#guess what -- a lot of traumatized folks lead happy lives as well. and a lot of people with stable upbringing with ' healthy parents'

[bruciemilf]

AND there are canons where Bruce is perfectly well-adjusted, has hobbies, hangs out with his friends, loves his family, and is a perfectly normal, sweet guy other than the whole "billionaire and Batman" thing. But Alfred gets all the blame and none of the credit with you "Alfred was a bad parent" people.

But??? I never said?? Alfred was bad???

[jockpoetry]

supernatural sees women as a tool for development and strengthening of narratives/motivation and dean sees his body as a tool. is that anything?

When I saw this ask I really made the 🥴in real life. So, yeah anon, I do think there’s something to this.

Quick Disclaimer before I actually launch into my thoughts™: A lot of my read of Dean stems from my experience as both an oldest daughter and a transman. Being the oldest daughter was an experience I lived for many years, but I am also a man. I wasn’t raised as a man, I wasn’t socialized as a man, and even though once I came out upon reflection my masculinity was obviously there. Like I was a man™ before I knew I was a man. Even when I actively tied my identity to femininity for a long time! A lot of my prideful moments were based around statements like: “I was the only girl who (fill in the blank).” 

So I am just putting that out there before I launch into my spiel about Dean/Gender/Tool because they all interlock for me. 

I am also going to apologize in advance because I know this has fully gone off the rails and I’m not even done writing it yet. If this is incomprehensible ! Well, happens to the best of us.

First off, most importantly I guess before we discuss womanhood and Dean and the way both are utilized on the show I need to say that I personally don’t subscribe the whole Dean is female coded thing. 

It’s a read I can absolutely understand. But for me..he’s not. 

He’s a hypermasculine man to the point that when (and because he is written as a punchline, as the stupid™ brother, as the whore™, as the mother/father™, as daddy’s blunt instrument™, etc) Dean deviates from the pre-accepted definition of hypermasculine it’s Wrong. 

It’s Instantly Feminine. 

I think the internet has made the world very black and white, or blue and pink maybe. This point, I think, colors a lot of these discussions. Dean cooks, he cleans and so therefor he’s female coded. When that really just feeds back into the whole toxic masculinity loop. You can’t be masculine and cook and clean and cry. That’s for feminine people only. 

I get the argument! I do, I just think that Dean’s actions are not inherently feminine, it’s just in the vacuum of Female and in the Absence of Traditional Masculinity it makes sense to assign him female coded and move on.

IN FACT the way that Dean is the action hero of the show, the Masculine™ one on the show - but he cries, and he rages, and he cooks (Again and Again) and cleans (Again and Again). The fact he’s macho and confident but he has so little self esteem. Is frankly insane to me. You have this blaze of glory character who is so depressed that they have him kill himself. Twice. In explicitly “I hate myself, I hate hearing all the things I hate about myself, I want to destroy myself” ways. 

On just a regular ol’ network show that is just ungodly bad at times. They let their Male Hero cry - all the time (if I linked every example of this the essay would be...longer than it already is, but just take my word for it). Dean tears up and grieves and shows more than just Angry Horny Violent™ (he shows plenty of that, don’t get me wrong) but he’s Emotional (Again and Again and Again). In many different ways!

I mean, beyond even just tearing up, they make their Male Hero™ face sexual violence in pretty, uniquely horrifying - and queer! - ways.

Let’s make it clear, they did a lot of this unintentionally. 

Or they do it as a joke. 

Off of dean for a moment to say women are plot devices in this show. I could probably count on one hand female characters who have sincere depth to them that have roles outside of progressing plot, filling a filler episode, and who are still alive. Like even characters such as Charlie who are wholly developed, and interesting, are only remembered/mentioned/utilized to progress plots or fill an episode out - and then she dies. For pain™ for plot™ for no other reason than to traumatize a character. 

Which let’s also make it clear Dean’s trauma is also only used as a plot device (as is Sam’s but in a different way, and Cas’ trauma is a whole other barrel of fish we’re not gonna dive into right now). Like wholesale full stop they don’t actually care about what happened to him. Unless it’s relevant in an episode. 

Oh that boys home he was left at when he was 16 for months? Sure we’ll sprinkle that in in the back half of the series. Oh he was covered in bruises and said it was from a hunt (when it’s clear contextually they were from his father but saying the fantastical but true is easier than saying the uncomfortable but true). As Dean says though the story became the story, he was sixteen. He just went along with what John said.

We only see Dean ever truly rage at John, by the way, when either Dean is dead (when he’s between life and death and he rages at John, right before John “apologizes” for traumatizing him, for putting too much on Dean’s shoulders, and fucking dying) or John is dead (the Djinn episode where Dean is straight™ and John is dead™ and he goes to his grave and just yells and rages like he should have to his father in the real world).

Dean’s trauma from being both tortured and torturer in hell? Yeah, we don’t talk about that after it’s Relevant™. Even though it’s clear - especially in the demon!dean, mark of cain era, all those years later - Alastair still has his hooks inside of Dean. I stopped watching originally after s8 ended. I was fed up with the show, and with this whole renaissance I’ve been doing a rewatch and I’m into season twelve now and it really has never come up again. 

Even when he had the mark of cain and he was tasked with questioning and accused of torturing it was “the mark has changed you” and not “you were victim and victimizer in hell for forty years, which is longer than you’ve been alive on earth” (and, was about as long as he wound up living. Which is desperately sad.

Because we talk about Sam’s desire for a “normal” life but, Dean wanted out too. He was tired in the first few seasons of this show, he never had a chance to taste freedom (we don’t count the boys home, because that was a different kind of regimented life, and it was a false freedom) the way that Sam did in Flagstaff with Bones or at Stanford with Jessica. Love for Dean is sacrificing, it’s putting himself/his happiness/his well-being last.

Because Dean only knows love in the context of violence (like all of these fun examples, for starters) is a phrase that I’ve said a lot both in private chats and on here, and I absolutely think it goes to him being a tool (a blunt instrument, a plot device, so both textually and metatextually) instead of a person. Which Cas sees Dean’s shame/guilt and sees that side of Dean because he touched his soul, and saw more than just the Righteous™ man, more than just the tool, he saw A good man, not a machine. 

On the other side though you have how “bad guys” view Dean: Desperate, Sloppy, Needy, Dean’s hole (Again), which is again so wildly counterintuitive to the story of a Macho Man Hero™. You’re using vocabulary that is both queering him and feminizing (and I know this a meme format, but sincerely it is done in a derogatory way it is feminizing. It’s breaking him down to bare parts, to a sloppy hole). 

My whole rewatch I have been absolutely fascinated by how identity and free will is utilized/conceptualized on this show. Castiel has been my main focus, but Dean and how he is framed by himself and others is...fascinating - and frustrating. The writers inconsistency lends itself not only to this unintentionally queer character, but also one that again is incredibly easily read as a non-traditionally masculine character.

As a feminine character.

This show has so few female characters that of course it had to foist the roles/behaviors/plots that a female character might have onto a male character. Which I think is part of why reading Dean as trans (either transmasc, or transfemme) is so easily done like.   

Half of these are shit posts, but you can find trans allegories/textual evidence in this show again, again, again, again, and again. And this is unintentional, they don’t want you to look at Dean and see woman, former future or present. Like a lot of these I’m sure are punchlines for them, because women/queer folk are punchlines to them. 

Sometimes the only women in an episode are random witnesses who get two sentences of dialogue, and then the main guest character is a man. Who flirts with Dean, and Dean is receptive to it. 

They paint themselves into a corner, there are female Rabbi. So easily could Aaron have been a woman instead of a man, but they made the choice to play up the HaHa Dean & Men card. 

Because, again, Dean has filled the slot of Woman™ of Female Lead™ and the flirting would’ve been straight if Dean was a woman. It’s a plot device, they needed to have the guest character be disarming, be cute, make the main character flustered. 

It’s just the main character is a man, because they’re allergic to women. But they still need those female plots, tools of femininity, to move their show forward. I mean I am a big subscriber to transmasc Jo (no idea if anyone else is with me on this one, but let me explain). Jo is in love with Dean (concept) not Dean (actuality). Which, we’ve all had our eggs cracked by someone like that. We were in love with them until we realized we just wanted to be them.

He loved her like a little sister, she loved him like a lost idol. He’s a golden calf and she dies for him, because she believed in him, she was the original character dashed at the altar of the Winchesters. 

I fully believe if she had lived and if this show had a crumb of actual good writing Jo could have been a deeply compelling transmasc character. But I also think she’s a fascinating inversion of Dean. Dean is a Masculine Character who subverts Toxic Masculinity, Jo is a Tomboy™ she’s not your (if you take it straight, literally and metaphorically) average female love interest. She’s angry, she’s not soft at all, all edges and corners and thorns. She isn’t helpless, she’s stubborn but not in a “you’re going to get punished for this” way. She’s right when she’s stubborn. She’s helpful, she’s a martyr. 

I could do a whole other essay just on Jo (and Ellen, and Ash, what a fucking trio!) but needless to say Jo was one of the first...plot device feminine tools sacrificed to this show. She was a regular, she was unique, she was an engaging character, and she still died (to progress the plot? no. for man pain? yeah, for like three episodes maybe, and then it’s forgotten just like the rest of Dean’s trauma, as we mentioned above). 

Dean and Women and Love is a very interesting tool used too because. Boy they sure try to make Dean love women and it fails in small ways, and in big, meaningless, failed het domesticity (again) ways. Not to mention whatever Lust (in the form of a woman) having no effect upon him, when they could have used that moment to assert his Masculinity and Heterosexuality. He behaved normally? And...also...whatever the fuck the Adios thing was!

Like they have these opportunities to make him Traditionally (toxically) Masculine, but make the choice to...not? To soften him. Because it’s a tool. He’s their female lead, textually he had to take on the role of mother(/father) to Sam, but...I mean this is a million miles long already. I know, but we absolutely can’t not talk about his Paternal/Maternal behaviors. (Which appear again and again again and again, outside of his relationship with Sam even/especially). He’s the mother hen, sage, safety net, beacon, home to so many side characters they meet.

