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babbushka · 4 years

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Happily Ever After (Part 1)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

10k; Slow burn, strangers to lovers, hidden/secret identity, falling in love, first kiss; cw: Kidnapping, sword fighting, archery, near-death experiences

A/N: I originally was going to upload this as one big oneshot, but then I got carried away and it became too long. So here is part 1, part 2 will be coming tomorrow, which has a much darker tone/set of warnings, please keep that in mind! Thank you to everyone for voting on my 5k Follower celebration polls and allowing me to write this story! I truly couldn’t have done it without you :)

Available on AO3

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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a magical kingdom known to all as Springs Valley. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, nestled deep in the heart of a mountainous range. Though the villages were small, they were happy, for they were ruled by their beloved Queen and her husband, the Prince. The monarchs treated the villagers fairly, and justly, ruling with a kind yet firm fist from their castle, a grand building called the Purple Palace. And if there was one thing that the monarchs taught above all, it was that the power of goodness and love, would always triumph over evil.

This is the story of how one man fought against all odds to start anew, to find his heart, and earn his crown.

Of the many small villages that co-existed in Springs Valley, there was only one that could be considered the Capitol. It was called Pike Peak, and that is where our story begins. Pike Peak was nestled on the outskirts of the Purple Palace, so named due to the land surrounding it: vast waves of lavender which swayed like a tide in the breezes that traveled through the Valley. The fields stretched from the edge of the palace all the way to the village, and so no matter where one stood in Pike Peak, the castle was always in sight, its crystal walls glittering in the sunshine.

From his home high up in the mountains, just on the edge of the village, Philip Zimmerman awoke every morning to the rainbow beams of light that the sun bounced off of the crystal walls. A humble carpenter, these bright rainbows lured Philip out of bed each morning, and called him to begin his day toiling away in his workshop.

On one particular morning, Philip awoke with a thorn in his side. For over thirty years, he had lived and worked in this home, crafting all manner of things from wood. His father had owned this workshop for eighty-years, and his father had owned it for nearly as long prior. Though in life there were no certainties, one thing could be counted on: Philip was born a woodworker, and he would die a woodworker.

“Another day, another order.” Philip huffed to himself that morning, wishing he were doing something, anything, else with his time.

He wasn’t ashamed to be a carpenter – no of course not! He’s good at it, the best in the village they say. It’s an honor to be the best at something, Philip thought as he stretched and set some coffee atop the stove.

It’s just that…well…it sure would be nice to have someone to share that with, wouldn’t it? He’d never tell a soul, but often when Philip is hard at work assembling the orders that have been given, he lets his mind wander to another world, a different world, where he could be something other than just the man who fixes a wobbly table or loose wagon wheel. A world where he could be a Knight in shining armor, have a beautiful maiden to call his wife and keep warm at night.

He loved living in the village, of course he did. He loved the townspeople and the quaint living, the fresh bread traded for baking paddles carved by his own hand. But as Philip turned his gaze to the Purple Palace, glittering and shimmering in the distance, he had to believe that there was something more to life than this.

He had to, otherwise what was all this for?

And he didn’t know, but looking out through your window in that very same castle high above him, a certain someone was thinking the very same.

Though the walls were made of crystal, mystery shrouded the Purple Palace. No one from the village had ever been allowed inside, so naturally rumors spread across the Valley, of what could be hidden away. One such rumor was that of a Princess, cursed for all eternity to remain bound to the palace grounds. No one had ever even seen this Princess, but still, the rumors remained.

Little did the Valley know, but there was indeed a Princess, although she hardly ever felt like it. Never allowed beyond the boundaries of the East Wing, she spent her days keeping herself company, occupied with her books and her art and her music. It was music most of all which she loved, so much so that when she thought no one could hear her, she would sing in the early hours of morning. The King and Queen had told her it was for her own safety, that she would surely be kidnapped or held for ransom by the neighboring Kingdom – and so out of fear, inside the castle she remained.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned, living in the castle. She had all her needs tended to, anything she wanted was given to her. New beautiful dresses and shoes, books and instruments and the latest entertainments, whatever food she desired were all brought to her at the snap of her fingers -- but what she craved most of all, more than any delicious meal or fine gown, was love.

Love like that which existed in the books she read to pass the hours wasting away in her bedroom. True love, pure and sweet. So every morning she sang, her window open, hoping that one day someone might hear her, and she might find the love she was after.

But Philip did not know any of this. Shaking the daydreams out of his head and turning away from the palace, he began to busy himself with the day. He dressed in the clothing that his meager peasant’s salary could afford, and drank the black coffee he had brewed. Leaving his small kitchen to check the post, Philip braced himself for another slew of orders – and new orders there were.

Every day it seemed as though something new in the village needed mending, or replacing. He had come to expect the same requests day after day. However, what he had not braced himself for, what he could never in a million years have expected, was a thick envelope sealed with purple wax, stamped with the crest of the royal family, sitting on top of the pile of mail.

Rushing into the small house once more, Philip tore open the envelope and could scarcely believe what he was reading,

“Dear Mr. Zimmerman, we have heard the wonders of your skill and have decided to commission your talents to build a grand centerpiece for the upcoming harvest festival,” He read aloud to himself, his eyes growing wide with every word, “By royal decree, we invite you to the castle for a consultation.”

Philip took a moment to process the offer, eventually coming to the conclusion that could only be described as, holy shit.

Abandoning his tasks for the day, Philip at once set off towards the Purple Palace.

Though it was early in the day, the path to the palace was filled with villagers, going about their lives in the same orderly fashion as they always had, the very same that Philip did. Philip wondered if they had dreams of grandeur, or if it was only he who was going through this mid-life crisis.

“Good morning Mr. Zimmerman!” One portly fellow, the butcher, waved to him. “Thank you again for the cutting blocks you made me, they work like a damn charm!”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear they are holding up.” Philip gave a friendly nod and waved back.

“Flip? Flip! Over here!” A young boy called to him as he passed through the village square, “Check out this new trick I learned!”

Out of nowhere, this child ran up to him and threw a large stick his way. Expertly, Philip caught it and began to at once deflect blow after blow from his young opponent’s stick. The young boy waved his around and around, acting as if it were the mightiest of swords.

Allowing the boy to overtake him and knock the stick out of his hands, Philip heartily laughed as he fell to the ground with a theatrical flair that had the child bursting into a fit of giggles. Philip tried not to allow himself to grow bitter over the years, never having any children of his own. The village children were good-natured and friendly, if a bit chaotic at times, and it always reminded Philip of what could have been.

“Very good, keep that up and one day you’ll be fighting for our crown.” Nevertheless, Philip always encouraged the children whenever he saw them, so he got up and with a ruffle of the boy’s hair, continued on his way.

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Glittering in the morning sunlight, the Palace was even more intimidating up close and personal. Guards standing by the door inspected him with raised eyebrows, but the moment he showed the seal on the envelope, the gates parted for him to pass through. As they opened, Philip hesitated – he had never been inside the palace before…no one had. He did not know what he was going to find, or what it would be like, but as the rainbows sparkled across the lavender fields, he knew there would only be one way to find out.

Every bit as magical as Philip had hoped, was the answer. He tried not to gawk at the mesmerizing architecture, seemingly clear and yet reflective all at once. Everything in the palace felt fragile and yet formidable, it was a disorienting experience. His disorientation only grew, as when he made his way through the entrance hall, he found none other than the King and Queen waiting for him atop their tall thrones. Philip knew what they looked like of course, their faces were on every piece of coinage and sent across the Valley by way of statue and tapestry, but much like the palace had seemed, up close they were intimidating.

At once, Philip bowed deeply, not wanting his first interaction with the monarchy to be his last.

“Mr. Zimmerman!” The King’s voice boomed loud and proud through the grand throne room, “How good of you to join us after all. We had hoped you would find our offer compelling.”

This friendliness was unexpected, and Philip, with great hesitation, stood back up to his full height. The King and Queen smiled at him, warm and welcoming.

“Yes your majesty, but I wonder, why me?” Philip had to ask, clutching the envelope in his too-large hands.

“Why not you?” The Queen challenged with a knowing smile, “It is no secret that you are the most talented carpenter in the Valley, and such talents do not go unnoticed by the crown.”

The praise brought a blush to Philip’s cheeks, and once again he averted his eyes. He wished his Ma were still here with him, if only she could have seen him now, being asked to make something for their monarchs.

“What would you like for me to build?” He wondered aloud, hoping it was not out of turn to be so direct with the royals.

“A wheelbarrow, one large enough to hold all the lavender for this year’s harvest.” The King did not seem deterred by his questioning, and had his answer ready to reply.

Philip’s eyebrows shot up at that notion, and through the crystal walls, he stared out into the sea of lavender just beyond. It seemed to stretch endlessly, for miles and miles all around. Philip had heard tales of the ocean but had never seen it himself – he imagined this was not dissimilar.

“That would be big indeed, I’m afraid I don’t think I would have the room to construct such a thing at my workshop.” Philip admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed at his own humble dwelling.

“You may live and work here for the duration of the build, if you so desire. I daresay that our workshop will be more than satisfactory.” The Queen offered at once, something that the carpenter had only ever dreamed about.

“It would be an honor, your majesties.” Philip agreed straight away, his hands already itching to begin carving and chipping and sanding away wood.

“Then we expect you to get started at once!” The Queen gave him a dismissing nod of her head, and he bowed deeply once more, before being escorted out of the throne room by palace aides, and down towards the East Wing.

And with that, Philip began constructing the largest and most impressive wheelbarrow that the Valley had ever seen.

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His routine was the same every day, for twenty days and twenty nights: in the early morning before the dawn, he would hike out into the forest to collect his wood. Chopping down only the most perfect of trees, Philip hauled logs and trunks across his shoulders back to the workshop, where he would use all the tools, space, and materials that the palace had to offer. He would not leave until very late at night, his hands cramped and body exhausted, but it was the most wonderful work he had done in a long time.

It was backbreaking work, especially for only one man, but every evening when he rested his head on the narrow bed in a small room just off the workshop, Philip fell asleep with pride in his chest. The singing helped, of course. Every morning, instead of awaking to rainbow beams of light shining through his window, he woke to the sweet song of a fair maiden. He did not know who she was, or even where she was, for the sound bounced around the crystal walls and made it appear as though she existed everywhere and nowhere.

Songs of longing, wordless melodies filled with a yearning for something which Philip had never been able to voice himself but that he could feel in his own soul, carried him through the day. It was a delight, a privilege to hear the music when it came, and a sorrowful emptiness when it finished.

Working by himself as he always had, alone in the workshop like he always was, he felt as though that maiden sang for him. He had grown so attached to the voice in fact, that when the wheelbarrow was complete and sent out to hold the year’s lavender harvest, Philip cast a yearning gaze up to the stars himself hoping that by some miracle, the maiden would reveal herself to him, and he could thank her for the beauty that was her voice.

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The festival began at sunrise, and though Philip was in good spirits, he found that he could not join in the immense excitement of those around him. Seemingly the entire town had awoken to celebrate; booths were constructed in the main square, and music and dancing were already underway.

In the center of it all, was the wheelbarrow, a structure larger than Pike Peak’s largest building. Standing nearly thirty feet tall and seemingly just as wide, it had been rolled out by palace guards and filled with lavender harvested from the fields, it truly was a sight to behold.

“Flip, it is marvelous.” The baker congratulated him, pulling him into a tight squeezing hug.

“How amazing, one of our own working for the King and Queen!” The cobbler stared at the magnificent sculpture in awe.

“Will they commission you again?” The blacksmith wondered aloud hopefully.

Of all these comments and questions, that one was the only thing that occupied Philip’s mind. Not for the prestige, or for the money, but to hear the voice of that fair maiden once again, to be able to work by the sound of her voice once more.

“That I cannot say, I hope to inquire about that when I receive my compensation tomorrow.” He replied, before sticking his hands in his pocket, and leaving the large gathering to go find a quiet place to smoke his pipe.

So lost in a daydream about the maiden was he, that he did not make it very far before someone collided with his firm chest at such a speed that she toppled onto the ground with a startled gasp.

“Oh shit!” The poor maiden groaned. Belatedly, Philip realized that she was holding a hot coffee fresh from one of the breakfast stalls, and immediately began to search and ensure that she had not been burned.

“Please forgive me!” Philip apologized at once, flustered in his own right, feeling like a fool and concerningly asking, “Are you injured?”

The maiden simply looked at him, and Philip felt as though all time and space came to a standstill. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Even with her torn and tattered hem and her dirty apron, Philip could feel the tides within him change.

“No, no I’m quite alright. I should have been watching where I was going, the fault is mine.” Dazed, the maiden seemed just as affected by Philip as he was of her, and he pulled her gently to her feet.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, are you new to the village?” His own voice sounded a thousand miles away to his ears, too captivated in the presence of such beauty.

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” She began to stammer, nervous about something. “I, um well you see I come from out of town. I heard there to be a large and impressive centerpiece for the festival, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You heard about the wheelbarrow?” He blinked, chest pounding.

“Of course! And I find it absolutely magnificent, seeing it up close like this.” She replied with an honest smile, “Whoever made it surely is an expert at their craft.”

At this, Philip’s heart soared! This beautiful woman had heard of him, had heard of his work. His heart began to beat harder, faster than before. All at once, any worries he may have had about the quality of his craftsmanship vanished, all in the wake of this one person’s praise.

“Do you really think so?” Philip swallowed around a lump in his throat, and all too softly, the maiden nudged the back of his hand with her own.

“Yes, I do.” She whispered, a sparkle of sorts in her eye that made Philip sure he had to be dreaming, that sort of sparkle that told him she knew exactly who built it. Biting her lip for a moment, she looked around and continued in that same hushed tone, “I fear that I am not familiar enough with your village to know my way around this festival, would you accompany me?”

No one had ever asked Philip to accompany them to anything, as a friend or…or otherwise. And the way she was looking at him, he knew that this was most certainly an otherwise.

“It would be a privilege.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and back to the festival they went.

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Pike Peak knew how to throw a party, this was extremely evident to the young maiden as Philip led her through the main square. Everyone had donned a costume of sorts, masks and hats and funny tunics made to look like the buds of the lavender flower which they were celebrating. Music played happily and people danced, children ran about shouting out in joy as they chased one another, and merriment was abundant.

As they walked through the square, Philip brought the maiden down towards the merchant stalls, where craftsmen like himself had goods on display for purchase. It wasn’t just those in Pike Peak who attended the festival, no no, people from all over Springs Valley made the journey to partake in the festivities, and the merchants knew it. Philip had of course seen all these goods before, but it was evident that the maiden had not.

She stopped in front of one stall belonging to the Jeweler. Kept in wooden boxes made by Philip’s own hand were one of a kind necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of purple stones that shone in the late morning light.

“Would you like one?” Philip asked her gently, when he noticed her staring at a particular pair of earrings.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” She replied with an embarrassed shake of her head, about to move on from the stall.

“Which pair? Please, allow me.” Philip reaches out to grasp her wrist to prevent her from leaving, wanting to give something to her, wanting to do something nice for her. He didn’t have very much money, but he knew that he would soon be paid for his commission, and decided this beautiful woman was worth the expense.

“Those.” Entranced, she pointed to an ornate set.

Philip had to admit, she had wonderful taste. The earrings were set in gold, small hoops from which stones dangled. The first and largest stone was oval shaped, and from it six smaller circles in two rows of three sat nestled in gold as well. And then, dangling from them, three oblong purple stones twinkled and clinked together like windchimes as Philip picked them up.

“How much?” Philip asked the Jeweler, who eyed him with joy.

“For you, who has done so much for me? Take them as a gift, I insist.” The Jeweler put her hands up as if to say she would not be convinced to change her mind. She regarded the maiden then and told her, “Without this man’s talents, I would not have a studio to make my designs in.”

The maiden grinned at Philip, who only blushed deeply from the kind words spoken about him. Turning to him, the maiden pushed her hair away from her ears.

“Would you put them on for me?” She asked, and Philip had to will his hands not to shake as he did just that. She did not even wince when he tightened the earrings a little too much, and the two chuckled together out of shyness when she corrected it, before addressing the Jeweler and this handsome man, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. I shall never take them off.”

With that, Philip and the maiden continued along their way, exploring more of the festival.

Surely he was delusional, he thought, he must have been. Because every now and again, he felt the barest brush of knuckles against his own, a tentative invitation. He is about to have a crisis about it, when she speaks softly and does it again, the careful nudging of her fingers against his.

“Won’t you take my hand?” She whispered, turning those bright eyes of hers onto him, stunning him with her beauty.

He grew self-conscious, regarding his own palms. Covered in callouses and blisters and bandages were they, cut up by splintered wood and burned by hot glues. They were a peasant’s hands, dirt still lingering under the fingernails, scarred from a lifetime of efforts. Her hands were soft, he could tell just by looking at them, at the smooth supple skin that kept ghosting over his own.

“I fear that you wouldn’t like them, they are rough from years of woodworking.” He admitted, and much like he had felt in front of the King and Queen, he feels shame.

But she only took his hand with a confidence that shocked him, the electric feeling of her fingers weaving through his own making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You are mistaken, my good sir.” The maiden gives him a smile, soft and sweet, “It is because they are rough that I would like to hold them.”

Philip could do nothing but blink.

Could this be…? Could it be the very thing that he had longed for for so long? A person who accepted him for all that he was, and all that he was not? With the way she looked at him, Philip felt his heart begin to pound, growing larger in his chest. She, lovely and gentle as she was, wanted to hold his hand, his dirty scarred hand – never did Philip think he could have ever been so lucky!

In that moment, it was as if the festival disappeared entirely, as if there were no other villagers in the square aside from him and her. He was lost in her eyes, in her smile. Sweating and nervous, Philip let his eyes close and began to lean down, compelled to offer her a kiss. Terrified, he held his breath as adrenaline surged through his body, for though he had his eyes closed, he felt her leaning in towards him, felt her lips just about to press against his own when –

The wailing of a small child snapped them both out of their moment of intimacy, and Philip opened his eyes, seeing a young boy with big fat tears spilling over his cheeks clinging to the maiden’s apron.

“Oh you poor thing!” She opened her arms for him and scooped him up, balancing him atop her hip in a manner that has Philip so endeared to her that he cannot even be angry that their moment was interrupted. She pet down his thick curly hair and bounced him gently, all the while soothing him, “Don’t cry, what is the matter?”

“I’ve lost my Mama.” The little boy hiccupped and cried, and the maiden gets a determined look in her eye straight away.

“We’ll help you find her, won’t we?” She asked Philip, and he was so dazed by the sight of her kindness that he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks.

“Yes of course -- ” Philip began fully prepared to do just that, before a frantic looking woman appeared out of the crowd.

She had another child on her hip, this one much younger than the boy that had stopped crying once he saw her. The family resemblance was striking, and Philip kicked himself for not recognizing the boy.

“My precious baby! Oh thank you so much -- Flip, madam, how can I ever repay you?” The cobbler’s wife cried tears of relief when the maiden let her son out of her own arms, the boy running back to his mother.

“Don’t be silly, I’m only glad it did not take long for you to be reunited.” She replied. Now that her hand was freed, it once again twined through with Philip’s, an almost subconscious decision that Philip had no intention of bringing up, lest she change her mind.

“Bless you, oh bless you.” The cobbler’s wife surged forward and placed a kiss to each of their cheeks, before gently scolding her son as they walked away, “Darling what have I told you about running off, you gave me a heart attack!”

In the wake of the momentary drama, the maiden couldn’t help but smile at Philip.

“Your name is Flip?” She inquired, and Philip kicked himself – he had never actually introduced himself after all this time.

“It’s a nickname.” He corrected, before bowing with good manners like the gentleman he was as he said dramatically, “Philip Zimmerman at your service.”

“That’s a strong name. You wear it with pride, I can tell.” The maiden laughed at his theatrics, a sound which warmed his heart.

“It’s the only name I’ve ever had.” Philip mused, “So I suppose I have to, don’t I?”

“I suppose so, yes.” She chuckled at him softly, her eyes kind even though they were teasing. He felt no malice from her, and therefore allowed the jests to go unreprimanded.

At the thought of jesting, Philip was reminded of the stages which had been constructed in the now-harvested fields of lavender. Stages where jesters and comedians alike tried to rouse crowds, nestled among smaller stages where those who felt lucky could try their hand at various games and competitions.

“Come, let me show you more of the festival, there are games to be played.” Philip squeezed her hand adoringly, watching in delight as her eyes lit up.

“Games! Oh that sounds wonderful!” She breathed, and Philip could have sworn that he never felt more alive than when he began to run, tugging him along towards the promise of entertainment like that which she had never before seen.

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Hours later, many hours later, when the sun had gone down and the crickets had come out to play, their songs filling the air with a symphony of chirping, Philip sat conflicted. He never wanted this evening to end, because he knew that once it did, this woman that he had decidedly given his heart to would have to leave him…and if she only came to visit for the festival, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

The two of them found themselves sitting alone near the drinking well, after enjoying the last of their dinner together. The maiden was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, and Philip spent a great deal trying to figure out how to express that. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, her eyes closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable with the tranquility.

“I must confess, I have never met anyone like you before.” Philip said eventually, his voice quiet.

“Nor I to be sure.” She replied, the pinky of her hand gently looping around his much larger one. When she spoke again, it was with a breathless sort of sadness that told him she didn’t want to leave him either. Plaintively, she looked up at him and sighed, “Oh Philip…”

“May I kiss you?” He dared to hope aloud, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, and she gave him a gentle nod. Joy simmering underneath his skin, Philip leaned in and pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips. She was every bit as sweet as he had imagined she would be, and when she sighed against his mouth and allowed her lips to part, Philip thought he was going to pass out from the way her tongue welcomed his in.

Like that, the carpenter and the young maiden kissed underneath the stars, the last of the festival dying down in the distance. By the drinking well, Philip’s heart soared, as he cupped her cheek with one of his rough palms, and she only leaned into it, nuzzling her face further.

“I’m afraid.” She admitted with a whisper when they broke apart, only far enough to breathe, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“With me, you have nothing to fear.” Philip promised, not knowing why she should be afraid, but wanting her to understand that should she allow him, he would protect her from any kind of harm, from now until always.

He needn’t say the words, for she heard them anyway, and leaned in for another kiss, one that he was happy to give, one that he found himself always willing and eager to give.

So wrapped up in the embrace were they, that the clock-tower struck eleven times nearly unnoticed, until on the twelfth time, the maiden pulled away sharply, eyes wide, afraid.

