#it's not allowed. brain has apparently chosen suffering & I have no say in the matter

[byanyan]

maaaan, you know shit's fucked when I'm not even shitposting or sharing headcanons lmao...

[irikahkrios]

why do u hate liara 😭 i don’t mean this in a mean way i’m sure u have valid reasons bc big brain irikah stan but i’m just wondering

i made this post a while ago that goes into it a little more in depth (edit after writing the rest of this post: this post ended up being much longer and more in-depth than that one but i'm keeping the link there anyway lmao), but tldr i think she's creepy as fuck and i hate how the writers portrayed her obsession with shepard as a good thing and didn't even consider that players might be uncomfortable with her.

i already dislike her as a character because of her constant violations of shepard's autonomy: them being forced by the plot of me1 to have creepy brain sex with her (possibly multiple times depending on the order you do the main plot missions in), her becoming obsessed with them and stealing their corpse to give to cerberus to resurrect them (which is even worse if, like me, you play a sole survivor shepard), and the way she acts super familiar and all Oh I'm Your Best Friend And Maaaaybe Perhaps Your Lover :) no matter what dialogue options you've chosen with her. all of that, combined with some truly horrible stuff from me3 (her treatment of javik which is almost as bad as her treatment of shepard, her awful dialogue with jack if you bring her to grissom academy, the way she acts like the war has Finally Actually Started when the reapers attack thessia because non-asari species suffering and dying apparently doesn't count, etc), was already more than enough to make me uncomfortable with her. but i could at least tolerate her from a narrative/character standpoint if all this awful bullshit had actually been acknowledged. stories need villains, and i think the concept of a villain who's absolutely convinced that they're the hero's best friend is a potentially interesting one. hell, if they didn't want to go full villain they could have even had her grow as a person over time and realize that her behavior towards shepard was horrifying and creepy. the character could have been salvaged if they had just acknowledged her faults and possibly let her grow past them.

but what really makes me hate liara is that the writers seem to think she's right about everything. her obsession with shepard isn't supposed to be a character flaw, it's apparently supposed to be endearing and correct. they seem to just straight-up think that all her terrifying stalkery bullshit about being Shepard's Best Friend And The Most Important Person In Their Life No Matter What :)))) is actually....literally the way things are and not just the obsessive ramblings of a very creepy character......like, the divide between liara's in-game actions and the way the games seem to want to portray her is a fucking canyon. she's so creepy and has zero likable or redeeming qualities, but the writers act like she's this amazing wonderful perfect person who's closer to shepard than anyone, even their love interest.

she's forced on the player to the extent that you can't do anything to make her go away. there's never an option to say you aren't close to her or ask her to leave you alone, you automatically hug her on illium in me2 instead of that being a paragon interrupt or dialogue prompt like it really should have been, me3 makes you have all these Deep Conversations where she comes to your cabin uninvited because clearly shepard is closer to her than to any other squadmate and you're not allowed to dispute this, and basically i just. am not allowed to roleplay my shepard as uncomfortable in any way with the person who he was forced to have creepy invasive brain sex with against his will, who stole his corpse and gave it to the terrorists responsible for the greatest trauma of his life because she was so obsessed with him that she couldn't let him go (after knowing him for a few weeks at most; i always get her at the latest point i possibly can so he's only forced to have sex with her once), and who continues to insert herself into his life and claims to be extremely close friends with him despite him not wanting anything to do with her.

so, yeah. when i make liara a villain in my canon, when i almost completely write her out of me2 and me3, when i rewrite the shadow broker dlc to be about fighting her and foiling her plot to become the shadow broker and stalk shepard across the galaxy, it's because it's cathartic for me to imagine a canon where my shepard was allowed to treat her constant creepy advances in a more realistic way.

[paradife-loft]

Worth

Well, this intended to start out being for a prompt, but then.... I guess my brain decided that “Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao” was the actual real prompt and it didn’t have to incorporate any of the material from any of the days of the prompt lists. Whatever, I’m still gonna include it in my October fic series. I wrote it in October, after all... D: Also hey, it’s my first time writing Jiang Cheng! Hopefully he didn’t come out too poorly /o/

-----

When a-Ling had been checked over once more for injuries; the Jin servants disappeared upstairs to help put him to bed, and the innkeep paid for the meal and rooms, Jin Guangyao found himself unusually alone, in the waning candlelight, with Jiang Wanyin.

Despite the shock of more, wilier, and more unusual, elementals lurking around the mountain village than any of their information had prepared them for, he had no substantive signs of damage on him. The hardest blow he had presumably taken was the one to his pride, having to send a flare up for reinforcements when it turned out that a-Ling staying back in a secured area while Jiang Wanyin dealt with the ambush wasn’t going to work if their assumptions on what counted as safe couldn’t be fully trusted.

Even so, he seemed to have recovered admirably well by now, wiping down his sword from the sticky, hallucinogenic sap expelled as he carved a swathe through the engorged plant monsters, and no displeasure besides the usual evident in his face.

As the last of the Jin disciples filtered out of the room, Jiang Wanyin glanced up to Jin Guangyao, still waiting. His expression flickered, and then he sheathed Sandu and stood. Jin Guangyao smiled slightly.

“Please excuse this one borrowing another moment of Jiang-zongzhu’s time. I simply wished to impress explicitly once more, the Jin sect’s apologies for the unexpected encounter you and a-Ling had to suffer. We will of course not bear any fault from his care in mind, going forward.”

Jiang Wanyin’s brow furrowed, before he nodded, with a short “thank you.” His gaze flickered over Jin Guangyao’s comportment, lingering for a fraction longer on the sleeve where he’d drawn a hidden qin string from during the earlier battle, before piercing it through one of the elementals and using the vibrations from his hand to disrupt the creature’s spiritual energy, until it had practically dissolved into the earth.

“I was wondering where all that steel I saw in you at Qinghe went, once you put those Jin robes on,” Jiang Wanyin said a moment later. “Doesn’t seem like Jin-zongzhu makes as much use of you as he could, just having you greet guests and arrange banquet tables.”

Of all the things he’d expected him to say, that had not made the list. Jin Guangyao felt his stomach tense, and his face broke out into a brief flare of a smile, before he slid his gaze down and scraped the shape of his expression back from the cliff it felt like falling off of with the skin of his fingers. When he looked back up, he’d managed to return it, he hoped, to something more unremarkably thoughtful.

“I’m sure my father would appreciate any advice a fellow clan leader would have to give, next time you visit Koi Tower,” Jin Guangyao replied.

The look that emerged from Jiang Wanyin’s face after a few moments was, if nothing else, distinctly privately gratifying.

“Did a-Ling have any difficulties during the night-hunt, other than the unexpected numbers?” Jin Guangyao asked, after a few moments where neither of them spoke. Drawing his hands up in front of him, he set them together beneath the long drape of his sleeves. Jiang Wanyin shook his head at the new question, the furrow in his brow melting away slightly - until he’d returned to his ordinary level of prickliness - when he glanced up toward the stairs.

“No, he did well. I guess you Jins have been teaching him more than just fine manners and the history of all the cultivation lineages?”

Jin Guangyao inclined his head, letting the derisive implication slide past him. “We do take him and the other junior disciples on educational outings to our clan’s hunting grounds,” he said, patient and unruffled. It would do no harm to offer a few more drips of information to him, so clearly parched for any involvement in his young nephew’s education. “It allows them to observe the behavior of a wide variety of monsters, and the strategies our cultivators have developed to subdue them, all in relative safety - appropriate to each disciple’s age cohort, of course. If Sandu Shengshou has concerns, I could arrange a tour for him?”

Jiang Wanyin looked briefly surprised, and not for the first time, Jin Guangyao’s thoughts flashed to how much better he would do to learn to hide at least a fraction of his expressions. “Well, I mean, we’re all busy, I don’t want to get in the way for something trivial -”

“The satisfaction of a-Ling’s jiujiu in his education is of course not a trivial matter! It would be no trouble.”

(Or rather, it would; it would be yet another task added to his neverending list of them; but his father, he was quite sure, would have instructed him to extend the invitation if he were here, perhaps have him note a few minor suggestions Jiang Wanyin would wish them to make that wouldn’t have much true impact on the actual administration of the sect… Jin Guangyao found his own gaze wandering up toward the stairs to the inn’s second floor this time, and his emotions drifting in tandem toward envy of the small child now assuredly tucked into bed and, if his attendants were lucky, fast asleep - before he caught himself and fixed his eyes back onto Jiang-zongzhu’s face.)

Jiang Wanyin didn’t answer right away, looking at him consideringly for a few moments first. And then said, “Is that where you learned that trick with the elementals?”

“From the Jin sect hunting excursions?”

“Yeah.”

Jin Guangyao’s eyes flicked away from Jiang Wanyin’s, and he held his face still against the urge to bite at his bottom lip. The last time he’d been to the private hunting grounds outside Lanling, it had been to oversee and resolve a stock discrepancy. “Ah - not that one.”

“Oh? It’s pretty impressive, anyway. Not something I’ve seen.”

Jin Guangyao regarded him for a moment, contemplating what he knew of Jiang Wanyin’s own special techniques. His swordplay was widely-praised, of course, honed and matured on the bloody butcher’s floor of the Sunshot campaign; but his Zidian was an heirloom passed from Meishan Yu, rather than a relic directly chosen from the (now mostly-recovered) treasure chambers ensconced in Lotus Pier.

He smiled again. “Well, Yunmeng Jiang isn’t known for its musical cultivation techniques, if my experience hasn’t given a misrepresentative impression? Aside from your silver bells.”

And those were a rudimentary assay into the use of sound as a spiritual focus, certainly; but as far as making sound itself the instrument rather than a conductor alone, they didn’t approach the subtlety of even the children’s exercises taught by Gusu Lan. No, the Jiang sect’s unique strengths, aside from its once-head disciple, were sure to lie elsewhere.

But Jiang Wanyin looked back, his brows drawing up as if surprised, or not sure whether to be offended. “Most sects aren’t,” he replied. “Mostly, we focus on a strong grounding in the traditional disciplines, and plenty of practical experience - not so much specialisation in just one style.”

Which fit well with the easy popularity of the sect, allowing them to so effectively rebuild thus far, Jin Guangyao agreed. If what they wanted was for people to put in the work, and what they offered was more practical to the lives of the area’s villages than just the status that came with the prestigious possibility of secret techniques - not surprising that even now, they would do well.

And Jiang Wanyin, for all that the advantages of delicate political trades shirked him at a wide berth, was nonetheless dedicated to his work, and did not make frivolous demands of others while refusing to see them done himself.

“It’s a worthy philosophy,” Jin Guangyao finally returned - expression genial, even if his mood was no better. “A solid foundation is of course the most important basis for all later cultivation techniques.”

He paused, as if considering something, then added, “A-Ling would surely benefit from a longer period of time immersed in Lotus Pier’s training style, for that matter. Perhaps in a month or two, you might discuss it with my father? It would surely help maintain the strength of the bond between our sects.”

If Jiang-zongzhu had looked surprised before, it paled before the hopeful delight that spread, almost disbelieving, across his face this time. “Really? You think so?”

“Not immediately; it may be difficult for him to agree too soon after tonight. But with time and caution…” Jin Guangyao trailed off. An invitation for Jiang Wanyin, into the closed realm of private understanding and accordance created between them in doing so. Not that they were on any same side in truth; not with Jin Guangyao’s own responsibilities, which would be served just as well by Jiang Wanyin’s openness to being strung along even further in search of scraps. But everyone was flattered to think himself half of a closed mutual agreement - and it would not surprise him for Jiang Wanyin to be even moreso than others.

And indeed, he nodded, taking Jin Guangyao’s meaning well. He sobered, then, drawing himself up and letting one hand settle on the pommel of his sword, as if to reinforce in Jin Guangyao’s eyes the image of him as a capable, responsible leader of one of the four great sects.

But a moment after, he seemed to soften, handing over an expression nearly of gratitude with surprising ease. “Lianfang-zun,” he said. “Thank you for taking care of Jin Ling.”

The words settled over him like dust before sinking in, and Jin Guangyao’s eyes widened, just a fraction, despite himself. They were said with all apparent seriousness, and even so, he couldn’t help but look, instinctively, for the cutting implication the sentiment must have encased.

But he maintained his smile, empty, in the meantime; polished it with an almost demurring acceptance given only half of his attention. And at the end - he didn’t, or couldn’t, find anything truly objectionable about the gratitude to shred against the sharp skin of his soul. Jiang Wanyin, likewise ever sharp with his tongue on all other occasions, apparently meant it.

Jin Guangyao took a slow breath in, wavering in his lungs, and looked away.

[arkhitektor]

ANALYSIS I.      the power of milena’s quote,      ‘i don’t want to go.’      and what it means for her character.

it is important to remember that the ohio mission in which melina,      alexei,      natasha and yelena      [   less of the latter two obviously as they were children and ultimately were only placed there to assist in making milena and alexei appear as normal as possible to the public eye   ]      were sent on by dreykov lasted three years time,      give or take a couple of months.      the original goal of this mission was to infiltrate the north institute.      a hydra masqueraded s.h.i.e.l.d. base that was working on the research of brain functions.

to set the scene,      it is evident from the opening piece that they have all adjusted quite well to their roles.      milena saw herself as the girls mother.      she and alexei are,      for what it is worth,      husband and wife.      the four of them together are a family unit.      i strongly believe that although she is proven to be an exceptional agent who understands how to turn off her emotions   ---   as we later see because let’s face it,      milena is sparing in how she holds them inside of herself   ---   in order to get the job done,      the lines became blurred for her along the way.      ohio was not just a mission she was ordered to accomplish.      it was not even as simple as slipping into the role of a mother and wife;      for necessity or otherwise.      what it WAS,      however,      was an escape to a life she otherwise would have never been able to have in the world that she existed in.

𝙾𝙽𝙴   𝙾𝙵   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙼𝙰𝙹𝙾𝚁   𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂   𝙾𝙵   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺   𝚆𝙸𝙳𝙾𝚆   𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙼   𝙸𝚂   𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴.   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺   𝙾𝙵   𝙸𝚃   𝚅𝚂   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈   𝚃𝙾   𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙻   𝙸𝚃.

milena had no say in the choice to go to ohio.      of course,      she worked closer to dreykov than most did.      [   alexei calls milena dreykov’s architect. we know that he was sent to prison at some point and I BELIEVE it is more than likely not too long after his return from this mission. maybe a few years. i’m not certain. the point being that he knew this which leads me to believe she did this work prior to his incarceration. IN   MY   CANON,   IT   WAS   ACTUALLY   PART   OF   THE   REASON   SHE   WAS   CHOSEN.   ]      but this should not lead anyone to believe that milena’s work with dreykov allowed her any sense of real choice.      most especially,      at that point in her timeline.      she is first and foremost a widow.      it is within the twenty years following that she truly becomes “the architect” yet even then,      she does not ever bear that much say so in any matter.      it is her intelligence dreykov wants. RE,      ^ABOVE:      “an escape to a life she otherwise would never have been able to have.”      milena’s entire life has been the red room.      we know that she was cycled through four times prior to natasha’s mcu timeline birth in 1984.      MILENA,      QUOTED:      THESE WALLS ARE ALL I KNOW.      training and then working as an assassin and having her every move dictated for her is what milena knows best.      now,      as per the mcu version of the red room,      there is something called THE GRADUATION CEREMONY for widows.      from a male perspective   ---   both in the chairs behind the scenes of previous movies and essentially the man behind the red room in canon   ---   it was glazed over as a way to make women seem inferior and dehumanize them.      what is actually happening is their lack of control being taken away.      the choice does not belong to the woman,      like everything else that happens to a widow.      what i would say is a perfect example and something that actually happens to milena is:      SHE   WAS   NEVER   ALLOWED   TO   BE   A   MOTHER   ON   HER   OWN   ACCORD   BUT   WHEN   IT   WAS   CONVENIENT   FOR   DREYKOV   HE   PLACED   HER   IN   THE   ROLE   OF   A   MOTHER   FOR   HIS   OWN   BENEFIT   AND   THE   FUTURE   OF   ‘HIS’   RED   ROOM.      so,      again      [ . . . ]      it was never about children or how they could influence a woman.      it was about their ability to make the decision for themselves.      that’s the beginning and end of it.