I mean in many ways Jody is also a Dean comparison. Lost her family. Found a new family. She is non-traditionally feminine, but easily flustered and Silly™ (let’s just drop the entire sex talk over family dinner scene with Alex and the boys and looking to them for help, even though she was already a mother, and she’s a cop, and a hunter and this confident no nonsense individual.... She’s not). We are meant to see her as this hard ass, but she makes extra food for the boys to take back to the bunker. She’s deadly in a fight, but also still easily overwhelmed and put into damsel mode, and she cares so much even in the face of adversity.

It’s also fun to see how Jo | Jody are reflections of Dean at different points of his life. Younger, cocky | Older, settled.

Even when the text tries to tell us that he’s not.

When it reminds us that he’s violent. That he is his father, even if he says that Sam is more like John (which was reflexive, which was angry because of Adam and how Sam was behaving like Dean in that episode, and yes there are parallels to be drawn between Sam and John, the show barely dives into them). Instead we’re told that Dean is John (Again and  Again and Again and Again). 

So intensely that a fanfictionalized version of the Winchester Gospels makes it an entire fucking musical number. 

And yet, despite the texts insistence to make Dean Macho Man Father Reborn™ We get this Dean who is silly (and directly compared/contrasted to the female character in this scene), soft, in heels, nagging, and... Sully (you know Sam’s imaginary friend who has the same Haircut Dean has, who is a softer, shorter, friendlier, campier, version of Dean who was a replacement For Dean until the real one let Sam back in? That? Sully?) it’s hard to take them seriously. 

Hell, even when he was A DEMON? What did they do? They had him sing off-key drunken karaoke, they had him doing this ! Like that’s your hero, unhinged, free to be as bad as he could be, and you put him in a cowboy hat in a romance with the king of hell. 

The Female Lead, everyone. Who’s biggest betrayal(s) comes at the hands of his love interest (again, a man even though it was an angel who could’ve taken any vessel! who could’ve been recast, who canonically dies admitting his love to Dean - that one), who he tries so hard to be loyal to. 

The contradictions of his character are laughable. He is so emotional, but if he is engaged about his emotions? He shuts down, or he’s exasperated about being asked about them. It really is Female Lead/Only Here For The Plot disease, because everything is more important than him. How’s he doing? Doesn’t matter outside of the context of how x character is doing or that y character is dead. Or his emotions only matter if they’re done in penance. 

They also really do frame him as Pretty Boy™ in a violent way, or in a derogatory manner. They’ll give us homoerotic shots like this or these and never really acknowledge how these are gay shots. Sorry the gun scene is a a straight up sex scene, the beer sip spilling out over his mouth is oral, the scene where Cas fills up Dean’s glass with whisky is also a sex scene, they do this shit on purpose but accidentally queer it up. If Dean was a woman these scenes wouldn’t even matter. They’d be passing moments, but because he is not just a man but A Man™ they’re insane to see.

Not to mention all of these scenes and all the ones I haven’t linked where Dean dresses up. He performs masculinity, but he performs femininity too. He’s a plot device that is slotted in to whatever role they need. He’s Super Straight Butch Man™ but coaches the lesbian on how to successfully flirt with a man. He’s Action Hero™ who sits through a montage with the same lesbian and yays and nays her outfits, and enjoys himself.

Fuck he loves dressing up, he feels better in these costumes because performing a character is easier than being himself. Because who is Dean? He’s a tool, both textually and metatextually. It is exactly how the women and because of the women on the show that Dean is the way that he is. If there was a more steady female presence Dean would not be half as much of a plot device or half as camp/gay/feminine/non-traditionally masculine/queer coded as he is. 

In conclusion....

[mst3kproject]

Hot Car Girl

This film should not be confused with Hot Rod Girl, which I already reviewed (and which was also bad), Hot Car Girl boasts not only a desperately uninspired title, but June Kenney from Earth vs the Spider, Bruno VeSoto from Daddy-O, and Tyler McVey from Night of the Blood Beast.  It was produced by the Corman brothers and directed by Bernard L. Kowalski, who brought us both Blood Beast and Attack of the Giant Leeches.  If you decide to search for the movie online, be sure you’ve got all your anti-porn filters on.

After a night with her boyfriend gets a little too romantic, Peggy Dale suffers some serious misgivings about her reputation and her future… but little does she know she has bigger problems coming.  As a friend reveals to her, Peg’s boyfriend Duke and his pal Freddy make their living as car thieves.  Peggy tries to talk Duke into going straight for her sake, but he will have none of it, not even when his life of crime culminates in a murder!  Feeling that no other man will want her now that she’s no longer a virgin, Peggy is forced to flee with him as the police close in.

Duke and Freddy’s fence appears to be the same junkyard owner from The Choppers, and sure enough, when I looked it up… they’re both Bruno VeSoto.  God damn it, the movies are all coming together again.

I’m gonna have a hard time coming up with anything to say about Hot Car Girl that I haven’t said about another movie before.  It’s a pretty nondescript Young Folks In Trouble film that stands out from the pack only by being unusually upfront about Duke and Peggy’s premarital sex. Like so many other such movies it’s dull and talky and mostly avoids any of the excitement or drama we might hope for from a film about cars and crime.  Shots are either over- or under-lit, the actors look ten years older than the characters they’re playing, and the film can’t decide who its main character is.

The title Hot Car Girl suggests that the movie will be mostly about Peggy.  So, for that matter, do the opening credits, which are semi-animated in the style of Night of the Blood Beast and depict exciting things like car races and women screaming, which don’t happen nearly often enough in the actual movie.  Peggy’s terrified face features prominently here, but... by now, of course, you guys have guessed what I’m going to say next: in spite of this introduction, Peggy doesn’t do much in the film at all.

We first meet her when Duke brings her to a bar where the young folks hang out.  There he gets her drunk, takes her home, and sleeps with her, which the movie treats as a very ordinary situation and not at all a mass of skeevy consent issues. In the morning, Peggy worries that she’s ruined herself in Duke’s eyes as well as everybody else’s, telling Freddy’s girlfriend Mickie that she’s afraid Duke will think she’s ‘cheap’. Mickie assures her that he will think no such thing and as it turns out, he doesn’t, which is what leads Peggy to think she’s stuck with him and nobody else will want her.

This much of the movie is fine, and we expect to move on to Peggy learning about Duke’s life of crime… but then I guess the story realizes it’s asking its audience to identify with a girl who has a very gender-specific problem, and switches rails to be about Duke instead. We don’t even see the moment when Peggy finds out about his criminal activities and realizes what it means for her.  All we get is her telling Duke later that Mickie told her.  The rest of the story is presented through Duke, with Peggy largely standing around either weeping or nagging at him.  Her worries about her chastity never come up again. I assume that’s why she sticks with Duke when things get dicey, but the movie just seems to forget about it.

Other characters talk a lot about how Peggy is a ‘good girl’.  She’s described as such by Duke, who sounds as if he’s set a challenge for himself to corrupt her, and Freddy’s girlfriend Mickie complains that Peggy is ‘so square, she’s a cube!’  (This is mathematically correct: a cube is, in fact, a square squared.)  Peggy does seem naïve, but she never actually objects to all the drinking and drag racing and sex that goes on, and makes only a token protest about the crime before just deciding that this must be her life now.  Duke repeatedly says he should never have gotten mixed up with a girl like her, but the impression is more that he’s tired of her complaining about his lifestyle than that he’s ashamed of having gotten her in trouble.

That might make it sound that Duke is far more in love with the idea of bringing the bourgeoise down to his level than he is with Peggy herself – but in spite of it all they have a surprisingly functional relationship.  The two of them clearly enjoy each other’s company and Duke never once slaps her even when they argue, which is admirable for a movie from the 50’s.  They actually talk about their problems and Duke never blames her for his actions, even when he could almost justify doing so. Probably the height of Peggy’s naivete is when she suggests they just talk to Janice, the girl involved in a car accident Duke caused, and hope she will understand that they meant no harm and don’t want to get in trouble. Instead, Janice sensibly threatens to go to the police, and Duke feels he must kill her to keep her quiet.  He could have blamed Peggy for putting him in that situation, but he didn’t.

In the end, Duke says he’d rather commit suicide than turn himself in to the cops, and for all intents and purposes he does exactly that.  By this point he seems to have realized that the reason he should never have gotten involved with Peggy was for her sake, not his, as he leaves a note to say she was not involved in any of his crimes.  Peggy, however, has no character arc at all.  The end of the film leaves her traumatized but not really having learned anything. Duke actually has to order her to leave him behind, as she is apparently incapable of taking any initiative herself. She is in this story to be its helpless victim, and like Jane from Teenage Crime Wave, it’s very hard to feel any sympathy for her because of it.  At the end she can only throw herself on the mercy of the police.

This is not reassuring because throughout the movie the police have been horrible to everybody.  Duke describes how he was beaten into confessing the last time he was arrested, which is why he refuses to turn himself in now.  Hot Car Girl insists on telling most of its plot points, but actually shows us the cops being dicks.  Janice is arrested after her car accident and she is absolutely distraught, but the detective interrogating her still shouts at and threatens her.  The same man later tells Peggy that brutality like what Duke experienced never solves anything, but it sounds pretty hollow coming from him.

Hot Car Girl is actually pretty ambiguous about the police.  They are certainly the villains in Duke’s story and aren’t very nice people in Janice’s, but they seem to be Peggy’s saving angels.  The cop who died in the car accident is clearly a tragic figure, but elsewhere they are objects of mockery, as when Duke tricks two officers into locking their keys in the car.  Hot Car Girl shies away from making the police outright villains by having Duke shoot first in the final showdown and with the detective’s apology to Peggy for his colleagues’ brutality, but it certainly doesn’t consider them heroes, and blames them outright for Duke turning out the way he did.  I’m not sure if this is an attempt to say something about cops misusing their authority, or if it’s just a side effect of the story being about a criminal.