“Shit, is that the final evening bell?” She scrambled to stand, pulling herself away from the warm arms that had surrounded her.

Philip frowned, confused, worried for her. Was this what she meant by afraid? He had so many questions, only getting so far as “Yes but – ”

“I must go! I’m sorry – ” She interrupted him desperately, regret and terror and sadness plaguing her voice.

The maiden began to dash away, and Philip chased after her, managing to take her hand and pull her towards him with a plea.

“Wait! Please wait, please don’t go.” Philip cupped her cheeks and felt the cold of dread flood through him, realizing belatedly that -- “You never told me your name!”

“It’s (Y/N)!” The maiden ducks out of his grip with a look of despair, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. “I must go, or else I’ll be in trouble, big trouble.”

Against his better judgement, Philip releases the maiden. He wouldn’t dare disrespect her wishes, no matter how desperately he wished that she could stay with him.

“Will I ever see you again?” He chased after her still, not wanting to let her out of his sights just yet.

“I hope so.” She threw him a pained glance over her shoulder, her voice breaking as tears stung at her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s okay – I’ll, I’ll find you!” Philip promised, his voice carrying out into the night, “No matter how far you go, I’ll find you.”

With that, the maiden was gone.

On the far edge of the village, where the town met the mountains, Philip stood alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of the wood beyond him, and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, he noticed the moonlight twinkling on something that had fallen to the ground. Picking it up, he realized it was one of the earrings that he had given her. It must have come free from her ear in her haste, and carefully, ever so gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find you.” He said to the earring, before clasping his hand around it and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

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The next morning, feeling a dark cloud of sorrow and frustration beginning to form over his head, Philip dressed himself and began his trek to the palace once more. As part of the negotiations, the King and Queen of Springs Valley had told him that they would pay him his commissioned fee after the work was completed, so that he would not run off with the sum. He thought this perfectly reasonable, although really, who was he to argue with the royals?

The only thing keeping him in a good mood was the anticipation of this payment, which he had, through the night, decided he would use to travel and find (Y/N), which he had silently pledged his devotion to.

He figured she must be in one of the neighboring villages, which weren’t all that far away. Using the payment from the monarchy, Philip decided he would purchase himself the materials and means to ride across the Valley in search of her. But when he got far enough into town on the walk passing through so that he could reach the Purple Palace, he noticed that everyone was gathered in the town square, a concerned hush fallen over a crowd.

Frowning, Philip stood at the edge of this crowd, and tapped the shoulder of a young man to get his attention.

“What’s going on?” He demanded to know, for this was no merry enjoyment of a festival, no no, this was a concerning sort of apprehension and worry.

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a kidnapping.” The young man explained, growing more impassioned with every word, “Someone has taken the princess! The princess from the Purple Palace! I always knew she was real, apparently the king and queen received a ransom note from King Felix of the Forbidden Forest -- and are on the verge of waging war.”

At this news, Philip staggered back a few feet.

The rumors of the princess were true? She was real? And she had been kidnapped?

Philip didn’t have much time, it would seem. He needed to get his payment and get out now, before any war were to begin. He needed to find the beautiful woman that stole his heart, and make sure she was safe from harm. Without so much as even a goodbye, Philip broke into a running pace, his mind clouded as his feet carried him to the palace.

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Bursting through the doors, he bowed deeply, out of breath yet respectful.

“Your majesties, I have heard of your tragedy and I am so sorry to hear that such a thing has come to pass.” Philip broke royal protocol by speaking to them first, wanting simply to get what he came for, and get out of their hair.

The royals were, by all accounts, despaired. The Queen wept on her throne, her face buried in her hands, and the King’s sadness manifested in a snappish, “What do you want?”

They were no longer warm and welcoming as they had once been, but Philip could not blame them; their daughter was taken from them after all.

“I come to fetch my payment, for the commission.” Philip boldly requested, making the King frown.

“Your what? No I don’t think so, not now.” He waved the carpenter away, shocking Philip.

“…With all due respect, your majesty, you promised – ”

“I said no! There is war to be had, the money will go towards that instead. I do not expect you to understand.” The King shouted, before his shoulders sagged and he slumped back in his throne.

Philip chewed on his lip for a moment. He could see the palace guards approaching him, ready to throw him out, ready to haul him and drag him out if necessary…but Philip needed that money. He needed it so that he could search for (Y/N). So, without thinking, he blurted out the only solution his mind had thought of:

“What if there need not be a war?”

The King and Queen both looked at him then, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” The Queen, with her scratchy sorrow-filled voice demanded of this…this…this peasant.

Philip stood tall and strong under their gaze, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“Allow me to retrieve the princess.” He requested, and tried to ignore the snickers and incredulous chuckles of the palace guards behind him.

“You!” The King scoffed, feeling like the cause was well and truly hopeless. “Why you wouldn’t last one night out in the Forbidden Forest, let alone make it all the way to King Felix’s fortress.”

“Allow me to try. Give me five days, if I have not returned by then, assume me dead and send your armies.” Philip insisted, “But if I do return with the princess, I expect double the payment for my commission.”

This was a risk, he knew, but he was certain it was something he could pull off. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand, he spent his entire life in the wood! He knew the paths and the trails, and most importantly, with King Felix expecting an army, he would never suspect a lone carpenter to be of any threat.

The Queen seemed to be thinking the very same thing, because after a moment or two of shocked silence, she stood up from her throne and descended the many steps which kept her elevated. She descended those steps with grace and poise, and when she finally stopped in front of Philip, he got down on one knee.

Placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder, a move which stunned everyone in the royal court, the Queen promised softly, “My boy, if you return with our princess, I will grant you anything your heart desires, and on that you have my word.”

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

And so, Philip’s journey began.

Riding atop the gentle steed that had accompanied him on many a trip into the mountains, and equipped with nothing but his carpentry tools, Philip set off discreetly, quietly. There could be no fanfare, no one in the village could even know what he was up to, lest the evil King Felix catch word.

He had put a sign on his workshop’s door saying that he had gone out of town, but he did not say for what. It felt slightly wrong, leaving the village without another word like that, but all the while he kept one thing in mind: the sooner he rescued the princess, the sooner he could begin to search for his lovely (Y/N).

The mountains were quiet for a long while, the better part of the day in fact. He and his horse had ridden through the winding trails that so many before him had traveled, trails that were easy and comfortable. He wasn’t very far outside the village yet, so things were relatively tame. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall, that he noticed a steady plume of chimney smoke up in the distance.

A chimney meant a house, which meant possible shelter for the night. Philip allowed himself to hope that perhaps the owner of the house would give him refuge, even if only for a few hours – and was so caught up in his daydreaming that he did not notice when a man jumped out of a tree a few feet in front of him, landing on his feet skillfully.

“Halt!” The man said, holding a hand outstretched, startling Philip’s horse.

“Woahh!” Philip tried to calm his steed, and when the beast was no longer threatening to buck him off its back, Philip cleared his throat and tried to be amiable, “Good day to you sir, what – ”

“None shall pass without besting me and my bow.” The man cut Philip off, making him raise his eyebrows.

“…Excuse me?” Philip sized the man up for a moment.

He was handsome, a well styled afro and neatly groomed beard denoting him as a man who prided himself on his appearance. His clothing followed suit in such a fashion – well tailored and made from expensive materials like silk, a brocade tunic shimmered in the warm light of the golden hour.

“You are trespassing on my land, and if you wish to leave with your life intact, you must best me in a test of archery.” The man did not budge, and Philip did not know how to proceed.

“But I have not bow nor arrow.” He explained, to which the man’s proud posture fell a little flat. For how could there be a competition if the competitors were not equally matched?

“Oh.” The man scratched at his beard for a moment or two, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, he snapped his fingers with an elated smile that showed off brilliantly white teeth, “Well in that case, you may borrow some of mine!”

The man beckoned Philip to follow him, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Philip followed. What lay before them was a grand home, constructed of the most sturdy stone. A family crest that Philip did not recognize waved from flagpoles atop the home, but Philip didn’t need to recognize the crest for him to know that this was a noble home. This became increasingly evident as the man lead Philip to a field where a shed sat – a shed that looked larger than his entire home.

“What’s the test?” Philip asked, having gotten off of his horse and walked up to the man.

He handed Philip a beautifully constructed bow, and three sharpened arrows. He then pointed to two targets way across the other side of the field, so far away that Philip had a hard time locating them at first.

“Best of three shots, whoever gets the most bullseyes is the victor.” The man announced, and Philip gave a single nod in agreement.

It was no secret in the village that Philip had some of the best eyesight around, he needed to. Spending so many hours staring at intricately fine details in his woodwork had sharpened his skills considerably, but more than that Philip also hunted for his own food, as much of the village did. Nearly every weekend Philip went into the mountains to shoot, and every weekend he was successful.

This man did not know that, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered, was Philip getting this over as quickly as possible so that he could be reunited with his maiden.

Stepping up to a line of dirt in the field, the man allowed Philip to take the first shot. He steadied his aim, took in a deep breath and fired – bullseye! Philip gestured to the man, who went next. With expert precision, he too shot his first arrow directly into the bullseye of the target.

Philip went again, and again he scored a bullseye, so precisely in fact, that this arrow managed to split straight through the previous one. Shocked, the man looked Philip up and down, as if trying to recognize him from a past archery competition. Philip only gave him a shrug, and watched as he too split his previous arrow into two pieces.

Each man only had one arrow left, and Philip knew that this was the one that mattered most. If he struck his bullseye, he surely would be allowed to pass. Closing his eyes, he focused not on the setting of the sun, or of the breeze in the air that evening brought, but of his (Y/N). He visualized her smiling face, her lips upon his, and released his bow into the air.

It soared through the great open field with precision and struck the target with a determination that Philip mirrored in his soul. He cracked one eye open, and saw that the arrow had indeed landed on the bullseye! Not nearly as well as the other two arrows had, but it was undeniably a success.

With a huff, the man raised his own bow and arrow for the final time, and pulled back a little too forcefully out of anger at being bested – causing the bow to snap and the arrow to go flying rogue.

“Dammit!” The man shouted, stumbling backwards, his hand in pain from the recoil of the broken bow.

“Look out!” Philip urged, because what went up must come down, and Philip charged at the man, tackling him to the ground, knocking him out of the way of the arrow which was making its return to Earth directly in the spot where the man had been standing.

Bewildered, the man looked up at Philip with admiration, as he stood away from the nobleman.

“Here, let me help you up.” Philip insisted, “Take my hand.”

“What is your name?” The man asked, accepting the offer and allowing Philip to haul him to his feet.

“Philip Zimmerman, but call me Flip. Yours?” Philip gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder to make sure he was alright, as the two got their footing. The men looked at the arrow in the ground, noted how it had buried itself deep.

“Lord Ronald Stallworth, but you may call me Ron.” Ron replied, with a polite nod of his head. “You are a most accomplished archer, Flip. Where are you headed? I don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Philip looked around, looked over his shoulder, wanting to make sure no one was around to hear.

“The Princess has been kidnapped, and I have been tasked on a secret mission to retrieve her.” He explained, hoping that Ron would understand his urgency, “I’m sorry about your bow, Ron. But I must be going now.”

Philip began to walk back towards his horse, when Ron surprised him by jogging to catch up, walking alongside him.

“Wait!” Ron called, stopping in front of him for a moment to make Philip pause. Ron put his hands on Philip’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, and then pointed to himself, “You are a good man, Philip. Allow me to join you on your quest! I know these woods well, I could be of assistance to you. Two archers are better than one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you want to join me?” Philip frowned. Ron was rich, he had a luxurious home and accommodations, surely that would be more comfortable than a rugged trip up the mountains.

Ron chuckled at his question, and scratched at his beard once more.

“To tell you the truth, it’s pretty fucking boring here waiting for someone to pass by for a challenge. And you are the first man who has ever bested me, I am eager to see where your journey takes you. Where it takes us.” Ron looked hopeful, and Philip reasoned that he was right, two archers were better than one.

“I’d be happy to have you join, Ron.” Philip agreed, officially adding a new member to his party.

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

Not only did Ron allow Philip to spend the night in his large home, but he also ordered his kitchen staff to cook a grand meal for them to enjoy. Philip was grateful for the strength, particularly as Ron was rich, and had no worries about running out of food any time soon, so the portions were large, and there was more than enough leftover to be packaged for the road.

“So, a princess, huh?” Ron asked around a bite of venison, thoughtful and yet slightly confused.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Philip sighed, slightly annoyed at this interruption of his plan to find the maiden.

Ron frowned into his potatoes, confessing, “I didn’t know that we had one.”

At this, Philip let out an honest laugh and shrugged, chugging a large gulp of sweet mead.

“To tell you the truth? Up until this morning, I didn’t either.” Philip admitted, which made Ron laugh too. They cheered goblets, and indulged in another drink at the situation before them. “I thought the whole thing was a bunch of bullshit rumors, but then there it is in the square: Princess Kidnapped.”

“The reward must be great then, for you to go on such a dangerous journey alone to retrieve her.” Ron noted casually, but Philip shrugged.

“Only that which I have been owed, is all that I’m asking.” He replied cryptically.

Of course he had decided he would give Ron a portion of the money for his help, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone knowing just how big of a reward it truly was. In any case, Ron was a Lord, and probably spent that very amount on a month’s worth of goods.

“I wonder what your wife must think of such selflessness.” Ron replied with a grin then, making Philip’s mood soften.

“I…I have no wife to speak of, though I should hope that if I had, she wouldn’t find fault in me for it.” Philip’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it, about what would happen should he find (Y/N).

Now it only seemed logical, the most obvious step, for him to court her and hopefully, one day, marry her. But that was a dream, one that Philip couldn’t get too ahead of himself to dwell on. He needed to make it back with the Princess alive first and foremost.

“Forgive me.” Ron’s voice too quieted, and he cleared his throat, “It’s just, I can see the love in your eyes, I was wrong to assume.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, a frown dipping between his eyebrows.

Ron mused and mulled over a bite of roasted vegetables, tried to best explain himself. He eventually settled on the truth: “It affects everyone differently, love. But every lover I have ever known as the undeniable sparkle in their eye, as do you.”

“Well…there is someone…” Philip admitted, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Ah-ha! Tell me all about her my good man.” Elated, Ron clapped his hands together once and let a happiness light up his face.

“Her name is (Y/N), we met last night.” Philip blushed deeper, reminiscing in the fantasy that had been their time together at the festival. “I am hoping that when all this is over, I might find her and see her again.”

“Well then, we must get our rest and leave at the first light of morning! For it is a long journey to the forbidden wood, and then a long journey back.” Ron replied.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Philip ate the rest of the food on his plate with a newfound vigor. Perhaps he could do this, he reasoned. With a man like Ron at his side, who had such skill and obvious charm, the two of them could be unstoppable.

When the dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms, and Philip allowed himself to let sleep wash over his mind, thoughts of his fair maiden dancing in his head.

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

The next morning, true to his word, Ron woke Philip at the break of dawn. During the night, his servants had prepared a bundle for which Philip and Ron would travel, including the leftover food, canteens of fresh water, and a change of clean clothes. Additionally, Philip was provided with a bow and a set of arrows to use all his own. Philip was grateful for it, and the two set off in amicable company, listening to the sounds of the trees and nature sing around them.

They managed to cover much ground in the morning, passing the time by talking of themselves. Ron told Philip all about how his family came from a long line of nobility, and that he inherited the estate from his father. Philip told Ron all about how he too in a way, inherited his trade from his father. Though they came from different places, the two found more in common with one another than they found differences.

All in all, it was a wonderful friendship that had begun to form, and Philip and Ron found themselves in a fit of laughter at a joke Ron had told, when they came to a large stone bridge that sat high up above a gorge of water. Standing in front of the bridge was a tall man, with long sandy hair, and an expression on his face that told Philip he meant business.

“Halt!” The man said, his voice commanding of attention, “Who goes there?”

Philip and Ron looked at one another, and as Ron had a higher rank of authority, he was the one to reply.

“We are Lord Ron Stallworth, and Flip Zimmerman, who speaks?” Ron asked in return, and the man straightened his posture, before bowing slightly, not realizing he was in the presence of nobility.

“I am Jimmy Creek my Lord, owner of this bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay the toll.” Jimmy introduced himself, making Philip look at Ron.

“Do you have any money on you?” Philip whispered, assuming the answer was yes, and being unfortunately surprised when Ron gave him an embarrassed wince.

“Shit, no. Didn’t think we’d need it for such a short trip, you?” Ron whispered back, making Philip’s mind race to find a solution.

“We have no coins to spare. May we pass by another means? Or perhaps I could send money to you once we have returned?” Philip asked, hoping that Jimmy would be reasonable. He looked like a reasonable sort of fellow, anyway.

Jimmy thought on this for a while, before brandishing the sword that he kept on his hip. The metal glinted in the afternoon light, throwing sparks of sunshine all around as he twirled it and whirled it around effortlessly.

“If you can best me in a fight, then you may pass.” Jimmy announced, and Philip chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I haven’t got a sword.” He replied honestly, and this stumped Jimmy, for what travelers did not move through these mountains without a sword?

“Oh. Well in that case, you can borrow one of mine.” Jimmy snapped his fingers then, and beckoned Philip over to him as he walked back to a small hut near the bridge.

It was humble, made of stone and wood, and looked similar to one of the dwellings he might see in his own village. Philip waited outside while Jimmy rummaged through his hut and eventually emerged with a sword for Philip to use.

The sword was beautiful. Obviously crafted with care, the grip happened to be the perfect size for Philip’s hand, the jewel crusted pommel and cross-guard weighted just enough to counter balance the long blade. Philip wondered where a man like Jimmy came across such a thing, as he gave it a few experimental twists and spins.

Philip had virtually no training in swordsmanship, except for that of the surprise attacks that the village children waged on him. Jimmy was no child though, and this made Philip gulp, doubting his chances – until Jimmy began to run at him full speed ahead, and the only thing Philip could think about was winning.

Swords clanged, great big sparks flying into the air as they went after one another again and again. Jimmy may have been older, but he was nimble, quick on his feet. Philip found he could not use his sheer size and strength alone, although this certainly helped him. Dodging and ducking away from Jimmy’s blows, Philip pushed pushed pushed Jimmy back, until the two of them began to move down the bridge.

Below them, the gorge rushed with water furiously hungry, white frothy waves of grey-blue water crashing and smacking against craggy cliff walls. Out there on the bridge, the wind had no place to buffer against, and both men began to realize that one strong gust of wind could very well send them over.

The sounds of their swords echoed through the gorge, as did their grunts of effort from trying to best one another. Jimmy would lunge, and Philip would jump back, waiting for a moment to lunge himself. Their swords met in a flurry of silver metal, blade swinging expertly and with deadly precision.

He thought of the children in the village, thought of the way his beloved (Y/N) might interact with them. How she might cheer them on as they attacked Philip in the very same manner that Jimmy now was. Spinning his sword in the same way that he had watched the young boy from the village all that time ago, Philip managed to generate enough momentum in his arms to block every single sharp and quick blow that Jimmy sent his way.

Back back back Philip pushed Jimmy, his arm muscles flexing and his feet planted on the ground – until he gave Jimmy a particularly harsh swing of his sword, and in the effort to block it, not only did Jimmy’s hand lose its grip on his sword, but Jimmy stumbled backwards and fell, the wind striking at the worst possible moment, sending Jimmy over the edge of the bridge.

“Oh fuck!” Ron’s shout traveled from the other end of the bridge where he waited with the horses, watching with wide eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth as Philip ran to the edge.

Jimmy was dangling precariously close to death, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the rough and rocky side of the bridge that did not promise much purchase. The wind howled and whipped up the spray of water from a thousand feet below, a taste of the certain death Jimmy would face should he fall.

“Quick, take my hand!” Philip shouted over the rush of the wind and water and the pulse in his veins, letting his own sword clatter onto the stone of the bridge as he reached out.

Without hesitation, Jimmy grasped the offered hand and Philip hauled him back onto the bridge safely, Philip’s muscles making quick work of the effort. Exhausted from their fight and this momentary scare, the two men simply laid on their backs on the bridge, catching their breath.

“You spared me?” Incredulously, Jimmy regarded Philip who was not more than a few feet away on the narrow structure of stone.

“Of course, why should I kill you?” Philip replied, a friendly smile teasing at his lips.

“Thank you, Philip. You are a good man.” Jimmy said seriously, and Philip blushed, he wasn’t sure about all that, it’s just, who was he to end a man’s life? Jimmy glanced at the beautiful sword that “You can keep that, you’ve earned it.”

Philip too looked at the sword, at how beautiful it was. Because really, the thing shone in the light magnificently, the jewels sparkling and shimmering in the rays of the sun. Philip was entranced, absolutely entranced by it, but he could not lay around and stare at it all day. He had a princess to rescue, and a maiden to love.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Philip asked as he stood up, helping Jimmy up too.

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Philip gave him a nod, and then gestured for Ron to come over with the horses and join them, eager to continue on their way.

“Wait! Allow me to accompany you on your quest?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide with a sudden anxiety.

At this, Ron and Philip looked at one another and then back at him, a slight frown on their faces.

“Why?” Ron asked, looking him up and down, wondering what Jimmy was suddenly so anxious.

“Truth be told, I’m really sick of sitting around on this fucking bridge. My father sat on this bridge as did his – but I never wanted to. This is my chance at something new, something different!” He then turned to Philip, “I see you have bows and arrows, but in combat you’d be best to do with an extra swordsman, and that I can provide. Besides, you’re the only person to ever give me a run for my money like that – I respect you.”

Philip understood that feeling all too well, the ache in his bones for a different life than the one that was promised to him. He had been given a chance for this quest, and now he could do the very same for this man, he could give Jimmy a chance of his own.

Looking at Ron to gauge his reaction, Ron looked back, and then nodded with a great big grin, “Oh I don’t see why not, welcome to the group.”

“Thank you! I won’t let you down!” Jimmy excitedly hugged them both, his long sandy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran back to his hut just on the other side of the bridge.

When he came back, he had a horse of his own, and a bag already packed. Philip smiled, he must have had this bag packed for quite some time. It made something inside Philip’s chest warm – one was never too old for adventure, a truth that continued to make itself evident.

“Say, where are we headed anyway?” Jimmy asked, sheathing his sword in the holster on his hip.

“To the forbidden wood, to rescue the princess that’s been kidnapped by King Felix.” Philip responded, sure that no one could hear them up on the bridge the way they were.

Jimmy frowned and looked at Ron, scratching the back of his neck and asking, “We have a princess?”

