn't the one who wanted that.” He snapped before he could take it back. 

Rowan felt more than saw Aelin stiffen behind him. Lorcan was drumming his fingers on the table, as if prepared to hold Rowan back if called for. 

But it was Fenrys, the friend who was kind to everyone, who spoke. “I think you should go Aelin.” 

She swallowed audibly behind him. “Alright.” She relented. “I’ll be at the Starbucks during fourth for spare. Come find me if you want.”

Rowan didn't bother to nod. Instead, he gripped his fork harder, letting up only when the sound of retreating footsteps subsided. He looked up slowly to find all eyes on him.  

“So that just happened.” Lorcan mused. 

“Yes thank you so much for that observation.” Rowan sniped sarcastically. 

“Woah.” Lorcan replied, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. “You’re mad at Galathynius, not us remember.” 

“Whatever.” He mumbled and went back to picking at his food. After a few seconds he threw his fork on the table and let out a groan of frustration. 

“This food is the worst thing I have ever eaten in my entire life. It is terrible and horrible and fucked up and I have no idea what to do with it.” Rowan half-shouted. Heads swivelled in his direction and he ignored them. Judgement from people he didn't know was the least of his many concerns at the moment. 

“Is that supposed to be some sort of metaphor for your life?” Vaughn asked, dead serious. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Seriously Rowan. All I've heard for the last year and a half is Aelin Galathynius this and Aelin Galathynius that and now she’s finally speaking to you and you’re not going to do anything about it.” 

“I don't talk about her that much.” Rowan mumbled under his breath. Lorcan shot him a look as if to say “Yes. Yes you do.”

“I know I'm normally not one to get involved in deep shit, but Vaughn’s right. I’ve never seen you nearly as happy as you were for those few months in tenth. And honestly, what’s the worst that can happen. You hear what she has to say. You like it, great. You don't, fuck it and forget about her.” Rowan had never heard Fenrys speak for so long without sarcasm in his life. 

“To be fair,” Gavriel said, always the buffer. “We’ve also never seen Rowan as broken as he was after Aelin. Maybe the risk outweighs the reward on this one Fen.” 

Rowan didn't reply. He was too busy struggling to get the memory of those painful few weeks from his head. 

“Just talk to her man. Who gives two fucks it’s high school.” Despite being mainly in an attempt to end this conversation, Lorcan’s words made sense. It was just high school. In one more year he’d be out of this shit hole and hopefully across the world in Rithfold. Talking to Aelin was just one step along the way. 

“I’m going to.” He said, willing his tone to stay confident. 

“Great man.” Fen said, patting him on the back. He barely felt it though. Barely felt anything as the rest of the day passed by in a blur, his thoughts occupied by a beautiful blond haired girl. 

---------

It had been twenty minutes and Aelin was starting to think Rowan wasn't coming. In all honestly she should've expected that outcome from the beginning. Even though she understood, the way he had acted towards her at lunch had hurt more than she was willing to let on. 

Instead of wallowing in her own self pity, Aelin took a long sip from her coffee. It seared her tongue and burned her throat, the pain helping to ground her in a way nothing else ever could. She was picking at her fingernails, head down, when he arrived. 

A metal chair scraped against the cobblestone, a bird sung from a oak tree, a paper bag rustled in the wind, Aelin Galathynius blinked. That’s all she had time to do. One blink to compose herself before she was looking dead into the eyes of Rowan Whitethorn. 

She allowed herself a brief second to take him in up close. His high and defined cheekbones, perfectly crafted nose, striking green eyes, and silver hair had always made for a truly stunning combination. He looked the same as ever. Except he didn't. His eyes no longer possessed that unbridled joy and love that she’d seen whenever he looked at her. Instead he just looked done. Done with life and done with her. 

Aelin swallowed audibly and handed him a coffee. “Cream and sugar.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. 

Rowan’s hands tightened slightly. “You remembered.” It wasn't a question. After a brief moment of hesitation he accepted the coffee and went back to staring at the table. 

“What is this about Aelin?” He asked softly. Although his voice was gentle, his tone was hurt in a way anyone else would’ve missed. She hated that. Hated that now, even a year later she was still somehow hurting him. 

“So you know I broke up with Chaol. Or, he broke up with me.” She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. Rowan nodded once, nearly imperceptibly, and she took that as a sign to continue. “Anyway, Lysandra says that I need a rebound and I need one first because Chaol is the one who broke up with me.”

Rowan’s eye flared with surprise and something else she couldn't place. “I won't be your rebound. Please don't disrespect me by asking.” 

Her heart nearly cracked open at the pain lingering in his words. “No no I would never.” Aelin paused for a brief moment to regain her bearings. “Here’s the thing. I don't want a rebound. I’ve been in a relationship for as long as I can remember and I'm in desperate need of a break. But, I’m also the most competitive person you'll ever meet. Like seriously it’s an issue, once -” 

“I know.” Rowan interrupted. “Once you sprained your ankle 8 km into a 10 k run and still finished first because you couldn't stand the thought of losing. You told me already.” 

Aelin just stared at him for a second, her chest unbearably tight. Rowan’s eyes looked her up and down and she could've sworn his eyes flashed in satisfaction at the pain written on her face. 

Not wanting to look at him anymore, she went on. “I figured maybe instead of me actually doing the whole dating thing, we could fake date.” 

She held out a hand as Rowan opened his mouth to protest. Begrudgingly, he restrained from commenting and gestured for her to go on. 

“That way I'd beat Chaol in whatever this is, I wouldn't have to answer everyone’s condolences on my being dumped, and I’d be saved from the whole post breakup dating fiasco.” 

Rowan’s voice was hoarser than before when he finally spoke. “What do I get out of this.” 

She took a deep breath in. “I’ll get you a football tryout.” 

His knee slammed into the table and Aelin couldn't help but flinch. His eyes were wide and lit up with hope. “Seriously? How the hell are you going to do that?” 

“I have a plan.” She tried to sound confident despite her growing doubt. 

Rowan let out a small laugh. “The last time you said that we ended up in the back of a police cruiser covered in raw eggs and paint.” 

Aelin’s face broke into smile and she began to laugh. For a moment she could almost pretend they were back in sophomore year, lying on Rowan’s lawn and watching the stars. Neither of them had known anything about constellations so they’d made things up based on what they looked like. By the end of the night, Aelin’s stomach hurt from laughing. She wondered when the last time she’d been that blissfuly happy was. 

Just as suddenly as they had arrived, their smiles and laughs died on their lips. An uncomfortable silence seized the air and Aelin began to play with the hair elastic on her wrist. 

After a few more seconds, Rowan cleared his throat. “I’ll do it.” He announced, although it sounded like he was still trying to convince himself.  

“Great.” Aelin smiled. “Why don't you come over tomorrow and we can work out logistics.” 

“Don’t you live with Aedion?” Rowan asked cautiously.

“Yeah but he’ll be at Ren’s place tomorrow for a project. I checked.” 

Rowan nodded slowly and rose from his chair. “Alright.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, Rowan standing and Aelin sitting. “I’m going to uh... go.” He said at last, severing the quickly brewing tension. 

Without waiting for answer, he turned and fled, leaving Aelin to do nothing but watch. So they were actually doing this now. What’s the worst that could go wrong? 

TOG Tag List: 

@queen-of-glass

@courtofjurdan

@fictional-horan

@bamchickawowow

@julemmaes

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@chieflemming

@morganofthewildfire

@http-itsrebecca

@captainswanandclintasha

@booknerdproblems

@sassys-world

@thegoddessofyou

@cityofchelsea16

@loudphantomdragon

@poisonous00

@wesupremeginger 

@becarefuloflove

@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

@tillyrubes10

@perseusannabeth

[astronautikals]

empires fall

Request: where spencer has a hard case so the reader reminds him the world can still be kind?? 🥰 (@spenceneedsahug)

A/N: Alrighty takin’ the dive for CM fanfic haha--hope I’ve fulfilled at least some of what you’re looking for! requests are open

Category: Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Angst; Fluff

CW: implied depression, emotional distance, work-related traumas

Word Count: 1.75K

________

I wake up just as the secondhand ticks past 4:36.

Someone’s moving around in the living room, letting their keys clatter together and dropping down what I know is a heavy, well-worn satchel.

I relinquish some of my grip on the comforter and roll back to my side of the bed, settling in only moments before the bedroom door is pushed open. He’s trying to be quiet for my sake, so I close my eyes and pretend he actually is. I’ll let him have his peace for tonight—from the way he lifelessly pulls off his clothes, I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk. Not yet, at least.

The creak of the bathroom door cuts past the white noise of the quavering fan overhead, and moments later, when the shower turns on, I start to drift off again.

And then I’m awake once more, startled by the sound of something—someone—gasping. When it happens a second time, I don’t miss it.

I swing my feet out of bed, nearly stumbling on the covers as I try and get to the bathroom door. My heart’s jumped into my throat and I can hardly see through my panic. But just as I make a move to burst inside and save this boy from some unknown enemy, I hear him choke on a sputtering of sobs.

I knock gently instead.