𝙸 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙶𝙾.      𝙸 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙶𝙾.      𝙸 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙶𝙾.

and we circle right back to that main theme again.      CHOICE:      she doesn’t want to go.      INEVITABLE:      she has to.      it is easily assumed that milena is specifically talking about having to leave the girls and also alexei behind.      all three of which she does love.      my portrayal does NOT counteract this sentiment but it is far more than simply playing the role of a doting mother and wife that milena does not want to leave.      she has choices here,      a sense of free will.      [   ironic considering what we know milena aids in in the future but.   ]      note: there is no prior occurrence or knowledge that would allow her to believe she would ever get the taste or zest of a life like this again.      as said above,      milena did not have the option of saying no to being a russian sleeper cell agent in ohio.      while she did have to play according to the role she was given she did not have to internally spiral into it in the way that she did.      it would have been entirely possible to blend in with the american public for appearances sake whilst having no real attachment or emotion to alexei,      yelena or natasha on the inside.      some would call this a mistake.      milena called this a choice.      one of first,      if not THE first,     in milena’s life that she actually got to make FOR HERSELF AND ABOUT HERSELF.      who   would   want   to   leave   that   behind?

apparently,      alexei;      as we see him respond to her by telling her not to say that.      ahhhh.      see,      this story is not about men not being able to have choices though.      this story is about women’s lack of choices and control.      and it is clear as day in this very short exchange      [ . . . ]      THE   LIFE   THAT   ALEXEI   BELIEVED   ---   ?? and ultimately probably did go back to for a little while prior to his incarceration ??   ---   TO BE GOING BACK TO WAS A FAR CRY FROM WHAT MILENA KNEW SHE WOULD BE RETURNING TO.      this,      for me,      sums up everything.      we know that she didn’t want to go.      we know that she didn’t want to leave ohio.      she loved her family and she allowed herself to be overcome with normalcy.      something she’d never had before.      we’re missing the most important part though.

𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙰   𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽'𝚃   𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃   𝚃𝙾   𝙶𝙾   𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴   𝚂𝙷𝙴   𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽'𝚃   𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃   𝚃𝙾   𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽   𝚃𝙾   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝚁𝙴𝙳   𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼.

EPILOGUE>:       it goes without saying that the widows suffer.      it also goes without saying that in the future milena ends up being part of the reason that they suffer.      at this point in the mcu timeline i don’t believe anyone had ever successfully defected from the red room as natasha comes to do.      milena couldn’t have known it was possible let alone successful.      she could have attempted,      sure.      it isn’t in her character though.      she’s loyal to a fault because of what she has been through.      it’s even shown in the film when she calls the red room upon yelena,      natasha and alexei’s arrival.      there is no excuse for the actions of her older self and i will expand upon those in a coming analysis but i do think it is fair to note while it is relevant here that milena’s loyalty culminates to aiding in the ‘unlocking the key to free will’ with chemical subjugation of the other widows because she saw it as her next great escape.      a flawed way of thinking undoubtedly.      ohio was dead and gone though.      it was her way to survive the life she had been forced to return to.

[linenwrites]

Reforget (Part 2)

Part 1

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AN: If you read part 1, you may be thinking “who are you and what have you done with @shadows-and-flowercrowns​ .. if that is the case, let me direct you HERE where I explain one of the many examples of me stumbling through life.

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AN2: Aren’t you lucky, two messages from me for the price of one?

The final part of this will go up tomorrow. I have a Harry Potter head cannon that I really want to get out next but if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to send them my way!

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Azriel slid into the booth across from Cass and Rhys. 

Cassian let out a slight groan of contentedness as he sunk into the cushioning . "See, isn't this better? Now I can actually hear what the fuck you're saying."

Az rolled his eyes. "Alright, old man." He muttered before lifting his beer bottle to his lips.

It surprised people to learn that Azriel was always willing to go to the types of clubs that you see in movies. The ones where they cranked up the music so loud that the sea of people pressed tightly together on the dance floor could barely hear their own thoughts. The three of them had been at such a place tonight. They had only made it an hour or so before someone tripped over themselves and dumped a near full glass of vodka soda all over Cassian. 

Normally Az would have insisted they stayed but, after that, he wasn’t upset about them opting out to hang at a place with a more subdued atmosphere tonight. 

Cassian flipped him a rude gesture and Az chuckled, taking another swig from the bottle. 

Rhys pulled out his phone, a frown tugging down his lips as he starred it. Azriel waited for Rhys to explain the look of concern but his friend just locked the screen before setting it down, face up, on the table.

Azriel tried to leave it alone but his curiosity got the best of him, as it so often did. He tipped his head down, gesturing towards the phone. “Everything alright with the girls?”

Cass snorted, "Elain dragged them to some hole in the wall over in the west side. Nesta told me the bartender didn't know how to make a negroni. Needless to say, she’s less than enthused.” 

Azriel raised his eyebrows.

Not at the negroni comment, he never understood why Nesta liked them, but at the bar Elain had chosen. 

Cassian continued, "Since when has Elain gone to the west side anyway? After the whole negroni incident, Nesta said the bartender knew Elain by name. It’s weird, ain’t it?”

Azriel shrugged. It wouldn't be wise to open his mouth now. His anger towards the middle Archeron was flaring up again. Weeks of silence, of her not returning texts or calls, had frayed his nerves. He lifted his drink once more, hoping that Rhys would change the subject or that Cass would let it drop but Cassian pushed on, blunt as ever. 

"Are you going to tell us what the fuck is going on between the two of you? She disappeared off the face of the goddamn earth and you've been brooding ever since." 

Azriel worked to keep his face neutral. "Must you curse like a sailor the moment you get away from Nesta?" 

It was a well established fact that Nesta, despite having the ability to make even the crudest blush when she had a few drinks in her, abhorred Cassian cursing. And Cassian, who had sworn up and down his whole life that he would never change for a woman, did his best to accommodate whenever she was around.

All bets were off, though, the moment Nesta was out of earshot. 

"Seriously, man. I get if you can't talk about it because you don't want to betray her trust but is she okay? I miss her. She’s family and I miss her being around all the time." Cassian was practically pouting now. 

"She's fine." Az ground out. 

Rhys let out a long suffering sigh. "Not according to Feyre." 

"Just because she likes to hang out at a dive bar on occasion," Azriel started hotly but Rhys cut him off.

"It's not where she is at, its what she is doing."

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

"What do you mean?" Azriel breathed. 

"She's drunk, as in 'can barely walk let alone walk in a straight line' drunk."

His voice remained steady but he knew that they were all thinking the same thing.

The news that anyone else in their friend circle was full on hammered wouldn’t have caused him to bat an eye. Sure, if it was Cass or Rhys, he would likely make their hangover a living hell but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for them. They lived by the motto “work hard, play hard”.

But for Elain? For Miss. One-and-Done herself?

"She's an adult, she's allowed to cut loose with her sisters." Azriel answered tightly. 

Rhys shook his head as his phone lit up again with a series of messages. 

"She just left to go to the dance floor but Feyre talked to the bartender. Apparently this is normal behavior for her. Apparently he has been keeping an eye on her for weeks. He starts giving her watered down drinks when she gets too drunk which is, apparently, all the time." 

Azriel's heart was racing. 

"Is this because of Grayson?" Cassian mused, "She was a mess after they broke up. Maybe they are trying to make it work again. Or, tried and it failed."

I made my intentions clear, Elain. He had said to her.

Surely this didn’t have anything to do with that. It couldn’t. 

"Azriel?" 

Az blinked and refocused back on Rhys. 

"What?" He asked stupidly. 

"I asked you to, please, cut the shit and tell us what is going on. If Grayson is back in her life, fine. We can deal with that. I get why you wouldn't tell us because of how Feyre and Nesta would react but if it's something worse, we need to know so we can help her." 

"It's - no, it's not Grayson." 

Rhysand's phone started ringing, the screen flashing Feyre's name, but he kept his eyes locked on Azriel. 

Az sighed. "It's me."

Rhys let out a grunt of frustration before grabbing his phone off the table. 

"Hello?" His face was grave as he listened to the other end. After a moment, Rhys stood up, slapping some cash down on the table to cover the cost of his untouched glass of bourbon that had been sitting in front of him. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

Rhys shot a glance back at Azriel as he walked swiftly towards the door, phone still pressed to his ear. His face was a mix of confusion and anger. 

Azriel lifted his beer to finish the rest but Cassian snatched it out of his hands. 

"Come on now, brother. We don't need both of you being shit faced tonight." 

Azriel leaned his head back into the booth. The two sat in silence for a few minutes as the thoughts eddied around his head. He was furious with her. Absolutely furious. He wanted to break something but he focused on his breath trying to force his heart rate to steady. 

He had tried to call her. Again, and again, and again. He had lost track of how many messages he sent and voicemails left that just went unanswered. 

She had shut him out completely and it had taken everything inside himself not to show up at her door like some damn stalker to have it out. She had said her peace, she had got out everything she had wanted to but the moment she wasn’t told exactly what she wanted she ran away. 

It was ridiculous but he could, in a way, understand it.

Hadn’t he thought about doing the same thing?

But then he found out that she had started to avoid Feyre and Nesta and his anger overrode any sense of empathy he possessed.  

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous.

A vibration in his left pocket had him snapping back to the moment. Az pulled out his phone, not bothering to look at who was calling  him. There were only a handful of people who would dream of calling him at this hour and, no matter who it was, he knew it would be about Elain.

"Hello?"

"Listen to me," Rhys started, "You need to fix this. Elain was just thrown out of one of the shittiest bars in the city but, before that, Feyre saw her dancing with Eris fucking Vansera." 

Rhys growled out the last words and Azriel paled. 

He couldn’t speak. Every thought in his brain vanished and he was left feeling cold and dark. 

"Feyre watched him walk over to Elain from across the bar. He knew who she was. I don’t know, man. I don’t know if it’s because of Lucien or the shit that went down with Mor but Eris knew exactly who she was when he went up to her. Thank God or the stars or whoever the fuck else is out there for Elain being such a lightweight. Feyre said Elain never saw Eris’ face and then started throwing up so she got kicked out. 

“Whatever happened between the two of you, figure it out." Rhys spat before he hung up the phone.

Azriel lowered his shaking hand as he met Cassian's gaze. 

"Eris was at the bar tonight." He muttered. Cassian's face remained calm but his eyes burned with rage. 

His heart ached at the idea of what Elain would say, what Mor would say, when they found out. The pig had been caught red handed brutalizing Mor but got off because his daddy owned some major textile manufacturing plant in city limits. 

As with everything lately, it was all a pile of tangled string.

Elain had been appalled to learn that the kind, red-headed man she had met at the book store, and subsequently gone on a few dates with months ago, was related to that piece of shit.

It hadn’t been a quiet revelation, either. Elain had gone to a picnic with Lucien to meet some of his family members when Eris walked up. She hadn’t recognized him but Eris knew once he heard the name ‘Archeron’.

There was never any indication that Lucien was anything like Eris, and by all accounts, he had no idea of what had happened but, still. Elain couldn’t stomach the idea tightening the connection between Mor and Eris so the two had parted ways amicably. 

Azriel was unsure if the sadistic fuck would use Elain as a pawn against Lucien or to torture Mor just a bit more and that uncertainty made him sick. 

"I need to be with her tonight."

Cass took a deep breath before nodding. "Who?" 

Azriel froze. 

It was such a simple question on the surface. Elain or Mor? Mor or Elain?

But that question, that choice, had been the start of this whole mess and his inability to decide had caused so much pain. 

Mor had been his first love, the first bit of brightness in his dark life. It had baffled him as much then as it did now that such a beautiful person could even look his way.

She had fought for him in so many of the ways that counted. He had been rescued from his abusers but he still felt like he was drowning every damn day until she stepped into his life. For the first time, there was light. She was so radiant that, even when they were apart, he still felt like he was slightly blinded. Like staring at the sun for too long. 

Her easy laughter and charm had him wrapped around her finger in an instant. There was no thought, no room for consideration. She had appeared in his life and he was irrevocably changed from that moment on.

It had been different, with Elain. 

She had come to him broken and at times he had hated her. Hated her for wearing her pain and sadness so loudly that she was like a damn mirror to his own suffering that he fought so hard to hide.  

Still, he gravitated towards her. Perhaps he wanted to help her because he still had some hope that he could heal himself. Perhaps he just really couldn’t control his desire to know what made certain people tick, to learn their secrets and desires. Perhaps it was because he was a masochist and just wanted to feel his own suffering a bit more but Azriel chose her. 

Again and again he chose her. 

At parties and dinners at first until it turned into quiet conversations alone, in coffee shops or on apartment couches or during long walks when sleep evaded them both. 

He whispered his traumas and, for the first time in his life, she didn't baulk. She stood steadfast with him on the shore as they both endured the crashing waves. Elain traded him with her own misery and Azriel prayed he handled her secrets with the same level of poise and grace that she possessed. 

He watched as, over time, she learned to pull the pieces back together in ways he never had managed for himself. She learned to fill the gaps that would never heal the same and love the scars, no matter how jagged, they left behind. 

It wasn't until she was gone that he realized how she had managed to begin to do the same with him. As she healed herself, she had begun to seep into his veins and warm his soul. So damn slowly that he hadn't even realized it happening. 

Until she left.

Her words haunted him and now he stood alone. Shivering and cold in the darkness of the void she had pulled open. 

Azriel swallowed, feeling a part of his heart shut off forever. It had only been a moment since Cassian had asked the damning question but it had felt like an eternity had passed. 

His friend could never know how much weight was in that question.

"I need to see Mor." 

_______________________________________

@lil-mis-red

[ladyanatui]

Daiken Ultimate Playlist, Pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

This is the abridged version of my Spotify playlist for all things Daiken, organized from the start of 02 to…eventually.

Part 3 specifically covers from not long after XV-mon and Stingmon first Jogress-evolve through Christmas.

TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses depression, suicide, emotional abuse, and PTSD quite a lot. Take care of yourself, folks!

Spotify Playlist

Click the song titles for YouTube links (apparently you can’t have more than five videos in a post), and otherwise, enjoy me rambling about Daiken.

One final note: Within the lyrics, I’ve emphasized meaningful words, such as night/nightmare, dark/darkness, miracle(s), kind/kindness, courage/bravery, friend/friendship, sun/star/light, fire/burn/ignite, angel(s), and words related to water/drowning.

“Carry On” by fun.

Though I've never been through hell like that I've closed enough windows to know you can never look back

If you're lost and alone Or you're sinking like a stone Carry on May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground Carry on

And in the meantime, he knows that for Ken to feel better and move on, Ken needs to come to terms with his past while also not dwelling on it. Even by the end of the season, though, Ken still has a long way to go.

“Skin” Sixx:A.M.

When they start to judge you Show them your true colors And do unto others As you'd have done to you

Just rise above this Kill them with your kindness Ignorance is blindness They're the ones that stand to lose

One of Ken’s worst hangups about joining the team, though, is the fact that most of them still hesitate. Worst of all, Iori blatantly doesn’t want him there, though he does feel obligated to help Ken after Ken and Stingmon save his life. But Daisuke knows that as the others spend time with him and get to know him, they’ll love him just as much as he does.

“On My Own” by Ashes Remain

Every little thing that I've known Is everything I need to let go You're so much bigger than the world I have made So I surrender my soul I'm reaching out for your hope I lay my weapons down I'm ready for you now

And then, of course, there comes a time when Ken finally starts to come to terms with the fact that he can’t do this alone, that he needs their help and, more importantly, their friendship. This moment is difficult to pinpoint because it’s a slow process, but it’s probably right around episode 30 when Arachnemon creates BlackWarGreymon. Daisuke and Miyako trick him and Iori into working together in an attempt to get them to become friends, but the plan backfires when neither Ken nor Iori are fooled. But a few episodes later, by the time they’re defending the Holy Stones from BlackWarGreymon, Ken is working with the team.

And we can’t forget episode 35, where Daisuke invites Ken over for dinner to brainstorm about defeating BlackWarGreymon, and then suddenly it’s the next morning and Ken spent the night, which was definitely not part of the initial plan (they altered this in the English dub so that Daisuke asks him to spend the night after asking him over for dinner). The look on Ken’s face the following morning, when he wakes up to having spent the night at Daisuke’s home and watching their Digimon laugh and play together...it’s utterly heartwarming. He finally knows what it means to have a friend, and you couldn’t possibly find anyone more grateful.

“Doubt” by Twenty One Pilots

Temperature is dropping, temperature is dropping I'm not sure if I can see this ever stopping Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts, no You are all that I've got, no

But that’s not to say that Ken doesn’t continue to have doubts. There’s still a darkness in him he cannot shake, and he still struggles to believe he deserves to have friends, especially friends so wholly devoted and affectionate like Daisuke.

“Slip the Noose” by The Maine

Break down, hysteric and young Uncomfortably numb Then you sent my pain into oblivion I was on the verge of breaking down Then you came around And not a second too late

It’s pretty safe to say that, by this point, he understands how important Daisuke has become to him, even as he tried to prevent it. This song especially points to Daisuke helping him fight off his suicidal ideations (it’s all in the title).

“Anchor” by Skillet

When I get tired of finding All of the fears I've been hiding You gave me a breath and tell me to rest You never left

This is another song that focuses on the supportive nature of their friendship. Daisuke spends the entire second half of 02 being exactly who Ken needs him to be. He’s the supportive friend who isn’t afraid to tell him the awful truth if the moment calls for it.

And although it’s rarely talked about, Ken is also exactly who Daisuke needs in his life. Ken probably doesn’t realize how important he is to Daisuke, but the goggle boy seriously needed someone who actually listens to him, who respects him, and who loves him--and that’s exactly who Ken becomes as their friendship develops.

