#ill draw a picture of the staff soon

[ccasey0]

what's this? refs for mikey and leo in the spirit au? no way!

tada! drew these in church lol.

mikey lore first!

Mikey had always been splinter's golden boy. he was the best student and always got everything right on the first try. He had the best connections with the spirits, he always meditated perfectly, and he would constantly go up into the mountains to hang up charms. His brothers didn’t think of him as a teachers pet though. Quite the opposite. They loved him. They weren’t jealous. Well, maybe a little bit. But not to the point where they didn’t like him. Although, when Mikey decided to spend the night up in the mountain one day, all his brothers opposed the thought. They all had heard the legends of the tax collectors. They dark beings who roamed the woods, collecting souls of those who don’t belong or have ill intentions. Even though Mikey was practically the purest heart out there, his brothers didn’t think the risk was worth it. Mikey didn’t care, of course, and he went anyway. Which made the boys freak out when he didn’t return for the next three days. Turns out Mikey had somehow fallen asleep in a cave-like part of the brush, and the spirits transported him to the base of the spirit tree. When he woke up, the night spirit was there. He was sitting atop the small altar with a charm in his hand. Mikey instantly got on his knees and tried to find a suitable offering, but was stopped by the night spirit. They talked for a while and Mikey was amazed at how many things his village had gotten wrong, including The spirits name: Casey. Eventually, Casey brought Mikey home. When they reached the village, Casey stopped at the tree line while Mikey kept walking. When Mike looked back, the spirit was gone. In his place, stood a wooden staff with beautiful wood burned engravings all up it. And at the very top, hung a small decorative charm. It had and eclipse embroidered on it. Mikey gad never seen anything like it. He walked towards the staff, which was somehow standing upright by itself, and took it. When his hand made contact with the wood, the moon symbol appeared on the back of his hand. A gift. From the Spirit of the Night.

woo!! That was fun :D Leo’s turn!!

Leo had always been the funny one. The irresponsible one. They one who never listened and always joked around. He always talked and talked and talked. But today was different. Leo didn’t know how to react when Mikey came back from the woods with a staff and a smile on his face. Of course he rushed up to hug his little brother. Of course he asked millions of questions regarding to his safety and well-being. But when Mikey told his brothers that he met the night spirit and that the spirit gave him the staff, Leo was left speechless. Which was very abnormal for him. When he finally opened his mouth to say something though, Splinter had already entered the room. When their master saw the staff in Mikey’s hands, his eyes went wide. He ordered the other boys to exit the room and they obeyed. It was early in the morning, so the cool air made all of them shiver as they exited the hut. they could hear splinter speaking with mikey inside the building, and instantly leaned against the door to try and get a better listen at what they were saying. leo couldn't really tell what all the fuss was about. it was just a fancy stick. mikey probably just found it in the woods and made up an elaborate story about it. but one thing was for sure, ever since mikey got back, the air felt different. he couldn't explain it, but leo was sure the atmosphere was different. the air was cooler and the plants seemed greener. it was just.......strange. as he looked around at his surroundings, he could have sworn he saw four glowing yellow eyes watching him from the trees. but he blinked and they were gone. maybe there was more going on then he thought.

oke, that took a bit longer to think up than expected. sorry for not getting this finished sooner, It's holy week and things have been busy for my school and my family. anyways, i hope you enjoyed! i know this one was probably a bit all over the place, but i hope it made a little sense lol

@allyheart707 hope you like it :)

[zeroseuniverse]

Doodles

Word Count: 594

Summary: In which they meet at a fan meet.

Warning: she’s not an army im sorry

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Taehyung was tired, he usually tried to sleep  a lot before fanmeets but last night his anxiety had spiked and he spent the whole night tossing and turning. Today just seemed to be dragging on, waking up too early, everyone else seems way more energized tha usual. Trying to pump up his energy he played music drumming a beat along his thigh, he didn’t even feel the drags on his skin from his soulmate drawing, so drowsy that he was partially asleep in the waiting room as the staff set up the stage.

She was bored, she only came in place of her friend, she barely listens to bts honestly, not because she didn’t like them, it just never came about. But when her friend fell ill and couldn’t come to the fan meeting she agreed to come and get the auto graphs for them and pass out their letters they write for the members. Her friends however didn’t tell her it would be this boring, she yawned as the event continued, deciding to entertain herself with drawing designs on her skin,  she dragged the pen acros her arm creating elaborate pictures on her skin, with each stroke of her pen the more bored she got, while she loved drawing, especially giving herself temporary tattoos, she couldn’t help but want to leave, the line was so long, was it even worth the extra money for a minute long conversation with each of them.

It took a while before she finally stood before the first member, Namjoon’s dimpled smile growing as she approached, “Hey what’s your name?” He wondered, looking intently at her hand as she handed him the book for him to sign.

She told him her name before quickly telling him to make it out for her friend instead, “You’re not a fan?” He wondered confused as he signed the book.

“I don’t listen to your music much, only when my friend puts it on when we’re together.” She explained with a shrug, moving onto Jin next repeating the process, and then with Yoongi, and Hoseok. Things only got interesting when Jimin perked up at the sight of her arm, eyes widening as he took in the drawings that had appeared on his band member earlier.

“Hey did you draw those today?” He wondered, not even trying to be subtle.

“Yea in line. It was boring.” She hummed, before explaining who she was, why she was here and who to make it out to.

Then came Taehyung, his patterned skin reaching to grab the book from her patterned hand with wide eyes. She looked down, noticing the situation before glancing back up in surprise, her soulmate was an idol? Quickly shaking out of her thoughts she repeated what she told the others and as time ended, he called a staff member to wait at the end for her so they could talk.

After meeting Jungkook who was practically doing a bunny bounce with his excitement she met with the staff and waited for the line to lessen. And when everyone left the seven found their way over to her, all buzzing with excitement.

“Nice to officially meet you, I’m Taehyung, your soulmate.” He introduced, his black hair falling over his eyes slightly as he gave a shy grin.

“Hey it's the non army!” Yoongi called, pointing at the woman with a teasing grin, “Bet you’ll be an army soon.”

The woman gave a faint grin, grasping Taehyung’s hand gently in hers as her nerves dulled down feeling him accept the bond as well.

[natekashiri-exe]

Yall said ask random shit soooo-

How are yall today?

Do yall have a favourite animal? Is it the same across yall's system or does everyone have a different one?

Favourite colours?

Seasons?

Favorite art form? Like written, spoken, music, drawing, painting, weaving etc?

Any witchcrafty tip?

Imma stop asking stuff before i ask too much- am sorry

Also- am sorry i keep almost spam liking yalls stuff, yall reblog a lot or relatable stuff ill try to tone it down-

I did ask for random shit, so we shall oblige!

Headmates answering: Nate(🌊), Natemare(🎤), Chara(❤️)

🌊: I'm pretty meh, work was shit as per usual, but we're getting more staff soon so positives?? I love merman and dolphins, but also ravens. I love autumn bc aesthetic and spooky season lmao. I do love drawing, but there's something about singing (and certain people singing iykyk) that just makes me feel some kinda way

🎤: I'm pretty good, watching Nate freak out over the new album has been.. interesting. Considering I'm partially based on the guy that made said album. It's kinda endearing in a way, it's lowkey adorable (do not tell them I said that, haha). As for animals, there's just something about black cats, whether panthers or domesticated indoor cats. Black coated animals in general, I agree with Nate on crows. And as with my source, I tend to prefer music/singing, I feel like certain concepts and ideals can only really be expressed through music.

❤️: *Hello. I've been dormant for quite some time, so you'll have to forgive if I've missed out on some things. As for seasons, winter reminds me of Snowdin, so I think I'll pick that one.

*Animals? Hmm.. I'm not entirely sure, you don't see much of conventional animals in the Underground.

*As for art form, I believe a picture can say a thousand words. Particularly a painted picture. Totally not painted in blood.

As for witchy tips, if you're just getting into your craft, try perusing different branches of magic and see what feels right! It took quite a while for me to land on crystal magic, and even longer for Lord Lucifer and Lady Selene to take notice of me

Also don't apologise for spam liking/reblogging, I'm just happy the bullshit that we post makes someone smile omao

Thanks for asking!

[specialagentsergio]

rationalizations

rationalizations: a defense mechanism in which one makes up a false but reassuring explanation to explain their behavior and/or feelings to both themselves and others, thus avoiding the reality of why they are really acting or feeling as they do.

summary: You’re the psych evaluation for Spencer. You think he’s full of shit, so you refuse to sign his clearance form until he actually tells the truth.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

category: angst (happy ending)

content warnings: spencer’s canonical trauma, flashbacks, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, swearing

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ enemies to lovers event. it’s not my favorite trope, but one of the prompts sparked inspiration for me. i also took a good amount of inspiration from meredith’s various therapy scenes in grey’s anatomy, so if some of it feels familiar, that’s why! i swear i intended to make this cute and funny, but, well… here we are lmao.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Spencer throws his bag onto his desk with a frustrated huff. It thumps loudly, startling JJ at her desk across from his. She gives him a sympathetic look regardless. “Still not cleared yet?”

“No!” Forgetting that it’s wheeled, he drops himself into his chair. It skids backwards and he has to scramble to grab something to keep from falling out of it.

“Careful there,” JJ says, trying valiantly to suppress a laugh. “That psychologist's got you really worked up, huh?”

“I don’t know what she wants from me!” he complains. “It’s been nearly a month! Hotch’s ex-wife was murdered by an unsub, but they cleared him. I was only shot in the neck.”

“I mean, that’s still kind of a big deal,” she says. “You could’ve died, from the gunshot, or from the nurse that tried to kill you afterwards.”

“Speaking of that nurse,” he starts, “Garcia is the one who shot him and she’s been a wreck over it. She insisted on going to the guy’s execution. But the therapist cleared her!”

“Penelope’s not in the field,” JJ points out.

He crosses his arms. “Still. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. That possibility is part of the job. It’s not like it came out of nowhere and I was completely unprepared for it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spence,” she says. “Just keep all of your appointments and I’m sure you’ll be cleared soon.”

He pulls a stack of papers on his desk towards him. Paperwork—one of the things he’s actually allowed to do. “I better be,” he mutters.

---

“And it was really scary, you know?” Spencer wipes at his eyes with a tissue. “Not knowing if I was going to live or die.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He takes a deep breath. “But… it’s over now. The preacher who shot me died in the same shootout. Owen McGregor, the leader of the corrupt deputies, died later that night, in another shootout. And Greg Baylor, the one who posed as a nurse and tried to kill me, was sentenced to death row and he’s gone now, too.”

His psychologist makes a note on the paper in front of her, but doesn’t say anything, so he continues.

“I… I feel better now, just letting that out.” He takes a new tissue and dries his nose. “I feel ready now. Ready to go back to work.”

She nods slowly, considering him. But she doesn’t even look towards her desk where the clearance form sits, frustrating him to no end. After five minutes of silence, he breaks.

“You can’t be serious.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve been coming to these sessions for over a month, and I’m still not cleared to be in the field. I…” He musters up more tears and makes sure his voice wavers during his next words. “I just don’t know what you want? I’ve tried everything.”

“No, you haven’t,” she says plainly.

He blinks in surprise, sending some of the crocodile tears down his cheeks. “What?”

She crosses her legs. “You’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not being honest with me, and I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself either,” she says. “You’re a great actor. I can see how you’ve gotten clearances easily before. But that stops with me.”

Spencer stares at her. “I don’t understand.”

She moves her notebook to the side. “What happened in Texas isn’t the first time your life’s been in danger. Why do you think that is?”

“Wh—that’s part of my job,” he argues, fake crying long since forgotten.

“Not to the extent that you take it. I’ve read your file,” she says. “You take unnecessary risks with regularity.”

The tissues crumple in his hand as he clenches it. “I do not.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“Of your career.” Yet she doesn’t take out his file, or look at her notes. She speaks from memory. “2005. The BAU is assisting with a hostage situation. You go into the train, posing as someone who is there to remove a microchip from the unsub, but the first thing you do? You take off your bulletproof vest.”

“Okay, clearly you don’t understand what the situation was,” Spencer cuts in. “Ted Bryar was suffering from a psychotic break. He was somewhat unpredictable, and he told me to take off the vest.”

“And you just listened?”

“He—he had a gun, and was threatening both me and the other passengers with it!” he says. “What was I supposed to do, not listen?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replies. “You easily played into his delusions just a few minutes later to distract him. Why not do that to keep yourself safe?”

“I was twenty-four and was running on adrenaline,” he says defensively. “And it was my first time doing something like that. You can’t expect me to think of everything.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” she agrees. “So let’s jump forward a few years. How about the time you approached a teenager who was wielding an assault rifle with no protection, not even your own firearm?” she challenges.

“You mean Owen Savage? That was a unique situation,” he protests. “I knew I could talk him down.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought you had a good chance, but there’s no way to be one hundred percent sure of that. He was volatile, and on a killing spree,” she counters. “You didn’t know if you’d succeed--”

“I did!” He startles himself by unconsciously raising his voice, but he doesn’t apologize. “I did, because….”

“Because you related to him,” she fills in. “And that’s fine. Having empathy for an unsub doesn’t suggest something’s wrong in and of itself. But you still put yourself, and the rest of your team, in danger, didn’t you?”

He crosses his arms. “I got that lecture from Hotch when it happened, okay?”

“So then why’d you confront an unsub alone a few years later in Miami?” she asks. “You didn’t even tell anyone where you were going. You left your vest behind and just ran off.”

“I was having a head—wait, how do you even know that happened?” he questions. “It wasn’t in the report.”

“Well, first of all, you just confirmed it,” she points out, and he wants to kick himself. “Secondly, I can read between the lines.”

“I was having a headache,” he repeats. “I wasn’t thinking all that clearly. I just knew Julio’s life was in immediate danger, so I went to help him.”

“Uh-huh. More recently,” she says, brushing past his excuse, “You confronted your girlfriend’s stalker without your vest or gun.”

Spencer’s getting angry now. “I was trying to save Maeve. She asked me to leave them behind.”

“And you simply listened. Do you see the pattern I’m drawing here, Dr. Reid?” she asks. “These are just a few of the instances that stand out. Time and time again, you put yourself in unnecessary danger. So I’ll ask you again. Why do you think that is?”

Spencer looks over her—really looks over her, trying to understand what she’s getting at. “Are… are you suggesting that I’m suicidal?” he asks quietly.

She looks him straight in the eye. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

It’s like she set off a bomb in his brain. Memories, and the feelings attached to them, emerge—Elle handcuffed to a seat, a teenager with a rifle, a blinding headache, Maeve and blood on the warehouse floor.

“Here’s what I see,” she says. “I see a man who’s been through so, so much. Your mother is mentally ill, your father left--”

His father is packing a suitcase. Spencer doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say, so he falls back on what he knows.

“Statistically, children who grow up in two-parent households attain three more years of higher education than children from single-parent households.”

It doesn’t help. “We’re not statistics, Spencer.”

“Your file says she’s staying at an institution, and with your father out of the picture, I can only assume you were the one who had her admitted--”

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me!” she cries as she’s escorted out of the house by Bennington Sanitarium’s transport staff.

“A few years into your work here at the FBI, you were kidnapped, tortured and drugged--”

He’s tired and cold and his whole body aches. Tobias—the real Tobias—looms over him with a syringe.

“Please. I don’t want it,” he pleads of his captor. “I don’t want it, please.”

The needle punctures his skin regardless.

“—you were held hostage by a cult leader--”

Emily sits across from him on the plane with a black eye. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault.”

He pretends to agree.

“—you went through the death and reappearance of Agent Prentiss--”

He’s tried to make it clear to Jennifer that he wants to be left alone, but she won’t stop trying to talk about it with him, and he’s had enough.

“I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

“—and your girlfriend was shot in front of you.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton? Who is he?” Diane demands, gun pressed against Maeve’s head.

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve replies, and Spencer’s heart drops. Thomas Merton is Maeve’s way of saying goodbye—she’s giving up.

“Wait!” he cries out, but it’s too late.

“This is just some of the more traumatic stuff. And then there’s what happened last month, which is why you’re here. You present a face of not being bothered by all of this, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life, but I think you are bothered. You really, really are. And you don’t want to admit to anyone just how much it all has affected you. Maybe you don’t even want yourself to know.” Her expression and tone of voice are certain.

