#he says something like you’re afraid of a little cancer?? after all I’ve been through??

[notcapableofbeingtheguy]

your post about walter jr supporting his parents and always showing so much kindness and maturity to them is literally the ONLY post that matters. that child deserved so so so much better and i love to see him acknowledged

Thank you friendo while I have you here can we also talk about how Walt destroys his life because of a shitty intersection of toxic masculinity + ableism (because what he’s trying to avoid, deep down, is that image of his dying father— sick. weak. feminized to Walt in his frailness) and this attitude also affects how he treats Flynn???

Look how Flynn is introduced in the pilot script:

His parents “treat him as if he were able-bodied, which is how he wants it.” It’s true— and at first glance, this is a good thing. Flynn doesn’t want to be babied, he doesn’t want to be offered help at every turn in situations where he knows he can be independent. His parents provide him with a feeling of normalcy, by not over-emphasizing or dramatizing his cerebral palsy. Sometimes he will need help or accommodation, and they provide it for him, but often he won’t, and they won’t mention it. This is the rhythm they have all found, and Flynn likes it that way.

But this approach is deeply flawed. Rather than normalizing Flynn’s disability (which I think is the surface level intention), it erases it, ignores it, attempts to hide it from view and discussion. Which is unsurprisingly pretty similar to how Walt relates to his cancer + treatment. He wants to do everything alone— he banishes Skyler from his chemo sessions, and he hides himself away when he’s having chemo side effects, often locking himself in the bathroom. Walt shapes his life around his cancer in some ways (that whole cooking meth thing), but at the same time, he works hard to hide his illness, ashamed of that feminizing weakness he thinks it gives him.

And what effect does this attitude have on Flynn? Walt’s shame around illness, weakness, and disability— his idea that it’s okay to be sick or disabled, as long as you don’t talk about it? Of course, it makes Flynn feel his father is ashamed of him. And it instills that same reflexive draw towards toxic masculinity in him (think about how he idolizes Hank!).

Consider the scene where Walt is teaching Flynn how to drive (which I recently saw on my rewatch). Where Flynn wants to drive with two feet, and Walt insists he use just one, because he has to get it “right.” He has to be able to drive the same as everyone else, no matter how unintuitive that may be to his body. This conversation obviously makes Flynn feel embarrassed and ashamed. And when Flynn tries to drive the “right” way? He crashes.

This scene hits so hard for me because it’s a very clear case where the method of driving that would work best for Flynn is so clearly viable— there’s really no reason not to let him drive in the way that’s most intuitive and comfortable for him. If Walt were truly normalizing Flynn’s disability, he would let him drive that way with no comment. But that was never Walt’s real attitude towards Flynn’s cerebral palsy. Walt is treating him like he’s able bodied— he’s trying to erase Flynn’s disability. And when that attitude hits the road, it literally crashes. With the added bonus of making Flynn feel like it’s his fault for not having a body that works the “right” way.

Idk exactly where I’m going with this. Mostly wanted to say Justice For Flynn!!! And remark on what an interesting character he is. I think he’s super neglected in fandom discourse— I’m thinking a lot rn (if you couldn’t tell haha) about how he serves as a foil for Walt in terms of Walt’s attitudes about gender and bodies and power and all that jazz. As a (mostly) able-bodied person myself I would love to hear more on this topic from any disabled folks who wanted to speak on it!

[drabblesandimagines]

Kitty (part 13)

Parts 1-12 here. Rei x (afab) reader

-

You’re in Kyu’s car – the front passenger seat this time, your duffel bag in the trunk. You are a little worried you’re about to wake up though, find yourself in your bed at the refuge and it had all just been a taunting dream. You’d even pinched yourself just to make sure. You can’t help the smile on your face – so excited at the prospect of seeing them again, seeing Rei again…

“Kitty, I haven’t exactly been 100% honest, but you’ll understand why I couldn’t have been in front of Hikoti.” You’d gone up to your room to pack and say goodbye to the others whilst Hikoti and Kyu had gone over some of the finer details. Hikoti had seemed somewhat worried about this family connection coming so out of the blue, especially when Kyu said they were happy to take you in today, on New Year’s Eve. He blagged his way through. After all, he was your supposed social worker.

You look over at him. “W-what about?”

“Well, they don’t know that I was there...”

Your stomach tightens – what does that mean? Are you not going back? Was this a trick, was this a…? You force yourself to stop – a technique taught in one of the therapy sessions – catastrophizing.

“..but I am going to take you to them.” He continues, side-eyeing your expression. “A lot has happened. This was still the right choice in keeping you safe – I stand by that, and so should they - but the danger has passed and my conscience wouldn’t let me hold off any longer. It’s clear they all miss you and I know you miss them. From what Hikoti told me, it seemed they’d actually been quite beneficial to your recovery already… somehow.” He still doesn’t sound convinced.

“Y-you said all, s-s-so Miri’s with them t-too?”

He nods, his face settling into a more solemn expression. “I’m sorry to say this, but Misaki is dead.”

That catches you by surprise. “The c-c-cancer t-took her s-so soon?”

“No. Ogino did.” Kyu hesitates. “He’s… He’s the man who tried to visit you.”

You push that bit of knowledge to the back of your mind, your concern for the precious little girl far more important. “Is M-M-Miri hurt?”

“Miri’s fine – not a scratch on her. Happy to be back with her papas. I’m not sure they’ve told her about Misaki’s death yet. She didn’t witness it, thankfully – slept through the whole thing.”

If it weren’t such a somber topic, you would’ve smiled at that – Miri did sleep like a log – but you don’t really know what to say. It��s horrifying. You weren’t sure what you thought of Misaki, you’d only had the one interaction with her, really, but it was clear Miri adored her and it’s awful that she met such a horrendous end. And then this Ogino had come to the refuge… What was his plan if they’d let him in? What would he have done if they hadn’t called the police to get him to leave?

“Misaki’s murder obviously demonstrates how serious everything was.”

“Y-yes, of course. B-but…” you swallow, a little afraid of the answer. “..w-what’s changed?”

“Ogino is dead, for one.” Your body relaxes at that - that’s a relief. “Secondly, Rei and Kazuki have left the Organization for good. I’m not sure exactly how they pulled it off, but from my intel they made a clear enough statement that the Boss no longer holds an interest in them or their activities.”

You can tell he’s holding something back. “D-d-did they g-get h-hurt?”

“They were shot, yes. Kazuki in his shoulder and leg, but he’s doing really well as far as I’ve seen. Rei’s injury was… is”, he corrects, “a little more permanent.”

“H-how?”

“He shot an important nerve in his right arm – he might not be able to use it again. He did it deliberately, to make himself worthless in his father’s eyes, apparently.”

He did it to himself? You can’t imagine the pain, the desperation… “P-p-poor Rei.”

“Kazuki said he doesn’t seem particularly fussed – happy it achieved his aim. Something else has been getting him down, though.”

“W-what?”

He smirks. “You know.”

You feel the heat fill your cheeks.

--

You’re surprised when Kyu doesn’t take you to the riverside apartment, instead taking you to a café. He unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, encouraging you to take a seat at the counter as he goes round the other side, starting to make a coffee. He looks at your puzzled expression and then his watch, “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

The bell rings above the door as it swings open and the newcomer caught you off guard. Kazuki’s eyes are cast down, hands in the pockets of his long green coat as he enters.

“Hi, Kyu, what did…?” He trails off as he looks up and sees you sitting at the counter. The door closes gently behind him as he stares in disbelief. “Kitty?”

“H-hi, Zuki.” You smile, nervously. Your last interaction with Kazuki had been tense and now you know that Kyu hadn’t even involved them in his plan you’re a little wary of what his reaction is going to be.

You shouldn’t have worried. Kazuki strides over, wraps his arms around and crushes you into his chest into a hug. “I’m so sorry.” His voice is muffled into your hair as he holds you. You wrap your arms around him in return.

“It’s o-okay, I un-understand why…”

“No,” he pulls back a little, but still keeps you close. His voice is choked. “I didn’t handle that right at all. I was so intentionally cruel. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Y-you were u-upset. Kyu t-told me w-why, it’s okay. I p-promise.”

He squeezes you tight again, almost in disbelief, before looking at the man behind the counter. “What’s going on?”

“Kitty was doing so well there, they thought it was time she thought about coming home. So, I told them I found her family.” He replies, shrugging. “Which is true, right?”

“Yes, a proper family!” Kazuki beams, but then looks down at you hesitantly. “If you can forgive me, that is. I feel so awful.”

“Zuki…” You chide, “There’s n-nothing to apologise f-for. H-honestly.”

He squeezes you tight again, releasing a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“Where’s Rei and Miri?” Kyu interrupts – he’d asked all three of them to come.

“He said he’d rather stay home with Miri,” Kazuki sighs, finally releasing you. “You were rather coy what this was about, Kyu, I’m sure his answer would’ve been very different if he had known who was here.”

“Is h-he okay?”

Kazuki shakes his head. “He misses you – a lot. Pining, I’d say. He’s been sleeping with that lion he got you ever since.”

You smile at that, you’d been the same with his t-shirt ever since you’d found it in your bag.

“Can I s-see him?”

“Like I’d say no! We’re staying at a different place, though. We’re having a little party tonight – I was going to grab some bits and pieces for it after whatever Kyu wanted.” Kazuki thinks for a minute. “Kyu, do you think you could drop off Kitty later this afternoon? It gives me some time to prepare and I think you’d make an excellent New Year’s Eve gift for Rei and Miri...”

--

Rei’s been silent most of the afternoon since Kazuki returned. He’d asked what Kyu had wanted. The blonde had shrugged it off as another box of Miri’s things from Misaki’s apartment. He wonders briefly why Kyu requested they come pick it up – he’s been by the house often over the past week, keeping them supplied with heavy duty painkillers, acquiring a sling for his arm, but that’s about all that can be done for it. Miri has questions, obviously, about why her papas wince sometimes. He tells Miri he had an accident, explains why Papa Kazuki helps him put the dangling limb in and out of the sling every day, why he can’t play video games with her right now, but he’s been passing on his wisdom, trying to teach her where the shortcuts are. She finally got her Morio Kart 2nd Edition.

There are still guns in the house – of course there are – but being here allows them to relax a little. Miri is excited for tonight - he’s not convinced she’ll last until midnight, but the little girl is determined to try. From what Kazuki had also brought home from the city, it seems the blonde’s plan is to keep her plied with sugary snacks. He lamented not being able to bake a cake – his shoulder won’t allow him to mix as well as he’d like at the moment. Rei wonders if you’ll be having a party tonight.

Kazuki and Rei are sat either side of the sofa, Miri’s in a party hat, sat on the floor and on the last race of the championship. Kazuki’s phone buzzes - one new text from Kyu. It takes all that’s in him not to smile as he reads it. He doesn’t want to give the game away just yet.

Gift for you to ring in the New Year. Can’t stop – dropped it at the door.

Rei gives him a questioning look as the blonde gets to his feet, sliding his phone back in his pocket. Kazuki answers before he can ask. “Text from Kyu. He’s dropped us off something. I’m just gonna go grab it – probably food or something.”

He nods and turns his attention back to the screen, watching Miri finish the lap.

“Second! Good job, Miri,” Rei compliments as the overall results come up. She’s been practicing hard with his tips and tricks. The little girl turns to beam at him, but then she lets out her patented squeal of joy instead at something behind him. He looks over his shoulder, wondering what on earth Kyu has sent to elicit that reaction from Miri when his breath catches in his throat.

It’s you. Your face is a little flush from the cold, your hands clasped in front of you and there’s a nervous smile across your face as you see him, but it’s you. Kazuki’s standing behind you, clutching his sweater over his heart, obviously trying not to cry.

Rei blinks as he gets to his feet. He’s worried you might disappear, you’re a hallucination from the painkillers, surely… Miri beats him to the punch.

“Kitty!” She squeals again, throwing her arms around your legs. “You’re back!”

“Hi, M-Miri,” you bend down so you can properly embrace the little girl. You’d missed her so much, glad for her enthusiasm and warm welcome in that moment.

“Are you feeling better?”

You nod. “L-lots better.”

“Good! And you won’t leave again, right?” She tilts her head, questioningly. “Papa Rei’s been so gloomy!”

You look up to Rei at that point – he still looks stunned. “Well, w-we can’t have a g-gloomy Papa Rei.”

Miri bounces on her heels. “But you’re staying?”

“She sure is, Miri,” Kazuki ruffles her hair before crouching down. “Say, I think Papa Rei has some things he’d like to talk to Kitty about – boring grown-up talk. How about you and I make some cookies to add to the spread for later, hm?”

“Yay!” Miri yells, tugging at his sleeve in excitement. She’s been wanting to bake all week but Kazuki had to keep putting it off because of his shoulder. He’s happy to be a little stiff in the morning to give Rei this moment though.

“You can thank me later, Rei…” Kazuki calls in a sing-song tone of voice as he and Miri leave the room, leaving the two of you alone.

Rei still hasn’t said anything, he’s just staring at you in disbelief and you’re feeling a little nervous. It’s silly how much you’ve dreamt of this moment, thought of what you’d say when seeing his face again, but now your mind is blank of anything.

“H-h-hi.” Start off simple. Even though Kyu and Kazuki had warned you of Rei’s injury, it hurts to see the limb strapped up in an immobilizing sling, holding it in place against his chest. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain he’s gone through.

You swallow. “Are y-you okay?” You regret it as soon as you say it – of course he’s not okay. “I m-mean…”

“I’m sorry.” Rei steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you at last. You think he’s going to wrap you into a hug but he drops to his knees, bowing his head so low his forehead is touching the ground. “I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“No, n-no,” you kneel down in front of him, your stomach sinking as you understand his intention. You place your hand on his shoulder, “Get up, please.” You’ve seen this act before – whenever the men at the house had disappointed him they often begged for forgiveness in the very same position. He’d loved every second of it, cackling as they mumbled apologies into the floor, deciding what their punishment might be. “S-sit up, Rei.” The demand feels a little foreign coming out of your mouth, but it works. He pushes himself back up onto his knees but keeps his head cast down. “Can you ever forgive me?”

You reach your left hand forward, placing it gently on the side of his face and tilt it up with the heel of your hand, hoping that’ll he meet your gaze. He has tears in his eyes – you can tell he’s trying his best to hold them in – keeping his eyes cast to the side. “There’s n-nothing to forgive. P-please don’t cry over me.”

“The last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt you, Kitty, I swear it.”

 “Rei,” you lean forward, placing your right hand on his face too so he finally meets your eyes. You want him to see you’re sincere. “It’s a-all right. I understand.”

“No,” he lifts up his left hand and pulls down your right hand in a light grip down onto his lap, squeezing it desperately. “I promised you that you could trust me. I just… I couldn’t see another way out. My father, he…”

“Kyu ex-explained everything. I k-know you just w-wanted to protect me, protect all of us.” You interrupt. “Please, l-let’s get off the floor, o-okay?” You remove your left hand from his face to get up, but his hold on your right hand remains firm as he continues to explain.

“I thought if I cut my ties, you’d all be safe. That I could go back to the life I had before, not feeling or caring… but I failed. I’ve missed you so much.” His voice breaks as he says it, a tear rolling down his cheek. You can’t stand to see him hurting so much. You wrap your left arm around him, trying to coerce him into an embrace. He lets go of your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his chest. He smells so much better than you remembered – the scent of him had become faded on the t-shirt that you’d cuddled with those weeks apart - and his touch makes your heart beat faster. He leans his head on top of yours, savouring the feeling of having you in his arms again.

“I missed you t-too,” your face is pressed into his chest and you can feel his heart thudding. “But I understand w-why you did it. I’m n-not upset or mad, I p-promise.” You mumble.

“I will spend every minute of every day trying to make it up to you.”

“No,” you pull back slightly. “T-the only person who needs to f-forgive you is y-yourself. You were k-keeping me and Miri safe. Please.”

He stares at you for a moment, scrutinizing your face. “Was it awful?”

“No, it w-was helpful, actually. T-they were all r-really nice. It was good for me…” you smile, shyly, before continuing, “But you’re even b-better. You make me feel whole, Rei.”

 “I’ll never let you go again, as long as you’ll have me.”

You bury your head back into his chest again for a moment, savouring his touch. “Come on, l-let’s get off the f-floor.”

He nods, though he seems reluctant to let go of you altogether. Your limbs are untangled for just a moment as the two of you get to your feet before his arm is wrapped around your waist again.

“I don’t want to waste another second if I can help it, Kitty, but I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, so…” his cheeks flush slightly red as he meets your eyes, “may I kiss you?”

“Please.”

He leans forward and presses his lips against yours ever so gently, as if you might break at his touch. It’s a little clumsy, the both of you nervous, but perfect all at the same time. It starts off slow, the two of you trying to feel each out a little as he pulls back slightly before kissing you again. Your head is tingling with each of his soft kisses and you’re not sure when it happened, but your right hand is flat against his chest, your left hand tangled in his hair, trying to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes up against your lips, parting them open a little more…

“Hey!” Your heart stops at Miri’s indignant shout and you pull apart, though Rei’s arm remains firmly around your waist as the two of you look towards the door. You can feel the heat in your face and your breath is caught in your throat, so you can’t imagine how you look. Miri has her hands on her hips and a pout on her face as Kazuki stands behind her, snickering. “Papa Kazuki said you kiss at midnight!”

“Well,” Rei smiles as he looks at you, adoration in his eyes, “we were practicing.”

--

Epilogue

Lips pressed gently against your forehead wake you up. “Mm.” You mumble, happily, feeling refreshed for once. Rei’s hair is loose, hanging down around his face as he leans over you.

“Morning,” he smiles back and leans down. “I love you,” he says, quietly, before kissing your lips. When he pulls away, he looks down at the cot at the end of your shared bed. “Somebody slept through the whole night.”

“Hm. She knows it’s an important day.”

Rei had been terrified as soon as you found out you were pregnant. It had been a surprise to the both of you. Your relationship had continued to develop slow and steady over the past ten years, each trying to heal through your own trauma. You’d slowly began to become more and more intimate over the years and though your period had returned, it was sporadic, never quite settling into a regular pattern. It was only after you’d thrown up four times in an hour one morning from the aroma of dishes they were cooking at the diner that Kazuki had gone out and came back with a box of pregnancy tests, sending you off to the bathroom.

Rei would never say it aloud, but it was clear he was worried what it would mean if the two of you were to have a boy. He still had nightmares about his own upbringing and his father, and though you had all moved away from the Organization and hadn’t heard anything in the last nine years, it still lurked at the back of their minds. Nightmares of his father coming to reclaim a Suwa heir – not that he’d let him get 100 yards within his family ever again. You’d gone for a scan to find out the sex as soon as you could, and he couldn’t hide his relief when the technician said it would be a little girl. You weren’t sure who was then more excited at the news, really – Kazuki, Miri or Rei.

“Miri, time to go!” You hear Kazuki call.

“Coming!” The teenager shouts back, before there’s the loud thumps of her descending the stairs.

“Well, Aiko,” you smile at the little girl, bashing some blocks together on the ground whilst you got ready for the day. After tying Rei’s hair up in a ponytail, he’d headed downstairs to start breakfast for Miri and help Kazuki prepare for the breakfast rush a little later on. “We better go and say goodbye to big sister, hm?” Aiko turned one last month and is an absolute joy. The happiest baby, full of smiles and a playful personality, a sweet face and her father’s black hair. You pick her up in your arms and carry her carefully down the stairs as she babbles away, walking into the tail-end of the conversation where Kazuki is…crying? Typical.

“I know you snuck out early yesterday to drink with the ladies,” Miri taunts.

You look over at Rei behind the counter, hoping for clarification but he offers back a half-shrug.

Miri spots the two of you and smiles. “Plus, Papa Kazuki, you still need to worry about Aiko here. She’s got a few years catching up to do on me.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that…!”

“Aiko, look,” you interrupt, trying to defuse whatever it is you’ve walked into, “Miri’s all ready for her first day of high school. Doesn’t she look so grown up?”

“Come here, baby sis!” Miri holds her arms out for a cuddle, but Aiko is already holding her hands out for someone else, squealing when she sees the object of her desire.

“Oh, she wants to see her Uncle Zuki, don’t you, sweetie?” The blonde takes her into his arms, bouncing her up and down, gently.

Miri frowns, placing her hands on her hips at her little sister’s betrayal.

“It’s the goatee.” You reassure the teenager.

“No, she just loves her Uncle Z… Ouch!” He winces, as her little hand grabs at his chin and tugs, forcefully.

“More she loves grabbing.” Miri laughs.