“All You Did Was Save My Life” by Our Lade Peace

I'm not dying All you did was save my life Pulled me out of that flat line Put the heartbeat back inside I'm not dying

And overall, it’s not an exaggeration to say that Daisuke legitimately saved Ken’s life. He was the one to activate the Digimental of Miracles, he (and Magnamon) was the one to defeat the Digimon Kaiser, he was the one to prevent Ken from potentially killing himself to stop his base from exploding, and he is constantly the one there to remind Ken of who he needs to be and what he needs to do to overcome his past.

“Picking Up Pieces” by Blue October

How long will I be picking up pieces? How long will I be picking up my heart?

Listen, I'll be as honest as I feel I feel like I'm getting more paranoid and I'm hearing things And they never turn out real It feels like my heart is made of pure steel It's just so heavy all the time

These things take time. Lots of time. To the point where it feels like it will go on forever. Despite the phenomenal progress he makes in 02, even by the end of the season, he still has a long way to go.

“Midnight Thoughts” by Set It Off

Here I am, 12 a.m. Sunken deep into my bed Kept alive by the light of the moon Close my eyes, but my mind's got its own plan tonight And it keeps rubbing salt in the wound

I know it's too late As night turns to day Now there's no escaping the ghost

Throughout this period, Ken is also suffering from nightmares--reminders of his past, including the moment the Dark Seed bored into the back of his neck and changed everything. I’m sure, to him, it feels like no matter how much he tries, he will never be able to move past the pain he’s caused the Digimon and Digital World.

“A Bad Dream” by Keane

I wake up, it's a bad dream No one on my side I was fighting But I just feel too tired to be fighting Guess I'm not the fighting kind Wouldn't mind it If you were by my side

First off, a big thank you to @molkschatz​ for introducing me to this song--it’s perfect for Ken.

Obviously, this song too references his nightmares, but it has far more to do with his loneliness and fear of losing himself than the actual bad dreams. Ken isn’t your typical fighter--he’s not courageous and spirited the way Daisuke and Taichi are, but he has a strong sense of justice and of right and wrong, which is really why it’s so important for him to help the Digimon and fight against evil. And although he may not be a tradition example of passion, he’s passionate in his own subtle way, and having Daisuke and the other Chosen by his side allows him to explore that side of himself.

“I Don’t Belong Here” by I Prevail

Looking back on the past, all the time I wasted Running from everyone that tells me that I'm fading out Must be mistaken 'cause I, I, I don't feel anything You know I got this brain, it drives me insane Some days I feel I can't take the pain, I'm gone I can't explain it 'cause I, I, I don't need anything (no)

Even as he learns to get along with all the Chosen, Ken struggles most with feeling like he doesn’t belong with the group. This is emphasized, of course, by the fact that he is the only one who doesn’t live in Odaiba, aside from Jyou.

This is most apparent in the Christmas episode where Ken has a holiday party and invites the group. He’s absolutely terrified to invite Iori because he assumes he won’t want to attend, but to his surprise, Iori has accepted him and is pleased he received an invitation because he didn’t expect one. Later, after they send the Digimon who ruined Yamato’s concert back to the Digital World, Ken has to go back to Tamachi and this adorable little exchange happens:

Sora: Ichijouji-kun sure has changed, hasn’t he? Hikari: He sure has. Daisuke: Really? I haven’t noticed anything...

While everyone else is still getting to know Ken as Ken and figuring out how he fits in the group, Daisuke has always seen him this way and has always felt like he belongs.

“Without You” by Breaking Benjamin

Say something new I have nothing left I can't face the dark without you There's nothing left to lose The fighting never ends I can't face the dark without you

There are so many moments throughout the show where Ken forces himself into situations where he is trying to deal with his problems on his own, facing the darkness on his own. But he quickly learns that he needs Daisuke and, to a lesser extent, the others there to help him, and more importantly, that having them fighting by his side doesn’t make him weak.

“Secret Smile” by Semisonic

Nobody knows it but you've got a secret smile And you use it only for me

I associate this song a lot with the Christmas episode because of how big of a deal everyone makes about his laughter but also the episode where Daisuke invites Ken over to his house and Ken just has the most beautiful peaceful smile on his face (mentioned earlier). The truth is that Ken is decidedly different around Daisuke than the rest of them. He’s more relaxed and happy, and once he starts calling Daisuke by his first name, he only does so privately. If other people are around, he still refers to him by his family name even as Daisuke calls him Ken all the time. Their relationship is precious and special, and calling him Daisuke publicly ruins the intimacy of it.

“An Act of Kindness” by Bastille

An act of kindness Is what you show to me It caught me by surprise in this town of glass and eyes Kindness, so many people pass me by But you warm me to my core and you left me wanting more

As the bearer of Crest of Kindness, it’s kind of a big deal for Ken to look at Daisuke and see all the wonderful and utterly kind things that he does. Extending his friendship when he had absolutely no reason to (don’t tell Dai that), defending him and helping him without any expectations in return--Daisuke shows Ken true friendship, and to Ken, that is the biggest act of kindness he ever could have performed.

And again, there’s a reference to Daisuke as a source of heat, much like the sun (plus, you know, the Crest/Digimental of Courage is associated with fire).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[bubblepop-32]

If Bruce was De-aged and the only one who could make him stop screaming is Jason. (Part 3)

Bruce gets de-aged, but his memories aren’t as young (but not as old) as what they’re supposed to be. And he desperately needs Jason.

I wanted to read de-aged Bruce with our man Jay but I literally can’t find any ;A; So I sacrificed sleep and wrote this. 

There’s going to be good ol’ fluff and bonding between Jason and small Bruce, but there’s also going to be angst, suffering and then a little more angst. And swearing (mostly from Jay)

Here’s the previous chap >> Part 2 << And if this is your first time... >> Part 1 <<

Jason ended up being led by an entourage of people – namely Alfred, Dick and Zatanna towards the place where de-aged-potentially-alternate-universe Bruce was kept. With each heavy step he took towards wherever they were going, the more and more he grew unsettled.

Alfred came to a graceful halt as they somewhat neared their destination, which soon turned out to be only Jason’s destination since no one else was going to go with him beyond where Alfred stopped.

“The temporary room where Master Bruce is staying is just the third door down on the right.” Alfred seemed to be directing the words mostly towards Jason. In a more hushed tone, Alfred continued. “Master Jason, it would be a good idea if you go without an entire horde following you.”

Alfred knew Jason was already uncomfortable setting foot here, much less be so close Bruce. Having more people to deal with other than trying to handle Jason himself whilst being in the presence of the bat was a horrifying thought by itself. This was also for the betterment of Bruce, despite Alfred knowing that Jason didn’t want to find himself starting to have to actually care about him.

Hearts and bonds shattered at such a young age would leave such a nasty scar that, perhaps, may never heal even with time.

“Yeah Ok.” Jason fixed his eyes on the door that was three doors to the right through the dimmed hallway. “Alright.” Jason was only just starting to freak out because this is Bruce he’s going to be meeting. Hell, it might not even be the Bruce he knows. What should he say? Would he even need to say anything at all? Wait, so why was he going to see Bruce?

Right, he was going to calm Bruce down. If this was another situation, for example, if Jason was interfering with some weapons trade and started shooting everyone, he’ll be able to calm and angry Bruce down by saying, ‘No, I didn't fucking kill anyone and yes, they’re alive,’ though whoever was left was usually on the verge of dying and sometimes in need of amputations. He would laugh at the idea of trying to calm the cold, stoic bat. It would all be some sick joke since practically everyone else out there that Bruce knew would be more eligible for the job than he would be.

But this, this was apparently different so whatever eligibility hierarchy there was before is now completely overthrown and Jason’s brain hasn’t caught up yet.

Alfred turned to look at Dick with a similar weariness behind his movements. “I think it is time that Master Tim takes his break. He has barricaded himself inside the cave and has taken nothing but coffee. It will do him good if you accompany him for a while.”

The butler quickly heads off to make something for Tim. Jason wonders how Alfred is able to feed so many people who are unable to cook without so much as making a mess of something. Jason had also assumed that Alfred would keep an eye on the situation but realised that Alfred must trust him, enough so that he was allowed to use his fine china and enter a room with a fragile ten-year-old Bruce inside. And the amount of trust that Alfred has given to him made his heart unexpectedly ache.

Then, there was Dick. They never got the chance or time to become better brothers. So the use of an old pet name Dick had for him caught him off guard.

“Jaybird?” Dick held Jason’s gaze for a moment as he thought of what to say. Jason found it both amusing and odd that the most sociably-sound, able-to-strike-up-conversations person out of all the batkids is holding back on his words.

“What?” Jason grunted.

“Thanks…Thanks for doing this.” Dick said.

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes. It really was out of character for Dick to thank him like this. “Don’t thank me yet. I might just make things worse than they already are.”

“No, you won’t.” Dick flashed Jason a smile. “It’ll be fine.”

“My ears sure won’t if he screams like that,” Jason utters, feeling coolly detached from the situation at hand.

“We can always get you fitted with hearing aids if it gets to that point.” Dick reaches out and tenderly brushes a few loose strands of white from Jason’s eyes and Jason tries his best to suppress himself from moving away from the sudden contact. Maybe it was a force of habit with the other two.

“Alright, I’ll ring you up if I ever need one of those.” Like hell he would. There’s still traces of the Lazarus within him and his ears can handle more than just a little screaming.

Dick leaves, his strides long and graceful as he heads towards the Cave. That just leaves him and Zatanna. Jason takes in a deep breath, hoping that it will steal him for what he has to face. He exhales and continues walking-

“Before you go, I think I should tell you something.” Zatanna pulls Jason aside by the wrist into a corridor by the side that leads to a bathroom. “I haven’t been completely open with the real reason we need you to meet with Bruce. Yes, he’s calling for you, but the reason behind it…it would’ve distressed Dick a little if I told you about it in front of him.”

“I thought you two talked it through already.” Jason furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and searched Zatanna’s eyes. “You said that you’ll be able to do your magic if I calm him down. I don’t see anything else to it.”

“Yeah, but do you know why I’ll be able to do that once he’s calm?” Zatanna’s gaze was piercing, daring him to interrupt her. “He’s hanging onto those memories of you. Voluntarily, if you will. He’s even managed to keep a firm hold on them when I tried to lock them up. From the looks of it, they are his freshest memories. They’re the most recent memories younger Bruce has from our Bruce, and they’re also the ones that are affecting younger Bruce the most.”

“Both you and Dick have said that he remembers me dead. Is it serious that it’s just one memory of me that’s stopping you.” Jason says. Zatanna still hasn’t let go of Jason’s wrist and he was starting to feel a little overwhelmed.

“Well, Mr Todd, you do leave quite the impression on people.”

“Yeah, but apparently I don’t leave the nicest ones.” Jason quickly murmured back.

“Uh huh but he ended up taking you in after all,” Zatanna replied. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

“I am, Zatanna, I never became the person he thought that I would be.” Jason bit back a laugh. “He should have just left me in that alleyway. Now all he does is gripe at all the things I do for Gotham whilst he sits back and deals with the things Gotham doesn’t need. He tails me wherever I go like he’s trying to chase down the ‘me’ he thought he knew. And now, what, this kid Bruce is hung up about it all over again because he just won’t fucking let go of it!”

Zatanna didn’t flinch nor move from her spot. She knows that Jason is just as hurt about as everyone else in the family is but his perception of those feelings he has are clouded by suffocating plumes of twisted resentment that is associated with Bruce.

“Even if those memories are painful to him, even if they are making him suffer, he’s not letting go of them because they’re important to him. You’re important to him, Jason.” She could practically feel the cold disbelief that radiated off from Jason. “I was surprised that I could lock away memories regarding this world’s Bruce’s parents…because he’s moved on. He has his own family and city to protect now, something that he didn’t have before. You’re part of the family he wants to protect to desperately.”

Jason doesn’t need to know all this. He didn’t need to know that all this wasn’t just Bruce being a stubborn brat and refusing to calm down – but were essentially specific memories, the memories of Jason’s death that was stopping Zatanna reciting her spell and him getting more sleep.

“I stopped being his ‘family’ ages ago! He made the very clear when he gave me this.” He spits out, downright feeling bitter all over again as he used his free hand to pull down his collar, revealing a thin white line that ran horizontally along the side of his neck. The slice of a Batarang. “He’s chosen that fucker over me more than just a few times.”

“Jason, those memories were the only things he had of you before everything went spiralling down. And they’re the only thing he has of you now as well.” Zatanna’s squeezed the grip he had on Jason’s wrist, “But, what Joker did to you…Bruce…he, he was distraught, broken and different afterwards. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let himself because you mattered to him.”

He stops and stares at her, trying to decipher the meaning behind what she’s said about Bruce. Sure yeah, Bruce has changed, but it doesn’t change that fact that he looks perpetually brooding even without the cowl on. To Jason, it seemed like the change in Bruce was trifling. Same old stoic Bruce with his same old moral code.

Zatanna gave an exasperated sigh. “If you open yourself to your family a bit more you would be able to realise things you don’t now. You have to realise that they are your family and have never stopped being your family.”

Jason tries to fight the urge to stare at her red lips as they spoke passionately, or at her dark hair that flows as she shook her head. The teenage Jason within struggles a losing fight as he easily tosses away the urges. He’s over all the silly ways how he would blush a little, or linger a little longer when she comes and visits the manor sometimes. Flowers bloom and wither, and now he feels nothing more than acquaintanceship for the magician. It was oddly a calm feeling. Jason’s steady gaze doesn’t leave Zatanna’s sparkling light blue eyes for even a moment.

“I’m not in the position to ask but, please, pretend that the kid you’ll be seeing is not the Bruce you know, but someone who desperately needs you and your help,” Zatanna said, knowing that Jason does understand but simply hates showing that he cares. This aspect of his proves that he was raised by Bruce more so than not.

The desperate desire to protect those who can’t, especially children, is a shared trait between the two.

Zatanna’s hand slid away from her grip on Jason’s wrist and turned back towards the main hallway. Jason didn't give a definite yes or no, but Zatanna didn’t need to know it since she knew Jason’s answer from the beginning. In fact, when a head-strong person like Jason chooses voluntarily stay when he had a choice to back out, they will see it out until the end.

The two came to a stop at where they were supposed to arrive minutes ago but had a slight detour. Jason faced the closed wooden door. Undefined shadows caused by the dim lighting etched across the door, giving it texture and form, further reconsolidating the fact in Jason’s head that this is real. Not a dream, not a nightmare, not a hallucination.

Zatanna hovered a couple metres behind, understanding that this was something that Jason needed to do by himself.

“With deduction skills like yours,” Jason slightly turned his head, but he wasn’t fully facing Zatanna either, “why don’t you step up and take his mantle as Batman for a while?”

An amused chuckle rolled out from Zatanna’s lips. “We established ages ago that his life as Batman wouldn’t be able to match up with mine…and we left it at that.” If Jason could see Zatanna’s face right now, he would see an amount of sentimentality he wouldn’t usually associate with the lively and energetic magician.

Jason realised that ‘we’ was Bruce and her, and suddenly realised that maybe that they had something more between them, once upon a time.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t suit you.” The smile that graced Jason didn’t last long. He placed his hand on the metal handle, hesitated, took a breath in, then out, then pushed.

--

This chapter, was hard to write. I was writing it in disjointed sections and I’m not confident with my ability to write conversations between two people so I kept on editing it. This chapter is to shed more light on what’s going on (because I tend to just write without realising that other people don’t know what the heck is going on) and to further develop the plot.

I’ve sort of like the idea of Jason having had a thing for Zatanna, but moves on. I wanted it to symbolise that Jason has changed, that he wasn’t the person he was before, but not someone entirely different either, like a bildungsroman in a way.

Here’s the next part >> Part 4 <<

[darlingrutherford]

Once Upon a Time in Thedas Update

Because I’m writing these in short scene-based chapters rather than longer ones, I went ahead and put out the next update for my DA Cinderella!AU :) 

Trigger warnings for this series for mentions and scenes of mental/physical abuse.

Once Upon a Time in Thedas - Chapter Two | Cross-posted on Ao3 | DA Cinderella!AU with alternate world canon | Alistair Theirin/Lana Surana | Mature rating for this chapter for minor mention of abuse, much less than the last chapter though |

     The Royal Palace in Denerim was large. Much, much larger than the mabari pens Alistair had slept in as a child. His entire life had been a whirlwind - of vying for the attention of those who were supposed to be family, of trying to impress them and do what was asked of him so he could belong - he had even suffered through templar training at the behest of his Uncle, Arl Eamon, who had passed him off at the behest of his wife, only to drag Alistair back to run a kingdom he hadn’t been raised to rule. Being King wasn’t easy. Not that Alistair had expected it to be, but when Eamon had brought him to Denerim and presented him as the bastard son of the deceased King Maric, he had expected that maybe he would have at least been okay at it. Why else would Eamon have suggested him for the job if it hadn’t been true? ‘Bastard son of the previous King, half brother of the deceased’ didn't exactly flow off the tongue otherwise. Alistair felt at a loss, though, clinging to the advisors that had been appointed to him at every matter thrust his way. Thankfully, everything to fall in his lap had been apparently on the easier side of things - small squabbles between parishes, lands arguments between farmers, no all out wars or large dealings with other countries as of yet. Still, it seemed like quite a lot for only having been crowned for a week, and Alistair was already exhausted. 