Spencer can’t take it anymore. The whirlwind of emotions and memories is overwhelming.

“The number of times you’ve almost died is staggering--”

“Yeah, and sometimes I wish I had!” He glares at her, breathing heavily. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

But she doesn’t seem intimidated or alarmed at all. She leans back in her armchair. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The response only serves to make him angrier. She questioned him relentlessly and made him admit something he swore in the dark hours of sleepless nights that he’d never think again, never voice, let alone admit to anyone. She forced it out of him, forced. She made him say it against his will.

So why does he feel a sense of relief?

“I…” Tears well up in his eyes—real ones this time. “I’m done,” he chokes out.

He pushes himself off of the couch and out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

---

He storms in Hotch’s office and demands to see a different psychologist. But she was one step ahead of him—a few hours before the appointment, she had emailed Hotch and told him that under no circumstances should Spencer be allowed to get a clearance from someone else.

“And you’re going to believe her?” he cries.

“She’s doing her job, Reid.”

“You barely know her! You’ve known me for a decade!”

“Yes, I have,” Hotch agrees. “And you’ve told me yourself that you’ve fooled psychologists and therapists before. So if this one is saying you’re not ready yet, I’m inclined to believe her.”

Spencer just stares at him, but as usual, Hotch doesn’t blink.

“Unbelievable,” Spencer eventually mutters.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Hotch replies, glancing down at fists Spencer hadn’t realized he was clenching.

“Fine.”

Too agitated to stand in the elevator, he takes the stairs. As he stomps down them, he swears he’ll never go back to her office, even if it means never going into the field again.

A week passes, then two, and he hasn’t seen the psychologist since. But he doesn’t feel any better—he actually feels worse. It’s like her words broke a dam in his mind, in his gut, and feelings of unease and uncertainty won’t pass. It keeps him up at night. Her words echo in his head. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

Spencer’s had yet another sleepless night and is struggling not to doze off at his desk despite the coffee he’s drinking. He stands up with the intention of splashing some water from the bathroom sink on his face, but his feet take him somewhere else.

He stares at the nameplate on the door. He swore he’d never go back, yet he feels compelled to knock.

It only takes her a few moments to answer. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?” she asks.

“I…” He sighs. “Are you busy?”

“No. Come on in.” She steps to the side, opening the door wider to let him pass. He sits down on the couch.

She waits patiently. She doesn’t rush him. She lets him speak first.

He wrings his hands in his lap, staring down at them. “Something you said is bothering me.”

“What was it?”

“About… living,” he admits quietly. “I… I think you might have been right.”

When he gets the courage to glance up at her, he finds a soft smile on her face. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Spencer hadn’t realized he was expecting judgment and disdain until it didn’t happen. His shoulders slump down in relief. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I would.”

---

“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Spencer looks up from his paperwork, slightly out of it, to find Derek watching him. His coworker had, indeed, caught him thinking about her again. His psychologist. Well, former psychologist. After his second session back with her, she’d handed over a clearance form and a referral to a therapist outside the bureau to see long-term.

“And you better follow up with that,” she’d told him, the corner of her mouth turning up despite her serious tone of voice. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

He’d promised that he would, and had followed through. But despite the progress he was making with the new therapist, he was feeling a little disappointed that he didn’t get to see her anymore. He only saw her in passing, sometimes in the elevator or walking down the hallways of the building. They would exchange hellos, she would ask how he was doing, then give him a little wave as she left. Each time his heart would skip a beat, and he’d feel an urge to follow her to wherever she was going.

Yet he hadn’t quite realized why he seemed to be preoccupied with her until a dream he had a few weeks ago—a dream in which he found himself kissing her. Despite being alone in his bedroom, he’d woken up feeling embarrassed. He promised himself that he would put her out of his mind. Having a crush on his psychologist? It was ridiculous.

But then he saw her in the elevator a few days later and he couldn’t help but analyze her body language. It was open, and she twirled her hair around a finger while she looked at him to ask him how he was. A few other people entered the elevator on the next floor, but her attention remained on him. They were subtle signs, but signs that he recognized nonetheless—signs of attraction. And once he started seeing them, he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer tells Derek, picking back up the pen he hadn’t noticed he dropped.

“You can’t pull that on me, kid,” he replies. “It’s your psychologist. You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”

Spencer sighs. “So what if I can’t?”

“So go ask her out already!” Derek says like it’s obvious.

“You don’t think that’s just a little inappropriate?”

“You’re not seeing her as a client anymore, are you?” he points out. “Go for it, kid. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Spencer takes the advice—as soon as Derek said it, he knew he was right. He would regret not taking a chance on her and the connection he felt. Sure, she’d helped him with therapy, but it went deeper than that. It feels like she knows him.

He leaves the bullpen ten minutes early that evening, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. On her doorstep, he feels just as nervous as he did on the day he admitted that she was right, but it’s a different kind of nervous. An excited nervous. He knocks on the door.

She’s surprised when she seems him. He watches as her pupils dilate, and it boosts his confidence. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?”

“You can. I’d like to talk,” he says.

“Oh. Well, I guess I could do that,” she says. “I thought things were going well with the therapist I referred you to, though.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean I want an appointment.”

Her eyebrows come together in confusion. “Okay, then, what do you want?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I really like you, and I think we’re meant to be together,” he replies, voice softening a bit.

She pauses before answering. When she does, her voice is gentle. “Dr. Reid, sometimes a medical professional’s care can start to feel like affection over a period of time, but--”

“No one has ever listened to me like you do,” he interrupts.

“That’s my job,” she points out.

“I’ve seen therapists before, but none of them have been like you,” he counters. “You understand me.”

She sighs. “Well, I’m glad I was a good fit and was able to help you. But that doesn’t mean that I see you as anything more than a client.”

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do feel something more for me,” he says firmly, but then backtracks a little. “Well, I know you’re attracted to me at least.”

She blinks and shakes her head slightly, take aback. “Dr. Reid, this is not appropriate--”

“Please call me Spencer,” he says, then jumps into his explanation. “See, when we’re attracted to someone, our bodies display involuntary signals, and I’ve seen you do some of them when you’re around me. Whenever we run into each other here, your body will turn a little towards me and you’ll play with your hair. Your attention is almost entirely focused on me. And, when you see me, your pupils dilate. They did it when you opened the door just a few minutes ago. Oh, and I’m attracted to you, by the way,” he adds as he realizes how one-sided he’s been. “I imagine my pupils probably dilate when I see you, too.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like she wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say. She looks flustered, and he wonders if maybe he’s pushed it too far or said too much, but he can’t turn back now. “So, please, let me take you out,” he says quietly. “Just… just give it a chance.”

She bites her lip and looks at the ground. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, which he’s come to learn means she’s thinking. She speaks seriously when she looks back up. “If I go out with you, I can’t treat you anymore. If you ever need another evaluation or session, you’d have to get it from someone else.”

“I know,” he says. “I get along well with the therapist you referred me to, though. And having to get clearance from a different psychologist at the bureau is something I’m willing to give up in favor of getting to know you better.”

She considers him. “You’re serious about this,” she states.

It’s not a question, but he answers it anyways. “I am.”

She tilts her head to the side, eyes unfocusing as she ponders the situation. Eventually, she says, “Let me think about it.”

It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but he’ll take it.

---

It’s only six PM, but Spencer is already exhausted. He unlocks his apartment door, fully intending to collapse onto his bed, but instead receives a pleasant surprise in the form of his girlfriend waiting for him on the couch. He can’t help but smile.

“Sweetie, what are you doing here?” he asks, then adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Penelope told me it was a bit of a rough case,” she replies. “And I missed you.”

She holds out her arms and he takes the invitation, joining her on the couch and laying down between her legs, placing his head on her chest. “I missed you, too.”

Her next words are overly familiar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hey, we agreed to no therapy,” he says. “Something about I can’t be your client anymore?”

She huffs. “This isn’t therapy. This is being a good partner.”

Spencer smiles into the fabric of her shirt, snuggling in closer. “I know, I’m just teasing you. I don’t need to talk about the case,” he says, finally answering her original question. “I feel fine now that I’m here with you.”

She lets out a pleased hum and starts running her fingers through his hair. “I ordered take-out for dinner, by the way.”

“Where from?”

“You know where.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. She must have ordered take-out from the restaurant he took her to on their first date. He lifts his head to look her in the eye. “Aren’t you glad you said yes to me all those months ago?”

“Oh, I suppose,” she says with pretend annoyance, rolling her eyes.

Then she kisses him.

Spencer’s never been so happy to be alive.

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

tell me what you thought here!

please note that i DO NOT ENDORSE asking out your therapist/former therapist. this is fanfiction. thank you.

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

[nandalorian]

(Image description: Article from The Independent online. Headline reads "Coach Lasso suffered panic attack at FA Cup match says anonymous source." Tagline reads "Lasso reported to have left the pitch due to food poisoning, now sources claim panic attack was the reason behind exit. By Trent Crimm, 1 hour ago. Underneath is a picture of Coach Ted Lasso, looking on in concern at the Tottenham Hotspur match.)

Suffice it to say, the 2020-21 Championship League season has been an interesting one for AFC Richmond. 

In its second year under the leadership of new manager Coach Ted Lasso and club owner Rebecca Welton, the first half of the season has been unusual, to say the least. Coming off of its recent relegation from the Premier League, the Greyhounds have faced a number of challenges that would try the most seasoned of coaching teams, much less one so new to the sport. First, an unprecedented run of draws culminating in the death of Earl, the team mascot, due to an errant kick from striker Dani Rojas; then the return of some familiar faces to the team like Jamie Tartt and former Captain Roy Kent, newly installed as coach. 

While more recent games have ended disastrously, such as AFC Richmond’s stunning 5-0 loss to Man City in the FA Cup semifinal at Wembley Stadium, there have been some highlights, including the surprise win against Tottenham Hotspur thanks to the quick thinking and ingenuity of Assistant Coach Nathan “Wonder Kid” Shelley, the former Richmond kit man mentored and nurtured up through the ranks by Lasso himself.

That same match marked another occurrence fans are unlikely to forget anytime soon: the rushed and ill-timed exit of Coach Lasso from the match, hurrying from the pitch as though pursued by a dodgy prawn cocktail or the hounds of hell themselves.

Following the match, Coach Lasso confirmed to me personally that he’d suffered an unpleasant bout of food poisoning but was “fit as a fiddle” soon after. 

However, in a report exclusive to The Independent, an anonymous source has revealed that Coach Lasso did not leave the pitch due to food poisoning as was previously believed. Rather the source claims Coach Lasso actually experienced a severe panic attack that forced him to flee the rest of the match, leaving the team in the surprised but capable hands of his coaching staff.

Many, including myself, will no doubt be as shocked by this news as the fact that Coach Lasso lied about the reason for his early departure. The occurrence of a panic attack is cause for concern at the best of times, but when it involves an American coach often criticized for, as I have, his lack of experience and knowledge of the sport, this information may seem downright alarming. Some might take it as further proof that Coach Lasso has no business coaching a beloved team in the British Championship—and formerly Premier—League of football.

I would like to take this opportunity to express how much I do not share those views.

In fact, I could not give less of a toss what detractors have to say on the subject of Ted Lasso’s mental health.

As one of the few openly gay journalists reporting on British football, or football in general, I have faced my share of backlash and negativity and can attest to one thing: this sport is one that not only rewards a culture of toxic masculinity, but perpetuates it by seeking out and punishing any perceived difference or weakness in players, coaches, club owners, and staff. Whether it is on the basis of gender, race, sexuality, religion, physical ability, socioeconomic standing, or just about anything deemed not “macho” or homogeneous enough in the eyes of the majority, football, for all it can be played anywhere and with nothing more than two feet and a ball, has always suffered a gatekeeping problem. The treatment of Ms. Welton by the press alone is ample proof that this sport is brutal and unforgiving to those of us not fortunate enough to have been born straight, white, or male—or, in the case of Coach Lasso, British. But having watched the evolution of the Lasso Way and its impact upon AFC Richmond during his tenure as manager, I can also say that Coach Ted Lasso doesn’t just deserve our respect for trying to reform this culture into one not merely of positivity and personal growth, but of empathy.

He deserves our full and unflinching support.

That Coach Lasso suffers from panic attacks is not a fact to be ridiculed or castigated. It is not a symptom of weakness or deficiency of character any more than the colour of his hair or what size shoe he wears. Anxiety does not make one a failure. It does not make one “crazy” or lesser-than, just as it does not make Lasso a less capable or talented football coach. It is simply human, and a testament to how dearly he cares for the success and well-being of his team.

He is also far from alone, in British football or the world in general, in facing such mental health challenges—merely the first to be drawn into this discussion against his will, an unwitting spokesperson for a culture desperately in need of change. If we are wise, we would do well to learn from his struggles and use this opportunity to create a dialogue about the well-being and mental health not just of our players, but of all those involved in football and sport. We owe this to ourselves as much as future generations of footballers and football fans, many of whom have begun absorbing these lessons from a young age whether we like it or not. For me as the father of a young child, I find this disquieting and unacceptable.

So allow me to lend my voice to the conversation in the hopes that more will follow.

Coach Lasso had a panic attack at a match. He is not a failure. He is not weak or deficient. He is someone who has endured personal hardship and yet returned to coach and support his team the next day with his characteristic generosity and warmth, whatever his personal challenges or demons.

The true failure of this sport is that I should have to write this article at all, and the real deficiency lies not with a man who experiences panic attacks, but those who seek to utilize his suffering for retribution and personal gain. It is a sign that we have yet much to learn from Coach Lasso and a long way to grow, not just as coaches, footballers, or fans, but as human beings, for it would appear we have forgotten how to honour each other as well as this sport we claim to love so dearly.

It is my belief that if we could stand to emulate even a fraction of the grace and humility Coach Lasso has demonstrated during his time at AFC Richmond through his sheer kindness and humanity, British football, and indeed society at large, would be all the better for it.

I for one am in support of this change, and I support Ted Lasso. As a journalist and football fan, a Greyhound for life, a gay man, a father, a convert to the Lasso Way, and above all, a human being.

(Also available on AO3)

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[ruhrohimrorny]

What Subjects I Think LOK Characters Would Teach:

Lin: PE, obviously. Dating Kya and all the kids are happy cause there’s a noticeable shift in Lin’s mood once they start dating. She no longer forces kids to run a mile every day and instead does it once a week now, so the kids are hoping her and Kya stay together. She also coaches Golf and Lacrosse.

Kya: Waffled between MILF Math teacher, MILF Science teacher, and hippy/chill Music teacher, but decided on MILF Science Teacher. Getting strong Biology vibes. Very fun labs and not strict at all. Her and Zhu-Li are super passionate about leading the Science Bowl team. Seeing these young people be so passionate about STEM and helping their fellow teammates makes her hopeful for this young generation.

Tenzin: He kinda gives math teacher vibes, but a large part of his character in the show is about him keeping his history alive, and teaching others abut learning and respecting history, so I feel like he’s a History teacher. His class is a lot of notetaking but he plays quiet music and does a five minute meditation in the middle of class to encourage kids to relax, so students really like him and actually listen to him. Also, he’s kind of gullible so they make up fake trends to tell him. He once spent a week addressing people as “brony” cause students told him thats what people say now instead of bro. Kids got a good laugh out of that one. Him and Pema are another favorite teacher couple.

Bumi II: Def gives off eccentric/unhinged English teacher vibes. Very interesting and informative conversations in his class, but things get off topic very quickly. Whenever kids ask about Bum-Ju, he gets distracted and will talk the entire rest of the period about what to dress Bum-Ju up as for Halloween. Probably plays a lot of videos. And students don’t worry about if they read the books Bumi II assigns cause they don’t think he’s even read the books he assigns. When having discussions about the books in class, sometimes kids will make up stuff and say it’s in the book and for the most part, Bumi II goes along with it cause he doesn’t know what actually happens in the books.

Varrick: Also gives off eccentric/unhinged English teacher vibes, but because he’s a businessman/war profiteer, I’m gonna have to say he teaches Econ and gives students lots of unsolicited financial advice. Also supervises the Engineering and Robotics Club.

Zhu-Li: Science teacher, probably Chemistry. She’s very good at explaining and getting kids to follow her instructions. Not only is she a co-supervisor for the Science Bowl team, she helps Varrick run Engineering and Robotics Club, cause if it were only Varrick running it, no kids would come. His intensity and eccentricity scares them.