“She has her father’s strength.” Rei chimes in as he places a plate down on the counter with his specialty dish. “Come on, Miri, you need to eat anyway.”

“It’s great you have a special and all, man,” Kazuki walks around the counter with Aiko, wincing as her little hand is still entangled in his goatee, “but don’t you wanna expand the repertoire a bit?”

“Why?”

“You really are a one-trick pony.” Kazuki sighs. Aiko is reaching out for Rei now with one arm, her other still gripping onto Kazuki’s chin. Rei had been so scared to hold her at first, terrified of dropping her so much so that he’d only ever hold her if he was sitting or lying down. His arm was obviously irreparable – the way he had intended it to be to protect his family - and he’d gained back only a little strength and grip in it over the past ten years, but his confidence had developed and he always managed to wrangle her in place. After a little tussle, Aiko finally releases the blonde’s facial hair to settle in her father’s arms. Rei places a kiss on your daughter’s forehead and it makes your heart swell seeing the two of them together.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s great!” Miri squeals, the same way as she did when you first met her after taking a bite.

“I have to agree with them, Zuki. Everyone raves about it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Miri drops her fork and runs towards the door.

“Little early for school, isn’t it?” Kazuki sounds puzzled.

“Follow me, please!”

Rei passes you Aiko as he follows Kazuki out behind the counter, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he does so. He still makes you blush after all these years. He slips an arm around your waist as you walk out the front of the diner and see Miri fiddling with her beloved selfie stick.

You stand in front of Rei, as usual, Miri in the middle and Kazuki to the side. Miri frowns at the image before looking at Rei and Kazuki. “Come on, we’re family, aren’t we?” Miri chastises. “Get closer, you two.”

“Huh?” Rei looks down at you but Kazuki clocks what Miri means.

“Oh, come here, you big lug!” The blonde loops an arm around Rei’s neck, bringing him in close. You’re standing in the middle of the two men now, holding Aiko tightly in front of you, Rei’s hand on the small of your back and Miri’s to the side.

“What’s a mouse’s favourite snack?”

“Kitty!” The camera clicks – the photo showing you, Rei, Kazuki and Miri all looking in surprise at Aiko and her first word.

--

Thought it was fitting to end this on part 13 as I think we all thought we were getting 13 episodes! Thank you so much for everyone's support during this series - I think this ended up being nearly 45,000 words! I'm open to dipping back into Rei and Kitty's relationship (I know a lot's happened to them between the end and the epilogue) so let me know if there's anything you'd particularly like me to write about <3 Thank you again for all the comments, reblogs and follows! Love Ghostdog x

[bamf-jaskier]

What the fuck are the Trials

Since the show is based on the books and not the games, and more people are more familiar with the games that the books, I thought it might be helpful to sort of officialize the posts I’ve done about specific topics in the books. 

Here are the previous posts on Triss&Geralt as well as Coën

TLDR: So looking at this process, according to the books the way a Witcher becomes, well a Witcher looks like this:

There is the Choice which is the decision to become a Witcher made when you are a child

Eat a lot of magic mushrooms that give you the strength and ability Witchers are known for

Then the Trial of the Grasses which is a concoction of mutagenic elixirs injected into the bloodstream which mutates you into a Witcher

Then finally there are the Changes. This is a big step and one that requires a mage. This is when the hormones are changed and a Witcher becomes permanently sterile

then there is training until you earn your medallion and BOOM, out onto the path with you

Now, have a post about what the trials are as far as the books are concerned

It’s important to note that in the books, The Witcher are a dying breed so the Trials are really only mentioned in Blood of Elves when Ciri trains with the Witchers and the two prequels, Sword of Destiny and The Last Wish. 

Let’s start out with the basics of the Trials, here is a passage from Blood of Elves where Triss is wondering why the Witchers at Kaer Morhen are being so secretive in regards to Ciri:

“It’s obvious. They want to mutate the child, subject her to the Trial of Grasses and Changes, but they don’t know how to do it. Vesemir was the only witcher left from the previous generation, and he was only a fencing instructor. The Laboratorium, hidden in the vaults of Kaer Morhen, with its dusty demi-johns of elixirs, the alembics, ovens and retorts… 

None of the witchers knew how to use them. The mutagenic elixirs had been concocted by some renegade wizard in the distant past and then perfected over the years by the wizard’s successors, who had, over the years, magically controlled the process of Changes to which children were subjected. And at a vital moment the chain had snapped. 

There was no more magical knowledge or power. The witchers had the herbs and Grasses, they had the Laboratorium. They knew the recipe. But they had no wizard.”

Later:

“And now they want to mutate the girl but can’t. And that might mean… They may ask me to help. And then I’ll see something no living wizard has seen, I’ll learn something no living wizard has learned. Their famous Grasses and herbs, the secret virus cultures, the renowned, mysterious recipes…”

Now, what Triss doesn’t realize is that Geralt and the others are not planning on subjecting Ciri to the trials at all but are instead trying to hide Ciri’s magical ability from Triss. They are worried she will report them to the Chapter. 

Of course, until they tell Triss this, she is deeply suspicious and goes on to talk about the mushrooms Witchers have access to which are extremely unique. 

“Of course, thought Triss. They’re feeding her those legendary cave saprophytes – a mountain plant unknown to science – giving her the famous infusions of their mysterious herbs to drink. The girl is developing quickly, is acquiring a witcher’s infernal fitness. Naturally, without the mutation, without the risk, without the hormonal upheaval. But the magician must not know this. It is to be kept a secret from the magician. They aren’t going to tell me anything; they aren’t going to show me anything.”

Later:

“I don’t give a fig for your trust, witchers. There’s cancer out there in the world, smallpox, tetanus and leukaemia, there are allergies, there’s cot death. And you’re keeping your “mushrooms”, which could perhaps be distilled and turned into life-saving medicines, hidden away from the world. You’re keeping them a secret even from me, and others to whom you declare your friendship, respect and trust. Even I’m forbidden to see not just the Laboratorium, but even the bloody mushrooms!”

Triss as a mage has extreme bias against the Trials and for good reason! Most of the populace doesn’t have access to any information on the Trials outside of vague ideas but Mages have access to first hand accounts such as this from Blood of Elves: 

“On the third day all the children died save one, a male barely ten. Hitherto agitated by a sudden madness, he fell all at once into deep stupor. His eyes took on a glassy gaze; incessantly with his hands did he clutch at clothing, or brandish them in the air as if desirous of catching a quill. His breathing grew loud and hoarse; sweat cold, clammy and malodorous appeared on his skin. Then was he once more given elixir through the vein and the seizure it did return. This time a nose-bleed did ensue, coughing turned to vomiting, after which the male weakened entirely and became inert.

For two days more did symptoms not subside. The child’s skin, hitherto drenched in sweat, grew dry and hot, the pulse ceased to be full and firm – albeit remaining of average strength, slow rather than fast. No more did he wake, nor did he scream.

Finally, came the seventh day. The male awoke and opened his eyes, and his eyes were as those of a viper…”

~Carla Demetia Crest, The Trial of Grasses and other secret Witcher practices, seen with my own eyes, manuscript exclusively accessible to the Chapter of Wizards

When most people think of the Trials, they are thinking similarly to Queen Calanthe in Sword of Destiny. 

Here is what Calanthe says to Geralt when talking about what he might do with his child surprise: 

“You are astonished,’ she stated. ‘Well, I’ve studied a little. Since Pavetta’s child has the chance of becoming a witcher, I went to great pains. My sources, Geralt, reveal nothing, however, regarding how many children in ten withstand the Trial of the Grasses. Would you like to satisfy my curiosity in this regard?’

‘O Queen,’ Geralt said, clearing his throat. ‘You certainly went to sufficient pains in your studies to know that the code and my oath forbid me from even uttering that name, much less discussing it.’

Calanthe stopped the swing abruptly by jabbing a heel into the ground. ‘Three, at most four in ten,’ she said, nodding her head in feigned pensiveness. 

‘A stringent selection, very stringent, I’d say, and at every stage. First the Choice and then the Trials. And then the Changes. How many youngsters ultimately receive medallions and silver swords? One in ten? One in twenty?”

Later Calanthe asks Geralt:

“Do you believe a Child of Destiny would pass through the Trials without danger?’

‘We believe such a child would not require the Trials.’

‘One question, Geralt. Quite a personal one. May I?’

He nodded.

‘There is no better way to pass on hereditary traits than the natural way, as we know. You went through the Trials and survived. So if you need a child with special qualities and endurance… Why don’t you find a woman who… I’m tactless, aren’t I? But I think I’ve guessed, haven’t I?’

‘As usual,’ he said, smiling sadly, ‘you are correct in your deductions, Calanthe. You guessed right, of course. What you’re suggesting is impossible for me.’

‘Forgive me,’ she said, and the smile vanished from her face. ‘Oh, well, it’s a human thing.’

‘It isn’t human.’

‘Ah… So, no witcher can—’

‘No, none. The Trial of the Grasses, Calanthe, is dreadful. And what is done to boys during the time of the Changes is even worse. And irreversible.”

Later:

“The risks are too great,’ Geralt said quickly. ‘As you said. At most, four out of ten survive.’

‘Dammit, is only the Trial of the Grasses hazardous? Do only potential witchers take risks? Life is full of hazards, selection also occurs in life, Geralt. Misfortune, sicknesses and wars also select. Defying destiny may be just as hazardous as succumbing to it. Geralt… I would give you the child. But… I’m afraid, too.’

Then in The Last Wish, Geralt describes his own experiences with The Trials:

“Kaer Morhen…That's where the likes of me were produced. It's not done anymore; no one lives in Kaer Morhen now. No one but Vesemir. Who's Vesemir? My father. Why are you so surprised? What's so strange about it? Everyone's got a father, and mine is Vesemir. And so what if he's not my real father? I didn't know him, or my mother. I don't even know if they're still alive, and I don't much care.

“Yes, Kaer Morhen. I underwent the usual mutation there, through the Trial of Grasses, and then hormones, herbs, viral infections. And then through them all again. And again, to the bitter end. Apparently, I took the changes unusually well; I was only ill briefly. I was considered to be an exceptionally resilient brat…and was chosen for more complicated experiments as a result. They were worse. Much worse. But, as you see, I survived. The only one to live out of all those chosen for further trials. My hair's been white ever since. Total loss of pigmentation. A side effect, as they say. A trifle.

“Then they taught me various things until the day when I left Kaer Morhen and took to the road. I’d earned my medallion, the Sign of the Wolf's School. I had two swords: silver and iron, and my conviction, enthusiasm, incentive and…faith. Faith that I was needed in a world full of monsters and beasts, to protect the innocent. As I left Kaer Morhen, I dreamed of meeting my first monster. I couldn't wait to stand eye to eye with him. And the moment arrived.”

So looking at this process, according to the books the way a Witcher becomes, well a Witcher looks like this:

There is the Choice which is the decision to become a Witcher made when you are a child

Eat a lot of magic mushrooms that give you the strength and ability Witchers are known for 

Then the Trial of the Grasses which is a concoction of mutagenic elixirs injected into the bloodstream which mutates you into a Witcher 

Then finally there are the Changes. This is a big step and one that requires a mage. This is when the hormones are changed and a Witcher becomes permanently sterile

then there is training until you earn your medallion and BOOM, out onto the path with you

This is why it’s such a big deal that Triss was brought to Kaer Morhen. Without a mage, someone cannot become a full Witcher and Triss believed that was why she was there. Of course, this wasn’t true but it’s a valid concern to have. 

One thing I want to note, there is absolutely NOTHING in the text that says that being a Witcher is limited to any sort of gender boundary. The fact that Triss so readily jumped to Ciri becoming a Witcher and the fact that Geralt didn’t specify  boys until he was talking about the sterilization process...well, there is a likelihood female Witchers actually existed. 

Again, in the books Witchers are a dying breed and you can literally count on one hand the number of Witchers we meet. Of course, considering mages are the ones who made Witchers, it makes sense that female Witchers are either strongly discouraged, banned or simply not talked about. 

One big point Triss has against Ciri’s training is that she won’t “develop” correctly like a woman “should” due to the mushrooms and harsh training and considering how so many northern mages place importance on beauty I could definitely see mages not wanting to have female Witchers, considering it a “perversion”. 

Just a fun thought I often have about the books that I haven’t seen anyone point out. 

So overall, here is what the books have to say about the Trials, it’s a touch different from the games but I find this very fascinating and interesting. Let me know if you want me to do a specific topic or relationship next, but for now, thanks for reading!

[davidlikesguys02]

We Interrupt This Program

M/n= Male Name 

Bold- Means its on a tv screen. 

GIF Not mine

Word count: 2,932

“No, I can't leave Monica.” “mom? It's ok, I can stay with grandma and…” “I can't leave” “maybe I'll build a spaceship. I wanna be an aircraft pilot.” “when they were handing out kids they gave her the toughest one. Lieutenant trouble.” Monica wakes up breathing heavily and hearing crashing and people screaming as she makes her way towards the door and walks out. “Excuse me….” “they're all coming back. We don't have the capacity” the doctor tells her

“Excuse me. I'm looking for a patient. In room 104…” she asks a nurse “who, my wife? Do you have a phone?” “no” “i have to call my wife.” she makes her way towards the front desk “watch out” she bumps into a man, they both fall backwards grunting “let me help you. Are you ok? You ok?” “I got him. I got him.” “Are you ok?” she asks as she gets up groaning. She turns to the lady in the front desk.

“Excuse me. I'm looking for a patient in room number 104.” “I don't know what to tell you” she starts looking around her “Monica?” “oh, Dr. Highland, thank god!” “I can't believe it, where did you go?” “well, in her room since she came back from the surgery. I mean, I might have fallen asleep, but no longer than 20 minutes. Dr. Highland, where's my mom?” “your mom, she died honey” “what? No, no, no, no you're mistaken. My mother...the procedure went well. You said so yourself. Clean margins. You’re discharging her today”

“The cancer came back.” “Okay, stop, stop. No youre...my mom is Maria Rambeau. Look it up. I mean look it up. Maria Rambeau.” “Monica, I don't understand what's happening, but you need to listen to me Marian died three years ago.” “three? No. no. no…” “which was two years after you…” “after i what? After what?” “after you disappeared.”

Monica is walking towards big metal doors. She takes out her keycards but it beeps so she tries again but it beeped again “Ma’am? Over here please” she walked over to him smiling “hi, good morning. I work here. And…” “if you did, your badge would work, wouldn't it?” “right um… I have a meeting with…” “hey. You know who this is?” “..this guy” “Captain Monica Rambeau.” “Director Tyler Hayward”

“Acting Director. You haven't aged a day” “and you look old as hell” Tyler chuckles “come on, let's catch you up. It's been three weeks and you're the first to report. Cant say I'm surprised captain.” “How are the numbers for the astronaut training program?” “ Dismal. Lost half my personnel in The Blip and half of those remaining have lost their nerve. The program hasn't been the same since you've been up there, Rambeau. We shifted away from manned missions and refocused on robotics, nanotech, AI. Sentient Weapons, like it says on the door.”

“It also says observation and response on that door, not creation” “worlds not the same as you left it. Space is now full of unexpected threats” “always was full of threats. And allies” “Listen, Monica, I just wanna acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation. I know S.W.O.R.D.'s your home. Your mom built this place from the ground up. You grew up here. You should've been here to help name the replacement.” “you were the obvious choice”

“I was the only choice.” “I wasn't gonna say it. Look, Tyler, you know the job you have to do. I'm here to do mine.” ”Let's get you back out there.” he takes out his keycard and opens the door to his office. “The FBI is in a tizzy over missing persons case up in Jersey…” “missing persons?” “I know. But they have requested use of one of our imaging drones, and I need a chaperone.”

“Tyler, drones usually chaperone me.” “i get it” “look, if this is because of...you don't have to worry about me. I'm good.” “There's no easy way to say this, but you're grounded.” Monica chuckles “you're kidding. For how long? Who whose protocol is this?” “Your mother's. She implemented guidelines in the event vanished personnel ever returned. Look, I know it's a raw deal, but there is one positive takeaway.” “what's that?” “she believed you'd come back. You'd be doing me a big favor with this FBI thing, but if you need more time…”

“No. no. I'm good to go” “excellent. Keep me updated, captain.” Monica finally arrived at Westview “James E. Woo, FBI” “Monica Rambeau, S.W.O.R.D. what's the story here, agent woo?” “I've got a witness setup down the road in Westview, and this morning, it looked like he flew the coop?” “Your missing person is in the witness protection program?”

“I have contacted known associates, relatives…” “and let me guess, none of them have seen him either?” “No. None of them have ever heard of him. Something seemed hanky to me, so I took the first flight out of Oakland to interface with local law enforcement, which is when I encountered a new wrinkle.” “what's that?” “Pardon me, Sheriff. Would you mind repeating your claim about Westview to my colleague here?” “no such place” “you're saying the town of Westview, New Jersey, does not exist?”

“It's what I keep telling your G-man here, but he won't listen.” “I see. and , um, I'm sorry, what town are you from?” “Eastview” “Thank you, Sheriff. I'll reach out if we need any further assistance. I, uh, pulled phone numbers for all the residents. I'm only through the D’s, but so far I got Diddly Squat.” “So you can't reach anyone inside and everyone on the outside has some sort of selective amnesia?”

“This isn't a missing person's case, Captain Rambeau, it's a missing town. Population: 3,892.” “Why haven't you gone inside to investigate?” “Cause it doesn't want me to. You can feel it too, can't you? Nobody's supposed to go in.” Monica walks over to her car and pulls out a drone. “What about you?” “Me? Well, I'm from Bakersfield, originally. Growing up, other kids had Michael Jordan posters on their walls, but I had Eliot Ness.”

“No, no, no, no. I mean, why is it that you have an awareness of Westview? Or me, for that matter? Is it because we are outside of a certain radius, or maybe because we don't have a personal connection?” She looks at the screen but the drone malfunctions. She looks up and it's gone “Wait, where'd it go?” “It was right there.” she walk towards the town but stops as she hears electricity bussing “whoa..”

“What is it?” “some sort of energy field” “Careful, Rambeau. Captain Rambeau! Watch it. Rambeau! Captain Rambeau! Captain Rambeau!” she sticks her hand in and it pulls her in and she disappears.

24 Hours Later

“Hey. What's your field?” “We're not supposed to talk to each other.” “hmm? Boy scout leader. Got it. And you” Darcy asked a woman next to the boy scout leader. “Nuclear biology” “artificial intelligence” “astrophysics. We got the full clown car. It means whatever the threat is, S.W.O.R.D. clearly has no idea what they're dealing with.” “I'm a chemical engineer” “no one cares”

“Alright grab your gear.” Darcy walks around the S.W.O.R.D. camp. “Ms. Lewis?” “Dr.Lewis” “we have your gear set up inside.” the man walks Darcy inside a tent “those drones you're sending in, what kind of data are you getting?” “I'm afraid that is highly classified.” “You can't see anything? FBI, Army. I saw the Air Force Office of Special Investigations out there. Research Lab, Space Command, too. A bona fide, joint, multi-service response. Really looking forward to the commemorative T-shirt. Is there somewhere a lady could get a cup of coffee? You guys look like you might get down with those little pod things. Horrendous for the environment…”

“Make your assessment, please” “whoa… I mean, whoa..” “what are you getting?” “a colossal amount of CMBR” “CM…” “Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation.” “we've been told the radiation is within a safe limit” “uh, it is… for now” “wait what do you mean” Darcy shushes the man “there's are longer wavelength superimposed over the noise here” she looks under the desk and struggles to get something “I got it”

“I need a TV. an old one. Like, not flat.” After a few hours it started raining. “Are you good to go?” Hayward asked an agent “yes, sir” “these sewers will take you straight into town. Try to find anything you can on Rambeau” “copy that” “keep me updated” Hayward says as he walks away. “Director Hayward, between you, me, and the bedpost, I am not confident about this mission.” “Thanks for the feedback, Jimmy. If only my drones were as forthcoming.”

“There's no reason to suspect the perimeter doesn't extend subterraneous.” “There's no reason to suspect it does.” Jimmy sighs “We don't know enough about the nature of the threat to send in another agent when the first is yet to return.” “Someone must really miss you back in Quantico.” “No, sir. Softball season's over, sir.” “what do we have up?” Hayward asked agent Rodriguez “Radar, sonar, infrared” “cycle through. Will someone get me a useful visual, dammit?”