“Spencer?” I call, softly pushing the door open. The steam that rushes out is uncomfortably warm for this cool July night, so when I step inside, I pull off my sweatpants.

“Spencer?” I say again. On the other side of the curtain, I hear him struggle to even out his breathing.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he replies, just loud enough to be heard over the water. “Go back to bed. I’ll just be a minute.”

 His voice is steady and practiced. But I know him—and I know that he’s spent too much time with professional profilers, learning exactly how to lie.

I peel back the plastic drape quietly.

His back is red from the heat and marked by old scars cutting back and forth, but he doesn’t move out from under the shower head.

“I’ll be okay,” Spencer croaks, his head still turned down. “Go back to bed. It’ll be okay.”

“Let me just be here with you,” I try. I don’t want to force him into anything—of course not—but leaving him alone to argue with his own mind is more dangerous than any potential outburst he might have at me. So when he doesn’t respond, I quickly tug off my shirt and step over the lip of the tub.

He doesn’t turn to me. The water steams off in waves just as it splashes onto his shoulders, and I ease my hand into the stream so he can sense my approach.

Still, when the pads of my fingers meet his upper arm, he shatters—choking on air, dipping his body over, and falling into my chest as a strangled sob breaks through. His lungs are tripping over themselves, struggling to grab oxygen for the rest of his body as he gasps and cries into my collarbone. I stumble under the unexpected weight and the wild swing of emotion, but I never let him go.

“Spence, breathe,” I plead, wrapping him in my arms. My hand runs up the nape of his neck and into his hair, scratching the backside of his scalp. The bridge of Spencer’s nose presses into my throat.

It’s a parental kind of position—the sort you get when you curl up to your mother after an endless nightmare and beg for comfort. I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for in this moment, honestly, but I’ll be anyone he needs.

Regardless, as his breathing evens out and warms the skin pulled over my collarbone, Spencer untangles himself slightly in search of a stretch. Without meeting my eyes, he brings me into his chest before easing us towards the floor of the tub. My undergarments are soaked through entirely at this point, but I haven’t thought about it since I stepped into the water.

The water is still warm as it hits us down here on the ground.

Spencer rests his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around me from behind and scooting me over to sit on his upper thighs. I lean backwards slowly, laying myself along his torso and my head just below his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. I don’t press him to, either. His breathing isn’t nearly as erratic as it had been, but I know there are still tears slipping silently out of his eyes.

I turn slightly onto my side, reaching for his right arm and pulling it to my chest. For a while, it doesn’t even feel like he recognizes I’m there anymore. I steal a glance at his face, but Spencer’s not looking at me—his eyes train lifelessly on the tile around the faucet and his muscles grow limp. When I trace my finger along the inside of his forearm, he doesn’t even tense up the way he often does when I inadvertently inch too close to the scars tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Eventually, Spencer’s torso shifts as he turns to stare off into the shower curtain instead. He inhales deeply—a mark of some stability.

“I’m not—I’m not as good at compartmentalizing anymore,” he soon confesses, curling his shoulders in. “I just—just—I can’t leave it in the field anymore and I—”

“Hey,” I interject softly, rubbing my thumb against the inside of his wrist, “maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe you needed a reminder that you’re not just some machine for the Bureau to run into the ground. It’s okay if you need time off—it just means you’re still human, that your empathy is still strong.”

“No,” he disagrees grimly, “it means I’ve got a clock on me.”

I hesitate for a moment, pushing my hair off my neck. His heart thrums softly now against his ribcage—a mark of either acceptance or defeat. My hands grip the sides of the porcelain tub, pushing myself into a position where I can move his own hair out of his face.

“This doesn’t make you useless,” I finally say. “Not at all.”

“I don’t know where I go from here, Y/N.”

He meets my eyes for the first time since he’s come home. There are years and years of exhaustion caked behind those irises and under those bags, but I know that this isn’t the kind of tiredness you can sleep off—this is existential.

My stomach sinks as his lips twinge downwards.

What do they call it—the bystander effect? Yeah, that feels appropriate.

“I’ll never make you talk about anything you can’t bear to relive,” I begin, catching Spencer’s chin as he averts his gaze, “but whatever you’ve seen in the last few days is an anomaly in a world largely made up of good and loving individuals.

“You see the worst of us. I know you know it’s hard to forget the things that hurt the most, but there is so, so much good in even our little corner of the world. I watched a man stop traffic today for a raccoon. A girl in the grocery store ran through the aisles singing about beavers as her grandmother picked out cake mixes. The sun came up this morning during my run, and the whole park stopped to watch.”

A tear slips from his eyes, but I catch it before it can fall off his jaw.

“You’ve got me, Spencer. You’ve always got me. And I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve to have you in my life, but I’ll never win a better lottery.

“Your teammates would take a bullet for you without a second thought—you know that, right?” I ask rhetorically, encouraged when the corner of his lips twitch upwards. “You’ve saved the lives of more people than you could ever account for, Dr. Statistics, and I know from personal experience that the world is far better just because you’re in it.

“You don’t have to work for the Bureau anymore if you don’t want to—at some point, I know it’ll be too much, and I will never think any less of you if you ever decide to step away. Just, whatever you want to do—I know that your mom is so, so proud of you. And you don’t need my validation, but I am extremely proud of you, too. All the time.”

His tears come a little more freely now, slipping down his cheeks easily and leaving salt and red-rimmed eyelids in their wake. Spencer’s nostrils flare slightly as he swallows down the lump in his throat, and though I keep one hand under his jaw and rubbing the skin just before his ear, I don’t force him to look at me.

“You deserve the world, Spencer. And I will spend the rest of my life getting you to believe that, too.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but I know he’s heard me from the way his brow slowly furrows in harsh acceptance. After a few heavy breaths, Spencer seems to tune back in, and when he tilts back towards my own gaze, the creases in his forehead soften. I watch as his lips quiver into the most delicate of smiles.

His hands drift from their place on my outer thighs and instead gently cup the back of my head, his thumbs on my tragi. It’s a long, closed-mouth kiss he gives me—the kind where I have the time and awareness to scratch over his scruff and remember just how rigged my life’s lottery must’ve been for me to be here.

After the blink of an eye and an eon pass simultaneously, Spencer pushes my head past his own and wraps his arms around me tightly until we’re one body. It’s kind of sticky for a moment, but I don’t dwell on it long. I’m never far from comfort with him around, and really, I’m never that far from him at all.

“I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.” — Brian Andreas

[scaryscarecrows]

Child Safety 101

AN: Continuation of ‘I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks’, found in Why Do They Kick Me?

Note: Mark is a trauma surgeon, not a GP, but he’s also the only one Jason will let within doctoring range, so.

* * *

The Knight has been down and unresponsive for literal days. The first day was the diciest, because even Mark hadn’t been totally sure if he’d pull through, but his fever had gone down enough to remove him from the danger zone.

Once it had become apparent that he wasn’t going to die on them-because Antoine’s sorry, but no way is he continuing this crusade in the guy’s memory or whatever, if the boss dies, he is leaving-, they’d had a meeting and, essentially, made a chore chart for who had Knightwatch, who had Armywatch, and who got to nap.

It’s a fairly efficient rotation. And so far, at least, they’ve managed to keep the news of, well, everything under wraps. All the men know is that the boss is down but that he will be fine, carry on as normal. They don’t know that the helmet’s off.

And. Oof. Of all the crackpot theories they’ve jokingly tossed around, this wasn’t one of them. Antoine’s not sure which one he’s more stuck on: the fact that the boss is a teenager, or the fact that the boss is-was-Robin. They’re so intertwined that it doesn’t really matter, it’s just…

Antoine is not a parent. He’s happy to keep it that way; the best part of uncle-ing is dosing them up on sugar and releasing them back to the parents. So he doesn’t really get the whole ‘electrical outlets are a Great Danger’ thing. But he does get, maybe a little better than your average parent, the sick, twisted fucks of society. He’s worked with a handful. Spoken with more. He still remembers, years after the fact, that one guy...he ate people. Literally. He’d put a toddler in the oven-alive-and…

Yeah.

But this is a little different. This is...it’s one thing to hear about it. It’s another thing to be faced with it. And it’s another thing entirely to see it. That fucking tape, man…

He stretches out a bit, pops his back and rubs a hand over his side, feeling rough scar tissue. What a week. What an absolute hell of a week.

He’s on Knightwatch now, because everything outside is moving smoothly without him and Frank really, really needs the nap. The boss is finally sleeping peacefully, curled up on his side with one arm flung up to shield his face. He’s still shivering on and off, and he sounds congested as all get out, but the worst of it is over. No more screaming, no more pleading.

What now? He supposes they’ll stay the course, but he’s not sure, not really. Maybe this is the end. Maybe the boss will vanish in the middle of the night.

Jesus, that explains so much. Batman taught him all this weird shit. Batman...this is, arguably, entirely Batman’s fault. What sort of weirdo...never mind. Never mind.

As ever, he figures, this is a nasty combination of neglectful adult and opportunistic predator. This is the same thing as that one girl in his sister’s apartment complex that got kidnapped. Six years old, mother said, ‘yes, yes, go play by the road alone!’ and she got abducted and murdered. Somebody should have been watching her.