Iroh II: He’s definitely the young Math teacher everyone has a crush on. Very chill and doesn’t give a lot of homework. Kids love when he shows pictures of his dog to the class and eventually he brings in the dog cause admin think the dog is too cute to say no to.

Tonraq: Resident DILF History teacher. Kind of a hardass but also a nice dude so most everyone passes his class. Probably that History teacher that is also a football coach, so during fall he doesn’t give a FUCK about whether anyone actually turns anything in. Him and Senna is the teacher couple that seems like opposites but actually are pretty similar and balance each other out.

Senna: That English teacher that every mentally ill student becomes emotionally attached to. You know what I’m talking about. She’s so sweet, funny, and chill so all the kids love her class. Tries to include memes in her presentations to seem “with it” but they’re like, doge memes from 2014. But the kids appreciate the effort.

Pema: Definitely the sweet English teacher that occasionally has a mental breakdown when the students test her patience. Otherwise very chill. Also teaches the Childhood Education and Development class. Her, Senna, and Bumi II run the school newspaper.

Bataar: Drafting. Pretty chill, very skilled, and def smokes on the weekend. Also, him and Suyin are that teacher couple that everyone likes.

Suyin: Dance. Super nice and always has like to of those smelly plug in things going so her room smells good and has a “good vibe that evokes emotion”. Always plays EDM or weird 80s rock to get the kids moving. She runs the school dance team. When Bataar has prep period, he sometimes drops in to see Su dance, cause she’s mesmerizing to watch. All the kids think that, coupled with the fact that they eat lunch together every day, makes them the cutest couple ever.

Amon: Drama. He loves directing kids on how to totally live a role. If you can imagine, he sometimes gets a little overdramatic about drama, forgetting that these are just highschool kids, not Oscar winners, but his passion makes the class more enjoyable. Runs Drama Club with Tarrlok.

Tarrlok: Probably Physics. A difficult class, but he’s pretty good at explaining so most kids don’t struggle too much. His main focus is running student government, which he takes pretty seriously. Sometimes too seriously.

Unalaq: Teaches Psychology. The most pretentious teacher on campus. It’s literally so bad, that even other teachers avoid him. Amon abandoned his coffee still being brewed in the machine in the staff room cause Unalaq walked in and he didn’t want to be in a room with Unalaq again after he said that Amon’s outfit “looked like something stolen from the lost and found of a funeral home”. Unalaq sees it as “telling it like it is”.

Zaheer: Government and Politics. Tries to teach the class very well but also injects his own opinion into teaching a lot. The students find him scary but some also kinda think he’s hot. Also does Yearbook. Him and Senna run Mock Trial. Replaced the old Government and Politics teacher Hou-Ting after she retired. She was that one old teacher that made it a hobby to harrass students and constantly reminisced about when you could smack students.

P’Li: Math teacher. Much scarier than Zaheer. Plays her trash ass music very loudly while the kids work. Def yells at kids. She’s kind of funny when she’s in a good mood tho, and when she roasts kids it’s really funny cause it’s usually dead on. Her and Zaheer are those teachers that flirt a lot and you know they’re sleeping together.

Ming-Hua: Art. Loves drawing and, you guessed it, watercolor painting. Very chill and plays soft music but lets you listen to your own music. Super sarcastic and all the students eat it up. Literally a universal favorite. She runs Art Club and Fashion Club.

Ghazan: Guitar. Pretty cool teacher that definitely has some weird stories. All the students know he has a crush on Ming-Hua cause they flirt constantly, but he denies it. Runs E-Sports Club. Idk why I think that, it just feels right. Him and Ming-Hua are also the kinds of teachers kids become emotionally attached to.

Kuvira: Government and Politics also. Seems calm and reasonable, but is a total ass. Makes kids give up their phones, allows almost no talking, gives out more detentions a week than most teachers do in one year, and doesn’t allow for much discussion. Everyone wants her class cause she’s hot but most drop within the first week, to the point that counselors have to say no to some kids so they don’t have to get rid of the class altogether.

Bataar Jr.: Computer Lit teacher. None of the students respect him so they’ll play Minecraft the whole time or play inappropriate videos really loud. Doesn’t really put much effort into teaching, which for some kids is a dream, but for others is an annoyance. Him and Kuvira are the teacher couple that makes everyone say “wtf”. Literally no one knows why they’re together.

Izumi: Secretary/Attendance. Pretty much remembers everything and is super organized. She is the glue that holds the school together. Most students don’t know her name though cause she’s super quiet and works mostly behind the scenes. Whenever Zuko sends anyone her way though he reminds them of her name and to say thank you cause he recognizes how hard his daughter works to keep everything running smoothly. Izumi catches on to this and always manages to thank her dad with a nice tea and a hug.

Toph: Vice Principal. Scary as fuck. Doesn’t ever call kids’ parents cause she efficiently scares the shit out of every kid, so they never do whatever bad thing they were doing again. When she has to work dances, Katara always tries to get her to dance with her. She resists every time, but she always gives eventually. She’s happy to though, cause although she’ll never say it out loud, seeing Katara this happy at her old age warms her heart.

Katara: Health Clerk. Very sweet and everybody loves her. Sometimes kids pretend to feel sick just to talk to her. She doesn’t mind though cause a kid that has a tummy ache and a kid that needs to talk are both kids that need help, and she’s happy to offer whatever support she can. She also always offers to supervise dances when the school has them and always manages to bust a move.

Zuko: Counselor. Wants to be to students what his uncle was to him. Aang and Sokka were counselors too, some years ago. And while they could give some good nuggets of advice and offered the kids amazing support, they also would totally fuck up student’s schedules by accident cause those numbskulls were exactly that- numbskulls. So usually Zuko would have to fix that. He misses fixing their messes and, more importantly, he misses them (they aren’t dead, just retired). He hopes to retire soon too, cause he’s getting too old for this, but he secretly doesn’t want to retire just yet cause working at school allows him to see and spend time with Izumi. Since they’re both working, it’s not like they have too much time together, but even just her popping into his office to bring him tea or check in on how he’s doing that day brings a smile to his face that doesn’t leave for the rest of the day.

Raiko: Principal. After Toph stepped down cause she’s “too old for this shit” (her words), Raiko stepped in. The students aren’t a fan of him but he’s not terrible. And since Toph is still Vice Principal, she keeps him in check.

[the-hate-keeps-me-warm]

More than a memory

Sorry if this is formatted really horriblly I finished this up on mobile I hope you like this there’s about 2 paragraphs I cut of ruby nerding out

Once they got to Vacuo oscar was sorta unofficially a huntsman now laws are a lot looser here so he’s been saving quite a bit of money from going on missions after team rwby and Jaune came back it was weird they were only gone a month but so much had changed the merge was almost finished he could feel it every day he felt less like himself he didn’t even object when Theodore called him oz anymore he and ruby weren’t as close anymore whatever happened wherever they were changed her he got bits and pieces from Jaune and yang but the others kept quiet he knew that he’d be gone soon so he wanted to leave something for her kinda like proof that they ever met in the first place so he was now standing in a vacuan market at 12 am alone with a lot of lien on him this was probably a bad idea but at one point he heard ruby ramble about this gun shop that they were the best at what they do so he called made an appointment it just so happens they prefer to see let’s just say unofficial clients at night he knocked at the door it read “bikal bullets” it opened and an old owl faunas man opens it his large yellow eyes are piercing “hello mister pine headmaster theodore told me to expect you” oscar rubs his hands together “yes mister bikal he said to come late” mr Bikal leads him inside on the walls hang dozens of expensive weapons “so mr pine what are you looking for” oscar took the blue prints out of his bag and set them down on the drawing table “um im looking for something custom built its for a friend” mr bikal takes the blue prints and examines them “these are pretty impressive mr pine did you draft these yourself theses yourself” oscar nods “mostly i had a little help with the math part of it but the mechanical stuff i did myself” mr bikal nods “something like this will cost a good amount even with the discount you get for being school staff” oscar nods “do you have an estimate on the price and how long it'll take to make” mr bikal snaps his teeth “around 12000 lien and 2 weeks” oscar nods he had 140000 saved up but he did want to buy some more things for the others “alright i can uh i can afford that” mr bikal goes over to what looks like a drawing table and pins them up “i will start work immediately mr pine you make your payment on completion if you desire the school has credit with me the price includes 3 magazines and a case so that will also be custom made shall you pick it up or would you prefer its delivered” oscar stands uncomfortably as mr bikal starts measuring out pieces of fine metal “ill pick it up dont worry” mr bikal nods and says “alright mister pine your can go now its not a good look for a young man to be out so late especially so close to the red light district” oscars face gets red “yes of course” oscar leaves and walks back to the academy sneaking back into his dorm room was easy tho nora did pester him about where hed been he had left a note saying when he would be back for the next 2 weeks he kept a poker face nora helped him set up his bank account so the sudden spending of 12000 lien did give her pause so she decided to ask him about it

He was sitting on his bed reading some Treatise about some long-forgotten subject she knocked on the bedpost and he looks up “hey Nora did you need something” she sat at the end of his bed “hey what did you spend 12 thousand lien on” he hides his face “please don’t tell anyone it was on something for ruby” she smiles “ah young love I was worried that you wouldn’t make your move so what kind of thing sets you back 12 thousand it’s something big right” he nods his head “its a gun i-i had it commissioned for and it’s not really cause I’m trying to make a move or anything it’s more like a going away gift” Nora frowns and shakes his leg “where you going taking a vacation or something” he feels tears bite the edge of his eyes “Nora the merge it’s soon I know it won’t be long until I’m gone and I want you all to remember me but her especially I don’t want to be just a memory” he struggles to keep the tears at bay but nora pulls him into a hug tighter but somehow softer than her usual ones “hey you will never ever be just a memory you will always be you and even if your not you'll always be one of us we all love you so much” and then the damn breaks and he sobs into her shoulder “i don't wanna go away nora i want to live i wanna go to school see my aunt again” she rubs his back and says “i know sweetie you'll get to do all that ok i promise” he sniffles “nora i need you to do something for me if i do disappear ok i need you to go back to my aunt and tell her everything ok it can't be oz ok don't tell her how to find him it won't make sense i'll just hurt worse i dont want that for her” she nods “i won't ever have to do that ok but i promise” she holds him until he stops crying and they take a a a nap they always helped him calm down

Finally, after a long 2 weeks, he goes to pick it up when he goes inside Mr. Baikal shows him the box it’s a beautiful dark red mahogany wood he opens the case and looks at the pistol inside its silvered handle and barrel were beautiful he’s almost afraid to touch it the engravings were perfect exactly as he had drawn them if not better the moon and rose he had designed look perfect he takes it gently in his hands he looks down the sights the night sights glow a brilliant carmine red he looks at the magazine even it was of an amazing quality everything down to the smallest detail was exactly as he pictured it he sets it back into the case “thank you, mister, Bikal it's absolutely perfect” Mr. Bikal smiles and nods “I’m glad everything is to your satisfaction Mr pine if you find there is anything wrong with it or you want something changed everything I make comes with a lifetime warranty the paperwork is in the case as well as a certificate stating that I am in fact its builder” they shake hands and oscar takes it home in his bag he excitedly gets back to his dorm he sets it down still in his bag on his bed now all he have to do is give it to her

He sits on it for a few days but finally decides to just give it to her oz has his reservations about this but decided that oscar deserves this to maybe say goodbye in his own way

Ruby was going on walks around shade it’s something he noticed so he waited for her to go on one of those walks it was cool in vacuo at night the air was nice compared to the oppressive heat of the day she was meandering along the walkways he followed behind her a bit the case hung heavy in his bag even tho it wasn’t heavy at all after a while she sits at an old wooden bench overlooking the gardens he approaches and she perks up “oh hey oscar are you going somewhere” she says pointing to his bag he shakes his head “do you mind if I sit” she shakes her head “no go-ahead did you need to talk, something about Theodore?” he sits down on the other side of the bench gently setting his bag between them “no uh no I just uh I wanted to give you something” he opens his bag and takes the case out holding it out to her she takes it “it’s not my birthday is it this looks really nice you didn't have to do this” ruby says smiling “well i've been wanting to do something nice for you” oscar says rubbing the back of his neck she lifts the top and gasp gently lifting it from its case “oscar this is this is amazing” she drops the magazine and pulls the slide back making sure its clear and runs her hand along the engraving her symbol etched into the left side of the grip “oh thanks i uh actually designed it myself oz helped me with the math” she looks at him her eyes wide “oscar it took me 8 attempts to successfully design a functioning crescent rose gun design is really hard how long did you spend on this” oscar blushes “the idea kinda started in atlas i was gonna ask you to help me make one so i wouldn't have to rely on my cane but everything happen and when you were gone i kept messing with the idea and i kept thinking about you so i kinda ended up designing it for you more than me eventually do you like it” ruby scoffs “oscar do i like it i love it its probably the single greatest gift anyones ever given me” he smiles wide “really that makes me really happy I was worried you wouldn’t like it” she sets it back gently into its case “really Oscar it’s amazing you have a knack for design your gonna have to show me the draft notes and everything cause this is this is amazing I can’t wait to shoot it this is wow” she chokes up and he leans down “ruby are you ok” she nods wiping her face of nonexistent tears “no worries this is just really cool and sweet and god your so amazing” he felt his heart flutter and his cheeks heat up “the guy who built it that bikal guy you talked about was just as great as you always said” she puts a hand on his shoulder “are you telling me Hephaestus bikal made this Oscar” she says seriously “uh yeah why is that bad” she kisses his cheek and squeals “oh my god your amazing this is now even better god I could die happy wait his rates are insane how did you afford this” still recoiling from the kiss he bites his lip “uh huntsmen work” she narrows her eyes “how much did this cost Oscar it had to be expensive” he shakes his head “not telling it’s a gift you don’t need to worry about it just enjoy it” she punches his arm “I will but I am going to repay you for this somehow ok” “you already did” he says quietly he says rubbing the back of his neck “ruby I don’t really know how long I have left and I would like to spend at least some of it with you I understand if you don’t I know it might make it harder when I’m gone bu-whoa” he’s pulled into a hug she pulls his head into her shoulder and holds him tight “I wanna spend more time with you too but you will always be Oscar ok oz is oz you are you” he sighs and smiles “see what I mean by paying me back”

[johngarfieldtribute]

ART IS UNIVERSAL!

I love the movie posters from Old Hollywood, and the international releases often brought a fresh look to the film’s promotional materials.

The French movie poster for FOUR DAUGHTERS prominently featured Julie. By the time the movie hit overseas, his groundbreaking debut performance was something of mass appeal to audiences.

In comparison, the promotional materials prepared in the US before the film’s premiere popped in photos of Julie and fellow supporting player Jeffrey Lynn as afterthoughts.

Julie’s incredible performance was groundbreaking. He is the screen’s first REBEL HERO and one of the earliest Method actors in film. He precedes Marlon Brando, Montgomery Clift, James Dean, Paul Newman and others. Read TCM’s profile on Julie here.

Julie‘s hometown paper, The New York Times enthusiastically praised his debut. It’s hard to believe these upcoming SPOILERS are actually in a review. More accurately, it reads like a PLOT SUMMARY. However, this reviewer recognizes Julie’s incredible debut performance, so it’s worth transcribing. (Note the low key ad for the movie in the bottom right).

Warners’ ‘Four Daughters” a Sentimental Comedy at Music Hall

Friday, August 19, 1938

by B.R.C. (NYT film reviewer and freelance journalist, Benjamin R. Crisler)

A charming, at times heartbreakingly human, little comedy about life in a musical family of attractive daughters which occasionally is ruffled by the drama of a masculine world outside, “Four Daughters” at the (Radio City) Music Hall, attempts to agree with Jack Warner’s recent assertion in the advertisements that it is the climax of his career. Putting aside Mr. Warner’s career for the nonse, we may assert with equal confidence that “Four Daughters” is one of the best pictures of anybody’s career, if only for the sake of the marvelously meaningful character of Mickey Borden as portrayed by John (formerly Jules) Garfield, who bites off his lines with a delivery so eloquent that we aren’t sure whether it is the dialogue or Mr. Garfield who is so bitterly brilliant.