“Maker’s breath, is it going to be like this every day?” Alistair sat at the head of the table in the council chamber, groaning as he and his advisors finished combing the stack of papers in front of Eamon. It had been a long day - the same as each the past week - and his brain found itself wanting to quickly vacate his body. He felt little sympathy being thrown his way, since everyone around him had been more groomed into a life of high service than himself, though the sympathetic huff from the mabari at his feet did make him feel a little heard.

“You have only just ascended the throne, your Majesty,” Eamon said from his seat to the left of Alistair. “The people of Ferelden have been without a king for months while others vied for that power. It will take time to return to the peace we were once at.”

“In the meantime, there is one more item on our agenda for today,” Teagan spoke from the other side of Eamon. 

“Fine, what is it?” Alistair asked as he picked up his cup, looking at the water as if hoping it would gain him a sliver more of energy.

“It is most important,” Eamon said. “As King of Ferelden, you must have a wife chosen.”

“A what?” Alistair sputtered as he choked on the water that had been halfway down his throat. The mabari perked his head up, tilting his head in concern with a whine. “Maker, I’ve only just… Right now?”

“Not this very moment, but Ferelden must have a Queen with which you can continue the Theirin bloodline,” Eamon said.

“First you’re talking about marriage and then you jump right to babies? I can’t decide that all in one day!”

“You needn’t decide at all. As your advisors, we have compiled a list of eligible women. We may decide which would be best suited to -”

“You can’t expect me to marry some random noble woman you chose from a list?” Alistair asked, interrupting Eamon in exacerbation. A few of the other advisors sighed, as if growing impatient with how long the day had dragged on. “Maker, I’ve… Everything in my life has been chosen for me, surely I at least should choose my own wife if I have to have one? And not from some… list. What if I don’t even like any of them enough to love them?”

“Love is earned in many marriages of birth,” Eamon sighed, his patience with Alistair clearly waning. 

“No. I won’t leave something like that up to chance,” Alistair said firmly. 

“And how do you expect to meet your perfect woman while you are spending your days in these meetings?” Eamon asked. 

“We could throw a ball,” Teagan suggested. Eamon looked at Teagan in disbelief, as if his brother should have been trying to convince Alistair to allow them to choose. Teagan glanced at Eamon with only a hint of an apology, before looking at Alistair and continuing. “To celebrate King Alistair’s coronation, and to allow him to choose a bride. A three night event all eligible women may attend.”

“Three nights? Is that all?” Alistair grimaced. Three nights seemed barely enough time to get to know a person, let alone the woman he was expected to spend the rest of his life with and make children with. 

“It is either that, or our list,” Eamon sighed. Alistair paused, leaning back as he mulled it over. It wasn’t ideal, but, then, was any of this? Everything, from his title to the clothes he wore, had been chosen for him. If they would allow him to choose this, to choose a person who he could perhaps love enough to be a true partner to him, well, he supposed he would have to take it. 

“And I get to choose anyone there?”

“Yes, but you must choose on the third night,” Eamon said firmly. “If you do not, we shall choose for you.”

“I want any woman allowed to attend, regardless of status.”

“Regardless of -”

“My own mother worked in the kitchens, or so I was told,” Alistair interrupted Eamon. His voice was more stern, unwilling to budge. Why should he limit himself to nobility, to people who would only want to be there for the chance to be Queen? He was sure it would be difficult to find anyone who didn’t have that as their number one priority, but perhaps then he would at least be able to find someone who meshed with him well. Someone he could have actual conversations with, rather than constantly bringing up the affairs of state and other subjects that bored him to no end. 

“Very well,” Eamon grumbled in defeat. “We shall draw up the plans for the ball. Let it be held the third week of Harvestmere. Unwed ladies of all status shall be interested to attend. By the end of the third night, King Alistair will announce his choice, or we will, if none are chosen.”

“Does this mean he gets to choose one as well? Are you inviting all the eligible mabari in Ferelden? Since Bryn is King of the Mabari, and all,” Alistair joked. The mabari at his feet barked loudly and enthusiastically, his little tail wagging wildly. Eamon only groaned, muttering under his breath as Teagan choked down a laugh.

-

     Two weeks had gone by since Lana had been locked in the closet by her mother. The offense had cost her an entire day, as her mother grew more and more frustrated with Lana's ‘outbursts’ of magic. Since then Lana's days had been rather uneventful, back to her normal routine, with some minor changes. As part of her punishment, Lana's mother had confined her to her room when she was not finishing her chores. She had been careful as ever, and spent as much time as possible in her room near her sunny window, knowing that if enough time went by of her behaving her mother would eventually allow her outside again. This particular day Sister Leliana had come by, and together they sat on her bed with legs crossed as they spoke with hushed tones.

“It's not right,” Sister Leliana was saying. Lana's hand was in her palm, and her fingers delicately rewrapping the bandage on Lana's pinky finger. The finger was slightly off-set and swollen, even after the two weeks had passed. Lana winced slightly at how tight Leliana was tying the bandage, although Leliana had assured her she knew what she was doing. 

“Sister -”

“Yes, that's right. I am a Sister, and I say it isn't right. This isn't what the Maker wishes for you, Lana,” she said softly. She tied off the bandage gently before continuing. “Many parents must deal with the change magic brings to a family, but she needn't break your finger for it. It is vile… You should let me reset it. It is not healing correctly.”

“It hurts too much… I don’t want to upset her by being too loud.” Lana had spent the past two weeks being as quiet as possible. If she upset her mother now, she wasn’t sure if she would even be allowed the window in her room going forward.

“Maybe one of these days I will happen to stop by when she is not here. Then we may set it correctly.”

“You aren't like the other Chantry Sisters who have checked on me in the past,” Lana said with an appreciative smile. 

“Want to know a secret?” Leliana smiled as Lana nodded. She leaned in closer, whispering more quietly for emphasis. “I wasn't always a Sister.”

“Really?”

“I was a bard.”

“What?” Lana clapped her hand over her mouth as the word burst loudly from her tongue. The two of them laughed quietly.

“It’s true. In Orlais, for some time. I traveled all over, performing at great palaces and learning all their secrets. I have seen enough to know the good of mages. I know you did not deserve this. The Maker knows too, I am sure.”

“Tell me about Denerim, please,” Lana asked as she wiped her eyes. Compliments were difficult for Lana. She appreciated every word, more than Leliana could know, but there was always a part of her that refused to believe it. Her mother had spent Lana’s entire life telling her just the opposite. How could it be true?

“Of course,” Leliana said with a smile. “Did you hear the King is to pick a bride? They will be holding a grand ball for his decision. Three nights, of parties, and music, and all the women for him to pick from.”

“Maker, that would be a wondrous sight,” Lana sighed with a smile on her face. Her eyes trailed up to the roof as if picturing it. “Can you imagine? All the ball gowns, the dancing, all the people. I wonder if there will be other elves there? What kind of food will they have? Have you been to such a thing before?”

“I have, yes.” Leliana smiled. She watched Lana for a minute, her face never changing from one of wonderment as if she were still imagining it. “Would you like to go?”

“Me? A mage?” Lana laughed incredulously.

“Why not?” Leliana asked. “I would be shocked if you were the only mage in attendance. Many mages are not kept within the walls of their home as you are, Lana.”

“I… Don't think my parents would allow me to,” she said. The smile faded from her face, her eyes moving to the bed. “It would be nice, if only to see it once. But, I haven't even been to the marketplace since I was a child. And I would stick out like a sore thumb among all their graceful clothing in my own.”

“What if someone were to give you clothes for it?” Leliana raised her brows suggestively. “You must live a little, Lana. I worry what will happen to you if you live your entire life cooped up in this home.”

“Not everyone has grand lives, I’m afraid… It's not a life meant for me. I'll just have to dream about it.”

“Don't give up on your dreams,” Leliana said with a sparkle in her eyes. “You never know when they'll come true.”

[myheadcanonacademia]

The Gang talks about puberty.

Words: 2134

Class 1-A was in the middle of their English course, most of the students desperately trying to translate their assigned passages before it was their turn to speak. Compared to most of their other academic courses the language ranked highest. While general studies and hero support pushed proficiency in mathematics and the sciences, it had become apparent early on that the quadratic equation wasn’t going to help fight villains any time soon. The main focus of academics in the hero course was on language, and along with that the arts, theater, and writing.

Every hero course student had to be proficient in hero vocabulary and conversational English before they graduated, besides that they had to have a working vocabulary in at least three other chosen languages. Long nights were spent when the students could be heard talking to themselves in German, French, Arabic, Spanish, Mandarin and even Russian. They drilled phrases like ‘How can I help you?’ and ‘Are you in danger?’ as well as any possible replies that they could get. At lunches the week before an exam other students would raise eyebrows at the exhausted looking class 1-A as they rambled back and forth to each other in broken German asking ‘Have you seen this child?’ over and over again. The theory behind the study of the arts and writing was that heroes would have a higher attention to detail and be able to have the put what they saw into description. The theater classes assisted in their public speaking confidence.

Kaminari Denki was currently sight reading his chosen passage, a fairly complex paragraph from an American novel. Several students lay back in their seats, having already tried and failed to accurately translate their homework. Kaminari was without a doubt the star of the language class. While students like Iida Tenya and Yaoyarozu Momo excelled in all subjects, watching Kaminari flawlessly translate passages from Harry Potter on the spot was akin to watching a meteor shower. Beautiful and yet somehow terrifying.

After Kaminari finished his passage, Bakugou Katsuki stood up. His eyes and hands were on his open book of English readings. He had picked the hardest one he could find, a section out of a story by Edgar Allan Poe, and now he was regretting it. Slowly and firmly he tried to wrap his tongue around the odd fitting Anglo-Saxon language. He stumbled a few times and did as he had been taught to do when something frustrated him, take a breath, count to three and try again. It worked in an academic setting at least. But he stumbled over his words, glaring at Kaminari who was looking at him with a smile. Him and the rest of Bakugous group had been slaving away over their languages for days with little improvement.

And then it happened. It being, one moment Bakugous voice was an even raspy growl and the next it jumped up to a decibel that only dogs could hear and then falling to a deep bass. Bakugou froze mid sentence, counted to three, cleared his throat, and turned bright red. Even so he slowly began again, his eyes wondering over the faces of his class, most of them hadn’t even been paying attention, no one seemed to bothers by it at all. Bakugou raced through the rest of the passage and dropped back into his seet. He hid behind his arms crossed over his chest.

The second time it happened it was several days after the first incident. Bakugou had completely forgotten about having his voice break in the middle of class. But puberty never let you forget her for long. He was in the middle of a sparring match with Kirishima Eijirou, his best friend. Kirishima was acting as a punching bag as Bakugou viciously slammed his bloody knuckles onto his friends stony body.

“Why won’t you just give in-“ Bakugou was cut off mid threat by his voice rocketing up from its normal tenor to a soprano.

“Dude.” Kirishima laughed, he faltered in his defense and Bakugous right hook caught his chin.

Later that same day Bakugou and his little gang of losers had crowded the kitchen are of the common space. The only one who was actually using it for its intended purpose was Bakugou. He slaved away over the kitchen stove prepping meals for him and Kirishima. They were both trying to bulk up. Kirishima was trying to help by cutting the vegetables but he was so slow and kept crying over the onions that Bakugou had demoted him to ‘guardian of the Tupperware’. The defeated redheaded boy stood holding the plastic storage containers, trying to be interested in Bakugou as he explained why he never boiled broccoli, but Kaminari was being way too interesting. He had discovered a website that had a bunch of English profanities and they were all trying to memorize them but their pronunciation was so off most of what they said was nonsense but with the amount of laughter it was apparent that it didn’t really matter.

“Kirishima pay attention, I’m only making enough food for both of us this one time.” That’s what he said two weeks ago as well.

“Dude relax.” Kirishima laughed, glancing at the broccoli beef Bakugou had created. He waved the Tupperware around. “I’m ready when you are!”  

Kaminari poked Bakugou on the shoulder. “You should be listening to these they are so funny!”

“Why the fuck would I be interested cursing in English. No one will know what im saying.” Bakugou rolled his eyes. Sometimes his friends got excited about silly things. Silly harmless things that just made them happy, it was Bakugous job to shit on those things as much as possible.

“Come on man, try this one.” Kaminari raised his phone. “Your mother was a hamster and your father smells of elder berries!”

“Your… Fa… Father was a hamster…” and Bakugous voice cracked again, no one made a move. Bakugou reached behind him and grasped one of the (only)  clean saucepans and in his rage launched it out of the kitchen and towards the sitting area. The handle wedged into the wall where it would remain for generations to come. He small gang of friends laughed at Bakugous expense.

“Dude, your voice  has been cracking all day!”

“I’ve noticed, Hair For Brains. “ Bakugou returned to his cooking, his face growing ever redder. He was furiously mixxing garlic into the beef sauce. “it’s fucking annoying.”

“it’s puberty, don’t sweat it dude.” Kaminari leaned back against the cool counter top, his finger scrolled through his phone but his attention was on Bakugou. “We are all suffering.”

“I don’t see you turning into a soprano in English class.” Mina laughed. “Fucking Sarah Brightman over here nearly made Iidas glasses crack.”

Bakugou growled at the pink haired girl. “it’s not a big deal, my voice breaks too. Remember in Hero training? I was trying to warn you that Sero was behind you and all that came out was nails on a chalk board.” Kirishima comforted Bakugou with a pat on the arm from the Tupperware.

“I’m moist like all of the time.” Mina happily chirped. The boys looked to her visibly shaken. “oh you wish! I mean I’m sweaty all of the time. Even now, you should feel my back.”

“I’d rather not.” Sero cringed.

“That’s gross.” Bakugou looked over his friend group carefully, reconsidering his choices.

“I’m allowed to be just as nasty as you Palm Sweat.” Mina used her foot to give Bakugous rear a quick kick. She pushed herself up onto the counter top and pulled a bag of chips out of MInetas shelf.

“I have a semi like 80% of the day.” Kaminari admitted way to comfortably. “And not for any reason. Two days ago I opened a pudding cup, boom, raging boner.” He laughed, everyone’s eyes drifted from his face to his crotch and back.

“Okay all of you are-“

“I’m pretty sure im going to be hairy as fuck.” Sero continued with their little confessional. Bakugou accepted that his had stopped being about his cracking voice and was now an all included ‘my body is doing fucked up shit’ power hour.

“Dude I saw you have chest hair and everything.” Kirishima laughed. He pulled out his shirt collar and looked down at his smooth skin. “Lucky.”

“You want chest hair?” Bakugou winced. “Why?”

“it’s manly as fuck.” Kirishima added.

“Let me see!” Mina was lifting Seros shirt, and he was letting her. He had a small patch of hair growing out of the middle of his chest between his pectorals, and one hell of a happy trail. Mina plucked a hair off from around his nipples and laughed. Sero cried out and frowned.

“Dude there aren’t that many!” he stole the hair back from Mina.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and nudged Kirishima to hold out the tupperware. He stated sectioning out the large quantity of food. Kaminari eyes him closely. Bakugou sneered as Kaminari adjusted his pants silently.

“Oh my god! Ew!” Mina jumped back up on the counter top.

“I’m sorry okay!” Kaminari wiggled around in his jeans. “It won’t stop! I don’t know what to do!”

“Just go jack off in your room.” Kirishima suggested, not even teasing, just trying to give friendly advice.

“I do… all of the time! I can’t jack it anymore! MY. DICK. HURTS.”

“All the time?” Mina now seemed kind of interested. Kaminari inched away from her.

“It’s that or I great the world dick first for the rest of my life.” Kaminari was wildly waving his arms around as he spoke, but it was going nothing towards distracting everyones eyes from his obvious boner.

“Maybe you could use it as a Taser?” Sero clowned a pelvic thrust. “ZAP ZAP!”

Kaminari seemed to be considering it. Mina burst into laughter.

“You won’t even need your charge director. You could have been using your dick this entire time.” The pink girl was screaming.

“Just imagine Kaminari running around, dick flying through the air, shooting lightning!” Sero had to support himself on the tile next to Mina.

“Cockbolt!” Kirishima slammed shut the freezer after him and Bakugou had packed way their meals.

“Stuncum.” Bakugou muttered a little quieter.

“Cum-inari Dick-I” Mina was getting way too loud.

“Fuck all of you guys.” Kaminari was choaking on his laughter. Sero was hardly even breathing. Kaminari turned to Kirishima as he wiped tears from his eyes. “And what about you? You as rock hard as I am?”

“Me?” Kirishima looked a little shocked that they were even curious about what ever damage puberty was wrecking on his body. “I don’t know… kind of all the normal stuff I guess?”

“Normal stuff?” Kaminari wanted details. Bakugou couldn’t deny he didn’t also what to know what the apparent faultless puberty god had to say. Kirishima seemed to be going through a short list in his head, trying to pick out the most interesting.