Ron burst out laughing and slapped Jimmy on the back, “That’s what I said!” ---------------------

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Tagging some friends! Part 2 will be up tomorrow :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #adam driver fanfic #adam driver #adcu #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman fanfic #5k follower celebration #my writing #fairytale au #storybook au

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the-scooby-gang · 4 years

Text

Us... But not quite

Part 2

Summary: After falling through a portal while they were being chased by their most horrifying monster yet, The Scooby Gang finds themselves in a place they have never been before. A place called Crystal Cove.

As Shaggy’s nose predicted, there was a restaurant waiting for them some 2,5 miles north.

What the nose hadn’t predicted was the vampire theming that permeated the whole place. Fred thought that either the restaurant was some passion project of a gothic owner or the town had some vampiric and/or supernatural connection and the restaurant was reflecting that. Shaggy hoped for the first. Their luck said it was probably the latter.

They were by the roadside, a good half a mile away from the vampire-themed place. Tired after an hour of walking, combined with the exhaustion of being chased by Lovecraft’s weirdest wet dream finally setting in, they decide to just lie on some rocks and take a well-deserved nap.

When they woke again, the sun had fully risen. After drinking from a water bottle that Shaggy had stored… somewhere, they started to think about what their next step was going to be.

The restaurant was just outside the town-that-should-not-be, neon lights glowing red against the sunlight, already packed with early costumers sucking the coffee maker dry as if their lives depended on it.

“It must be Monday,” said Velma, standing by Fred’s rock. Removing the binoculars that Shaggy had produced from… somewhere from her eyes, she put herself in tip-toes, aligning them with Fred’s blue gaze “Look on how they slouch. They are clearly forcing themselves aware through coffee and spite.”

Fred took the binoculars from her hand. Standing up from his place on the rock his other hand made its way across her back and in a swift move, he lifted her off the ground, and together they shared the watch.

“Yeah, normally by Tuesday your body returns to automatic pilot and you look less like a zombie” Daphne shrugged, casting a smile in their direction. She was sitting in the grass over a picnic blanket that Shaggy brought from… somewhere. Her back was against a smaller rock with Scooby by her side, lounging on the morning sun.

“But still moving by spite” Fred completed, remembering the college allnighters he powered through for weeks on end.

Shaggy, who was sited on the rock Daphne was lining on, got to his feet and approached them. Putting his chin on Fred’s unoccupied shoulder, he asked to have a look. Fred handed the binocular to him.

“Look at them! Like, they look like they are one step away from sucker-punching each other, man.” there was a detached fascination on his voice, but also familiarity “Remember that week before the last year finals? Like, I thought that I was going to be stabbed in the cafeteria when I went to get some coffee.”

“That’s what anxiety and stress do to you” Daphne decided to stand too. She was lining against Shaggy’s arm, her head on his shoulder, his hand on hers. She asked with her remaining hand for the binocular.

She was fascinated with the gothic decor. All the coffin-shaped chairs, tables, and booths bathed in the red ambient light. She thought that it was a delightful macabre aesthetic.

Shaggy thought that it was creepy and unsettling.

“Man, let’s just hope that we didn’t end up in a bizarre vampire dimension of some sort.” Shaggy shivered in discomfort, hugging Fred from behind, snuggling his head further on his boyfriend’s neck. “The last time I thought that I had been bitten by a vampire I had a whole identity crisis over it.”

Putting Velma back on her feet, Fred laid one of his hands over Shaggy’s long fingers while the other ran calmly through the shaggy sandy hair.

“Don’t worry, Shag. We’ll be here for you, vampires or not.” Fred kissed his temple.

“Would you? I would be putting you guys in danger, man” None of them liked how small Shaggy’s voice was becoming “If that happens I should lea…”

The end of the sentences was cut short by Daphne’s well-manicured fingers. She was really close to his face, nose to nose. Which made Shaggy make a double-take since Daphne was, at least, one head shorter than him so how…

That’s when he noticed she had instructed Velma to lift her up. What a way to prevent any future neck pains he thought.

“Ah, ah, ah, we are NOT finishing that thought, mister!” she wiggled her finger on his face, giving him her best impression of a scolding girlfriend. “The day we abandon you for something as minor as vampirism is the day I go right back to that swamp to find the real old fart that must be the vampire king and marry his wrinkly ass!”

“I second that!” came Fred’s voice from his right, giving him an Eskimo kiss “We’ll even donate some blood to you. As a treat.” He gave shaggy one of his goofy smiles that only got bigger when his boyfriend snorted.

“Rod rammed, Rreddie” Scooby pinched the bridge of his nose as shaggy snort dissolved in small giggles. He had got up from his half nap on the sun when his ears picked Shaggy’s sad tones and were now sited by their side. Shaking his head, Scooby now focused on his best friend. “I’m not reaving you for nothing.” He put himself in his hind legs, licking Shaggy’s face of all sadness that he could find. The lanky man was giggling, now with his hair stinking all over the place.

“That’s right, Mister Rogers. You are stuck with us.” Velma with Daphne still on her arms lifted both Fred, Shaggy, and Scooby from the ground like they weighed nothing and twirled around like the most excited ballerina. “FOREVER.”

They laughed without a worry in the world. Carefully, Velma returned everyone to the ground. They remained hugged to each other for a little longer. They haven’t realized how much they needed it.

“Ok, gang. What’s the plan? We can’t just stay here and live among the rocks waiting for a new portal to appear” Velma was looking at them expectantly.

“Velma is right. Our best course of action right now is getting information. Where we are, how we got here, and how we are going to get back.” Fred said, counting on his fingers to each question.

Daphne took hold of his wrist and delicately added another finger to the counting before commenting “Let’s add find a place to stay while we are at it between steps two and three, shall we?”

A muffled sound interrupted Fred’s response. He, Velma, and Daphne turned towards Shaggy and Scooby when the sound made itself know again.

They knew that sound way to well.

Scooby approached Fred. Taking his hand on his paw he added another finger “Rinding rome rood”

“I second that” chuckled Shaggy.

“Ok then. Gang, it seems we are going down the Bloody Steak for some clues with french fries on the side.”

“Sounds good to me, Freddie” Daphne was already collecting their things and giving them to Shaggy that was putting them away… somewhere.

After years of knowing a person, you stop questioning in which plane of existence the keep their things, you know? You accept it and move on. Daphne was even thinking that maybe they had to add to the to-do list go to the market because clearly whatever pocket dimension Shaggy keep his things was out of supplies if he hadn’t made himself a sandwich in all the time they were sited there on those rocks.

While Daphne discussed this future storage replenishment with Shaggy and Scooby, Velma was quiet, looking uncertain in the restaurant’s direction.

“I don’t know guys… What if it’s dangerous? This could be a completely different place from what we are used to” she hugged herself while her shoulders were rigid and her back was straight as a rod “I just… I just don’t like going in blind in a situation, you know.”

“Oh dear, we know how that is,” said Daphne giving Velma a sideways hug “But if we want to get to the bottom of it we must go there”

Fred and Shaggy walked slowly towards the girls. Scooby flowed them quietly. Each one of them took one of Velmas hands between their own.

“Daphne is right, Velm,” Fred said, a determined look on his eyes. A plan was being made “Come on Little Sun, think about it. We can stay here creeping in the bushes forever trying to solve this puzzle from the distance or we can go inside and get first-hand information! You know better them me how much small-town people love to gossip” he held Velma’s hand more firmly guiving her his best puppy’s eyes.

Daphne quickly caught on what he was doing. She jumped right into it.

“Yeah Honey Bee,” she said “The best way to truly learn about people is by listening to them! And if they prove to be actual bloodsuckers we do as we always do”

“Rick rheir rasses?” questioned Scooby

“That’s right Scoob. We’ll kick their asses!” Daphne patted his head.

“What do you say, Sweet Pie?” said Shaggy, also jumping on the plan “We will just be a group of twenty-somethings tourists and their dog going into the town. And if anything does go to hell in silver platter we just jump into your strong arms to safety” he finished with a flourish.

Fred and Daphne were smiling while Shaggy had one of his arms around her shoulders, his head now propped over hers. Velma was as red as her skirts. She agreed.

Cheering, the gang made their way towards the restaurant while Velma was whispering under her breath something that sounded like the manipulative use of pet names should be illegal. Scooby chuckled and softly bumped his head on her, licking her fingers. She patted him, a smile back on her lips.

#Scooby Gang #scooby doo #Shaggy Rogers #daphne blake #Velma Dinkley #Fred Jones #Gih Writes #Scooby doo crossovers #us... but not quite

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capesandshapes · 4 years

Text

The Last Resort: Chapter 2 (Adrinette)

Summary: After an akuma attack goes wrong, Adrien finally learns Ladybug's secret identity and finds himself falling even deeper in love with his friend. He thinks he's finally gotten lucky when she declares to him that she's currently in the business of falling love with anyone but her previous crush... until that crush turns out to be him. Now Adrien has to somehow convince the girl of his dreams to fall back in love with him, while keeping his own identity a secret from her. Well, if there was one thing his father taught him, it was how to multitask. Chapter Summary: The Cat's Out of the Trunk, Good Morning Beautiful. Marinette explains why she refuses to date Chat, Adrien begins a new morning routine, and it turns out old emotions may die harder than habits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alya closed the distance between her and Marinette quickly, her arms wrapping around her smaller friend and her face burying in the girl’s hair while Adrien could only watch. The two girls stayed like that for a moment, Marinette’s eyes closing in what seemed to be thankfulness as her hand slowly patted Alya’s back. But it was only a moment, Then Alya pulled back to face her friend, her face shaped into a wicked grin.

Alya pressed her lips to her friend’s forehead with an overexaggerated mwah, a loud pop resounding as she quickly pulled back. “Well, you know what, I love you,” she declared, “and someday Adrien’s going to wake up and realize that he does too... if he hasn’t already.”

Marinette snorted, rolling back from Alya with a bemused smile, “you’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” Alya proclaimed. “The best listener, the best blogger, and your best friend.” Leaning her weight on the side of Marinette’s chair, Alya asked, “speaking of being your best friend, and seeing as how I don’t see anything that could possibly keep you busy… Maybe we could have a sleepover tonight? Possibly run through all my theories, some Adrien related and others not?”

And while Adrien would have loved to hear those theories and possibly see his lady’s reaction, the thought of remaining in a dark trunk didn’t exactly sit well with him, nor did the fact that he could only hold up his transformation for so long. A loud groan escaped his mouth without permission, gaining Alya’s attention and suddenly startling Marinette.

“What was that--” Alya began to ask.

“Floor!” Marinette immediately yelled, suddenly hoping up from her desk chair and walking in front of the trunk. She gestured to the floor with her back turned to Adrien, and he could only imagine the look on her face. “You know, the floors in these old houses! What are you going to do? I mean its Paris, its 2020, everyone’s having a housing crisis--Can’t fix all the floors! Even if you wanted to fix them and make them less noisy and less inconvenient. Those floors!” She quickly sat on the trunk, crossing her legs and no doubt posing herself in an innocent manner. “But um… Sleepover. You here, with me, alone. Tonight.” Her nerves were evident in her voice, “Can’t do it, really busy...Making a raincoat for a friend.”

Alya let out a laugh, “Which friend?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

More laughter, Adrien heard the floor actually creak as Alya neared closer. “Alright,” she said, “you have fun with that. I’ll keep my eyes out for it on your Instagram.”

“Of course,” Marinette gave a strained reply as the trap door in her room creaked.

A moment passed in which she no doubt listened to Alya’s footsteps going down the staircase, much like Adrien was doing. He could hear her stand up from the trunk as the footsteps faded further away, a heavy inhale audible from outside. Suddenly, the lid of the chest opened entirely, Marinette’s face coming into view.

“Don’t. Say. A. Word.” Marinette immediately spat.

Adrien’s eyebrows raised, his legs hooking over the side of the trunk as he used it for leverage to pop out of the confining space. After taking in her dead serious expression, he couldn’t help but grin, “I don’t know what you’re referring to…”

She shot him an unimpressed glare.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” he laughed, “or trunk, more like it.”

“And I’m going in it,” Marinette deadpanned, placing a foot in the trunk before stating rather over dramatically, “close the trunk and bury me in it.” After a moment of thought, she said, “and don’t forget to take the earrings off first.”

“No can do, m’lady,” he replied, his hand wrapping around her wrist as he pulled her closer, his grin stretching ear to ear like some sort of Cheshire Cat rip off. “You like him,” he stated, more for his pleasure than to inform her. “You like Adrien Agreste.” It felt electric and absolutely invigorating to say while looking at her, his Ladybug, and watching the pink bloom over her cheeks.

“I don’t!” She replied, “Not anymore!” But when the color left her face, she decided to correct the statement, “I mean I do, as a friend. I like Adrien as a friend now, only a friend. I don’t love h--”

He couldn’t let her say it. He cut her off before she could finish the statement, saying in an almost teasing tone, “Then prove it. You don’t even have to know who I am, just date me instead.” He rested his chin between his thumb and pointer finger with a devilish look, his other hand pulling her closer as he almost dared her to actually look at him, “I think I’m a little more handsome than the Agreste boy, wouldn’t you agree?”

Marinette jerked back her hand from his, her eyebrows knitting close to each other as she replied a simple, “No.”

He deflated slightly.

“You just don’t get it because you love doing this so much, but I…”

“You...?” Adrien’s face fell.

Marinette looked away from him. “I want a lot more than this, you know?” She cringed at her wording before clarifying, “I mean you and I could never date like normal people. We could never have picnics, watch movies at each other’s houses, go out to dinner, go to school dances, or spend a single peaceful night together.” Seeing how his face contorted in thought, she carried on, “I mean patrolling and beating up bad guys together is one thing, but there’s so much more to love. Could you even imagine Chat Noir walking me to school? That’s not something that can happen, kitty.”

“But if you let me tell you who I am--”

“Then I’ll love you just because you’re Chat Noir,” her hand drifted to his cheek, her thumb creating circles on his skin. “No one else would have a chance to know me like you do, and I might miss out on something great.” Her eyes were sincere as she stated, “If I fall in love, I want it to be as a civilian, just a normal girl. If you take off that mask right now, then I won’t get that.”

He sighed, his head leaning into her touch as he slowly closed his eyes, seemingly admitted defeat, “fine.”

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

“So tell me again why you’re forcing me to wake up a whole hour early,” Plagg yawned, but it did not diminish the audible nature of his irritation, “When you already show up at school well before everyone else.”

Adrien sighed, placing his head against the glass of his car door window as he also fought the urge to return to sleeping. “We’ve gone over this, Plagg. I talked to Nathalie, and she said that this was the only way she could imagine making room in my schedule for this. If this is what Marinette really wants, then…”

“Then you should walk her home instead,” Plagg whined, “so it’s not too suspicious. Heck, you could even give her a ride, maybe she’d like that.”

“Plagg.”

“You know that girl’s late all the time anyway!” Plagg reminded Adrien, “and your father said that if you show up even a minute late to one of your classes, then it’s another day of no school for you. You’re seriously putting things at risk here.”

“And?”

“And?!” Plagg’s voice grew louder but trailed off quickly. In a mere moment, the cat’s demeanor changed, his ears perking and his tail drooping as his nose pointed up in the air.

Adrien’s did as well, enticing smells filling the street as the Dupain-Cheng bakery came into view. Mrs. Cheng stood outside, propping the door open as she flipped the sign, clapping to herself with a pleased look on her face as the streets of Paris began to fill with the smell of freshly baked bread. Passerby quickly began to file off the street and into line as the scent grew, each hoping to grab some of Paris’s greatest baking before it ran out.

“Cream cheese danish-- No, a cheesy croissant-- No, a cheesy quiche…” Plagg began to demand, “or all of the above.” With a lick of his lips, the Kwami declared, “maybe you trying to date bakery girl won’t be such a bad thing…”

“I’ll say…” Adrien agreed, his mouth partially falling open at how enticing the smell of a just-opened bakery was. No wonder Ladybug always smelt so good; her parents had managed to create an aromatic paradise with mixtures of flour and yeast every morning.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the bakery, the Gorilla quickly hopping out of the driver’s seat to open Adrien’s door before he could manage to do it himself. The Gorilla nodded his head to the bakery as he opened Adrien’s door, hinting that at least one banana cream eclair would be required for the boy to carry out his plan. Adrien nodded in response as he got out of the car, giving his bodyguard a quick thumbs up and grinning as the man returned the action. Adrien was fortunate that his father paid him well, especially if he had to provide treats for his bodyguard and Plagg every day he insisted on walking with Marinette.

Pulling the strap of his messenger bag a little bit tighter and straightening his back, Adrien inhaled hard before getting in line. Keeping his head down and his hand angled on his forehead so that it blocked the majority of his face, he waited peacefully in the quick-moving line, mentally practicing what he would say to see Marinette at such an early hour a million times.

He was on a million and one when he got close enough for Tom Dupain to notice him, only three people between him and the counter.

“Adrien!” The baker’s voice greeted from behind the counter. Heads turned with his greeting, but the man paid them no mind as he quickly exited the kitchen to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What are you doing waiting in line? You know you’re one of Marinette’s friends now; you hardly have to go through the bakery doors. You can use the back entrance like Alya.” Shrugging his shoulders and seeming to not realize even part of the reason Adrien was there, Tom added, “you can drop whatever you have for her on the kitchen counter; she’ll probably be up in a few hours.”

“Um, actually,” Adrien blinked, overwhelmed by the man. “I was hoping to get some of your pastries, you are the best baker in town. And then, you know…” Tom’s akumatization as Weredad flashed before his eyes, causing Adrien to mumble his words too lightly for the man to hear.

“Excuse me, son. I couldn’t hear that last part!” Tom smiled.

“I said…” The words were lost once more in the bustle of the bakery.

“Just a little bit louder, Adrien!”

“I was hoping to walk Marinette to school!” Adrien yelled.

Tom inhaled and Adrien flinched, unsure of how the man would react after the absolute trainwreck that was brunch with Chat Noir.

“Sabine, did you hear that?!” Tom called across the bakery, his arm snaking around Adrien’s shoulder and holding the boy closer to him like one would a son. “Adrien is walking our daughter, Marinette, to school!” His expression was practically blissful as he called to his wife, “pack up one of everything!” He swiveled back to Adrien, his face filled with so much genuine glee that Adrien almost thought that he should be the one selling happiness on billboards instead of the blond. “Now you go up there and, no matter what she says or how grumpy she may seem, wake Marinette up. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you once she comes to.”

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

The light blue light of early morning streamed in through Marinette’s windows when Adrien entered her room, providing just enough light for him to get up her staircase without hassle and sit at the edge of her bed. Still, even with the dip of his body sitting on her mattress the girl did not move, her eyes still shut tight to the morning.

Marinette released a small sigh as her body flipped his way, her feet seeking the warmth of his legs as she nestled in sweetly to her bed. Her long eyelashes fluttered only once as her knees raised back into the fetal position, murmuring words softly to herself. It would be easy to watch her, but it wasn’t exactly his place, and Adrien currently had a deadline to fulfill.

“Marinette~,” he cooed, setting a hand down on her waist to shake her gently. “Wake uuuuuup.”

“Mbleg,” Marinette responded.

“Marinetteeeee,” he tried again.

“Nuh-bluh,” she said, half-asleep.

He held back the chuckle that tickled the back of his throat, his voice teasing as he continued, “Marinette, it’s Adrien Agreste.”

“Nuh.”

“I’m here to walk you to school.”

“Un-mn.”

He rolled his eyes with a grin, allowing his side to fall against the bed as he faced her, his body filling in all the spaces where hers curved. With his face just inches from hers, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers momentarily before enacting his evil plan.

Puckering his lips, he grabbed her shoulders and, taking advantage of the short distance but never fully touching her, blew a gust of air up her nose.

Marinette’s eyes flew open and she sprang back, screaming, “AH!” And then, noticing Adrien, she screamed again, “AAAAH!” Her hand slapped down on his shoulder as her screaming stopped, once, twice, and again; her eyes scrutinizing him as if she was worried he’d bite her or something.

Adrien flinched at the contact, but couldn’t help but laugh, “Marinette!”

“Adrien!” She finally acknowledged, her jaw immediately falling open. “It’s you! You’re in my bed! Now! With me!” Her eyes widened, “Oh my god, I just hit you.”

“Your parents sent me to wake you up,” he explained.

“They sent you to wake me up?” Marinette repeated, her eyes drifting down from him to her pillow. Her mouth stretched wide as she tried to paint a distracting smile, immediately grabbing the pillow near Adrien that she’d previously been resting on and flipping it over, as if he hadn’t just seen her drooling seconds before. “I mean, that’s just-- wow, what an occasion, you waking me up and all.”

Adrien nodded, “Yeah, I was just in the neighborhood picking up pastries, can’t beat one of your father’s croissants, and then I thought, maybe I should walk with Marinette to school today?” He twinkled at her, adding innocently, “if you want to, that is.”

It was adorable when she was awestruck. “Walk? With you?” Adrien nodded and there it was, a deep blush that Marinette had likely been holding back. “Let me just get dressed, and then we’ll…” She nodded to herself as if affirming this was real before springing to her feet. Taking in Adrien with even wider eyes, she looked between him and her bed, only seeming to inhale and never exhale. “You stay here. I’ll get dressed but, you stay here,” she stated, and it hit him that she was obviously afraid that he’d disappear into thin air.

“I’ll stay here, right here, on your bed, and I’ll wait for you. Okay?” He chuckled.

“Okay,” she finally exhaled, casting him a nervous look as she approached her stairs. He beamed at her in return and she immediately looked down, her face a ruby red as she disappeared down the stairs.

"...Don’t like Adrien anymore,” he muttered as she disappeared, rolling onto his back to grin even wider at the ceiling. “Right,” he laughed.

#adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #mlb fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #my fanfic #no beta we live hard we die harder

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acraftedmistake · 4 years

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A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 8

This chapter was a TRIP to write I have been so excited to write this chapter for a lil while now fnbdgsf

Hope you guys enjoy!!

It was mainly Aiden and Cassie Rose who told Radar everything that had happened since they left The Shrine Of Eyes; Radar listened keenly and wrote down as much as he possibly could. He’d ask questions along the way and Aiden tried to answer them the best he could or would outright admit he didn’t know yet.

Once Radar had been filled in on everything he wondered if he could be of any use to them. Everyone was on board except for Cassie Rose, who was the most hesitant of the bunch, but Aiden told her they needed all the help they could get, and a friend like Radar with his knowledge being a part of their team would certainly be useful.