Everyone hears a studio audience laughing in the tent “what is that?” “Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment, sweetheart?” “Who is doing that?” “Who are those people?” “What are you wearing?” “Why are they here?” “Well, it's our anniversary!” “our anniversary of what?” “Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you!” “is that..” “ yeah, it looks like him.” “you move at the speed of sound and i can make a pen float through the air, who needs to abbreviate?”

“Look , I know it's been a crazy few years on this planet, but he's dead, right? Not blipped, dead.” “excellent plan. Where's the tenderizer” “what am I looking at? You? What is that? Where's this coming from?” “out there” “you didn’t answer the back door. For your upside-down cake. oh hi, I” “is it authentic?” “I'm not sure how to answer that” “is it happening in real time? Is it recorded, fabricated?” “I don't know. I don't know. And I don't know” “what do you know?” Hayward said annoyed “My equipment registered an extremely high level of CMBR. That's…”

“Relic radiation dating back to the Big Bang.” “Yeah, entwined was a broadcast frequency. So I had your goons pick me up a sweet vintage TV. And when I plug this bad boy in, voilà, sound and picture.” “Dinner is served” “So you're saying the universe created a sitcom starring two Avengers?” Jimmy asked, confused “It's a working theory” “Get me a transport back to headquarters now. Are we recording this?”

“Never stopped.” Darcy says “I need immediate analysis. Now, people. Let's go!” “He’s a charmer.” “great work” “hey, thanks, maybe I could get that cup of coffee now? Or not. It's cool.” ”Aw” Darcy turns to the screen to see you and Vision kissing “Aw”

“First and foremost, our main objective is to get any intel on Captain Rambeau, but originally, this case was a missing person, so we're going to start there. We've successfully identified two individuals inside the Westview anomaly. Let's keep going.” Jimmy says as he puts two pictures up of you and Vision. “This guest is leaving your home” “yes, thank you for coming” “Mr. and Mrs. Hart. played by Todd and Sharon Davis.”

“Computational forms. And no one can process the data quite like you do, pal.” “Agent Woo” “you're like a walking computer.” “Abilash Tandon is Norm” “Harold Proctor is Jones” “we got Isabel Matsueida cast as Beverly” “John Collins as Herb.” Darcy gasps, dropping her Noodle cup and calls Jimmy over “Really?” “Does she seem okay to you?” “Well, she doesn't appear to be harmed in any way, but that is definitely not the boss lady I met yesterday.”

“So what, deep cover? Monica has to play along?” “With whom? Or else, what? All right. Brass tacks, Dr. Lewis. What are we looking at here? Is it an alternate reality? Time travel? Some cockamamie social experiment?” “It's a sitcom. A 1950s sitcom.” “But why?”

“Hey, man, we're working with the same scarcity of intel. But, listen, I do have an idea. So, you've seen that radio in M/n’s kitchen counter, right? The next time he's washing dishes, which, by my count, happens about once an episode, barf, we'll shoot a signal to that little guy. This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast, and if my theory is right, allow us to speak directly to her. This is totally gonna work. Don't touch that.”

“Agent Woo.” agent Rodrigues hands Jimmy a folder inside the folder there's a colored image of a retro S.W.O.R.D. drone “Is this from the current episode?” “aired about two minutes ago.” “What is it?” Darcy asks “what does it look like to you?” “like a retro version of a S.W.OR.D. drone?” “bingo” “but how did it change and why” “uh, to go with the production design” “or render it useless”

“why‘d you colorize it?” “I didn't” Darcy heads back to the tent. “Let's get this show on the road. Jimmy, you ready?” Darcy asks through an earpiece. “Ready” “bigger and better every season” “uh, Jimmy, Monica is talking to M/n. she's got a speaking part now.” “what is she saying?” “those jeans are peachy keen” “she likes M/n’s jeans” “we only have a few hours” “M/n’s at some sort of swim club. We've never been here before.”

“Is it the 60’s still?” “uh, uh, M/n’s with another character.” “real person?” “ohh, uh, radio on the side table. start talking.” “M/n. M/n, can you read me over?” “I don't...” “Can he hear me?” “I don't think so, keep trying.” “M/n?” “M/n?” “M/n. Who is doing this to you, M/n? M/n? Can you hear me? I'm here to help” “please give us a…” “pop quiz M/n how does a housewife or in this case househusband get a bloodstain out of white linen?”

“Wait” “what?” “I don't know” “by doing it yourself” “that's weird” “what was?” “Nothing, it's over. Mission failure” “it was worth a try. Good effort, doctor.” “yeah come in”

Both Jimmy and Darcy are watching you and Vision on TV “darling, do you think it's time to..” “call the doctor?” “yeah” “yes, I do dear” “1950s, 1960s, and now the '70s. Why does it keep switching time periods? It can't be purely for my enjoyment, can it?” “I cant believe M/n and Vision are having a baby” “you want any?” Jimmy chuckles

“Heck, I thought about it for sure. A little Jimmy Woo. Get him a tiny little FBI badge. Oh, you... Chip? Sure.” “you're doing great. You're doing great. Look at me. Look at me.” “The jig is up” you scream. After a few minutes you hear the baby cry “hi, oh, he's perfect” “what a twist.” Darcy says as she's tearing up “What? I'm invested” “he was killed by Ultron, wasn't he?” “Did she just say the name Ultron? Has that ever happened before? A reference to our reality.”

“No never” “hey I'll take a shift rocking the babies” “no I think you should leave” “oh, M/n, don't be like that” “who are you?” “M/n” “wow this is different” The Tv cuts and Monica is gone “what happened? Where she go?” “god not again” Darcy replays the footage back “who are you?” “M/n” “there's nothing here. One second, Monica is standing right there, and the next she isn’t. Someone is censoring the broadcast.”

“But where's Rambeau?” they suddenly both hear the alarm “Alert! Boundary has been breached! Alert! Boundary has been breached!”

Inside Westview

“Who are you?” “I don't..” you walk closer to her “who are you?” “M/n i'm just your neighbor.” “Then how did you know about Ultron?” you start to see the familiar red glow around your hands “You're not my neighbor. And you're definitely not my friend. You are a stranger and an outsider. And right now, you are trespassing here. And I want you to leave.”

Your familiar red glow wraps around Monica Sending her back through every wall and fence. You gulp “I… I…” you raise your hands and start to fix the hole on the wall as if it never happened. You walk over to your babies hearing them “M/n?” Vision comes in through the door turning back to his synthezoid form “where is Geraldine?” “oh she left honey. She had to rush home”

You turn around to look at Vision and you gasp making you look down “what? What is it? What's wrong?” Vision asks you concerned “Uh..” you slowly look up at him and see that he looks normal again “we don't have to stay here. We could go wherever we want” Vision tells you “no, we can't. This is our home” you move your hand to crease his cheek and he holds onto your hand “are you use”

“oh, don't worry darling. I have everything under control.” you walk over and grab Tommy “oh hi” you turn to Vision smiling “what should we watch tonight?” you walk over to the sofa, Vision sits next to you. He puts an arm around you.

Outside of Westview

“Monica, are you okay?” “it's M/n. its all M/n”

[myloveforhenrycavill]

Devastated | Clark Kent x Reader

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: cancer, angst

A/N: Hey guys! Really hope you enjoy this fic. It’s super angsty. I revisited an old fic that I wrote many, many years ago for a different fandom, but it felt right to rewrite it with stuff that’s going on in my life right now with my dad. Please let me know what you guys think, but please be gentle (me fragile). This is my first fic about one of Henry ‘s characters, but I look forward to getting back into writing. Xxx much love -Stina

My Fic Recs

_______________________________________________

Clark stared at the ceiling of his room listening to the clock hanging above his door. To anyone else, this would have been dull background noise, but to Clark it sounded like thunder roaring. It had been a painfully long day working at the Daily Planet and he was beyond glad it was over. Perry had been breathing down his neck all day about a story and his approaching deadline. Relief washed over Clark when he walked through the doors of his apartment building, but something was still missing. All he wanted to do was go see you.

Oh, how much he wanted to see you. You always brightened his day no matter what he had on his mind. The two of you had a complicated relationship. You were technically just friends. However, you tend to do things that only couples do. You've kissed once or twice after a night out and constantly cuddled each other whenever the chance arises, but it never progressed further than that. Neither of you brought up the subject, afraid of the others reaction and afraid to ruin whatever it was you had. Clark wanted to, god he wanted to, but you’ve never been in a real relationship and he hasn’t wanted to scare you away. He cares about you way too much to let that happen. Clark wants to protect you from ever being hurt no matter the cost.

It had been hours since Clark got home. He’s tried texting you around 10 times and has called you five times. This wasn't like you. You practically lived on your phone. You both always update each other throughout the day. Thank god for unlimited texting or else you would both be royally screwed. Clark was starting to get quite worried. What if something happened? Is she okay? were the only thoughts running through his head. He knew you were off from work today and you would have texted him if your job called you to come in. Maybe she's just asleep. She rarely has her volume up ever. Yeah, that has to be it. Clark was tempted to fly over to your apartment to check on you, but decided to text your sister before doing anything rash.

C: "hey, y/s/n. Is everything alright? I've been trying to reach Y/n for the last couple of hours and she isn't responding to me."

Y/s/n: "Clark, can you please go over to her apartment? She's an absolute wreck. I've heard her like this. I'm really worried."

C: "I’m on my way… what happened?"

Y/s/n: "our dad got his results back..."

The text was longer, but that was all Clark had to read before he flew over to your building. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. The whole world could have been burning and he wouldn’t have stopped. Your dad had cancer when you were younger, but he was doing well and had been in remission for quite some time. Recently, he had started to feel the same symptoms as the first time and went to get some tests done. Y/s/n's text only meant one thing. The cancer was back.

If this was true, then it made perfect sense why you wouldn't contact him. You would be devastated. Your dad was the most important person in your life. You loved him unconditionally and looked up to him like he could do no wrong.

Clark reached you within seconds. He knocked on the door and waited. He could hear nothing but silence which surprised him. When you did not come to the door, Clark retrieved the spare key from the top of your door frame. When he didn’t see you on the couch, he made his way to your bedroom and slowly opened the door, careful not to startle you. You laid there on the purple comforter sleeping. You looked utterly exhausted from crying. Your puffy eyes were singed pink. Your cheeks looked wet and sticky from what surely was hours of countless tears flowing. It truly pained Clark to see you in such a state.

Clark climbed into the other side of the bed just like he'd done numerous times before, but this time was different. You looked so broken. He carefully reached over and wiped a few stray tears off your cheeks and placed a gentle kiss underneath each of your eyes. They slowly fluttered open and acknowledged Clark’s presence. You sniffled a few times, but didn't cry.

"What are you doing here, Clark?" you whispered as if just that was taking all your energy.

"Your sister texted me...what happened, y/n? You know you can tell me anything," Clark inquired knowing that she needed to let it all out.

"You don't have to do this, Clark. Go somewhere and have fun. Don't waste your time on me. I know you'd rather be out with your other friends right now. You probably had a rough day and don’t need me to unload my baggage," you spoke immediately biting your lip and blinking your eyes in order to fight back the tears that were already pooling.

"Listen, love. You know that there is nowhere else I would rather be. I'm here for you and I always will be. No matter what happens, I'll be right here by your side. I care about you, Y/n. I care more than you could ever know, just tell me what happened." Clark cupped your cheek as he gently wiped the traitorous tears away with the pad of his thumb.

You broke and told Clark everything that had happened since he spoke to you last. You were a trembling mess laid on the bed next to him. Clark tightly wrapped both his arms around you, never wanting to let go whispering comforting words into your ear trying to make it even a little bit better.

You grabbed his white t-shirt with two fists and sobbed into it which would surely be ruined with your leftover mascara running from your eyes. It didn't matter to Clark though, not even a little. It was worth it. You were worth it.

Once you calmed down hours later, Clark pulled back slowly still holding you securely and stared at you. You looked up at him through your lashes and had the faintest smile across your face.

"Thank you, Clark, genuinely. For everything. You didn't have to lay here with me this entire time. I'm not worth it..."

Clark stopped you instantly. "Don't ever say that, my love. You deserve the moon, the stars, and the sun. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. I would go to the end of the earth for you and it still would never be enough. I care about you, Y/n. More than I can even put into words. The past few months that this has been going on have been the best of my life. You make me feel whole. Like something has been missing all this time and I'm starting to realize what it was. "

The dim smile that you once wore turned into a full-blown smirk. "I don't see what you're getting at Mr. Kent."

That's it. There's my girl. MY girl. God, I love the way that sounds. That sarcastic idiot is my world and I intended to spend the rest of my life proving that to her.

"Shut up," Clark muttered as he slowly leaned in, meeting you in the middle. Your lips collided and the feeling of his lips connected with your soft ones felt like nothing he could ever describe. He would never get sick of this feeling. The way you made him feel was like he was floating high through the sky (which he had plenty of experience with, but this was a million time better). The best high that no drug could every give him. If you were a drug, Clark was happily addicted to your sweet intoxication.

You both pulled back and Clark rested his forehead on yours cupping your face with both of his hands. "Let's get some sleep, love. We can discuss more of this tomorrow if we need to."

You sluggishly nodded with your head still spinning and placed your head on his broad chest curling into the position you had assumed many times before. Clark loved nothing more than cuddling with you. It felt like home. She is my home.

You placed one hand across his chest as he dropped both of his arms comfortably around your waist not letting you go anywhere. Tonight, she is all mine and I can live with that.

One day you would take the next step closer to each other, but not tonight. You were still vulnerable from the news of your dad’s health. Clark wanted your decision to be with him to be a clear one, not just because he was the only one there for you. Tonight, Clark was simply a shoulder to cry on and he was perfectly content with that. Someday, Y/n. Someday, I will have the guts to tell you how I really feel. How I'm quickly feeling that four-letter word that every guy is so afraid of. But the thing is, I'm not so afraid anymore.

[buckysbabygorl]

By Her Side (Peter Parker Fanfic)

Authors Note: This was made by request of @lunarunreal I hope I you enjoy the fic; and I intend no offense if I misrepresented the situation. I wish you the best on your journey; stay strong ❤️

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: mention of hospital, cancer, chemo therapy symptoms, angst, hospitals

Summary: Y/N is undergoing treatment for cancer. While struggling to persevere, Peter stays by her side and encourages her. This was made by request of @lunarunreal​ I hope I you enjoy the fic; and I intend no offense if I misrepresented the situation. I wish you the best on your journey; stay strong ❤️ thank you to @babyblue-07​ for the creative help! Check out her page @babybluereads​ for fic recommendations! https://buckysbabygorl.tumblr.com/post/642078062396227584/hi-i-have-lymphoma-and-have-been-receiving

Word Count: 2,078

Today, just really, really fucking sucked.

Y/N laid in her bed, waiting for everyone to come back. Her parents had stepped out to the cafeteria with May; they’d missed lunch on account of the procedure, they wanted to make sure Y/N was feeling alright before they did anything else.

“I’m fine,” she said, “Go get something. I’ll be good for a bit.”

Hesitantly, they’d parted.

Her parents had been hovering, which she’d appreciated but sometimes it was all a little too much. Too overwhelming.

She didn’t know what she wanted anymore; when she had been diagnosed… it hadn’t been easy. Obviously.

It was tough on her mind, tough on her body. She was tired all of the time, she felt sick, she felt pain…

She didn’t know if having everyone around made her feel better or worse sometimes.

So right now she needed a second alone, just a moment to think.

A knock came on her door, and she looked up from her book.

“Hey,” she said, a soft smile on her lips.

Peter stood in the doorway, knuckle still pressed to the trim of the door frame. A half smile reflected hers, and he shuffled in.

“Hey, how’d it go?”

She sighed, “Fine, well as could be expected.”

He nodded, pulling the visitor’s chair up beside her bed, getting comfy as if it were his own home. That’s one of the things Y/N loved about Peter; he always felt like home.

They had always been close, growing up in the same apartment building for years, going to the same school. When Y/N’s parents were out and May and Ben used to babysit; and when the roles were reversed, of course her family would provide the same courtesy to Peter. After a while it was like they were family, and the two quickly became inseparable. They did everything together, and they were there through everything too. When Ben passed away, Y/N and her family made sure the Parker’s felt cared for and supported. And when Y/N was diagnosed, there was no doubt that the Parkers would be right there beside her. Especially Peter.

He was her best friend; he was her rock.

Yes she wanted to be alone; but the only exception for that was him.

Peter didn’t feel like another expectation to meet; another task to fulfill; one more thing she had to worry about… no.

Peter was easy; he was comfortable. Safety, home…

Sick… very sick.

“Oh shit,” She muttered, covering her mouth. Peter reacted immediately, grabbing the waste basket from beside the bed as she lurched forward. He caught her throw up just in time, and as she continued to retch into the bin he rubbed small circles on her back. He wanted to do more; but this was all he could manage. Reassurance, and being there when she needed it.

Puking or otherwise.

She sat back slowly, the action taking more energy out of her than she thought it would. He wiped a few stray hairs from her forehead, matted with sweat. He ran his thumb underneath her eye; she looked tired.

He wanted to make it go away; make it easier if he could. But he settled for caresses and smiles, it seemed to make her happier.

“Pete, can you grab the nurse for me?”

“Yeah of course.”

His hand dropped as he quickly scurried out; he waved down a nurse in the hall and smiled sadly as she stepped in. The door closed behind her, and Peter found himself leaning back against it. A long sigh escaping his lips; he surprised himself when he nearly found himself crying.

God, get a grip.

Nothing had happened but it felt like everything. He was frustrated; he hated that they couldn’t sit at the Thai restaurant like they used to, they didn’t beg the librarian to keep the place open for just a little bit longer. He wanted her to be healthy and happy; he wanted his Y/N back.

This thought almost made him cry more; she still was his Y/N, she was still her in every way. That beautiful, bright and strong woman he’d grown up with. He just knew this was hard for her, of course it was. And even though she was still that incredible woman; he knew she was losing hope.

He ran his hands through his hair, glancing around the hallway for an empty chair to wait in.

Alright, you know the side effects are hard. But she’s okay, she’ll be okay. Just let her rest, give her some space.

He plopped himself in his chair as a voice called for him.

“Hey kid.”

Peter turned his head to see Happy coming in his direction; snapping shut a flip cell phone.

Most people carried around normal phones, but Happy insisted on the dated technology for personal life calls and whatnot. Then again, expecting Happy to do something normal wasn’t really rational.

“Happy, what are you doing here?”

“I was around; wanted to stop by and check in.”

He nodded towards the closed door of Y/N’s designated room; “How’s she doing?”

Peter huffed, shaking his head.

“Today’s not really a good day; I think she just needs some rest.”

Happy nodded; it was to be expected. Not every day went by smoothly, but they had to take these bumps in the road to get Y/N back to the right place.

He didn’t really know what to say; he wasn’t always the best at reassurance. When it came to superheroes saving the world; sure. He could give them a quick jab, a motivating speech, get Tony’s or Peter’s head screwed on tight and send them back to the battlefield. But this wasn’t that; this was a scared kid with his best friend, and an uncertain future.

“Well, let me know if you need anything. I’m going to do everything I can to help; I’m here for you both.”

“Thank you, Happy”

He knew that something else was weighing on Peter; it was the drop in his shoulders, the tense biting of his inner cheek. Eyes somewhere else; yet nowhere.

May and Happy talked, of course. They’d been dating for quite sometime now; he had become her confidant and she, his. Happy knew how the kid felt for Y/N, they all did. It was no secret how they teased one another; how they kept to themselves; how they made sure to put time in their lives for one another.

May was worried; Peter had been wanting to say something for such a long time, she knew it. But now… she didn’t think he ever would.

“He probably thinks it’s selfish, knowing him. He never wants to…” she said to Happy, rubbing her hands nervously, “He never wants to be a burden.”

He wasn’t, of course. No one saw him that way; and Happy knew Y/N of all people would never think that.

He’d come to like the young girl; seeing her around the Parker apartment many times. She was an absolute delight; he couldn’t find a flaw in her. Maybe the need for independence; that fear Peter and her both shared, never wanting to be selfish, always thinking of someone else first.

But they both needed to be happy; and loving each other openly could be a step to that.

“And kid?”

Peter looked to him, waiting as Happy chose his words carefully.

“Don’t be afraid to tell her how you feel.”

Peter shook his head, “It’s not the right time Happy...”

“I know. But, someday it will be. You guys don’t have to start now, but when you feel ready and it feels right, don't hesitate kid.”

The nurse interrupted them, smiling as she waved to the young boy. “You can come in, she’s feeling better.”

He nodded, standing up beside Happy.

The older man nodded once more to the door, “You go ahead. I’ll wait for May.”

“Thanks Happy.”

Happy looked down at Peter, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “Anytime kid. I mean it.”