“Sorry, I don’t really know…” he scratched at his head. Kaminari wasn’t accepting that.

“Come on! Something? Is one of your feet bigger than the other? Do you smell bad? Acne in odd places? Come on! have your balls even dropped?”

“Of course they have! Im just saying that I cant think of anything funny to say. Nothing can really beat your fucking boner!” Kirishimas face was starting to match his hair.

“I bet Jirou would like to beat it.” Mina muttered under her breath.

“Really?” Kaminari perked up. “How… how do you know? Did she say-…”

“Kirishima cries a lot.” Bakugou announced coldly. All eyes were on him.

“I do?” Kirishima questioned. He didn’t think he cried a lot.

“You’re an emotional wreck.” Bakugou was pulling out more rice and meat, he wasn’t going to let them know but he was making everyone a late lunch. He just felt like cooking. “you cry at almost every movie we watch, even the ones that aren’t sad. Yesterday you dropped you pen in class and when you couldn’t reach it I saw fucking tears in your eyes.”

“Kirishima you big soft pussy. “ Mina spoke bluntly.

Kirishima looked to be in a state of shock. He guessed that maybe he had been crying a bit more than normal, that silly things like missing shoes and low batterys were pulling tears from him in the gallons. But he was an emotional guy so it made sense. Kaminari pulled Kirishimas head to his chest “my soft boi.”

“Get off!” Kirishima struggled against Kaminaris grip. Sero put his hand on the back of his head and pushed it down.

“NOW SUCK THAT DICK!” Kirishima escaped just in time, the group sans Bakugou laughing. Bakugou started putting the food he had just taken out way. Fuck these people, they could starve.

[insecwrites]

Spectral Advisor (Starscream/Skyfire )

Summary: After some time out of the ice, Skyfire leaves the war and the Autbots behind. As he is trying to cope with the loss of his friend, partner, and old life, he encounters Starscream at his desk.  ...Wasn't he dead though?

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When Skyfire saw Starscream standing at his desk, he thinks he’s had too much Energex. It would not be the first time he’d drank more than he’d intended to, but he had never straight-up hallucinated.

Starscream didn’t acknowledge him, busy as he was trying to flip to the next entry on Skyfire’s personal datapad. His hands were phasing through the controls, and he was scowling at the thing in a manner that suggests he would toss the datapad out of a viewing port if he could touch it. Skyfire had seen Starscream’s coronation, where he announced himself as the new leader of the Decepticons. It had been broadcasted on any and all Cybertronian frequencies through the galaxy, in glorious detail. In the first few moments after Starscream’s live death, Skyfire had wondered if there was enough of Starscream left to have a funeral for.

Maybe that should have been the first sign that his mental state was taking a nosedive. Or maybe he ws still suffering from all those millions of years frozen in ice, and the effects were only now showing up.

“Starscream? …” He said breathlessly.

Starscream jolted, and it was a good thing he phased through whatever he touched or all of Skyfire’s desktop would have ended up on the floor. For a moment, they simply looked at each other in silence. Skyfire in a pained hope, and Starscream in-… excuberation?

“You can see me?!” Starscream yelled.

He was loud – far louder than Skyfire would have expected him to be as a hallucination. He’d been expecting something more morose and depressing, with crying and guilt tripping, but this Starscream was just as lively as ever, his wings angling through a wide array of emotions as he waved his hand towards Skyfire’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?!”

“I- … All of them?” Skyfire reached out to grab Starscream’s hands by habit, as he used to whenever Starscream got a little too physical in a discussion, but his fingers slipped right through.

Starscream did not look bothered. “I knew it! I knew it!” He crowed. “It wouldn’t have made sense otherwise! Yes! This changes everything, oh yes-!”

“Starscream-…” Skyfire reset his optics, watching as Starscream celebrated. “How are you here? Aren’t you…You’re dead?”

“  Was being the keyword in that sentebce.” Starscream replied. “I didn’t STAY dead, as you can see, and that’s what matters the most. Well, actually, it matters a lot more that you can see, because surviving death when you cannot interact with the world is terrible. I would know!”

Skyfire shook his head incredulously. “I-…How could you come back from  death  ? You-… There was a breeze and your frame  literally  fell apart and blew away. ”

“Well, I just woke up like this.” Starscream replied flippantly. “I assumed that my lust for vengeance allowed me to return so I could haunt Galvatron, but it turned out he couldn’t see me. The best I could do was disrupt the signals to his entertainment hub, and that got old very quickly. I then attempted to communicate with the living, with similar underwhelming results.  ‘Commlink acting weird …’  You’d think a scientist like Wheeljack would figure something out that someone is trying to communicate from beyond the Allspark!”

Skyfire had nothing much to say. Just as when he’d watched Starscream die, it seemed that his emotions were on break, waiting to swoop right back into the fray as soon as the shock died down.

“And don’t bother going to see any of those ‘mediums’. I visited Dirge, and then a depressingly long list of filthy little organics, and none of them could hear a single word that I said!” Starscream was getting agitated just thinking about it, judging by the way his wings snapped up. “But, all of that is in the past, because now, I know that I am real, and that I can actually do something with all the things I’ve seen and heard in this state!”

“Oh. I could see that being... frustrating.” Skyfire nodded. All senses other than his optics and his audials were reporting that there was, in fact, nobody in front of him.

“You have  no  idea.” Starscream complained. “I have enough dirty secrets in my brainmodule to topple a government, and that is barely an exaggeration. All I need is someone to help me bring this information into the world, in a fitting manner!” Starscream’s optics were piercing and red, and they held Skyfire’s gaze long enough that Skyfire could begin to see through him and into the room behind him. Skyfire had many memories that featured that very same look; Starscream’s patented look of persuasion.  

“… It’s for a better world too, before you get upset at me for my ambition.”

“… You have to understand that I’m not sure you are real right now.” Skyfire said in a measured tone. “I was buried in ice for a few million years, lived through some war, avoided the doctor, and I think I drank a little too much energon.”

Starscream blinked. “I-? … Do we really have to go through that!? There are things to DO! Urgent things!”

“… If you are the real Starscream, you would agree that it is a bad idea to listen to random hallucinations.” Skyfire replied.

“Fine.” Starscream bit back. “I will give you  proof . What is the name of the current Prime?”

What an odd question. The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? “Optimus Prime?”

Starscream smirked. “No. Not anymore. He got someone to succeed him. Want to take a guess who that was?”

“...Ultra Magnus? Magnius Prime?” Skyfire could tell he was wrong the moment he said it, if only because Starscream’s grin grew two ticks wider.

“Wrong!” Starscream crowed. “The new Prime is a young mech hailing from Nyon. A racing frame, raised on a neutral colony. I was a witness to his ceremony, where he became a Prime by the simple act of trying to hand the Matrix to Ultra Magnus. Upon becoming the spiritual leader of our race, his first acts as Prime was to mortally wound himself so he could gain advice from the Matrix.”

“…This has to be something I am hallucinating.” Skyfire said. “He-… the Matrix wouldn’t let a Prime do something like that… Is Optimus really dead-?”

“Go ahead and call Bumblebee. He was there to see it happen.” Starscream continued. “Oh! Maybe ask Arcee or Kup instead, they were both there when ‘Hot Rod’ arose to Primehood.”

“...”

“And I’ll say that his name fit his personality very well. He was apparently a berth-hopper before Primehood.” Starscream smirked. “Verrry kinky, judging by what I found in his private quarters. I could tell you his commlink number and you can embarrass him by asking him about that fake spike he keeps under his berth.”

“Okay – stop, just… Give me a moment.” Skyfire squeezed his optics shut, and stroked the transformation lines on his helm. It felt like his head was shrinking around his brain module. “I’ll call someone on Cybertron.” Starscream leaned against something invisible, and made a ‘hurry up’ motion with his hands.

Skyfire looked through his commlink contacts, scanning for Bumblebee’s name in between old pre-war contacts. With the distance between himself and Cybertron, it took a few moments for the call to connect, and the first few glyphs spoken were garbled by static.

//Uh, Hello, Skyfire?// Bumblebee said. //I wasn’t expecting you to call, after you left. Without saying anything to anyone, or leaving a message…. What’s up?//

“Hello Bumblebee.” Skyfire said. For a moment, he felt compelled  “I’m calling to confirm a rumour; is it true that a new Prime has been chosen?”  

//I… Where did you hear that?//

“That news is travelling far faster than the Autobots think it is.” Starscream said, impatiently tapping a foot a few inches above the floor. “The Junkions really enjoy broadcasting whatever gossip they can get their hands on, and Cybertronian gossip is very sought after. Lately even more so, with the Quintessons searching for Cybertron-”

“Starscream – I am in a call!” Skyfire stage whispered, trying to keep his voice low enough so that his commlink wouldn’t pick it up.

// Skyfire? Are you still there? //

“Oh! Yes, sorry Bumblebee. I was-… It was on the news. Just, please tell me who the new Prime is.”

//Okay, that’s good. Are you okay? Nobody has heard from you, and the war is officially over, so you could come back to Cybertron and help to rebuild it.//

Skyfire offlined his optics. “I just want to know who the Prime is, Bumblebee. Before I do anything else. Just to be sure I’ll be of any help, you know?”

//O-kayy? Well, you probably know Ultra Magnus was next in line, but he’s not the Prime. Someone grabbed the Matrix to hand it over, and the Matrix chose him. His name is Rodimus Prime. //

Skyfire’s optic’s met Starscreams. “…. Is that derived from ‘Hot Rod’ ?”

// How did you know that? // Bumblebee asked quickly. //Who told you?!//

“I told you, didn’t I?” Starscream said with a smirk. “Is there anything else you want to confirm, or can we talk business now?”

Skyfire didn’t answer him, still too busy staring at a most-likely-real Starscream apparition. Back from the dead to meddle in  politics  of all things. In his spark, he could feel the telltale hiccups that meant his shock was coming to an end. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling just yet, but it wouldn’t be very long.

//He’s-  well, I haven’t been around him too much, but he’s very different from Optimus.// Bumblebee continued to chat in Skyfire’s commlink, oblivious to SKyfire’s shifting attention.  //I think it could be good. A new Prime for a new time, you know? Jazz seems to like him. You could meet him, if you came to Cybertron to meet him. //

“Yes. I will have to think about that.” Skyfire said. He didn’t take his eyes off Starscream for a moment. “I have things to do, Bumblebee, if you’ll excuse me. Good orn.”

//Um, alright? Good or-//

He closed the commlink connection to Cybertron before Bumblebee finished speaking, and focused his attention on Starscream.

“You. Are real.”

“Yes, I do believe we proved this now.” Starscream replied.

“You came back from the dead, from being vaporised into fragments so small that nobody could even find me a vail full for a proper burial … And the first thing you do when you come back and talk to me, is to try to take part in  politics ? Together with me?” Skyfire spoke slowly to let the meaning of his words sink in for the both of them.

“… Yes.” Starscream said, not a trace of shame or guilt in his face.

Skyfire closed his optics. Underneath the joy of seeing his friend again, and the knowledge that a second betrayal would win nothing for Starscream, that first betrayal still burned. Starscream was not a mechanism of easy apologies. The Starscream that Skyfire had known well and intimately, had preferred to tell himself a story on why his choices were the correct ones instead of stooping to an apology.

“… Will you help me?” Starscream prompted him. “Skyfire?”

There were whispers in the back of Skyfire’s helm that sounded like Autobot voices. In the madhouse that was the future, Starscream’s name had become synonymous with betrayal and scheming.

Skyfire scrutinised how he felt, and let it settle in his frame. Despite the anger, the betrayal, and the grief Skyfire refused to believe that Starscream had become that bad. If that meant he had to get burned a second time, then so be it.

“Yes, Starscream. I’ll help you, as much as I’ve ever helped you.” He replied with sincerity. He would have grabbed a hold of Starscream’s hand, had it been solid, and judging from the way Starscream held his hand outstretched, he would not have minded.

“Yes! Yes! I will make you a great figure of power! We will save Cybertron together-…” Starscream’s smile was radiant and triumphant in answer to Skyfire’s reply, until a sudden realisation washed it down. “… I am suddenly reminded of all the previous times you helped me, and I realise that this might not be as much of a triumph as I was thinking.” His voice was not without humour, though it sounded a little more bitter than it should have. “At least half of our cooperative projects were compromises, if not more.”

Skyfire felt a smile for the first time in cycles. “You used to say that you liked my…what did you call it? ‘Loyalty to myself?’ ”

“Stubbornness.” Starscream replied. “Stubbornness was the word I used, I’m fairly sure.”

“My memory is fresher.” Skyfire quipped back. “And you were not much better, especially not when we first started working together! The amount of times you said ‘yes’ to my faceplate and did ‘no’ behind my back… You have gotten back into that habit, haven’t you?”

Starscream flicked a wing dismissively. “I unlearned it once, I’ll unlearn it again. It will help a great deal to know that your preferred method of payback involves pouting rather than petty violence.”

“…. Well. I am sure we’ll be able to find a middle road in what needs to be done.” Skyfire said. He was not thinking of ruling an empire with a spectral Starscream at his side. Rather, he imagined Starscream, back in a functioning body, together with him. If he had to play some politics to keep Cybertron functional enough to make that an option, he would help Starscream.

“Well then.” Starscream said. He sat back and flicked his wings to get comfortable. “You best get something to take notes, because there is actually a lot I need to fill you in on before we can get planning.”

Skyfire grabbed a datapad from the floor, and wiped it clean. He doubted that its info would be useful in the short term. “Lay it on me.”

BREAK

It never quite became clear how Skyfire came to infamy. Sure, mecha can tell you why everyone looks over their shoulder for his spies, or why his advice is more sought after than pre-war vintage Energex, but nobody can tell you how he did it. Mecha that knew him from the war, a handful of Autobots, can only say that he was a withdrawn and quiet mech. More suited for transport and reports than for politics or battle.

He hadn’t been clairvoyant back then, or the Autobots would have won the war before the Quintessons had even begun their invasion plans. He hadn’t been able to predict the motivations and intentions of the other players on the political playing field, nor had he seemed remotely interested. He hadn’t been able to produce top-secret information as a side-thought, or he’d chosen to keep it all to himself.

After Skyfire had been dug from the ice of Earth to partake in the war, he’d taken a short break. For a few decacycles, Skyfire had withdrawn from any and all Cybertronian ongoings. When he came back, he slowly but surely oozed his way to the upper command. Not as an officer or a recognised civilian rank, but as the mech that always seemed to know when to show up, and what to say to who.

The only little flaw about him, was that he talked to someone when he was alone. He argued with a mech nobody could detect, and had an unhealthy interest in inert dolls or unsparked shells. Of course, this meant that any theories about Skyfire’s sudden change in interest and capability were accompanied by a plethora of ghost stories. Odd tellings of old lovers, Unicron’s return, sparkeaters, and other horrors.

So, nobody truly knows how Skyfire senses coups, or how he picks his enemies. All they know is that, no matter how much he argues with a non-excisting voice, he always comes out on top.

[goddessofroyalty]

Prompt! So, with pregnant Omega!Obi-Wan captured by Vader, what do you wanna bet Vader takes the opportunity to remind Obi-Wan 'who he belongs too' - and with the pregnancy hormones, and finally having a chance to relax, Obi-Wan responds beautifully...poor Obi-Wan is so tired in this Verse...

So my brain wanted towrite this and okay, that was fine. I do hope I got across the idea that ObiWan isn’t really consenting so much as he is just too tired to fight (both hisown body/hormones and Anakin) here. As always will edit and cross posteventually.

Tw: rape

Warnings: omegaverse,mpreg

It takes a week before the medic informs him that Obi Wanshould be allowed to have intercourse again. A week of regular food and sleep.Of healing the damage Obi Wan did to his body by trying to run away. Of riskingnot only his own life but that of their child,of Anakin’s child.

The week is over though, and the medic satisfied that ObiWan and the baby are in good enough health for sex to not be a possible dangerto them.

The week is over, which is probably a good thing, as Anakin’spatience had been wearing thin. It has been too long since he had last beenwith his mate, back before he had started his eradication of the corruption ofthe galaxy. Obi Wan had apparently blanched at his methods and chosen to fleerather than even face him, taking his child with him. That doesn’t matter nowof course, Obi Wan learned the error of his ways and allowed himself to bebrought back.

He can feel the curve of Obi Wan’s stomach under his hand.The evidence of his child nestled inside Obi Wan’s body. He slips his metal handunder the thin robe he had given Obi Wan upon his return to feel the stretchednaked flesh containing his child before slipping his hand down and underthe waistband of the leggings.

“Anakin?” There is a flash of something in Obi Wan’s, amoment of hesitation that he cannot follow when Obi Wan turns his head away.