Our vote, though, is for Mr. Garfield and for whatever stars watch over his career on the stage and screen, because, on re-reading the dialogue, as we have just done carefully, it seems to have lost something of the acidity, the beautiful clarity it had when Mr. Garfield spoke it. As the most startling innovation in the way of a screen character in years—a fascinating fatalist, reckless and poor and unhappy, who smokes too much, who is insufferably rude to everybody, and who assumes as a matter of course that all the cards are stacked against him, Mr. Garfield is such a sweet relief from conventional screen types, in this one character, anyway, so eloquent of a certain dispossessed class of people, that we can’t thank Warner Brothers, Michael Curtiz, the director, Mr. Epstein and Miss Coffee, the screen playwrights, and even Miss Fannie Hurst, the original author, enough for him.

In addition to Mr. Warner, Mr. Garfield and the Music Hall, “Four Daughters” is also a triumph for Priscilla Lane, who is much more attractive, animated and intelligent, than the run of ingénues; for Jeffrey Lynn, a new romantic discovery who knows how to be handsome inoffensively; for Claude Rains, as the musical father; Frank McHugh, as a rich beau; May Robson as Aunt Etta; Rosemary, as the voice of the family, and Lola as the quiet homebody. In fact all the Lanes—a prolific and talented tribe—meet at the Music Hall this week, and one would hardly know which Lane to take, so inviting are all three, not to mention Gale Page, who makes an attractive fourth.

The story begins gayly with a blossoming peach tree and a family quintet rendition of Schubert’s “Serenade” with Papa wielding his flute like a baton, with Priscilla playing the violin, Lola at the harp (if we remember correctly), and Gale at the piano. It is a house full of music and youth and femininity, and the good-natured grumpiness of Papa, who hates jazz, and with only the remotest threat of masculine invasion. But see how the serpent enters this Eden: First Mr. Lynn, a composer, comes swinging on the gate, and then his orchestrator from the city, Mr. Garfield, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, no money, not even a clean shirt, a personal grudge against the Fates, an interesting vocabulary and a heart of purest suet— Mr. Garfield, the eternal outsider.

In the long run it is this character—and a very fine cinematic invention he is—who steals the picture. His suicide is the pivotal theme, the tragic incident (and Mickey himself would call it an incident) which brings the cinematically predestined lovers, Priscilla and Jeffrey, back together again, after Priscilla’s impetuous sacrifice of herself and what she fancied was the altar of two other people’s happiness. But it’s just a simple family affair, after all, and it ends—the old folks a little older, the young ones a little less gay—with the same flowering peach tree and Schubert’s “Serenade,” and with the discordant squeak of Jeffrey swinging on the gate again to interrupt Priscilla’s fiddle part. It may be sentimental, but it’s grand cinema.

Variety, the show biz bible newspaper had this to say:

December 31, 1937 11:00pm PT

Four Daughters by Variety staff

Score one for Warners on this gentle drama from Fannie Hurst’s novel, Sister Act. It’s a beguiling film which reveals John Garfield as an interesting picture prospect. Formerly Jules Garfield, of Broadway’s Group Theatre, the actor turns out to be much more forceful personality on the screen than he was on the stage.

This tale deals with the heart-throbs of the four talented daughters of a professor of music. It’s a simple, gay and lovable small-town household. And as the various girls acquire beaux, the old man looks on with a twinkling eye, and kindly Aunt Etta bustles about to make the place homelike.

Michael Curtiz’s direction is both affectionate and knowing. Claude Rains is irresistibly persuasive and attractive as the father. Priscilla Lane has the best part as the youngest sister. May Robson plays the aunt in proper mother-hen fashion. As the ill-starred newcomer, Garfield plays with such tight-lipped force that for a time he threatens to throw the picture out of focus by drawing too much interest.

1938: Nominations: Best Picture, Director, Supp. Actor (John Garfield), Screenplay, Sound

The Spanish version of the movie poster also gives prominence to Julie’s scenes as Mickey Borden. Incidentally, Frank Sinatra and Doris Day starred in a musical remake from 1954, YOUNG AT HEART. Scuttlebutt is that Francis Albert would only do it if the ending was changed to his liking. Glad he did it so we could have that beauty of a title song.

The poster above shows a different angle for the promo campaign. Notice that Julie is touted as “the most dynamic discovery since Cagney.”

Looking like the total outsider. The nonconformist. Check out that stubble. Turns out, Mickey was the sensitive observer. Such a natural!

The studio paired Julie with Priscilla Lane in several films. Here’s a compilation of clips of their screen time.

“I believe the more successful an actor becomes, the more chances he should take. An actor never stops learning.” —John Garfield

How about an honorary Oscar awarded posthumously for Julie’s incredible work in film? This was only his first film role and his later performances showed even more depth—more maturity. What an amazing gift he had, and it’s a huge loss that he was taken too soon.

[kinda-iconic]

My Hardest Goodbye

This fanfic is part I of the continuation to ‘How do I go on without you’, and is set not long after the end of said piece.

Summary: After receiving word of Amelia’s condition, Harry and Teresa make their way to Edgewater; however, once they arrive at the estate, neither are prepared for what they overhear.

Author’s Note: This is the first fanfic that I have posted in a couple of months, and though I do apologise for the lateness of my delivery, I wanted to make sure that it was worthy of posting. This piece has been split into three parts, this part in particular focusing solely on Harry’s POV (ish). 

Pairing/s: Harry x Teresa; Ernest x MC (Amelia) 

Word Count: 2′670

Trigger Warning: Language

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife​ @princess-geek​ @octobereighth​ @annaroselyn​ @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire​ @nala-raines​ @noesapphic​

A couple of hours had passed since the announcement of Amelia’s condition, and not a stir could be heard from those at Edgewater. Shortly after she had been informed, the Dowager Countess had sent word to her grandson, her letter abundant with urgency in the hope that her kin would realise the importance of that evening. Whilst her Ladyship was left to ensure that the matter of correspondence had been dealt with, Ernest refused to leave Amelia’s bedside, his hand clasped tightly around her own.

When Harry received the news, he did not hesitate to make preparations, choosing to arrive on horseback rather than waking his staff from their slumber. Accompanied by his new wife, Harry left at the earliest convenience, making sure to take a route that would guarantee the pair a prompt arrival. The journey was not without difficulty, the road laden with the remnants of the night before, fragmented arrays of foliage and stone littering the trail; though this would usually delay even the steeliest of travellers, Harry was not deterred. He grabs his cane and presses on, deciding it best to cut through the woodlands surrounding the estate, thus reducing the time it took for the pair to arrive. It is not long before they reach the gates, their arrival noted by a Master of Horse, who stands idly by the stable, as if expecting their early meeting. The young man holds out a hand, gesturing for the Viscountess to accept his offering of assistance. Once his aid is no longer required, he turns his attention to the horses, choosing to remove himself from the conversation of the events of that evening and any speculation they may have made about his Mistresses’ welfare.

But there is nothing of the sort.

Harry dismounts without so much as a word, his rashness causing him to disregard propriety; removing his cane from the saddle, he heads in the direction of the house, barely sparing a thought for Teresa who follows behind him, collecting her skirts in an attempt not to muddy them. She calls out to him, her voice hoarse with breathlessness.

‘Harry!’

He greets her with no reply, his brow creasing into a scowl as he approaches the entryway, his lips pursed tightly together as if struggling to maintain his anger. She watches him a little too carefully, ultimately losing sight of the stretch of path below her as her foot slides into a puddle, the sullied water seeping into the fabric of her shoe. She squeals in annoyance, reaching down to wipe the soil from her boot with her handkerchief.

‘This is not what Amelia would want -’

‘I think I know the situation well enough to conclude that my sister is not in the position to tell me what to do.’

Her eyes widen at the spitefulness in his tone, her head drawing back in bewilderment. Knowing that he had wounded her with his remark, he turns to address her over his shoulder, his gaze softening as he gazes upon her face. He opens his mouth to speak, but the horror of his utterance has rendered him almost speechless. Eventually he is able to communicate, his voice no louder than a hushed whisper.

‘Forgive me, I…I should not have spoken to you like that.’

‘You do not need to apologise, my love,’ she interrupts him, a small smile blossoming on her face as she places her foot back down, being quick to regain her footing, ‘you are worried for your sister; I would probably do the same if I was the one whose sister was suffering.’  

‘That does not excuse my sharpness.’

‘But it is warranted,’ she begins to hurry her steps, treading lightly as she tries to match his pace, ‘Amelia is very dear to all of us, so it understandable that you are on edge.’

‘I guess you are right,’ he places his hand atop of hers, his fingers swiftly interlacing with her own, ‘I just do not understand how something so terrible could…’

She clasps hold of his arm, her fingers gently grasping onto the sleeve of his jacket, her brows knitting with worry as she takes note of the sadness in his gaze, his stormy eyes brimming with tears. He takes a shallow breath, a disconsolate sob stifling in his throat as he tries to regain his composure, his voice shaky and burdened.

‘Why did it have to be her?’

‘I cannot answer that, my love,’ she takes a step forward, placing herself in the space between her husband and the door to the manor; she cups his cheek with her free hand, her own tears now beginning to stain her face. She smiles sadly up at him, drawing soothing circles into his skin with the pad of her thumb. ‘No one deserves to suffer in this way, especially not someone as kind and dear to us, but that does not mean that there is no hope.’ She reaches for the handle, being careful not to make too much noise as she pries the door open, walking blindly into the entrance hall as her focus remains fixated on her husband. ‘Amelia is young and in good health. She has all that and more on her side.’

‘Being well and youthful means nothing when it comes to someone falling ill,’ he pauses, as if concerned that his words may startle her; he brushes past her, his footsteps heavy and dragging as he forces back the pain emanating from his calve, his jaw clenched in agitation. He begins to speak once more, his voice deep and gravelly. ‘It does not pick and choose who it…’

He stops abruptly, shaking away the thought before it has the chance to hurt him further; he closes his eyes, a sharp exhale escaping his lips as he takes the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, not a single pause in his stride.

‘I cannot bring myself to talk about this further.’

It is then that he hears a team of familiar voices, drifting towards him from the parlor. At first, he thinks nothing of it, under the belief that it is nothing more than a conversation between Edgewater’s staff - just a simple exchange between associates. However, as he continues his ascent to the next floor, the voices grow louder, their words causing him to cease in his tracks.

‘The Doctor told you that?’

‘Well of course not! I am not a relative,’ Harry takes a step back, his brow creased in annoyance as he shifts himself, placing a firm hand on the wall as if to find a better vantage point to eavesdrop, ‘but I did hear the Dowager say that Mr Sinclaire would take over the estate should the Countess die... just until the child comes of age.’

‘And you think he would do well by us?’

‘Oh goodness no,’ there is a soft pause, this newfound silence soon replaced by a hearty chuckle, ‘he may be the only well-born of the pair, but even the Earl’s bastard could do a better job than him - and she is knocking on death’s door!’

Their words cause Harry to tense, his body seizing up as he tries to process the maliciousness in their tone. He remains like that for a moment before quickening his descent, subconsciously deciding to address the matter first-hand rather than ignore their gossip. He clenches his jaw, his lips forced together as he passes his wife, afraid that he will utter something incomprehensible should his mouth remain open; Teresa follows closely behind, her petite frame remaining hidden in the shadows of the night, a choice ultimately made in fear of being discovered.

Just as he nears the entryway to the parlor, a small hand grasps hold of his forearm, its grip strong yet delicate in its approach.  

‘Harry…’ her voice adopts a soft tone, her words laden with acceptance and understanding as she draws his attention back to her; he looks at her in puzzlement, his head tilted in vexed curiosity. ‘I know that their interaction is not one that you wished to hear, and I acknowledge that you want to say something in return, but there are more pressing matters that we MUST concern ourselves with.’

‘I cannot sit idly by and allow them to talk about Amelia in that manner!’

His voice is stern, the intonation in his tone rising to a level that Teresa had never heard from him before. She releases his arm, her brow knitted with concern.

‘I know, my Love,’ she sighs despondently, reaching down to take his hand in her own; she flashes him a comforting smile, but the reassurance in her gesture fails to meet her eyes, ‘but right now our priority is the Countess -’

‘Amelia,’ he removes his hand from hers with tenderness, as if trying not to cause her worry, ‘that is her name, and she wills us to address her as such.’

He makes heed in the direction of the room, disallowing Teresa the chance to provide him with further words of comfort. She reaches towards him in an attempt to interrupt his anger, but it is not long before she stops herself, her face a picture of confliction. Instead, Teresa goes against her better judgment, allowing her husband to pursue his vengeful path in the hope that, by voicing his frustrations, he may be able to free himself from the burden he so openly carries. She remains quiet, continuing to bite her tongue even as he opens the door to the parlour, his sudden entrance causing the occupants of the room to look up, their own eyes widening as they observe the Viscount’s furious expression.

‘V-Viscount Harry!’ The housekeeper stutters, her unsteady hands instantaneously reaching to straighten her skirts; Teresa’s brow quirks in suspicion at the woman’s sudden interest in her appearance, yet she fails to notice, ‘we were not aware that you would be staying with us this evening…’

‘Yes, well,’ he maintains his composure, his words laced with ostensible cordiality, ‘when one’s sister is taken ill, it does not do well to dwell on pleasantries.’

‘Of course, Sir,’ she bows her head in acknowledgement, promptly remembering who is talking to, ‘and may I say that, on behalf of all of us at Edgewater, how very sorry we are to hear of the Countess’ condition.’ She shifts uncomfortably on her feet, her stoic gaze slowly darting to her counterpart before refocusing on the Viscount, ‘we pray that the mistress makes a speedy recovery.’

‘That is most kind, Ms. Thompson.’

His words show no malice, yet the sternness in his tone causes a feeling of uneasiness to settle in the housekeeper’s stomach. ‘It is nice to know that those who have found their vocation at the estate value the family that they work for.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, Sir,’ the Butler nods in agreement, his hands tucked neatly behind his back, ‘the Countess and Mr Sinclaire have been most generous and kind to us.’

‘Is that so?’ Without sparing his pretence a second thought, he replies through gritted teeth, his words laced with venom, ‘I am afraid that you have both left me in quite the predicament, Ms. Thompson.’

‘...We have?’

‘Oh yes,’ he ponders over to the dresser, his hand brazenly reaching for the decanter that lay atop the structure; he collects a glass from the cabinet before pouring himself a drink, being mindful as to refrain from causing any spillages. He takes a sip, the bittersweet aroma causing his nose to wrinkle as he turns his attention back to his present company. ‘You see, it was never my intent to pay you a visit,’ he sighs distastefully, taking a seat on a nearby armrest, ‘at least it was not until I overheard the rather heinous way you spoke about my sister and her husband.’

The housekeeper’s face grows pale, her mouth falling agape in surprise; she stumbles backwards, rapidly blinking as she is forced to process his words, as if disbelieving of what she has heard.

‘W-we never meant any harm -’

‘Whether or not your words were said out of spite is beside the point,’ he retorts with rashness, taking an authoritative step forward; he lifts the glass to his lips once more, taking a generous mouthful of the spirit, ‘you serve in the Countess’ household; your loyalty should lie with her ladyship.’

‘It does, Sir!’

‘Then may I ask why you took it upon yourselves to speak about the Countess and her husband in such a manner? To make such unfounded remarks about the father of the heir to Edgewater?’

The Butler and Housekeeper share a glance, their eyes filled with something too undistinguishable to convey. However, before they can ruminate a response, Harry interjects them, his voice thick with emotion.

‘I care not for your excuses,’ he closes his eyes momentarily, running a frustrated hand across his forehead, ‘but I would expect those in your positions to be more grateful and appreciative of working for a mistress as lovely and just as my sister.’ He glances over at his wife, his gaze softening as he bears witness to the sadness in her eyes. He greets her with a sorrowful smile, reaching forward to place a comforting hand on her arm, his anger quickly bubbling into resolve as he shifts his attention back to the others.

‘I will not tell Mr Sinclaire what has transpired here today.’

‘You are not going to say anything?’

He shakes his head slowly, his movement devoid of strength or willingness to continue the fight. The housekeeper takes this as her opportunity to close the distance, her expression alight with relief as she gasps in delight, the intonation in her voice accompanied by excitement and half-hearted gratitude.