Like other ‘teens and cars’ movies of the era, Hot Car Girl is about how Crime Doesn’t Pay, and the movie goes out of its way to show that it means it.  As the story progresses and Duke gets in more and more trouble, the people in his life abandon him one by one.  First Freddy and Mickie cut off all contact with him, then the junkyard owner goes to the police hoping to collect the reward Janice’s father is offering for information on her killer.  Neither of them get away with it.  The junkyard owner finds he has a warrant out for his own arrest, and when Freddy and Mickie turn up to plead Peggy’s case, they find themselves facing charges as well. The movie seems to be saying that the good you do doesn’t cancel out the bad, especially if you do good for bad reasons.

At the end of the movie even Peggy is under arrest, although the detective suggests that Duke’s suicide note will allow her to get away with no more than a slap on the wrist, if that.  Like Teenage Crime Wave again, the movie has refused to allow its ostensible heroine to commit a crime.  We saw Peggy lie to her mother about getting a job so she wouldn’t have to answer awkward questions about where she’s getting all this money from, but she’s only been enjoying the fruits of Duke’s crimes, not participating. Once again, it seems the writers fear we will lose all sympathy for Peggy if she does A Crime, whereas they repeatedly ask us to feel for Duke despite his doing many Crime.  Another double-standard, I guess.

I don’t hate this movie, I’m just sort of mildly annoyed by it.  It’s so much like so many other 50’s troubled teens films, and like them the ending leaves the characters’ lives in ruins and the audience depressed.  Can’t a fifties girl ever escape her criminal boyfriend and be happy after?

[irishmacguirefucker]

Meeting Tilly Jackson

A.N: (So originally this was going to be for my au but I realized that if I wanna write Tilly in my AU i need to properly understand her background. We don't have a lot of specific details in the game, so i wrote this. Essentially its how Dutch found Tilly and took her in. She’s 14 in this. I will probably have a part 2 soon. Its a little dialogue heavy)

(TW: Sexual Assault of a minor is mentioned but nothing happens, blood)

Wordcount:  3110

-

Tilly Jackson has a family. They may be a little odd, different than what everyone else might consider a family, but a family nonetheless. Dutch and Hosea her father figures, Susan Grimshaw a motherly presence. Sisters in Karen, Mary-Beth and the other women of the camp, brothers in Arthur and John and most of the other men. The titles don't matter so much as the feeling of safety and comfort and appreciation among them. She missed her late mother of course, but she hoped on some level her mother would be happy with how things turned out for the girl in the end. Being kidnapped at the age of 12 was nothing short of traumatizing, and for a long while, things only got worse. The Foreman gang was the opposite of a family. They were nothing to her but the people who stole her away from her mother claimed to own her. The ones who tried to take advantage of her. The night that Malcolm Foreman tried to make advances on her and she killed him was the night she would consider herself grown. 

She's not sure exactly how long she was alone, it must have been under a year. She went to find her mother only to hear of her death, and with nowhere else to go she just kept running. The further she made it the less likely that Anthony Foreman would find her and pay her back for what she did to his cousin. She knows that it was early spring when she left. The snow had barely been off the ground, she supposed that no longer being wrapped in a ratty cloak and scarf was the reason that gang member thought to make his move. 

Dutch found her just when it was beginning to get cold again. 

Despite considering herself grown, her body disagreed. The shoes she ran away in were already ill-fitted, and by that autumn they were practically falling apart. Her toes stuck out the front. She had done her best to steal clothing off people’s clotheslines, but they rarely fit.

Dutch caught her doing just that. He had been watching the property of some well off folks, planning on casing it with Arthur later that week. He watched as a girl no older than 14, snuck out from the tree line in a torn-up blouse and a too-long skirt.

She was clearly not experienced in stealing as she tripped over her skirts up the property, but she made it to the side of the house mostly successfully. She quickly tore down a long dress and an undershirt and quickly started back to the tree line. She stared wistfully at the property's large orchard and nearly turned her course towards it before hearing the owner of the house open his front door and stealing away into the forest. Even from a distance, Dutch knew what that hesitation meant. She was hungry.

Dutch was hardly one to let a promising little thief like her starve in the forest, so with a passing glance at the house he stood from his hiding spot up the hill and mounted the Count.

Tracking was never one of Dutch’s strongest abilities but she made it rather easy, with footprints in the mud, a scrap of fabric where her clothing caught a branch, etc. Eventually, he reached a spot where she seemed to trip and fall, and then there were a few drops of blood here and there as he followed. He knew he was getting closer, the blood wasn’t dry. He dismounted his horse and began leading him forward when suddenly she jumped out from behind a tree wielding a large rusted hunting knife. 

“Don’t come any closer! You can take your clothes back, here.” She kicked over the items he had just watched her steal. “Don’t tell the law, and I’ll disappear. I don’t have anything more to offer you.”

Dutch grinned, she was strong-willed. But he also observed that her cheeks were sunken in, and her skin was dull. She was visibly malnourished, and there was blood dripping from one of her small hands. He hoped it was a branch she cut herself on and not that dirty knife of hers.

He put his hands up in a friendly gesture.

“I’m not the man you robbed earlier, don’t you worry. I watched you steal that dress, you’re quite the little thief.” 

She was doing a damn good job of hiding her fear, but Dutch was experienced in seeing past such facades. She didn’t seem scared of the weapon she was holding, as the young and inexperienced often were when they wielded such an item. She just seemed scared of him. 

“Why did you follow me, it ain’t your things I stole. I have nothing to give you, so you best just leave me be.” She didn’t stutter, her high pitched voice remained unwavering and strong. Dutch tried his best to look unthreatening, something he didn’t find himself having to do often. 

“Well, I myself was planning on robbing that house myself later with a few of my friends, perhaps I just wanted to see if you had any advice for me as a seasoned visitor of that property.”

She didn’t believe him and didn’t lower her knife, but she didn’t run either. Good. “Now if I reach for something in my saddle bag here are you gonna come at me with that big old knife?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Dutch smiled. “Well if you and I are gonna talk business I thought that maybe I could pay you for your time, little lady.”

She finally lowered the knife a little, seeming less afraid but very suspicious. “You wanna pay me for information on that house?”

“I do. Information is worth a lot to us outlaws, you should know that well Darlin’” He slowly turned to the horse. Even if she did attempt to stab him, she wouldn’t get to him before he could turn around, so he wasn’t worried. As he was digging through the saddlebag she spoke up behind him.

“Don’t call me Darlin.” 

He smiled at her bravado but kept looking through the bag. “Well, you’ve yet to give me something else to call you Miss. Ah! Here it is!” He turned back to her holding a small stack of cash and a wrapped parcel. 

“Yeah, well neither have you!” There’s that reminder that he’s talking to a child. They’re always so petulant. John had been just the same, though a little more rabid. “Well, I’m Dutch, Dutch Van der Linde.”

He studied her face for any sign of recognition, but there was none. Good, less reason for her to be afraid of him. She didn’t give her name just yet. 

“Are you with the Foreman brothers?” She asked boldly. “I won’t let you take me back, I’ll kill you before you get me back there.” That would explain her fear, she wasn’t just a thief. She was a runaway from another gang.

“Now I’ll tell you right now Miss, I’m not with Anthony Forman or his little gang. The only gang I’m with is the Van der Linde gang, and I promise me and mine won’t bring you any harm.”

“You...You lead a gang?” She was shaking, it was starting to get colder as the sun was setting. 

“I am, but we aren’t like those bastards you knew. We’re just good people, looking to live free.”

Then he did something bold, a gesture to help her feel safer in the presence of a gang leader. Hopefully, she would be a little more at ease. “Do you mind if I sit down Miss-” 

“Jackson. Tilly Jackson.”

He smiled. “Miss Jackson. Do you mind if I sit while we talk? Tracking you was quite a little adventure.” 

“Go ahead, I guess.” 

“Thank you, Tilly.” He sat down on a log just to the side, and she lowered her weapon fully but gripped it tight. “Now, go ahead and take this.” He took a couple of bills and tucked them into the string around the parcel. She stared at it suspiciously.

 “I didn’t tell you nothing yet and I ain’t stupid mister Van der Linde, why are you giving me this.” 

He smiled and leaned forward to place the parcel on the ground in front of him, between them. 

“As I said, you’re quite the thief and I think you could help me out. Doesn't hurt to butter up the informant. There's some food in the package, I thought you looked a little hungry.”

She seemed to stare at the parcel longingly and something clenched in Dutch’s cold heart. The poor girl must be starving.

 “I…I don’t have no info for you, Mister Van der Linde. I just needed the clothes.” She seemed disappointed to be saying it, but she didn't lie to him like he thought she might.

“Well...maybe you could just keep me company then Milady. Good company is hard to find among us outlaws, as I’m sure you know.”

In a flash, she was back two steps and her knife was raised once more.

“I ain’t that kind of girl. you can keep your fucking money and go pay a real whore for your damned “company’”

This was the opposite of the outcome he was looking for, and entirely at the fault of his own poor word choice. He should have known better, there are only a few things that can happen to a young girl in this country to put her on the run and make her fear good company. 

“Now listen here, Miss Jackson. I am not that kind of man, I wouldn’t take advantage of you like I’m sure the bastards in Foreman’s gang tried. It’s like I said it, my gang is just good men looking for freedom and money. You can leave right now if you want and I won’t stop you, or you can stay and eat some, and I promise I won’t even look at you funny.”

She stood frozen, knife gripped tight. She seemed to be weighing her options. Dutch had yet to pose a threat to her, his weapons remained holstered. He hadn’t even tried to come close to her. She steeled her nerves and spoke again. 

“Then...Give me one of your guns. If you really ain’t gonna try nothing then give me one of your pistols and if you try and do anything bad I’ll shoot you.”