Somebody should have been watching the boss.

Doesn’t matter. People are watching him now, at least, whether he likes it or not.

He coughs and rolls over, one arm slipping off the bed. Antoine sighs and puts it back, straightens the sheets out like he’s seen Frank and his sister do, and wonders what’s going to happen now.

They could, he supposes, figure out who he-and by extension, Batman-is. Jimmy could run a facial recognition at the minimum. But they haven’t, and they don’t really intend to. Curious as they are, they owe him their lives and...and no matter how this turns out, he’s their boss and they won’t.

Antoine’s sort of lost in thought, caught up in memories of that little girl (what was her name?) and the cannibal and the utter confusion of everything, when the Knight suddenly jerks upright like he’s gonna make a break for it.

“Shit--”

He twists over and only feels a little sorry for forcing the Knight back down. The sorry feeling vanishes when the boss tries to fight him.

“No--”

“You gotta be kidding me--” It’s not much of a fight, but he’s still trying, which is incredibly unfair. “How even--there.”

Okay. There’s no easy weapons in here, which is all he can ask for. He’s not interested in being held at gunpoint again, thanks.

“You back with us, sir?”

The Knight’s quiet, breathing hard and seemingly very interested in the ceiling.

“We have an intruder,” he says, voice carefully flat. “I want every available unit search--”

Uh-huh.

“You wouldn’t have held this intruder at gunpoint, would you, sir?”

Silence. That’s what he thought. They’re professionals, for heaven’s sake. People don’t just get into their super-secret hidden base. That just doesn’t happen. Their own people have gotten lost trying to find their way back to it! Intruder, humph. That hurts.

…

Yeah, okay, he’s trying to maintain the facade of normalcy. Like. The helmet’s off, man, any weird-ass theories anybody’s had have now been put to rest in favor of the truth. But both of them are probably going to be happier if they just pretend that nothing has changed.

(Which is half-true. Baby Robin or not, the guy’s still scary.)

“What day is it,” he finally says, voice scarcely above a whisper. Antoine hits the call button.

“March third, sir.”

“Shit.”

Yup.

There’s no good response to that and the boss goes slack, one arm flung over his face. A minute later, Mark throws open the door with a grumpy, “What the fuck was that.”

“I--”

“Went the fuck down in the middle of the day thanks to a one-oh-four degree fever,” Mark seethes. “You have. The goddamn. Flu. People die from the flu, straight-up die, and you didn’t think to mention it! I’m not asking for much here. Just a little heads up. Y’know, ‘hey, Jones, I’m feelin’ pretty crappy, think you can poke your head in to make sure I didn’t die in the night?’ ‘Oh, sure thing, boss, happy to help, feel better!’” The smile he plasters on is frightening. The boss doesn’t like it, not one bit, and to Mark’s credit, he drops it pretty quick. “What were you thinking? Anything? Really, I’d love your thought process.”

“‘ve handled worse on my own,” the Knight mumbles, somewhere between sheepish and stubborn. “Thought a walk would clear my head.”

Sad thing is, Antoine believes him. The brand alone is not pretty, and while Mark hasn’t said much, what he has shared is disturbing.

And. Well. It’s not like the boss has been totally silent for the past few days. Once or twice he’d woken up screaming, the kind of awful sound Antoine associates with three-feet-thick walls and Professionals. Hell, Mark had collared Trent to come and look at something, and while neither of them are sharing, that’s Bad. Trent’s not a doctor, but he knows how to hurt people...and what they look like after.

“Well, it made you worse. You’re lucky you didn’t kill someone or yourself, parading around like that. Aight, you sit up, you clear out.”

Gladly.

“Feel better, sir,” he says. “We’ve got things handled out here, so just get some rest.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have a choice. Come on, up-up...be lucky if I let you out of my sight again after this...f’I have to give you weekly check-ups, that’s what’ll happen…”

Fuck Batman, Antoine thinks tiredly. This is his fault, things never should have advanced to the point that his...sidekick...kid...whatever ended up like this. How is Gotham not screaming about kids and guns anyway, huh? That just seems like Child Safety 101. He certainly makes sure all his toys are locked up tight when the niblings are over. He sure as hell wouldn’t give them a dull knife and tell them to, like, fight a trained mercenary. That seems like a terrible idea.

Whatever. It’s not going to go any farther. Boss he might be, but he’s just not going to be allowed to be an idiot, that’s all there is to it. No more vanishing off somewhere for three days, he’ll just have to check in or something. Frank can bully him about that. It’s for his own damn good.

THE END

[sadselfhelp]

Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks. 

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me. 

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing. 

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble. 

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one. 

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me. 

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

[clandestine-j]

Gossip Girl, EP. 4 Reaction & Review

Finally, I've gathered all of my thoughts for ep. 4! I had this really cool extra post to the intro and had more thoughts but then I lost the entire thing so I had to re-write the entire post SO, yeah, this is all I have for this part. Also, if anyone has those bts photos please let me know, i’m looking for the ones that have the audience reacting to max’s dick pick from the fashion show, aki biting his lip. please send. 

ADULTS:

Kate & CO: JAIL JAIL JAIL. We had that one teacher being turned on by incest and ruining kids lives. DO BETTER IN JAIL. I'll say tho, the male teacher makes a better gossip girl, he doesn't feel bad and is enjoying it. Kate could never.

Rafa: JAIL. JAIL. JAIL. JAIL. JAIL. I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU, WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU. I hate that they showed us this man having common sense. This man, pushing Max away sexually but understanding that he needs serious help. I hate that they just didn't have them flirting and show us him saying no, I'm so upset. I'm even more upset that I fell for him being the character to subvert the trope. I can only blame myself but blame HBO as well. I also hate the comments saying it's okay or well, the show needs scandal and spice. They could've been photographed together in normal clothes, just standing next to each other. Max could lie to GG. There are a bunch of ways these could become an IC scandal without having them cross the line. If you support this, you need help.

OUR KIDS:

Max: My boy needs therapy, lots of it. Maybe rehab. On one hand, he's being taken advantage of because he's clearly going through something and more than just his dads and he has been for a while. His escapism is dangerous and anyone would be able to prey on that. On the other hand, I need someone to beat his ass. His lines to Rafa about money and career were punch worthy and out-right willing to lie about Rafa doing something to him, even just to press Rafa's buttons. He needs help, he needs to be taught boundaries, he needs a lot. And why were the only two people concerned for his week-long disappearance Aki and Audrey, the whole squad should've had the guns out, friends since childhood, sure.

Obie: My boy, I get that you didn't like where you saw Zoya headed. I get that in some aspects you were right about her being a little too involved and suspecting Julien. That being said, she was having real problems and troubles and needed support. Do better. Obie still isn't the worst character on the show and many of them are SOOOO much worse. He doesn't deserve the all of the smoke he's been getting when their are better people for it.

Monet & Luna: I hate them as people and love them as characters that move the plot. I guess I could see how they thought the fuck school thing was horrible (and Julien too since she planned on showing Obie). The directors cut, I don't think they thought it'd ruin Zoya, they're just fucking cruel and found it funny. Let's box. Also, why are ya'll so pressed over this CHILD. Like get over it, find a real up-coming social media star. 

Aki & Audrey: My good sis, you brought a gay man to make Aki jealous. I'm sick, it was fucking funny. Her comments at first were off the wall, I wish the writers would've done something else but a lot of woman don't see it as normal so I sort of get it. I'm glad she came around by the end. And Aki...he was a little spicy this episode, my boy was ready to pop off a bit AND I AM HERE FOR IT. My dude said, 'I don't regret kissing him' I was THROWN. Aki being with Audrey helps me like her more because she's a bitch that's still ready to gun for a now 15 year old girl but her and Aki's relationship is cute. They could break up and be fine which is great, I love that their relationship is really more than just dating and the friendship is strong. I'm here for it.

Zoya: It's just bad writing but my head canon is trauma. Trauma from her moms death death, trauma from the past and current bullying that caused her lash out. I felt like this was her breaking point (so far) and anything gossip girl related as always came around to Julien. If she trusted Julien more, she wouldn't have thought of her as the person causing her issue's but she doesn't trust her. They were civil but even at the end of ep 2. Her 'hell yeah' to Julien about bonding was too dry, too dry. I think a big part of her just doesn't trust Julien and she'll always think the worse because she's seen mostly the worse. And that video, horrible, I'd hate everything about my birthday too after that and even before. Her emotions during the scene and the talk with Julien, ouch. And while I'm happy that Zoya found herself in the end, YES GIRL POP OFF. THIS IS WHAT I WANTED. THIS IS THE FLAVOR. I WAS WAITING FOR THIS AND I WANT MORE. I DEMAND MORE. I SEE A SPARK OF A BITCH, LET HER OUT GO, GO ALISON DELAOTRUINES ON THESE BITCHES.