After their discussion, Gill made dinner for everybody--though Radar declined--and they all sat around tossing suggestions for what their next course of action should be. Most were picked apart or retracted, no one was certain on what to do. They had ideas such as going to Petra and seeing if she had any items related to portals, but they needed to know what they wanted. Cassie did mention Petra trades items with other people; since the portal had been activated recently, she could have interacted with someone who took part in said-activation. It was definitely worth checking out.

Aiden said they shouldn’t let the books from the library sit around; they could read some before going to bed to spark ideas. While they were all grabbing a book Aiden also suggested they go to bed early. He was met with a few moans.

“I know we all like to stay up late,” Aiden started, “but we’re gonna be busy tomorrow. Plus I’ll be waking you all early.” Aiden grabbed the small journal from Hadrian’s sitting on the kitchen table.

“Come on, Aiden!” Cassie pleaded, “It’s only 8 AM...ish.”

Radar jumped out of his seat, “Have I really been here for nearly 4 hours?!”

He collected his clipboard and pen and held them tightly, hurriedly making his way to the door.

“I apologize for taking so much of your time. I didn’t intend on staying for so long.”

“Radar, don’t apologize.” Aiden said, catching up with his finely suited friend and placed his hand on the door’s knob. “If we didn’t want you here, we would’ve said something.”

Radar glanced at Aiden, who wore a reassuring smile, then to the group behind him. He caught glimpses of Cassie’s look of annoyance before Stella stepped in the way,

“You asked for information and we provided. I believe that’s time well spent!” Stella chimed with certainty. Aiden nodded along to her statement.

“Time flies when you’re having a crisis.” Maya commented, her arms crossed as she leaned against the couch.

Radar nodded and took a deep breath. Aiden opened the door, letting in the crisp air that the early morning offered into their stuffy house. The sky was a calming light blue, not nearly as intense as it’d get in the early afternoon. Radar stepped a foot through the doorway and was about to bid the group farewell when Gill abruptly asked, “Will we see ya tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Radar adjusted his glasses, “I’ll be coming over at roughly 7:30.”

“Sounds good.” Aiden said as he watched Radar make his way outside, “Have a good one, Radar.”

“Good day.” Radar did a small bow and began his walk home.

Aiden closed the door and everyone stood still for a few moments listening to Radar’s steps get quieter and quieter till nothing but silence remained.

“Okay. Bed.” Aiden said. Everyone groaned.

Gill, Stella, and Cassie began making their way to their rooms, each with a book in one hand. They talked amongst themselves as Aiden watched them until they were no longer in his field of view. He wasn’t expecting them to fall asleep the second their faces touched a pillow, he was okay with them staying up an extra hour if they wanted to, or if they needed to read.

Ever since Jesse had nearly destroyed Cavern City and escaped prison, no one’s been able to get a goodnight’s sleep. The group would split up and search every building, corner, alleyway, and even checked the nearby forests surrounding Obsidian Town. They’d search while the Sun was high in the sky all the way until it dipped into the east horizon. They’ve asked anybody and everybody if they’ve seen any sign of Jesse and got nothing. Though Aiden and his friends knew there were always liars amongst the crowd, you could never tell who was speaking the truth.

The past several days have been rather… Stressful. And sleepless. Heck, maybe their sleep schedule’s been butchered long before Cavern city. When’s the last time any of them slept well?

They needed the energy for tomorrow.

They couldn’t afford dozing off, getting distracted, nor getting grouchy all because they didn’t want to go to bed at an earlier time. Aiden knew he was guilty of acting in such a manner when he was sleep deprived.

“I’m gonna stay down here for a little.” Maya said to Aiden.

She went over to a chest beside the bookshelf in the living room, took out a couple of swords, an axe, and took them over to the kitchen table.

“Just gonna polish these. Maybe sharpen ‘em.”

She pulled open a drawer in the kitchen, grabbed a thick cloth--roughly the size of her hand--and sat back down. “I’ll go to bed soon. Try to read some as well.”

Aiden nodded before going upstairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Radar walked through the barren streets of Obsidian Town, his oxford shoes making small tapping sounds with each step he took. He had started creating his schedule for tomorrow; helping Aiden and doing a tour all in one day would be no easy feat, but nothing a little planning and organization couldn’t fix.

Radar read what he had written down aloud, “At 5:30 I’ll wake up, I should be cleaned and dressed by 6:00… I’d have enough time to have a proper breakfast before meeting with Aiden...”

His voice dwindled and he began tapping the pen against his chin, resisting the urge to chew on the end of it like he usually did. He couldn’t recall what Aiden, Stella, or anybody had planned for tomorrow. Was their next step even decided?

He continued to stare intensely at the unfinished list, walking aimlessly as he thought to himself, ‘They did mention going to Petra’s… Her place is rather far from the town but if our time is used wisely, we should be left with enough time for the tour.’

Radar had never been to Petra’s home before, he only knew it was a distance away when Petra told him herself while visiting a few months ago. If he recalled correctly, her house was in the northwest forest by the mountains. Shouldn’t be too long of a walk.

Hopefully they’d only be going to Petra’s tomorrow. He wouldn’t be able to save the tour for another day if Aiden and his friends decide to pile on more trips. Jesse and Olivia need to get home, after all.

Radar began clicking his pen at a steady pace, ‘Back to their universe…’

Seeing the two of them was a shock; he was amazed to see a deceased friend back in tip-top shape. Maya, Stella, Cassie, Gill, and Aiden all spoke of how they felt dissociated with Olivia and--as bitter of a taste it left in his mouth--he had to agree. The Olivia he saw back at the house was more like a stranger who looked identical to their Olivia. Of course, seeing her and knowing she’s from another universe fascinated him nonetheless.

His encounter with Jesse? A near heart attack experience, to put it nicely.

To see someone share the appearance with such a… Such a despicable man, while wearing a genuine, welcoming smile sat terribly with him. A part of his brain was shouting this was deception, yet no alarms went off.

But he was still Jesse. Radar knew he wasn’t the Jesse he knew but he was still Jesse. Running into him like that… Running…

Radar’s hands started becoming clammy.

‘Stop thinking about it.’ He told himself. He held his breath and gripped the clipboard tightly, hoping it wouldn’t slip from his grasp as he forced his mind to search for another subject.

A question popped up: ‘What would the tour consist of?’

Radar’s eyes brightened and he unclenched his jaw. He took a moment to observe the area around him for a spark of inspiration, Obsidian Town was the home to many and contained a rich history of their world. St. Stephen’s Library would be a wonderful place to start off! On their way there, they could stop at some of the monuments scattered throughout the town and he could explain what they represented!

His eyes drifted to the left where the town’s park entrance stood; a wide arch made of cool gray bricks which were cracked and moss covered. Perhaps he, Olivia, and Jesse could stroll through and he could answer whatever questions they had.

Nobody was at the park. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the place completely empty.

He looked around the rest of the town and realized he was the only one outside, though deep down inside, he knew he was never alone. Everyone else was closing their stores for the day, finishing their dinners, getting ready for bed… The world was a much different place under the Sun and it’s plain sky compared to the lively, colorful evenings.

A bird flying by caught his attention, his eyes followed and watched the creature as it sat in its nest on top of the roof of one of the many stores, singing its song.

Everyone was ready to sleep yet the rest of the world’s creatures seemed wide awake.

‘You should be going home.’ A voice in his head said.

He should. He can plan the rest of the tour before bed, or--worst case--tomorrow.

Regret filled his mind when he started walking as the thoughts of Jesse and his universe were starting to come back. It wasn’t the… ‘Good’ Jesse he was worried about, but his mind would go from that Jesse to theirs and he didn’t want to work himself up over nothing.

Radar forced his hand to write whatever gibberish came to him, his pen was getting coated with sweat. Why did he have to remind himself of Jesse?

He kept walking. The world was becoming noisier. The pen would scrape the paper as he wrote nonsense, the light breeze which swayed the trees started sounding like a windstorm, the chirps of bugs and birds blared in his ears, even the tapping of his own shoes were getting distracting.

Radar tried to block out the noise but then he noticed… The tapping didn’t sync up with his steps.

Was he hearing things incorrectly?

He began walking faster. So did the tapping. It still didn’t sync.

Something was wrong.

Radar held his breath and gripped his clipboard.

He spun around and let out a cry, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest.

Jesse jumped as well, taken aback by Radar’s reaction.

“OH MY--” Radar held the board to his chest and shut his eyes tightly, “You scared me!”

He took in mouthfuls of air, trying to settle his pounding heart down.

And he thought the first encounter with Jesse was terrifying.

“One moment. One moment.” He told the brunet, whose eyes were wide with surprise.

Jesse stood perfectly still, his hands held behind his back as if patiently waiting for Radar to collect himself.

Radar opened his eyes, pushed up his glasses, and took one more deep breath.

“I apologize,” He started with a shaky voice, “I didn’t--I thought Aiden said… He said…”

Radar found himself stumbling over his own words. He attempted to rephrase the sentence, but all he could manage to do was repeat “I… I-I…” over and over again.

He was waiting to calm down again, for his heart to beat regularly, for his voice to return to it’s usual flatness. But it didn’t.

Something is wrong.

Beads of sweat formed on his face and his body began to tremble as if freezing.

As realization seeped into Radar, Jesse’s mouth curled. His smile got bigger and bigger as he peered into Radar’s fear-filled eyes.

“What did Aiden say about me?” Jesse asked in a curious tone with the mocking smile. He leaned forward while remaining in place, hands still behind back.

“N…” Radar struggled to speak, “Nothing--None of your concern!”

He should run. He needs to run. Aiden’s would be the safest. But Jesse’s right there. Right in front of him. Radar couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He can’t.

“Really?” Jesse clutched at his chest, “I’ve been gone for a whole week and Aiden hasn’t said anything about me?” He said in that sham of a sad tone Radar was all too familiar with.

Stop looking at him. Stop looking at him. Think straight. Do something. Look away. Do something.

Radar forced his head to the right, facing away from him, but he could still see the vibrant red straps of Jesse’s suspenders out of the corner of his eye, tempting him to look back.

Jesse brushed aside a long curl of hair in his face, “What were you doing at Aiden’s? Must’ve been important. Or maybe!” He recreated Radar’s pose; pretending to clutch a board and looked in another direction with a terrified expression, “It’s the only place you feel ‘safe’ in! The big, strong heroes will protect you from all the eyes!”

“I don’t--I--” Radar pushed past the ridicule, “How do you know I was with them? Were you watching us?” He tried to steady his voice.

Jesse’s faced him again, “Not this time.”

Radar flinched and covered his face with the board on command.

Jesse stepped closer, Radar stepped back.

“I could hear your shrieky voice from across the town,” Jesse’s once mocking--though still expressive--tone had been dropped. “You could put it to use and tell me what you were doing.”

“If you… If you’re so interested,” Radar tried to gather as much courage as he could from his quivering body, “Why do--Why don’t you ask Aiden yourself?!”

“Hm.” Jesse took a step back and thought to himself. “Not a bad idea.” He shrugged and spun around, slowly walking away.

Radar’s hands clutched onto the clipboard so tightly he was afraid it’d snap in two. He was surprised to see Jesse on board with the idea. When he’d get there, Maya, Aiden, Gill, Stella, Cassie Rose, they could all deal with him. Yes, yes. They wouldn’t have to stress over finding Jesse if he was right in front of them! Perfect! Brilliant! No one would get hurt. No one. Not his friends, not him, not… Olivia and Jesse.

The other Jesse and Oliva.

Their Jesse couldn’t see them.

No, no, no. If he saw either one of them--No, no, he couldn’t let that happen. And it’d be Radar’s fault. His fault. Maya. Aiden. Cassie--they would get hurt or taken or killed, this town would be destroyed and it’d all be his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault--

Jesse’s distanting steps were nearly drowned out by Radar’s pounding heart. He bursted into a panic-fueled sprint.

“NO--!” He reached for the man’s arm to stop him, but Jesse whipped back around and grabbed Radar’s wrist with a crushing grip. Radar recoiled from the pain and immediately attempted to wriggle his way out of the grasp of Jesse’s… Disgusting hand… The filth on his hands traveled up his once clean white sleeves which were decorated with strange, washed out, brown stains. Some reached the shirt itself.

“Stop dragging this out, quitter.” Anger was becoming more and more detectable in Jesse’s voice. Radar squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel tears forming. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to cry. Not now. Don’t let Jesse see. Things will only get worse. Hold it in. Jesse will get upset and leave. He should.

“If you…” Radar was caught off guard by how brittle his voice was but he trudged on, “If your plan is to c… Call me n-names and invade my personal s… Space…” He swallowed, “Th-then you’re in for a disappointment.”

Jesse was about to speak but stopped to eye Radar, whose eyes were welling with tears and mouth stuck open, struggling to say another word. He could feel Radar’s arm shaking intensely in his hand. His eyes trailed down to the clipboard, where he saw snippets of words. A small smile appeared.

Without warning, Jesse snatched the board out of Radar’s hand. Radar gasped and shot his other arm towards it only for Jesse to crush his wrist harder.

Radar needed that. He needed that. Jesse couldn’t take it--couldn’t let him see it.

“Last chance.”

“You…” Radar stuttered as he glared at Jesse, “You don’t scare me.”

Radar’s words were met with a painful punch in the gut, knocking the air out of him. He let go of Radar’s wrist and watched him stumble back.

“Not what I wanted to hear.” Jesse said as Radar gasped for air, hunched over and clutching his stomach. Jesse threw the clipboard to the ground and walked towards Radar as he gripped the fabric of his pants tightly.

Radar saw tears stream down his face and hit the ground. He kept staring at the ground. He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t. He wiped away the tears with his sleeve and tried to control his breathing with no luck.

“Are you crying?” Jesse’s face scrunched.

He came closer, “You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be. You have no reason to cry!” His voice was rising.

Radar didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Jesse dug at his legs then grabbed both of Radar’s arms, yanking him forward so they were face to face. He stared at the teary eyed mess whose body trembled terribly.

“You used to talk so much.” Jesse said calmly with a look of concern he struggled to maintain. “What happened?” Looking at Radar’s face started to boil an intense bitterness within him. He was the weakest person Jesse knew yet he was making everything difficult. This shouldn’t have gone on for so long. He should be with the others already. But he wasn’t.

And that fact alone angered him.

He didn’t give Radar the chance to stop crying--let alone respond. His dirtied fingers dug into his arms more and more with each sob let out. Jesse was sick of them. Sick of the cries. He threw Radar’s body down, sat on his legs and lifted up the top half of his body by the shoulders.

“Can’t you do anything besides crying and running away?!” He shouted, shaking the mess that was Radar violently.

Radar tried to say something back but it was all incoherent. He shook his head intensely.

Jesse couldn’t take this. He couldn’t. How incompetent can a person be? How useless can someone be? Wasted his time. His damn time. And for what? Listening to a quitter’s cries and staring at its pitiful face?

“Come on then! Do something!” He grabbed Radar’s head, nails jabbing into his face, and bashed it into the cold, concrete road.

Radar heard a cracking sound--praying it was his glasses--followed by a flash of colors. The colors came and went, everything became blurry and right before he regained his vision, Jesse slammed him into the ground again.

The pain wasn’t instant. For the first several seconds, he didn’t feel anything, and what a blissful several seconds they were. The pain started out small and more of an annoyance before it flared up, took over his head, and made its way down his spine.

‘Is he trying to knock me out?’ Radar thought hazily. His head was pounding. Half of it felt like it had been set on fire. Jesse held Radar by his hair and shouted at him. He couldn’t make out whatever he was saying. His glasses had fallen off. Radar could vaguely make out Jesse’s bloodshot eyes.

‘He’s going to kill me.’

Jesse would never.

‘He’s going to kill me.’

Maybe he wasn’t.

‘He’s going to kill me.’

Those were the only words booming in Radar’s head. Don’t take any chances. Do something. Anything.

Radar felt his head being lifted up again.

‘Scream.’

The instant his head made contact with the ground he screamed at the top of his lungs. He hated screaming. He hated it as much as crying. But he screamed. He thought his voice box would explode, that his tonsils would fly out and his lungs would shrivel.

Jesse’s body jolted and he froze.

Radar kept screaming.

Jesse shook off the surprise and immediately locked his hands around Radar’s throat,

“Shut up. Shut up.” He ordered through gritted teeth.

The screaming was replaced by gurgled attempts at gasping. Radar grabbed Jesse’s arm with his shaking hand, trying to get him off, but Radar couldn’t muster enough force. He could only hold onto the arm with a barely detectable grip as tears began mixing with his saliva.

Jesse heard a door open in the distance with voices accompanying it. Someone was coming. Even if they weren’t heading to them specifically, he wasn’t going to risk being seen.

Jesse dropped Radar and said something indecipherable before he ran off, leaving a pitiful Radar to lay on the empty streets of the town.

Radar was motionless. His hair was sprawled everywhere similarly to his body. He so desperately wanted to get up or find his glasses, but the thought of moving made his head pound harder.

The tears had slowed.

He heard footsteps approaching. He couldn’t see, but maybe that was a good thing. It’d save him further humiliation.

Radar laid still. He should stay here. Here is safe. Jesse’s gone. He’s safe. Here is safe. Only here.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Maya stared at all the weapons she had polished and sharpened. She wasn’t originally going to sharpen them, but she found herself restless and had hoped this would tire her out. When she found herself still wide awake, she decided to spiffy up her friends’ weapons, she even made Stella an extra set of arrows to pass the time.

Maya wished she could’ve done something with Cassie’s axes, but Cassie always carried them around with her and insisted she could take care of them herself.

At the end of the line of weapons was the book she had picked from earlier. The book was a really pale red with a title whose words were nearly scratched off. Aiden had asked them to read; she could’ve spent her spare time doing so. She’s known Aiden long enough, he wouldn’t get upset over her not reading, but she’d feel a little bad if she didn’t do so much as peek inside of it.

Maya sighed, pushed herself out of the chair and was about to grab the book… But then she heard a sound. It was faint but noticeable. It sounded human. She listened to the sound for a moment longer until her heart came to a screeching halt and her body became cold.

‘Radar.’

She threw the door open and ran. Her shoes hit the ground and burned her feet as she ran faster and faster.

Anything in her path--people, signs, stands--was avoided on command. The layout of this town was ingrained into her brain, she didn’t need directions. Her legs would take sharp turns with only one goal in mind: Find Radar.

He couldn’t have gone too fair if she was able to hear his scream.

Maya took another right turn and saw multiple people standing and staring at a shaking figure on the floor, several feet from the park entrance. An older woman looked like she was trying to talk to it.

The first thing to grab Maya’s attention was the figure’s green suit. Her eyes widened. When she got close enough, she slid on her knees and yielded before the quivering figure which was Radar.

“What happened?” She asked as she grabbed Radar’s glasses and clipboard, her voice remained its gruffness but worry could be heard.

Radar carefully lifted his hand and placed it over his chest, his breaths started out slow and unsteady but soon sped up.

“Je--” Radar hiccuped, “Jes… Je… He- He wa… Jess--” Tears welled up and gushed down his face.

He couldn’t finish a single sentence. He didn’t need to. Maya heard enough. Her mouth hung open for a moment before rage filled her; she clenched her jaw and grinded her teeth. Jesse was out there. He was here. He could be close. Maybe she could run after him and knock him cold.

Radar’s stifled sobs washed away the red she saw, and brought her mind back to what was important.

“Radar, I need you to take deep breaths.” She said.

He shook his head recklessly, “I c… I can… ca… Can’t…”

Maya started biting the inside of her cheek. She needed to bring him back home, but he was in awful condition. There’s no way he could walk, let alone stand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Olivia and Jesse rushed downstairs. When they reached the bottom they saw Stella and Aiden standing by the open door, talking.

“What happened?” Jesse asked.

Jesse had no idea how long he had been asleep. He was surprised to have even slept at all. One second the world was dark and restless, the next second a loud sound had awoken the both of them and the sun was shining.

Aiden turned towards them, “Maya ran out. I’m gonna look for her. You guys stay here and--”

Stella shook Aiden’s arm and directed his attention to the outside.

Maya came running in carrying Radar, his arms dangled and his face was stained with dirt and tear streaks. Jesse only caught a glimpse of the state Radar was in, but it was all he needed to see. He couldn’t believe that sobbing man was the same person they saw hours ago.

Jesse was about to ask a question but Maya ran up the stairs, shoving past him and Olivia with little acknowledgement, and went down the hallway before running into her room slamming the door behind her.

Jesse ran after her--with Olivia behind--and pressed his face against the door. He could hear Radar sobbing and Maya saying something to him, but her words were muffled.

He knocked, “Is everything alright?”

He began opening the door only for Maya to stop it with her foot. The door was cracked open enough for Maya’s face to peek through.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said coldly.

“Wh--” Jesse sputtered, “But Radar’s hurt and I wanna--”

“I know you mean well,” Maya’s voice softened, “but you’d make things worse if he saw you.”

Jesse didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t argue with Maya, she probably knew him better than he did, but seeing Radar in such a state--even if it wasn’t the Radar he knew--without knowing what had happened was going to haunt him.

Olivia heard the rushing footsteps of Stella and Aiden nearing and signaled Jesse to step back.

They both pressed themselves against the walls of the cramped hallway as Aiden and Stella skid to a stop at Maya’s door.

“Maya, what happened?” Aiden asked, looking through the crack.

“Jesse.” She answered in a whisper.

Everyone froze. Jesse’s entire body stiffened and his pupils shrunk.

He instantly zipped his head to Stella and Aiden, who were already looking at him, “I didn’t--This wasn’t me! I was asleep this whole time! I swear I would NEVER do this--”

Jesse didn’t even know what had happened, but he didn’t give either of them a chance to speak. Based on Stella’s look of absolute revulsion, he already had an idea on what they were thinking.

“It’s true!” Olivia confirmed, “He never left the bed! He only woke up when Maya ran out!”

Stella put her hands on her hips and opened her mouth, ready to go off on Jesse when--

“They’re telling the truth.” Maya said.

She shifted her head to the two of them, “I was downstairs the whole time. I didn’t see or hear any signs of Jesse breaking out. This was our Jesse.”

Maya closed the door and locked it.

No one said anything for a minute.

Stella turned to Aiden, the two were frantically discussing what must’ve happened and what to do next. Jesse struggled to swallow; his mouth was dry. He held his hands together tightly and took deep, steady breaths to calm himself down; Olivia saw the fear in his eyes.

Olivia carefully placed her hand on his shoulder, “What should we do?”