In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have even considered it. But this wasn’t some criminal who he was wringing for information. This was a terrified little girl who was too afraid of the man in front of her to even eat food when she was starving. He slowly reached for his left holster and pulled out the pistol. He made a big show of flipping it in his hand so that his finger stayed away from the trigger as not to scare her, and he placed it beside the parcel. Gently he pushed them both over with his foot and sat back on the log with his hands beside him. 

She stared at him, and quick as lightning she grabbed the items from the ground. She backed up to her spot and slowly sat on the ground. The pistol was too big for her hand, and her other hand was getting blood on the side of the wrapped meat. Slowly she unwrapped the piece of dried venison, not breaking eye contact with the man sitting before her. “Why are you being so kind to me, I ain’t never heard of a ‘Good’ outlaw, we’re all just killers and thieves.”

He took note of the word ‘we’ before killers and thieves. Perhaps there was a reason she was so steady holding that knife. “I suppose no truer words have been spoken Miss Tilly, but I was never the type to watch a young lady suffer…You know, I found my son Arthur when he was about your age. The boy was just starving in the streets, stealing what he could. Quite like you are now.”

She didn’t respond, just stared at him a moment longer before taking a large bite of the meat. He hadn’t seen someone eat so ravenously since he fed John for the first time.

It took a lot of talking to get her to let her guard down. She didn’t reveal much about herself, other than that her mother died and she wasn’t part of the foreman gang, she was just there. Though the tension in her shoulders slowly sapped away as she filled her stomach and let herself calm down. They spoke for a few hours and he tried his best not to treat her like a child, god knows they hate when you do that. He couldn’t help but notice that she just seemed so sad. Once all that fear subsided and she spoke more freely, it was clear that she was lost. She mentioned her mother’s death with deep sorrow, her eyes going glassy before she seemed to catch herself and move on. 

Eventually, her hand stopped bleeding, and he tried to catch a look at it as she gestured. The sun was nearly set and he would have to get back to camp before they went looking for him.

He told her as much and he watched that deep-set sadness seep back to her features. 

“Oh… well. It was nice to meet you Dutch.” She used his first name for the first time. He stood up and she did as well, wincing as she used her injured hand to push off the ground.

“You know... you could come back with me and let our doctor take a look at that hand. Well...she ain’t exactly a doctor, but she can fix it. We wouldn’t want that getting infected, it’s far easier to be an outlaw with both hands.”

She wanted to go with him, he could see it in her eyes. Good friends are hard to come by when you’re a child with no home. 

“And perhaps, you could stay awhile. Learn how to be a real outlaw instead of a dress thief.” She seemed offended at the comment, a funny little scowl crossing her features. She was thinking about the offer, and he hoped it sounded at least a little better than sleeping alone in the forest. 

“If I come to your camp….nobody's gonna try and touch me?”

 “Absolutely not my dear, if they try I’ll cut off their hand myself.” She seemed to giggle a little at the notion, a sound he would take pride in. She sobered up and asked; 

“And I can leave whenever I want? I ain’t gonna let anyone try and say they own me ever again.”

“If you come to camp, Tilly Jackson will remain a free woman, but you’ll have a home to come back to if that’s what you would like.”

He watched her hesitate a little longer. Some coyotes barked in the distance and she shivered.  “Maybe just for a little while. Just to try it.” 

“And you can leave whenever you want.” he reassured.

“And I can leave whenever I want.” She repeated it back like she was convincing herself. He turned his back to adjust the Count’s saddle and give him a sugar cube, and he heard small footsteps come closer to him.

“Um. Can I give him one? He’s real pretty.” Dutch turned and she was at his side, staring at the large animal. She was even smaller up close, and he could see that her bones stood up against her dark skin.

“You know, I think he would like that. Now here, take just one of these and put it in your hand flat. Don’t worry, he won’t bite you.” She went to take it from his hand before realizing her hands were full with the knife and Dutch’s gun. 

“Oh. Here you go, Mister Dutch.” She tried to hand him back the gun. Bravely he thought, to give up her best defense, but he didn’t take it.

“I’ll tell you what my lady, It’s gonna be a bit of a ride to get back to camp and I don’t want you feeling like you can’t hold your own. You hold on to that one just until we get back, alright? We can put your knife in the bag safe and sound.” She obliged, putting the hunting knife gently in the saddlebag and holding on to the pistol. Then Dutch gave her the sugar cube and she held it out to the horse gingerly. The Count had no such hesitation and stole the treat from her hand quickly, the softness of his nose near her fingers making her giggle.

“Now, I think we might just be ready to move! Can I help you up milady?” He said, with a ring clad hand extended like a butler. The gesture made her giggle more and Dutch was happy to see the sadness put aside for a little while. She took his hand in her much smaller one and let him lead her to the side of the saddle.

“Now, can I lift you or do you want to go stand on the log over there?” She could read the underlying notion. The hidden meaning of ‘Do you want me to touch you’, ‘is it okay if I lift you’, etc. He was being more considerate than anyone she had ever met. She took a deep breath and put a little trust in him.

“You can lift me if that’s okay.”

“It would be my honor milady.” He lifted her onto the horse’s rump and tried not to think about how light she was. How he could feel her bones through the layers of her shirt. Once she was settled, he climbed up himself. Before they got going he pulled out his canteen and an apple from the bag. 

“Here. Dinner will be done by the time we get to camp and there’s no reason you should go hungry back there, that just wouldn’t befit such a distinguished young lady.” She accepted the food, and he set the Count into a walk to get them out of the underbrush. Once they were on the path he pushed into a more brisk pace, but he wouldn’t risk trotting with her back there, the count’s trot could be rather rough and she’s so thin she would just be thrown off.

It would be a long ride back to camp at this pace, but it just gave him more time to get to know her and tell her about camp. 

[alrighty-vigilante]

Felix Faust and his one braincelled offspring – an epitome of DC's lost potential; a himbo,a dumbass and a fucking rat

It's not like any of you asked but it's the thing that wakes me up at night. DC created a lot of great characters: good, evil and morally grey.

And just like that... They abandoned them. Not like "stopped using them in their stories" – stopped caring.

Let me show you what made me so obsessed with DC's Faustfamily: the good, the bad and the ugly.

The Good

Sebastian, the firstborn of Felix, Abraham to his Isaac, is constantly haunted by the sins of his father and bashed for them. Around him heroes are not heroes anymore, too distrustful to treat him with decency, always suspecting scheming.

The Bad

Since every magic user pays some price for their skills I feel like his price is not being able to experience love or not for long. In Outsiders (1993) it was stated, or so I believe, that he has a hard time experiencing feelings because of his lack of soul. Even if not: since Halo was reborn many times, she doesn't even remember Sebastian. June Moon was completely apathetic after Enchantress persona was ripped out of her. Zatanna is Zatanna, I think their relationship was only mentioned in Mystik U so it's thankfully not anywhere near canon. In totally awful Suicide Squad: Black Files it's told Sebastian's wife is dying (and pregnant) so he enchanted her until he finds a cure. Even motherly love he cannot experience – no matter the author's approach, his mother is not around him for long and he feels responsible for her death which may have be the reason why she tried to look after his sister for as long as it was possible. Sorry I need a moment...

I'd have to be naïve to even hope for anyone in DC being so competent to show Sebastian as aromantic/demiromantic without showing people on this spectrum as soulless.

Fauna lived to be "lesser than Sebastian". Suffered the same fate as her brother but was neglected by her father from the start, unlike Sebastian who was taught by him some time. I don't think she and her father nor she and her brother ever bonded in any way. For me Fauna is the embodiment of the anger only an abused abandoned teenager can feel. Raw blinding rage not directed at anything in particular but everything and everyone including herself because she is not sure what and who should she hate the most. And in the end, it is she who suffers the most. It drives her a path of evil. All her attempts at being better than everyone and most of all – better than her father, are in real just attempts to get his approval.

The only time she felt free was when she got with Syonide (yeah folks she's lesbian) but, well, it didn't last long.

One thing about her that especially wakes me up at night is how in Raven she mentions her ancestors but stops, saying she's better than them anyway. Well, there are no such characters in whole DC. No Majica the Magnificent or whoever. Let's pretend it's not just a hole in the universe because probably it is just that: it leads to conclusion that Fauna made it up herself to back up her narcissistic attitude and the right to do what she want and take what she want OR her father made that up, and that leads us to Felix Faust himself.

The Ugly

WHERE DO I EVEN START, if I start to lost what's wrong with him you'll be reading this to the end of your life.

The most prominent personality trait of his is that Dumb bitch hours are 24 hours. Second: he is full of opposites. Is he intelligent? As hell. Is he still a gullible idiot? Oh yeah. Is he doing bad things? Yes. Is he a villain? No, he had his time of being neutral/good. He is driven by the need for power. What would he do if he gets it? The most probable scenario: nothing. What would he need it for, then? I can bet all my money, which are around 5$ and a bagel, that what he really want is respect (and that ties neatly with making up his genealogy tree). Now, his background varies depending on the author, of course they couldn't develop consistency, but many things are common nonetheless. So, if we just generally look at him, we see a man who, before being possessed by 5000 years young ghost, was nothing more but street magician – guess how much respect he got. This old sorceress that eventually took over his body also was humiliated in a great defeat. In the 70s he was called the greatest foe of the Justice League. Nowadays, even some drunk warlock junkie rat (yeah, I mean Constantine lol) makes fun of him. What could he crave more than some basic "this is Felix Faust, the greatest sorcerer alive who hoards all the knowledge"?

I would say it doesn't matter whether he sacrificed his son to help his dying wife or to get more power (he later sacrificed his daughter just for the latter reason. He just never learns). Generally sacrificing your children is shitty thing to do so there's no justification for his actions. He doesn't know when to stop and even if he feels regret for things he has done, he just keeps going in an everlasting chase.

Damn, in a way he is quite relatable: despite the efforts, he fails every time. Despite the education in three majors, he is so gullible. Making him not talented enough to match his knowledge truly is tragic.