‘Oh, thank you, Sir! We are ever so thankful for this chance to -’

‘I am not doing this for you,’ he interjects, his breath hitching slightly in his throat as he thinks back on the reason for his visit, ‘I am doing this for my sister…and for the man that she chose to marry.’ He exhales sharply, his emotions having taken more of a toll on his composure than he had initially thought. ‘Mr Sinclaire has already lost one wife during childbirth, and now he is faced with the possibility that his second may succumb to the same fate; that his daughter may have to grow up in a world without her mother, a similar path to which young Percival has had to travel once before.’ He clears his throat before continuing, his train of thought travelling back to his nephew. ‘That child has been through enough already, as has Mr Sinclaire, and I am not about to let your loose words affect them so.’

He places his tumbler on the table, the rim of the glass trembling from the forcefulness of the impact. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere more important to be.’ He tips his head in farewell, making swift work of the door before stepping out into the corridor, his final parting words rendering both parties speechless as he ponders over to the staircase. Teresa walks beside him, her footsteps light and bouncy as she matches his bearing.

‘You did very well.’

‘I did not do enough,’ he shakes his head in disbelief, running a tired hand across his face before collecting his chin in his palm. ‘They deserved so much more than a simple telling off.’

‘That may be true, but we are not here for them,’ she entwines her fingers with his, ghosting his knuckles with the pad of her thumb, ‘we are here for your sister, and that is where our attention and focus must now reside.’

The sincerity in her voice causes him to pause, the corner of his mouth curving into a wistful smile before he turns to look at her, his next few words spoken with cherishment and adoration.

‘I could not have said it better myself.’

[cntrspll]

this is a love letter to my own fic

hi hello hey, this is an essay about my own fic and the feelings i have about it. fic can be found here.

i am going to try so hard to keep this organized but i don’t know how well that will work soooo let’s go!

on the fic overall:

i just... like magnus. i think he is a fan fave for a reason, but i think there’s a lot of missing discussion of his post-canon situation and the development thereafter. when i finished listening to balance for the first time (in february-ish this year, i think?), i remember being super frustrated with where parts of the fandom had landed their focus. this isn’t an uncommon fandom thing, and i totally get where it comes from. some characters are just super relatable and a lot of fun to write about and have like absolute piles of stuff to unpack, so it’s totally fair that some characters get more focus than others, but where i felt that some of my faves got a lot of fandom focus, others... didn’t.

so this fic was in part an attempt to rectify that, because i wasn’t finding the unpacking of magnus and his emotional / mental state that i wanted. that being said, there are a couple fics that i did draw a little bit of inspiration from, the biggest probably being patterns of migration by goodnicepeople. the depiction of magnus as this big strong dude who also has these quiet vulnerabilities that he doesn’t like admitting to people is like, in part just really accurate to canon, but also something that i really wanted to see explored more, and i didn’t find a whole lot of other fics that fit that, so in part i just wanted to set out to put a little more into that.

also, like, i work in food service, and we are in a pandemic, and i moved in the middle of this year and i started hrt this year and have been dealing with the fallout of coming out and just kind of everything, and this fic was a really good way of just like, distracting myself from everything and sitting down for a little every day and thinking about something else and not so much about everything that was happening around me. so there is a good part of this fic that is just like, me coping with everything and trying to reorient myself a little. and it worked pretty well for that!

on process:

ok first things first, this was never meant to be 133k long. when i first sat down to write this, it was going to be a handful of snapshots set across [undetermined amount of time here] of magnus dealing with isolation and insomnia, and it was only meant to be like, maybe a 20k oneshot? that obviously did not happen. i think my original estimate once i accepted that this was gonna be multichaptered was like 60-70k, but then the chapters started getting longer with each one i finished, and then i wanted to add in an interlude, and then i decided i needed an epilogue, and here we are.

i’ll talk about this in other sections too, but as i wrote, i just kept finding more and more things that i wanted to talk about. i was also in the process of relistening to balance i was writing, and i kept running into little things that happened over the course of the show that i was like... oh shit! and that would inspire another scene or an interaction i wanted to write or something i wanted to focus more on, and the whole thing just kept getting more and more and bigger and bigger.

i’ve said it like 50 thousand times now, but i have never written anything this long before. i tried really hard to be regimented about the way i did it, because from the beginning i knew this was going to be an emotional journey for me to write, but i knew that if i let it slide for a week or so then i would never finish it. so to get through it, i wrote almost every day for a minimum of an hour. the process that i’ve found works best for me when i’m writing is using word sprints, putting on some music, and then forcing myself to tune out of social media and everything else for 25 minutes. i try to do between 750-1k words in that time period, then the site gives you a five minute break, during which i usually check twitter or fact check if i need to, and then i go back in and do another sprint. this works really well for me because i wasn’t trying to hit a specific word goal in any given day, just like... trying to sit down and write. i also tried not to guilt myself too much if i missed a day, or if i only did one sprint instead of two, or anything like that, and that’s kind of what helped me get through the whole monster without instantly dropping it as soon as i had another idea.

on mental health and recovery:

so one of my big personal pet peeves in fiction is the idea that trauma recovery is like, a one time single event deal. like, someone has this big horrible thing happen to them or they have some pressing mental health issue and then someone else walks in and they have one conversation and bam, everything is fine. i was exposed to a lot of [fan]fiction when i was younger that kind of supported this kind of narrative, and i get that there is a certain sort of wish fulfillment thing to that, but it also sucks, being an adult and having Problems(TM) and knowing that it absolutely does not work like that.

so when i set out to write a fic about trauma and mental illness and recovery, i felt kind of a responsibility to not fall into that trap and write it like, okay and then magnus and taako talk about it and taako’s like hey dude you’re depressed but it’s okay and then magnus doesn’t have nightmares anymore. also, because this is taz and the canon of like, historical accuracy is complete bullshit, i can put therapists and psychiatry and psychiatric medications in my fic and no one can tell me i’m wrong and it doesn’t exist. elevators exist, so i can make ssris and anti anxiety pills exist.

but also, magnus as a character is not going to jump into that right away. it is canon fact that he doesn’t like accepting or asking for help with stuff like this, and yes there are a couple big moments where he does, but like i bring up a couple times in the fic, mental health struggles are a big jump from like, a physical fight using swords and axes and shit. and this i think is really accurate to a lot of people’s struggles with mental illness, just taking that first step and admitting that you don’t feel okay, and that you need someone’s help to deal with it. that’s super super scary even to admit to like, your closest friends.

so that’s why magnus kind of shies away a number of times from some of the conversations that people try to start with him about mental health. taako and carey and lucretia and pretty much everyone else approach him at some point about opening up about this stuff, but he pulls away because admitting that kind of vulnerability to someone else is super scary, even if you’ve maybe admitted it to yourself already.

i also wanted to make sure that at the end of the fic, he wasn’t magically better. this is something else that i think people kind of forget, like... trauma and the problems that it causes don’t go away just because of therapy and medication. those things help, they help you reform the ways you think about yourself and about the world, but they don’t change the struggles you’ve been through or the sometimes biological problems that are causing whatever issue you’re having. and i remember reading a lot of fic when i was a kid where someone would be depressed, and then they’d fall in love and get magic dick or something and then they’d never be sad again, which... isn’t great.

but at the same time, i didn’t want it to end on this note like, oh everything is still bad even though he worked so hard to open up and get help, because that sucks, too. so it was really important to me that the fic end on a hopeful note, like, magnus isn’t cured. he still has bad days and bad weeks and sometimes he is just as low as he was before, but he also has like, normal days, which is something that i think you kind of forget can even exist when you’re depressed, or when you’re dealing with any mental illness. but like, i really wanted it to be obvious that things did get better and even if he’s still coping with it and it’s not going away, he’s okay. he’s gonna be all right.

on an unreliable narrator:

this kind of plays into some of the mental health stuff, but one thing that i love about taz that i really wanted to play into with this fic is the idea of limited perspective. griffin does some really cool fucking things with this, specifically in relation to the ipre and the big reveal in the last lunar interlude, with the idea of like... a character can only know the things that they know. like, magnus knows that there is a picture of him depicted as a red robe, and barry knows that they’re all red robes, and taako knows that they found the umbra staff next to a red robed skeleton and that the umbrella spelled out lup at one point, but none of them necessarily know all the things that the other person knew, and none of them know all the things that lucretia knows or that fisher knows or junior knows, etc etc.

unfortunately, just because the pace of the story picks up so much in that last lunar interlude, there isn’t a whole lot of space to explore that like, disconnect between all these facts that they each have as individuals. and given the perspective of mental health and the way that plays into your perceptions of yourself and your perceptions of other people’s perceptions, i really wanted to delve into like… magnus’s misunderstandings.

this is not a strictly straightforward unreliable narrator situation, but i did bring in some elements of that. i really wanted to explore the disconnect between how magnus sees and how everyone else sees him and his issues. there are also a couple moments where he flat out completely misinterprets their intentions, which unfortunately i didn’t delve into as much as i wanted to so they ended up mostly being fun easter eggs for, uh… me? i guess?

one of those moments is the scene in ch 4 where barry and magnus are sitting in the kitchen and barry starts to ask magnus something. magnus assumes it’s going to be about his mental health, and that this is barry stepping up as representative for everyone else to talk to him about it, but it’s really meant to be a precursor to their conversation in ch 6 where they talk about barry and lup and marriage and proposals.

magnus gets a little perspective on this later, i think in ch 7(?) where he’s thinking about how maybe their lives don’t completely revolve around him and he’s missing some of their perspective. but like, they all have their own shit going on, and they all love him and they’re worried about him, but also, barry is thinking about lup. lup is thinking about taako. taako is thinking about lucretia. lucretia is thinking about davenport, and davenport is thinking about his own issues, and so on and so on and they’re not all just like… waiting to pounce on magnus the second he shows weakness.

a lot of that plays into the hypervigilance of ptsd, too. magnus is very aware of any perceived threat, and he sometimes treats the people around him as threats, when all they’re doing in reality is thinking like, man i wish he didn’t live out here by himself all the time.

on a more meta note, i also have a tendency to make every character i write just like, a super good judge of character. i don’t think magnus is that, and i really wanted to lean into that. magnus does not read intention super well, even when that intention is genuinely good.

on the ipre and their relationships:

so i… really don’t write gen fic a lot. even when i do, it is almost always tinged with a little bit of background shipping, and there is some of that in this, but whereas in most fandoms i end up being a multishipper, for some reason with taz i’ve ended up pretty much only caring about the canon ships (sorry…). that being said, the platonic relationships in taz (and especially in balance) are some of the most compelling and important fictional relationships that i’ve ever encountered. like, they are just really well fucking done.

this being the magnus love letter that it is, i really wanted to focus on magnus’s distinct relationships with every member of the ipre crew. i don’t know how obvious this is in the actual narrative, but with the exception of the interlude and the epilogue, the story is broken down into one chapter for each member of the starblaster crew (in order, magnus, taako, merle, davenport, barry, lucretia, lup). i did this specifically because it was really important to me that i dive into all of them and their particular issues. i didn’t quite get the deep dive with merle or davenport that i would’ve liked to, but hopefully in the future i’ll get more time to explore that.

anyway, in case it isn’t obvious, lup is probably my favorite fictional character literally ever in any media created by anyone in the history of time. i say this only because a lot of this fic was set up to build to the conversation between her and magnus in ch 8 out on the mountain where he finally opens up for the first time. there are some really incredible unexplored parallels and relationships in taz (unexplored mainly because like, where would it even fit in canon), and while some of them are super self indulgent (ie, lup and mags, barry and mags), i really really really wanted to dig into those a little more. things like the conversation where taako is talking about everyone brushing over his trauma to rush to forgive lucretia, or lucretia talking about trying to learn to love writing again and recognize happy moments, davenport almost admitting that he’s not completely sure about stepping back into the family in his former role… i could write an entire fic on any of these, really.

but ultimately, this being a magnus fic, i tried to filter those conversations through a perspective of two things: first, how does this affect magnus and his mental health journey, and second, what can magnus do to help this. those scenes where magnus is trying to help someone with something and they’re like, backhandedly helping him are some of my favorite interactions in the fic.

the other thing i really really really wanted to explore that i never see enough of in fic is magnus and carey’s relationship. carey is canonically magnus’s best friend, and yet in fic i feel like she gets pushed to the side a little in favor of the starblaster crew. which i get, they’ve got a hundred and ten years of shared trauma, but also, travis flat out states that carey is magnus’s best friend, so… i mean, there is also a little bit of self indulgence here, because i am also a man who is exclusively best friends with lesbians, but you know.

that being said, i really wanted to emphasize that relationship in particular, which is why carey doesn’t have her own dedicated chapter and instead kind of slides in and out of each one and slowly helps magnus along the way. her personality i also feel is like, the exact kind of thing that magnus needs to push him into accepting / asking for help and moving towards recovery.

on real life parallels:

ok, i swear to god i did not intend to make this a holiday fic posted during the holidays. i started writing this in june, and again, it was only meant to be like 20k and not necessarily entirely set during candlenights. that kind of happened, anyway? candlenights just seemed like the best vessel to get all these characters whose post-canon situations i wanted to explore into the same room, and i finished the first draft around mid october and i wanted to give myself plenty of time for editing, so it honestly just ended up coincidentally aligning with the holidays. go figure.

that being said, isolation ended up featuring pretty heavily in this fic. that i think is to be expected to a certain degree given the nature of mental health and recovery and blah blah blah, but i probably unintentionally ended up leaning into it a little more because like… this year. and the holidays tend to be a time that a lot of us feel really isolated, and this year especially, but one of the big things for me this year is that like, all of my friends live out of state. the closest one to me is still a good 2-3 hour plane ride, which i am absolutely not risking. i had like a hundred plans to go see people and do things this year, and those obviously got cancelled.

probably the biggest one of those things was seeing a friend who i have kind of started a new years tradition of seeing, but we ended up calling that off out of safety considerations, of course. and it sucks! it’s not fun! i also moved out this year and i have my own place and in june i was really hoping that things would be okay by now and i could have all my friends come in from out of town for new years and that didn’t happen. and i wasn’t intending for this fic to be a kind of wish fulfillment of like, here’s my new place post-[saving the universe / coming out and becoming a real person], let me show my found family around my hometown and let’s make new holiday traditions together now that we’re no longer [fighting the apocalypse / literal children] and everything will be fun and happy and good, but that is kind of what happened anyway. [insert joke here that goes like “do you project your real world problems and mental health issues onto fictional characters or are you normal?”]

but yeah, magnus’s mental health struggles did kind of accidentally become a little bit of a pandemic / quarantine life parallel. i did not mean for that to happen, but it did help me tease out a little bit of what it is that i feel like i’m missing and what i want in the future when things are better, and i hope it helped some other people figure that stuff out too, maybe?

and in conclusion:

i said this a little bit in the final notes in the fic, but i am so so so grateful and emotional over the comments i’ve gotten from some of you. i’ve said it already, but this was such an emotional rollercoaster for me to write. i put a decent amount of my own mental health issues into the stuff i wrote into magnus, and it was genuinely therapeutic and like… super helpful and important. it was also a big struggle, and there were some scenes i came out of feeling incredibly drained and like i needed to not write for a week.

so that being said, those of you who have commented things about how this fic helped you deal with your own emotional turmoil or helped put something in perspective for you, i am genuinely so happy to hear that i’ve impacted you in that way like, at all. that is so incredible to me, and not necessarily what i set out to do, but it means so much to hear someone say that and also to know that someone felt comfortable sharing that with a stranger on the internet. thank you so so so much.

again, this fic means so much to me. the fact that it’s impacted even a handful of people in that way is absolutely amazing. some of the things you guys have said have had me seriously choked up. i am so glad that anyone even took the time to read all 133k of this, let alone that it affected people like that.

i don’t know if i’ll be writing more about magnus in this universe. i would love to! but i’m also super happy with where i’ve left his story. i have plans to explore the calen thing in the future, but only kind of tangentially in a side mention and not fully, so who knows? there is more though, a lot with taako and kravitz and lup and barry and hopefully one day i will find the motivation somewhere in me to flesh out everyone else’s situations a little more, too. who knows!

anyway, i just want to say thanks again to everyone for reading, and even more so if you are reading this dumb essay. you’re super cool.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Try It On, Take It Off - Orson Krennic x Reader (Rogue One)

100 Sentence Challenge Request

Orson Krennic + 95 -  “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Requested by @mysticaltimemachinewench

Author’s Note: Roll with the idea of Halloween and October 31st being things in the Star Wars universe just for this fic, please! This boy is so whiny, I spent all week writing for him last week and he’s still like “write more!” so, I thought I’d post one. It’s because he’s all the bottom of my drafts now I’m sure of it. Boots & Boys - Kesha  Okay, so I was looking for songs to do with dressing up. And I found a bunch of cute love songs about wearing your SOs clothing, but... This one is fun and I needed fun for the premise-!