He smiled back at him, before slipping back into her room.

As he came in; he noticed how she wouldn’t look at him. The young girl looked to her lap, feeling the tears building.

“Y/N--what’s wrong?”

She looked up, choking back a sob. He saw it in her face; the anger, the sadness, the fatigue. Today just really fucking sucked.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said, “I fucking hate it. I wanna go home.”

As she breathed out an exhausted cry, he rushed to her side. He pulled her into him; gentle but strong. She sobbed into his shoulder, as he mumbled reassurances into her ear.

“I’ve got you, it’s alright. Let it out…”

“I’m scared Peter; this is so hard—”

“Hey, hey. I know Y/N... I-I know it’s not easy. But you’re going to get through this. You’re the toughest person I know. And…”

He pulled away to look at her; he needed to see her when he spoke. He wanted to speak from his heart; for once he wasn’t scared to do so. As he stared into those beautiful eyes he’d found many moments of comfort in, the face he’d fallen so deeply in love with; he felt his mind begin to race. He wasn’t sure if what came next would make sense. But it would have to do.

“...Your life matters. Sometimes the things that matter most are... the hardest things we have to go through. So, for some reason you got dealt this. It’s not fair; but the fight is still worth it.”

As a tear rolled down his cheek, she reached up to wipe it away. He cupped her hand against his face as he looked into her eyes.

“Think about everything before this; think about all the memories we’ve had. Your family, everyone at school, every place you’ve been, every picture you’ve taken, every book you’ve read, every smile you’ve given—” He felt crazy; what was the point? What was he trying to say?

“All of those moments you’ve made, that you’ve had are beautiful. You’re so beautiful--so, so beautiful… there’s going to be so much more that you have to fight towards. I’m so proud of you for what you’ve done and how far you’ve come. You have to keep going; you have to keep trying. Your life means too much for you not to.”

He clutched her hands in his, holding her as if it was the only way his words would get across. Neither of them knew what would happen; but she knew she would fight, she knew that she had the love and support she needed to keep going. She knew that drive within her wouldn’t go away. Not when there was so much more for her moving forward.

“No matter what happens, I’ll be right here beside you.”

She nodded, she felt it. She felt his honesty; she knew his promise wasn’t only words. It was a bond; it was love… Tired, so tired…

He smiled sweetly, stopping himself from chuckling at her drowsiness. “Getting tired?”

“Mhm.” She mumbled.

He saddled up beside her, pulling her to him gently in the bed. They might get in trouble; but he didn’t really care. He wanted to be close to her; and she certainly was not opposed.

“TV on? He asked.

“Yeah,” she muttered, “Something stupid...”

As he grabbed the remote, clicking on the TV, he could’ve sworn a soft kiss was placed on his shoulder. His heart fluttered, but he let the moment pass as he sifted through the channels. Maybe it wouldn’t be today; or tomorrow. But someday, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be in each other's arms in another place, holding each other with sweet “I love you’s” breaking the silence. But tonight; she would fall asleep in his arms to the laugh track of a show neither of them could name; love unspoken, but prominent and indefinite. No matter what; he would be there. Always by her side.

~

Taglist: - @babyblue-07 @pinkdiamond1016 @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @lonewolf471 @babybluereads @marianas-studyblr @godspeedlover @sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine @shower-me-with-roses

[monsterfloofs]

BirdMonster? (Quincey)  x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

(I don’t have a species name yet for my lovely weirdo bird-ish shadow babies-- but I hope you enjoy the story!!)

You look down at your phone, chewing on your lip, reading and re-reading the text message that lay on its glassy screen.

“Hey! I heard you moved to the city, how have you been? =D I wanna hear all about it!”

You didn’t have the heart to respond this morning when you first saw the message. And you felt even less sure of yourself as you looked at it now. “It’s going okay,” You finally type out, you type a bit more, but then thinking better of it, you hastily start tapping your thumb on the 'x' to delete it.

You run head first into someone's back and you blink, backing away quickly, “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry,” The shadowy figure turns around and his wide multicolored glowing eyes peer at you. A cigarette wiggles in his beak like maw. “Ey Nicky, look who it is! It’s tha hooman!” You wince and put your hands up nervously, as they lean forward curiously, their four hands resting on his waist and hips. “I’m really, really sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you--” “What have I told you about that!” You blink looking to the one beside him, they were short and chubby with a shorter beak that was slightly hooked on the end. Their hand flying up to swat at the taller figure. “Whatta keep tellin’ ya about them manners! You don’t say that! It’s rude!” “Ey! Ey! I’m sorreh! Jeeze Nicky!” The taller one complained in their high voice, “Why ya gotta slap at me! They were the one that ran inta me first!!” He jerks his thumb back at you before blinking and scratching his head with a hand, “Eh. . . they were right here. . . where’d they go?”

You had made a quick escape around the corner, breathing heavily before you looked down at your shoes and bit your lip. There weren’t that many humans around here, and you have been stared at enough by the residents to beat a hasty retreat when you were afraid of causing a scene. You shouldered your bag and continued down the path, your eyes peering around as you stuffed your phone into your pocket. It was a small city and many of the residents here, were these shadowy bird creatures. They had four arms and 4-6 eyes depending on their mood, covered in a very dark fluff that you weren’t able to discern if it was fur or feathers. With their luminous eyes and slick shadow like silhouettes, you stuck out like a sore thumb around them. At first you had been excited to live here, learn about them, but when you realized you were the one being stared at, you began to lose your social resolve. You stop walking, pausing in front of a walk sign and waiting for the light to turn as you shove your hands in your pockets. You had come here to make a new start, get away from your old town and the memories you had there, but with a new town came new problems. You hurry across the road, walking down the strip to turn into a little bookstore. 

You can see faint wisps of lilac smoke in the air and you give a little smile, you were able to make one friend so far, and you rather liked him. He sat at the front desk reading a book, his legs propped onto the countertop. His luminous eyes looking up. “Hey angel, how’s the city life treatin’ ya today?” You sigh and slump your bag onto the floor, “Horrible,” you mumble, “I ran into someone today Quincey, like actually. . . RAN into them. Way to go me. . .” “Ey, don’t say that.” Their cool voice replies from behind their book, “You were probably lost in your thoughts, and that's one of your best qualities.” You look at him, before giving a little smile. “You think so?” “I know so sweetheart. You’re a really deep thinker,” You stepping around the counter to put on an apron with the book store's logo stamped on it. “Has it been busy today?” Quincey chuckles, “Nope. ’S been dead all day.” You peeked at the stack of books sitting beside his crossed feet on the counter before you gave a little laugh, “I can see that. . . it looks like you’ve been reading your books more than selling them.” “Mmhm, if you want to, you can go home if you want.” You think back to the two others you ran into on the street and you shake your head, “No. . . I think I need to get out of there for a while.” “Feel free to hang around as long as you want, then. I could use th’ company.” 

You watch him read, his face buried in his book. You give a soft smile and nod appreciatively, you take a deep breath. “ Ah. . . Hey Quince, I was wondering, what are those things you smoke all the time?” Quincey looks up, “It’s a cigarette sweetheart. Don’tcha have them things back home?” You give him a look and smile, “Yeah. . . but they have rat poison in them and they smell awful, and they don’t give off purple smoke either.” Quincey’s eyes shift in number, as he blinks, taking the cigarette out of his jagged mouth and looking it over appalled, “Rat poison?” You giggle and rest your elbows on the table, “Yu~p! And they cause lung cancer and--” “Quincey waves his hands, “Urk, yeh, I’ve heard enough. I don’t wanna hear no more.” You giggle again as he hastily stamps it out. “Well, the ones back home do anyway, I don’t know what they make those kind with. It smells different. . . almost floral” You say thoughtfully, “I dunna sweets but I’m gonna look that up, I don’t wanna be killing myself with no rat poison,” You smile, collecting the stack of pre-read books into your arms and wandering further back into the shop to put them away. You scan the shelves, carefully sliding them back into their homes. 

You breath in the dry air with a smile, you were so thankful to work here, and thankful to find a friend. Quincey was kind, and understanding. When you first moved here, you had a moment of feeling distraught and panicky about the stress that was piling up in your life. You had started crying while you were working up front at the register and Quincey had been quick to send you to the backroom and tack over while you could sit in peace and cry it out. He had popped his head around the corner with a mug of tea. Sitting down to speak with you, his legs crossed as the two of you talked. You told him everything, why you left home, how hard everything had been and how desperate you had been to start anew. You spilled everything that had been warring inside your heart, going a mile a minute as your nerves had skyrocketed. But he listened through everything, nodding solemnly as he watched you with concern. You had felt guilty about that, just exploding your life worries on someone you just met, but Quincey had been someone you felt treasured to have now. He didn’t judge, he didn’t even really question. He didn’t ask for anything in return, and he didn’t try to make you feel like you had to act a certain way. You could just be. . . you. Having such a sturdy positive force in your life wasn’t something you were used to. You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you smile softly to yourself. 

You finished putting the books away, grabbing a broom to start sweeping the floors. Your mind slowly turns towards work and what needs to be done. Since it was slow today, you could focus on cleaning all the things you had been neglecting. Moving around the shelves and pulling out chairs so you could sweep underneath them. As you head up towards the front desk, you hear Quincey get up from his chair. Stretching his four arms as he bows backwards. “I see ya already grabbed my books, thanks for that.” “Oh,” you respond offhandedly, “No problem, I was already up,” “I was thinking about closin’’ up th’ shop earlier, it doesn’t look like anyone will be coming through.” You perk up cheerfully and beam. “What time were you thinking about closing?” Quincey eyes the clock on the wall, and squints. “Eh. . . Soon, I’m thinking, about an hour or so, no use wastin’ electricity if no one comes in.” You hum in response, keeping your head down as you sweep a pile of dust onto the dust pan. “And. . .” He began hesitantly, “I was wonderin’ if you would like to have dinner with me.”

You freeze, your head jerking up to look up at him. “Me?” You hug the broom shyly, Quincey rubs the back of his neck, his eyes winking closed, “Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable you don’t hafta--” You blink and look down, “I--” You stammer, you voice dropping to a whisper, “I’d really like that, actually. . .” You shuffle your feet, in embarrassment, you peek up at him, Quincey mirrors your shy posture, shifting from foot to foot as he rubs the back of his neck. You let out a soft giggle and take a deep breath. “I would love to. . . did you have a place in mind?” Quincey’s bright eyes dart in your direction before he gives a small jagged smile. “I know a few little hole in th’ wall places. One I’ll think you’ll really like, s’ nice an quiet. You nod, returning his smile, feeling your heart flutter. “That sounds great. . .” You stand their for a moment dumbly before you fluster and grin in embarrassment, picking up the dust pan and carting it and the broom into the back. When you are out of his line of sight you can finally let your heart to it’s erratic somersaults. Putting a hand over your heart and swallowing hard. A date. . . a dinner date, tonight, and you don’t have enough time to thoroughly panic because it’s going to be after work, which in an hour! You take a couple of deep breaths, easy, steady there! You busy yourself with scrubbing the tiny break room, your mind feeling like it was composed of marbles. Every thought you had rolling around and bumping into each other. There was no doubt you liked Quincey but oh gosh! 

It was like, now you knew, he knew, how you felt? Or was it, he knew, you knew how HE felt? You squish your face with your hands. Okay, you’re panicking, again, stop panicking-- just breath!! You let your eyes close tightly and you shake your head. You grab the bucket of soapy water and throw your sponge into it, hobbling out of the breakroom to start washing down whatever else you could find. You still had an hour to occupy your mind-- and in the meantime you needed to keep pep-rallying yourself! It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, it was just the things in life, made you feel like you had to be guarded. . . Or like you didn’t deserve it. You sigh, squeezing out the sponge and sitting on your knees to clean the dusty bottom of the book shelves. You keep yourself a buzzy bee, cleaning shelves and tables, until the very last minute. Your name is called and you lift your head, you can already feel your cheeks tingling with warmth. You wobble to your feet and give Quincey a shy smile. “Just let me dump the soapy water out! I’ll be right back.” You steal yourself into the break room, watching the water swirl down the drain, and turning to peer at yourself in the mirror. You give yourself an awkward but encouraging smile. Leaving the bucket and sponge on the counter as you join Quincey by the door. “I’m ready,” You say, feeling unsure, but when Quincey gives you his own crooked smile, your heart flutters. He holds the door open for you, and you step out together into the lamp light sidewalk.

It’s going to be okay, you tell yourself, hesitantly reaching for one of Quincey’s hands and holding it. He perks up and looks towards you, and you give an embarrassed smile and laugh in spite of yourself. 

[jj-lynn21]

Stellan interview

"Stellan Skarsgard Is Finally Seizing the Spotlight"

https://www.thedailybeast.com/stellan-skarsgard-is-finally-seizing-the-spotlight

With roles in “Dune,” the Star Wars series “Andor,” and “Hope,” the character actor par excellence has never been more popular. He talks to Marlow Stern about his stellar career.

Few if any actors have built a resume as impressive as that of Stellan Skarsgård.

After achieving teen-idol status in his native Sweden—even releasing a pop single—due to the TV series Bombi Bitt, Skarsgård transitioned to film acting. It was in the mid-’90s, with roles as a sadistic oil rig worker in Breaking the Waves, a fiery abolitionist in Amistad, and a haughty mathematician in Good Will Hunting, that the towering, stone-faced Swede would cross over into America, and establish himself as one of the finest character actors alive.

He’s since maintained a healthy diet of what he calls “experimental films,” including a total of six with Danish auteur Lars von Trier, and Hollywood studio fare, such as the Pirates of the Caribbean and Mamma Mia! films, the Thor and Avengers superhero extravaganzas, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and Cinderella. And right now, at the age of 69, Skarsgård is at his most prolific. There was his Golden Globe-winning turn in HBO’s Chernobyl, the upcoming villain in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, and a main role in the Disney+ Star Wars series Andor, which he’s filming right now in London. Oh, and he’s fathered eight children, including the actors Alexander, Gustaf, Bill, Sam, and Valter.

“There’s no competition, really,” the elder Skarsgård tells me of his talented brood. “There’s some joking competition at the dinner table, but I know they’re better than me, so I’ve given up.”

Skarsgård’s latest is the Norwegian drama Hope. Directed by Maria Sødahl, the wife of his frequent collaborator Hans Petter Moland, it is a heartrending autobiographical film about a long-married couple, Anja (Andrea Bræin Hovig) and her theater-director husband Tomas (Skarsgård), whose atrophying bond is put to the test when Anja develops terminal brain cancer. As they fight for Anja’s survival, the two reevaluate how their relationship went off-course, and why they fell in love in the first place. (The U.S. remake rights were quickly snapped up by Nicole Kidman and Amazon Studios.)

Anne Frank’s Stepsister: How Trump Reminds Me of HitlerNEVER AGAINMarlow Stern

In a wide-ranging conversation, Skarsgård opened up to The Daily Beast about his many great films, the controversy surrounding pal Lars von Trier, being a nudist, and much more.

How have you been passing the time during the pandemic?

In different ways. The first half of the year I was at our summer house on an island outside of Stockholm, and all my kids—who were also actors, most of them, and they weren’t working either—were all out there in two houses eating dinners together, having a good time, and seeing the spring inch-by-inch, everything grew, which you never get time to do otherwise. But this job I’m doing here now [in London], I was supposed to fly back and forth from Stockholm because I’m shooting this Star Wars series called Andor, and it would have been very convenient because it’s only a two-hour flight, but because of the quarantine I’ve been stuck here. For more than a month I’ve been alone in a hotel room staring into the wall.

Speaking of the Skarsgård household, I read a quote from your son Alexander who said that when he was a teenager, “Dad was always walking around [without clothes] with a glass of red wine in his hand.” Was that your vibe during the pandemic?

Not this time! Is it the wine that worries you? [Laughs]

Did the stress of the pandemic make you feel less… free?

No, I’m still taking off my clothes when I get home very often—and my kids also, some of them do. It’s not a big thing. We’re Swedes! And we have no God that says we can’t show our body parts.

What about it do you just find so liberating? I don’t go the full monty but when I go home, I do tend to take off my pants and let loose a little bit, because it is constricting.

If it’s warm enough you don’t need clothes, right? Unless you’re ashamed of your body—or taught to be ashamed of certain body parts. For me, it’s all upbringing. It’s cultural. Some cultures don’t care about what part of the body you show, and some cultures are very precious, and some cultures the women can’t show their faces.  

I’m curious what life was like in the Skarsgård household, because you’ve helped produce so many talented kids. Alexander described it as “bohemian,” similar to what you described during the pandemic, filled with dinner parties and a free-flowing atmosphere.

It’s always been a very open house, and the kids’ friends, it’s been easier to sometimes be in our house than their houses—especially during puberty, when conflicts arise—because we’re very relaxed and non-judgmental in our family. It’s really, truly pleasant. And my kids are more like pals to me. There’s no hierarchical relationship at all. It’s very nice. We just have fun!

It’s a very talented—and frankly, attractive—family. How did this happen?  

How did I make kids that look so good? [Laughs]

Is that something you’re particularly proud of?  

[Laughs] Well, the looks I don’t care so much about, but I’ve had two beautiful wives—and very smart wives—and that’s helped a lot. I’m not going to take much credit for anything. But what I’m proud of is, when I hear from other people in the business about Gustaf or Sam or Bill or Valter or Alexander, I hear that somebody worked with them and they were really nice on the set and totally cool with everybody, and how no matter what menial job anyone had on the set they were nice to them, then I’m proud. If they win awards it’s secondary to that, because that is a lottery anyway. Awards are sort of like reality shows.

They really are a popularity contest. Let’s talk about Hope. It could have very well been called Grief.

I thought it sounded bland to begin with, but in fact the film is about hope—and about love. It’s not a normal cancer film where it’s all about beating the cancer or fighting against it, but it’s about someone who gets a death sentence in a family situation with a lot of kids, like I have, and everything that was petrified in the relationship floats up again. It’s about how they rejuvenate their relationship, and through those horrible circumstances, find love again.

There’s one very powerful scene in the film that really encapsulates many elements and themes that it explores, and it’s the sex scene between you and your wife. It manages to capture the joy of reconnecting as well as the grief you’re experiencing.

I think it’s a great scene, because it starts beautifully—very gently—and it looks like it’s going to be really nice for both of them, and then her anxiety sets in, and things start to bad. And it does go bad pretty fast.

On another level, I’m an American and we don’t see sex very often in movies. And when we do, we don’t see it in the service of such complicated emotions.

With sex in film, it’s difficult, because sex is something that feels fantastic when you do it, and it looks ridiculous when you watch. Those humping movements like a dog? It’s not sexy at all! So, you can’t do a sex scene that looks like it feels, so they always have to be about something else. The sex scenes I had with Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves, it was about her curiosity, because she discovered her first penis, she discovered sexuality, and it was totally about the relationship. The sex was just there. And in this film, the scene is not really about sex but about something else. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sex scene that looks like it feels, and that can convey that beautiful thing that sex can be.

Really, in America, we get almost no sex scenes in movies. And it’s 2021.

It’s very strange. It’s not as bad as during the Hays Code, when you couldn’t let the lips meet for more than one second.

You just had a train going into a tunnel.

[Laughs] Yes, that very subtle image. But in America, you have a strong, strong tradition of bigotry or fear of sexuality. Only two years ago, in nine states in America, it was still illegal to have sex outside of marriage, and my American friends have told me that when they were growing up, it was even regulated how they could have sex—you couldn’t have oral sex or anal sex—so it is so ingrained in American culture that people’s sexuality is not a private thing, but something that everybody should interfere with.

Hope is also an exploration of mortality. Is that something you think about often? 

I’ve never been that interested in it. I’ve always been aware of it. It’s the only thing you know in life—you’re gonna fucking die. But already many years ago, I thought I’d had such a fantastic life that it would only be fair that I died, because I’ve already lived more than most people. So, I don’t feel any injustice in death. And I’m not afraid of death because I’m not religious, so I don’t have to worry about whether I’m going to end up in hell or heaven. But I have small children still, my youngest is 8, and I’m no spring chicken anymore, so I think about how I should stick around for at least another ten years until everything is set.

I read that you’d studied a bunch of religions in the wake of 9/11 and reached the conclusion that it was all sort of bunk.