What DC never explored, and never will, is he was a single parent, who didn't know how to carry on without his wife, how to bring their children up. Too focused on his "career" he neglected his children. Having Sebastian to grow up to be a better person and better sorcerer than he ever will be visibly drives him up the wall. At the same time he struggles, trying to get close with his son a bit – these clumsy attempts to scold him are actually meant to be compliments. (No such scenes with him and Fauna because apparently writers forgot about her completely smh).

I don't enjoy New52 events but I think a lot about how Faust was trapped in the Tower of Fate with Neron, the ruler of hell and also his abuser. He kinda had it coming but it's traumatic nonetheless

Another thing that could be explored by DC more is that in a way, heroes are pretty much the guardians of the status quo. Not only Sebastian takes the blame for everything and is not trusted by them, but they also haven't done much to keep Felix on the good side, never thanked him for his service nor did they tried not to push him into villainy. But such behaviour also affect other characters so I won't be focusing on this.

To sum it up nicely: just because this is about fictional magicians doesn't mean their story is unrelatable. People out there are emotionally absent in their family's life sometimes because of tragedy they went through or because they were not ready, or because something else. People may hate their abusers, love their abusers, be children of abusers. Parents put their children through harmful situations. Family are not always bonded and happy. Family members may long for contact but don't know how to get it. Etc etc, you probably got it.

Not only these characters suffers from lost potential but many, many more. Instead of seeing same characters like Batman or Wonder Woman over and over again, I'd prefer creators to go back and develop what they already have.

[redpumpscadillacblues]

Coming of witch

Hi friends!

I’m reasonably sure that I don’t have too many followers, and that’s totally ok. This is more for myself and for posterity reasons. I’ve had a lot of things happen in my life. I’m going to get some detail in here, but I won’t worry about my ENTIRE life story. It's still going to be long, hold on for the ride!

I mean, I guess I should start at the beginning since this is where all stories start. So here goes.

It really all started when I was little. I grew up catholic. As a child, I didn’t really have an opinion of religion, but overall, I felt far more connected to the native american religions than anything else and tended to embrace the wild side of life as most children do. I stayed in the faith at a distance (making my first holy communion there) until the end of high school and converted to protestantism at the behest of my boyfriend at the time. 

I made confirmation in the protestant church I was in. I went on a mission trip to Mexico over a Thanksgiving break and got out of working black Friday in retail. I felt great, I was on top of the world. I was active in the youth group and with the church. My boyfriend and I broke up. I still stayed with my new family in the church (I still keep in touch with some of them). I spent several years in the church. I had some people of faith who were rather awful and had some traumatizing experiences. I started distancing myself from the church in my pain. Bless the good folks, as they all tried to keep in touch and keep me involved. I became an agnostic.

I moved to California and back for a relationship and to get away from the abuse I suffered. My dad has always been a great support and lovingly took me back in at home. I started going back to the church again, looking for a semblance of normalcy all the while not following a lot of the tenets of being Christian. I was in my wild mid-20s.

Another trauma later, I was a few more relationships down the road, partying, and had met another guy. Things moved quickly, we moved in together, I quickly learned his drug abuse was not a thing of the past, but the darkness my life was thrown into. I worked with him to help him through, offered support and tried to help. My payment? He tried to steal, sell my stuff, and emptied out one of my bank accounts. One of his former best friends helped me move out. 

We were thick as thieves, me and this girl. We became fast friends, doing almost anything together. I was in nursing school, she was in EMS. I met her two roommates, one who was her boyfriend, and the other another single male. All three of them were in EMS. She was into Wicca, and sort of practiced, though I don’t remember seeing much while in the house. After several months, I started dating the single roommate. More months later, I moved in. the four of us were inseparable and always going on adventures. My new boyfriend worked an hour + from home and took the train, many nights, it was my best friend, her boyfriend and me. I was always dragged along for various antics. It was a great time. It was around this time I started to look into Wicca and identified with it (going so far as to change my facebook profile religion to this), but not actively practicing. I had nursing on my plate (if anyone has been through nursing school, you understand me), and was working 3 part-time jobs.

I met so many people through my roommates. Eventually, I felt a strong connection with a friend of theirs. The relationship I was in was headed south quickly. I had previously dealt with some awful drug abuse, slander, and other awful things, and was now dealing with an alcoholic who was financially using me. I now had an ex-boyfriend and a new boyfriend quickly. In the transition, I was clearly not totally innocent, and looking back, I would change the way this happened and be more upfront and honest, but the past is the past.

New boyfriend and I also moved quicker. Within 6 months, I had now graduated from college and become an RN and moved 6 hours from home to a new job, a new life, and my other half. He supported me through many changes, including my bachelor’s degree in nursing and most recently my master’s degree and board certification to become a nurse practitioner. We got married (now almost 4 years ago) and bought a house. We are blissful (still, after 7 years together and just about 4 years of wedded bliss). I married a catholic man.

Due to the nature of our initial connection, you can assume he works in EMS. It’s almost easier that we’re both in the medical field. We can both relate to the kinds of bad days we have and share a very similar dark and twisted sense of humor. We get along stellar, with only minimal tiffs. No major fights or arguments here yet. No secrets. Communication flows freely and honestly.

I am still essentially agnostic at this point but leaning towards a more pagan path.

 I started making new friends and becoming friends with his coworkers. One day, he came home and told me that he wanted to bring me by someone’s house one night for a bonfire. He assured me that he hadn’t told this person anything about me other than that I was the most incredible person he had ever met. We go over, I meet this coworker and his wife. His coworker greets me to his home with a hug and a firm handshake. He looks my husband dead in the eye and says to him “Shit, you married a natural witch man, good for you”. This caught me by surprise. We sat around the fire and talked. The conversation turned towards religion. Dear husband loves a debate and good intelligent conversations. My views of religion and spirituality were questioned and I answered some really uncomfortable questions for me. I finally realized my beliefs were pagan.

I tossed this idea around for a while, bought a couple books and read only a few chapters of each. I wasn’t too serious about it but liked the idea of pretending to be. I’d get curious and join some Facebook groups, post some questions, read through. I started a year and a day class through one of the groups. I made it for 8 weeks. School was in the way (at this point, I’m in my master’s program working nights and life sucks). I still hadn’t made any great strides with my spiritual life at this point.

The fall came around. School required me to make a trip to Boston to sign off on some skills prior to starting the next part, which was clinical rotations. We made a long weekend of it and checked out Gloucester and Salem. Dear husband has lived in and worked in Gloucester and Salem respectively. I had my tarot read in a well-known shop. I’m on the right path, awesome.

Flash forward to the end of the year, I start the year and a day class again. I’m doing well, I make it 12 weeks. I can’t hang with the work. I’m embarrassed to practice in front of dear husband (not for lack of support, but I keep a lot of me private). I’m still casually practicing.

 It’s now May 2019, I’m graduating from school (I went online, I already had my degree at this point, but wanted to walk due to the huge achievement). We trek back to Boston. My parents meet us separately (they’re divorced) and we go to the ceremony. It’s nice. Madonna ThunderHawk speaks and received an honorary doctorate for her work advocating for native americans in her life. Her tribe presents her with the Lakota Star Quilt. I’m crying. We go to Salem again the next day (because I love it there and missed the town).

I get another tarot reading at the same place. I meet the reader, who is incredibly intense, but comforting. /He shakes my hand firmly and looks me in the eye. “I’m so happy to read for a witch, I love reading for witches, you guys are my favorite. I wish I didn’t have another reading after you, I would spend more time with you”. I’m shocked. We sit down. He asks who my deities are. I tell him that I’ve not really identified who it is. He asks what pantheon I’m particularly interested in. I’m really enjoying learning about Norse culture. He smiles and tells me he figured and has some interesting news to share.

My reading delves more into my spiritual side. Essentially, Odin wants to work with me, he’s hanging around. the first card he turns over is the hanged man - one of Odin’s names. He tells me that I need to manifest and manifest large. He recommends picking up tarot (tells me to get a more basic deck for beginners), and suggests to also work with runes. I’m told I’ve been working magic in my sleep and likely don’t realize it. He recommends books. Now the reading is done. My head is spinning. I grab a Rider-Waithe deck. I’m pleased and we leave.

I’m so forgetful, and I forget the name of the book. I contact some Wiccan/pagan friends for help on finding information about Odin. This leads to another conversation and I’m called out AGAIN as a witch. She tells me she knew the first time she met me that I was a witch, and was surprised I didn’t know it.

That brings us to here and now. I’m reading up a storm, I’m working through the Poetic Eddas right now. I received my runes in today (they look awesome by the way). I’ve been pulling a tarot card daily and letting my intuition guide me. I’ve been journaling. I’m trying to work on remembering my dreams. I’m logging everything that I can at this point and I’m diving in whole-heartedly. I’m partially out of the broom closet at this point. I live at the top of the bible belt, and my “kind” aren’t welcome around here. I don’t always shy away from saying yes, I’m a witch when asked; however, I do try to keep it personal. I’m in the public eye and have to worry about how patients will perceive me if this information got out. However, I’m going to make the best of it that I can at this point!

Thanks for reading. It was long, somewhat drawn out on occasion, but this is me and where I’m at currently.

Blessed Be brothers and sisters. <3 

[decipherthecypher]

I remember a time when his lips were on mine//chapter:2

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Warning: Minimal Swearing

Word Count:1,493 

Chapter: {1|3|4}

~4 Days Later~

 You groaned as you watched the clock count down the seconds ‘til 7:30 a.m. ranged throughout your bedroom. Being as lazy as usual, you turned off the alarm and proceeded to go back to sleep. Then, your sister opened the door telling you to get up. She scared the life out of you. You gradually walked towards your bathroom to freshen up. Brushed your teeth and washed your face, you skipped right ahead towards your closet to grab your uniform. 

“God, How can I ever not find my uniform in the mornings? I need to start putting it out more often.” You scratched your head as you found your uniform in the back of your closet. 