Aiden and Stella faced her with equally distraught expressions.

“We should--” Aiden paused. “We need to go back to bed. When everyone’s up we’ll tell them what happened. We can’t do this now. Not now.”

Olivia wanted to argue that it was morning, they should be figuring this situation out now. However, the desperation in Aiden’s voice told her to listen to him. She didn’t want to, but maybe it was for the best.

Olivia shook Jesse lightly, “You heard him, Jesse?”

“Mhm.” His response was rigid and barely audible.

Olivia began walking back to the guest room, dragging Jesse behind. They probably wouldn’t be able to sleep again, but they could use the time to think about what’s happened. Maybe Jesse needed the time to collect his thoughts on this situation.

When they entered their room neither of them said a word to each other, but shared the same question: How horrible is the other Jesse?

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm jesse #mcsm aiden #mcsm olivia #mcsm radar #mcsm stella #mcsm cassie #mcsm cassie rose #mcsm gill #mcsm maya #this chapter!!!#AAAH it was great to write #i dummy HOPE #you guys enjoy #hjgmfthdrgesfwar #hhhhhhhh #APWHNPMCSMWASAMCSM #AU fic

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gryffindorcls · 5 years

Note

"I like the way you hand fits into mine" Marinette and Adrian. Love you works!❤

After the angstiness of the last prompt, here is some shameless fluff!

If anyone else would like to submit a prompt ask, the list of what’s left can be found here.

Enjoy!

—

#23 Adrienette: I like the way your hand fits in mine.

When Nino accidentally told Adrien that Marinette had a crush on him, he didn’t believe it. He even laughed when his best friend begged him to keep it a secret. On multiple occasions, Marinette had told him that she just wanted to be his friend. Up until this point, Adrien believed that her heart belonged to Luka...not him.

Even though he tried to brush it away, the thought of her potential crush kept pushing its way to the forefront of his mind. There were even nights when it kept him awake. After two agonizing weeks, he finally decided that he needed to know the truth. Reluctantly, he asked Alya if there was any credibility to Nino’s claim. While she was not happy to hear that her boyfriend didn’t keep it a secret, she confirmed the legitimacy of Marinette’s feelings for him. Adrien was stunned.

Unfortunately, knowing the truth did not help him sleep...or eat...or function. If anything, things got worse.

Initially, he planned on letting Marinette down gently. He was in love with Ladybug! His heart belonged to his partner, and he couldn’t fathom being with anyone else. However, every time he sat down to plan what he was going to say, the right words never came. The thought of seeing tears in his classmate’s bluebell eyes broke him. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry. The day he came to this conclusion was the day Adrien Agreste realized that he cared about Marinette Dupain-Cheng...a lot. He didn’t want to just be friends anymore.

Every day at school he would observe her from afar. She’d always been so jumpy around him. (He now knew that this was a byproduct of her crush.) While her nervous stammer was endearing at times, he wanted to observe her in her element. He always thought she was kind, talented, and selfless, but he slowly began to see that she was so much more. The longer he watched, the more he found himself falling for her.

He discovered that the phrase “everyday Ladybug” didn’t even begin to accurately describe Marinette. She was even more amazing than Ladybug. She was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was a hero without the mask. She was an unstoppable force. Marinette didn’t need magic to make her incredible.

When he looked at Ladybug, sometimes it was like being in the presence of something otherworldly. She was untouchable. While he knew it wasn’t her fault, there had been times he’d felt small and insignificant next to Ladybug. Marinette could make you feel like you were incredible, too. She made people feel like they belonged, and that was a superpower that no Miraculous could give to someone.

The day he fell in love with Ladybug, it had been like watching a supernova. It was fast, bright, and brilliant. Developing feelings for Marinette was different. It was like walking out of the shade and into the sunlight. It took time to feel its effects, but now that he’d embraced it, he never wanted it to stop. No...he wanted to bask in the warmth of her love forever.

Adrien’s mind soon turned into a battleground. He struggled with his lingering feelings for Ladybug as his affection for Marinette grew. It took several months, but over time he was finally able to see Ladybug in a new light. While he still loved her and cherished their friendship, he decided to stop pursuing her. After all, she was in love with someone else, and she only saw him as a friend. As difficult as it was to let Ladybug go, he found contentment in his decision to love Marinette.

While his feelings for Marinette surprised him, they didn’t feel unfamiliar. Instead, they felt like treasures that had been buried deep inside his mind the day he met her. Learning about her crush simply gave him the map to find something that had been there all along.

His feelings for Marinette weren’t a cheap replacement. They were stronger than his feelings for Ladybug. Marinette was someone he could get to know. There was no “secret identity” barrier that he was forbidden to cross. He could ask questions and get real answers. Adrien couldn’t wait to know everything about her. He soon found himself dreaming of a happy and fulfilling relationship with her.

Six months after Nino’s slip-up, he decided to ask out Marinette. He walked into school that morning with a nervous flurry of butterflies swirling around his gut. Even though Adrien was armed with the knowledge of Marinette’s crush, the fear of rejection still pounded against the confidence he’d built up after Plagg’s pep-talk the previous night.

He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Marinette sitting alone on a bench in the courtyard. It was unusual for her to be this early, and he was not expecting to see her until the start of class.

“What are you waiting for, kid?” Plagg whispered, poking his head out of the side of Adrien’s messenger bag.

“Shhhh! Someone might hear you!” he scolded while doing his best not to move his lips.

“She’s right there.”

“I need more time. I’ll talk to her when class starts.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve listened to ramble on and on about this nonsense for months. Go talk to her before I Cataclysm your homework.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Plagg grinned. “Watch me.”

“Fine,” Adrien huffed.

He took a deep breath and began walking towards Marinette. She was hunched over her sketchbook and appeared to be in deep concentration. She didn’t even lift her head when he sat down next to her.

He gripped the strap on his bag. “Good morning, Marinette.”

Her head shot up, and she almost fell off the bench. As a reflex, he leaned over and caught her by the waist. Marinette’s eyes grew wide as he gently propped her back up into a sitting position. His cheeks started to flush when the closeness of their bodies registered in his mind.

Adrien quickly removed his hands and put them in his lap. “I...uh...sorry. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Umm...are you okay?”

“I...Yanks...I MEAN...yes I am. Thanks.” Her face turned bright red.

“God, she’s adorable,” he thought, “It’s now or never...just ask her out. You can do it.”

Adrien scratched the back of his neck. “So, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Me?” She looked shocked.

“Yes, you.”

“O...okay. I’m listening.”

“Well, we’ve been friends for a while, right? I admire you a lot, and I think you’re really awesome. Umm...recently, I’ve been rethinking some things, and I realized that I kind of like you. No, not kind of...that’s stupid. I...uh...like you a lot. I think I’ve liked you since I met you, but I didn’t know what those feelings were at the time.”

“What?”

“I know...it sounds crazy, but...Marinette, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

She stared at the floor. “I...I...I thought you l-liked someone else. Last year you said something about a girl who you loved.”

He bit his lip. “No...I was wrong about my feelings for her.”

“Really?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the only one I want to be with. So, if you’ll have me, I would love to take you out on a date.”

A dazzling smile spread across her face. “I would love to. I...I...IREALLYLIKEYOUTOO!”

He laughed as relief washed over him. “I know. I kind of found out about your crush, but it’s okay. I’m happy that I did because it helped me realize how much I admire you. I’ve always thought that you were amazing and sweet and kind.”

“But I’m a complete spaz around you.”

“You are more than your anxieties, Marinette. I’ve seen how you take charge during a crisis or how you selflessly help others. You have a beautiful heart, and no amount of stammering can take that away.”

Before she could answer, the warning bell rang. Marinette quickly put away her belongings, and before she was able to pick up her bag, Adrien grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder.

“Oh,” she began, “you don’t have to.”

Adrien smiled. “I know, but I want to.”

“Okay. Well, t-thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I also kind of want to....well, it would be nice...ummm…would it be okay if we held hands?”

She reached out and took his hand, and he responded by lacing his fingers between hers. Feeling the warmth of her hand in his made him feel safe and loved. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It felt right...no...it felt complete. Her hand was the missing piece of a puzzle he didn’t know needed to be solved.

It was at this moment that Adrien knew that he made the right choice. Marinette was his other half. How could he have been so blind for so long? He mentally kicked himself for not taking the time to see her sooner. Now that he had her, he was never going to give her up. Adrien knew that a relationship with Marinette was something he needed to cherish and protect.

When they walked into the classroom hand-in-hand, several audible gasps sounded throughout the room. Chloe huffed as the pair walked past. Adrien decided to ignore the blonde heiress for the time being. Even though she was still his friend, he was not going to let her negativity ruin the joy he felt from Marinette’s closeness.

“Okay,” Alya said as they approached their seats, “what happened?”

“I finally asked out Marinette,” Adrien responded with a toothy grin.

“Thank GOD, dude,” Nino exclaimed, “I don’t think you know how much I’ve been wigging out the past few months. Alya was pretty mad when she found out that I told you.”

Marinette looked at Adrien. “Told you what? Wait, that’s how you found out about my crush!”

He squeezed her hand. “And like I said before...I’m so happy that he did. It helped me realize that something wonderful was right in front of me all along. You make me happy, Marinette. Please don’t be mad at Nino. I know it wasn’t the coolest of him to tell me, but it really was an accident. He started freaking out after he said something. He felt really bad, but honestly, it was the best thing that ever happened to me...because it led me to you.”

Nino hung his head. “Yeah, my bro is right. I’m real sorry, dudette. I’m not the best with my words sometimes.”

Marinette sighed and offered him a small smile. “It’s okay, Nino. I forgive you. Besides, Alya’s wrath is punishment enough. There’s no need for you to keep feeling bad about it.”

“That’s really cool of you. My bro is really lucky to have you in his life.”

Adrien looked at Marinette. “You got that right. I’m the luckiest person in the whole world right now.”

The final bell rang, and Marinette tried to leave his side and take her seat. However, Adrien found himself unable to release her hand.

Marinette turned to him. “Class is about to start. I’m going to need that had to write.”

He pouted. “I like the way your hand fits in mine. I want to keep holding it forever.”

She stood on her tip-toes and gently kissed his cheek. Without thinking, he let go of her hand and touched the side of his face where her lips had been only moments before.

“What was that for?” he asked, still in shock.

She giggled. “I wanted to give you something to tide you over until we could hold hands again.”

“How about lunchtime today?”

“I think I can squeeze you in.”

“OH. MY. GOD. That was brilliant. Girl...that was so smooth,” Alya said next to them while holding up her phone.

“Did you record that?” Marinette exclaimed.

Adrien looked at Alya and grinned. “Could you send me a copy?”

She gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it, Sunshine.”

Marinette groaned and banged her head on the table. “My boyfriend and my best friend are conspiring against me!”

His heart skipped a beat when Marinette called him her boyfriend. The word resonated throughout his mind and flooded his brain with pure bliss.

He leaned over and placed a feathery kiss on the top of her head. She looked up and smiled. Adrien knew that this was the start of something wonderful.

#i like the way your hand fits in mine #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous #adrienette #adrien x marinette #fanfiction #fluff #ask prompt game

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fulcrumahsokaamidala · 5 years

Text

Fan Fic Catch Up: One-shot

Hello, everyone!!! So this is me thanking awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and all the time they put into their fics. ♥️ I want to recommend spectacular fanfic stories I’ve read since my last spectacular Saturday post! ♥️ Which was last November!!! Saturday spectacular post will resume this Saturday. Will still be tagged as #saturday spectacular fic rec

This is the second of three catch up posts.

Completed multi-chapter fics

WIP fic

One-shots

cook with love (to make food for the soul) by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: ‘I don’t really cook.’ ‘That makes sense.’

An expansion on the beginning sequence of 8x05 within which Oliver takes it upon himself to try and remedy a gap in Mia’s education. The kitchen.

these faultlines in our guard by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Instead of forcing Mia into doing the initiation bell exercise, the Bratva use more extreme measures to try and extract information from Oliver, using his daughter. Mia is left trying to deal with the physical and emotional aftermath of being tortured in front of her father while he dials his overprotective instincts from 10 up to 11.

Viscount Hood’s Return by @hope-for-olicity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Lady Felicity Smoak attends a Yuletide Ball and is surprised to discover Viscount Hood.

A Perfect Holiday Getaway by @blondeeoneexox | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: This fic is just a whole lot of holiday Olicity fluff.

no I don’t hardly know her (but I think I could love her) by vickovac | Brooklyn Nine-Nine | One-shot

Summary: 'I’m in the library doing extra-credit work and you’re working on a term paper due tomorrow’/'you accidentally took my coffee’ 'you really drink that?’/'I took the flyer for the society you were handing out because you’re so pretty but I have no idea what we actually do’ AU

or Amy Santiago, like any normal college student, has a routine. Naturally, her class rival, Jake Peralta, disrupts it…in the best way possible.

Boyfriends From College by Impossibly_Izzy | Brooklyn Nine-Nine & One Day at a TIme | One-shot

Summary: Jake dated two guys in college, but doesn’t realize until he introduces one of them to Amy.

Into the B99-Verse by ThatOneSmolFangirl | Brooklyn Nine-Nine & Into the Spider-Verse | One-shot

Summary: that title was so bad ANYWHO, our favorite boy, Miles Morales, finds himself in the Brooklyn-99 precinct. Him interacting with everyone and generally having a good time. Based off that one tumblr post

Are You Wearing My Shirt? by @green-arrows-of-karamel | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Felicity has a little accident and borrows Oliver’s shirt.

Not The Last Time by CSM | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Post 804. Mia desperately wants to see her mother and there is no stopping her, so Oliver and William accompany her to Bloomfield to see a surprised Felicity and baby Mia.No association with my other season 8 fic

Big Belly Reprieve by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Bored in the bunker waiting for their parents to finish at the gala, FTA head to Big Belly to introduce Mia to the food of their childhood. [Set in 8x06: Reset]

Merry and Bright by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: The 2013 Queen Consolidated Holiday Office Party sneaks up on CEO, Oliver Queen, but if he’s learnt one thing this year, it’s that anything’s possible when he has Felicity Smoak by his side. (For the 'Olicity Holiday Tropes Challenge’ prompt: Office Party)

The Little Green Secret by @green-arrows-of-karamel | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: This is not how Oliver imagined New Year’s Eve was going to be.

A Heart Full of Love by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: With Christmas upon them now, Felicity has to admit that she’s incredibly excited as well to do something other than eat takeout and watch Disney movies with her baby girl. Sharing the Queen’s traditions with them is just another move towards them becoming a more cohesive family and she’ll always be excited for that. [A Christmas morning fic set within my Single Parents AU 'Welcome to Starling Prep Elementary’ around a year later]

sugar and smoke rings by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: He never would have believed the full story if it hadn’t come directly from the lips of the man he trusts most in the world. The legendary vigilantes Green Arrow and Overwatch had a daughter no one knew about?[How Connor meets Mia, pre-s7 flashforwards]

kissing death and losing my breath by fbismoak (midwestwind) | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: “In the grand scheme of things, she figures she’s probably due for a mental break anyway.“Picks up immediately after the end of 2x07.

A Late Christmas Present by @alanna-the-lionheart | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: When Oliver and Felicity’s friends send their wedding gift back to them, the two of them feel quite differently about it. Oliver tamps down his frustrations in an effort to make Felicity feel better, and together, the two of them turn an unpleasant situation on its head.

a father should be great by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Two conversations, thirty years apart. A seven-year-old Felicity and a nine-year-old Mia. Both two scared girls wondering why their fathers are no longer with them. Both seeking the comfort of their mothers.

Everything by WinnieTherPooh | Agents of SHIELD | One-shot

Summary: Jemma tries to reconcile the Doctor of the Framework with her Fitz. Set immediately post-Framework (in a world where the space adventure doesn’t happen, or at least doesn’t begin right away).

hot chocolate conversations by riverwoodhills | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Walter stumbles upon a distraught Oliver being consoled by his Executive Assistant in his office, a hot chocolate being passed subconsciously between them.

open up the door for you by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: A random evening with a little too much whiskey leads to Mia opening up to Connor about where she comes from and a little bit more.

gentle lady, your knight is here ready by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Set in S2. A collection of missing scenes. The five times Oliver took care of Felicity and the one time she took care of him.

(drop everything) meet me in the moonlight by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Oliver is working late one summer’s night in the mayoral office when a text from Felicity alerts him that everything is not alright with his beautiful, blonde ex-fiancée partner. (or post-s4, Felicity’s trying desperately to deal with the guilt of Havenrock and reaches out to Oliver one night when it’s all a little too much.)

we do, but friends don’t by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Detective Billy Malone learns many things early on in his relationship with Felicity Smoak but his most important finding is just how close she seems to be with her ex-fiancé, newly appointed Mayor Queen.[a (semi-)outside perspective on olicity, just before the start of s5]

Life was Full of Surprises - and Oliver Queen was the Best One byaponderingcharming | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Set sometime in Season 2. After a rough night, Oliver gets drunk and Felicity is left to take care of him. After some fluff and a heartwarming moment of honesty, Felicity notes a shift in their relationship.

kneel by 101places | Agents of SHIELD | One-shot

Summary: Simmons has a bad reaction to an episode of Doctor Who.

a dance or two to escape the gloom by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Queen Incorporated’s Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak of Smoak Technologies, rival CEOs, dance with each other at a holiday gala to avoid their exes.

New Year’s Eve by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: William pulls a 5x20 on Connor and Mia, locking them inside the bunker on New Year’s Eve with Indian food and wine. Of course, things escalate.

Regret by Altum_Videtur | Star Wars: The Clone Wars | One-shot

Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ryloth, Ahsoka comes to terms with being responsible for other people’s lives. Set right after Storm Over Ryloth.

The Subtleties of Fashion by FrostOnGalway | Star Wars: The Clone Wars | One-shot Summary: Can we all agree that Ahsoka’s first outfit with the tube-top and mini-skirt is terrible for so many reasons? Anakin thinks so, and he’s gonna take a stand against stupid costume designers. The only problem is, how does he do that without hurting Ahsoka? When faced with a crisis of fashion (or most crises, really) the obvious solution is to go to Padmé for help. AKA The story of how Ahsoka gets her new outfit in Season 3. AKA The Fashion and the Arts (of Subtlety) Remix

you put your arms around me (and i’m home) by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: The bunker is filled with people, Mia had been right about that, and there are many faces she recognizes staring back at her in shock but Mia is only interested in one of them.[An 8x10 spec-fic based off of the promo stills wherein Adult Mia meets 2020 Felicity]

no one will win this time by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Canon divergent from COIE Part 5.Instead of targeting the Paragons, the pissed-off Anti-Monitor sends shadow demons after Oliver’s loved ones. Realizing two of the people Oliver loves most are vulnerable currently out in Bloomfield, dealing with the archer’s death, Sara rushes to protect Felicity and baby Mia, and bring them back to Star City so they can keep them safe.

The Next Right Thing by @inlovewithimpossibillity | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: A cabin. A wife. A teenager. A baby. Felicity Smoak is shaken to her core after the events of Crisis but she must come together for her son and daughter now. For Oliver, and for the true reason he sacrificed so much.

Take Your Daughter Into Battle Day by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Oliver and Mia are trying to keep her identity secret from the other superheroes as Crisis begins, saying that she’s a Green Arrow from E-20 called Maya. But after their first huge team battle, Barry and Kara quickly notice something is up between them - and the truth unfolds.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

@hope-for-olicity @emdee8907 @malafle @laxit21 @icannotbelieveiamhere

#saturday spectacular fic rec #jazzy's fic catch up #weekly fic recs

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justgotham · 5 years

Link

Time is running out for Jim Gordon and Gotham, and nobody is more acutely aware of that fact than Ben McKenzie, the actor who has portrayed the flinty Gordon for five seasons on the Fox series that shares its name with Batman’s hometown. “It’s a lot to take in,” McKenzie said about the Gotham series finale that airs tonight. “It really is one of those bittersweet moments. But the show was never an open-ended proposition.”

Tonight’s finale is titled “The Beginning…” but the name isn’t quite as ironic as it sounds. That’s because the drama was built to be a sort of “prequel procedural” that leads up to the familiar Batman mythology that DC Comics has been publishing since 1939. The narrative window would begin in Bruce Wayne’s youth with the murder of his parents, and effectively end with his first forays as a costumed crimefighter: Gotham would end when Batman begins. That graduation moment arrives tonight with the show’s 100th episode, the first to feature an appearance by the Caped Crusader in action.

Gotham fans are more than ready to see the Dark Knight in all his cowled glory, but the show’s creative team hasn’t shared that eagerness. Just the opposite. Executive producer Bruno Heller, the British producer best known for The Mentalist and Rome, has said he would never have developed the show if it was a traditional costumed-hero franchise. “I don’t think Batman works very well on TV,” Heller said back in 2014. “To have people behind masks? Frankly, all those superhero stories I’ve seen, I always love them — until they get into the costume.”

That has made Gotham an eccentric entry in the superhero sector, but not an entirely unprecedented one. Smallville (217 episodes, 2001-2010) still reigns as the longest-running television series ever based on DC Comics heroes, and creators Alfred Gough and Miles Millar shared a similar aversion to costumed exploits. Their early mission statement was “no flights, no tights,” and the series held out until its final episode to put Clark Kent (Tom Welling) in Superman’s iconic suit.

For Heller and his team, the key to making a compelling Gothamwithout a Batman was to spotlight the hero’s trusted friend, James Gordon, the dedicated lawman destined to become the police commissioner of a city defined by its lawlessness and celebrity criminals. Gordon was introduced in the first panel of the first page of the first Batman comic book ever published, Detective Comics No. 27, the landmark issue that reached its 80th anniversary last month. Gotham added a key element to its version of Gordon — when Thomas and Martha Wayne are murdered, Gordon is the detective who handles the investigation.

Gordon is the good cop who holds on to his morals in a bad city that loses its marbles. The show found the man for the job in McKenzie, who had memorably portrayed LAPD officer Ben Sherman on the highly regarded (but lowly rated) Southland, which aired 2009 to 2013 on NBC and TNT. Before that, the Texan portrayed Ryan Atwood, a scruffy outsider adopted by a wealthy Newport Beach couple and the central character on The OC, the frothy Fox teen drama that aired for 92 episodes from 2003 to 2007.

“I had some things in common with the character,” McKenzie says with a shrug. It’s true, the 23-year-old actor trekked west from dusty Austin (instead of rural Chino) to Southern California, and bought himself a eye-catching Cadlliac DeVille that already had logged 17 hard years and 228,000 long miles. “That’s lot of miles.”