I grew up with total freedom of religion—my parents weren’t religious, though my grandmother was very religious. It was taught to me without judgment, and it was a very tolerant upbringing I had. But I hadn’t read the Bible. And after 9/11, when I saw George W. Bush standing in front of TV cameras and claiming that God had put him there, I thought maybe it was time to read what they actually believed in. So, I read the Quran and I read the Bible. There are some fantastic stories—as fiction, it’s sometimes brilliant and sometimes boring—but the God in both the Quran and the Bible, there’s only one reason to really worship them, and that is fear. It’s a power that says, “If you don’t worship, you’re going to die—and not only die, but burn in eternity.” It’s a bit autocratic and dictatorial, I would say. It’s very hard for me to worship something under threat.

And if God put George W. Bush in the White House, then God has a very cruel sense of humor.

[Laughs] Yeah, he does. And the latest president said the same thing.

But he doesn’t believe in God. He only believes in himself.

Yeah. I think that if he had more appreciation from the liberals in America, he would have just as well gone populist-liberal.

I think so too. You know, I read that your Dogville co-star Nicole Kidman already picked up the remake rights to Hope for Amazon.

She’s picked up the remake rights, yeah.

Both you and your son Alexander have shared some pretty intense scenes with Nicole. There’s that dramatic scene in Big Little Lies where Nicole hits your son in the dick, and it almost seemed to me like payback for what you put her through in Dogville.

[Laughs] Yeah, I’ve done two films with her and Alexander just finished doing The Northman with her. But she’s lovely. I really like her. She’s so cool.

At least it was a prosthetic and not Alexander’s real thing.

Yeah… coward! [Laughs]

I gotta say, between Chernobyl, Hope, Dune, a Star Wars series, and even a Simpsons cameo as yourself, how does it feel to be at your most prolific at 69?

I’m just working! I’m doing my job and having fun doing it. I’ve been lucky and a lot of good projects have emerged. It goes up and down, you know, throughout life. And I don’t think I could have a better life than I’ve had. I don’t have any regrets. And I don’t have to be the star or be in something very successful, I just have to have fun.

Nice. Do you feel you’re underrated? I think you’re someone who’s so consistently great in everything that it can almost be taken for granted how great you are. I know you won a Golden Globe recently, and that was long overdue, even if it’s mostly bullshit.

I don’t know! I can tell you: it’s much better to be underrated than overrated. So, I’m very comfortable if I am underrated. But I’m a Swede with an accent—or most of the time I have an accent—and for being a Swede with an accent, I have been extremely successful internationally, so I can’t complain. When it comes to the big studio movies, and I’ve been in four or five gigantic franchises that have paid a lot of bills for me, their concerns are financial, and I’m not a ticket-seller. I’m a solid fucking actor, and I’d rather be an actor than a star.  

It gives you the mobility.

Exactly. The freedom I have. I can easily do small, experimental films and strange stuff—films that could ruin another actor’s career—so I’m in a good position.

I wanted to ask you about Breaking the Waves, because it’s the 25th anniversary this year and I consider it a masterful film. And it was Emily Watson’s first film, which is just extraordinary. How did you two establish such strong chemistry?

She’s British, which means she comes from a rather prudish society too, and to take on a role with an obscure Danish director—who wasn’t that famous at the time—and to take on a role with such explicit sex and nudity took enormous courage, but she was fantastic. My job was to love her, and that felt easy, but I think that she felt loved, and I think that she felt secure, which is essential for being able to do anything courageous. But she’s such a brilliant, talented, wonderful woman. I finally got to work with her again in Chernobyl. I mean, you just have to look at her and everything comes.

There’s this longstanding debate over whether Breaking the Waves is misogynistic or not, and I personally find it to be a misreading of the film. I’ve always thought of it as a biblical allegory of sorts about a desperate woman navigating a deeply sexist world.

Absolutely. Lars doesn’t have that in him. Those fantastic female roles that he has written, if you want to defend women in film, you’ve really got to take care of him because he writes the best roles for them. Those roles are very much him, and he definitely doesn’t have a negative attitude toward women. He loves them. There’s a plague of labeling people—not for what they’re really saying, but for what they appear to say. He was stamped as a misogynist and then he made a bad joke about Hitler at Cannes, and everyone stamped him as a Nazi, which is the furthest thing from what he is.  

Stellan Skarsgard and Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves

You stamp people as a “racist,” a “fascist,” a “communist,” I mean this fucking stamping is as smart as QAnon. It’s frightening. The fantastic thing about mankind is that we’re not one thing. We’re all capable of the most brutal and horrible crimes and we’re all capable of love. We do good things and we do bad things. There are nuances. The way of seeing people as “good” or “bad” guys is forcing something upon humanity that is really dangerous, because when you say someone is the “bad” guy then you’re saying you are the “good” guy, and it’s forcing you to not look at your own flaws.

I’m a huge fan of Lars’ films but I think one thing that’s really colored people’s opinion of him are the allegations that Bjork made against him on Dancer in the Dark. You didn’t have the biggest role in that film, but is it something you witnessed?

I’ve never seen him do anything like that. It’s not him. And if you talk to any of the other women who have worked with him over and over again, you will not get those kinds of accusations. But the Bjork and Lars conflict was enormous during the shoot, and it had very little to do with #MeToo. Lars, like all directors, in the end is a control freak, and Bjork has controlled everything in her career—from the music, to the costumes, to the way she sounds—and if two control freaks try to make a film, there will be conflicts. I got phone calls from Lars during the shoot where he was in tears. She left the set several times, and it had nothing to do with sexuality. She tore up her clothes. They had a very difficult relationship. But you’ve gotta pick your toxic males. You can’t put a “toxic male” label on everybody, otherwise it will be watered down, that label.

I’m so excited for Dune. What can you tell me about it? Denis Villeneuve said that your Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is different from the comics or the David Lynch film in that he’s not as much of a caricature but a calmer, more sinister presence.

The thing about it, and why I’m looking forward to this film as well, is because it’s Denis Villeneuve. Whatever he does, he creates an atmosphere that is dense, that you can touch, and you’re just sucked into it. You’re never bored—even if he does long, slow takes. The atmosphere builds up, and you’re in his universe. I think it will be the same with this one. He’s lovely to work with, and a beautiful man. I did eight or ten days on the movie, so my character doesn’t show up for too much, but his presence will be felt. He’s such a frightening presence where even if he doesn’t say anything, I think you’ll be afraid of him. And I’m extremely fat. I had eight hours in the makeup chair every day. And in some scenes, I look very tall because I levitate. You’re going to have a lot of fun with it.

The whole HBO Max day-and-date thing is weird, and I hope as many people as possible get to see the film on the big screen.  

Oh, definitely. I think they made a deal with AT&T—which owns Time Warner, which owns HBO, which owns my phone—that they cut a four-week deal where it’ll be just for the theaters, but I’m not sure. That could change.

I also feel culturally obligated to ask you about Andor, the upcoming Star Wars series you’re in. What’s that about, and who do you play in it?

As you know, they’ll shoot me if I say anything! I can’t even get a proper script. It’s printed on red paper so I can’t make any copies of it, it’s ridiculous! Of course I’ve seen all the Star Wars films, because I’ve had children in the ‘80s, and the ‘90s, and the 2000s, and the 2010s. I’ve had children in five decades, which means you’ve seen all the Star Wars films—and seen all the toys as well. But when I saw Rogue One, it had much more atmosphere and seemed a little more mature—and that was Tony Gilroy, who’s the showrunner on this one. So, hopefully this one will be a little more than little plastic people falling over.

Was a part of the motivation to do Andor to look really cool to your kids?

I do think like that sometimes! I’ll go and do a children’s movie for that reason. But also, I’m not the most mature person myself, so who doesn’t want to go and fly a spaceship?

Plus, now you can give your kids action figures of yourself and say, “Play with me.”

Fuck yeah. Go play with dad. Don’t disturb him! Go play with him! [Laughs]    

I’m not the most mature person myself, so who doesn’t want to go and fly a spaceship?

OK, this is kind of a silly question, but do you have a favorite movie death of yours? My favorite has to be in Deep Blue Sea, because in that one you get your arm ripped off by a shark, and then the shark uses your body as a battering ram to destroy this underwater facility.

I would say that is probably, in terms of inventiveness, my favorite one too. It was Renny Harlin. Yeah. I like it! Fortunately, I didn’t have to spend that much time on that stretcher—it was a doll. But it looked really cool! And the sharks weren’t CGI back then. It was mechanical sharks, and they were pretty dangerous. The little boy in me was very excited.

Another movie of yours that I love, for entirely different reasons than some of these other ones we’ve discussed, is Mamma Mia! Is it basically a vacation filming these? I imagine the cast parties are a lot of fun, because it seems like you all are having a ball.

Well, it is. I’m not a singer and I’m not a dancer so I was scared stiff, but the only way to make it work—because it’s not much of a story—is that we had fun doing it, because that joy is contagious to the audience. And we really had fun. It was very relaxed in Greece there on the beaches, and the parties we had there were very good too. It was a nice bunch of people to hang with.

When the cast of Mamma Mia! goes wild in Greece, who is the one that parties the hardest? Who’s the VIP?

It depends what you mean by partying! I usually get pretty drunk. Down there, Colin [Firth] and I were pretty good at it. And at those parties, we also had 50 dancers in their twenties, and they had much more stamina.

I have to ask: Will the gang get back together for a third one?

I don’t know! It took 10 years between number one and number two, so if it takes another ten years, I don’t know. Some of us may just be there in urns, with our ashes!

You released a pop single in the ‘60s, right?

Yes. When I was 16, I became extremely famous in Sweden. We had one TV channel back then and I did this TV series, and it was like being a rock star. But it meant also that all kinds of shady people thought they could make money off me. So, this guy calls me from Stockholm and says, “Stellan, can you sing?” And I said, “No.” And he said, “Well, try it!” And then I hear this guitar on the other end of the line, I go, “Ahh!” and then he goes, “Perfect! Come over to Stockholm.” I went to this very shady studio in the suburbs and we recorded it, and then the guy who was running the project said, “I listened to the tape now, and I think it’s better if I sing and you speak on the record.” So, I don’t sing on the record. But there were very cruel headlines in Sweden. One paper had a headline that read, “Stellan Skarsgård, who we loved on this TV series, we don’t like anymore.”

That’s so mean! In addition to Breaking the Waves, another film that really raised your profile in the United States was Good Will Hunting—which holds up remarkably well. Some of my favorite scenes in that film are the ones where you and Robin Williams are jousting. And I know he’s a wild card, so what was it like shooting those?

He really is a wild card because anything can come out of him, and he can say anything and do anything, and he has this urge to do it because he has these three parallel brains that are constantly working on finding something funny or interesting. Sometimes, even when we would do ten takes and everybody would be happy with them, he’d say, “I have to get something out of my body,” so we would do one extra for that. You didn’t know what you’d experience when the camera would start rolling—you just had to dance with it. And it was fantastic. He was such a lovely man and had no ego. He was just a volcano of creativity and ideas.

Do you ever think about your legacy? You not only have a bunch of talented children but also have amassed such a strong body of work.

The thing is with legacy: you won’t be able to enjoy it, so just forget it. No, I don’t. And it doesn’t matter. If you’re extremely successful, it takes a decade and you’re gone from people’s minds. You can only hope that your children remember you for a couple of years, at least!

Well, they’ll have the Star Wars toys, at least.

They’ll have the toys! That’s right. [Laughs]

[whump-town]

Will You Take Me Home?

Here is some heart-warming fluff to make up for what I did with the cancer fic. I would do it again so I’m not sorry but I do feel remorse for hurting you

Word Count:  5055

Retired Hotch’s Birthday

The normal temperature of the room outside his nest of throw-blankets and heating pad causes goosebumps to break out over his exposed arm. He groans, not even bothering to check the caller ID as he puts his phone to his ear and answers “Aaron Hotchner”. His voice has taken on the gravel of disuse, fogged by the painkiller-induced nap he’d accidentally fallen into. If he was following his doctor’s orders, that wouldn’t happen. His body would have acclimated to the drugs and the pain wouldn’t leave him so exhausted that he can hardly keep his eyes open when it dulls to throbs. Which, he’s not aware of just yet, but is the very nature of this call: his detrimental habits.

“Sleeping beauty,” the other person greets and he leans back against the pillows behind him, rolling his eyes. The phone rustles and Hotch shakes his head as he hears the faint scratching and rustling of keys at his door. “I knocked four times,” he’s informed. “I was starting to think--” the door comes free and Hotch doesn’t even look up. “I thought I was going to find you dead in here.” The call ends and from the other side of the couch, he hears, “which, by the way, would be a hell of a thing, you know? Dead on your own birthday.” He closes his eyes but feels the cushions get pushed down, the telltale sign she’s leaning over the back of the cushion overtop him. “Speaking of which,” she beams. “Happy Birthday, old man.”

He looks up at her, taking in the full effect of mischief he could only hear before. The expressive lines of her smile spread across her face and it’s a distinct moment when all he can think about is how truly awful things had been between them at the beginning. How mean he was, really, because it wasn’t her. It was his own inability to trust. Yet, here she is before noon on his sixtieth birthday leaning over his couch and no doubt about to start a pot of coffee that she’ll consume over three-fourths of.  Suppressing the smile tugging at his own lips, he raises a more important matter at hand. Far more pressing than why it is that she’s letting herself into his home. “How long until they come?”

Retired doesn’t mean born yesterday (whatever the opposite of that is, really). He’s not around the office anymore but given Garcia’s questioning last month of his favorite cake flavor, Dave’s inquiry into his schedule for this week, and Emily’s early arrival he knows exactly what they’re doing. To her credit, Emily pretends she doesn’t and she might be more convincing if he didn’t know every tell she’s had for the last two decades.

“Who?” she asks. “How long until who comes?” He just looks at her. A stand-off, really, to see who caves first. They’re assholes so this could go on forever and if she were looking for the thrill of watching him break and she would press on. She cracks but not because he’s better at this game, just because she’s excited. “You have an hour. I’ve been sent to get you ready so you’re not a crabby old bastard when they arrive.”

He groans, sinking back into the couch and pulling his blanket up over his head. Effectively locking her out. Well... not really. She just leans further over him, not caring when he grunts tries to burrow farther away. “Come on,” she shakes his shoulders. “Aren’t you the least bit excited? Penny made you those cookies you like and Derek is bringing Hank, who, I might add, is very excited to see Hops.” And she’s only buttering him up because-- “I’m not supposed to tell you this because it’s a huge surprise but Dave left this morning to go pick up Jack. He’ll--” she can’t even get it out. He peaks out, just the top of his head so he can narrow his eyes at her. To see if she’s just fucking with him, using his feelings against him but he sees only sincerity. She grins, she knows she’s won. “So up and at ‘em old-timer! You’ve got a gaggle of people to entertain!”

Old-timer? He’s four years older than she is. That’s not what he comments on. “Gaggle?” he repeats back to her, grunting as his knees protest his standing. “Really showing your age there,” he mumbles and steps out of the way of the pillow she throws at his head. “What?” he defends. “You said it, not me.” He shakes his head, heading back to his room and leaving her to entertain herself. Which she will and he can hear her rustling around the coffee machine. Nearly surprised that she doesn’t complain he still hasn’t set up the Keurig she got him for Christmas (which they are rapidly approaching him having owned now for a year).

Though he isn’t sure how to express it anymore, he’s excited to have them here. Even if he knows that it will get overwhelming, he can’t deny that the night will end far too soon and he’ll find himself missing them all over again. But that’s not what’s important. In an hour (less than that knowing Penelope and her strict party-throwing agendas) he’ll have them all right here. Reid with his never-ending knowledge, quizzing him on the book recommendations that Hotch has been slowly working his way through. With Derek and Savannah and Hank, the latter of which can’t pronounce Hotch and it makes his heart do a funny little thing when the toddler sees him and screams in pure delight “Hops!”

JJ will pour in with Henry and it’ll be like old times watching Henry and Jack slunk off together (and they all pretend like they don’t know they’re smoking pot in the backyard). Emily and Dave force him to mediate the same four fights that they always have and then they’ll stick around long after the others have gone home to talk about whatever comes to their minds.

And Penelope.

His house is about to be flooded with baked goods and meals in containers because despite being alive as long as he has, she denies the notion he can feed himself. She’ll organize them in specific ways and each will be labeled in her neat handwriting so he can tell what’s in each. Most of them will be vegetarian because she’s worried about his cholesterol (and the environment) and a few will be spicy and chicken will make its way into a few of the dishes. He’ll thank her and kiss her cheek and she’ll remind him like she always does, that all he has to do is ask. He won’t but he does appreciate how much she cares. As smothering as it can be.

He showers quickly, giddy in a strange way to get out and be properly ready when the others arrive. Not too quickly, the last thing he needs is to bust his ass while Emily is here. She is far too comfortable with herself and with him and he knows that she will come in here if she hears him. The other thing about that woman is that she might have a distaste for constantly being touched but she can put that aside to annoy him. Which has created this weird mind-game thing he knows he’s losing when he doesn’t even notice her encroaching on his personal space.

Everything is a battle with her.

He decides to save himself the trouble of being bullied and searches through his dresser for a pair of jeans. He owns maybe two pairs of jeans both purchased forever ago and just to help him fit in with the parents at Jack’s school during field trips and soccer games. He stuck out like a sore thumb when he was a kid and he knows he still does but he won’t be the reason Jack gets weird looks. Emily had raised an eyebrow at that (why he had even divulged this to her is beyond him) so evidently it didn’t really do the trick but Dave assures him he looks fine and Garcia thinks he looks like a DILF so… he’s fairly certain that’s good. He’s not really sure what that means but he’s learned it’s better not to ask her to clarify.

Emily is fixing the couch when he comes out, the apartment filled with the scent of the coffee she’s brewed while he was showering. “You’re going to burn the house down with this thing,” she tells him. She holds up his heated blanket as it offends her. “You need to go to the doctor, there has to be something they can do.”

What surprises him isn’t her apparent anger-- with Emily, it’s a diversion. Her anger is rarely that, it’s to distract, and right now he knows he’s to perceive her anger and not the way she fears for him. The way that she can’t say “I love you” like the others but can, instead, be outraged that his body has been working against him for so many years. She’s not angry at him for needing to be tucked up in that blanket all the time, she’s afraid of a vascular issue that might kill him or that he’ll leave untreated until they’re all being reunited at the closest general hospital. Waiting for a doctor to tell them that he waited too long or that his heart can’t handle another surgery or a million other things.

He takes the blanket from her, clumsily folding it over and tucking the cords into the folds. “I have gone to the doctor,” he assures her. Not for that specifically but he did bring it up. He leaves it at that for now and she understands that means maybe later. It’s not worth getting into and he doesn’t feel like thinking about George Foyet and his knife today.

“Hey,” Emily hums, smirking at him. “Your ass looks really nice in those jeans.”

He stops dead in his tracks, frowning as he looks back at her but just as he’s about to inquire what, no doubt, awful thing she’s done to make her feel the need to compliment him to compensate for it, the apartment door opens. They both turn to the noise and Garcia steps in and freezes when she notices the two of them standing there.

Looking at the bags full of things she has in her arms and then to Emily and then to Hotch she sheepishly smiles. “Happy Birthday?”

With a sigh, having accepted this defeat a while ago, Hotch steps to help her with bags. He tries to hide his amusement but he cuts Emily a glance, three bags in his left hand and more still coming, and he can’t help it. Garcia turns back just as the smile eats its way up his face and he shakes his head. For a split second, he can see her apprehension, the way that her fear of going overboard or embarrassing herself washes over her before she carefully masks it (and to think he gets all the shit about masking). “Thank you,” he whispers so sincerely that he has to avert his eyes. Adding softly, “you know, you’re the only person who ever cares to make me celebrate it?”

Which just makes her sad. “Sir,” she whispers frowning. “You deserve the world, do you know that?”

He blushes, shaking his head, but he can’t get the words out in his shock.

“Oh,” she tsks. She stands on her toes and pulls him down so she can wrap her arms around him. “I love you.”

Emily makes a sound of disgust behind them and he’s glad for the distraction before all this undue attention gives him a heart attack. “Bleh,” Emily rolls her eyes. But she brightens when she sees the red Tupperware container holding the cookies. “Are those the--”

Garcia sees Emily zero in on them and hands them right to Hotch, holding them to his chest. “Are not for you,” she says to Emily with a nod of her head.

So Emily just looks to Hotch and he passes them to her with a shrug and weakly defends, “they’ll go stale if she doesn’t eat half of them.” They’re his birthday cookies but she’ll get her hands on them anyway. If not today then the next time she lets herself in. If not her then Reid when he gets bored and wanders over here for entertainment. If not Reid then Dave then Derek… you get the point. He’ll never finish them on his own.