Julien: Once again, I love Julien as a character, I know she's supposed to be struggling and for that, It's fun to watch her BUT. Julien could never be on my team, she's too wishy-washy. That is my issue, she's too, just...flip-floppy with no substance. Like, when she does things wrong, they're expected  to be forgiven / are forgiven without true reflection or anything on her part. She fucks up, she see's its wrong and then she says sorry and goes on it does it again. This episode was just the worst example, like, the moment she heard buffalo, she was ready to send in a tip. Instead of just doing the party normally and being best because she's hear, she sends the video to Monet. She believes Luna and Monet (Monet talking about her throne being taken when Zoya isn't even an influencer) and she eats it up. They were the ones who did the dick pick thing, like girl, THINK. And why does she never get the full plan, why would she not watch the video or why is she so shocked that Luna and Monet would play something like that? She knows them. Friends since childhood? Sure. Using your moms name to make the party about charity? SIS, THE FEUD IS NOT WORTH IT. She says she wants to be sisters but then she switches up so fast and the witches up again, it's whip-last and I'm sick. I hate that she's doing this to her and I hate even more that's is the writers fault. I don't mind a character having personal conflict but make it a conflict. Like after four episodes, why is she still friends with her sisters bullies? At the end of the episode, she says she's gonna tell them to lay down their weapons, NO, shut it down. correct them. make it clear and make it known. I love my girl because she's flawed but I wish they'd linger on things and have her really think about it. I was fine with the i'm sorry speech up until the camera part.

Other random thoughts

fuck the rafa max thing again, i'm not over, i will never be over it

evan mock isn't the best but he does give me face at times, his 'wtf stare', little sly looks, the 'wtf' moment when audrey first asked him if he was gay like 'this bitch' also, give him more annoyed, irritated scenes, he gives in those

have julien go full nice or full evil for a while, pick a side and stick with it for more than one episode

i wish zoya was a bitch at her old school but i'm fine with this too, it explains why she was so reactionary when it came to the bullying at constance, not again!

i wish we could've seen julien talk with davis after that stunt

nick and davis, KISS, the ride scene was 100%

don't talk about obie so soon

i like that she chose to be with julien for the night, it was cute

emily makes these faces that i can't get with

eli brown is a good actor, that shot of him during the traumatic reveal

i will say, zobie might be boring but when they talk, they talk, their communication is p good, i don't hate it

i’d be here for obie x aki bc they’re friends, they got chemistry, aki was giving look lil up and downs this episode, aki was giving a lot of looks this ep, honestly, idk i just don’t want him heart broken 

aki menzies is still my comfort character

i couldn't take rafa serious with his ass out,

whitney's acting in that talk scene, perfect, my girl had me in tears because DAMN

jordan is pretty good but in that scene, go girl, give me nothing

fuck max and rafa

max lied about his dads or at least one, AT LEAST one, i don't think they'd do that, he saw his in and took it

aki and aud, just have that open relationship, ya'll will make it, the way he tucked into her, it was so sweet

davi and nick secret relationship plot

jail for all of the teachers, once again

the hallway scene was great, the cinematography is been clutch overall

music wasn't as jarring

that's about it! i have more thoughts on the show overall that might be another post, they have a lot of amazing ideas but they need to stick with one and flush it out is the overall gist, i'm still into it!

can't wait for five bc i love the angst that's about to hit.

[itsclydebitches]

Welcome back, everyone! Starting here in Chapter Six these recaps are doing double duty with my latest attempt at completing National Novel Writing Month. Granted, this isn’t a novel and yes, I technically started this project well before November, but there’s no way I’d manage 50,000 words of fiction in 2020, so I’m hoping to hit that with these recaps instead. You all get semi-frequent updates and I may get to finally say I completed this challenge! That’s a win-win as far as I’m concerned.

Quick reminder: new teams, CFVY was separated, everything is awful. There, done. Seventy-five pages in we’ve come back to Velvet’s point of view as she and the other students are carted off in airbuses. She’s experiencing the “same shock and dismay” that she saw on Yatsuhashi’s face before they were separated, thus I’d like to re-emphasize last chapter’s argument that though shaking up the teams isn’t inherently a bad idea, doing it in this way while your students are recovering from/still involved in a war is… not so great for their mental health. Yeah, yeah, Remnant is a hard place and these kids experience traumatic events on the weekly, but still. There’s a fine line between preparing students for that kind of life and simply traumatizing them further, because this is a kind of trauma when the teams so heavily rely on one another - fill every aspect of one another’s lives: friend, colleague, family, teacher, student, leader, follower, romantic partner - and you’re now uprooting them with no warning. Whether or not new teams actually happen, the students think they are and that’s messing with their heads. Basically they’re just:

This problem is highlighted when we get confirmation of what I stated last time: the teams aren’t merely colleagues turned friends, but family. These fighters have got all their emotional eggs in one basket. Velvet goes so far as to imply that she loves her team more than her parents, with the logic being that they (her parents) “never talked to each other anymore.” So… if Coco and Yatsuhashi stopped talking would that undermine your love for each of them as individuals? I get what the overall takeaway is - divorce is a nasty business and can leave lasting scars on kids caught in the middle, to say nothing of the fact that, as a young adult, Velvet is poised to start creating a family by choice, not blood - but it’s still an odd way to phrase the issue. Here we have another instance of me picking up on implications due to RWBY, the franchise’s, overall themes. When you’ve got a story so thoroughly touting a teens vs. adults mentality, having Velvet mentally reject her parents for her team reads differently than it otherwise would. Chock that onto the pile that already includes things like, ‘Ruby denies that Qrow ever helped her’ and ‘Yang is no longer a part of grieving for Summer’ and ‘Weiss seems to have forgotten all that Klein did for her.’ There’s a lot of uncomfortable details attached to our heroes and how they see the adults in their lives, parents included.

Velvet doesn’t get to worry for long though. A much happier voice sounds across the airbus and she spots Sun, classically hanging from his tail. Instead of hearing more about her fears we segue into - you guessed it - Sun bashing. The first thought to pop into her head is that Sun “wasn’t with the rest of his team, but knowing Sun, that might have been his decision.”

...Velvet, you just tried desperately to stay with your own team and were (somehow) swept away by the apparently overwhelming crowed (still ridiculous imo). But if you didn’t manage this, what makes you think Sun had a chance? Why is his separation suddenly a potential choice when yours was presented as nothing of the sort? That is some real insistence on thinking the worst of him. I dragged Sun for abandoning his team in Volume 4 because that was abandonment. It was a choice worthy of criticism. This? This was outside of his control and Velvet knows it.

Sun saw her, smiled, and waved. Velvet looked away.

Nice, Velvet.

He comes over anyway and (kindly!) asks if she’s okay. Velvet says no, specifically because “Yatsu and I were separated.” Here we have another example of how close the partners get even within each team. Blake and Yang are inseparable. Ruby talks to Weiss more than her sister (and the concept of her talking to Blake in any meaningfully way is hilarious at this point). Now, despite being separated from her entire team - everyone is in the same awful boat - Velvet frames the situation as just being separated from Yatsuhashi. Later she repeats, “Well, I still want to try to find Yatsu.” So would it be a disappointment to find Fox or Coco instead? It’s especially weird because in the main show we see Velvet and Coco interacting the most. I actually had to look up who Velvet’s partner was because I just assumed our two girls were a duo. Apparently not. I’m not really into the CFVY side of the fandom, but I imagine there’s a substantial ship community for these two based solely on how Velvet embraces RWBY partnerships in this book, outside of the always popular Velvet/Coco, of course.

That’s admittedly a ship I can get behind. 

After Velvet unloads all her worries “Sun stared ahead, like he couldn’t quite manage to feel bad.” Attention, readers, this is an important lesson coming up! In fandom spaces I often see people analyzing novels (and other print media/visual media with narration) without taking into consideration the perspective. Unless we’ve got an omniscient perspective we need to take into account that our narrator might, simply put, be wrong (and even then, omniscient unreliable narrators are a popular choice). Often I see readers taking a characters’ thoughts - and words - at face value, which is understandable given that we’re meant to emotionally connect with them, but we have to keep in mind that this is their interpretation of events. We see the story through their eyes, how they perceive the world, but their perception of the world may not be accurate or, at the very least, is open to further interpretation. Sometimes this is used in an obvious, plot-driven manner - there’s a surprise twist for the reader, made possible because our protagonist was likewise kept in the dark - but it applies to our reading of more casual interactions too. This is a good example. Just because Velvet says Sun looks “like he couldn’t quite manage to feel bad” doesn’t mean that’s actually how Sun feels. As we’ve just re-established, Velvet is inclined to think the worst of Sun, or at least consider the worst as a distinct possibility. So if we’re asking the question, “Is Velvet’s perspective accurate to reality here?” weighing her previous assumptions against actions like Sun smiling, waving, and asking how she’s doing, AKA caring about her situation… I’d say no, it’s likely not.

At least she doesn’t outright accuse him of anything. Given that he’s not privy to these insulting thoughts, Sun chatters on about the test. He thinks it “isn’t a bad idea” because, as established, a lot of students lost teammates and are having trouble settling into Shade while still trying to live the life they had at Beacon. Changing the teams could be a “chance to really commit to our new school and our training, and learn from one another in a new way.” That’s what I think!