 Today, you decided to curl your hair because it was the day that Jungkook and you will be declared boyfriend and girlfriend in front of the entire school. (Well, at least to both his and your group of friends that is). You had to make sure that you looked your very best. Once you were done, you grabbed your special lip-gloss and applied it to your lips. You looked back to see that it was already 8:00. You screamed and told your father, who was working on his laptop on the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee in his hand that you had to go quickly. He,very hard-pressed, waved you goodbye as you headed out the front door.

“Whew! I made it. Just in time for first period.” You let out a huge sigh of relief. As soon as you put away your stuff in your locker, the disciplinary teacher caught you and sent to go get a pink slip. You were so pissed afterwards once you came to class 15 minutes later. You told yourself that you would never get to school late. While you were focusing on the teacher on the blackboard, you received a text message. 

        Hey, what took you so long? I missed you <3

 You looked up to see that Jungkook was starring right at you from across the room. You managed to sent him a reply before the teacher looked back. 

      I’m sure you did and I guess I missed you too. 😊

 You smiled big once you sent it because you’ve never written anything that cliché before. You’d guess you could say that it’s kind of sad but the thing is you never dated anybody at all until Jungkook came along. Throughout, the following hour and a half, you guys kept sending each other messages back and forth while the teacher was busy. You blushed a lot during these times and your heart kept on pounding like a hammer against cloth. His every word he sent made you light up inside and in a way it felt really good. 

~3 Classes Later~

 After History class, you and Jungkook were heading to lunch. Now since you’re a couple, you guys tried to hold hands. Knowing you’re not used to people staring at you, you’ve kept trying to avoid touching his hand. 

 “Hey, what’s the matter?” Jungkook was curious as to why you’re not holding his hand. You didn’t answer because you were afraid that he would be upset if he knew that you didn’t want to give attention to yourself. You suddenly felt like you wanted to cry; the anxiety was coming to you like a bullet train. 

 “I’m sorry. I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back. Save my seat for me in the cafeteria.” You hurried as fast as you can to the girl’s restroom. (Which thank God that it was really close to where the cafeteria is). 

 You went straight to the first stall you see and hurriedly sat down on the toilet; trying to avoid slipping your skirt into the murky water. Then, you heard noises coming from outside. Through the very small slit, you could see it was a couple of girls that after hearing their voices, you knew they were in your class. 

“You are not going to believe what I had to watch in Mr. Lee’s class this morning in first period?” One of the girls said who made a vomiting noise. 

“No, Tell me?”

“I was overlooking Jungkook’s phone and it looked like he was texting this loser whom I don’ t even know.” Recognizing this voice is to be none other than Jungkook’s ex-girlfriend (ex-gf’s name here). 

 You were grasping the situation in your head but it was coming to your mind too quickly. You didn’t want to believe it. 

“Why aren't we doing something about it?!” (Ex-gf’s name)’s friend cried out loud. 

“Because I want to see how this plays out and if it doesn’t, that will be my cue to get my man back from the clutches of that little homewrecker.” The two girls laughed evilly; making you’re spine tingle with fear.

~ 8 Minutes Later~

“Hey, I saved your seat for you like I promised.” Jungkook told you once you came in. 

 Looking distraught, Jungkook asked you if you were okay with a worried expression. You told him you were okay, just that you saw crap in one of the stalls and you were now traumatized by it. Something to tell Jungkook while you were hiding the real reason. 

 Then, while you were sipping on your carton of chocolate milk, Jungkook immediately stood up from his chair and went over to the entrance and ranged the lunch bell with great intensity. Everyone looked at him while you were he was about to say something. 

“Ladies and gentlemen attending this very elite school called (enter school name here). I am much honored to say that I have found myself ‘the one’.” Jungkook kept going on with his speech and you knew that this particular speech is about you becoming his girlfriend. 

 He took you by the hand and introduced yourself awkwardly to the crowd. “She’s the one folks and if any of you lay a finger on her or make her life miserable, I know where you live. Just kidding...no I’m not.” What Jungkook said embarrassed you but, you didn’t want to stress yourself out. You wanted to be happy because Jungkook was declaring his love for you, but, there were people who were giving you a nasty look. One of them, of course, happened to be (ex-gf’s name), to which she gave the hand gesture that she wanted to fight you. You didn’t give it much thought though, instead focusing on Jungkook the whole time.

“Thanks so much for listening and have a good rest of your day.” Jungkook waved and you guys went back to your table. Everyone amongst the table congratulated you guys but, you felt uneasy. 

~After School~

 School was over for the day. You told Jungkook that you had to attend Anime Clue. He didn’t want to let you go but, he knew that he also has Gaming Club. You hugged, gave Jungkook a little peck on the lips and both went your separate ways. 

 You were heading to your locker to grab some things, when all of a sudden your mouth was covered by someone you didn’t know who it was and forcefully took you somewhere. Your captor, whoever it was, lead you to the back of the school where the dumpsters were and violently threw you down on the foul trash bags.

“Tie that bitch up!” That voice sounded familiar again and looked up to see that it was (ex-gf’s name) and her fellow posse. 

“So, you’re the tramp who’s been texting my man during Mr. Lee’s class weren’t you?” You really weren’t the type to get caught up in an altercation between an ex-girlfriend and yourself. You never thought in your whole life this would ever happen to you but, it did and it’s here.

 You eventually answered; trying to stand up even though you’re all full of scratches and smelt of garbage. 

“Yeah, I am. But, I’m not a bitch nor a tramp, not even a homewrecker and he’s not your man; he’s my man! So, why don’t you give it a rest and find someone else. Have you ever heard of the saying, ‘There’s plenty of fish in the ocean’.?” That sudden spark of courage in you was definitely surprising. Something that should of came out a long time ago. 

“Oh really!? Do you really want me to stay away from him forever and let the two of you live happily ever after!? Well, guess again slut!” With that she punched you and the rest of her friends soon followed. You called for help but, there was no one around and you felt totally defeated. You tried hitting them too but, there were to many of them. You couldn’t defeat them all alone. There was no hope in surviving this. While, they were still hitting you, you started thinking of Jungkook. How you should’ve trusted your instincts instead of your heart. 

                                           We never should’ve met. 

[awkwardshanandagins]

Peace Out 2017.  You Truly Sucked Balls.

Happy New Year everyone!  My hope going into 2018 is that I make it out alive.  Gotta set those expectations pretty low so you're never disappointed.  Life tip #987 for you guys ;)

Let me catch you up on the last week or so as it's been a little bit since I've written anything.  Christmas came and went super fast per usual.  There's always so much build up and then you sneeze and it's over.  Christmas was a tad emotional this year.  It's a rough time of year for us crazies who are obsessing over having a child since reminders are absolutely everywhere.  I would like to take my screaming child to sit on creepy Santa's lap or have them be the center of my adorable Christmas card, naked, wrapped in lights on a fur rug (see my last post for a nice visual of Paul in this same scenario).  Instead, I just get to look at everyone else's pictures of their petrified child sitting on creepy mall Santa's lap.  It's not as fun; I'd rather traumatize my own child. Christmas Eve day was spent pretty much just ugly crying all over the place.  I couldn't let it slow me down since I had things that needed to get done, like wrapping ALL of the gifts and getting myself thrown together for Christmas Eve with my family.  So, I just ugly cried while doing all of things I needed to get done.  What a f*cking mess that was.  Ask Paul, it wasn't pretty.  Wrapping presents is difficult enough for me (I'm incredibly bad at wrapping) but doing it through swollen seeping eyes was a whole other level of difficult.  By the end, the presents were soggy and mangled, just how everyone likes 'em!  My day of emotional turmoil sparked some super intense hot flashes so that was fun too.  Can't say my day wasn't eventful.

I eventually pulled my shit together, as I can usually do, and got myself over to my sister's house to celebrate with my family.  You may be getting the idea at this point that I am super unstable and a really depressed person.  That's not all true.  Yes, I am incredibly unstable right now so keeping your distance is well advised, but I am not a completely miserable person.  I still have a lot of happy moments but those ones aren't as fun to tell you guys about because then it seems like I'm bragging.  I'd rather show you all my lowest and most pathetic moments because those are more fun to laugh at.  I may have some pretty sick humor, take it up with my family, they taught me this behavior.  Anyways, Christmas with my family was enjoyable as always.  They usually pull me out of my funk; it's probably the sick sense of humor we all share.  The rest of Christmas was relaxed and uneventful, nothing to write home about.  I was super thankful for a mellow Christmas this year; it's exactly what we needed after the hectic year we just barely made it through.

The following week was blah.  The week between Christmas and New Years always feels off, like no one knows what day it is, everything is dark and dreary, time doesn't exist and the only thing there is to do is eat all the left over crap from Christmas.  I mean, am I wrong?  I spent my week on a boat.  Don't get all jealous, I wasn't actually on a boat, my body just felt like it.  It's a fun adventure MS has added to my life.  It's awesome!  I always get to feel like I'm on a sweet ocean vacation but I'm actually just bashing between the stall walls in the bathroom at work.  Literally.  I sway back and forth and ping-pong between walls.  It's cool though, I just tell everyone I'm drunk.  This is probably frowned upon at work but screw it, I like to live on the edge.

New Years Eve came up fast.  As usual, Paul and I made plans to go out and drink with friends to ring in the new year the correct way, drunk.  And, as usual, my body wasn't cooperating.  Friday I had some cool burning whilst peeing.  You're welcome for the TMI.  I for sure thought a UTI was going to ring in the new year with me.  Saturday I woke up to burning while peeing, horrible pelvic and back cramps and my most favorite friend...my monthly destroyer.  Blood.  Blood?  Wait, what the f*ck?  I am on lupron for this exact reason, to keep this guy at bay.  My cool body just does whatever the hell it wants though.  It defies all the odds, but not in the cool matrix style way, more of in the "you have a .02% chance of experiencing this side effect" way...and then I experience the side effect.  Sunday, New Years Eve, I woke up to even more pain, blood and tears.  Oh God, so many tears.  This is really becoming the norm for me.  The day was spent curled up with heating pads on my front and back with intermittent sobbing.  Mostly, I was disappointed my plans for the night would now be laying on the couch trying not to die.  Another thing my body ruined for us.