McKenzie has covered a lot of distance in his personal life while channeling the role of Gordon. In 2017, for instance, McKenzie married his Gotham co-star, Morena Baccarin, who has portrayed Dr. Leslie Thompkins on the series (and is well-known for her role in the Deadpool films as the mutant anti-hero’s love interest). The couple now have their first child.

For McKenzie, the end of Gotham closes a pivotal chapter in his screen life. But he’s also hoping that the final seasons will also someday represent a prelude to a different career story — one writing and directing. The actor directed the sixth episode of Season 5, and also directed one in each of the previous two seasons. McKenzie has also written the screenplay for two Gotham episodes: “One of My Three Soups” in Season 4 and “The Trial of Jim Gordon” in this final season.

McKenzie, the writer, didn’t exactly go easy on his fictional screen persona. The cop took a slug in the chest and hovered near death for much of the episode, stuck somewhere between “the here” and “the hereafter” in an existential courtroom where he had to defend his life.

‘I actually feel no sympathy for him at all,” McKenzie said with a chuckle. “The less sympathy you feel, the better, I’d say. The more pain you inflict upon the protagonist, hopefully, the higher the stakes are and the more emotion gets elicited. So I had to be a bit of masochist. Putting him through the ringer and having this existential crisis, this dream, where he’s on trial for his crimes and faces the loss of everything: the love of his life and his child at the same time. I think we got there. That’s about as high stakes as you can get. I think, ultimately satisfying, with the kind of emotional payoff we were looking for.”

That seems to apply to the season as a whole. The final episode is an epic send-off, too, with a story that flashes forward a decade (long enough for Gordon to sport a new mustache) and finds the Penguin (Robin Lord Taylor) returning from prison and Bruce Wayne returning to his ancestral home after years in self-imposed exile. It also coincides with the rise of the show’s off-kilter version of the Joker (Cameron Monaghan). “It’s fitting that he comes into conflict with Gordon and Wayne right at the end,” McKenzie said. “Cameron has been amazing and there was room for one more big flourish with the role.”

Most of the reviews have veered from good to great, encouraging news for the cast and crew of a series that had been uneven or over-the-top at times. “Everybody’s been very enthusiastic and positive,” McKenzie said. “The final season has been wrapping things up in the way the audience hoped we would.”

Gotham City is arguably the most famous city created in American popular culture since the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz (although Metropolis, Springfield, Mayberry, Twin Peaks, and Riverdale are other prominent spots on the map of un-real estate). Even without Batman, the city zoned by greed, paved in corruption, and mapped by trauma seems to have no limits as far as its story range.

“It’s extraordinary when you think about it,” McKenzie said. “The city itself is a character. There’s a lot of stories to be found in Gotham City. There’s a lot of stories being told from Gotham, too.”

It’s true, Gotham City will be the site of Batwoman, the pilot on The CW this fall, and for a string of upcoming feature films including Joker, The Batman, and the Birds of Prey project.

Also this year: a Harley Quinn animated series and Pennyworth (a series about Batman’s loyal butler) on Epix. Pennyworth and Gothamare unconnected in their story continuity, but both are from the tandem of executive producer/writer Bruno Heller (The Mentalist) and executive producer/director Danny Cannon (CSI franchises).

A passing reference in the 2016 film Suicide Squad identified Gotham City as a major metropolitan hub in the Garden State. The city’s location had been a vague matter for decades, but now it is officially part of New Jersey’s map, and Springsteen isn’t the only local hero named Bruce.

On Gotham, the city feels more like Al Capone’s Chicago than Dracula’s Transylvania. “There’s a specific look and style that Gotham has that sets the show apart. It’s visual identity is distinctive and it was really interesting to work within that as a director.”

Has McKenzie inherited anything Gordon, anything he will take with him forward? “Maybe. We have some things in common, too. He’s living in the same city I live in, New York, but just the slightly more dramatic version. He’s had to figure things out on the fly and his life has changed and met the love of his life and had a child. There’s a lot of similarities there. But I haven’t bought a gun and I don’t go around shooting one. And I’m more a jeans and t-shirts guy. Although Gordon’s given me an appreciation for a good suit, that’s for sure.”

McKenzie said he’s learned a lot from the creative team he’s worked with, and he believes his acting has made his directing better and vice versa, as well. There’s several new projects that looks promising for McKenzie, both as an on-screen presence and writer or director. Still, saying goodbye to Gotham has been a sentimental exercise for the man who plays the taciturn detective.

“It’s hard. I’ve been through it a couple of times before. I’ve been on two shows before, so it’s been less daunting then before. I’ve built really strong bonds with these folks. We spent more time together than we do with our families for nine months a year. It’s been a joy and a experience I will never forget. I can’t forget. I wake up every morning to my wife and child who happened during it. So yes, it’s been a city without limits for me.”

#Jim Gordon #James Gordon #Ben McKenzie #Leslie Thompkins #Morena Baccarin

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nadziejastar · 5 years

Text

"She’s a Mirror That Reflects You”

And Xion was a girl Roxas cared about, which made her like the girl Sora cared about. She was a reflection of Sora’s memories. “That’s why his recovery is stalling,” Riku went on. “They have the part that’s most precious to him—his memories of Kairi.”

Xion prevented Sora from waking up because she was siphoning off his most precious memories, which were the key to his awakening. She was also acting as a mirror—a puppet who was merely reflecting his most precious memories of Kairi.

He’d been dreaming. It left him in terrible anguish—a nightmare about his two best friends torn away from him because he was too weak to protect them. Because he had lost the use of the Keyblade.

He wondered if Xion had that same helplessness when she couldn’t use her Keyblade. Roxas got up and stared into space. He felt so…heavy. So tired and listless. Like he hadn’t slept at all. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Was it because of the dreams? But he dreamed all the time. Even if he couldn’t always remember them so vividly, the dreaming was nothing new.

His reflection in the mirror was no different from usual. Maybe his eyes were a little red—probably because he was so tired.

Roxas couldn’t recover because there was a puppet draining him of his strength.

“Ugh, I’ve got enough on my plate.” He groaned, imagining Saïx’s face if he reported all this.

Those days as a trio had been so wonderful. Why did this have to happen? The memory of his heart twinged. Had the breakdown of a friendship always been this painful? It was hard to tell when he didn’t have a heart anymore.

“Don’t wanna get up…”

But he dragged himself out of bed, taking a huge stretch and cricking his neck. He had to get to the Grey Area early if he wanted to talk to Saïx. Most likely, today would be another bad day.

It’s basically what Organization XIII did to Axel, too. They replaced Isa with Saïx, a puppet created from Isa’s memories. Axel was the Organization’s puppet like Sora would have been if his memories of Kairi had been replaced with Naminé. And I would argue that Saïx was doing the exact same thing to Axel that Xion was doing to Roxas. Unbeknownst to him, his strength and energy were also being drained from him by the puppet.

Outside the window, the moon—the heart-shaped moon—floated. Axel watched it, still sprawled on his bed. There was still a little time before he had to leave on his mission.

To gather hearts, to have hearts of our own, to not let the heart mislead us…

For these past few days, I’ve been thinking about the meaning of Xemnas’ words. To not let the heart mislead us? What does that mean? Whenever I’m alone, these thoughts just float around in my head the whole time. I don’t know why I have to think so much about it. I bet the other Nobodies don’t.

The heart… emotions. I think about their origins. Contemplate it. Reason about it. When did I start doing this?

The truth was, Axel knew when. Maybe I’ve been pretending I hadn’t noticed.

This is a passage from the novel. It’s on Day 117 ~Secrets~. It’s the night before Day 118 ~Lazy Day~. The day Axel spent all day of their vacation in bed sleeping, before joking about his dark secrets to Roxas and Xion.

Yeah… I started thinking about this stuff when Roxas—no, Roxas and Xion joined the Organisation.

Those two had lobbed so many questions at him as they grew as Nobodies. Was it just their curiosity that had him thinking so much? But it hadn’t started when they joined the Organization. It was after he’d gotten to know Xion, after Castle Oblivion.

Anyhow, I have to admit that something is changing inside of me. Before this, I wouldn’t have thought about those kinds of things. Changing… why am I changing?

I called it ‘contemplating’, but it’s just rambling.

Axel felt the waver of an unexpected presence, and sat up in bed. “Don’t just barge in here—you could at least knock,” he said, in a displeased manner.

It’s also the day Axel complained in his report that Saïx was the one who changed, not him.

Saïx was standing next to the bed. Axel looked away from him and stared at a speck on the wall. However, seeming to not notice Axel’s attitude, Saïx began to speak in his usual tone.

“How has Xion been acting?”

“S’not like I’ve been keeping watch in particular, so I wouldn’t have a clue,” Axel answered in a sulky tone.

“You seem quite close,” Saïx continued.

For a moment, Axel thought about the reasons Saïx could have for being so interested in Xion.

I already know why Roxas is special. The Nobody of the Keyblade Hero is going to be special.

But, I still don’t have the information to decide how Xion is special compared to other Nobodies. I wanted to know, but now I already understand that it would be useless to ask Saïx to tell me.

“What, am I meant to report even that to you? If you don’t need anything, get out,” said Axel, getting up out of his bed with a violent movement.

Speaking of changes, my relationship with Saïx has, too. I think it’s changed slightly since I’ve had time with Roxas and Xion. I couldn’t really say how, though.

Even in this scene, what’s going through Axel’s mind is that his relationship with Saïx has changed. It’s written to be mostly similar to the game, but there’s an interesting addition to this scene...

“You and Xion are on the same mission today.”

“Thank you ever so much for going to all the trouble to tell me that,” Axel answered, facing the mirror and starting to get ready.

“I need you to go to Castle Oblivion again soon.” Saïx glared at Axel’s reflection, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

“Orders from ‘Lord’ Xemnas?” Axel asked, lips curling.

...A mirror. And I’m sure that was done with very much symbolic meaning in mind.

Saïx didn’t reply to that. “That castle still has secrets. Even there, there are unknown places—”

“Unknown places?” Axel interrupted. He turned his gaze back on his own reflection in the mirror. “You’re talking about that chamber. I’ve scoured the place and I haven’t found it. It won’t be discovered that easily.”

The tension in Saïx’s pursed lips slackened a little. “Very well, I’ll tell you something you’d like to hear. Xion was born in that castle. Just like Naminé was, in that castle.” Saïx was silent for a moment. “The place Naminé and Xion were born—sounds like a place you’d like to go, am I right?”

That’s bait. But there’s no skill in simply taking the bait.

Axel snorted and turned to Saïx. “Well, well, well… it sounds like the one who wants to go to that castle isn’t me, it’s you, am I right?” Axel said, as he stepped past Saïx, out of his field of vision. “Cause if you go to the chamber that Xemnas is searching for—you’ll figure out his true goal, right?”

Because he’s finding it increasingly hard to recognize Saïx as Isa anymore.

“The Chamber of Repose, and its twin, the Chamber of Waking,” Saïx began, back still turned.

“Xemnas has a goal that he hasn’t told anyone. A clue towards it should be in the Chamber of Waking. If we can get our hands on it, we’ll have the advantage in every conceivable way—for our goal, too.” At that last word, Saïx turned and looked at Axel.

I know… our goal. That part won’t change.

Axel sighed, and said, “Vexen and Zexion were in your way. That’s why they were taken care of—so you’d reach the top of the Organisation, right?”

It’s almost like I’m telling myself this.

Because he’s not Isa. He’s Xehanort masquerading as Isa.

Us not having hearts doesn’t mean our behavior means nothing.

It doesn’t mean we can’t think. Doesn’t mean we don’t have goals. Acting for the sake of those is something both humans and Nobodies share.

“I do the dirty work, so you better get to the top.” I’m not lying when I tell him this.

Axel looked as Saïx. Saïx stared back.

Yeah… we have a goal. That part won't change.

Saïx turned his back on Axel.

“In a few days, you’ll be sent to Castle Oblivion on a solo mission. Be expecting it,” said Saïx, leaving the room.

Alone, Axel clenched his fists, and followed Saïx out of the room.

Axel is just as much trapped by an illusion as Roxas and Sora. An illusion that keeps him trapped by his most precious memories. But the mirror has to break at some point.

Xion got up and looked in the mirror.

It’s me. Nothing new.

After getting ready for the day, she went to the Grey Area and found Saïx and Xigbar there.

Xion also had a habit of looking in the mirror. The first time she does, Xigbar and Saïx are there.

Xion washed her face and looked in the mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary about her reflection.

I’m the same as ever.

Then she left her room and headed for the lobby. Depending on when she showed up, she would run into some of her coworkers and miss others. Today she found no one there except Saïx and Xigbar.

Xigbar and Saïx are there again the second time, too.

Xion got up and took care of her morning routine in front of the mirror in the corner of the room.

I’m the same as ever.

And yet, I’m not.

She stared hard at the mirror’s reflection. It showed…someone else. But she knew who it was.

The boy who looked like Roxas.

For a moment, she lowered her gaze, then looked again.

Just her.

Her and her identity crisis. Xion laughed at herself.

I have time here. Riku gave it to me.

But not forever. I’ll ruin everything if I stay. I have to decide…before the Organization decides for us.

The third time, she’s alone. Something’s different. She doesn’t recognize her reflection for a moment. This is the day she runs away in Wonderland, and Xigbar and Axel are there. This is also the day Axel told Roxas that Xion was a mirror. I’m excited to see how the KH3D novel writes this scene when it’s localized. It think Axel looking at his reflection while wondering where Braig and Isa were was...intentional, to say the least.

#kh meta #kh axel #kh saix #kh leaisa #kh akusai

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kythen · 6 years

Text

Haikyuu!! - Bad/Bed Hair Day

Pairing: Kurodai

Summary: After Kuroo moves into Daichi's dorm room, Kuroo's hair undergoes a transformation. Cue an identity crisis and Kuroo and Daichi's many attempts to make things right again.

My piece for the Domestic Kurodai Zine: Midnight to Morning Coffee!

Also found here on AO3.

Word count: 2,671

"Kuroo Tetsurou?"

"Here." Kuroo raises his hand and yawns, slumping down in his seat. It is 8 in the morning, way too early for class, and Kuroo daydreams longingly of slipping back into bed with Daichi.

Instead of marking him off as present immediately like she always does, the TA looks confused, looking between Kuroo and the namelist, and Kuroo sits up, equally confused.

"Is something wrong?" he asks and the rest of his bleary classmates perk up in interest.

She frowns, looking at him disapprovingly. "It's against the school regulations to stand in for another student in class."

Kuroo straightens up, wondering if this is some weird dream he is in. "What are you talking about? I'm Kuroo Tetsurou. You know me. I just talked to you about our current assignment last week."

The TA looks wary as she looks him up and down. His classmates turn their attention on him and it is as if they are seeing him for the first time. Kuroo looks around desperately for a reflective surface. This feels like a nightmare and Kuroo hopes that whatever he sees reflected back at him will shock him into waking up. Maybe he is still in bed and getting cuddled by his boyfriend. Kuroo has only recently started sleeping over in Daichi’s dorm room and Daichi has started to warm up to having Kuroo in the same space as him in his sleep.

But when he checks his reflection in his phone, he is all there, Kuroo Tetsurou, hoodie thrown over his pyjamas and hair flattened down into something that isn't his bedhead. He tugs at the limp strands. He hadn't noticed that his hairstyle had changed. Maybe it was because his sleeping position had changed to accommodate one clingy boyfriend.

Kuroo looks up and sees the rest of the class staring. Acting on a hunch, he sweeps his hair up with his hands and holds it up in an approximation of his usual bedhead.

The TA blinks and checks him off the list. "Oh."

---

Daichi laughs, his head thrown back and his feet kicking the sheets on the bed, his grin as wide as the sky. It is the cutest thing that Kuroo has ever seen.

"Don't laugh," Kuroo whines, tottering over to Daichi on defeated feet and dropping onto the bed with him.

"I can't believe no one recognised you." Daichi reaches for Kuroo as Kuroo crawls over to him and drops into his lap, pillowing his cheek on Daichi's thigh. Daichi cards his hands through Kuroo's hair, the motion gentle and soothing, and Kuroo closes his eyes blissfully. If he were a cat, he would be purring now.

"I can't believe it either. I even had to show a professor my student ID," Kuroo complains. "Do I look that unrecognisable with my hair down? Is Kuroo Tetsurou all in the hair?  Who am I without the bedhead? Daichi, I'm having a major existential crisis right now."

Daichi sweeps Kuroo's hair back from his forehead, leaning down to press a kiss to his exposed forehead. "You're still my boyfriend."

Kuroo smiles dazedly at him, blindsided by the affectionate gesture, before his smile morphs into a scowl. "You didn't recognise me either when I came in. Nice try, mister."

Daichi pats Kuroo's hair back into place as he admits, "You do look different with your hair down."

Kuroo looks accusingly at him. "You do know that this is probably your fault, right? For being so cuddly and warm and nice to snuggle that I can't style my hair while I sleep."

"Is that what you call it?" Daichi raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was just bedhead, not some time-efficient strategy for hairstyling. Anyway, if it is my fault, you could always return to sleeping in your room."

"And miss out on the chance to spend more time with you? No way." Kuroo frowns. "There has got to be a way to get my hair back to its usual handsome style."

"I think you're pretty handsome with your hair down," Daichi tugs at the loose strands of Kuroo's hair, "but if it bothers you that much, why don't you try styling your hair in the morning?"

---

Solution 1: Hair gel

Kuroo slides into the seat Yaku had saved for him at the cafeteria and all conversations at the table immediately end. A shit-eating grin spreads across Yaku's face and Daishou looks like Christmas had come early for him. Kuroo immediately, and not for the first time, regrets that Yaku and Daishou had put aside their enmity in university to form a friendship built on roasting Kuroo.

"Hey, I didn't know that Yu-Gi-Oh got a new protagonist," Yaku says loudly, his eyes fixed on Kuroo's head. Or approximately five centimetres above Kuroo's head.

The both of them burst into laughter.

"Ha ha, guys," Kuroo deadpans, stabbing at his lunch with his chopsticks.

He doesn't think he looks that bad. Daichi and him had tried their best with the hair gel but neither of them had any previous experience with hairstyling considering that all Kuroo had ever used were two pillows to get his hair into shape and Daichi had never bothered learning to style his hair. Okay, maybe Daichi had gotten too enthusiastic with the gel to get Kuroo's spikes to stand up and Kuroo had been too much of a useless, smitten boyfriend to tell Daichi his spikes didn't stand that tall. They were soft spikes, nice to touch and friendly to stroke. Not spikes of doom that could take someone's eye out if he wasn't careful.

"Seriously, what happened to your hair?" Yaku wheezes, once he finally gets a hold of himself.

"My hair hasn't been right lately so we tried styling it a bit," Kuroo says, self-consciously prodding the stiff spikes on the top of his head.

"Honestly, I think I preferred it when I couldn't tell who you were with your hair down," Yaku tells him, still grinning.

"Daichi-kun isn't very good at hairstyling, is he?" Daishou remarks with a sly smile.

"Daichi has other strengths." Kuroo glowers at him, defending his boyfriend loyally. "Just not... hairstyling."

"I'd say he has a talent for it, considering that he's the one who finally defeated your bedhead," Yaku comments. "Weren't you trying to get rid of it?"

"I was, until I found out that my personal identity was inextricably linked to how my hair looked." Kuroo slumps down in his seat mournfully.

Yaku pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Well, you better find out how to get it back because your friendships are also inextricably linked to how your hair looks. I'll tolerate it this one time, but I'm not gonna be seen in public with you if you keep this up."

---

Solution 2: Don't cuddle Daichi

"That's harder than you think it is." Kuroo looks pleadingly at Daichi. "Don't cuddle you? That's like asking me not to breathe."

"Considering how you normally sleep, I thought you'd be an expert at not breathing," Daichi retorts. "I'm technically saving your life by sleeping with you."

"Yes, you are," Kuroo says reverently. Ever since he started sleeping with Daichi in the same bed, he swears he feels more rejuvenated in the morning.

"Look," Daichi props his hands on his hips as he looks down at Kuroo in his bed, all tucked in and waiting for Daichi to join him, "I don't like being apart from you either but if you want to get your bedhead back you should go back to sleeping in your room."

Kuroo props himself up on an elbow and peels back a corner of the blanket, patting the Daichi-shaped empty space next to him. "I'll keep my hands to myself this time." When Daichi doesn't budge, Kuroo gives him his best puppy-eyed look. "I mean, who's going to rescue me if I stop breathing in the middle of the night? I can't sleep peacefully without you, Daichi."

"You managed just fine without me for eighteen years," Daichi grumbles but he gets into bed with Kuroo, shoving at Kuroo's lanky body until there is a clear space between them. It isn't much of a gap, seeing that they are two broad guys on a dorm-sized mattress, but Kuroo appreciates the thought and he leans over to give Daichi a peck on the cheek before he turns off the beside lamp.

"Goodnight, Daichi."

Lips brush against Kuroo's in the dark before Daichi returns to his side of the bed. "Goodnight, Kuroo."

---

When Kuroo's first alarm goes off in the morning, he comes into consciousness warm and comfortable, his body moulded perfectly against Daichi. Kuroo blinks dazedly and reaches over Daichi to turn his alarm off before burying his nose back into Daichi's hair and shutting his eyes until his second alarm goes off.

---

Solution 3: Drastic measures

"I have no choice, Daichi. I have to do this," Kuroo says grimly.

"Just go back to your room, Kuroo," Daichi sighs. "I know I joked about you not breathing in your sleep but this might actually stop you from breathing entirely. Forever."

"It won't hurt me," Kuroo says confidently. "I've been doing this since I was a kid."

He holds out his two pillows. If he can't stop himself from snuggling up to Daichi in the middle of the night, then he wouldn't stop it. He didn't need his hands for this anyway, all he needed were for the pillows to be on either side of his head for the entire night.

Kuroo lies facedown on Daichi's bed and pulls his pillows into the optimal sleeping position before getting to work fixing them on either side of his head. It takes two elastic bands to secure the pillows to Kuroo's head and he turns his head from side to side and takes an experimental breath. It feels like his usual sleeping position and he reaches out blindly beside him, groping the sheets as he searches for Daichi.

"Kuroo, this doesn't look safe at all," Daichi says as Kuroo snakes a hand around his waist and tries to tug him down next to him. "I'm serious. You might actually suffocate in the middle of the night."