“Right… Or maybe some of us burned bridges with our team and might be looking for an easy way to avoid fixing those relationships.”

Velvet what the actual fuck. Can our cast NOT be assholes for five minutes??

Sun goes red at the accusation and calls her out on being harsh. “Tough love” Velvet calls it. Okay, no. Tough love is reserved for people you’re actually friends with and is meant to have them face a harsh reality they might be avoiding. Sun is avoiding an overt apology with his team, but we (and Velvet) have been given no indication that his thoughts on the test are a smokescreen to hide ulterior motives, which is what she’s talking about here. Sun clearly wants to make up with his team, he’s just struggling to accept what needs to be done to do that. Tough love would have been Velvet encouraging Sun to use this separation to reflect on what his team means to him and then, regardless of whether they end up back together, apologizing for how he unintentionally hurt them. Not… this. Plus, again, Velvet hasn’t exactly been friendly lately. She has little ground for dishing out “tough love.” You need established “love” before the “tough” part.  

In addition, she’s not listening to what Sun’s saying. “If they want us prepared for an attack, breaking up teams sounds counterproductive.” When did Sun mention anything about an attack? That’s your assumption of what’s going down based on the illegal investigation you’ve been assisting with. Sun just said that changing the teams would provide some of them with a much needed clean slate, which is true. Just because that’s not what Velvet needs doesn’t mean it’s not useful for others. As she eventually acknowledges, they can get too comfortable in the roles they’ve been playing.

We get her line about wanting to find Yatsuhashi followed by, “Sun, you do whatever you want. That’s what you’re good at.” Velvet seriously? Then minutes later she’s hoping Sun sticks close to her if he can. Real talk: everyone deserves better than this. ‘Friends’ who constantly act like your presence is a burden, insult you whenever they get the chance, insist such insults are for your benefit (it’s just tough love), but then turn around and play nice when you have something they want... those aren’t friends. Note that Velvet is - both privately and overtly - mean to Sun while he’s just existing in the airbus, going through the same horrible test as her, trying to be nice, and holding an otherwise civil conversation. While trapped on the bus with nowhere to go, Sun is a nuisance despite his best efforts. When the floor suddenly opens up and Velvet is terrified of falling and surviving on her own though, then his presence is desirable. That’s not friendship and in another story I’d praise the author(s) for writing a compelling move from shaky acquaintances to a strong bond… but I’m honestly not sure that the relationship (any of them, really) will improve. Far as I can gather, Myers thinks this is friendship.

So Velvet accuses Sun of always and forever hurting others in his pursuit of doing what pleases him (after checking in on Velvet… literally minutes ago…) which is right around when Scarlet decides to make himself known. He agrees with Sun’s belief that this test will be harder than they assume: “I think you’re right… For a change.” Everything comes with a caveat. Apparently Scarlet has been listening in the whole time, but somehow manages to turn that into an insult as well with “I’ve been standing five feet away. Maybe I’m ready for a new team, too.” Wait, is the implication that Scarlet is further annoyed because Sun didn’t notice him? Do you all have ANY idea how many times a friend has stood right next to me and I didn’t notice them because I was caught up in something like work, a show… a conversation? I’m oblivious af. I get that Sun has things to make up for but at the very least these characters could keep their criticisms to what he’s actually done wrong, not crazy reaches like, ‘Sun probably abandoned his team when everyone was separated’ or ‘Sun was busy talking to Velvet and didn’t notice me eavesdropping, so I guess I don’t mean much to him, huh.’ I’m constantly torn between the presumed realism of this writing - people are unfair in their criticisms, teens do hold unsubstantiated grudges - and acknowledging that Myers seems to have felt confident writing (1) personality and just gave it to everyone. Velvet privately becomes as critical as Coco, who is as vocal as Fox, who agrees with Yatsuhashi, who echoes Sun’s team, and Sun himself often throws that attitude right back. Round and round we go. 

As one might imagine, the three begin theorizing about what the test itself will be like. Usually Shade sets up initiation just like this. Students are transported in windowless airbuses, dumped in the desert, and told to find their way home. I’m interested in the bit about how teams are made up not only based on arrival, but also “the manner in which [the students] survived.” It definitely lends support to the assumption I’ve always had that the teams can really be random. At least not entirely. There’s strategy on the part of the instructors, thinking through aspects like, ‘Well, these two students used their wits in this manner so they’d pair together nicely.’ Or the reverse, ‘Put together the strategist with the student in love with blunt force, let them balance each other out.’ I certainly don’t think that Ozpin formed teams based solely on who ran into each other first. Not only do we have agency on the part of the students (Weiss leaves Ruby, then Jaune, then goes back to Ruby), as well as the fact that two sets of partners had to be paired together someway, but Ozpin was also carefully watching their whole performance. If the only thing that mattered was getting back to Beacon with a chess piece, why bother examining their choices? Shade appears to employ a similar setup of careful decisions portrayed as randomness, which would make sense given that Ozpin set up these schools. Though all the headmasters may not realize it (is Theodore a part of the inner circle?), or perhaps don’t agree with his methods overall, Ozpin’s influence is undeniably evident in each institution we’ve seen. 

The only difference between normal initiation and this test seems to be that the students have to find a gold figurine this time around. Though as our trio points out, there’s likely to be other differences as well, otherwise the original Shade students would have a pretty significant advantage. 

During all this Velvet remanences about Beacon’s initiation and we learn that Ozpin does, apparently, use the whole ‘Throw you into the woods where you’ll find some relic’ setup each year, as Velvet remembers being “thrown into the air” during hers. She also hits on another concern that hadn’t crossed my mind until now: what if a team includes a new student alongside the “more vocal in harassing recruits from Beacon and Haven?” It might do the Shade students some good to get to know the newcomers, but it’s not the newcomers’ responsibility to teach them some basic respect and kindness. 

During all this Rumpole, via a screen, has been explaining how the test will go down. Her little info session concludes with her telling them to “Prepare for drop-off… See you back home soon.” I really like that she used the term “home” here. It says something about how she views the school and her students’ place in it, despite the tough attitude and tougher culture of Vacuo.

Turns out, when Rumpole said drop-off she meant that literally. The floor opens up and we get a mix of some students panicking while others just happily jump out. 

Yeet. 

Like I said, Ozpin’s influence. 

I didn’t understand the panic initially - aren’t landing strategies a basic part of huntsmen training, something everyone (except Jaune) is expected to know coming into a school? Isn’t it at least partway through the year when everyone, even firsties, has had practice at this? - until I remembered Rumpole’s comment about how she hoped everyone remembered to bring their weapons this morning.

…that’s one hell of a lesson. Let’s break this down for a second. Yes, everyone at Shade is expected to carry their weapons at all times, but the meeting that started all this was early in the morning and, far as I can tell, entirely unexpected. ‘Supposed to’ is not the same thing as ‘will,’ especially when one is dealing with college-equivalent students who are still figuring expectations out. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that someone did leave their weapon behind. So now what? These buses are thousands of feet in the air, dropping students randomly as they jump/fall. If a student did need help how in the world would a professor assist them? Do they just expect other students to help like Pyrrha did for Jaune? It’s possible given that in a moment Octavia will help Velvet despite seeming to dislike her... but that’s not something I’d want to bank on. Whether a student forgot their weapon or has a weapon unsuited to a landing strategy, they’re going to die from this fall. Yeah, yeah, the test is supposed to be deadly, but what’s there to learn then? You’re dead! The lesson ‘Don’t forget your weapon’ or ‘Find a weapon more suited to landing strategies’ will never stick unless there are contingency plans in place to ensure that students survive their first mistakes. 

It just all seems kind of flimsy, like everything works out because the plot says it must, not because I believe this in-world setup is geared towards keeping students alive and teaching them how to survive this world. (The reverse of the story conveniently not killing civilians off during a major grimm attack.) If landing strategies are so crucial to a huntsmen’s work - and we see them a lot - why are students allowed to have weapons like Yatsuhashi’s Fulcrum that, far as I can see, provide you with no way of slowing your descent? What if you don’t have a suitable semblance? Or it hasn’t been unlocked yet? What if your weapon would work, theoretically, but you haven’t taken any pictures of other suitable weapons lately (Velvet)? What if you never figure out that there are parachutes on the ship? Unless the instructors have a secret way of saving someone from getting splattered, this seems like a test rife with deadly mistakes, not just encounters. Why not teach your students to carry mini high-tech parachutes on their belts, with weapons and semblances as backups? Incorporate Atlas tech into standard schooling, then give us huntsmen who suddenly have it taken away with the embargo, resulting in a lot of problems. I mean, the students are legit scared in this scene, Velvet included. Having them face deadly grimm is one thing, but why test the odds with a thousand foot plunge when there’s absolutely no reason to? Far as I can see, the schooling isn’t built around ensuring they survive a fall like this - nothing like weapon requirements, or carrying additional gear if you semblance is something like Ren’s - which means making the fall a part of the test itself is... not great. 

Which, to be clear, is the fault of the author(s) and how much thought (or not) they’ve put into their fictional school, not the fictional school’s fault because it’s, you know, fictional. Basically, the world building in this series kind of drives me nuts, in case you haven’t noticed lol. 