Garcia lets it go because she knows that’s how he is and because she has a crapload of other things to make sure he eats. He leaves her to mess with his fridge, it’s better to let her do her thing. She’ll move his almond milk to the side door because that’s its proper place (even though he’ll move it right back) and come in about five to ten minutes to fuss with him about a specific something she notices he’s lacking. Today it will be the complete lack of breakfast foods in this house when she knows for a fact that his doctors are giving him hell about eating more than once a day.

He’ll have no excuse, never does, but she won’t give him a chance to provide it either way.

Reid arrives next and actually knocks and waits for someone to let him in, something none of the others will do. He sheepishly offers Hotch the books he’s artfully wrapped in a newspaper and Hotch ignores it for a moment to hug him. If they don’t do it now Reid will just wait in anxious anticipation for it because he knows it’s what people do and he likes being hugged by Hotch but he doesn’t know how to initiate it himself.

“The Sultan of Brunei spent $27.2 million on his 50th birthday,” Reid tells him as soon as Hotch lets him go. “Michael Jackson was there,” he says with a nod. And Hotch smiles and listens to him anxiously work his way around the point that he’s trying to make. Which is that by the standards of the Sultan of Brunei, this party will be exceptionally small and quiet… the way Hotch would want it to be.

They are still standing at the door, talking about what the act of giving a card means. The way that the stories get warped and it thrills Reid to slide the pieces of that puzzle together through-out various cultural ideals until you have them. And that America has a very strange, above-average affinity for birthday cards.

Derek nearly hits Reid with the door when he comes in. Too distracted with a squirming Hank on his hip and Savannah behind him fussing with him for not knocking. He brightens the second he places his eyes on the two of them, a face that Hank matches perfectly upon seeing his favorite people.

“Weed!” the toddler greets throwing himself into his godfather’s arms. Reid takes him happily, laughing at how tightly Hank holds onto him. He just loves that Hank never gets tired of him. He could still see Hank every day for a month and Hank would still greet him with the same enthusiasm as the first day.

Derek is kicking his shoes off, offering Savannah his hand so she can do the same when he notices Hank still excitedly talking to Reid. That’s by all means not abnormal but-- “Hey,” Derek mumbles Hank. He nods his head to Hotch who is standing watching Reid and Hank with a bright, wide smile. “Don’t you have something for Hops?”

Reid puts Hank down before the toddler can start to squirm and Hank immediately glues himself to Hotch’s leg. No one knows why it’s just what Hank likes to do but not just, in general, he only does it to Hotch. He stands for a few seconds, both arms wrapped around one of Hotch’s legs, face pressed into the material of his jeans, and Hotch stands still to allow him to do it. Hops is a nickname he has no control over, the same way that Reid doesn’t fight that he’s been “Weed” now since Jack was two and stumbling over his name.

Hotch got off easy. When Henry was younger he just sort of kept his distance from Hotch. Hank… just really loves him.

“Is that a hot wheel?” Hotch asks softly when Hank finally peels himself away enough to offer the bright toy clutched in his hands. Hank beams up at him and stretches to hold it higher, trying to get Hotch to take it. “Oh wow,” Hotch gasps, shaking his head and pretending to just be so impressed by this toy so severely dwarfed in his hand. “Do you know what colors these are?”

Derek holds his hand out for Savannah to take and guides her through the house. Moving them to the kitchen to talk with Garcia and Emily knowing that he won’t be getting his son back this afternoon. Both because Hank won’t want to leave Hotch or Reid’s side and because Hotch and Reid won’t want him to leave. The Hotwheels was entirely Hank, they spent twenty minutes finding the perfect one when all Derek needed from the store was stain. Though they all agreed to no presents because Hotch would already hate them invading his home with cake, they all got him presents.

The others all got him books because that’s what they know he likes and he really does love to receive books. They’re fun entertainment and they all say something about how not only they perceive him but also the sorts of things that they like and he… well, he loves that.

Derek built him a new bookshelf. It’s sitting in the back of the truck and he’s waiting on Will to get here to drag the thing in here. Derek had noticed two weekends ago that one of the shelves Hotch uses in the hall was bowing under the weight of the books on it so he’d made something to replace it. Thin but heavy-duty-- he’d considered all the ins and outs of the current shelf. Things he didn’t like about it until he has a higher shelf that doesn’t stick out so obscenely.

Which doesn’t matter, really, Hotch will love it either way.

Hank keeps “Hops” distracted while the others pull dinner together. Emily is set to ice the cake but she’s awful and she’s sent to sit in the living room with the other three. Hotch is sitting in the recliner, Hank sitting on his knees and telling him about what he did in preschool this week while Reid pokes through the bookshelf Hotch keeps by the door.

JJ knocks as she comes in but still lets herself in. Henry is bummed to see Jack isn’t here yet but he’s quickly distracted and swept right back out the door to help his father and Derek move the bookshelf into the house. They don’t really need Henry’s help but it’s an effective way to ensure Hotch doesn’t try to help. Not because he can’t but because… he’s old and they don’t want to break him.

They’re just buying time, anyway, until Jack and Dave get here.

With them comes the party…

Hotch only puts Hank down to hug Jack, biting down his tears when he realizes that his son now stands just as tall as he is. Probably bound to be taller. He’s grown out his blonde hair in college and just as Hotch is opening his mouth to ask about school, how seeking out that Master’s Degree is treating him, he spots--

“A puppy!” Hank shouts.

Jack smiles timidly, stepping back to show his father the dog still held back by Dave’s hold on her collar. “Her name is Scout!” Jack kneels down, beaming up at his father while the thrilled puppy licks his face. “Do you get it?”

Oh, he gets it alright. Emily had snitched him out two weeks ago (to his own son, of all people) and admitted she was a little worried. He still doesn’t think there was ground for her fears. It’s not abnormal for him to shut himself out and if his therapist doesn’t think he’s any crazier than normal then that should mean he’s fine. At least, that’s how Hotch feels about it. That’s ignoring the way that everyone else feels. Which is that he’s visibly more on the edge and jumpy. That he gets irritated in public spaces and his anxiety is getting worse despite starting therapy and medicine he swears is helping.

Jack had done his best to get through to his father but sometimes Hotch makes those conversations like talking to a brick wall. That conversation had ended rather badly, honestly. Jack had yelled, shouting mindlessly that he’s twenty-five and he’s too young to have to be taking care of Hotch like this. Too young to have to fear that each day he’ll receive that phone call and the crazy thing is that Jack wouldn’t even be surprised-- everything about Hotch’s life is damning proof to the fact that he acts impulsively, reckless, and without care to his own well-being.

Jack had called later and he’d apologized, they both had. It had been careless on Jack’s behalf, Jessica had explained to him at sixteen some delicate things about his father. He’d come to understand just what it means for everyone around Hotch to love him. The way that his mother had tried to stifle that urge in his father and Jessica and Dave and Emily and Derek and everyone who has ever loved a man like Aaron Hotchner has tried to walk him back off that ledge. But it’s as if he was born there and you can move him but you can’t take that fundamental calling away. Can’t wash his darkness away.

Jack had spent his entire childhood likening the characters around him to his father, just pulling at strings to understand the man. Sometimes he’d earn himself a smile and other times a grunt. He’d bring his father the books or replay scenes in movies all to just see his reactions to know if the man he sees his father as is the same one Hotch sees himself as.

Freshman year of high school they’d read To Kill A Mockingbird and he’d thought his father to be a man like Atticus Finch. In many ways, he is but he keeps coming back to that book. Until during that heavily apologetic phone call, Jack had laughed and realized his father might be a bit like Atticus Finch but he’s a Boo Radley. The recluse that always represents unwavering good.

Hence Scout.

What had driven Boo Radley from his home? Little Scout Finch.

He lets them into the house, not really sure what to say. “You know,” Hotch mumbles, shaking his head. He watches the puppy eagerly work her way around the others. Snaking between legs and nearly knocking Hank over in her excitement but the boy is around enough dogs to only laugh harder. “You could have just got me a… gym membership of something.”

Derek huffs at that and now, he’s sitting in his living room watching his closest friends snickering at his son’s clever book reference. With a sigh, he leans down and offers his hand to the puppy, frowning when her first instinct is to lick him. “Hi, Scout.”

Jack squats down, petting Scout while she continues basking in Hotch’s attention. “You don’t go to the gym, dad.” Jack rubs behind her ears, smiling when Scout doesn’t divert her attention from Hotch. She’s zeroed in on him and he’s fairly content with that. “Besides I got Scout from that program that they run in Richmond.” There’s this dog training thing they do down there that his friend actually works at. Scout failed her training-- as it turns out she’s a bit of a reject. They’d tried to start her out as a service dog but she’d been too smart for that too. Too eager.

Hotch raises an eyebrow at that, not liking the sound of what he thinks is happening. Those dogs are expensive and it’s already enough that she’s a German Shephard. “What do you mean?”

Jack glances at Dave, “well…”

Dave steps up and soothes it out. “I made some calls and Jack’s friend helped us out. Scout is a reject from two academies, a failed service dog and from the police dog academy in Richmond. So she’s too smart for them to just send anywhere.”

Great, Hotch thinks.

“It’s perfect,” Emily snickers. “Hotch loves to take care of things and now he’s essentially got a toddler again.”

“She is potty trained,” Jack offers quickly.

But Emily is right and the idea is brilliant. Hotch does like to take care of things and having Scout will prompt him to start taking walks in the morning again. It might help him implement a strict eating routine, place him in the kitchen to feed her. He won’t go do things for himself but he will take her to the dog park and sit there until she’s tired. Throw balls for her to retrieve and (what had been the killing stone) is that she’s far too smart for her own good. She’s got other training. Senses anxiety and depression and is very protective.

Hotch frowns down at Scout, she’s placed her head on his knee watching him as he takes this in. Hank is leaned up against her side, fingers trailing through her short fur, and she’s entirely unbothered by it. She’s only worried about Hotch and Hotch is worried about her. He’s never had a pet before. Jack had a goldfish he fed occasionally but… there’s no way that counts.

“Thank you,” he says softly, rubbing at his fingers anxiously and frowning when Scout smacks his hand with her nose. He sighs and puts his hand on her head, scratching like he thinks she wants. Too distracted to note what she’s effortlessly just done. Put off by her clinginess, he’s not even thinking about the curling hot ball of nerves in his stomach. His mind does wander but she nudges him again and he sighs and keeps patting her head.

Dinner goes well and Scout and Hank are glued to his sides. Hank to his left feeding him chips and Scout green beans which Hotch sees and chooses to ignore. Her immediate allegiance to him is a little strange, she’s not too bothered with Garcia or Derek no matter how hard he tries to win her over (feeding her green beans just like his son). Scout does like Hank, Henry, Jack, and Reid. She takes to them like it’s nothing. She’ll go from ignoring Derek’s attempts to get her to sit to trot right over to Reid and lay over his feet.

Hotch does enjoy that, it’s funny.

They funnel out slowly after eight. Hank has already fallen asleep in Hotch’s arms and Savannah has to wipe his tears up and shush him back to hazy contentment with the promise he’ll see Hops soon. Derek will probably be over in a day or two to make sure that the shelf is holding up well and to transfer the books and he’ll bring Hank along to distract Hotch to do it.

JJ and Will trickle out not too long after. Henry and Jack conspire together to get Dave to take them for ice cream and he caves-- Jack promises to text him before he falls asleep to tell him where he landed for the night.

Garcia takes Reid home, won’t let him take the subway back at this hour and Hotch doesn’t even have to ask they just know to text him when they get home safe. He promises to eat the food Garcia left and she already has the date in which he should run out marked on her calendar. She’ll give him a week to bring back the Tupperware before coming over here herself and seeing what he has and hasn’t eaten.

Emily sticks around until ten. The two of them picking up meager things and she promises to come by early tomorrow and the two of them will go to PetSmart to figure out what kind of food Scout should be eating.

And before he knows it…

“I guess it’s just me and you then.” Scout tilts her head at him. “You want to… go to bed?”

He’s not really sure how the dog thing works. TV has shown him plenty of times they’re not supposed to sleep in your bed so he makes her a blanket bed of her own and marks down a dog bed on his list of things to get tomorrow at the pet store. He tells her goodnight and then blushes at how silly that sounds.

He’s in bed, changed into pajamas, and yawning into his book but he’s committed to reading a chapter every night. He hears her get up but he still jumps when his bedroom door is opened. She doesn’t wait for a command and doesn't listen to his “no” before jumping up into the bed alongside him. He’s trying to grumble, to get up but she lays right across his hips. Turning her head to look up at him and he gives up. “Only tonight,” he says.

Tonight turns into the way she sits between his legs, when they’re listening to the guy at PetSmart help them pick out food. To the way she looks up at him when he tries to estimate how big she’ll be to get her a properly sized bed. Which ultimately turns into him giving up and Emily hiding her smirk at just how whipped he already is.

Tonight turns into every night and if his nightmares stop coming as frequently because she’s laying atop him he doesn’t say anything. If he starts going out more and the team starts picking out pet friendly places to meet him for lunch or to have a coffee break then he also doesn't say anything but Scout is right there.

So… what exactly does it take to draw Aaron Hotchner away from the ghosts? A puppy.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

#10: Felix, Part Two: The Episode Itself

Here’s Part 1

So, uh... here's the thing. I was going to divide this post into three parts, but I had to cancel the third part where I analyze the stuff involving Astruc defending the episode on Twitter, specifically a certain scene that really showed off some serious double standards in regards to the way Adrien is being written, because Astruc deleted most of his tweets regarding the episode. I wonder why he did that? I thought he wanted to expose himself publicly and interact in a peaceful way.

So yeah, instead of a big three-parter, this is going to be a two-parter, and I apologize for that. I might be able to do a third part if anyone has any screenshots of some of the tweets Astruc made after “Felix” aired. If you did, I would really appreciate it, but if not, it's fine.

Either way, let's just get this over with, because I have SO MUCH to talk about. My friend, can your heart stand the shocking facts about Season 3, Episode 23 of Miraculous Ladybug, “Felix”?

So we start off with what Gabriel does for half of his scenes when he isn't Hawkmoth, monologuing to his (possibly) dead wife, Emilie about how Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous will soon be his and all that crap. Sure, he's sent God knows how many Akumas after Ladybug and Cat Noir, and they've all failed miserably, but I'm positive he's getting close to his goal.

After he finishes cleaning his and Emilie's silver wedding rings that sadly don't allow them to transform into Ultraman Ace, Gabriel goes to check on Adrien, singing to a statue of Emilie (glad to see the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree), intending to tell him that he is Hawkmoth.

Gabriel: There is something important I have to talk to you about. I think about telling you every day, but I don't know how to find the right words.

Adrien: I think I already know, father.

Gabriel: But, how?

Adrien: I've noticed how close you and Nathalie have become. If she can make you happy again, then... as far as I'm concerned, she's already part of our family.

Yeah, apparently it's obvious that Gabriel and Nathalie are close or something, with how casually Adrien assumes they're planning on starting a relationship. I mean, it's not like Nathalie is close to Gabriel because she's his secretary or something like that.

Gabriel's response isn't any better, as he immediately jumps down Adrien's throat for daring to assume he might try to move on from his wife.

Gabriel: How could you possibly think such a thing?! Nobody could ever replace your mother! As long as she is still in our hearts, she lives on!

Even Adrien's face shows he's a little taken back by his father's brief outburst.

Part of me likes to assume that Plagg is trying to not break out into laughter at how crazy Gabriel sounds, while Nooroo is mentally questioning the sanity of his master.

Plagg: Wow! Your father's like a piece of tomme cheese, where the rind's so thick it's almost impossible to get inside the center.

Adrien: Don't be so hard on him, Plagg. It's been a year today since Mom... went away forever.

Oh my God, just say she DIED already! Why are so many kids' shows afraid to say the D-word? How can I cite an episode of Caillou of all shows as something that that actually talked about death to it's audience in a nuanced way?

It turns out that Adrien's aunt is visiting for the day, as it's the one-year anniversary of Emilie's “going away forever”. We also learn that the gene pool in Adrien's family is so shallow, a toddler could swim in it, because Emilie's sister looks exactly like her.

Even better, her name is Amelie. I bet the parents thought naming their kids Emilie and Amelie was hilarious for like three minutes.

And of course, she also brought her son, the asshole of the hour.

Someone cue the Imperial March.

So Felix is finally here, and of course, he looks just like Adrien. It's almost like the animators didn't want to create any new character models for this episode, so they thought nobody would notice if they just reused a few. Seriously, towards the end of the episode, we see Felix wearing the Cat Miraculous on his hand, and none of the animators noticed it.

So while Adrien is happy to see his cousin, Felix isn't. I'll talk more about it in a minute.

Amelie mentions that the wedding rings are actually heirlooms in her side of the family, so she naturally wants them back. Of course, Gabriel, being Gabriel, responds accordingly.

Gabriel: These rings are obviously very special to me.

Amelie: And they're very dear to me too, Gabriel. Those jewels have always been in the Graham de Vanily family, not the Agreste's.

Gabriel: We'll discuss it later.

“Yeah, yeah, these rings are priceless family heirlooms or whatever, but why can't you think about how important they are to me?”

Meanwhile, Marinette and her friends are planning on recording some messages for Adrien to cheer him up on this day, but Marinette isn't sure what to say before she decides to confess her love to him. I'm sure Adrien will get the message and return Marinette's feelings this episode... and Cliff Hanger will finally escape that cliff he's been hanging from for years.

Speaking of, Adrien and Felix are hanging out in the former's room where we learn that Felix's father passed away recently. We don't know how long, but with the way they talk about, it's clear the funeral wasn't too long ago. Keep this in mind.

So while Adrien leaves the room to get a chess board for the two to play a game of, Felix, for no reason, decides to search through Adrien's things and crush a piece of cheese that Plagg had been aging for two weeks. And here is the interaction that helps this episode go from mediocre to aggravating, just because of what they imply here.

Adrien: Listen, Plagg. Felix lost his dad not so long ago, he's probably not himself.

Plagg: I'm sorry, but there's just no excuse! You never touch my cheese, and yet, you just lost your mother not so long ago, right?

Yes. The show is actually implying that Adrien is better than Felix because Adrien isn't acting out because his mom “went away forever”. Keep in mind, we know that Felix just lost his father, while Adrien has had a year to cope. I'm not saying he can't be sad anymore, as everyone processes grief differently, but you can't set up Felix as a foil to Adrien just because they both lost a parent, as their situations are entirely different.

Oh, and when Plagg's statement upsets Adrien, it isn't because he's angry at Plagg for making the comparison, it's because he mentions Emilie. And this argument is never brought up again.

I still can't believe this episode is basically saying that even if you lose a loved one, that's no excuse to get emotional. This isn't just a horrible lesson to teach children, but it pisses me off on a more personal level. Why?

My grandfather died last year after a long battle with lung cancer.

He had been in and out of the hospital for a few years at this point, and part of me was relieved that he was finally free of the pain. I tried not to let it bother me, as I had already mentally prepared myself for the day he would die whenever he was readmitted to the hospital. But it was still painful to go through because he was so important to me. Instead of simply telling someone how I was feeling, I threw myself into my schoolwork in an effort to distract myself from actually confronting my emotions. After seeing A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, a movie where the main character made peace with his father on his deathbed with some encouragement from Mr. Rogers, it made me think about how unhealthy it was to bottle up my emotions, so I started to open up more about how I was feeling. When I told my mom (who was his daughter) about why I was so conflicted regarding his death, she said it was completely understandable, as she had been an emotional wreck as well. I also talked with my therapist about how this was affecting me mentally.

What does this have to do with the episode? I don't think Felix had access to this kind of emotional support when his dad died, or that he tried coping the same way I did initially.

And the worst part is that this could have been used to teach people a lesson on how to cope with losing a loved one. Maybe Adrien could have helped Felix find a healthier coping mechanism, or simply help him open up emotionally, teaching him that it's okay to be upset when someone close to you dies, but that you just need to be honest about your feelings.

But no, rather than portray Felix's actions as a troubled youth lashing out because he's angry at the cards the world dealt him, Felix does several awful things this episode for no other reason than because he's evil, even though he has a good reason to hate Adrien and Gabriel.

So the very next scene, we see Felix has stolen Adrien's phone and is going through the messages that Adrien's friends sent him, but not before insulting his crush on Ladybug. I'm not sure if that's supposed to reflect the fandom's criticism of Adrien's crush on Ladybug, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was.

Nino's Message: Hey, my dude! I'm not quite sure what to tell you, except that, you're my man, dude! And bros are always there for their guys!

Felix: (Mockingly) “Bros are always there--” blah, blah, blah! Moron.