I'm starting to lose sight of why I'm doing the lupron at all.  It was supposed to be a way to give my body a six month break from the bleeding and pain, but it just rears it's ugly head anyways.  Oh well, one more month to go.  My doctor gave me estrogen patches to help with the 'she-devil' side-effect of the lupron.  Estrogen is one of endometriosis' main catalysts but I figured my doctors knew what they were doing putting me on it.  Guess not.  It's the reason for the most recent pain and bleeding.  Now I'm in this weird vortex of taking lupron to help with pain and bleeding and taking estrogen to help with the lupron only to end up with pain and bleeding.  Um, what?  This sure makes a lot of sense.

So anyways, Paul and I rang in the New Year sound asleep.  Leading up to that, we binge-watched Black Mirror on Netflix and ate complete garbage since we're back to our healthier way of life today.  By the way, if you haven't watched Black Mirror, go watch it, it's crazy.  Also by the way, if you haven't tried Mochi, go buy some.  It's my new obsession.  The best thing about not going out last night, no hangover today!  What a great way to start the new year, haven't done this in years!

Last year, I made the resolution that I was going to get pregnant.  2017 was our year!  Smart.  Really set myself up for failure with that one.  Do me a favor and do not make a resolution that is not within your control.  I may have not ended up with a baby, but you know what awesome thing 2017 did give to me?  MS.  I hope you can feel my sarcasm oozing out of your screen right now.  No but really, set goals for the year that are obtainable and within your control.  That is exactly what I have done this year.  My three goals that I can achieve every single day are to eat healthy, move my body and ease my mind.  Easy enough, right?  Side note, if I say "exercise" I will not do it; I hate exercising.  If I say "move my body," I'll definitely do it because it's fun.  I specifically like to move my body to music.  No one else really likes when I do this though.  I may have the most awkward white girl moves you've ever seen, but I'm doing the damn thing, so deal with it, or avert your eyes.  Also, my goal of easing my mind can be achieved in many different ways and will always be something I enjoy so I can't possibly fail at that.  I can meet that goal daily by reading something I enjoy, writing to you fine folks, writing more privately, yoga, listening to music or trying something new.  Meditation is something new I'm dabbling in.  I have a crazy loud and obnoxious mind and getting it to quiet is definitely going to take some practice so wish me luck!

I'm not going to say "2018 is our year" because I saw how well that's worked out for me the last few years.  2018 is just another year and who knows what the hell it will bring my way so I'm going to go into it hoping for the best but expecting the worst; that way I can't possibly be disappointed, right?  What's that you say?  I seem to be a tad pessimistic?  Like father like daughter ;)  Seriously though, I'm not expecting miracles this year, even though they would be welcomed, but I am expecting to make changes that are within my control.  I will take it one day at a time and enjoy each moment, even the moments I'm clutching a heating pad, scream-crying in agony and bleeding more than any human ever should without dying.  You're welcome for that visual.  Happy New Year my people!

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Mycroft Submission Form

Name: Char

Nationality: English & Irish

Age (note that if you below 21 your scores may be lower until age of legality): 25

Personality Type: Happy go lucky, loyal, adventurous, quiet, optimistic, excitable, empathetic

Level of Education: Bachelor’s Degree in Chemistry

Best Subject: Sciences

Worst Subject: Physical education (hockey was a traumatic experience)

Favorite Subject: Languages and philosophy

5 Hobbies (if applicable): Travelling, dancing, cooking, climbing, singing

Favorite Genre of Music/Movies/Books: Folk-pop/comedy/mystery

Last song you listened to on repeat: ‘Shape of You’ by Ed Sheeran. It’s got a great beat for salsa, so we’ve been working out a routine. Lots of hip-work and spins!

Last phrase you said to another living person: “Cuppa?”

How many blankets do you sleep with: 2

7 note worthy skills: Perfumery (This is also my job – I own my own business), negotiating, problem-solving, very good listener, I’m creative and artistically minded, I’m a great cook and I’m very determined – it takes a lot to get me to give up on something.

7 noticeable sins: I can get very emotional, I’m a workaholic and take on too much to the point of burn out, I take failure badly, I’m reckless, I can be quite flirty, I have a very low pain threshold and I will ramble for ages on a topic and go off on all sorts of tangents in a stream of consciousness.

Allergies/impairments/illnesses: Terrible hayfever, serious claustrophobia

Level of Intelligence on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 being dumb, 2 being below average, 3 being average, 4 being above average and 5 being genius): 3 to 4, depending on the subject

Level of Fitness on a scale of 1 to 5( 1 being obese, 2 being overweight, 3 being average, 4 being fit and 5 being skinny): 4

Level of Attractiveness on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 being Anderson, 2 being below average, 3 being average, 4 being above average and 5 being Mycroft): 2 first thing in the morning, approaching 4 when dressed up, so let’s say 3.

Feline, canine or both: Canine

Confidence Level on a scale from 1 to 5 (1 being nonexistent, 2 low, 3 average, 4 above average and 5 Sherlock): 3

Position in the Family (oldest, youngest, middle): Middle (to be specific, the second of five siblings by 43 minutes)

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color and Length: Blonde, just below my shoulders

Height: 5’2”

Combat level on a scale 1 to 5 (1 being useless, 2 being somewhat capable, 3 being average, 4 being more than capable and 5 being expert): 3.5

Your normal dress: For work it’s either a shift dress and heels or a white coat depending on whether I’m representing the company or in the lab at that time. At home it’s mostly soft, chunky knit cardigans in autumnal colours and thick socks.

How well you take rejection on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 being temper tantrum, 2 being vindictive, 3 being average, 4 being can take it like a man, and 5 being like water off of a duck’s back): 3. Of course I’ll be upset and I might need a bit of a cry and a tub of ice cream, but I’m pretty good at going through that part in private and getting over it after that. I can hardly blame someone else for not being interested in me, that’s not fair.

Languages known: English, French, Italian and some Irish. I can usually make myself understood (sort of) in other Romance and Germanic languages, but my attempts might get a few laughs. I want to venture beyond Europe next and teach myself some Mandarin or Hindi.

Cleanliness of your bathroom on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 being a crime scene, 2 being messy, 3 being average, 4 being pretty clean and 5 being perfectly spotless): 4.5. I hate a messy bathroom or kitchen, but they’re used daily so aren’t usually completely spotless!

How big is your circle of friends on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 being nonexistent, 2 being very small, 3 being average, 4 being large, and 5 being a massive social network): 2.5. I prefer to have a few very close friends.

How would you rate your mental health on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 being very poor, 2 being poor, 3 being average, 4 being good, and 5 being prefect): 4

Opinions on the current Holmes family members ( Siger Holmes, Violet Holmes, Sherlock Holmes and Eurus Holmes):

Oh boy.

Well, I have to admit that I have very little patience for the Holmes parents, particularly Violet. The combination of apparent neglect and disdain Violet shows towards her children, Mycroft in particular, is awful and while Siger appears to be a little kinder and easier to get on with, he is a very passive father.

As for the siblings, Eurus makes me very uneasy given her past actions and the fact that she doesn’t  appear to feel any remorse for them. Sherlock has a wonderfully kind heart and I admire his dedication.

Please bold the following below that applies toward your submission:

Friendship

Mentorship

Relationship

Partnership

The Question portion:

(I spent far too long on this and had way too much fun!)

 1) Stumbled upon while doodling and trying to avoid using trigonometry…

The base of the green triangle is twice the height. The same can be said for the blue triangle, so we know that B = D.

Obviously A + D = C, so that means that A + B = C too.

2) I’m going to have to give up on this one for now six numbers in. To be finished later!

3) July 16th

4) First of all, ‘truel’ is a wonderful word.

My first thought was that he should just run. By the rules of the problem, Mr Gray can’t shoot until Mr Black has, so if Mr Black never shoots, he can’t be shot at. Not in the real world! That did lead me to think Mr Black should miss deliberately though. Mr Gray will shoot at Mr White and vice versa as they are each other’s biggest threat and one of them will definitely die, leaving only one opponent for Mr Black.

5) First answer: 5 + 5 + 5 + 5 ≠ 555

More satisfying answer after actually thinking (for a while): 5 + 5 + 545 = 555

6) A very Mycroftian question. As he might say, the usefulness of a good brolly should never be underestimated, particularly for those who may lack a little in the height department.

7) Turn the Switch 1 on and wait a few minutes. Turn it off and turn Switch 2 on. Go into the room. The bulb connected to Switch 2 is on. Feel the other two. The bulb connected to Switch 1 will be off, but warm. The bulb connected to Switch 3 will be off and cold.

8) Pass. I think I might be grappling with this one for a while…

9) John locks the package with a padlock and sends it to Mary, who can’t open it. She adds a padlock and sends it back. John removes his own padlock and returns the package to Mary, who can unlock her padlock and open the package.

10) 87

11) The one who owns the fish tank. (This one stumped me.)

12) Burrowing underground. (I don’t usually recommend strategic arson, but that could be another solution.)

13) Yes

14) 679 was the smallest I found after spending a long time on it, but I doubt that’s the smallest that exists.

15) 50

16)

P(two orange) = 1/3 = (6/n) x (5/(n-1))

1/3 = 30/(n(n-1))

1 = 90/(n(n-1))

n(n-1) = 90

n^2 – n = 90

n^2 – n – 90 = 0

17) Vince

18) Where does the English horn (Cor Anglais) come from? Poland (This was one of the odd little facts my school orchestra conductor’s liked to throw out now and then, along with titbits about Mozart’s filthy sense of humour.)