Disclaimer: Rogue One Characters/SW Universe not mine. / Requested  premise / lyrics & gifs not mine.

Premise: Every Halloween it’s the same thing, and Krennic is sick of people dressing like him. This year he’s determined to get to the bottom of things...

Words: 2010

Warnings: Swearing / Sexual connotations/Pre-Amble

_____

Think it's time that I mention I've got myself an obsession For the smell, for the touch I know I've got myself a habit But I gotta have it now I don't care where, work it out Let me break it down I try it on, I take it off So what you got? Something 'bout boots and boys They bring me so much joy I gotta say I wear 'em both so pretty as I walk in the city Give me boots and boys I'm keeping quite the collection Take nothing less than perfection My men drop beats like a bomb Wind me up, spin me round Oh, lookie what I found (ooh!) I'm crazy for you, crazy for you Hey hey, whatcha looking at? Hey hey, something you can't have They've got me looking rad You feeling that?

---

October 31st was always a date Krennic hated seeing in his calendar. The Death Star had not been a project spanning months by any stretch of the imagination. Orson was many, many years into this – and he was now accustomed to his workers Halloween traditions. He couldn’t say it wasn’t one of the reasons he was glad that it was nearing completion. That, and he might finally get the recognition he deserved. At least for now he had you. Given, you were relatively new to the project when he looked at the timeline as a whole, but you were certainly a necessary piece – and Krennic actually liked you. A lot of the other employees, if he were honest with himself, he actually could have done without. Which is probably why you’d grown close – and then maybe a little too close. But Orson wasn’t going back on that now. This was the day Krennic didn’t want to leave his office – inevitably, it was also the day that everyone would have him chasing all over the structure. Why? Oh, because they all knew how much he hated today too! So as soon as the email pinged in from the other side of the Death Star, Krennic tried everything he could to get them to come to him, or to send him documents, pictures, anything that meant he didn’t have to go on an annoyingly long walk. Orson used practically every persuasive trick in the book, to no avail. Eventually he had to concede rising from his desk, sighing angrily, and gathering his things to head to the problem. Almost immediately he was assaulted with the kind of visuals he’d become accustomed to. It seemed every other person on this damned vessel took today to dress up as him. Now, whilst dressing in the full white Intelligence Bureau tunic would have been against protocol and would have meant he could reprimand them, everyone decided to wear capes of various different colours instead. Some, like his, matched their uniforms – and if it wasn’t also for the fact they copied the way he walked and carried himself, with an unconvincing attempt at his accent and speech patterns, he’d find it quite tasteful. Krennic would almost be flattered, he supposed - perhaps even feel like a trend setter – had the crew not being doing it for any other reason than to mock him. God forbid any of them attempt Lexrulian; one day it was going to make his ears bleed. Others decided to wear their ‘capes’ in the gaudiest colours imaginable, and sometimes Orson felt like he was going to be physically ill just staring at them.

Still, technically all of this was against regulation – and although he probably couldn’t take on the entire staff and win, he took pleasure in chastising those he disliked most. “Isn’t that a little against your uniform regulation?” “Take that off now – before I have you reported.” “Next time I catch you in something like this, you’re off the project.” Annoyingly, he could never keep how irked he was out of his voice – and they took great joy out of that, and never bothered hiding it. When they did take these ridiculous attempts at mocking him off (Though it worked. He supposed.), Krennic knew they’d be pulled back on before he rounded the next corner – but for now at least, Orson could be smug in his little bit of power. The fact he could actually force the crew to remove them. He often pondered how this started. Tarkin, he had no doubt. Krennic wasn’t going to blame himself after all, he knew his uniform looked damn good. He just wasn’t fool enough to think this was respectful admiration. Eventually he reached the person who emailed him and, as predicted, it was an easy fix that Krennic could have done in less than five minutes on his tablet back in his office. The Director almost punished them on the spot for that, but by this time was already too pissed off with the situation to trust himself not to lose complete control. Not that that didn’t happen a lot, especially when everything was stalling – but today that was what everyone wanted. ‘If I see another bad attempt at ridiculing my uniform I’ll scream…’  Orson’s jaw was beginning to ache with the way he was tightening it. Half way back to his office, Krennic took a detour. By now he really was yelling at people – Orson was this close to drawing weapons and kicking them off the station, Project Stardust be damned. Desperately seeking respite, he wandered back to his quarters and as the corridors began to quieten, scuffled along in his boots, sulking. ‘What did I ever do to deserve this-!?’ Reaching the door to his room, Krennic gave a small smile – he would receive relief in here. Well at least she will be sweet... I can tell her my frustrations and she’ll sympathize… As Krennic keyed himself in and the door slid open, he realised just how wrong he could be. You were walking up and down the main room and studying yourself in about every reflective surface you could find. If this wasn’t you, Krennic would have blown it, and immediately all his irritations came flooding back. You were, of course – with access to his wardrobe - pacing around in his uniform. Full Intelligence white, rank bar included. Sure, the sleeves were rolled up – which pained him because it’d take an age to get those creases out - and the cape was a little long for you, but, you had the whole thing on, right down to the boots. Usually Krennic might smirk and call you out on wearing his clothes, after all you did look good in his tailored shirts. Any other day of the week he’d probably be pretty turned on right now. But NOT today. As the door slid closed behind him and beeped locked, you whirled around. The cape moved with you and your eyes fell to it; immediately distracted. Krennic’s uniform was gorgeous on him, but the feeling of power you got when wearing it for yourself was indescribable. You liked running your hands over it – the feeling of the fabric between your fingers very nearly bordering obsessive with your need to do it at every chance you could; it was so perfectly weighted that, in all honesty, the tailoring was a marvel to you. You always made a mental note to thank the designers and sewers for their impeccable work. (On Orson’s entire wardrobe, actually.) “Director.” You presented yourself and looked back to him, “What do you think?” Orson very nearly shivered, and if he wasn’t so pissed he’d probably have let himself. That was Lexrulian – and compared to everything else he’d heard today, was very nearly music to his ears. “What are you doing-!?” There was a snap in the undertone of his voice – agitated, to match the way his jaw tightened. You answered cheerily, nonetheless. “It’s Halloween. So, I’m you! I mean you could be me if you wanted, but I’m not sure the uniform would fit-!” You giggled slightly at the mental image of him in your tight black jacket – no, maybe it wouldn’t fit properly, but it might look really good. If only for a second. Although Krennic was glaring at you by now. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, is all this YOUR idea-!?” For a moment you looked innocent, “No! You mean the fact everyone else does it? I didn’t start it, but I felt I could damn well finish it. Besides, LOOK!, I can do it better than everyone else!” “No! No! Y/N-!” You scrambled up onto the table, and cleared your throat. It was clear to Krennic you’d been practicing, because you had his stance down and his mannerisms almost perfect. He was almost impressed. “The POWER we are dealing with here is immeasurable! Single reactor ignition would be just an inkling of it’s true destructive potential! And I will not fail!” He blinked slowly, thinking you were mixing up at least three of his previous conversations there. There was a long pause before Krennic stepped forward, pointing at you. “GET. DOWN! Do you have any idea how expensive that table was-!?” “Awwww, Orson, c’mon!!” “I’m NOT impressed, GET DOWN!” “Baaabe.” “Don’t whine..!” You backed up just out of his reach, even your best innocent eyes weren’t saving you today – he must have been furious. “But it took me so long, I’ve tried on all the variants, I tried on your dress uniform even-! And it isn’t complete without the cape, and the rain one doesn’t have a patch on the glory of this one!! I thought it wouldn’t drag if I put on my heeled boots, but that didn’t get the look right either! And it’s you – so, it had to be perfect…” Your eyes glittered gently as you tried to plead with him, “I thought if I did it properly, it might make you smile. That it might be more… respectful. I dunno I-” He cut you off, demanding, “OFF. THE. TABLE.” “Well, what are you gonna do-!?!” Krennic was quick on his feet, and even though you’d backed yourself up he still managed to grab your wrist and drag you down. You might have been in his uniform, but you were nowhere near his height; and you might have had his traits down, but you didn’t have his strength either. Meaning within seconds he had you shoved up against a wall – with a squeak – before his lips were on yours, wrists pinned by your sides. He might have been angry, but that only made this kiss hotter, and you practically melted into him. Orson was showing you absolutely no mercy – and you weren’t sure if you really deserved it, but you were at least a little glad of it. Eventually he pulled away from you; leaving you gasping and panting for breath. But you whined, wanting more from him. “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Krennic had, many a time. Which is one of the reasons you wanted to do this, because he might feel a little better if you were doing it right. Clearly you were in the wrong ballpark. You thought about nodding in admittance, but thought maybe continuing to be playful would get you what you wanted. “Don’t think you did – maybe you did. You should remind me.” “Oh, I think I will.” His smirk was back as you let him run his hands through the fastenings of the tunic and unzip your pants. Oh, yeah, he wanted this uniform off bad. You bit your lip, “It does look sexy on you though, is it surprising everyone wants to copy it? I mean I like trying it on and taking it off.” Orson nipped your neck, eliciting a gasp from you; “Evidently I might too.” Then he chuckled at your sigh, running his hands over your warm skin, “That doesn’t make me hate today any less. I mean it’s hardly tribute, is it?” You tipped your head, “I mean, I tried.” “Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear that mocking tone.” He grazed his lips to yours, and it was hardly rewarding, you pined for more but he held you away from him – still immobilized against the wall, “Still, I’ll admit so much… you do look very pretty in white.” You did very nearly blush, but knew that his mind wouldn’t be going to something as virtuous as weddings or dresses; probably a different kind of white lace altogether. “Can I keep the cape at least?” Maybe he’d enjoy you wearing that and very little else. That would be like a ‘sexy’ Halloween costume, would it not? Even if it was just for him. Maybe that’s what Krennic needed if he detested today so much. He growled, kissing you again before you let him slide the jacket from your shoulders and it fell to the floor; “If you’re good, we’ll see.”

--- Thank you very much for reading! It’s been a while since Krennic has been posted too, I’ll admit! 🙏❤

2/16 down!

[burntmcnuggies]

A Hopeless Fight

Yandere Levi x Reader

Warning: this story contains blood, gore, and suggestive themes such as kidnapping, murder, non-consensual touching, forced sex, and drug usage. You guys have been warned! Now all of you who wanna read! Please enjoy! :D

Chapter Two: Betrayal

“Thank you, nurse (Y/N)!”

“Wow! You draw so good!”

“You’re my favorite nurse!”

All of the ill little kids ran around me happily with pictures of themselves I had drawn for them just moments ago. Their happy laughs warmed my heart, a feeling I would never forget. “Well, I hope to one day become your doctor. Sadly my little brother passed away from Lung cancer. I’ve made it my goal to help those with similar issues. Someday... I hope to find a cure for the diseases, and help people just like you guys, live a long and happy life.” The beautiful sparkle in their eyes spoke a million words to me. Admiration, happiness, enthusiasm, and most of all... hope. I kneeled down and smiled, opening my arms for the sweet kids to embrace. They came to me with happy smiles and childish giggles before enveloping me in a warm hug. I wrapped my arms around as many as I could, before grinning playfully. “Oh no... what’s this? Oh no! The tickle monster has escaped! Everyone run to the beds!”

The children energetically ran to the beds shouting and laughing happily while their small bodies climbed up into their hospital beds. It was getting close to their treatment time, and I need all of them to be good while the other doctors came in and administered their chemotherapy or steroids and antibiotics. “Alright now, you guys be good. I trapped the tickle monster for now, but if he hears another peep... or complaint by the doctors...” I pulled my hand up with a smile and moved my fingers towards them, wiggling them wildly like a spider. The kids laughed and shouted a flurry of protests to my hand. I brought up my other hand and took a step forward wiggling both my hands and fingers. “I may just let him go to tickle all those naughty children!!” I smiled warmly at their small giggles and childish protests and pleas for me not to bring the tickle monster back. A short laugh came fell from my lips hearing them so happy, so cheerful and lively. Just how my brother was until his last moments. “Goodbye, children. I’ll see you all later, alright?”

“Ok! Bye Nurse (Y/N)!”

“A-Ah! Nurse (Y/N)!” I turned hearing the familiar voice of Dr. Zöe’s assistant, Moblit. Poor man seemed like he hasn’t slept in what appeared to be days. Dark droopy circles were under his eyes, but I could tell by the way his pupils were dilated he had most likely been chugging caffeine like crazy. “Oh, hey Moblit! What’s up? You seem in a rush.” He looked quite frantic, I wonder if something happened?he had an entire box full of medical supplies in his hands. I took a peek inside and realized it was the medicine for the children. Ah, so that’s why he looks so frantic. Before he could open his tired mouth I stopped him. “The children should be all good now, Moblit. I’ve put them in their beds and they should behave while you and some other doctors give them their meds.”

He sighed in relief. “You’re really the best, (Y/N).” He caught a few other doctors in the hallway and called them to help him administer the medicine faster. I only gave him a smile and waved goodbye as the dirty blonde and a team of lower ranked doctors walked calmly into the room. I turned on my heel to start down the hallway towards my next task, before Moblit stopped me. “Oh! I forgot to tell you! Hanji would like to see you in her office.” I tilted my head a bit in confusion. Just an hour ago at lunch she had assigned me a couple tasks to do before I went home. Maybe she needed my help with something? Or a new task for me to complete. “Oh ok! Thank you, Moblit! And get some sleep tonight! You need it!” He just smiled sheepishly and waved bye as he disappeared behind the sliding glass doors.

I began my journey towards Hanji’s office, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit paranoid walking down the hallways. After learning that a serial killer was evident in town from the news, I couldn’t help but feel extra cautious. No one has seen this suspicious and stealthy individual. Is it a man? A woman? All I know is, they knew what they were doing. There was no evidence whatsoever linking anyone to the crimes at all. Nothing. The wave of paranoia washed over my body like a tide coming in during the night. Rough, unexpected, and dangerous. The tides have been known to drag people into rip currents and drag them far below the surface. These currents also known as curiosity. You couldn’t help but wonder the motives of the person behind all of this. Pleasure? Revenge? A sadistic nature? It was all confusing. Taking a human life, even thinking of the heinous crime made vomit rise in my throat.

I shook my head firmly and swallowed thickly, pushing the repulsive thoughts to the back of my brain to be revisited at a possibly later date. My eyes trained on everyone I passed by. Any one of these people could be the murderer, playing a façade to trick innocent people. You could never be too careful, however, I would soon pay the price for my carelessness. I finally arrived at Hanji’s office and gave three firm knocks, awaiting a response from the messy-haired brunette. A faint reply came from the other side of the wooden door, and I carefully pushed it open, closing it behind me before I made my way to the chair opposite of her mahogany desk. She looked quite distressed, which was unusual for the eccentric woman.

“Hey Hanji, what’s up? You seem a little out of it. Are you okay?” I noticed a thin layer of sweat graced her forehead, and her muscles were oddly tense. Her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting, whether it be with each other or anxiously pulling at loose hangnails. During my studies at med school, I quickly identified the signs. Nervousness. It was very out of character for Hanji. In all honesty, it made me more paranoid than I already was. “I’m fine, (Y/N). I promise you. There’s an ambulance coming in a few minutes with a couple bags of blood. It’s not like we need them, but it’s always good to be over prepared right?” I hesitated before I nodded. Why was she acting so strange? Is she just as bothered by the news earlier than I am? At lunch she seemed fine, why now? “Would you mind assisting me?”

“Oh! Sure! When’s the ambulance coming?”

“Soon. We should head down now just to ensure that we’re there in time so we can get that blood cold.”

I have her a small fake smile and nodded. Her fingers calmed for a brief moment before she began to type on her computer, pushing her glasses up to her head. Usually l could always see what she was doing from the reflection off her glasses. It was never anything bad, usually writing up reports or checking on patients. It was almost like she was hiding something. “You’re too smart for your own good sometimes, (Y/N).” I perked up hearing the sudden compliment come from her. The last click of the keys was heard and she closed her laptop, slipping her glasses back over her eyes. “Pardon?” I questioned, a bit taken aback by her sudden compliment about me smart. She smiled with a laugh and skipped on over to me, patting my back harshly as if I were choking on something. “I said you’re smart! I’m incredibly lucky to have such an amazing med student going to work for me in the future!”