Velvet does find the parachutes, oh so conveniently, and at least has the decency to give one to Sun. Also yeah, kudos for thinking to search for them in the first place. I do like the ‘survival is the only thing that counts’ theme. Cheating, lying, and the like is great when it’s used because the odds are already stacked against you. We get her agreement to try and stick close because remember, there’s nothing like a dangerous situation to remind you to be decent towards someone else. As Velvet magnanimously thinks, “Being with Sun would be better than being alone.”

Okay. Low bar, but okay. 

So they fall and we get to hear a fair bit about Vacuo’s history based on what Velvet remembers about each landmark from history class. Honestly, I’m impressed at her recall. I wouldn’t be able to dredge up class notes while falling through the air. We get an abandoned city previously hidden by sand and the somewhat confusing sentence, “These were all that was left of the underground mines, the Drylands, the site of the old Paradise Oasis, long since dried up following Dust mining and the Great War.” Are these three separate places among the rock-less area pockmarked with holes? Or is this a single area of underground mines, called the Drylands (for some reason?), that includes the contrasting place called Paradise Oasis? I’m not sure. The takeaway though is that Velvet hopes Coco isn’t heading to that ambiguously named place because she’s incredibly claustrophobic.

What I find the most informative in all this is the description of the quarries as “physical manifestations of the wounds that still ran deep in the people of Vacuo.” The overall issue of outsiders coming into Vacuo, draining it of its resources, and then taking it back to their own kingdoms (while leaving their trash behind) is the sort of theme significant to our own lives and worthy of examination in fiction… Not saying that RWBY necessarily handles this theme well - especially given the messy conflation of that generational trauma and the awful treatment of any ‘outsider’ who wanders into the kingdom - but I do appreciate when I can see the series trying. Even if it fails, effort is (to an extent) still worth acknowledgement.

What I’m less inclined to praise is the strange follow up of “maybe that was why Rumpole was sending students there.” …what does this mean? Velvet just told us the quarries are the “wounds” of Vacuo, so are they being sent there because they’re dangerous? Because huntsmen will somehow fix this?? Neither of these make sense but I literally don’t know what point Myers is trying to make… which happens a lot. Again, there’s a whole lot of wise-sounding statements in this novel that, at the end of the day, mean very little - if anything at all.

Velvet eventually lands, nearly getting pulled into one of the openings when she can’t get out of her parachute. She’s saved at the last moment by Octavia Ember, a member of Team NDGO. You know, “One of the people she least wanted to run into.” We all knew the moment Velvet worried about running into one of the crueler members of Shade that it would happen.

Their conversation is filled with heartfelt gratitude and riveting greetings:

“Thanks?” Velvet said.

“Whatever.” Octavia sheathed her blade and started walking away. That was more like it.

What is wrong with all of these people? My kingdom for a kind, enthusiastic, non-team exchange!

You know the ‘enemies forced to work together’ conflict couldn’t end there though (a trope I normally love and would likely love here except having Octavia be another stereotypical mean girl was the least innovative choice possible). She and Velvet end up heading towards the same quarry, simply because there’s nothing else for miles around. Velvet displays some quick thinking when she explains that the instructors likely hid the relics in there to ensure they weren’t forever hidden under the sand. Velvet, unlike Yatsuhashi, has also realized that there’s more to the test than just their fighting skills. They’ll be graded on everything, “Including how we treat each other.” I’m always appreciative of characters who use their brains as much as their brawns.

Perhaps that not-so-subtle nudge resonated with Octavia because she opens up a bit. By this I mean she moves from “Whatever” to telling Velvet the traumatizing story of how she lost a third of her clan to Blind Worms in one of these quarries. Okay. That’s a complete 180, but I’ll take it. Velvet continues to have supposed insights about the Vacuans like, ‘Maybe they don’t cry because that’s a waste of water?’ and ‘Maybe they hate everyone on principal because of the past?’ and ‘I guess bullying is just something you’re supposed to survive out here’ (um… no.) In Velvet - and Myers’ - defense she acknowledges that none of these explanations excuse their actions… but I’m not so sure it explains them either. A few chapters ago we were hammering home how teens don’t have an emotional connection to their past, despite it not actually being that long ago (recall Coco’s conversation with Rumpole in class), but now we’re supposed to believe that all of these teens reject newcomers because of stuff that happened during a war they weren’t alive for? Also, I’m neither a doctor nor an anthropologist, but the concept of a desert people refusing to cry because it’s a waste of water - especially in an otherwise advanced civilization - seems suspect. I can buy someone being unable to cry because they’re currently dehydrated, but a whole culture denying themselves this outlet when most of them don’t actually lack water anymore is odd.

Granted, culture isn’t always logical. Case in point: memes. So let’s give that a pass. 

However, we’ve still got the issue of continuity across paragraphs. First Velvet is smug because she’s a better climber than Octavia. Then Octavia is ahead and supposedly annoyed that Velvet was slowing her down. It’s unclear when, or if, they’ve finished climbing at this point and a second later Octavia is climbing a tree - why didn’t Velvet do that? Really, I lay little blips like this at the feet of the editors, not the author(s), simply because as an author I know precisely how easy it is to lose track of every detail you’ve introduced. It becomes obvious to the reader when things don’t quite align, but it will often go unnoticed by the writer - like typos. (RIP my own work.) Which is why you need that second perspective to not just catch the big mistakes, but tweak all the smaller ones too. RWBY is now a part of WarnerMedia and Before the Dawn was published by Scholastic. There’s a standard here I don’t think either is meeting.

As said previously though, Octavia climbs a tree because Velvet - with faunus eyes - spotted a trinket the others had missed. Octavia falls, Velvet catches her, and a whole swarm of Ravagers show up, which seem to be a bat-like grimm. Nice. My gothic, vampire, Stellaluna loving ass can get behind that. 

Behold: my childhood.

They make a run for it and we - finally - get some solidarity as Octavia admits that the relic is technically Velvet’s and Velvet wonders in turn if they can share it. I offered my kingdom for a kind exchange and I got it! Hurray! More importantly, apparently that is an option because the airbus coordinates have shown up on both their scrolls. I’m not going to pretend that I understand how that tech works, but that’s a level of world building we don’t actually need. Not unless the hypothetical of students piggybacking on another’s relic is a part of the evaluation. 

I love that Velvet used her camera flash to scare off the Ravager in their way. That’s a fantastic twist on the ‘Velvet will use her semblance and impress Octavia’ expectation as well as a great way to demonstrate that she is a formidable fighter, capable of paying attention to her situation/surroundings and responding accordingly.

There are more Ravagers though, incoming Blind Worms, an avalanche… and the airbus. A narrow escape indeed. Octavia drops that attention-catching, “Thank the Brothers” as they reach safety.

Going back to my earlier point about Shade seeming happy to kill its kids, apparently Velvet and Octavia were the last to reach the bus and Sun told the pilot to wait. That says good things about Sun, but horrible things about the test. If Sun hadn’t insisted on staying would Octavia and Velvet have had a way out? Why in the world wasn’t the pilot told to wait longer?? The whole timeline is confusing, with Sun and Velvet leaving the airship only a short time after everyone else, but it looks like the whole group was way ahead of them (the quarry is empty of both relics and people by the time they arrive), except Sun managed to get super far ahead of Velvet somehow, and their pilot was apparently working under an unspoken deadline… I’m just taking information at face value because if you try to piece it all together, good luck.

Also sorry, but I straight up laughed at Sun’s “You woke up the Ravagers. And you lived to tell the tale.” That is so unnecessarily dramatic. Oh no. Not the Ravagers. Literally the first thing I thought of was some B horror movie like

Coming only to a streaming service near your couch because we’re still living through a pandemic. Wear your masks, friends!

Back to this very entertaining reaction. Sun, you and Velvet have both taken out Atlesian knights, you fought a gigantic sea monster with Blake, and Velvet just bypassed a nest of Ravagers with a simple bright light. If RWBY is going to randomly try and make the grimm threatening again, do it with stuff that actually reads as a significant threat to these fighters. After you’ve got your first years blasting through (Yang) and riding (Nora) bear grimm at initiation, a couple of bat grimm just doesn’t cut it. 

Moving on, Velvet’s iffy perspective rears its head once more as she thinks, “What if Sun had passed by the trinket in the tree, knowing it would be too dangerous to retrieve it? She and Octavia had not had that luxury.”

There’s a lot wrong with this theory: 

How do you know Sun has better vision, even as a fellow faunus? As Volume 7’s Tyrian attack brought to the surface, supposedly not every faunus has that advantage.

Velvet straight up says that she wasn’t able to see the Ravagers, otherwise she would have warned Octavia about them. The whole point is that they startled her and she fell. So what, Sun not only has faunus vision but better than Velvet’s? (Do monkeys have better vision than rabbits? I have no idea, but this is the kind of stuff I would google if I wanted to potentially draw attention to it in my book). 

If that trinket was too dangerous to retrieve, why did the instructors put it there in the first place? Fox mentioned things being unfair with his lack of sight, but that’s a pretty big difference: easy grabs in a supposedly abandoned quarry vs. a grab that wakes up the whole nest of grimm.