“It’s okay. The medic says it’s safe so long as I’m not toorough.” He doesn’t feel like being rough with Obi Wan. Not anymore. He knows hehad thoughts about it while Obi Wan was still missing from him, hiding inexpanse of the galaxy and running whenever an informant got to close. He hadthoughts of pushing him down to the floor of ship the second they were on-boardand reminding him who he was mated to. Reminding him who was the alpha and whowas the omega in the relationship. Those thoughts had vanished the second hesaw him. Obi Wan pregnant with his child and clearly suffering from the effectsof it, a whimpering plea falling from his lips for Anakin to help him evenstand because his body was too tired to managed even that. He still needs to re-establishtheir relationship but he has little want to be rough about it.

“Oh,” Obi Wan flushes and again he is looking away. It’sstarting to bother Anakin. They both know he isn’t some blushing virgin, embarrassedon their first night together with their alpha. They both know that Obi Wan coulddo indecent things with his body and tongue. It has been a while though, soAnakin will allow him some embarrassment. Anyway his attention will be fully onhim soon enough. “Anakin I’m not sure.”

“I am.” He moves his hand to cup Obi Wan’s still softerection, rubbing the cool metal against it gently to bring it to life.

It earns him a flash of defiance, Obi Wan’s eyes flashingtowards him angry and stubborn. “Anakin-“

“Shh,” his presses his lips to Obi Wan’s. It takes a secondbut Obi Wan gives in and melts under it, melts under him as he shifts them soObi Wan is lying back just slightly and Anakin is able to move so he is overhim.

He moves his hand from Obi Wan’s erection and further down,pressing along his perineum in order to obtain the gasp it always does, beforecontinuing to find his real goal.

“Anakin don’t,” Obi Wan says, and Anakin can only chuckle.They had tired it once, Anakin fingering Obi Wan with his metal hand and ObiWan had quickly decided he didn’t like it. The metal too cold and unyielding. Apparently too much like a medical instrument and not like a lovers touch. In his fantasies it had been the hand he used, to remind Obi Wan that he wassubmissive to Anakin’s desires. He had lost interest in the idea just the same ashe had the rest of them.

“I know, I won’t,” he pulls away to dig out the lube fromthe bedside draw, grateful to be able to use it with one of his mates insteadof merely himself like he had the months before Obi Wan had been found.

Obi Wan watches him passively. Which doesn’t matter exceptfor the fact that when Anakin returns his clothes are still on him. The lubegets momentarily forgotten about so he can fix that issue.

When he reaches for the robe to pull that off first Obi Wan’shand catches his as if to stop him.

“You don’t need to be self-conscious,” Anakin tells him,because it is the only reason for it to stay on. He presses reassuring kissesto Obi Wan’s collar where the robe rests just under. “You’re beautiful likethis, your body supporting my child.”

It takes a little but eventually the hand falls and Anakinmakes quick work of the robe. The ability to touch and see Obi Wan’s nakedstomach distracts him for a little. Running his hands over the bulge that holdsthe evidence of their previous matings a gratifying experience. Obi Wan doesn’tseem to mind though. Seems content to let him kiss and rub along his flesh.

He yelps when Anakin’s hand finds one of his nipples, andthe “Anakin” said sounds so much like his usual chastisements.

“So beautiful.” Anakin kisses him again as his hands startworking on the leggings, ignoring the way Obi Wan shifts almost as if to moveaway. It has been far too long since they had last been together. Their bondneeded renewing, and they both needed the chance to relearn each other’sbodies.

Once the last of Obi Wan’s clothing is taken care of Anakinretrieves the lube from where it ended up in the sheets. He coats the fingersof his flesh hand with it and when he meets Obi Wan’s eyes the hesitation isback. Joined by a raised chin, as if Obi Wan is about to go into argument orbattle.

“It’s okay. I know you’re still tired. Just lie back and letme take care of it.”

The words appear to do little to remove either feature inObi Wan’s face and Anakin decides that pressing forward is best option.

The first finger takes a little more effort than it normallydoes. The months between the last time they saw each other apparently givingObi Wan’s body a chance to retighten. He keeps going, bending the finger tofind Obi Wan’s prostate and massage it gently, a signal to the omega’s bodythat it needs to prepare for sex, triggering it’s natural slick production. Hepresses a second finger in once he feels the wetness start to join the lube heused in making Obi Wan wet enough to take him.  

He can hear Obi Wan’s breaths getting heavier, but he ismuch too focused on crooking and spreading his fingers, and kissing along thebase of the swell of Obi Wan’s stomach. His metal hand gripping Obi Wan’s thighto make sure he keeps his legs spread, feeling the muscles tense and untense ashe prepares him.

Soon enough two fingers become three and Anakin is satisfiedthat Obi Wan is ready enough to take him without any unnecessary pain. Pullingthem out he shifts so he can actually see Obi Wan’s face again, and notices thetears that stain his cheeks.

He reaches up to rub them away, smearing lube and slick onObi Wan’s cheeks instead. “It’s okay, I forgive you. You’re both safe now. That’sall that matters.”

“No I-“ Obi Wan goes to protest and Anakin presses a fingeragainst his lips to silence him.

“You don’t have to say it. I know, you’re sorry. I forgiveyou.”

Obi Wan still looks unsure but he doesn’t seem to be tryingto say anything more so Anakin takes the cue that he can continue. It takes alittle prompting for Obi Wan to shift and turn around, burying his hands intothe sheet as his hips are lifted. Presenting himself in the way that is usualfor omega’s trying to gain their alpha’s attention either in or out of heat.Anakin figures it’ll be the most comfortable for him, his stomach not in theway of them that way while also not being pressed against anything like whenAnakin had decided to take him against the side of Padme’s couch one time.

Anakin doesn’t bother removing his pants fully. Just pushesthem down far enough on his hips that they won’t get in the way.

He cannot resist the urge of running one of his metalfingers along Obi Wan’s entrance, watching as it tenses up in response to thecold of it. He is tempted to push it in. Just one. Obi Wan is open enough thathe should hardly feel it. Sinking into the heat of Obi Wan’s body proper is amuch more tempting option.

His hands find their place on Obi Wan’s now broader hips,another part of his body that had adjusted for the child – both to carry andeventually birth them. He just lets them sit there, trying to see if he canremember the difference between what Obi Wan’s hips were before and what theyare now. He knows there is one but he supposes he had never really paid much attentionto the distance between Obi Wan’s hips, not when there was something more temptingbetween them.

“Anakin?” Obi Wan asks, craning his neck as if to try andsee why Anakin is stilling.

Anakin runs a hand up his back and buries it into his hairgently pushing his face back down. He curves around Obi Wan so he can press akiss to the bond mark on the side of his neck, his teeth gently resting in thespot they had bitten down so long ago as he pushes in, Obi Wan’s body yieldingto him easily. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

“Anakin-“ Obi Wan’s voice hitches when he slides out andback in again. He won’t be rough with him but he still needs to firm. Needs toremind Obi Wan where he belongs in the galaxy, who he belongs to.

“Don’t ever try to run from me again,” he tells Obi Wan ashis rhythm picks up. He doesn’t get a reply, Obi Wan too lost in his pleasureand submission to give him one. He didn’t expect one, nor does he need one. Itdoesn’t matter what Obi Wan says in response, it will not change the facts.Anakin finally has him safe. He isn’t going to let him go again.

As his pace increase and he gets close and closer to theedge he knows his words get more and more incoherent. They stay on their themethough: Obi Wan is his. The child is his. He forgives Obi Wan for his mistakein running away, understands that things had exploded into chaos a bit thereand that no-one knew how they were going to end up. He isn’t going to let ithappen again though. From now on Obi Wan is staying with him. Is going to lookafter their child and help him to rule the galaxy.

When he cums, he collapses to the side. Sure to not crushObi Wan underneath him. Obi Wan doesn’t shift to cuddle up with him and insteadhis form seems to shake. Which… right.

“I didn’t forget about you.” He reaches over to find Obi Wan’spenis again. It takes a few strokes but Obi Wan cums as well, his body goingtense as his breath hitches with orgasm.

After that it is easy for Anakin to tug him over. To havehim pressed against his side, wrapped up in his arm. His hand once again findsthe swell of Obi Wan’s stomach, rubbing along it and knowing that it’s hischild within there.

“You’re safe now,” he tells him, pressing a kiss to hissweat-soaked hair. He isn’t going to let anyone take Obi Wan away from him, notlike what happened with Padme. No, Obi Wan and their child is going to staysafe and alive. He doesn’t care what he has to do to ensure that. He will doanything.

[theycallme-tunathot]

Touch It [Part 1]

Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader Rating: M Synopsis: The reader has a successful blind date but doesn’t hear back for three weeks.  Word count: 3,677 Author’s Note: It starts kind of slow, but bear with me, I’m setting up ambiance. The next part will have all the action. Promise :D

How do I make the phone ring Why do I even care? How are you all around me When you’re not really there?

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It all started with an itch.

Nearly three weeks ago, after grudgingly going on a blind date set up by my co-worker, it started—the itch.

It was frustrating. Everything about his body language told me that he was into me. The way he casually let his arm drape over the back of my seat, the way his eyes lingered a moment too long on random features on my face before commenting on my chosen shade of lipstick. At one point, he ran his fingers through the ends of my hair in a soft way, something a guy hadn't done in a long time.

So after parting ways for the night I was almost certain that I would get a text or a phone call by the end of the week. And to be fair, I think I was looking forward to it. I couldn't quite remember the last time I felt like this after a date.  

And for what seemed like an eternity, I waited for that text or phone call. I was unusually protective of my phone and always had it on hand. My stomach would flutter at the sound of my default notifications and then plummet from the highest mountain peak when I would realize that a friend or my roommate was texting me. In my own way, I became obsessive and I wasn't sure why.

It was just a date.

But that was three weeks ago and I was on another blind date. This was considerably more boring than my last and the guy, while easy on the eyes, was indeed forgettable. Or at least he was to me. I couldn't even remember his name for my lack of attention.

After three weeks I wasn't nearly as attached to my phone as I was that first week, or even the week after that.  I somewhat accepted the idea that maybe this guy just didn't care. Did it piss me off? Yeah.  Did I internally scream at that idea? Hell yeah, almost everyday. But there was no use waiting around if he wasn't interested.

"Jinyoung says you're a translator," my date said, his voice gruffly breaking my concentration on ignoring him.

I nodded mutely at first. "I work for his dad's company."

"How strange, that we both know Jinyoung that is," he mentioned, grinning back at me. "He never told me he had a pretty foreigner friend."

There was a second where I doubted my strength, but somehow I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I also somehow managed to give a pleasant smile as I shook my head.

"Jinyoung seems to have a lot of friends," I replied, looking down at my phone and praying someone would give me an excuse to get up and walk away from this table.

"I have many friends too."

"Do you?" I asked, eyes widened in a faintly sarcastic way.

"I do. I have a job that requires me to be personable."

And boring...

"How lucky."

"As you do with your translator job."

"Mmm," I hummed back, my voice dipping into disinterested territory.

By the time we reached the part of the date where our food was brought to the table, I was suffering through my date as he spoke about his riveting job as a financial manager's assistant. Apparently he was poised to take over that position as soon as the existing financial manager retired. It was then that my brain started to butt into the conversation. There was no logical reason to dislike this guy. He seemed normal enough, he had a great smile and with his appearance, surely he could meet any woman without the interference of Jinyoung. He came from a wealthy family much like my co-worker and that always seemed to boost a guy's appeal, no matter what his outer appearance suggested.

But for whatever reason, I couldn't be bothered with this guy. For whatever reason, I was stuck on ignoring him and finding immediate escape routes to rush home and take a 50-minute shower.

Just as I was setting my napkin on my lap, something caught my eye—something very white. Blinking, my eyes focused in on the figure of a man with platinum blond hair. The familiar angular face that looked off somewhere to the left startled me. And for a moment, I sat there, completely still, my hands atop the napkin on my lap. I was in shock.  

This bastard.  

Three weeks with not a single word and he just shows up while I'm on another date. Three weeks of frustration started to simmer beneath the surface of my skin, enough to wake me up and keep me from staring off too long.

"I'm sure there are many interesting things you do as a translator," my date said, trying to segway me into the conversation.

Taking a deep breath, I gave him a smile before nodding. "It's fun."

"Are you enjoying it?"

"I am."

"What's your favorite part?"

"Closing deals," I answered shortly...again.

I was so distracted and my short answers were making it all the more obvious. Every muscle in my heart fluttered at the knowledge of the man that I pined over for the last two weeks was standing a mere 200 feet away. My heart wanted me to march over there and demand an explanation for not calling or texting me after all this time. Maybe even throw in a slap for good measure. But my brain knew I shouldn't.

My eyes darted back to my date to see he was checking his phone. When he caught me staring at him, he laughed bashfully.

"Sorry, I just got a text from Jinyoung," he apologized. "He wants to know how the date is going."

The smile I gave was somewhere between calm and manic. I could pass as someone who had their emotions in check.

"And what did you say?"

"It couldn't be better."

Because I wasn't heartless, I felt a little bad when he replied with that.  After all, he was enjoying the date while I spent the entirety of it (up until this point) thinking of another man.

"Oh," I replied softly.

But as soon as he began telling what he described as a funny story from work, I could feel my disinterest growing again. My eyes wandered back to the bar to see he was still there, not drinking anything and certainly not ordering from the bartender that stood just to the right of him. What was he doing? Was he waiting for someone? Was he on another date? What were the chances of my previous blind date having his next date in the same place I was having my own next date?  

As the questions burned into my skull, I began to look for reasons to head toward the bar. Maybe I could make a strong case for seeing a friend and wanting to go say hello. But what if my date wanted to go say hello too? I could probably get away with excusing myself to go to the restroom, but that just seemed lame, and what if he noticed that I was just standing at the bar talking to another man just after excusing myself?  

And that's when my eyes stopped to stare at my empty wine glass. How long had it been empty? I wasn't particularly sure, but that didn't matter. It was empty and it was my excuse to go to the bar and maybe speak to the man who so rudely ignored me for three weeks.

Clearing my throat, I smiled at my date as I traced the lip of my wine glass. As he came to comfortable stopping point, I nodded.  

"I'm going for another glass of wine. Do you want anything while I'm at the bar?"

His eyebrows creased as he shook his head.  

"Don't worry about it, I can flag down our waiter and he can bring it to the table," he said, obviously trying to save me the trouble of walking the several hundred feet.

"Please, allow me to do one nice thing for you tonight," I said, worried at how easily that rolled off my tongue. "Besides, I could stretch my legs. I've spent most of the day sitting."

When he didn't respond, I respectfully bowed my head in thanks. Rising out of my seat, glass and wallet in hand, I made long strides toward the bar, but halfway there, I frowned. 

He was just here, I thought as I looked around. As much as I obsessed over hearing back from him, I knew I could place him in a crowded room. How could I not when it was all I could think about for days after the date?

My eyes brushed across the room, focusing on each individual face as I made it to the bar. I knew my date turned around to look at me, so I smiled back politely before I turned to the bartender.

"I'll take another Chenin Blanc please," I said sweetly.

As the bartender nodded, I breathed out a long sigh. Was I going to be that desperate girl? Was I? Surely I had more dignity—

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you again, but did you happen to see where a guy with platinum blond hair went? He was standing here at the bar. He's around my height...black suit?"

This was kind of embarrassing if I really thought about it.  In the middle of a date with a guy that seemed genuinely interested and attractive and I was busy chasing a guy that couldn't be bothered to send a courtesy text.

"No ma'am," he replied back as he grabbed a set of keys. "I'll just be a moment, I have to go the cellar to get a new bottle."

The nail in my coffin I suppose. I was deflated and it felt like I just expended every bit of vigor I had trying to figure out where this guy ran off to.

Instead of waiting at the bar, I grabbed my wallet and stalked off toward the restrooms. Making sure my heels didn't click too loudly or frantically as I rushed toward the restrooms, I stopped short of the women's door.  It was hard to know when my skin got so hot, but I could feel my cheeks burn in the trendily dim lighting. It could be from embarrassment or it could be my body's natural response to conjuring up an image of him.

As the cool tile made contact with my skin, sending a shiver down my spine, my eyes drifted closed just for a moment. It was a lame attempt to center myself.

"Y/N."

My eyes immediately flashed open. There was no real way to be sure if I was hallucinating at this point or not, but everything at least felt real. The hand that gripped my arm, the breath that fanned across my face like some tropical breeze—nothing felt imaginary.

Squinting my eyes and my eyebrows furrowing, I looked back at the dark brown eyes that swirled. The hint of mischief was too familiar not to recognize.

"Jackson," I muttered, blinking a few times before looking away.

I didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling.  "Hi."

What was I supposed to say?  Everything that popped up into my head I was sure I couldn't just say aloud. Most of it involved a lot of explicit language and the other part was just hopelessly lame. Admitting how much I waited for him to call just seemed stupid and would make me look desperate. So instead, I wracked my brain for a response that gave little to nothing away.

"What's a handsome guy like you doing on the far side of Gangnam? You lost or something?"

He laughed, his smile just as playful as I remember. Shaking his head, he leaned in closer.

"You could say that."

"You must be," I said, feeling my word vomit gurgling in the back of my throat and clawing its way through my mouth. "Considering you're standing in front of me."