“Ow, that kinda hurt a little! But thank you Hanji! I’m very excited to finish up and come back to work here full time.” Maybe I was just being too paranoid. There was no way Hanji could be worried. She’s a bit scary when she wants to be. Maybe she’s just having a bit of a stressful day? We strolled down the corridors towards the East wing of the hospital, talking about nothing in particular. When we reached the stairs Hanji had grown painfully quiet. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Why was she being so quiet all of a sudden. “Geez... I’m so tired. Maybe I should finally get some sleep tonight!” She turned back to me and showed me a tired and lazy smile. I nodded in agreement, flashing a kind smile back towards her. “Yeah. You work yourself to death here Hanji. It’s very admirable, but you’re still human too.”

“Guess you’re right! Here we are!” She opened the doors to the loading area where nurses and other hospital staff were usually down here loading boxes, stocking shelves, and collecting deliveries. However, it was empty. I tilted my head in confusion. “Where is everybody?” Hanji waved off my question with a sly grin as she waited now enthusiastically for the ambulance to arrive. Her mood swings were a bit alarming. Maybe she really is just too tired and she’s trying to act like her usual self. Not the first time I’ve seen it, but this time her kids swings were more frequent and clear. “Ah, I let them go home early half an hour ago. This is the last shipment for today that called last minute. Didn’t wanna call them back! We’re strong, confident, independent women! We can do this by ourselves!”

I roll my eyes and smile patiently waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Soon, the square looking vehicle had rounded the circular pavement and stopped right near the door. A man got out of the front of the car, rather short I had to admit. He wore a hat that covered a majority of his face, and dark sunglasses. He wore some scrubs, which was very uncommon for someone in an ambulance. Usually they would wear similar outfits as policemen, however there would be differences in the patchwork on their shirts. The man approached us and nodded, tipping his hat to Hanji as a silent greeting. I placed a fake smile on my lips while Hanji went to grab the clipboard from his hand.

“(Y/N)! Could you go grab the boxes from the truck!” I gave her a firm nod and opened the doors of the ambulance, my eyes instantly falling upon a couple styrofoam boxes. I hopped up into the chilly space of the square-like space and made my way to the boxes. The boxes were a bit heavy, but I assumed there were at least 10 pints in each. Only three boxes in total. I made my way out of the ambulance and watched Hanji and the man from the ambulance talk. “Thanks, (Y/N)! I’ve gotta talk to my friend for a minute so keep working without me!” I placed the box down near the door and walked back towards the two. The man quickly snapped his head towards me and I couldn’t help but flinch in surprise. “Oh sorry! Don’t mind him! He’s a hit on edge from all the murder talk...”

“Oh! No I totally get it, sorry if I startled you sir.” I smiled at him and went back to work grabbing the last two boxes. During those few minutes, I could feel a pair of eyes penetrating my skull with every move I made. I took a couple glances and noticed a pair of dark covered eyes following me whenever I moved. A chill went down my spine. Something seemed off, something just wasn’t quite right. When I picked up the last box, it wasn’t even the least bit heavy. I tilted my head in confusion before I turned around. I took a blind step forward before I came to my senses and saw the short guy in scrubs standing and blocking my way out of the car. “Ah, excuse me, sir.” I said politely and smiled towards him. The man still refused to move. Now it was getting suspicious.

I stepped forwards a bit and attempted to get past him, but suddenly something sharp stabbed my neck. I jerked quickly away in pain and dropped the box, noticing a syringe in the mans hand, without any liquid in it. My body began to feel woozy, and I stumbled a bit feeling my body going numb. “What... did you do... to me...?” The man caught me swiftly when I began to fall, and he easily threw me into the back of the ambulance. I groaned in pain and gasped weakly at the sudden pain that erupted from my side. My vision was beginning to blur, but I could focus just enough to make out their faces. Hanji and the man stood at the foot of the ambulance, both just staring at me. “Well done! I didn’t think you would actually be able to hit her correctly with the needle!”

Hanji...? What’s going on?

“Tch, shut up shitty glasses. The main thing is that she’s in the truck.” Why? Why Hanji?! Why are you doing this?! Suddenly, I could barely feel the edge of the ambulance dip as they both climbed back in to come to me. The man took off the hat and glasses, and revealed his face to me. It was Corporal Levi, the man who was supposed to be solving the case of the serial killer. Wait... does that mean?! “Gotta hand it to you, brat. You’re not as stupid as you look.” He grabbed my hair and tugged my face up. I winced weakly and felt my vision slowly start to fade. I could still hear faint voices, but they seemed so far away. Hanji’s regretful face was the last thing I saw. My friend... or so I thought. “I’m really sorry, (Y/N). But... like I said earlier, you’re just too smart for your own good.”

And I lost consciousness, with a heavy burden on my heart. Sadness bubbling in my chest. My mind was plagued with one singular thought.

The reasoning behind my friends betrayal.

[waltereliasmickey]

Here is The Walt Disney Company’s official biography of Walter Elias Disney, born 119 years ago.

During a 43-year Hollywood career, which spanned the development of the motion picture medium as a modern American art, Walter Elias Disney, a modern Aesop, established himself and his product as a genuine part of Americana.

David Low, the late British political cartoonist, called Disney "the most significant figure in graphic arts since Leonardo." A pioneer and innovator, and the possessor of one of the most fertile imaginations the world has ever known, Walt Disney, along with members of his staff, received more than 950 honors and citations from throughout the world, including 48 Academy Awards® and 7 Emmys® in his lifetime. Walt Disney's personal awards included honorary degrees from Harvard, Yale, the University of Southern California, and UCLA; the Presidential Medal of Freedom; France's Legion of Honor and Officer d'Academie decorations; Thailand's Order of the Crown; Brazil's Order of the Southern Cross; Mexico's Order of the Aztec Eagle; and the Showman of the World Award from the National Association of Theatre Owners.

The creator of Mickey Mouse of Mickey Mouse and founder of Disneyland and Walt Disney World was born in Chicago, Illinois, on December 5, 1901. His father, Elias Disney, was an Irish-Canadian. His mother, Flora Call Disney, was of German-American descent. Walt was one of five children, four boys and a girl.

Raised on a farm near Marceline, Missouri, Walt early became interested in drawing, selling his first sketches to neighbors when he was only seven years old. At McKinley High School in Chicago, Disney divided his attention between drawing and photography, contributing both to the school paper. At night he attended the Academy of Fine Arts.

During the fall of 1918, Disney attempted to enlist for military service. Rejected because he was only 16 years of age, Walt joined the Red Cross and was sent overseas, where he spent a year driving an ambulance and chauffeuring Red Cross officials. His ambulance was covered from stem to stern, not with stock camouflage, but with drawings and cartoons.

After the war, Walt returned to Kansas City, where he began his career as an advertising cartoonist. Here, in 1920, he created and marketed his first original animated cartoons, and later perfected a new method for combining live-action and animation.

In August of 1923, Walt Disney left Kansas City for Hollywood with nothing but a few drawing materials, $40 in his pocket and a completed animated and live-action film. Walt's brother Roy O. Disney was already in California, with an immense amount of sympathy and encouragement, and $250. Pooling their resources, they borrowed an additional $500 and constructed a camera stand in their uncle's garage. Soon, they received an order from New York for the first "Alice Comedy" short, and the brothers began their production operation in the rear of a Hollywood real estate office two blocks away.

On July 13, 1925, Walt married one of his first employees, Lillian Bounds, in Lewiston, Idaho. They were blessed with two daughters — Diane, married to Ron Miller, former president and chief executive officer of Walt Disney Productions; and Sharon Disney Lund, formerly a member of Disney's Board of Directors. The Millers have seven children and Mrs. Lund had three. Mrs. Lund passed away in 1993.

Mickey Mouse was created in 1928, and his talents were first used in a silent cartoon entitled Plane Crazy. However, before the cartoon could be released, sound burst upon the motion picture screen. Thus Mickey made his screen debut in Steamboat Willie, the world's first fully synchronized sound cartoon, which premiered at the Colony Theatre in New York on November 18, 1928.

Walt's drive to perfect the art of animation was endless. Technicolor® was introduced to animation during the production of his "Silly Symphonies." In 1932, the film entitled Flowers and Trees won Walt the first of his 32 personal Academy Awards®. In 1937, he released The Old Mill, the first short subject to utilize the multiplane camera technique.

On December 21 of that same year, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the first full-length animated musical feature, premiered at the Carthay Circle Theatre in Los Angeles. Produced at the unheard of cost of $1,499,000 during the depths of the Great Depression, the film is still accounted as one of the great feats and imperishable monuments of the motion picture industry. During the next five years, Walt completed such other full-length animated classics as Pinocchio, Fantasia, Dumbo and Bambi.

In 1940, construction was completed on Disney's Burbank studio, and the staff swelled to more than 1,000 artists, animators, story men and technicians.

During World War II, 94 percent of the Disney facilities were engaged in special government work including the production of training and propaganda films for the armed services, as well as health films which are still shown throughout the world by the U.S. State Department. The remainder of his efforts were devoted to the production of comedy short subjects, deemed highly essential to civilian and military morale.

Disney's 1945 feature, the musical The Three Caballeros, combined live action with the cartoon medium, a process he used successfully in such other features as Song of the South and the highly acclaimed Mary Poppins. In all, 81 features were released by the studio during his lifetime.

Walt's inquisitive mind and keen sense for education through entertainment resulted in the award-winning "True-Life Adventure" series. Through such films as The Living Desert, The Vanishing Prairie, The African Lion and White Wilderness, Disney brought fascinating insights into the world of wild animals and taught the importance of conserving our nation's outdoor heritage.

Disneyland, launched in 1955 as a fabulous $17 million Magic Kingdom, soon increased its investment tenfold and entertained, by its fourth decade, more than 400 million people, including presidents, kings and queens and royalty from all over the globe.

A pioneer in the field of television programming, Disney began production in 1954, and was among the first to present full-color programming with his Wonderful World of Color in 1961. The Mickey Mouse Club and Zorro were popular favorites in the 1950s.

But that was only the beginning. In 1965, Walt Disney turned his attention toward the problem of improving the quality of urban life in America. He personally directed the design on an Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow, or EPCOT, planned as a living showcase for the creativity of American industry.

Said Disney, "I don't believe there is a challenge anywhere in the world that is more important to people everywhere than finding the solution to the problems of our cities. But where do we begin? Well, we're convinced we must start with the public need. And the need is not just for curing the old ills of old cities. We think the need is for starting from scratch on virgin land and building a community that will become a prototype for the future."

Thus, Disney directed the purchase of 43 square miles of virgin land — twice the size of Manhattan Island — in the center of the state of Florida. Here, he master planned a whole new Disney world of entertainment to include a new amusement theme park, motel-hotel resort vacation center and his Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow.

After more than seven years of master planning and preparation, including 52 months of actual construction, Walt Disney World opened to the public as scheduled on October 1, 1971. Epcot Center opened on October 1, 1982.

Prior to his death on December 15, 1966, Walt Disney took a deep interest in the establishment of California Insitute of the Arts, a college level, professional school of all the creative and performing arts. Of Cal Arts, Walt once said, "It's the principal thing I hope to leave when I move on to greener pastures. If I can help provide a place to develop the talent of the future, I think I will have accomplished something."

California Institute of the Arts was founded in 1961 with the amalgamation of two schools, the Los Angeles Conservatory of Music and Chouinard Art Institute. The campus is located in the city of Valencia, 32 miles northeast of downtown Los Angeles.

Walt Disney conceived the new school as a place where all the performing and creative arts would be taught under one roof in a "community of the arts" as a completely new approach to professional arts training.

Walt Disney is a legend, a folk hero of the 20th century. His worldwide popularity was based upon the ideas which his name represents: imagination, optimism and self-made success in the American tradition. Walt Disney did more to touch the hearts, minds and emotions of millions of Americans than any other man in the past century.

Through his work, he brought joy, happiness and a universal means of communication to the people of every nation. Certainly, our world shall know but one Walt Disney.

[stardancerluv]

The Past Brings the Future Closer

Part Two

Summary: Roman, has more of his past visit. Reader revisits old feelings...that may not be a good thing.

Warning: Mentions of torture/murder, almost a f! masturbation scene...

Yawning, and stretching you looked over at your clock. “How is it two in morning?” You grabbed your phone and put it in your back pocket.

You looked the staircase that led up to your apartment in the warehouse. Exhaling, you made the climb up. Once up there, on the way to your bedroom you shed your clothes. A deep sigh from the pit of your stomach filled the room, as you unhooked and tossed your bra. You put your phone on your nightstand as you went and grabbed an over sized t-shirt.

Pulling aside your blanket, you crawled into bed and with a sigh. You just laid there. Letting the softness envelop you. Reaching, blindly you turned off the light. Closing, your eyes you rolled onto your stomach hoping sleep would come fast.

*****

Roman, woke with a start. Stretching, and yawning, he sat up in bed, since it was only Thursday he was in bed well before 3.

Reaching, he turned on the lamp that sat on his nightstand, then he grabbed his phone. He looked over the photos, Victor snapped.

Damn, he mused these three years had been very kind to you. Your natural hair color was much better then the purple. Your lips, still gave him the urge to kiss you.

What initially drew him to talk to you, your eyes, still had a strong light of determination in them. “...I am trying to start a business from the ground with no help from my parents or family.” He could still hear, you telling him how you were trying to start your own business. Now you considered one of the best in Gotham. A smiled tugged on his lips. You had done good, he thought. None of us needed our fucking family.

“Who the hell is she?” Practically, screeched a girl beside him.

He looked over. “Oh, I forgot you were here.” He swallowed and sighed annoyed. “You can leave.”

He slid the the next photo. He felt a clammy hand slid to the waist band of his pajama pants. Not even moving his eyes from his phone he removed the hand.

“Hey! Don’t you want to go again?”

He pressed his lips together, before finally looking at the voice again. “If I wanted to go again we already would have. Please get dressed and go.”

He heard a huff, then the bed gave way.

“You really are a prick Sionis.”

He glanced over and smiled broadly. “Look what had you expected a whirlwind romance?” He shook his head. “Hurry up. There is a taxi waiting for you.”

“Thanks for small favors.”

He listened as he heard the voice’s steps fade away, he messaged Zsasz.

Red headed bimbo. Grab taxi. Pay.

Zsasz, replied within moments. Consider it done.

The elevator dinged, Roman rolled his eyes.

*****

You rolled back over, you brought out a foot. That was followed by a leg, then you tore the blanket off. With a huff, you laid there staring up at the ceiling. You tried stretched once again. But nothing helped fall asleep.

Grabbing, your phone you opened notepad and began jotting some ideas down for your new project.

“...He’s splashed on more newspapers and magazine covers that you can count...” Your friend’s voice popped into your head.

“Why do I even care? He’s never tried to hire me.” You muttered to yourself. “Well, be he had only gotten your first name. He did have his own business.” You rolled your eyes. “Why did she care so much about this suddenly, she mused. I must be tired.

Soon enough though, you were typing in his name. You gasped. Your friend had not exaggerated, he was everywhere!

He looked amazing, your heart did a flip flop! Looking at all the pictures you were easily reminded of why you had a crush on him. Every picture, was better the last one.

At one point, your hand without even thinking had drifted downward. As your own hand held onto your phone, the other cupped yourself. You bit your bottom lip.

You came across the new articles that touched on a darker side. Your had stopped and you caught yourself. The bad articles, were really bad. He had been such a nice and charming guy. Could he really be capable of such violence, you wondered. Once again you held your phone with both hands. Soon, you went down a rabbit hole of articles that discussed anger and violence.

Violent outbursts! Fires staff with no warning!

Bought the docks, has turned around the property like promised! Bodies begin to show up! Connection...maybe!

Charges against Roman Sionis Dropped!

You just shook your head, the articles continued to grow worse with the reading. You began to ill. You had flirted with someone like that, maybe it was a good thing nothing happened.

Though, wow he certainly had grown more attractive in these last few years, you mused as you finally fell asleep with your phone falling onto your stomach.

*****

“You and I spoke, we negotiated. You agreed to give me your territory for protection. Then come back and try fucking kill me?” He shook his head, bellowing at the man. “You have no fucking honor.”