19) What is brass composed of? Copper and zinc

20) Who was the FIRST great artist that contributed to the Italian Renaissance? A couple of great artists come to mind, but I’m pretty sure they were a bit later into the Renaissance, so I’m going guess Botticelli.

21) I’m going to have to pass on this one!

22) 12

23) 2

24) White and gold?

25) This has an odd solution, as you will know. At first it looks wholly ordinary, but it is not and you will find that this short paragraph is similar. For a bit of clarity as to what is so curious about it, just think about what is common in most writing.

Mycroft’s answer:

I must say that I am impressed Char (or perhaps its short for Charlene but nevertheless a very striking one) with your application. You own your own business, have a degree in Chemistry, and answer a great deal of the questions with more accuracy than I have seen thus far. Bravo. Also I find it refreshing that you have such an upbeat attitude toward things including misgivings but still maintain a professional state given circumstances. Its a very desirable trait to see things from more than one perspective and even more so to find someone that wishes to continue to learn despite their success. Your work ethic is admirable regardless of those potential 'burnouts' as most of today's workforce tend to be a bit lazy however I hardly see your gift for babble as a bad thing as many of my potential partners both in and out of business  seem to run out of things to say. I look forward to our first meeting and hope that you will bring enough stories to keep us both entertained well through the second date.

Friendship: 10/10

Mentorship: 10/10

Relationship: 8/10

Partnership: 9/10

[skylandmountain1013]

Agents of Shield fic- learning to be

Welp. Happy hiatus folks. 

Show of hands, who else is losing their mind?

Title: learning to be

Summary: She doesn’t know how to fix problems she doesn’t remember causing. (PG-13ish.)

Post-framework arc. My guess is as good as yours. 

Check it out on AO3.

i.

She leaves the lab and all she can think about is getting to a shower. A real shower, not the antiseptic wipe downs of quarantine.

She smells like blood and dirt and adhesive and the distinct scent of melting circuits and skin. (She reminds herself it wasn’t real skin.)

It needs to be gone.

She’s not surprised that Coulson is half a step behind her, and she’s not surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“—you haven’t been cleared. You should be back there resting.”

“I’ve done nothing but rest for the past 5 weeks. I’m fine.” She just needs to clean up. She sees the door to her bunk up ahead.

“We aren’t aware yet of the potential side effects of long term exposure to the Framework-“

“Yeah. Simmons made that crystal clear. Multiple times. If I’m going to go crazy, I’d like to do it on my own terms.” She punches in the code to the door and wipes the residual smudges away in disgust.

He’s still in step behind her as she gathers a fresh set of clothes. She thinks she may burn the ones she has on.

She’s managed to tune him out—mostly. The shower is in front of her and she whips around to face him. The aroma of grease in her hair is overpowering. “How long do you plan on following me?”

The flush creeps up his neck as he takes in his surroundings. He rubs a hand through his hair and stumbles his words. “I’m sorry. You’re an adult. I just—it’s been—“

She doesn’t have the energy to decipher him. Not right now. “You can stay. I don’t care. Hand me that towel and turn around.”

He obliges and thank god she’s under the spray of the water moments later and it’s the best damn thing she’s ever felt in her life. She lets the steam and water and soap engulf her and she starts to feel human.

She watches his hazy form through the shower door, slumping to the ground with a sigh. Guilt creeps in. “I promised Simmons I would have everyone keep an eye on me. Report out with any changes in behavior or personality.”

The water ricocheting off the walls make his voice sound even more muffled than she’s sure it is. “You were gone while you were still here. And I couldn’t figure it out. And then I did, and then we were both gone. It’s hard to sort what’s reality right now.”

She opens the door far enough to stick her head out. The clean air assaults her.

“Phil.” He tugs at his tie. “I’m real. You’re real. We’re real.”

He cranes his neck up at her. “Okay.”

ii.

The snap of tape on leather is comforting.

Jab. Jab. Cut.

She breathes heavily, focusing on the sound of the blood rushing through her ears. It reminds her that it’s been too long since her muscles have had this much use.

Kick. Punch. Duck.

She hears footsteps enter the room, and the cadence tells her exactly who it is. He hops up on the exercise hutch with a thud.

Jab. Punch.

“Fitz needs your data on what your Framework experience was.”

“I told him I don’t have any recollection of it.” The bag stills and she rolls her head in a slow circle. The pops of her vertebrae are welcoming.

She doesn’t want to talk about this.

“You’re the only one who can’t remember what happened in there. Something isn’t adding up.”

“There’s nothing to add up. I got kidnapped. The original rescue mission failed. The secondary one didn’t.”

She won’t tell him about the conversations that won’t get out of her head—her voice saying things she doesn’t remember. Saying things she would never say. The voices of the rest of the team- sounding like them but clearly not being them.

“May. We all had a traumatic experience in there. You can talk about it. You need to talk about it.”

She finally turns to face him. “I had a shrink once. Didn’t end well. Don’t need another.” The anger lacing her words is misguided but she can’t let it go.

His eyes widen and when he speaks, she hears the measured clip of his sentences and she knows she’s hit a nerve. “If you think I’m suggesting this as a coworker or as part of some goddamn Shield protocol, then-“

“-then what, Coulson?”

The slam of the door is the only response.

iii.

2 am is well beyond the point of protocol, so she lets herself into his room without hesitation.

He’s awake (she knew he would be), and if he’s surprised to see her, he doesn’t let it show.

Instead he feigns indignation. “What if I was indecent?”

“You weren’t.”

“I could have been!”

“Alright.” She slides out of her slippers and shuffles onto the bed.

She’s struck by how old he looks. Hair greying at his temple, worry lines etched across his face- although she’s sure she doesn’t look any better.

“I can’t sleep,” she says plainly.

“I know the feeling.”

He asks if it’s nightmares, and she shakes her head no immediately. Because it’s not. She’s dealt with those long enough to know how to get through them- and it’s been decades since she’s needed to reach for him in the darkest corner of the night.

“I have these pictures in my head- things I’ve done, places I’ve been, but I know they’re not real. It’s like watching a movie that you don’t remember filming.”

He nods and stretches his arms above his head. She focuses on how his shirt sneaks across his midsection. “It’s the LMD link. Radcliffe made sure that there was always a neural connection between the LMD and it’s-” he thinks before the next words- “carbon copy. So even though you didn’t live those events, they’re in your memories.”

“That’s real fucked up,” she says with a sigh. “Even for us.”

“Tell me.” It’s a quiet plea—not the demand of earlier in the week.

She props herself up against the headboard and focuses on the world she only knows from her thoughts. “A lot of you and me. Mostly good. Talking. We never talk.”

He nods, confirming her description. She thinks he looks wistful. She’s not sure.

She closes her eyes as the film in her mind leads to it’s climax—the one that’s been keeping her up. “I think I pulled a gun on you.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Phil.”

He lays his glasses on the nightstand and starts rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if it helps, but I think I did the same to you.”

She’s seen pieces of that as well- Blood. A promise of no pain. Lies. Love. Sacrifice. An explosion. Choice.

A faint shudder runs through his body and she knows he’s seeing it too.

“What the hell did we do to each other?”

She doesn’t have an answer. She doesn’t know how to fix problems she doesn’t remember causing.

His answer is to lift the corner of his comforter and offer it to her. “Stay?”

She doesn’t need to. But she also can’t think of a reason not to want to. She slides down and he forces off the lights.

Once her eyes adjust she watches the rise and fall of his chest until hers follows suit.

iv.

The microwave dings and she knows her father would disapprove. (Melinda. Good Asian food comes from the heart. Not square white boxes.) But it’s been a long day and the Kung Pao Chicken in the fridge looked too good to pass up.

The first bite of rice barely passes her lips when the couch sags next to her.

“Hey.” Coulson is holding a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“Wednesday night drinking? I think I approve.”

He shrugs and places everything down on the table. “You never had that drink. Sorry it’s not the Haig,” he winces. “Robots.”

She reads the label on the bottle and gives him a look. It may not be Haig, but it’s still top shelf.

“Mace never changed the combination to the storage locker in his office,” He explains, shrugging. “Besides. He owes me. He just doesn’t realize it.”

“Well now I definitely approve.”

He eyes the take out box. “Golden Dragon?”

She nods, so he grabs her fork and spears himself a peapod.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

“Actually I think it’s Mack’s.”

She grabs the fork out of his mouth. “I could kick his ass if needed to.”

They trade bites until the box is empty. She reaches for the liquor on the table.

The bottle is opened and drinks are poured and she asks what they are drinking to. This is his idea, after all.

His answer is thoughtful. “Humanity. Reality. Moving forward.”

Glasses clink and she takes a sip. She tastes smoke and spice and warmth.

A contented silence sits between them as they both finish their drinks.

“Do you think it’s true? That even though the LMD’s were machines, they were acting on our intrinsic wants and needs?”

“The science makes sense,” He offers. “But I studied history, so..”

He’s studying his empty glass and she realizes that the space between them has disappeared.

So she makes a choice.

He tastes like soy sauce and toothpaste and home.

v.

Her world is on fire.

They’re in an air handler room of all places, because whatever has finally clicked between them has turned them into fucking teenagers who can’t make it to privacy. She doesn’t think he minds. She certainly doesn’t.

His mouth is hot against her collarbone and she feels her keys jabbing into the small of her back from being pinned against some pipes and she momentarily wonders if these pipes are important, what they control on the base and then his hand moves lower and she doesn’t wonder anymore.

“Jesus,” he hisses, as her hands skim under his shirt. She scratches his hair and circles his navel and closes her eyes in brief reverence as her fingers dance over the puckered skin of his scar.

He moves closer (she’s really not sure how that’s possible) and she feels how hard he is and he isn’t hiding it and so she positions her thigh between his and rubs just enough to create some friction.

“Old man,” he manages to grunt. “Need a soft landing spot.”

She moves away and immediately misses the connection.

A quick sweep of the hallway and she pulls him behind her, darting through the corridor. Her room is closer.

The door whooshes open.

They stumble towards the bed and she welcomes his skin.