I could tell he was confused by my statement at first, but I made no move to clarify it. I wanted him to work it out on his own. And thankfully, it didn't take long.

With ease, he gave me another smile, one that was meant to pacify me. Sadly, it was kind of working.

"Is this about not calling you?"

"No."

Yes.

"I have a good reason as to why."

"Oh?"

I'm sure you do.

"You see, I was out of the country."

Before I could stop myself, a single laugh escaped my throat. There was no humor to it and it certainly let him know how unsatisfying that excuse was.

"I have to be honest: At least you're creative," I said, standing up straighter and stepping to the side to move out of Jackson's way. "Guys typically say the dumbest things like, 'I'm busy' or 'My grandma died' or worst yet 'My wife doesn't allow me to have three mistresses.' But out of the country? I haven't gotten that one yet."

Pushing myself off the wall, I gave Jackson a long glance. He was such an attractive guy and as much as my body wanted to meld into his even if it was for a short five minutes, I couldn't. I was taking a stance. By the time my eyes settled on his face it was evident he was confused by my statement.

Blinking a few times, Jackson shook his head.  "I'm not following."

"Listen, buddy, if you're not into me, all you have to do is say it."

"What?"

"I'm a big girl. I can deal with rejection."

"Wait, what?"

"You didn't call me because you weren't into me, I get it."

"No, I didn't call you because I was literally out of the country," he repeated, taking a step toward me.

The sigh that left my lips was long and exasperated. What was more painful: an attractive guy lying to me or me pushing away a painfully attractive guy no matter that he didn't call me for three weeks? Perhaps this question would never be answered, but one thing was certain: I was having heaps more fun standing here with Jackson than I was on that date with the forgettable finance manager’s assistant.

My eyes slipped closed and for a moment the silence stretched a little longer between us.

"Fine, I'll play along," I finally replied, my eyes opening once more. "Why were you out of the country?"

"Business."

I laughed. "Oh, okay."

Jackson seemed a little peeved and I took some comfort in that. At least he wasn't too comfortable.

"You don't believe me," he stated pressing his lips together.

No matter how many times I stared at his lips, I couldn't stop my thoughts from wandering. What did they taste like? How did they feel when pressed against my own? But none of that cooled off my growing annoyance.

"No, I don't."

"Didn't Jinyoung tell you what I did for a living?"

I shook my head as I looked away from him.

Cursing in a different language under his breath, I listened as he inhaled deeply before answering. "I run a travel blog."

At this point, my face wasn't easily contained. Eyes narrowed further in my mounting confusion, Jackson seemed to be as lost as I was.  

"A travel blog?"

"Yes, me and my friend Bam, we travel around the world and write about--"

"Your friend Bam?"

"Yes."

"Why does Bam sound like he's made up?" I replied. "Listen, I'm actually here on a date. If you're looking for a hookup, I suggest scoping out some other girl tonight."

Just as I began to walk away, the scent of his cologne wafting behind me, Jackson said something that stopped me mid-stride.

"Yeah, have fun with that."

Turning my head so I could throw a glance over my shoulder, I watched a small smirk ghost over his lips. At this point, would it make much difference to lie about the success of the date? It probably didn't, but it's obvious from his satisfied grin that he knew it wasn't going well.

Not able to just let the comment go, I turned on my heel and found myself face to face with him yet again.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Obviously the guy is so interesting and you're both having a great time," Jackson said, taking one step toward me.

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"Oh, but I think it does."

Another step toward me. Soon the gap between us shrunk to only a couple of inches and I found myself staring up into his face.

My breathing sped up as I tried to formulate another question, maybe one more specific.

"How do you--"

"How do I know?" he interrupted, smug as ever. "Don’t forget: I know what you look like when a date is going well."

Flashes of moments from our first date flooded my mind. I couldn't move nor could I formulate an accurate or appropriate response to him, so I just stared.

"It's all I thought about for three weeks," Jackson continued, his eyes traveling the length of my neck. "The way your lips part slightly, enough to let you think it’s helping your shortness of breath. Then you bite your bottom lip, dragging your teeth along just enough to hold off your urges. Your skin practically vibrates under the touch. Don't you remember?"

Somewhere between the beginning of that explanation and that last question I ended up pressed against the wall, strong hands gripping my waist and my breath lost somewhere in my chest. My neck bombarded with Jackson's breath, his mouth hovered just above my shoulder, so comfortably near the nape of my neck.  

Once everything registered in my mind, I let out a gasp, trying desperately to find a way to settle my hammering heartbeat, but it was nearly impossible. Everything I buried with the memory of that first date with Jackson three weeks ago just surfaced in the span of ten seconds. There was no way I was calming down. Not now as he pinned me against this wall, doing the exact thing I hoped he would do on the second date.

I opened my mouth to answer his question, but nothing came out. How did I verbally respond to a question that was already so obvious? Of course I remembered.

Jackson's hand traveled up my waist, over my arms and stopped just along my jawline. His fingers rested there, gliding along the bone before stopping at the edge of my chin.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?" he whispered, his breath only creating more frenzy.

I only shook my head.

"I suppose it's only expected. White Day and all," he mumbled, his bottom lip catching the edge of my jaw. In a delicious moment, he let his lip drag along the skin.

My eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. "Wait," I breathed out, my hand grasping the material of his dress shirt.

I could feel the distance he created as he pulled back. The warmth that radiated off his body was no longer hitting me and his lips were no longer dragging along the underside of my jaw. My body violently protested that.

"I'm-I-I just," I stuttered, trying to clear my mind. "If you start this, there's no way I can't finish. And there's a guy I'm here with already."

I trailed off toward the end, not sure why I was so concerned about my date considering how little attention I gave him earlier in the night. But my brain was starting to work this out. I had to make a decision.

Option 1 was to do the courteous thing, stop this interaction with Jackson and go back to my current date and hope he would be kind enough to either pay for my taxi or drive me back to my apartment. Option 2 required that I shut up, stop complaining and let whatever Jackson and my body had in mind take place. One required me to be a good person, the other required me to give into every residual urge left behind after me and Jackson's first date.

"I guess you have a decision to make," he said, straightening out his shirt, unrolling the sleeves and reapplying the cuff links. It was only then when my eyes took in the shirt. It was a nice button-up dress shirt, a pastel pink that contrasted exceptionally well with his tanned skin. 

As his fingers deftly tightened the Windsor knot on his tie, his eyes bore straight into me. "When you make up your mind, my car is parked two blocks up the street."

Jackson didn't even wait for me to respond or even protest. In a haze of intoxicating cologne and lust, I watched as he swiftly walked out of the hallway, leaving me a heaving mess.

What the fuck just happened?

[amberlynnwashere]

tw

So my mom’s funeral is this coming Saturday and there’s so much drama going on and I swear if anyone gets into a fight at the funeral I’m going to pepper spray everyone involved, no exceptions. 

My brother Chris didn’t want to come because his ex-girlfriend was going to be there- we really like her, she’s nice and not racist like he is, she is our chosen family. But she decided not to go because she didn’t want to be the reason Chris didn’t get to say goodbye to Mom. 

I called my dad yesterday to make sure he was going because even though he and I don’t get along, he and Mom were chill and he’s pretty heartbroken about it, but he told me he doesn’t think he should go because Chris threatened to beat his ass for whatever reason. So I had to tell him to forget about what Chris said, he’s just grieving because his mom died. I told him that he’s going to the funeral and he has no say in it, he’s not allowed to NOT go, and if he doesn’t go, I’ll never forgive him. 

I haven’t spoken to my other brother, Darrel, since the night she died. I doubt he’s coming, he lives in Michigan and has his own family that he needs to take care of. I kinda wish he would come but at the same time, I don’t really care if he comes or not. It’s just that his mom died and it sucks if he doesn’t. 

I feel like I should mention that technically my mom isn’t Chris/Darrel’s mom. My dad was married to their mom before meeting my mom. But their mom was apparently a horrible woman (Chris was a heroin-baby or something like that) and my mom raised them like her own. She always said that she had 5 kids when in reality after she and my dad divorced, she technically only had 3, but she treated Chris and Darrel like her sons still and loved them like her own. 

I haven’t cried about it in about 2 days which I’m proud of. Ed Sheeran apparently has a song about his mom and it came up on my Pandora while I was driving and it took all I could to not start sobbing, so instead, I just screamed. 

I know she’s watching me from heaven right now and I feel bad because I’m such a boring-ass person. 

I’ve been looking into therapy because I feel so guilty about the whole thing and it keeps fucking me up. I also can’t stand to be alone in my house because it’s old and from the 70′s and I keep hearing noises which are probably nothing but my brain keeps going to the worst, and it’s not that I’m afraid that whatever these noises are, are going to kill me, but I don’t like the thought of being tortured before death? idk it’s hard to explain. Like if someone said they’re gonna snap their fingers and I’d be dead, no pain or suffering, I’d be like, “Chill okay dude whatever.” but in reality, no matter how you die it’s probably going to hurt like a bitch (unless somehow your whole body, inside and out, is numb.) even for a split-second. Like I’m sure even getting your head cut off by a guillotine would hurt. You can’t talk or cry or anything because your airway was cut so your lungs aren’t working, but your brain wasn’t touched and your neurons are attached to the brain and everything so I can only imagine you still feel all the pain but have no way to express it. 

Also going back to that, I don’t think I’d be chill with dying now that I think of it, because I’m sure it’d hurt my friends and family. Like if any of my friends were to die rn it’d fuck me up big time, so I can only imagine it’d be the same the other way around. 

I’m not depressed, I know that much because although I think about death and dying, I know I’d never go through with it. I’m sad, and I miss my mom, and that just makes me think of morbid things I think. I’d still like to see a therapist, though, just to talk about all these feelings I have. 

School starts again next week, so I might go to our Student Health and Wellness Center and see how that works. 

[serahne]

What am I doing with my life ? This is it, folks, I promised and now I deliver, here comes the Hajime Hinata analysis, since after months in the fandom, I’ve decided to write something about one of my favorite - and probably one of the most complex - character in the serie, Hajime Hinata. His complexity is often ignored by the fandom, and he is often characterized as the ‘protagonist with inferiority complex, but still nice’ which is a very superficial analysis for a character we spend so much time with. But that may be part of the problem : everyone has the feeling he knows Hajime Hinata, also because we see so much of him, while we have to gather the scratch from the other characters.

With the approaching release of Sdr2.5, and unless we get a big surprise from the upcoming game, we’ve now seen everything about Hajime Hinata in canon material. I will use both Sdr2 and Dr3 for this analysis. My goal is to paint a consistent picture of Hinata through it, one that could help to understand how his character evolved the way it did and what set this - apparently average boy - apart from the rest of the world.

Fasten your safety bells, please, we’re going into Hinata’s ( intact, for now ) brain. It’s going to be fun.

PART I - HINATA BEFORE HOPE’S PEAK ACADEMY

Who was Hajime Hinata before going to Hope’s Peak ? Well, from the flashback we had in the third chapter… not a very happy person. He doesn’t have friends, the whole class is talking behind his back while he is trying to not listen or understand what they are saying, and he talks about Hope’s Peak as a place where he could finally be proud of himself. I almost can understand the ‘Hinata has an inferiority complex’ theory but…

That doesn’t sound at all like an inferiority complex. Hinata isn’t alone because he considers himself inferior to the rest of the class, he is alone because he choses to be, because he thinks that he deserves better than what he got, and this includes the people around him as well as his school. Also, having an inferiority complex is not something that will motivate you to pursue higher goals/status, for you will think that you aren’t good enough for them. This is even more obvious since there is in canon someone who really has an inferiority complex.

That’s a pretty different stance on the matter.

If he doesn’t have an inferiority complex, then why is he so unhappy ? Because unfortunately what we aspire to be isn’t always what we are in reality.

To be more specific, the Japanese school system is extremely selective, with an incredible pressure put on kid’s shoulder to success : between 3 and 5 years, many pre-school will prepare children to enter a good ( private ) elementary school, which will prepare them to enter a good ( private ) middle school. After middle school, the exam that will determine which High school you’re allowed to enter is pretty much the moment that your future is traced : if you are accepted into a very good high-school, you’ll be ready to go into a very college and you’ll end up having a successful life and if you don’t… well.

I’m absolutely not saying that the socio-economical situation of a family has no role into a kid’s success : if you are from a rich/high middle class family, chances are your mother doesn’t work and can help you with your homework, your parents can pay for additional classes, for the best textbook and educational tools, and for the school fees themselves etc… but having money is definitely not enough to buy your way into the school system.

Do you know which High-School isn’t like that ? Which High-School doesn’t ask for a lot of work, doesn’t ask you to destroy yourself trying to learn things in the hope to succeed ? Which high-school will scout people who spend their time being themselves, playing video games or drawing animes, or playing poker, or drawing doujinshis and won’t bend them to fit into the society but will instead move the society around them ? Hope’s Peak Academy.

And this is the main reason he decided to enter Hope’s Peak Academy, which means that this line :

Is a lie. And we are proved how much a lie it is at the very beginning, when Hinata happens to meet someone who is a Hope’s Peak enthusiast. 

Hinata pretends that his childhood dream was to enter Hope’s Peak Academy, that it was an accomplishment for him to finally get in there, and he didn’t even bother to google it ? We saw from Dr1 that there were forums where people talked about the Academy, even when they weren’t chosen to attend it. Hinata never even heard of them. He also doesn’t know the ‘lucky student’ system, even though, again, we can wonder how many students prayed to be picked up by the school this way.

And finally, he has a very relaxed behaviour when it comes to talking with the Ultimates, saying how weird or annoying he thinks they are while Komaeda is gushing about their amazing talents. Here are a few examples, even if he has some snarky comment to say about everyone, including about their talent itself.

Which is why this is a lie when he equates his admiration for Hope’s Peak with the admiration a kid who is passionate about baseball has for the major league. Hope’s Peak isn’t the accomplishment of his dream, it’s his escape to a life and a system he feels stuck in. Hinata entering Hope’s Peak is incredibly hopeful because he thinks that he has finally found out the ‘more’ he has been looking for.

But if his goal was really entering the Reserve Course in Hope’s Peak, why does he look like that a couple of weeks after the beginning of his classes :

Yes, it’s pretty obvious that Hinata doesn’t care about Hope’s Peak for what it is, but for what he expected to find in the ‘most prestigious school of the world’. And that he didn’t find. Because what he wanted was a way to escape the tyrannic school system, and the only thing he found out was something even more oppressive and unfair toward the less gifted.

But this points out another trait in Hinata, something that is very important for the way he acts in Sdr2, especially : Hinata is incredibly skilled to avoid to face the truth, because facing the truth means suffering the consequences of it and having to take action. When confronted to the school system, Hinata had two possibilities : he could submit himself to the school system, by either working even harder, trying to succeed according to the rules but having to accept the potential failures and the consequences, or fighting the system which… would basically mean dropping out, and, again accepting the consequences. And Hinata managed to find in Hope’s Peak a way to avoid this dilemma.

This is only the first time we see it do it in canon. Sheltering himself from the truth, lying to himself, running away, ignoring deliberately the truth is almost Hinata’s default mode, and we’ll definitely come back to it.

On a not-very-happy point, I tried to think about Hinata’s choice if he had not bought his way into Hope’s Peak Academy, and the first and main theory I have is pretty depressing. I honestly don’t think Hinata would have accepted to submit himself to the school system and accepted who he is and how his life was going to be. But I don’t think he would have refused the system either and dropped out, he seemed way too distressed to take that kind of action.

I obviously cannot prove anything with absolute certainty, but I think that Hinata would have been part of these alarming high statistics about High-schoolers committing suicide because of the pressure they put on themselves that the japanese government is trying to reduce. If we think that the next time he feels ‘stuck’ into the school system he willingly chooses to go rhough a possibly-brain damaging operation, that doesn’t seem impossible to me. Hinata doesn’t have a death wish, he is just ready to do anything to make a change and stop to feel so crushed by the rest of the world, and that may occasionally lead to destructive/suicidal behaviour.

That’s not such surprise if his parents were willing to ruin themselves to pay Hope’s Peak’s fees. I think they may had that in mind too.

By the way we don’t know much about Hinata’s parents, but the idea that they are ‘uncaring parents who sold their son against money’ doesn’t really hold waters They had no way to know about the Kamukura project before Hinata enters Hope’s Peak, and they still decided to put their son there, even if it was too expensive for them.

Unfortunately, I think that knowing that his parents gave so much money to Hope’s Peak put even more pressure on Hinata to find some sort of accomplishment there, and added to his frustration. But just like when they gave agreed with the Kamukura project, it was probably for the same reason : helping their son, without realizing that it would create some feeling of expectations on Hinata, the same he is always trying to escape.

We are done for this first part, but here is a summary of main idea here

-> His parents aren’t terrible people they just wanted the best for their son

-> Hajime doesn’t have an inferiority complex but is unsatisfied with his life

-> He wanted to go to Hope’s Peak as a way to escape the tyrannic school system, not because he admired Hope and Talents.