“She and Octavia had not had that luxury” why does this sound like another dig at Sun? Like it’s worth criticizing that he… got there first? Got lucky with the relics closer to the floor? Probably because everything is a dig at Sun in this book, including Velvet’s surprise that he might have “respect in his eyes.” Velvet! He was just asking about you, made the bus wait, and has always worn his heart on his sleeve! Sun’s respect/care is not in question, only how he chooses (at times) to display it.

Not that the story seems to get that. We can’t work through Sun’s questionable choices if we’re stuck in this never ending loop of ‘He’s so annoying/incompetent/willfully cruel’ into ‘Hark! is that a positive trait I see?’ and then back to ‘Never mind he’s awful.’ Maybe Velvet’s pride at his reaction to the Ravagers will finally move things forward.

Which is where we leave off. The airbus scares off the other Ravagers with its guns, the group heads back towards Shade (or a second part of the test? That did feel too much like a normal initiation to be fair), and Velvet ends with the equally dramatic line, “The initiation ritual had been hard and almost deadly, and even worse was yet to come: the assignment of the new teams.”

I have to say though, that is the most teen-accurate thought I’ve seen so far. An 18 year old would be more scared of their team social life than getting eaten by a monster lol.

On that note, drop a comment or an ask if you feel like being social yourself and I’ll see you during the next burst of NaNoWriMo energy! 💜

[ Ko-Fi ]

[musingsofanunorgainizedmind]

Top 10 Things I Love About Supernatural

It’s been almost half a year since the show ended and now that the dust has settlIed, I just want to list ten reasons I love this show. Despite it’s flaws, it’s been quite the ride.

1. Team Free Will

When I first got the idea to make this list, I originally planned on doing entirely separate entries for “Sam & Dean” and “Destiel”. Except then I wanted to pay tribute to “Sastiel”. And then I wanted to do an entry for “Team Free Dads”. By that point, I was already halfway through the list and I hadn’t even moved on from the main characters. A few months ago, I made a post about why I love every single pairing in this group. Obviously, Sam and Dean are a legendary duo. Obviously, Dean and Cas have an unparalleled story. Obviously, Sam and Cas are an underrated team. As for Team Free Dads, I’ve always had a soft spot for father/mentor figure characters and and all three tackle the role in different ways. I love Jack, too. I love how everyone in this bizarro family is “broken” in some way. We’ve got the Allistair’s prized pupil, the spawn of satan, the boy with demon blood, and the angel who nearly obliterated all of heaven. But they help each other heal by being supportive and seeing the good in each other. They all love each other so deeply and when together, nothing can stand in their way. Not Michael, not Lucifer, and not God himself. They tore up the book and wrote their own story. And it was a pleasure to watch it all unfold.

2. The Suppporting Characters

To list every single supporting character I have loved and lost in this show would take way too long. I don’t know if it’s the writing or acting performances, but I love pretty much every single supporting character on this show. Even villains like Azazel or Allistair are top-notch villains. Hell, I even like characters like Metatron, Lucifer, Mary, and John! Characters like Rufus, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena, Kevin, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Gabriel, Balthazar, Mick...how am I not supposed to love them??? All of their stories were cut so short. I’d watch a show about any of these characters. The Wayward Sisters were robbed. So many ships were gone too soon (Sam/Rowena, Dean/Jo, Cas/Meg, Etc.). So many heartbreaking deaths. I want to be best friends with all these characters. Why be a “dean-girl” or a “sam-girl” when you can be a garth-girl? A kevin-girl? A claire-girl? A bela-girl? There are so many great characters with interesting and compelling backstories and so much untapped potential. I could go on forever on this, but I digress.This show has one of the best supporting casts I have ever had the pleasure of watching.

3. The Themes

It’s no accident that I got addicted to this show at the time that I did. Namely, my Senior Year of College and 2020. Graduating college and entering the “real world” felt like it’s own sort of apocalypse. 2020 definitely exacerbated my worst tendencies. Messages like “family don’t end in blood”, “you can write your own story”, and “always keep fighting” really resonated with me. I could definitely relate to the feelings of insecurity these character’s felt and the ways they suppressed/repressed their issues instead of facing them. I could relate to the feelings of not fitting in and I could definitely relate to the loneliness. This show helped remind me that I’m not alone. That it’s okay if my values and identity don’t line up with the what I envisioned for myself. And, most importantly, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and that I should never give up. If Dean, Sam, and Cas can keep moving forward despite their demons and despite how bad it gets, so can I. Regardless of how the story ended, these themes resonated with me and I’ll still hold them with me. A single episode can’t take that away.

4. The Fun Episodes

This show has so many legendary standalone episodes. Changing Channels. Ghostfacers. The French Mistake. Fan Fiction. Tall Tales. Bad Day at Black Rock. When this show goes for the absurd, it goes all-in. It takes the risks it needs to take, it gets completely insane, and it pulls it off. So many of these episodes could have easily been the moment that the show “jumped the shark”. Yet, time after time, the show delivered on it’s potential. I don’t know how much I can say about these episodes except that they made me laugh out loud, made me fall even harder for these characters, and that they’re the episodes I remember best. If I were to rewatch any episode, it would be one of the fun ones. This show knew how to not take itself too seriously and how to poke fun at itself. I’ve always had a soft spot for shows that can make me laugh and cry (X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel, Doctor Who, etc.), and this show definitely nails the fun part. 

5. The Sad Episodes

Death’s Door. Hammer of the Gods. Despair. Carry On. Abandon All Hope. In My Time of Dying. Swan Song. When this show wants you to cry, it doesn’t pull the punches. It gets downright devastating. No character is safe. Literally every character you love will either be forgotten or will die. Or both. The amount of trauma Sam and Dean have to go through is insane. Both have literally been to hell and back. Both have killed countless people, including innocents. When this show decides it wants to wreck you, it’s overwhelming. I sobbed when Bobby died. I sobbed when every single member of Team Free Will died for the final time (I still can’t watch any of those scenes). I still wish Jo, Ellen, Charlie, Kevin, Mick, and Gabriel had been given more time to tell their stories. Being a hunter means a life of endless angst. Being an angel or demon doesn’t get you off the hook, either. I remember going into this show thinking it couldn’t hurt me. My favorite character type is “mentor/father figure”. But holy hell...I don’t think every single sad moment was necessarily good writing, but when it was? Damn. 

6. The Biblical Themes

I’m not a relgious person. But, despite this show being steeped in Christian mythology, it really touched on my feelings about the Old Testament in a profound way. Well, really just Ben Edlund and Robbie Thompson did. I’ve never seen a show really hit the overall feel of the bible the way this show does. The idea of Angels as mystical and terrifying creatures. The idea of God as a flawed father figure with a penchant for wrath. The sheer epicness of the biblical stories. The idea of family members constantly being turned on each other. Cain and Abel. Jacob and Essau. Moses and Ramses. Moses and Aaron. Abraham and Isaac. The bible is full of stories of family drama. This show doesn’t always give angels and demons weight. Sometimes it’s silly and stupid and cheesy. But when it hits right? It’s epic. This is more of a personal thing I love about the show, but definitely a plus!

7. The Music

The early seasons music is so good. I really miss the classic rock of the golden era of the show. I mean, there are still some great musical moments later on, but damn. I loved hearing songs I recognized and I loved learning new songs. I loved when the song and the scene hit perfectly in time (Death’s intro. Cas’s return in Season 13.). Also Supernatural wouldn’t be Supernatural without the ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ song at the end of every season. Even at the end of a season I didn’t love, that recap would always get me pumped. Also Chuck singing Fare Thee Well? Dean and Lee singing together? Fan Fiction? All great. 

8. The Cast & Crew

I never care about the actors or actresses in a show. I definitely don’t bother with the names of specific writers and directors or their styles of writing/directing. They’re just random people who happen to write for or play these characters I love. They’re not actually the characters. But these guys? Well, for one, I’m pretty sure half this cast actually is their character. At least to some degree. They’re also just...really cool people? Who are all friends? They make a point to do community service, to interact with fans, and to promote positive ideas. Jared’s Always Keep Fighting campaign. Misha and GISH. The fact that they all participate in fundraising opportunities and encourage fan engagement. Do they all have issues? Definitely. Have they said stupid things? Yes. But the good far outweighs the bad. They’re an entertaining bunch whether onscreen or not and I hope they all do well in whatever their future endeavors may be.  

9. The Fandom

I joined this fandom late. To be honest, I thought this fandom was obnoxious before I found myself a part of it. Now that I’ve been in the trenches? It’s got it’s ups and downs like any fandom. There are some parts that are more toxic than others. A lot of people yelling that their opinion is the only opinion. But overall? The good outweighs the bad. And the good? The good is great. Some fanfictions I’ve read are better than actual books I’ve read and just as moving. The fanart? Incredible. I love reading all the metas about random aspects of the show I never would have noticed. I love the music videos and I love the analytical videos. In real life, I’ve made many friends through our mutual love of this show. Hell, even getting sucked into GISH once or twice has given me some solid memories and brought me closer to friends. I wish all fandoms were this much like family. I’m so glad I got to be a part of this fandom and I can’t wait to continue being a fan. After all, nothing ever stays dead in Supernatural.