“Zsasz, kill this asshole.”

“Please...please.” The man who swung from the rafters pleaded.

Roman continued to walk away. He shed his gloves, tossing them behind him on his way back to the car. Seeing, how bright it had become outside he slipped his sunglasses.

“Take me back to the club.”

Taking out his handkerchief he wiped his cheek. “Eeeww.” He muttered when he saw the clumped blood that had come off of his face.

“Traffic is heavy this morning, Boss.” Roman looked around.

“I can see that.” He sighed, slouching in his seat.

*****

“So what did you find out?” He took the folder from Zsasz. He opened it and leafed through the contents on his desk. There were announcements of who she worked with, some of her creations. Nothing terribly exciting. “Has she dated anyone?“

Zsasz, rose an eyebrow. “No one of worth noting, and nothing long term.”

“Good.”

“What about Jareth?”

The folder was even smaller. Roman, looked at Zsasz. “Seriously?”

“He’s even more boring then she is.” He shrugged. “He apparently, only works with the rich and famous.”

“He’s never approached me.”

“You are too high risk.”

Roman, threw his head back and laughed. “Good. I don’t want that twerp anywhere near me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Do we know if she needs anything? What’s the word on the street.”

“She has scribbles here and there about possibly getting a loan. Weighing the the options.”

“Let’s find out where and make sure she gets it.”

“Really boss?”

“Yeah.”

“At one time, she had an apartment that was separate from her studio but now she lives upstairs.”

Roman, chuckled. “That sounds familiar.”

“Oh, good call Boss.” As he finally saw the connection between him and her living above their respective business. He smiled.

*****

Two Weeks Later

*****

Roman, was incredibly bored. He had only been at the party for thirty minutes, having to put the fake smile on while sipping at the cheap champagne grated on him.

“Roman, darling!” He rolled his eyes before turning and making his smile wider.

“Circe, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She shrugged, as she moved in for a hug he managed to avoid it.

A pout formed on the lips he had at one time enjoyed feeling pressed against his cheeks, his own lips. Now, the idea of those lips on him made his skin crawl.

“Roman,” she whined. “Be nice.”

“Why?”

“Because, I feel horrible still. And I came here hoping to see you.”

He moved closer to her, he grabbed her arm above the elbow, and squeezed. “Look, I didn’t make you fall on his dick.”

She squirmed. “Romey, I miss your dick.”

“No you don’t. You never had that much of a sex drive.” He swallowed, he spoke in low tones. “And listen, you didn’t have to siddle up to my father hoping you’d be the new face of Janus Corp after he took it back from me.”

“Oh look at the two you!” Exclaimed a ridiculously cheery voice. “Let’s grab a photo.”

Roman rolled his eyes, making sure Circe saw him do that. Turning, he moved his gloved hand from her arm, and wrapped an arm around her way too small waist without actually touching her. He smiled towards in the direction of the camera.

*****

Stretching and grumbling, you pulled your hair up into a messy bun. Hunched over you began drawing a new chair. Looking up, you reached up and felt the fabric once again, it was a nice blue paisley. Biting your pencil, you erased the sharp edges, instead you gave it gentle curves.

Stretching again, you decided to treat yourself. You had been working pretty hard and the sound of a small sundae, sounded perfect. Eyeing the clock, it was only eleven thirty.

You had more then enough time. Running over you grabbed your purse, and slipped into a pair of flats. Locking, the door and you jogged past the bakery, which smelled amazing and aoon reached the corner. Looking both ways, you crossed the street to the ice cream polar.

****

“Little bird, what the hell are you doing?” Victor tsked to himself as be watched you leave your studio. “This is Gotham, some bad people lurk in the shadows.”

Someone just then lurked out of the shadows. Was that Jareth? Victor, sat up a little straighter. Oh it is, what the hell is he doing, Victor wondered. He watched as he tacked something to the door. Then back to the shadows, he returned.

Victor, drove over then. He jumped out of the car and grabbed the envelope. Driving back to his spot a block away, he killed the engine and he opened the envelop.

BITCH YOU WILL REGRET ALL

STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING

OR I WILL STOP YOU MYSELF.

He took a picture of the letter to show Roman. He put the letter back into the envelope. He drove back, making sure you were not on your way back, he dropped it off like the twerp did and then began to make his way back to the club.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obession @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @whyisgmora @theblackmaskclub @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @guns-n-marvel @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss

[hrhduchessoflancaster]

Chapter Ninety-Three: A Council from the Past

Disclaimer: see Prologue

A/N: I know it’s been months and a lot has happened to everyone and to the real life Harry but onwards with the history. No interferences from the real world shall come into this story. So I’ll continue with what I had already planned and finish this story in the coming months (finally!). Hope you’re all staying safe and healthy. Lots of love, Bea.

__________________________________________________________________

A few days after Owen’s birth, they released his full name to the press: Owen Charles Philip Augustus and their son would be known as HRH Prince Owen of Sussex, like his older brother. They had traveled to London by helicopter on the next morning to have the baby accessed properly at St. Mary’s Hospital. Once mom and baby where both cleared, they decided there’s no point in travelling again and decided to remain in London. So Elle’s parents and brother were the ones who made the trip to Kensington to meet the newest addition to the family. 

“ Oh, he’s so precious, sweetheart.”, said Victoria, holding her youngest grandson in her arms. Elle and Harry smiled at her, while Arthur snuggled on his father’s lap. 

“ I really the name you’ve chosen for him. Strong name, a family name no less.”, said her father smiling to the couple.

“ Yes, I quite agree”, said her brother. “ But maybe next name, could you make him an Edward?”, he continued and the room was filled with laughter.

And so the Sussexes spent their Christmas and New Year at home, relishing in the company of their sons and close family as much as they could for they knew that in the coming month they’d have many engagements to attend to with their renewed and fuller schedule, which included new charities and a much awaited christening to plan and execute. 

************

March 2020

Dressed in a white a floral dress with a matching fascinator, Elle walked beside Harry carrying Owen in her arms, as he held on to Arthur who had insisted on walking. The flashes of the cameras slightly blinding them as they made their way towards the Archbishop. Much like at Arthur’s christening, the service was a private one, with family and guests present, including the Queen, Prince Philip and the closest members of the royal couple at the Chapel Royal, in London. 

For Owen’s Godparents they chose Valerie & Edward, Catherine & Mr. Richard Collins. Harry and Elle walked in first towards the altar, as Elle carried Owen in her arms while the godparents followed behind them. Elle then passed the baby to Valerie, while Catherine held the towel to dry the baby's head.

" Your Majesty, Your Royals Highnesses, Your Graces, ladies and gentlemen... Parents and Godparents, the Church receives this child with much joy. Today we are trusting God for his growth in faith. Will you pray for him, draw him by your example into the community of faith and walk with him in the way of Christ?", asked the Archbishop.

" With the help of God, we will.", they replied in unison. The Archbishop lit a large candle and the service proceeded with prayers and blessings. 

" Owen Charles Philip Augustus, I baptise you in the name of Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.", he said. Elle and Harry smiled as Owen cooed and Arthur clapped, making the congregation chuckle. The day was filled with joy and love, a bit different from their previous christening experience. No big revelations or problems this time around. The bells rang as the people left the chapel and moved to the palace itself. Little by little they made their way inside. Elle was holding Owen in her arms as Harry held Arthur, gleaming as the press snapped picture after picture that would soon be all over the world. 

After the service, the couple, friends, family and guests enjoyed a luncheon at the grounds of St. James’s Palace. While the guests mingled, Mario Testino once again was asked by the couple to take their official portraits. Since it was a bit chilly for them to be outside, they took the photos in the Yellow Drawing Room, whose pale, pastel colour along with the sunlight coming from the window, made it seemed as if there was a halo surrounding the family. All in all, the pictures portrayed a very sweet and touching moment, that would be recorded on their minds and on paper forever.

Once the pictures were taken, they moved along to the grounds of the palace, with Valerie and Edward constantly bantering who’d be the best godparent as well as keeping the infant in their arms, switching every so often from one another. Owen, of course, loved the attention. On the other hand, Arthur was relishing on the undivided attention he was receiving from his parents. As per tradition, once again a piece of their wedding cake was defrosted and served to the guests, along with refreshments, sandwiches, canapés, confections and some stronger beverages such as brandy and whiskey. 

************

A week later…

Harry and Elle had travelled to Scotland for an engagement in Perth, which was their first visit to their Earldom of Atholl. They had been visiting distilleries, churches and schools. They were in the middle of a guided visit at the famous St John's Kirk church, all was going very well when suddenly Ingrid, Alfred and Leo rushed to their sides along with Daniel and Lisa.

“ Apologies, Your Royal Highnesses, may we talk in private for a moment?”, said Lisa. The couple excused themselves and joined their staff on a corner of the church.

“ We’ve just received news from Her Majesty’s office. You’re needed back in London as soon as possible.”, said Lisa. Elle and Harry looked at each other alarmed. 

“ Has something happened?”, asked Harry urgently.

“ We don’t know for sure, sir. But it’s the Duke of Edinburgh.”, said Daniel. Elle’s eyes widened and she reached for her husband’s hand, giving it a squeeze, which he returned.

“ We can’t simply rush outside. People will think it’s strange.”, whispered Elle to Harry. He hummed in agreement. 

“ What is the plan?”, she asked in a low tone their RPOs and secretaries. 

“ The helicopter is ready on the outskirts of the city to take you back to London. We’ll make an orderly exit to the car, as if nothing has happened.”, Lisa whispered back. 

“ We should thank them and excuse ourselves, darling.”, said Elle, making Harry nod his head. Together with trained smiles, they returned to their hosts and very politely thanked them for the wonderful tour, took a couple of pictures and exited the church with cameras flashing in their direction. Inside the car, they kept their smiles up until they were out of reach from the paparazzi and the public.

“ Dear God… what could have happened now?”, wondered Harry, running his hands on his face. Elle’s hands ran up and down his back, comfortingly but her eyes held the same worry as his. 

“ Sir, ma’am… we’ve got news. Apparently the Duke of Edinburgh and Her Majesty were in Sandringham for the weekend when His Royal Highness started feeling ill. They then travelled from Norfolk this morning to the King Edward VII Hospital in London for observation and treatment in relation to a pre-existing condition.”, said Daniel. 

“ So grandad is sick again…”, said Harry. “ But that’s not new. He’s been on and off the hospital for the past year or so. What’s wrong this time… what are you not telling us?”, he insisted.

“ I’m afraid we don’t know sir. They are making tests but we can assume that…”, began Lisa.

“ Assume what?”, said Elle. Lisa and Daniel looked at each other and sighed. 

“ …that it’s not looking good if they asked you to return to London with such urgency. They are saying… that Operation Forth Bridge is on high alert.”, continued Daniel. The couple looked at each other, eyes wide at the severity of what might have been waiting for them in London. They held their hands tighter as they got nearer to the helicopter. Soon, they’d know for sure how bad it really was.

************

Upon arriving in London and making sure their sons were okay with their grandparents, the couple was taken to King Edward VII Hospital, a place they knew well enough and brought back a few memories, specially to Elle. She pushed those aside and hand in hand with Harry, she was guided by their staff to a private ward where as soon as they arrived, they could see Charles & Camilla, Anne & Timothy, Andrew, Edward & Sophie and the Queen. 

“ Nobody said what’s happened. What’s going on?”, asked Harry, looking around the room. The Queen, visibly shook, was being held by Andrew and Edward. 

“ It seems his heart is in a bad shape. His coronary artery was clogged again but when they were making tests in order to operate him, they discover that… his heart is failing. They can’t operate. It would be too risky.”, said Charles, misty eyed. Elle and Harry breathed in deeply and looked at each other.

“ What can they do then?”, asked Elle, sympathetically.

“ They’ve given him some medication to help with the clog and he’s being monitored but there’s not much they can do. The doctor’s said that… due to the severity and his age…they are just trying to make him comfortable.”, replied Charles. Elle and Harry hearing his words then realised why they had been called to the hospital. They were not only there for moral support. They were there to say goodbye.

For the next few days they came and went to the hospital to stay with the family and talk to Philip as much as they could. The older royal was struggling a bit with the idea of departing against his own terms but was comforting to the fact that there was nothing he could do. Even thought he general mood was gloom, the Duke of Edinburgh tried to remain in good spirits, cracking a joke every once in a while and terrorising the doctors from time to time. Though there was no joke or funny comment that could make up for the look of utter loss and sadness that had taken over the Queen.

By the end of the week, the press and public had caught up with the news but they didn’t yet know the extent of Prince Philip’s condition. As soon as the news began to travel, messages were pilling up on social media, prayers and good wishes were sent from all over he Commonwealth, vigils were held from all over the UK and the press, for once, tried to keep their distance and remained alert but respectful. One afternoon as Harry and Elle were keeping him company by relieving the Queen, Prince Charles and Princess Anne so they could rest, the older prince asked to talk to Elle alone.

“ Now my dear… what I have to tell you is simple but extremely important.”, said Philip. She leaned closely to him, listening attentively.

“ Being a member of this family is not easy and you’ve had your fair share of tribulations along the way. I cannot guarantee they are over for in my experience, there’s always something or someone who’ll come along to test or threaten you.”, he continued.

“ I know Charles won’t be king for a long time. He’s already old as it is. And soon it will be Harry’s turn. And one day, your son’s. Being the spouse of a monarch is much harder than it looks. But what you need to know… or better yet, what you need to do… is stand by him. Stand by him, Eleanor. Talk to him, advise him, comfort him but also challenge him. We live in a position of privilege but they hold the real power. We cannot govern for them, but we can try to do it with them.”, finished Philip, closing his eyes momentarily. 

“ Promise me you’ll do that. I see so much of myself in that boy… I want him to accomplish all that we could not. And by God I wish you both to have a long life together.”, he continued. 

“ I promise.”, said Elle, teary-eyed.

“ Good… good. Now… I must rest. Call one of the nurses, will you?”, he said and she nodded her head, quickly calling one of the nurses with the buzzer. 

************

On the following week, per Philip’s and the Queen’s request, he was taken from the hospital back to Buckingham Palace where he’d have all the medical care and attention needed but would be at home and away from all the atmosphere of a hospital, which was what he wanted to have. His condition, unfortunately, did not improve and he weakened further throughout March. On the afternoon, March 14th, 2020 Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh died, with Her Majesty and Princess Anne at his bedside. Queen Elizabeth was devastated. No one had never seen her so sad or distraught apart from her own mother’s death. 

His body was taken to the Chapel Royal at St. James’ Palace, which only a few weeks prior had been visited by the family at a much happier occasion. There he remained in the lying in state, with a guard os 20 British Grenadiers soldiers guarding his body. The Queen and all senior members of the Royal Family broadcasted tributes to him. William and Kate also paid tribute. His wishes had been for his funeral to be a private affair, unlike the state funeral he could have if he so wish it. But he had been a soldier his whole life and that’s how he wanted to depart it. As a soldier as well. 

And so, on March 28th the funeral was held at Windsor Chapel. His sons and grandsons walked behind the coffin from the short distance between Windsor Castle and St. George’s Chapel. All close members of the Royal Family attended the service, as well as friends, the military associations he spent years as patron of or colonel and the heads of the Commonwealth countries, past and present whom he had had a contact with. He was laid to rest opposite to the Queen Mother, his father-in-law and sister-in-law. A mourning period of thirty days was installed on the family and no one performed any duties for the duration of it. 

The Queen retired to Sandringham, away from the public eye, with her dogs and Princess Anne. William, Kate and their children often visited her from Amner Hall. In that period, Harry and Elle also moved away from London with their sons and took solace in their home in Sussex. Renovation had been made to make a new room for Arthur and adaptations into the nursery so it could better suit Owen. Sir Lancelot was delighted to have the free space and wild animals to chase about the property and the couple was happy to be away from all the fuss of the city. Elle took the time to put some of her writing in order and to dedicate some of her time to start a vegetable and spices garden at the property, with Harry’s help. Taken up much of what Charles advised them, they started sustainable farming the estate so it could produce the food they consumed and also created more jobs for the people in the village they lived in. 

“ Do you think we’ll be able to go back to normal after this?”, Elle asked him as they were planting some rosemary in a patch of their garden.

“ I don’t think we can go back to normal at all, my love. And honestly, I’m not sure granny ever will.”, said Harry sadly.