[nblahova]

Three Days

21.03.2020

I’m sitting in the kitchen of my grandparents' old apartment. I’m alone, and will, with no exception, stay alone for the next 14 days. I’m wearing my flowery kimono, listening to jazz, drinking Turkish coffee. My brain is full of the happenings of past days. The worst three days of my life.

On 17th March I was still in Amsterdam, the city that’s been home of mine for past 6,5 years. I decided to pause my part-time job and to stay at home as much as possible. My health condition puts me in risk group and I assumed taking distance from everyone is the most responsible, not just for myself but for the others too. I planned on waiting it through at home, and i felt safe, felt good. I thought how exciting it is to be told to take it slow, to read, watch movies, hopefully start planning and making work for my upcoming solo show in June.

I’ve questioned my position in Amsterdam in past months, especially after I graduated. I’ve never been very nationalistic in sense of thinking that my home country is the best place for me. However, after finishing art school I slowly started to play with the idea of moving back - I missed the nature, I missed the real grown food in our countryside home, I thought artists maybe have it a little lighter and easier over there. Over past months I’ve been switching between “I need to go back”, “I’m scared to go back” and “I cannot let myself go back”. Oh, how irrelevant those thoughts and feelings are now! No one would have thought we all appear in strange times like these.

I’ve been subletting a house from a girl, who went on Erasmus to Prague. On 17th March she called me saying her studies have been cancelled and she has to return back to The Netherlands. She packed her bags and went back home the following day. At this point the pressure from my family was real strong - they wanted me back in Slovakia no matter what - and the chances to return were already limited. We made a quick decision to pack my stuff in the boxes (after 6 weeks of living there), pack my suitcases and book the very last flight to Vienna. I was lucky to get the very last seat on that plane, knowing that the airport would shut down the same day at midnight. I cried and cried, thinking how unfair and unfortunate it is, how nothing worse can happen to me. Leaving my life behind (in boxes), leaving my love, my friends. I cried as my boyfriend dropped me off at Amsterdam airport, I cried in the departure hall. I spent an hour waiting in line to get my suitcase checked in. People were nervous, there was an obvious fear in the hall. Almost like the one I remember from those times of terrorist attacks. I could sense everyone feeling vulnerable, unsafe.

When I finally got to check in desk, the lady behind cheerfully congratulated me on being able to take the last plane ever. We laughed about my suitcase being just 22.9kg, and how I managed to pack my life for unknown future within the allowed limit. Just after I handed her my passport she looked at the computer screen and went “Hopla. New update.” It must have been around 12:40 around that time. Apparently, just minutes before someone has decided to allow only Austrian citizens on this plane. None of this was mentioned on any websites around that time (I kept thoroughly checking Amsterdam Schiphol airport website, Vienna Schwechat airport website, KLM airline website). I was rejected. Explaining how Vienna airport is actually where all Slovaks fly, how close it is to our borders and how every other country surrounding Slovakia is shut down was of no use. I was not allowed to board this plane. I took all my belongings, went outside and just cried. People laughed at me for wearing a mask, people took distance not understanding why this young woman, with latex gloves on, cries so hard.

Normally I work well in emergency situations, but this time I felt caged. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t name what I wanted. I thought that maybe going back to Slovakia isn’t so bad, now that I’ve been rejected.

To make it a little more clear for the ones who don’t know - probably one of the worst fears of us young Slovaks is being banned from travelling. The past is still too present of how our parents and grandparents have been locked down in one country for decades. We were raised thinking this cannot happen to us, ever again. We were encouraged to move, to value it, to enjoy it, to really use the freedom they never had. Slovakia might be politically unstable, but one thing we try to protect is the freedom of movement, of speech, of act. We cannot let ourselves go backwards in this one.

But this fight is of a different kind. It’s a war led by a virus. It doesn’t care about the politics, nor about the borders or passports. At the same time, the measurements most of the countries took are political for many. Not being able to get back to my homecountry is something I would have never ever imagined. Not being able to work out one little hole in the system, where I could let myself through. Being too alone to deal with this, with noone being able to help me.

The plane I was supposed be on departed and I was back again in my, now former, house. I called the Slovak embassy, where they suggested to sign up for repatriation. The word I have learnt just a few days ago. And yes, it’s as serious as it sounds. Slovak government has arranged transportation of Slovaks who wish to get back. (The estimated amount of Slovaks abroad is around 250 000, of barely 6mil. citizens). I was told to register and wait for a confirmation email. In this case, they wouldn’t confirm everyone. They would prioritise people based on their age, health state, and reason why they are abroad and why they need to return. I was approved within 2 hours. The bus would leave the next day, filled with other citizens, most likely also the infected ones. We would have to sign a document, where we declare that we will suffer (the actual English translation of the word they used) though obligatory quarantine in a place set up by government. There we would spend next 14 days, waiting to be tested and if proven negative, we would be allowed to go home to continue the self-isolation. These places are in different cities around the country, empty buildings or hotels, hosting 3-5 people in one room, banned from leaving the room at all. For people of risk group like me this would mean almost no chance to avoid getting infected too. At this point I had only two choices - to stay in Amsterdam, to be potentially homeless, for sure jobless, not knowing when and how this all ends, and therefore financially unprepared - or to go back to Slovakia and take the risk of getting very ill.

I was lucky enough to get in contact with one Slovak, who has been rejected to board that plane too. This was a pure coincidence of my mother calling their neighbours, who’s friends have a son studying in Amsterdam. We spoke on the phone and feared the transport as well as the obligatory quarantine. But there wasn’t any other way.

Almost by the time I made peace with getting ill, something has happened. Czech government has allowed Slovak citizens to transit through their country. Up until then there was a ban for all international citizens, including Slovaks (which again, something we would have never thought, after being Czechoslovakia for so long). We booked an early morning plane to Prague and waited. My boxes were packed, stored in the attic of my former house, my suitcase filled with my much needed medicine for upcoming 6-12 months.

I got to the airport at 4am, being let through check in at around 5am. First victory. Us Slovaks waited nervously at the gate, not knowing whether they let us through. When the plane started to board, I was stopped because my passport wasn’t Czech. At this point I was ready to go through dead bodies (Slovak saying). I showed them my declaration of just transiting through Czech republic. They probably didn’t have time to check the new updates and let me through. The plane was full in the back, however empty in front. Just a few people sat there, with approximate distance of 3m from each other. I believe these were either infected, or just waiting for the results. We were told not to move to empty seats in any case.

The plane landed. We got out and as the Schengen zone is closed now, had to be checked at security. (Again, unimaginable thing for us Slovaks in our former home country). Two of us were let through, me and the guy weren’t. We were handed a paper that said “No tourists, no internationals.” No matter what out history is, on paper we are internationals now. They took out passports, the declarations and we waited again. They let us go after 15 minutes, stating strictly how we need to exit the country as soon as possible. We had booked a car, but as Czechia is locked down, all car rentals were closed. We were lucky enough that the company we have chosen had one extra car to be moved to Slovakia. We got this car and drove away. Usually it’s about 3,5h drive from Prague to Bratislava. Roads were full of international trucks, who mostly drove both on left and right lane, blocking us from passing. Before we reached Czech-Slovak borders we got stuck in about 25km traffic - one lane, filled with truck drivers who have probably been there for hours already. Rudely we drove past them and reached the borders. Police stopped us. We told them we’re Slovaks and need to get back home. They escorted us towards Slovak border. Then Slovak police stopped us. We didn’t leave the car, but been tested for body temperature. We had to give out our personal information including our ID number, phone number and the address where we will stay next 14 days. We were told not to leave the house, not even to take the garbage out. The police joked about three boys being in one quarantine together and me alone and separate, and how more enjoyable it would be for them to have a woman around. I had to bite my tongue, but this was not a situation to fight sexism. They let us through.

Boys drove me to this apartment where my father already waited, wearing gloves and a face mask. We couldn’t hug or touch, but I could see how relieved he was to have me back. My family has prepared the apartment for me, filled with food and sweet little messages and pictures laying around. I put on jazz music and went for a cigarette on my balcony. Spring equinox, 21 degrees outside. My only touch with outside will be this balcony for upcoming 14 days, but I couldn’t feel happier and safer in that very moment. I made it.

I’m shaky writing this down. The trauma I have from past days will be hard to get over. My worst nightmares happened all in just two short days.

When being rejected from the plane (and not knowing that this would get even worse) someone who heard about my story called me “an adult woman that should be able to deal with this on her own”. That is a mind of someone privileged enough to say such thing. Someone that has never appeared in this situation where their rights and freedoms were taken away. And I pray for them to never ever experience this.

Hopefully this virus will change something in people’s mind, finally understanding the struggles many face daily - immigrants, people living in war zones, people being discriminated based on their nationality or ethnicity. When someone as privileged as me can end up like this - how about the one’s that have been limited way before this virus took over? I’m angry remembering all these people in Amsterdam laughing at me two weeks ago when I said the situation is serious. The ones laughing at me for wearing a mask, those organising corona parties or brunching in city centre every day instead of home-office working. The ones that said this is just a flu and it cannot hit us, white Western people. Because nothing can touch us, right? Oh, and please forbid if our economy gets affected. Our comfort and luxury.

I know much and many will be affected by this. Some will loose their jobs, become poor. Some will die. There’s no way to joke about this anymore. It’s too late. We have to develop new way of being, of discipline, we have to start working together, for ourselves and everyone else. To follow maybe strict rules given by governments, to simplify our way of living and consuming. The change is needed. I wish for the best to all of us, for strong health and for being able to overcome these days, weeks, possibly months. We’re in this together.

NB

[familycourtcorruption]

What You Need To Know In Order To Hire An Attorney And Survive The Ordeal

  I wonder how long people who go through a divorce remain shell shocked?

I have struggled for so long trying to figure out why my life turned out like this. Why was I the chosen one to carry so much and what was my role in this?

Did I sign on to this in another life?

Did I agree to this before I was born?

Why did I allow so much emotional abuse after the divorce?

Why didn’t our divorce end on some note, if any of goodness?

I mean, he went through three attorneys. I had two. The first one was our mediator. But suddenly as it often happens, my then husband abandoned the notion that mediation was a good way to go. He allowed himself to be counseled by the woman he left me for and by a myriad of others presumably.

So, I was left to have the mediator act on my behalf. But sadly, I found out shortly into it that she was rather disinterested and was planning on retiring. She did. Hence the reason for me to hire someone new.

How does one hire an attorney anyway?

How does one hire someone who is serving you like a real estate agent and a Hollywood agent at the same time? Only the buying and selling is your personal marriage and your children are the amenities in the deal. How do you find an attorney that apparently has to look and feel the opposite of the person who served as the priest or minister who married you?

The dis-marriage is equal in emotional intensity as the marriage. On your wedding day, all is perfect in your world. You are enchanted with life and cannot wait to start this new journey into the unknown. On the day of your divorce, you are emotionally exhausted and terrified of the journey that lay in front of you. What I clearly see now as I reflect on that time 20 years ago, was that it all could have been so much better, and it all looks so silly to me now.

So, what do you need to know in order to hire an attorney and survive the ordeal?

How can you avoid being emotionally bankrupt along with financially bankrupt? What I am about to share has nothing to do with strategy or cunning. It is only my advice on how you can keep your heart and soul intact and keep your sanity as well. So, as I said to my attorney after every phone call, fax, email and paperclip he billed me for, I told him that I wanted to send my kids to college one day; not his. Keep that on the forefront of your brain as you wade through the troubled waters of divorce and seek a divorce attorney.

Please state your intentions.

This should be the first question you ask a prospective divorce attorney. You cannot control what your spouse is going to do or say as it relates to his finding the right representation. But you have all the say as it relates to your hiring your own representation because you are not only representing you. That is the easy part. You are representing your children as well.

You most likely have never been through this before and are terrified as you lay vulnerable to a process that you have never imagined before. Go with your gut, even at the first handshake. You do not want to be his prey too. Ask him what his methods are? Do they match your motives and mantras? There are so many questions in dismantling a marriage and none of them seem natural.

A good attorney will advise you of what is not possible, just as much as what is possible. Because my husband changed attorneys three times, it felt like the goal post kept getting moved farther away. His attorneys all seemed to have convinced him that I was a bad person who never held an ounce of importance to him. They did this, of course, to keep him angry and to keep cutting them the checks. They also convinced him that our children who were 4 years old and 4 weeks old, were literally collateral that he could leverage. That was the hardest thing I had ever faced, and it almost completely undid me.

The dehumanizing nature of child custody and support and the fact that your children’s wellbeing is relegated to a decimeter calculation was more than I could bear. In one of the child custody hearings, I remember my actual hearing started to fade away. I could see people talking but I could no longer hear words. My ex husband never once raised his head as they went on and sliced up our children before my eyes.

I drifted back to a moment less than a year earlier when I was being wheeled out of the hospital after delivering my baby girl and the volunteers all telling us what a perfect baby she was. My life felt as complete as I could possibly imagine. I loved my husband; I loved my 4-year-old little boy and we were all going home together. The moment I was currently in came slamming back at me and I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in a strange courtroom next to a mere stranger and my family was being dismantled by a Judge I had never seen before.

I quietly asked my attorney if I could be excused? I got up and walked to the women’s restroom and vomited. It was a physical reaction to the utter disbelief of where my life had been taken. Nothing could have been farther from that moment in the hospital and no one should ever experience that. Especially a new mother.

Don’t forget that you both once cared.

I say this because there was a time that you both were on the same page and your ex-husband was present when the order for the babies was placed. When I look back at the chaotic times during our divorce, I see that much of it came from the attorneys. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the other woman in our life had much to say as well.  Her motivations were to take care of herself and her children. She didn’t need his money. She just needed the man beside her and to heck, with the wife, baby, and toddler he was also responsible for.

I could only see her as a woman capable of cheating with a man with a pregnant wife so there was no need for me to hold her to any high standards. But the attorneys had more knowledge than anyone on how to play the game and, played it they did.

Before them stood two people who were well out of their comfort zones and were complete sponges for anything to be absorbed into. This included creating the utter strangers we became to each other overnight. My husband may have been a mixed-up man who didn’t know how to be happy in my opinion. But he wasn’t a bad man. I never could have dated, let alone marry a bad man. That isn’t to make excuses for him. This realization has come over time so that I could better understand his decisions based on what I now believe to be his fears and insecurities.

We did have isolated moments during the divorce process when we were standing on the same team sideline. But those moments became fewer and fewer as the attorneys played us against each other as if we were in a prizefighting match. We soon lost track of what we were doing and why. The why was always, or at least should have been… our children.

I did not qualify for spousal support, so it was all about the child support. And soon that became a game. The percentage of time for him was all about the money it equated to. I never really understood that. He wanted to flee us and live with his girlfriend who lived 50 miles away. I was fine with that. Go. I never wanted to see them in my town anyway. But when you have children, and in my case very small children that matters.

I had a baby who was now being taken 50 miles away from me. And it no longer became about my discomfort… and believe me I died every other weekend that my children were taken to some women’s house that I had never even met. But it became about the wellbeing of my children. My parents who were from the greatest generation were horrified to see what was happening with their grandchildren. It just wasn’t in their realm of thinking that a father could do this to the mother of his children. I spent many hours consoling them as much as myself.

The attorneys and the Judge no longer looked at us as people. We were just a negotiation. Take the time needed to come together for your children outside of the attorneys. If we could have had a civil conversation centered solely around our children, I really don’t think we would have had to endure what amounted as cruelty to each other. He wasn’t a bad man. But his lawyer and girlfriend had agendas that outweighed his sense of decency which preyed on his weakness and the people who suffered the most were our children.

So, I share this so you all get a hold of the divorce process before it gets a hold of you and before you get as far away from the sacred moments of bringing your babies into the world together as you could possibly imagine. Don’t let that happen. Find a sliver of the reason you came together in the first place and do the right thing for your children. You are responsible for raising them and you owe your children this. The attorneys and Judges are not their parents and they will fade away as soon as all the dust has settled.

We all have regrets.

I can’t think of anything in my life that I regret more than having to go through a divorce and be a single parent. There isn’t anything in my upbringing that prepared me for that. But what I know for sure 20 years later, is that if he and I had first calmly sat down and outlined our own ground rules and reminded each other that there was a day not that long ago, that we did love each other and that we were friends then maybe, just maybe we could have taken the reigns to that horrible experience away from the attorneys, judges and even girlfriends and navigated the choppy waters with the north star of our children in mind.

Maybe then we all would have suffered less. I don’t know for sure, but I want to remember that my ex-husband was my Best Friend at one time and trusted him with my life and the lives of our children.

Choose wisely so that one of the regrets you have in divorce, isn’t the attorney that represented you. And your children, though tough as divorce is on them, are spared the taffy pull that can last a lifetime for them and which can become fully ensconced into their blueprints. Give them a chance to be as whole as possible by just choosing wisely your words, your actions and your attorney at the start. And remember you had a childhood. Let them have one too.

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The post What You Need To Know In Order To Hire An Attorney And Survive The Ordeal appeared first on Family Court Corruption.

The post What You Need To Know In Order To Hire An Attorney And Survive The Ordeal appeared first on Family Court Corruption.

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