10. The Chaos & Insanity

Season 16 has been a time. First, Destiel went canon. Then suddenly Sherlock was having a 5th season, Putin was retiring, and Georgia was going blue. Destiel going “canon” and Joe Biden winning the presidency will always be correlated in my mind now. Things in the fandom went from quiet to blaringly loud real fast. Carry On happened. The fandom went into a civil war. I can’t even remember half of what happened in Season 16, but it’s been a wild ride. There’s been ups (my personal favorite being the french dub and the Saileen wedding). There’s been downs (Jared’s controversial statements and the original scripts being leaked). At one point Misha Collins had sex with Bill Clinton???? It’s been a wild time. It’s honestly gotten me through the end of this pandemic. At least it’s entertaining. I would say that at least all the craziness is over, but is it ever really over? Every time I say that something else completely insane happens. But it’s been fun. I’m glad I started watching this show despite my reservations and here’s to whatever happens next. 

[literaryspinster]

Oneshot: It’s Just Emotions Taking Me Over

I wrote a quick thing based on s3 news and the @dickkorysource february prompt, trust. Yes, I know it’s October, nobody’s perfect. Enjoy! Her scream is piercing, bone rattling, heartbreaking. He hears it from all the way across the lair. They infiltrated this old, retrofitted warehouse to find Jason, to bring him back to himself before it’s too late. But it may be too late for someone else now. The fear toxin is in her and there’s no telling what damage it can do if he can’t get to her in time. 

He forgets everything, forgets his number one mission, forgets about the others, and runs toward Kory’s intense screams as fast as he can. This is what he was afraid of the first time he realized her powers had left her. It never would have happened had they been intact. She could have blocked it. And although she’s still one of the best and cleverest fighters on the team, she wouldn’t hurt Jason. 

Kory, his kind, compassionate warrior, so convinced that Crane getting his hooks and his drugs into Jason wasn’t the boy’s fault. And now, she may die by his hand unless Dick can stop it. 

She’s on the ground by the time he gets to her. She’s alone, convulsing and writhing on the cold, concrete floor, seeing something that he can’t. Jason has fled, and Dick grits his teeth in anger at his wayward charge as he falls to Kory’s side. He understands nothing she says in her flailing, shrieking horror. The only word he recognizes is “Komand’r,” because she mutters it in her sleep enough for him to know that it’s a thing. Who or what Komand’r is, Kory hasn’t disclosed yet, all he knows is that the fear toxin has zeroed in on it bigtime. 

He moves closer, careful not to get hit. No such luck, the second Kory spots him in the corner of her eye, her fist lands solidly into his jaw. She jerks back from him and against the wall, yelling her mysterious alien language, her eyes frenzied and flooded with tears. He shakes off the hit as well as he can, and swallows hard, trying to keep a cool head in spite of his racing heart.

“Kory,” he says, too lowly to be heard through her anguished screams. And he starts again, inching forward, little by little, his hand creeping toward an escrima stick. But just then, before he can touch her, something happens that he hasn’t seen in months. The deep sea green of her eyes transforms into that beautiful but deadly neon glow, and her skin begins to crackle with light. He only has one move, and it needs to be perfect or she’ll turn him into a pile of ash.

“Dick, no!” Dawn’s voice bellows behind him, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the others caught up, but he pays no one any mind but Kory, grabbing her tight around her jerking shoulders. He expects her glowing skin to be painfully hot against him, but it isn’t, she just feels like Kory. The same woman he’s held and touched so many times before, but never for reasons of violence. 

The only difference now is that he can barely contain her desperate thrashing. No more hesitating, it has to be now.

“I’m so sorry,” Dick cries, then without another second of thought, he presses the end of his electrified weapon against the side of her neck. She’s abruptly silenced at the contact, her body and vocal cords seized by the blue voltage now coursing through her. And he hates it, he hates hurting her. Thankfully, it’s only a few more seconds before her fire subsides and her eyes go dim again. When it’s over, she looks up at his face with so much confusion, pain and fear in her eyes that his own begin to slightly mist over.

“Is Kory okay?” Connor says, worry for his friend shaking his voice. Dick looks up at his team, then back down at his girl before she goes limp in his arms, finally resting.

“She will be,” Dick says.

**** 

Back at Wayne manor, Kory lays in the infirmary, still sleeping off the trauma of the mission. It had been for nothing. Jason was still gone, and Kory had been through something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He knows the sort of terrors one sees on Crane's toxin. He'd been the victim of it himself as a younger man. It can feel like dying over and over again, without the peace or absolution. Just the pain, and the dread, and the wishing like hell that it would end. So he sits with her, waiting for her to wake up to a face that she trusts. His chin is resting in his hand as he stares at her sleeping form. So he sits with her, waiting for her to wake up, his chin resting in his hand. There’s simply nothing else to do. If he falls asleep then it will be right here in this room.

“Hey,” Says Dawn, who’s appeared by his side with a cup of steaming coffee. “I thought this might make the waiting a little easier.”

He takes it and thanks her, and she takes the seat next to him.

“How did you know?” she asks after a long silence.

“Know what?”

“That touching her wouldn’t burn you?”

He thinks about it again. Her clothes never burn, her pink nail polish remains perfect on her fingernails, her jewelry doesn’t melt into liquid gold, the idea that there may have been some sort of protection around her that might apply to him when he touched her body was a flimsy one, but it was all he had to go on if he was going to save her life back there.

“I didn’t,” he admits. He takes a sip of his coffee, Black, with a single spoon of sugar to take the edge off, just how he likes it. But it does little to ease his mind.

“Hey,” Dawn says, a hand reaching his shoulder. “She’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just…”

“What?”

“It wasn’t just this one mission,” he says. “Something’s wrong and she won’t talk to me. Something’s been wrong for months.” 

Dawn nods in agreement. And they both watch Kory as she sleeps, her chest slowly rising and falling, her red curls cascading across the pillows.

“She’s really quite beautiful,” Dawn says, and he agrees without a second thought, making her chuckle.

“What?” he says, taking his eyes off of Kory and looking at Dawn, the amused smirk on her face.

“You have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“Dawn…” he says in frustration, looking away again, not wanting to have this talk even a little.

“What? I see the way you look at her, do you really think I don’t know? That the whole team doesn’t know?”

He scrubs a hand over his forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“No, I don’t think it’s complicated. I think it’s really, very simple.”

They’re quiet again. He won’t confirm Dawn’s suspicions, but he doesn’t deny them either. Because it is true, and it is simple. He’s had feelings for Kory as long as he’s known her, and they’re only getting stronger. And if she doesn’t talk to him about what’s going on he might just lose it.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Dawn says, those traces of humor at his expense still in her voice, and she goes.

Before long, in spite of the coffee, he begins to nod off. It’s been too long since he’s slept. He’s better now, isn’t he? At being a good leader, a good friend, a good… whatever he is to Kory. And yet, Jason is still gone, still fighting them at every chance, Rachel is still with Donna in Themyscira, helping her adjust to the trauma of death and resurrection, and Kory is still hiding something. For all of these reasons he hasn’t slept a full night in three months.

He only comes to again when Kory starts to stir and sigh, at that, he’s wide awake and standing to join her next to the bed.

“Hey,” he says in a soft voice.

“Hey,” she says back with a warm, sleepy simper. “What happened?”

“You had fear toxin in you, but it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

She nods, but then screws up her face as she recalls something. “Did you taze me Grayson?”

He cringes from the guilt, “I don’t want to lie to you.”

She lets out a little laugh, and he laughs too, relieved that she’s better, and that she doesn’t blame him.

 “Kory,” he says, serious now, gently touching her hair. “Remember a little after we first met, when you told me I was afraid to say who I was?”

She answers with a light nod.

“Well, I feel like these days, you’re afraid to talk about what’s going on with you. With your powers.”

“I haven’t been off my game,” she argues.

“No, you haven’t, that’s not what this is about. I’m just worried. That’s all.”

She leans a little into the hand still softly stroking her hair. “I’m not scared to talk about it.” She says, her voice cracking. “I’m sad.”

“What are you sad about?”

There is so much in her eyes that he can’t decipher, so much pain that he can’t truly feel. And maybe she doesn’t want him to. He’d hidden who he really was from everyone for so long, because he didn’t think they’d like what they saw. But Kory is different, she wants to protect all of them, not just herself. It’s as clear as day. But no matter what she tells him, or doesn’t tell him, she has to know that he’s right here. 

“I felt them come back, my powers,” she says, looking at her hand, she tenses a bit, as if trying to do it again, to no avail. “Because when I was drugged, there was nothing holding me back but fear. Fear is nothing compared to having them all come true at once. That’s what happened to me three months ago.”

As she continues to talk, to unburden herself, he listens, and holds her hand and thumbs away her tears. And maybe this is the first step towards her finally healing. He wishes so hard that she didn't have to go through what she did back there for it to happen, but they’re past that. All that matters now is the two of them figuring it out, together.