Rose's Message: Unicorns have a saying: even when there's nothing but gray skies and rain, all it takes is one little sunbeam for a rainbow to appear!

Felix: Loser.

Max's Message: It's one hundred percent proven, you should feel fifty-two percent happier with a healthy dose of laughter. So Markov has uploaded a few jokes for you! Starting with--

Felix: Freak.

Chloe's Message: When my mother left for New York, I felt so sad. It felt like she was... (sighs) She came back, and I know how lucky I am. So, you can count on me, my Adrikins.

Felix: Chloe. Just as annoying as usual.

And that line right there is the only time Astruc actually liked writing Felix, as it gave him the chance to satisfy his need to insult Chloe.

And then when he sees Marinette's message, he deletes it because... hell if I know

Again, this scene could have worked if it was interpreted as Felix saying stuff that he wasn't dependent on others for support and that he could easily power through life on his own, but nope! Instead, he hates Adrien's friends and only deletes Marinette's message instead of all of them simply because he's evil, heart blacker than Don Cheadle.

Felix continues to show how awful he is by dressing up in Adrien's clothes and—Oh, son of a bitch, SERIOUSLY? This is the SEVENTH evil doppelganger plotline we've had in THREE SEASONS! You're telling me this isn't doing the same thing over and over again, Astruc?

Yeah, so Felix records some messages to send to his friends that, once again, could have worked if this episode was actually teaching a lesson about dealing with grief.

“Adrien's” Message:  First of all, thanks so much for all your messages, guys, really. Sending me messages on today of all days... (angrily) to remind me how sad I'm supposed to be feeling? Why, that's great! Really, Thanks a lot!

But because nobody ever considers how Felix is feeling, it's never acknowledged, because that would actually involve writing him with complexity.

Gabriel gets a message from Lila, who recently became one of his confidants to spy on Adrien, tells him about the fake message, and decides to use the negative emotions felt as an excuse to get rid of his in-laws. No, seriously.

Gabriel: All this disappointment might just help us get rid of our unwanted guests.

To be fair, I'd probably do the same thing just so I wouldn't have to talk to some of the people I hate at my job.

And so, Hawkmoth akumatizes Alya, Juleka, and Rose into the Punisher's Trio, who are basically just their previously akumatized forms Lady Wifi, Reflekta, and Princess Fragrance. Because why would you expect anyone to use an original character model for this episode?

All joking aside, this development raises several questions. First, why wasn't Nino one of the Punisher's akumatized? He's Adrien's best friend, so shouldn't be just as upset as everyone else? Hell, the whole reason he was akumatized into the Bubbler in Season 1 was just so he could throw Adrien a birthday party after Gabriel said no. Then there's the fact that Chloe could have also been akumatized because she's just as close as Adrien, which is another wasted opportunity here.

Second, why bring back Reflekta and Princess Fragrance of all villains? It doesn't even make sense when you consider their motifs are based off of the circumstances that led to them getting akumatized in their respective episodes. Juleka became Reflekta because of her anxiety over easily blending in, so she got the power to turn everyone into an exact copy of herself so they could understand the feeling. Rose became Princess Fragrance when Chloe destroyed her letter and perfume bottle dedicated to the prince of a foreign nation, so the perfume bottle was the basis of her powers. At least Lady Wifi makes sense as the akumatized object this episode is a tablet used to record the messages to Adrien, but Reflekta and Princess Fragrance have nothing to do with the plot of this episode, and just feel tacked on. If it was just Lady Wifi or the Bubbler, I'd get it, but this just doesn't work.

Third, what exactly is this show's obsession with Reflekta? We saw in Reflekta's first episode that her powers had a huge drawback as if either of the heroes is zapped by her, she can't get their Miraculous, like what we saw happened to Cat Noir. Yet, this is the second time this season that Hawkmoth had the bright idea to bring back Reflekta (even giving her a giant robot to amplify her powers). At least Lady Wifi and Princess Fragrance's powers worked together well (Lady Wifi could freeze someone in place, while Princess Fragrance can brainwash them with her perfume), but Reflekta just feels like the odd one out here.

Fourth, and most importantly, why did we only get to hear the line “At your service, Princess Fragrance!” A single time this episode?

So the Punishers head to Adrien's house to take their revenge, but see Felix, still dressed in Adrien's clothes, and are naturally confused. Adrien pretends to be Felix by running away while laughing evilly (so not too far off from how Astruc sees Felix), while the real Felix and Nathalie put up a good fight against the Punishers.

And then... here is the moment that shows just how skewed Astruc's view of Adrien really is.

Felix pretends to confess his love to Ladybug as Adrien, trying to force a kiss on him, making Ladybug punch him in the face by claiming that the real Adrien “would never be so pushy”.

BULL. SHIT.

Yes, Ladybug doesn't know that Adrien is actually Cat Noir, but it's clear that this scene is meant to solidify just how Felix is far worse than Adrien because according to Astruc, he would never do that.

But maybe I'm being too hard on him.

It's not like Adrien has ever forced himself onto Ladybug, right?

I mean, imagine if the show just ignored something like that.

All while trying to teach kids the importance of saying no when someone harasses them.

Can you imagine if someone was that oblivious to their own hypocrisy?

I'm not saying that the lesson is a bad one, but you can't call someone out for doing something bad, and then ignore one of your main characters doing the exact same thing!

Even in the context of the episode, the comparison doesn't work. We know that Felix is only doing this to make Adrien look bad, and has no romantic feelings towards Ladybug like Adrien does. Felix knows what he is doing is wrong, while Adrien doesn't. Whenever Cat Noir tries to kiss Ladybug, he is never aware that what he is doing is wrong, and while he is almost always stopped from kissing Ladybug for one reason or another.

Like when the episode tried to compare two different characters reacting to losing loved ones when there are different circumstances regarding them, the comparison DOESN'T WORK.

And to add insult to injury, Cat Noir shows up just to insult Felix by implying he doesn't have a lot of friends because of the way he acts, because why would he? After all, he's a complete loser that nobody would want to be friends with, and if you like him, you're an idiot for thinking so! At least, that's probably what Astruc was going for.

Ladybug summons her Lucky Charm, leading to a brief Mexican standoff, until Felix steals the tablet containing the Akuma, making a deal with Hawkmoth that he'll help out the Punishers as long as he gets the wedding rings. Do you hate Felix yet? Come on, do you hate him? WHY WON'T YOU HATE HIM, GODDAMN IT!?

This whole bit is completely pointless as Ladybug immediately finds a way to stop all four of them and de-evilize the Akuma.

And when it looks like Felix is actually apologizing for his actions this episode, it's naturally a ruse he put on to steal one of the wedding rings from Gabriel to give to his mom. Because why would Astruc even think of portraying him sympathetically, or at least have him learn a lesson?

So Felix stares out the window with an evil look in his eye (possibly foreshadowing another appearance), as Gabriel takes Emilie's wedding ring to wear for himself, and the episode mercifully ends.

It also means that I never have to watch this episode ever again.

Do you understand why it took so long for me to fully analyze this episode? Hell, it would have taken longer if Astruc didn't delete his tweets defending the kiss scene and how Cat Noir is totally a gentlemen unlike Satan, I mean Felix.

What else do I have to say about this episode that hasn’t already been said? Well, I do have one thing.

I’m not that big a fan of Felix.

I think he’s an okay character in fanfics, but I’m more indifferent to him and fanfics that ship him and Marinette together. I don’t know, maybe that’s because there are so many Felinette fanfics that are heavily seasoned with salt, or it could just be because I’m complete Love Square and Lukanette trash.

But just think about the fact that the scathing criticism of this episode was delivered by someone who isn’t that into Felix. That is how bad this episode is.

In addition to being an obvious mouthpiece for Astruc to yell at fans why they’re idiots for actually liking Felix, it does so by touching on delicate subject and trying to act like it’s easy to tell how Felix is worse than Adrien when the circumstances are nothing alike.

But the fact that Astruc takes a popular character just to portray him as a complete menace just to antagonize his fans is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

[impulsive-astrophile]

Words hung above

For @ms-starlight71​, who asked if I could write a fic based on the tags I left on this post. The fic ended up a little off-base, I think, but got pretty close! I hope you enjoy!

~1.7k words.

Post-Redux II angst and hurt/comfort.

You can read it on ao3, or below the cut!

(tagging @today-in-fic)

Scully’s gonna be okay. 

That’s all Mulder can think; all he’s been able to think since they got the word that she was officially in remission a week ago. 

He’s been trying to tamp down on the relief, a bitter part of his mind reminding him people lie and her cancer could come back. But hope snook up on him, rebellious, and burrowed into his bones.

He’s delirious with the relief of it. It bleeds into the places that had gone numb from grief and fear, the sudden influx of feelings making him dizzy and unsteady. 

Mulder fumbles with his keys, hands almost shaking too much to keep a good grip on them as he finally slots the key in the lock. 

Scully had sent him home. He’d spent nearly the whole week refusing to leave her side after they’d gotten the news, afraid that if he left, he’d wake up and find out it was all a dream. But Scully had rightfully insisted he go home and get some rest so he’d be capable of driving her home tomorrow. 

He stumbles into his apartment, fully prepared to take a shower and maybe sit on the couch for a few hours before heading back tonight like they both knew he would.

It’s not until he trips and hits his head on a box that he remembers. 

The smoking man had offered him a cure - another chip for Scully. One that would supposedly cure her. But she’d had it implanted and had seen no sign of remission, and Mulder spiraled. 

He’d gone to her, needing to feel the warmth of her presence - scant that it may have been as her body failed her and grew cold even in life. Knelt by her bed and sobbed his heart out, silently, so as not to wake her. The same way he’d learned to do as a kid when any reminder that he might be hurting was met with castigation, indifference, or worse - matching tears from his mother, evidence of her own grief. 

Mulder had woken at her bedside as the first hint of the sun filtered into her room, knees stiff and eyes crusted shut. In a haze, he’d uncurled himself from around Scully’s hand, pressed a kiss to it, and stumbled out of the hospital. 

He still doesn’t remember driving back to his apartment that day, or asking the neighbor next door who’d just moved in if he could borrow boxes from them. He doesn’t even really remember packing his life away, neatly, into the boxes piled around him now, labeling them so they’d be easy to sort through. 

He does remember despair dripping like acid into the few places hope had remained inside him that even he hadn’t been aware of. It melted everything in its path until the last of his tears had been wrung out, and he and his despair had congealed into numbness.

But he also remembers that numbness clearing as soon as he heard the word “remission” come out of Scully’s mouth. The relief brought him to his knees in front of her family. 

It’s that relief that brings him to sit up, get an icepack and a bandaid - from the first aid kit he started keeping under his sink after Scully got sick - for his head, and begin to unpack the boxes and put his life right again.

It’s that relief, too, that brings him to his knees again when a sweater of Scully’s falls out of one of his. 

He picks it up, tears pricking at his eyes. It’s so small. 

It’s smaller than his, of course, but even smaller than she used to buy. Cancer had stolen her appetite and eaten away at her until it seemed she was little more than skin and bones, and she’d had to buy almost an entirely new wardrobe. 

A reminder of just how close he’d come to losing her. 

With trembling hands, he brings it to his nose, breathing in the unmistakable scent of her. 

The dam breaks. 

Mulder brings the sweater with him to the couch, collapsing on it, and just cries.

--

“Mulder?” Scully knocks on his door again, louder. “Mulder, it’s me. Are you in there?”

With no response, Scully feels her heart rate pick up. 

She’d sent him home yesterday to get some rest, fully expecting him to be back later that night anyway. Barring that, she’d expected at least an anxious, middle-of-the-night call from him to make sure she hadn’t disappeared while she was out of his sight. 

But neither had come, and when 24 hours had gone by with no word from him, she got worried.

She pulls out her keys, unlocking his door with practiced ease. 

The sight of half-packed boxes on nearly every surface fills her with dread. “Mulder?” She calls out again.

A muffled, “‘cully?” comes from the couch, followed by Mulder scrambling to get up so fast he falls off it. Blinking up at her from the floor, Mulder frowns in confusion. “Scully? What are you doing here?”

Scully navigates around the boxes on the floor, coming to Mulder’s side to check him over. “When you didn’t show to pick me up this morning, I thought something might’ve happened. I had my mother pick me up instead and bring me here.” 

Mulder frowns again. “Aw, shit, Scully, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d sleep for so long.” He shakes his head angrily. “I should’ve been there to pick you up.”

“Mulder, it’s fine. She wanted to pick me up anyway.” Scully sighs, frowning when she brushes his hair back and notices the bruise on his forehead. “What happened?”

Mulder gestures to the boxes, looking chagrined. “I tripped.” 

“I can see why,” Scully notes absently. She gestures for him to move onto the couch, then sits beside him. Doesn’t ask him about the boxes, even though she desperately wants to. 

For his part, Mulder can’t tear his eyes off her. If last night he’d felt closer to her by clinging to her sweater, it’s nothing like her actually being here. It’s taking every last ounce of his willpower not to reach out and pull her into his arms. 

His traitorous eyes start to fill with tears again, and he angrily wipes them away before Scully can see them. So much for being done crying, he thinks bitterly.

The movement catches Scully’s attention, though, and she tears her focus off of the boxes to look at him. Her brow furrows, and she reaches out to cup his face, only to abort the movement halfway through. “Mulder? What’s wrong?”

“Scully, I-” his voice breaks, and he looks away. 

This time Scully does touch his face, bringing his gaze back to her. “What is it?” 

The tenderness in her voice combined with her touch sends him over the edge. He leans forward and pulls her to him, crying a little harder at how small she feels in his arms. 

“Mulder-” she tries to pull back, but Mulder clings tighter. “Okay, it’s okay.” Frowning into his shoulder, she wraps her arms around his back, rubbing soothing circles there as he shakes. The last time she’d seen him cry like this, his mother had been in the hospital. 

When the tears slow, Scully shifts, running one of her hands through his hair. “Mulder, did something happen? Is your mother okay?” 

“No, she’s fine.” Mulder sniffles, burying his face so far into the crook of her neck she can barely make out the following words - but when she does, her heart breaks a little. “Scully, I was so scared.”

He whispers it, like she used to whisper her confessions to her priest as a kid. Like a shameful secret. 

“Oh, Mulder.” 

She hadn’t wanted to worry him - that was part of why she kept the extent of her condition to herself - but she had known he was worried anyway. 

Maybe she had purposefully blinded herself to just how scared he was, though. Near the end, she had been so scared herself that it had been especially hard to acknowledge how anyone else was feeling.

She hugs him tighter, tears springing to her own eyes. “I was scared too,” she confesses, her own voice a whisper now too. “But I’m okay now.” 

Mulder nods into her, still not pulling back. “I know. But what if-” he cuts himself off.

“What if the other shoe drops?” She finishes. 

He nods again.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Scully says. “But for now, I’m getting better, and I can’t live my life in fear that the cancer will come back. And neither can you.” She punctuates the last part with a squeeze.

“I-” he starts, but seems to think better of it. “Okay.” 

They both know that’s not the end of it; a small part of each of them is going to be waiting for the other shoe for years to come. But Scully’s right; that’s no way to live their lives. 

They sit like that until Scully yawns. 

Mulder pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s get you to bed,” he says fondly. 

“What bed?” She teases, recalling his being buried under a mountain of junk. 

“I was thinking yours,” he says, gesturing to his keys on the table. 

Scully thinks about this for a minute, then pushes him back until he’s flat against the couch. She stretches out all of her sore joints, then drapes herself carefully over him, snuggling close. “Actually, I think I’m good here. I’ve got my own personal space heater.”

Mulder gapes for a minute, unable to believe what’s happening. 

“Mulder, shut your mouth. You’re going to attract flies.” Mulder shuts it, wondering how she knew it was open when her eyes are closed. “And pull that blanket off the back of the couch. It’s cold in here.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says absently, doing as she asked without question. 

Blanket draped over them, fuzzy and warm, Scully falls asleep quickly. Mulder starts to drift off soon after. He wasn’t sure he could sleep more, but he thinks maybe he can do anything with Scully in his arms.

[trentaafcsblog]

Writing Challenge - Random

“Is that...my shirt?” - Harry Winks

Thank you to the lovely @penguintransporter for this one 🤍

There’s a drizzle in the air, misty and almost intangible, and the wind that carries it is gentle, but cold, feeling fresh against his freckled skin. His hair is slightly wet, the tips stick to his forehead, and he feels like he should probably find a cover under some roof on the side of the pavement, but he doesn’t do it, afraid that she won’t see him if he steps away.

It’s a quiet Thursday afternoon, almost too quiet, and the only sound he can hear is the loud laughter from the nearby pub where the regulars are getting rowdier and merrier with every pint they consume as the aroma from the nearby chippy shop along the street fills his nostrils and makes his stomach grumble.

Hopefully, she’ll be here soon.

Not long after his stomach voices yet another complaint, he notices her while she crosses the road, for a second blending in with the crowd of Londoners, and he smiles to himself as he takes his hands out of his fish-tail parka pockets – excitement filling up his stomach, and he suddenly feels no hunger any more.

“Bloody hell, Winksy,” she stops in front of him, shaking her head as she tries to shake off the excess raindrops out of her hair, “what is this weather? Didn’t we settle for today because it was supposed to be sunny? Can we go back to Spain or wherever they have sun every day?”

Harry grins.

“Hello to you to Sophie. I’ve been alright, thanks for asking. Yourself?” he teases subtly, making her look up at him with a grin, and something inside of him shifts.

“Won’t you look at the lack of my manners, huh? Hi, Harry! It’s been a while, no?” she responds – her words mumbled as he brings her into his arms for a quick hug, aware that the surface of his jacket is wet from the rain.

As he pulls away, he unzips his parka and takes out a beanie hat from the inside pocket before pulling the zip back, all the way to his chin. “Here,” he murmurs as they start walking along the Bermondsey Street and towards their favourite coffee spot, “it’s not exactly an umbrella, but it’ll do until we get inside. Keeps that bird’s nest of yours dry,” he adds to make it more light-hearted.

“And what about you?” Sophie inquires as she looks up at him, blinking away the raindrops that were trapped in between her eyelashes. “Plus, this feels freakishly expensive. Is it merino wool? I am afraid I will stretch it. Take it back, Harry, I know I will stretch it.”

“Sophie, you’re rambling,” Harry points out, sticking his hands back into his pockets, “just put it on, or I will be forced to do it myself. It’s just a hat.”

Sophie doesn’t say anything but smiles before putting the beanie on, gently pulling it over her ears until they were neatly tucked in.

Harry and Sophie have known each other for a bigger portion of their lives – way before they realised that one cannot get cooties by kissing someone, and way before they acknowledged the fact that being adult is not as cool as they thought it would be. Harry was five and Sophie four years old when they met for the first time, tagging along with their fathers to one of their regular pints-before-the-match meetings around Hertfordshire.

Sophie was an odd-ball, with fine, straight cut hair – a bit chubby and with pale cheeks that were constantly stained with a blush while Harry was a lanky, hyperactive boy who was able to recite all the strikers that ever played for the England’s National Team.

Growing up, week after week, they kept tagging along, sometimes actually eager to watch the match, but mostly just running around the dark pub, knocking over things and making other people and pub-owners annoyed with their antics, but, once the tiredness overpowered them, they always ended up doing one thing – sitting together in between their fathers, drinking juice and sharing a packet of crisps.

Twenty years later, despite growing up, changing interests and music tastes, schools and extracurricular activities, neither Sophie nor Harry forgot how strong their friendship was when they were kids. Even if they had different circles of friends, schedules and timetables, ambitions and aspirations, they always made sure to at least devote one day in a month for one-another.

“How’s school?” Harry asks as he walks back from the till where he had been picking up their drinks – a flat white for himself and some weird mocha-something for her, but before he has time to set the mugs down on the wooden table, he stops in his tracks, watching Sophie shrug her coat off. “Is that… my shirt?” he asks as the warmth fills up his body, and he feels his stomach do a flip.

Sophie blushes and sits down before pulling on the sleeves of Harry’s Champion’s crewneck. “Yeah,” she admits,  smoothing the collar a little, “it somehow ended up in my suitcase when we got back from the holidays, and I forgot to return it.” Sophie smiles as she takes a sip of her drink.

“Forgot or didn’t want to?” Harry teases as his mind goes back to their last trip to Mallorca together, a year ago – a trip where Harry realised that Sophie wasn’t the same chubby, pink cheeks, and missing front tooth girl he used to play tag with in a dimly lit pubs.

“Both,” Sophie responds, looking away, trying to hide her blush from Harry’s curious eyes, but he notices it and tries to hide his smile.