"'M fine," Kuroo mumbles out, his voice muffled by the two pillows secured to his head. He turns to the side so he can see out of the gap between them and he sees Daichi's worried face peering down at him. It takes a few more coaxing tugs before he can get Daichi to lie down beside him and he wraps his arms snugly around Daichi's waist, beaming at him. "See? Hands-free."

Daichi looks unimpressed as he mutters, "I don't know what this says about me that I'm dating someone like you."

"Hrm?" Kuroo asks, the pillows having muffled most of Daichi's voice.

"Nothing," Daichi sighs. "Just keep breathing until the morning please, Kuroo. I don't want to have to find a new boyfriend."

Kuroo tangles his legs with Daichi's, a wave of affection surging in him at how concerned Daichi is for him. "You won't have to. You're stuck with me, darling."

---

He can't breathe.

Kuroo opens his eyes but it doesn't make any difference when all that fills his vision is darkness and an oppressive force covers his nose and mouth. Panicked and still half-asleep, Kuroo reaches up and his hand meets something soft over his face. With a burst of desperate strength, he rips it off his face and gasps, gulping down quick breaths of air.

His clothes are sweat-soaked and his hair one matted mess as he shoves off the rest of the suffocating tangle surrounding his head and clutches Daichi close, seeking out the protective warmth of his boyfriend in the aftermath of his near-death experience.

"That was so scary. Daichi, I nearly suffocated," Kuroo whimpers, pushing his face into Daichi's soft hair and breathing in his comforting scent.

Daichi stirs, sighing against Kuroo's neck as he mumbles drowsily, "I told you so."

Daichi's hands stroke up and down the length of Kuroo's back absently, soothingly, and Kuroo lets their steady rhythm lull him back into sleep.

---

Conclusion: Failed

"I'm not letting you try out anything new after your previous attempt with the pillows," Daichi declares, folding his arms across his chest. He is planted solidly at the edge of his bed as Kuroo paces the room before him, thinking up some other way to get back his bedhead without having to give up on sleeping with Daichi. "You almost hurt yourself, Kuroo."

"But, Daichi," Kuroo says, aghast. "Nobody knows who I am without my trademark bedhead. I can already feel my identity slipping away from me, one limp strand at a time."

"You'll just have to live out your new life as not-Kuroo then," Daichi says firmly. He reaches up, beckoning, and Kuroo leans down to meet him, letting Daichi card his fingers through the loose strands of his hair. "Besides, it's not like I'm dating you because of your hair or anything."

"I distinctly remember you insulting my hair a couple of times before we started dating. And even after we started dating," Kuroo points out, moving closer and closer to Daichi until he gets Daichi flat on his back on the bed. Kuroo climbs onto the bed, bracing himself over Daichi and boxing him in with his arms as he looks him in the eye suspiciously. "Maybe this was your dastardly plan to get rid of my bedhead all along."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Daichi says lightly with a teasing gleam in his eye as he tucks Kuroo's hair behind his ear, letting his fingers brush against the shell of Kuroo's ear lingeringly. "So? What are you going to do about it?"

Kuroo can't let Daichi get away with this so he leans in to show him.

---

At the cafeteria, Yaku waves him over to their table and Kuroo slides into his seat, blissfully dazed and drifting on cloud nine after a good night. Yaku looks him up and down and Daishou takes one look at Kuroo before he goes back to texting on his phone.

"Hey, you managed to get your hair back to normal," Yaku says approvingly. "Congrats—if that was what you were going for."

"Normal?" Kuroo blinks and reaches up to touch his hair. He hadn't looked in a mirror before leaving this morning, his eyes glued shut by the early hour as he rolled out of bed, put on his clothes, and shuffled right out of the room.

Daishou turns his phone towards Kuroo and Kuroo finds himself looking at himself in the front-facing camera. His hair is back up in its natural, messy spikes, just as they had been before he moved into Daichi's room, and when he flattens them with a hand, they just spring back up into shape, untameable as always.

"Hair gel?" Yaku asks.

"Or did you finally move out of Daichi-kun's room?" Daishou suggests.

"Neither." Kuroo prods his hair in confusion, trying to figure out the logic behind his bedhead. "I just went to sleep as usual..."

He had fallen asleep and woken up in Daichi's arms, without bothering to think of a solution to tackle his hair. It had been late and the both of them had been exhausted after—

Ah.

"Ah," Kuroo blurts out loud, realising what exactly had shaped his hair last night.

Yaku and Daishou look curiously at him and Kuroo snaps his teeth shut, trying to will down the sudden burst of heat in his face. As much as he considers them his friends, he doesn't think he wants to reveal to them everything that happens between Daichi and him.

"I must be having a good hair day," Kuroo says as nonchalantly as possible, suppressing a shiver as he thinks about the grasping hands that had tugged at his hair last night. But he can't hold back a smirk as he thinks about what this says about Daichi's hairstyling skills. Maybe they weren't so bad after all.

#kurodai #domestic kurodai zine #haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurou #sawamura daichi #my writing

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therineyaaa-blog · 5 years

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A Silent Crisis

( BEFORE PROCEEDING TO READ MY BLOG, KINDLY, READ THE SHORTEST STORY ABOUT DEPRESSION THAT I WROTE BELOW. THANK YOU! ) ”JANE” [10:45 PM] Jane was found dead. She would never bother anybody again. - [9:25 PM] She made up her mind. She was so tired of being less important than anything or anyone. - [8:33 PM] She knocked on her mother's room. But she was too busy with those paperworks. Paperworks were more important than her. "Go back to sleep. Stop bothering me." - [7:23 PM] She texted her father. Her father was with his new mistress. His mistress was more important than her. "I'm gonna give you money tomorrow. I'm busy. Stop bothering me." - [6:42 PM] She knocked on her sister's room. But she was studying for her exams tomorrow. Exams were more important than her. "Get lost. Stop bothering me." - [5:30 PM] She called Melissa, her only friend. Melissa was with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was more important than her. "I'm with Dennis. Bes, stop calling. You're bothering us." - [4:29 PM] She was so depressed. She felt so weak. She knew she just needed somebody to talk to. She needed a person who would listen to her. She needed her family and her friend. - [3:13 PM] She was informed by her teacher that she failed her subjects again. She cried. She was so disappointed in herself. "You should've studied harder! Now, go back to your classroom. Stop bothering me." - [2:50 PM] She begged Josh not to leave her. But Josh chose her new girlfriend because she looked better. She was so hurt. "I don't like you anymore. Stop bothering me now." - [1:11 PM] She got bullied again by her classmates. She was laughed at. She was insulted. "You're so stupid." "We don't want you in our group. You will just bother us." - [12:05 PM] Jane still wanted to fight against depression. She knew she just needed somebody to help her fight against it. ( HERE IS MY BLOG ABOUT DEPRESSION ) At some point, most of us have, or will experience sadness. However, sadness is usually short-lived. When a person suffers with depression, it can affect work, school, eating, and the ability to enjoy life over an extended period. It is imperative to make the distinction between sadness and clinical depression; when depression is recognized, needed treatment can be obtained.

Depression can affect one's ability to do the simplest things, such as waking up in the morning, brushing your teeth, going to school or work, and eating a meal. Depressed feelings make it hard to function normally, focus, and participate in once-enjoyable activities. Depressed feelings result in little to no motivation or energy, making it hard to get through each day.

Symptoms of depression range from feeling sad, empty, hopeless, angry, cranky, or frustrated; to weight loss or gain; to thinking about dying and/or having suicidal thoughts. What causes depression? Heredity plays a significant role, accounting for half of the etiology behind depression. Depressed individuals often are direct family members of others who suffer from depression. Depressed individuals may not have the same thoughts as healthy persons, due to neurotransmitter imbalances in the brain. Specifically, depressed individuals experience abnormal regulation of cholinergic, catecholaminergic (noradrenergic or dopaminergic), and serotonergic (5-hydroxytryptamine) neurotransmission. The neurotransmitter imbalances can prevent someone from recognizing that he or she could find help. Many depressed individuals cannot imagine being happy again. They feel unbearable emotional, and sometimes physical, pain that seems to have only two options: dying or living with pain. Neuroendocrine dysregulation may relate to problems of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal, hypothalamic-pituitary-thyroid, or growth hormone systems, areas that can be treated. Psychosocial factors also play a role in depression. Major life stressors can precipitate depression but normally do not cause clinical depression, except in people predisposed to depression. Once someone has been clinically depressed, she is at higher risk for depression. Women are at higher risk, possibly related to heightened response to daily stressors (emotional sensitivity), higher levels of monoamine oxidase enzyme responsible for degrading neurotransmitters, higher rates of thyroid dysfunction, and the endocrine changes of menstruation and at menopause. Depression can be categorized as mild, moderate, or severe. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders Fifth Edition classifies eight depressive disorders. Five of the depressive disorders are classified according to symptoms. Major depressive disorder is defined as a period lasting two weeks or longer, when a person experiences at least five of nine symptoms where one symptom is depressed mood or loss of interest or pleasure in activities. Persistent depressive disorder is a depressed mood that lasts for at least two years in adults, but only one year in children or adolescents. Other specified or unspecified depressive disorders involve symptoms that do not meet the full criteria for another depressive disorder, but cause clinically significant distress or impairment. Disruptive mood dysregulation disorder, diagnosed in children, involves severe emotional outbursts and irritable mood. The remaining three depressive disorders are classified by etiology and include premenstrual dysphoric disorder, depressive disorder due to another medical condition, and substance/medication-induced depressive disorder. Adolescents can have any of these disorders. In the past, people believed children could not suffer with depression. When teens showed signs of depression, it could be mistaken for the moodiness of puberty. Research today reveals that teens may be clinically depressed. Clinical depression may lead to attempts at self-harm. Teenagers may show indicators of depression that are different from adults. Depressed teens may sulk, act out, get in trouble at school, express negativity, and feel misunderstood by others. One study suggests that as many as six students in a classroom may be struggling with depression at any given time. Teens struggle with school, grades, family, friends, and their identity. Bullying is a serious problem, contributing to teen depression. In 2013, 19.6% of U.S. high school students reported being bullied on school property, whereas 14.8% reported bullying electronically by email, chat rooms, instant messaging, websites, or texting. Sadly, family members, friends, and school personnel may not notice teens who are sad, lonely, and distressed, as they can be invisible or try not to be noticed. These self-inflicted injuries are a cry for help. The first step to preventing teen suicide is recognizing and treating depression. Effective, early intervention will help reduce the burden and disability of depression. A combination of proactive support, mood elevating medications, and psychotherapy such as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, can effectively treat teen depression. Depressed teens need to be assessed for how they respond to life, especially stressful situations. Negative thinking patterns and behaviors can be replaced with effective coping strategies, such as good problem solving, helping with motivation to change, building self-esteem, resolving relationship problems, and learning stress management techniques. If chronic pain is a variable, management of pain is important. Other studies additionally support the importance of religion and increased frequency of attendance at religious services as protective factors for depression and suicidal ideation in adolescents. Adults and peers can help prevent suicide by knowing the risk factors, warning signs, and asking if a teen has been thinking about suicide. It is okay to ask, “Do you ever feel so badly that you think about suicide?” “Do you have a plan to commit suicide or take your life?” “Have you thought about when you would do it (today, tomorrow, next week)?” “Have you thought about what method you would use?” The more specific thinking and plans a person has made, the more serious the risk of suicide. Risk also is greater if warning signs are new and/or have increased, or are possibly related to an anticipated or actual painful event, loss, or change. Major depression and suicide can be averted if society takes action by careful consideration of the individual's developmental level, identifying high-risk groups, and researching the best evidenced-based interventions to reach the largest numbers. However, despite the prevalence of depression, the impact on school performance, and lifelong costs, there is little discussion about intervention for depression among school personnel. Sadly, it is common for someone suffering with depression to go unnoticed. Teen depression continues to be a quiet crisis in schools. To intervene, we need raised awareness of the problem, trained school personnel, and structures for delivering mental health services in schools. Depression is a quiet crisis, but it need not be. Increased awareness, with the development of needed mental health programs, can reach teens who need help. Working with social media can reach teens who may be suffering in silence. Collaboration with teen support groups and faith organizations can create safe havens for teens. Through a coordinated effort on the part of public and private industry, government agencies, concerned family, friends, schools, and healthcare professionals, we can make a difference in preventing suicide and saving lives. For a difference to occur, people need to acknowledge the severity of teen depression and the significant risk of suicide. Teens need our attention to make them feel valued, accepted, and secure in the knowledge that people are there to help them. Teens taking their lives is a tragedy. In conclusion, depression doesn't go naked. It sometimes wears a blue shirt and sits in a corner of a house while clutching a toy car in its little arms, trying hard not to hear the violent words from its parents' mouths.It sometimes wears a school uniform, reluctantly going home, in its bag is a report card that will certainly define its worth just like what it did last year.It sometimes wears a jacket not against the cold but to conceal the bruises in its pale skin.It sometimes wears a pink dress, sometimes, an orange sweater, a white lab coat, a black suit, a yellow cardigan a green basketball jersey.It wears everything— cheap or expensive— everything.But no matter what clothes it uses, there's something that it never forgets to put on. Depression always wears a smile. Lastly, don’t lose another Jane. Reference: https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/depression/what-is-depression

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coeurxdor · 5 years

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✮ ━ top three favorite muses that you’ve played♫ ━ a small playlist for a muse of your choiceღ ━ favorite canon ships for your muse(s). are there any you dislike?✄ ━ do you have any artistic abilities? If so, what can you do?

✮ ━ top three favorite muses that you’ve played

dorcas is one of my favs lmao but her aside…. uhhh… honestly i’m someone who generally creates a character for LIFE ( i’ve been writing some characters for nearly a decade now ) so… this isn’t easy. i’ll say neal brar (oc), kitsey greyson (oc, i never get to write her and it’s such a shame), and valentina salgado (oc) ok fuck also tiberius ogden (oc) and malena bedford (oc) i can’t leave either of them out.

✄ ━ do you have any artistic abilities? If so, what can you do?

[here]

ღ ━ favorite canon ships for your muse(s). are there any you dislike?

dorcas with any of the marauders like………………………. no thanks. never, thanks. ( MAYBE with james or peter in some au, but it’s a pretty massive maybe ). or like ships with death eaters that are completely random and have zero solid/logical foundations.

otherwise, i’m super open with ships. i’m primarily plot based, even with my ships to be honest. i’ve been in situations where dorcas had chemistry with another character but the plots me and the other player came up, ship-wise, just didn’t speak to me at all so even though we were supposed to “ship” because our characters had chemistry or w/e, i wasn’t really up for it.

i’ve had some nice ships with ocs from historical verses, modern royalty, and x-men verses.

in the harry potter universe, i’ve had ships with a bunch of ocs and minor canons. think it, i’ve probably done it. i’ve had ships with muggle characters, death eaters (members or leaning), order members, journalists, diplomats, hit wizards, inventors, celebrities, etc.

all of these are old as shit and i haven’t talked to my partners in ages but thus far my most well plotted out + favourite ships/ship plots have been with:

gideon prewett - it was a friends turned lovers ship, but it was very complicated as it developed over the course of a solid 5 years and with the war gideon developed a drinking problem and there were many other mini sub-plots… it was… great, but MY kind of great with lots of character development and slow burn and it ended with them going “ok we can figure this out we’ll make a proper effort” and then gideon died like a week later lmao. ( we had a star wars au for this too )

evan rosier - met at school. they were just kids. he stopped talking to her when he was 12 because he found out she was a halfblood and she absolutely didn’t put up with his nonsense. two years later they had the chance to talk about it… and they were unable to stop talking since then, behind doors that is. they always had a very peculiar dynamic, meeting in the middle in certain aspects, being ruled by their education and backgrounds in others, and above all showing each other two very different perspectives of what would become a war ( and, in their own ways, they used the knowledge they got from each other as a sort of leverage later on - knowledge is power, so it goes ). after graduation they grew apart, then close again, then he tried to pull some really stupid things after he got married and their dynamic deteriorated considerably after that and as the war progressed. there was always going to be something there even if only given to how much they shared with each other, but i was very open about dorcas not having romantic feelings for him anymore ( and gd knows having them in the first place was an identity crisis as it was ) but my partner at the time told me he would continue to have feelings for her which made the whole dynamic even more interesting. there was always tension, and angst, and power dynamics and one time they did exchange war related information once ( they never said where their affiliations lied, but they didn’t need to at that point, to either of them it was blatantly clear ) but it was on a very particular case concerning the murder of a diplomat where both the order and the death eaters were being blamed when neither side had been involved.

an oc auror AND I APOLOGIZE BUT YOU’LL ALL HAVE TO PUT UP WITH ME WITH THIS ONE BC IT WAS ONE OF MY FAV DYNAMICS AND I LOVE AND MISS IT DEARLY. they met while she was still studying to be a healer, he asked her out she said yes but then life happened and they never did get to go on that date. fast-forward a year she’s working at the ministry as a secretary like five desks away from him, huffing at aurors and hit wizards for not filling their reports correctly and no she’s not going to bloody write them for you. he was awkward and self-conscious about it but there were no hard feelings about the failed date (dorcas had literally just joined the order so she had a lot on her plate anyway). very gradually they got talking, hooked up, it turned into a “oh no don’t worry about it it was nothing serious we were just blowing off some steam” which turned into “oh crap im falling in love” and eventually they started dating and it was the most wonderful thing in the world… and then like 6 months into it dorcas broke up with him because it was, like, early 1979 and every time they got together he ended up talking poorly of the order ( they broke up when, one day, he was trashing the order after, unbeknownst to him, the order had saved his ass and his partner’s ass and dorcas was just sitting there with the damn take out he had brought thinking “i really did this to myself huh fuck my entire life i have to end this”. they ended things abruptly and still very much in love. ) fast-forward some months he ends up reaching out to her somewhat awkwardly because he doesn’t know who to talk to ( he was a person of strong convictions but very private and he had grown very used to being able/feeling comfortable talking to her ). what did he want to get off his chest? that he had just discovered he had child. some 3 year old girl. the mother kept him in the dark about their daughter ( her reasons were that she didn’t think he was ever going to make a good father due to how much of a workaholic he was ) and he stumbled on the information. he ended up admitting to dorcas he desperately wanted to have a relationship with the child but didn’t know how to and long story short they started dating again, so painfully gradually and casually. dorcas wasn’t always present when he was with his daughter, but she was far from a stranger to the little girl. however, by mid 1980 the war was at its peak and dorcas was leading like 4 parallel lives and going to too many funerals - she was running on fumes and she did have an emotional breakdown once in front of him one time but it was after his daughter caught dragon pox and he assumed she was just overwhelmed and being sensitive ( he was so thrown off that while he was anxious himself he even went as far as cracking a joke about how she was the one who usually kept it together ). in early 1981 he started seeing his daughter more regularly, there was an unofficially joint custody thing going, and he wanted to take their relationship to the next level. not marriage by any means just, something more tangible and sure and clear, primarily because he didn’t want to have someone in his daughter’s life who would just not be in it for the long run. so they sat down and he told her everything that was going on inside his head, he said that it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to be around he just needed to have the conversation with her… and dorcas was sitting there thinking “yes, this is something i want, this doesn’t scare me, this makes me happy, i love this person and i love that little girl like she was mine and i want to grow to love her and her father even more.” so she said she didn’t. she said she wasn’t interested; that he had read her wrong. she thought of the two broken ribs she had some weeks prior and how edgar and his wife and their children were six feet under. they parted away, never spoke again, and she was murdered like 5 months later in july/august. i shared ideas and hcs, but, as an active contributing writer, the story ended here for me. however, the way my former roleplay partner wrote what happened after dorcas’ death goes like this:years later, he ended up marrying the mother of his child ( they were able to reconnect in a healthy way because of how much character development he experienced while dating dorcas ). they had two other children. around twenty years later, the dust of the second war settling and previously private information about both wars was gradually becoming public. one morning his eldest daughter was reading the newspaper and she casually asked mom and dad, sitting at the table with her, if they knew anyone who fought in the first war. they both mentioned a handful of hit wizards and aurors, and that was that - she closed the newspaper dismissively and left to meet with friends. it was summer. i can’t remember if it was later that day or the day after, but he asked her what had prompted her to ask such question and she said there was a face in the newspaper that seemed familiar. he asked her the name of the person, she couldn’t remember only that it was “funny but familiar”, and as she went to get the newspaper she continued that that neither he nor mom had said it. he got his glasses, she opened the newspaper for him in the multi-page article about new information from the first war and pointed at one of the several small moving photographs - the penny dropped as he recognized the face right away.a lot of things made sense after he found out dorcas was a member of the order, it was, in a way a relief for him to discover it because it filled in a lot of blanks ( and it made him feel better in the sense that no, he hadn’t been the problem in their relationship )… but on the other hand it was also highly bittersweet and conflicting, and he had more questions and about a thousand new feelings and emotions to process. the worst part was she had been dead for two decades so it wasn’t as thought he could talk to her about it. i think that ( i can’t remember ) at some point, in anger and frustration, he thought that she should have told him, and then he remembered what he was like and what his views of the order were and he was forced to admit to himself that if she had said anything to him, if she had trusted him with that information, his self from twenty years ago would have been highly judgmental and ended things immediately ( we had an au where this happened and it was the most horrible thing - it was right after an attack and they hadn’t even showered yet and dusted themselves off and he just told her to leave, didn’t even look her in the eye ). eventually he came to terms with her decisions and understood why she had made them and was able to tell his eldest daughter why the women in the photo looked familiar.

i don’t think i’ve had a single ship for dorcas, in any universe, where she ends up happy lmao bottoms up i don’t know how to write happy endings (unless it’s in aus) cheers.

♫ ━ a small playlist

ok so im really really really realllly bad at playlists and i’ve already done one for dorcas here and i don’t want to make another lmao so can i make two mini ones for two of your characters instead?

for robb stark

kids - mgmt

fire - kasabian

everybody’s watching me - the neighbourhood

seven nation army - the white stripes

howl - florence and the machine

afterlife - arcade fire

bonus: heads will roll - yeah yeah yeahs // pretty fly for a white guy - the offspring

for rose tyler

perfect places - lorde

run away with me - carly rae jepsen

the last of the real ones - fall out boy

drops of jupiter - train

adventure of a lifetime - coldplayp

#bonfierhearts #id say sorry about the bonus ones buT lmao #ty so much for asking and im sorry i got a lil carried away #[🌻] answered

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humanoid-whowouldveknown · 6 years

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Basanavičiaus gatvė

Six rooms

Six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. And no rooms with windows to the west. It just happens to be that way.