Harry has always had a soft spot for Sophie, and if asked to why, he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to give an answer. Maybe it was the fact that they met at such young age, or maybe it was the constant prodding and poking of their mothers, subtly hinting that they would be a perfect couple. He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, recently it only became stronger, and it made him feel a certain kind of excitement whenever he texted her, whenever they face-timed one another, and whenever he knew that she was watching him from the stands, wearing a shirt with his name on the back.

“It looks as if it has stopped raining,” Sophie murmurs as they both look through the window of the cafe where they had been sitting for the past three hours, chatting their afternoon away.

Harry nods, glancing at her and lets his eyes linger on her for a second, watching her observe the clearing sky on the outside, and his stomach makes that familiar flip yet again. “Do you want to go somewhere for a pint? I probably shouldn’t, but I fancy one.”

“Only if you buy me a packet of crisps,” Sophie smiles, and he pulls a face at her, but he knows that he would buy her the world, if she asked him to. They quickly get up, putting their coats back on, and  he makes sure to hold the doors open for her before they step out in, now, with sun streaked London street. Sophie sighs happily as they start walking before reaching out the beanie towards him. “Thanks, but I don’t think I will be needing this from now on. But if you’re wondering what to get me for upcoming Christmas, I am letting you know that one of these, merino, alpaca or whatever hats might be a good idea, but it doesn’t have to be fan—,”

“—Careful!” Harry interrupts and Sophie yelps a little as he pulls her closer to his side.

“Jesus,” she whispers – side of her face still pressed against his side.

Harry is grinning now as he looks down at her. “Sorry, but you almost stepped into a huge puddle. See there, and I have no spare socks to borrow you if you get yours wet.”

“Oh,” Sophie breathes out, but quickly feels the temperature rise in her body as she glances at where Harry was holding her hand in his, and it makes him stop as well – his boyish smile disappearing for a second, but he never drops his hold on her hand. Instead, he intertwines their fingers together – his thumb stroking over her soft skin before he smiles again.

“I like this,” he mumbles, “I don’t know about you, Sophie, but it feels nice. Can we hold hands for a bit longer?”

Sophie is quiet, looking down at her shoes as she tries to gather her thoughts, but she doesn’t need to say anything in the first place because her blush is answering all the spoken and unspoken questions.

“I like it too, and I’d love to hold hands with you,” she answers, and Harry only grins as they start walking again – hand in hand, and with their stomachs filled with thousands of little butterflies, dancing on the beat of their hearts.

This imagine is in collaboration with Cancer Research UK 💗 please feel free to follow the link if you would like to donate, but as always, there is no obligation 🦋 if you’ve got the time, then please have a little look at their website and check out the amazing work that they do 🤍 they also have an online shop where you can buy products for yourself (mugs, notebooks, blankets) or something for those affected by Breast Cancer (anxiety help books, mastectomy bras, support cushions) - all of which have the option to be donated to out to those affected by the disease if they can’t afford these things themselves, or would prefer to receive something physical instead of a donation, with all of the proceeds going directly to the same causes as general donations x

[rmtndew]

Begin Again ~ Chapter 7

Summary: Walter Marshall is a dedicated homicide detective doing his best to balance his work life with being a single father to a teenage girl. Fiona Sparks is a woman doing her best to take care of everyone and everything around her, except for herself. Neither has had the best luck with relationships, but once they meet, they’re willing to give it another shot, this time with each other. (It’s basically just romantic fluff) 

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This is a sequel to ‘All I’ve Ever Known’. I started writing this because I needed an escape for some personal stuff going on and my coping mechanism included giving Marshall all the love that man needed, and imagining him being the softest boyfriend to me, then passing those details on to Fiona (my OFC).

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This is the final chapter for ‘Being Again’. I want to thank everyone who commented and shared my story, and sent me messages. You have no idea how much it means to me! I appreciate y’all so much! Thank you! 🥰

Tag list - @hollydaisy23​, @alyxkbrl​, @onlyhenrys​, @omgkatinka​, @speakerforthedead0​​, @gearhead66​,  @thethirstyarchive​, @oddsnendsfanfics​, @littlerinoa​, @agniavateira​, @aaescritora​, @justaboringadult​, @beenthroughalot​, @seriouslygoodlookinggents​, @xxxkatxo​, @musicartmayheminmyheart​, @lilliannaansalla​

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 (Final)

When I woke up the next morning, it was like the night before had only been a dream. Like it was too good to be true. But when I checked my phone, I had a text from Marshall that reminded me it was absolutely real. 

Marshall: I hated leaving you. I hope you know that. Those few hours of sleep that  I had with you were some of the best  I’ve had in ages. You say I make you feel safe, but you make me feel calm in a way I’ve never felt. I hope you have a good morning. I’ll call you later.

After I read his text, I felt myself starting to cry. It wasn’t a sad cry. It was a happy, cathartic cry. Like I couldn’t contain everything I felt for him, and it had to release somehow. I’d never shared a bed with a man simply to sleep before. My past boyfriends had always expected something in exchange. Having Walter just be there was new to me. What I felt for him went beyond attraction. I didn’t know if I could ever put it into words, I just knew that it nearly hurt to feel it all. But I didn’t want it any other way.

The rest of my morning went much better than the previous days. I checked in with Mom but did my best not to worry about her. I went to the store, bought groceries for the week, and even splurged on some new candles. Then that afternoon, I started prepping for dinner. I had an idea in mind and hoped it would work out. 

At a little after seven that evening, with only ten minutes left on the oven timer, I called Marshall. “I have two questions,” I said once we exchanged ‘hellos’. “Although I think I already know the answers to both.” 

“And what would those two questions be? Or would you prefer to give me the answers first?”

“Well, I think the answer will be a yes, and then a no.”

“I’m very curious now.”

“Okay, so question one: Are you still at your office? And question two: Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Only in this one specific instance,” I said. “But it brings up a third question that I don’t know the answer to.”

“Which is?”

“Would you let me bring you dinner? I overcooked and I won’t be able to eat it all, and it’s not the best as leftovers.” 

He was quiet for a moment. “Could I come to you instead? I think an hour’s break might do me good.”

“Of course you can come here. I’ll keep it warm and we can eat together.”

“Alright. See you soon.”

After I hung up, I pulled out the new fall scented candles I’d bought that day and put them on the dining table, flocking the vase of flowers he’d bought me the night before. I wanted the house to be warm and inviting, but I didn’t want him to know that I’d planned any of it. I was pretty sure that the only way I could get away with spoiling him a little was if he thought it was an accident. He may have been the one to ask to come over, but I knew that if I’d mentioned coming to him, he wouldn’t want me to go out of my way, and would come to me instead.

He was there in less than half an hour, which made me think a little speeding was involved. I nearly teased him about putting on his siren to get there, but I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. As soon as I closed the door behind him, he had me pressed against it, his mouth on mine in an almost bruising fashion. It was different than the enthusiastic urgency so much of our makeout sessions at his place had involved. Something else was driving him. Whatever it was made him pull away almost as quickly as he’d started. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. He tried to take a step back, but I wouldn’t let him. I grabbed his sides, doing my best to hold him in place. He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Once I was convinced he wouldn’t run away, I moved a hand up to his face. I didn’t try to make him look at me. “What are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t mean to be that rough. I shouldn't've -”

“Shh. No,” I cut him off. “I’m not fragile, honey. I can handle a rough kiss.” He finally lifted his eyes to mine, but the look on his face was conflicted. It hurt me. I put my other hand on his face, cradling it gently. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I just desperately needed to feel you.” He dropped his forehead to mine. “This case...the more we find out…” He let out a breath and put his hands on my waist, pulling me closer to him. “It doesn’t matter.”

He held me tighter against him. His hands felt so needy. I was afraid to say the wrong thing and make him self conscious. I stayed exactly as I was, holding his face, and let him press me further against him. Whatever had happened in the case since we’d spoken on the phone had gotten to him. He was usually so big and tough and strong, but he stood in front of me, soft and vulnerable. After a few moments, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He kissed me back, then let me take the lead, keeping it slow and tender. I pushed my back against the door and let him melt into me. When it felt like all the tension was gone from his body, I took one of my hands from his face and moved it down to one of his hands on my waist, holding it. 

“Let’s go eat, okay?” I said.

He nodded, holding my hand, and followed me as I walked to the kitchen. When we reached it, he stopped at the entrance and looked around. The lights were dimmed and the candles were lit. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I didn’t,” I lied. “I used to do this for myself when I lived alone. Sometimes I’d put on music, or, if it was raining, I’d open a window and listen to it. I thought tonight would be a good night to try it again.” I rubbed my thumb over his hand. “And now I get to share it with you.”

“Your candles are better than mine,” he said, finally giving me a small glimpse of a smile. 

“I can help you shop for new ones. How’s that sound?”

He nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Good.” I kissed his shoulder. “Take a seat. I’ll make you a plate.”

“You don’t have to. I can do it.”

“I know you can, but I want to,” I said. “Will you let me?”

He chewed the corner of his mouth for a second. “Yeah,” he quietly relented.

“Thank you.”

He sat at the table and I pulled the food from the oven, where I’d been keeping it warm. Spinach and cheese stuffed chicken with roasted vegetables. I made us both plates, then got us drinks before sitting down. I sat right beside Marshall, rubbing his back with my left hand while we ate. A few bites in, he seemed to brighten a bit. 

“This is fantastic,” he said. “But I don’t believe for a minute that it doesn’t taste good as leftovers.”

I smiled. “That might have been a tiny lie so you would let me feed you,” I said. “Do you forgive me?”

He put his hand on my knee. “I do.”

“Good.”

He let out a breath and sat back in his chair. “You don’t know how much I needed this. I’ve been staring at the same evidence for hours, trying to figure out what I’m missing, and I can’t seem to find it.” He licked his lips. “Our victim, he wasn’t a good person. He had an extensive history of domestic violence. I keep looking at the pictures from the crime scene and comparing them to the ones in the police reports of his ex-girlfriends, the ones they filed after he’d beaten them, and I can’t imagine one of them or someone in their families shooting him twice and walking away. After what he did to those women, anyone who shot him because of it would have had more passion behind it. This was too cold and calculated for that. So if he wasn’t shot for what he’d done to them, then what was the motive?” He ran a hand over his face. “And that’s what I’ve been asking myself the last three hours, and what I would have been asking myself through the night if you hadn’t intervened.” 

“Maybe stepping away from it all for an hour will help you refocus.”

He nodded, gently squeezing my knee. “If nothing else, I’ll be thoroughly distracted,” he said, finally giving me a proper smile. 

I smiled back. “I’m happy to distract you for as long as you’d like.” I gave him a kiss. “Now eat your vegetables and you can have dessert.” He raised his eyebrows at me and smirked. I blushed, burying my face in his shoulder. “Tiramisu. I bought a tiramisu. That’s the dessert.” 

“Good. Because although another type of dessert would divert my attention far more, I’d prefer for it to last longer than an hour.” 

I was still blushing but managed to raise my head to look at him. “Really?” I asked. He nodded. “I’ve, um, I’ve never had dessert last that long.” 

He looked nearly appalled. “Never?” 

I shook my head. “Maybe twenty minutes. And that’s being generous.” 

“You must be the only one being generous is that’s the longest it lasted.” 

“You’re not wrong.”

“When it’s time for us...would you let me change that for you?”

My cheeks burned. I averted my eyes. “You don’t have to.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I know, but-”

He took his hand from my knee and moved it to my chin, lifting my face to look at him. “Fi, none of it should be about ‘having’ to. It should all be want. I’m asking because I want to. You should only answer with what you want. Neither of us should feel obligated,” he said. 

I bit my lip for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” I said. “I want to try letting you change it. But I get in my head a lot, so I can’t promise I’ll be good at it.” 

“You don’t have to be. That’s not the point.” He let his hand fall from my face down to his lap. “You and me together, that’s the good part,” he said. “But when the time comes, we’ll talk it through, yeah? Make sure we’re on the same page.” I nodded. “Good girl.”

My blush deepened, but I smiled at him. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Something horrid, I’m sure.”

I laughed. “I was thinking it must be the opposite. You see, Detective Walter Marshall, I quite adore you.”

He smiled back. “Do you now?”

“I do. I hope that’s okay with you.” 

He nodded. “It’s more than okay,” he said. “It’s also mutual.”

My smile spread wide. “So you like me, huh?” 

“Yes, Miss Sparks, I do.”

“I’m starting to question your taste, mister.”

His head fell back and he barked out a laugh that shook his whole body. “Normally that would be a good call, but not this time,” he said. “Besides, you can’t date a mess like me and question my taste.” 

I pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting my lips linger for a moment, enjoying the scratching-tickling of his beard against them. “You’re my favorite mess,” I said as I pulled away. 

He smiled at me. “Good, because it doesn’t get much better than this,” he joked.

I brushed a curl back from his forehead and let my fingers skim across his brow. He’d meant it as a joke, but sitting there with him, I couldn’t help but think it was true: It didn’t get much better than that.

I knew that Walter was tired. He kept yawning - and apologizing for it - during dinner. I kept telling him it was fine, that I understood, but he still seemed slightly embarrassed by it. After I cleared the table, I was going to get the tiramisu from the fridge but paused by the coffee pot on my way. 

“Do you want me to make you some coffee, Walt?” I asked, turning to look at him.

He’d been dozing and jolted awake, looking almost surprised at his surroundings before his eyes landed on me. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You need some sleep.”

He nodded, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. “Yeah. I should probably go.”

“Or you could stay. You said you slept well last night, and I’d be worried about you if you drove home this tired,” I said. “And, you know, I kind of enjoyed it, too.”

“This isn’t an act just so I can get in your bed again.”

“I know.” I walked over to him and ran a hand over his hair, brushing it back from his face. I tilted my head towards the doorway. “Come on, bear. Go on up. Your sweatpants are folded on the chair in my room.”

He stood up in front of me. “Let me help you clean.”

I shook my head. “I’m not cleaning tonight. It’ll be there tomorrow. I’m going to set the coffee maker for the morning and lock up. That’s it.” 

He gave me a look that was the closest to pouting as I’d ever seen on him. “I’ll wait with you.” 

He followed me back to the coffee pot and wrapped his arms around my waist as I filled it with water, then put in a new filter and coffee grounds. As I set the timer, he left slow, open mouth kisses down my neck. I may have been complimentary when I was sleepy, but Marshall, as it turned out, was clingy. And I didn’t mind it one bit. 

“Let’s lock up,” I said to him. 

He buried his face in the crook of my neck and let out a breath. He stayed that way for a moment, then said, “Okay.”

He let me go and we snuffed out the candles, then he stayed close as I locked all the doors and turned off the lights. Going up the stairs, he held my hand, trailing behind me because the stairwell was too narrow for the two of us to walk side by side. When we reached my room, I gently nudged him in. 

“I’m going to the bathroom. Go get comfortable and I’ll be back in a minute,” I said. 

He just nodded his reply.

I continued down the hall to the bathroom. I had a laundry basket of clean pajamas to pick from, so I had a quick pee, then changed before piling my hair up in a bun. When I went back to my room, Marshall was already in bed. He was on his side and looked asleep. But after I turned off the light, I got in bed beside him and he immediately scooted closer.

“Do you want me to hold you?” he asked sleepily. 

“I was kind of hoping we could switch and you’d let me hold you,” I said. He cracked his eyes open and looked at me, the crease between his eyebrows visible in the dark. “Not in a backpack, koala type deal, like you hold me.” 

“How?”

“Like this.” I placed his arm around my middle, then gently guided him until his head was resting on my chest. I pulled the covers up around us before wrapping my own arm around him, lightly rubbing his back, leaving my right hand free to rake through his curls.

“You’re not wasting any time taking me up on my offer to play with my hair, are you?” he mumbled.

I smiled. “Nope. Is that okay?” He nodded. I let my fingers sink to his scalp and lightly began scratching it. After just a few seconds, his body weight seemed to double as he relaxed, melting into me, and the mattress. “Is this comfortable for you?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. “We can switch if it’s not.”

“No, s’good,” he said, his words slurred. 

I kissed his forehead and continued to scratch his scalp. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Holding him to me, I could feel his breathing slow and even out as sleep claimed him in a matter of seconds. But even after he fell asleep, I didn’t stop. I held that big bear to me and loved on him as much as I could, hoping that even in his sleep, he could feel it. My plans to spoil him that night had only included cooking dinner and getting him to relax for an hour. What I got was so much better. I had never cared for a man as much as I cared about him. All I wanted for the rest of my life was the deep peace that welled up in me as I held him. 

I woke the next morning with a hazy, dreamy feeling. I was warm and wrapped up and for a moment, I thought I was at the beach, stretched out on a towel under the sun. I expected to smell the ocean air, but when I breathed in, it was something else. Something better. Something that gave me the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. That feeling slowly began to peel the layers of sleep back from my mind, and as I began to wake, I felt the feeling of fingertips grazing up and down my back. Then I felt a kiss on my forehead. Soft, warm lips lingering on my skin, finally waking me up.

I opened my eyes and all thoughts of the beach disappeared. Gray sunlight streamed in from my window, lighting up my room enough for me to see Marshall’s face as he smiled at me. 

“Good morning, darling,” he said quietly. He was on his side, just inches away from me. 

“Good morning,” I said. 

I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the light, and taking in the form of the beautiful man in front of me. His head was propped up with one hand, his bare bicep next to my pillow, and roughly half the size of my head. His chest was mesmerizing as it rhythmically rose and fell. I’d never been attracted to chest hair before, but Marshall changed all of that. Without a second thought, I reached out and ran my fingers through it. He hummed contentedly. 

“How did you sleep?” I asked. 

“Like a rock.” His hand stilled at the small of my back. “How about you?”

“Amazing. You’re deceptively comfy for someone so stout.”

He laughed. “Am I?”

I nodded. “I like it.” 

I leaned forward and kissed his chest, the hair tickling my nose. His hand moved from my back as he reached up to cradle my head while I continued to pepper his skin with soft kisses. When I made it to the juncture of his shoulder and neck, he tilted my head back and captured my lips in a slow, lazy kiss. He pressed my back into the bed and was over me, surrounding me, as he kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, wanting to hold him as close to me as I could. He left me panting as his mouth moved from mine and kissed across my jaw and down to my neck. There was a spot behind my ear that he knew was my weakness, and he went straight for it. He nipped at it with his teeth before kissing it, and I went boneless against him. 

“I love it when you do that,” I breathed. 

His lips ghosted over my ear. I could feel his hot breath on me, sending a shiver down my spine and goosebumps across my skin. “I love doing it to you.” 

“It’s a shame I don’t live alone anymore. I could get used to waking up like this more often.”

He nosed my ear, kissing the underside of my jaw. “I live alone,” he said. “For the most part.”

“Are you bragging?”

He laughed. “No. Just letting you know that the next sleepover could be at my house.”

“A sleepover? Can we stay up all night telling ghost stories?” I joked.

“Anything for you, my love.”

“Anything is a dangerous promise, mister.”

He looked down at me. “And yet I mean it.”

I smiled. “You really do like me, huh?”

He pressed his forehead to mine. “I really do,” he said. “Actually, I…” He made his grunting-humming sound, then shook his head.

“You what?” I gasped jokingly. “Do you like like me, Walt?”

He looked me in the eye, smiling at me. “You’re the only one who calls me that, you know?”

I played with the hair at his neck, twirling a curl around my finger. “I didn’t know.” 

“I’m fairly sure most people don’t even know I have a first name.”

“I feel pretty special that you told me, then.”

“You are special.”

“And that’s why you like like me, right?” I teased. 

He let out a long, measured breath. “That’s why I love you.”

My heart felt like it stopped completely. “Are you serious?” I whispered.

He suddenly looked nervous. “I am. Is...is that okay?”

“Is it okay that you love me?”

He looked so boyish as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yes, it’s okay.” I took his face in my hands. “Yes, yes, yes!” I said, peppering kisses all over it. “It’s…” I couldn’t even think of the right word. 

“Not too soon?” he questioned, though his worry seemed to be fading some after my reaction.

I shook my head. “No. Not at all, bear. It’s right on time.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Is it, now?”

“It is,” I said. “Because I love you, too.”

The smile he gave me right then made my heart flutter like never before. There were no worry lines on his face, no concern, just happiness. I wanted to cry at how beautiful it looked on him. “Do you really?”

“More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

He kissed me and it was like he was trying to pour every ounce of love he felt for me into it. It was so overwhelming that, finally, I did cry. Marshall held me and kissed the tears from my face.

The morning before, I thought that I couldn’t put into words what I felt for him. But right then, the words came so quickly, it was like I’d been saying them all along. 

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”