I didn't relocate too much in my forty plus years; of course, there were hotels, tens of identical clean rooms, but I don't count those. Thus, six rooms.

I asked myself many times, where did this idea come from? Did I read about it? Heard something? Dreamt? Saw in the movies? Finally, I remembered: I created it myself, a very long time ago, while giving my first interview. Well, frankly speaking, the second interview; but, since I had like a dozen of those that day, one after another, unable to even let go of a mug with cold coffee to which I gripped as to a lifebuoy, we can say it was just a single perpetual "first" interview. The journalists were interested in the opinion of a young author of the best architectural project of the year on almost every question possible, from the upcoming parliament elections to another apocalypse that was promised to all individuals interested in participating as early as the end of August. And the "newly baked"celebrity thought about only one thing: how to not publicly blurt out the fact that the idea of participation in the contest and the project itself were simply a joke gone too far. Such statements should be avoided at all costs. Especially if they are true.

At first, it was fun to answer all the trivial questions, but it got boring after about a quarter of an hour before a cute girl in a blue knitted hat suddenly asked: "How would you build your ideal house?" Her brown curls stuck out of the hat; the girl was stunning, one of those women you want to show off to, even when not planning to continue this relationship. This question was a great possibility to present me in the best light. I began expertly discussing: said the topic is utterly irrelevant to the architecture or interior design since the ideal house of any human is from his childhood. Actually, why just childhood? A perfect home is a compilation of all the rooms where you lived in happiness. Quickly calculated - then I only had three poor rooms, but that, of course, was merely a matter of time.

The time added three more rooms, all with a much better design. Meaning not just "whatever I buy goes into the room", but according to the style, taste, and need. It added up to a total of six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony.

However, then it was a chatter, nothing more, prepared specially for a pretty brunette in a blue hat. I would never even think about bringing it to life. Maybe as a project, but who would've ordered something like this madness.

Once, a long time ago, probably before the prize for the best project and before some enthralling changes, which logically followed the victory, my mates and I held a conversation - who would do what if they suddenly turned rich? Won a lottery, found a treasure, got an inheritance, found an ownerless bag full of money, had a cordial conversation with gnomes - whatever the reason. What would we do if we didn't need money? Great Question! I said that I would pursue the same path, just work much more, since the most exciting projects are usually impossibly expensive, but in case there is a lot of money...

"Turns out you're a remarkably happy person!" one of my mates got surprised. I shrugged, "Yeah, I guess." I never thought about it. "Happy" is just a word, who knows what the person means by it. Frankly speaking, all the other words contain the same problem. The walls, roof, windows, doors, stairs, floor, facade, electricity, base are another matter. A house.

I liked the houses. Always. Since birth.

I even married a house. Anna had beautiful long legs, green eyes, and a derisive mind, but, most importantly, she had a giant, old house she inherited from her grandfather. It desperately needed reconstruction, and a perspective of becoming its owner looked so tempting that Anna had to accept my proposal; later she amazedly recalled that she wasn't in love, and didn't want to marry at all, just couldn't withstand my knockout pressure.

When, days before the wedding, Anna found out that she is much richer than could be expected, I got excited: that meant we would have enough money to rebuild the house, even if there shall appear any surprises. I had absolutely no other self-serving impulses. I always believed that poverty is when you don't have enough money for the ongoing project; the wealth appeared as an outstanding opportunity to increase the outlay if needed.

By the time the five-year project was finished, Anna finally decided to live separately for some time. And formulated this offering so delicately that I had no inner protests, just a practical question: "some time" is how long exactly? Like twenty-thirty-forty years? Yep, that's what I thought.

Alright, separately means separately. We have no kids, the cat is indifferent, and the house is already perfection.

One could've said "They parted as friends," but neither of us knew friendship. So we parted as mates. We were far too lazy to divorce, and set these negative thoughts aside, to resolve them later. Whatever "later" meant.

And a couple of years later Anna died, and it seemed not exactly sad, rather absurd. Wild, unbelievable. Anna - and suddenly died. Don't lie to me; it's impossible. Whoever, but not Anna. You don't know her well enough.

Yep, that's precisely what I replied to the call about a date and time of the funeral. And continued replying even after hanging up, arguing with an invisible, inconceivable, indefinite partner, who only condescendingly smiled in return. He already put down his single, yet incredibly destructive trump.

I thought it was a mistake for quite some time after that conversation. Maybe a stupid prank. Anna never joked so dumbly, but everyone has moments of weakness. We can do many things in those moments.

I did go to the funeral though. But it changed nothing.

After learning that I became not just a widower, but a wealthy heir, I got enraged. She wrote a damn last will. She left almost everything for her husband, except for a house that was passed onto her aunt; who would've guessed how jealous Anna was. Here is your gigantic pile of money, dear, but you will not get the house you loved instead of loving me. No letter, no note. Now I must live like an idiot, not having a final conversation, not understanding something important - about Anna, about me, about, perhaps, life.

I thought: what a surprising thing! I was enough with two or three dates every year, and never missed her, but now, when Anna is dead, the world lost color. Maybe not all of it, but a significant portion. And who cares about these damn money?

The money, however, did not disappear from these thoughts. They just lay in my bank account, awaiting their moment. There was no wish to spend them. There was no wish to do anything. I even worked without initiative, just on the inertia, and that was entirely unusual. I didn't know myself, why did this happen. "Middle age crisis," said my coworkers, and gave me numbers of great, competent psychotherapists. I even went a couple of times, more out of curiosity than a hope to get help. All psychotherapists appeared nice, like people you would love to be friends with, meet once a week with a glass of good wine, watch movies with, gossip with, take advice from, discuss the recent books with, got to a vacation together once in a while, rent a house by the sea together, drive a car one-by-one, greet every morning in the shared kitchen, forgive the unexpected bad habits, not get angry at, not make angry.

However, these people couldn't return the either once lost or never existant meaning. They could only teach how to live without it. This was not an option.

I thought: my life was like a summer that you spend in the city when there is a ton of workload, and parties almost every night, and, maybe, a festival you can't skip, and long-legged girls outside of cafes who are willing to communicate; and you spin in an entertaining tornado, presumptuously thinking you are this tornado; and then you realize that August is almost over, and the nights grew longer and colder, and the windowsill is covered in fallen dry, scratchy stars. And it wouldn't matter, but you suddenly remember that you never went to the market for ripe cherries. You didn't even steal them from neighboring trees, though passing them every day. And you sort of understand that it is not a big problem, that cherry is just cherry, a sour berry that grows in late summer, a simple food; but it's still bringing you close to tears, because there was no cherry, so you had no real summer, everyone had one, and you didn't; it's the last day of August, so you can't change anything, because time is ruthless, done, finito, basta.

I thought: the time is ruthless. From the very first day, it begins to crash us in its millstones and never stops. At first, it works carefully, trying not to disturb us, but at some moment, it frees oneself and runs as fast as possible - what's the point of all these ceremonies anyway? Get used to it; you can't escape, this is what your life will forever look like. And when the sound of breaking bones in the millstones gets so loud you can't hear your own voice, they call it "middle age crisis" and give you phone numbers of specialists. They are usually people, just like everyone else, already halfway broken, so they can't help you. The best thing you can do at this point is to find some exciting work to distract yourself from the incomprehensible that you can't stop.

I thought: wait, I have this work. I always have had. Before, while working, I forgot not only about time - about myself! Did it suddenly grow boring? No, I won't let that happen.

So I began looking over unrealized old ideas. The ones that didn't find their customer. The best ones. But they didn't inspire me much either. And, all of a sudden, I remembered: an ideal house as a compilation of rooms one had a happy life in. A funny idea. Way too simple concept and a way too complex creation, plus no one would care enough. I can't even imagine this customer. Who is that psycho and what is going on in his head?

Suddenly, I grinned - this psycho is me. Nice to meet you, congratulations on your new excellent contract. A sane, easygoing, wealthy customer that knows exactly what he wants. Where will you find one like that again? So, how many rooms exactly do we have?

I made a list. A room in my parents' home, where I lived from early childhood until graduation. A room in a big cold flat that I rented together with my three mates. A tiny studio in mansard, where I lived after getting my first job ever. Another studio, larger and much more expensive, a typical "stylish flat of a successful unmarried man" from a glossy magazine, to which I moved when things got better. A cabinet in Anna's house, perfected a couple days before I had to leave it forever. Finally, the present space, thought-through and well-equipped, a perfect working place, sadly not adding to inspiration, though clearing my head in whatever condition I enter it, which is already a lot.

I realized: wow, it appears I was quite happy in every place I lived in. Okay, maybe "happy", "unhappy" are not useful terms, I doubt anyone understands what they mean. But I most definitely had a pretty damn good life, though not recognizing it. Well, at least now, later in my life, I began to understand some things. It's regretful, of course, the fact that I can't re-live my life once again, now definite in its happiness. Unfair. Even the driving tests give you multiple tries, and life is much harder than driving a car. And they, in the sky, have to understand it.

Whatever. No means no.

I drew a line: total - six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. Damn, and how do I find such an apartment? An impossible task.

A then I finally felt the real excitement.

Theoretically, there was a straightforward path: buy land and build a necessary house. But it seemed incorrect. My entire life, I lived in big cities, in multiple-apartment dwellings, and the only exception was Anna's house, but it was stuck between two prominent buildings on the main street and was so huge one could divide it into several separate apartments.

After thinking for some time, I decided to search for a necessary flat. The chances are small, but that's even better. Let it be somewhat a lottery: If I find a matching space - great; if not - I will not do this project, and think of something else.

Nothing would ever happen without Laimė, of course.

Laimė was my old mate, so old that he had to be called a friend already - just for the length of service. Laimė was a realtor, but not a simple one -a golden one, just like the famous chicken's egg, and his service cost accordingly.

I called him and said, "I need a flat". Requirements are six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. After thinking for some more, I added: let it be on the last floor, I'm used to being the closest to the sky, it would be stupid to change that fact... What city? You know what, I almost don't care at all. No, I'm not ready to live on another continent. Let's find something in Europe, the northern or central one - I don't like too hot summer. Start from the capitals and merely large cities with airports, so it's easy to travel since I always have job hell knows where.

Almost a half a year later, when I already began to think that almighty Laimė though this order was a momentous caprice, not worthy of time and skill, he started regularly calling and giving options. Some of them were utterly unsuitable: some had only five rooms, some had a whole eight, some had a room with a window to the west, some with all windows to the north, some had three balconies. Unworthy of even looking at. And all of a sudden, like thunder on a sunny day: looks like Vilnius has precisely what you need. It is not a single flat, but three. All on the same floor, no other neighbors, a shared corridor. A good, brick house, ten minutes away from the Old Town. But, take into account that the biggest flat is in an utterly disgusting condition because for the past couple of decades there lived a few generations of alcoholics. They didn't even build sewage and just kept on doing their stuff into a bucket. My agent almost fainted after entering the space, poor boy. On the positive side, they will sell it for tiny amounts, just as fast as possible before they are thrown out for not paying debts. The owners of the one-room flat, on the contrary, raised the price awfully - a flat in London would cost less. Their neighbors were searching for costumers these two years, but this family never planned to move. However, after realizing how much we need it, they took their chance to enrich the funds. Well, it's their right... Are you going to look at it? You understand, right? It's Lithuania. Not an edge of the world, but pretty damn close. Do you, at least approximately, know where it is?

"Yes," I said, "I know very clearly. Can I look?" And bought a ticket.

The city was tiny - the road from the airport to the center took about ten minutes, and that is if you stand in traffic - and unexpectedly charming. Mariuš, Laimė's local agent, was disconcertingly young and sweet, the pearly light shone through the holes in clouds, front gardens and balconies drowned in flowers, the streets were filled with girls with glassy mermaid eyes and imposing, well fed, colorful cats.

We turned to Basanavičiaus street and parked in front of an old brick house. Walking to the third floor, I was almost deafened by my heartbeat - nervousness took over. I suddenly desired this whole idea to complete - not somewhere-sometime, but here, now, that's it.

I carefully looked through all three of the flats: a three-room, a two-room, and a large light studio, a bit similar to my apartment from meeting-Anna-epoch. In total: six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. Exactly what's needed.

While finishing up the formalities of the purchase I hanged around town all day and night, thinking that after we sign all the documents, I will have no time to wander Vilnius. There will be too much work. Delightful, ravishing, hard work. Thank you, God, for this happiness.

I settled in a small hotel next to my future home; when the studio was free, I moved there. I began to sleep twelve hours a day. The dreams were so beautiful in that flat that wasting them by staying up before the work starts seemed a squander. But I had to be awake for at least half of the day. Though, I wouldn't want to whine about it - an awake man, while being tied up with the chains of cause-effect relationships, still can descend into the Old Town and walk to the intersection of two rivers, the large Neris and small Vilnia, where, according to the legend, knyaz Gediminas spent a night and, after seeing a metal wolf in his dream, got so affected that began building this city. I sat down on the grass, looked at the flowing water, and thought: actually, I would make this city myself if knyaz didn't pass me, lead by a wolf. Great job, they created an awesome city, I have no other comments.

I spent hours walking through the Old Town, observing the houses, climbing into closed yards and porches, drawing, looking, remembering. Insinuated myself with the students of the Arts Academy, and found a guy there who knew all the paths to the city roofs. I was a thankful tourist, positive and quiet: I petted the sun-warm tiles, watched the city from bird-eye view, hugged chimneys, and emotionally whispered to cats, "We are one." The cats looked at me knowingly and nodded in agreement. I thought - who, if not I, will understand the secret behind the charm of this city, calculate a formula of its modest, unobvious, intoxicating and eternal beauty? But I quickly realized: no one can do so. Neither can I. Let it be.

I spent a lot of time in cafes, bought spices and tea in small shops, walked for honey and raspberry to a little, only open on Thursdays market by the river. Quickly developed new habits and preferences, got new things and new mates, took roots. Laughed at myself - wow, finally, - but deep inside of my soul I was satisfied.

A small granny on the market whispered to me about a product - "shoes for dreams" made of soft felt. She explained: their soles have special signs embroidered on bottoms, which leave trails in every, even the vaguest dreams. It's beneficial for the ones who want to be guaranteed that they will wake up in their beds, whatever dreams they have. I got amazed by this creative fantasy but bought the shoes anyway. Told myself that I only did it to help the granny's strange business. However, from then on, I never fell asleep without those shoes. They were very warm. Good purchase.

When I first left Vilnius for a business trip, I felt so lost that I had to return as soon as possible, meaning almost three days before I thought I would. I paid a ton for the ticket change, flew with two confusing stops - in Vienna and Riga - but it didn't matter. Only home did.

Home. Who would've known?

Finally, the last tenants left. I could begin the work.

It's about time. All of a sudden, I got so much energy that I walked almost not touching the earth, outraced my own reflection in the windows, and put the coffee mug on the table seconds before taking the first sip. The workers I hired to destroy the old walls and build the new ones, bringing room sizes closer to their distant prototypes, claimed their boss had a terrible trait - he could be in two rooms at once and, at the same time, clearly observe what happened in the third.

I sympathetically laughed, listening to their complaints, but kept all of the workers in their place. Especially myself.

Just as I guessed from the beginning, the hardest of all was the childhood room. The wallpaper alone was incomprehensible.

This wallpaper was brought to me as a gift by my uncle from Germany. There were large amanitas painted on top, all transformed into residential houses - with doors, windows, chimneys sticking out of the pileus. The inhabitants of these mushroom dwellings - fat male hedgehogs in satin vests, female hedgehogs in starchy aprons, solid male hares in frock coats, female hares in frivolous mob caps with ribbons, dandy ladybugs in derbies, and gangling grasshoppers in spectacles - peeped out from the lace curtains, smoked pipes on the porches, had picnics in the yards, and danced on the wry trails between giant daisies. It's tricky to find such a beauty forty years later.

I hoped for a miracle, called many people from different countries, but never found anything similar to the wallpapers with mushroom houses. So I had to draw them from memory. In about a month it became resemblant, but still clearly wrong - either the colors, or the proportions, or the expressions on hares' faces were off. Most likely all at once.

I kept on thinking just about the wallpaper. Every evening, before falling asleep, no matter how tired I was, I worked a bit on the sketches. Laughed at myself, playfully cursed my dead uncle - thank you so much for your present! I hope you shall dance with these hares until the Doomsday. And even after, according to the sentence. The maximum-security paradise awaits you, dear.

Hoping for a hint, I bought from the internet-flea market: old German postcards, magazines, children books with illustrations, and other nostalgic staff.

The hint unexpectedly awaited me in a dream. I heard many stories about people solving impossible problems in their dreams, but never believed it - what a nonsense. And, all of a sudden, I get this dream: a white door of my childhood room, a brown linoleum, thick red sienna curtains, an uneven edge of thin tulle, a low wooden bed with a once blue, but now faded murky-cyan cover. In the corner, there is a big cardboard box painted in red - for the toys, and one more, blue, for the books. By the window stands an old, double pedestal table made of dark wood, too big for a child. It was only comfortable to work on about two years before graduation. On one side of the table stands an oval drawing of a serious girl with a blue ribbon in her dark brown hair. With surprise, I remembered: wait, we were good friends with her, and I never kept a single secret away from this girl. She was terrific at comforting and never said any unnecessary words. For quite a long time, I believed she was a fairy from the wonderland, that traveled to live on my table and keep me company. One of the walls was covered in half-a-dozen handmade paper puppets, the ones we drew and glued together with my dad. Wow, how could I forget? It's such an important detail, just like the girl with a blue ribbon! I thought that the only problem is the wallpaper.

After waking up, I rushed to draw it down, before forgetting. My visual memory was always retentive, some of my coworkers even said, "phenomenal," but here we have a dream, and I never tried to remember dreams in general, let alone the details.

I tore myself away from the paper only after realizing how much I need to go to the bathroom; after returning, I looked at the clock and sighed: four in the evening. You know, I got up at sunrise. I didn't even drink coffee.

The sketch, however, looked pretty decent, and the puppets were almost perfect - one could say they are done. Said out loud, "Finally, something started happening". I whispered it, although I wanted to scream from excitement, halfway out of the window.

That's precisely what I did a half a year later when I got samples of the printed wallpaper. They weren't just "like real," they were actually real. And it felt like a miracle; technically, it was a miracle, which is why I happily opened the window and shook the winter air with my three-time "Yes!"

The passers, though, acted very delicately. Not a single person even raised their head to rubberneck at a screaming psycho. And not a single cloud that swirls by one's mouth on a cold day turned into a question mark. Big deal, delighted screams. Some people do crazier things.

It only got easier. Even the old drawing, the girl with a blue ribbon, appeared at an old collector's shop, held by a bored ancient man in the far corner of the flea market. In the same shop, there was a blue cover, exactly like the one in my parents' house; it was merely a matter of technique to fade and age it. The table was built from my sketch, and a sad brown linoleum happened to be in the building materials store on the outskirts of the town - the fortune has to be complete.

The handmade puppets were ready long before we could glue the wallpaper, but I didn't stick them on the walls. Instead, I put them into the locker. I just suddenly decided - it would be amazing if the work on all of the rooms finishes at once. It's simple, there will be some minor, yet an essential detail that one may hide and then, on the last day, put it on the required spot. I had no idea why this seemed so critical, but I was happy for finally listening to my intuition, the one I thought of so highly in my youth, but then insensibly either lost or just forgot about in the multi-voice inner noise.

In total, the work with the childhood room took more than a year to complete - with some breaks for other matters that slowly began to disappear. I finished up all the old responsibilities and tried not to take up the new ones. The idea of working on the flat on Basanavičiaus street like I used to work on Anna's house - in the time free from the main work - seemed stupid. Because the moment I began, I realized which work is the "main" one now. And it felt great.

The other rooms were even easier than the childhood one, - meaning they gladly came to me in dreams, showing themselves from a necessary angle - watch and memorize. This fortune made me wish I could take my pencil and sketchbook into the dreams, but it didn't work. I tried putting it next to my head or in my pajamas - it just didn't appear in the dream.

Well, still amazing. Without these dreams, I would probably not recall all the posters and placards that I stuck to the walls of the room I rented as a student. And the stupid orange blanket with giraffes that used to help me a lot in those years; the rug, by the way, had to be ordered too since it was a unique object.

And the paintings of my friends on specially primed walls in the tiny mansard I remembered too vaguely before. And the big bright splashes of paint, supposedly made by mistake, with which I decorated the floor and furniture, would also be forgotten. And I completely forgot that, for example, in the "stylish flat of a successful unmarried man" there were paper planes everywhere because I almost manufactured them out of anything I saw while thinking. And on the windowsill of the cabinet in Anna's house sat a rag bear, made of colorful patches. Anna constantly created these bears; she said it calmed her down. Slowly, thoughtfully, she picked the colors and patterns, stuffed the bears with herbs that she collected in the park and everywhere else she could, so her bedroom always smelled like the end of summer, the sunny dust of a hot August midday and the freshness of first cold nights. And it's so sad that I can't talk to her about it all anymore - now, that the whole world, including Anna and her rag bears, became an utterly incomprehensible, yet incredibly important thing, the spy cipher with instructions that are locked by a long-lost key. Now, idiot, you have to sit and think about the meaning of it all.

My mates were worried. Or rather curious. They asked - some delicately, some unceremoniously: where did you go? What happened? Why are you stuck in Vilnius? What the hell can you possibly do in that dump anyway? What do you want there?

Telling the truth is tedious and ungrateful. Especially when you don't know it yourself. There was no one, in the entire world, that could understand the concept of six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. Maybe just that journalist girl in a blue hat, but where will I find her now? Which is why I said that I got a girlfriend here, it's all love, happens, you know.

On a large scale, the love part was completely truthful. The details are no one's business.

I was completely sure that no one would come to check. In this sense, a flat in Vilnius is much better than, say, a house in Province, which brings you to a terrible realization of how many close friends you have and how much they miss you.

I was right - no one came.

The work took up almost five years. And only thinking back after it was done, I finally realized that I began something impossible to do. And, somehow, I completed this impossible task - these were not just fantasies about my past dwellings, but exact copies of those rooms. I couldn't believe it myself.

It's worthless to ask yourself: "So? What's the point? Why did you do it all?" When you are doing the impossible, the answer is obvious: so it exists. Because humankind is itself the impossible, whatever it says.

So I tried not to think at all, just do, work nonstop, be happy about completing the parts, get tired, fall on the bed, see dreams, wake up happy and work again, breath in, breath out, exist.

On the first day of summer, I told myself: "done." I put the puppets on the wall, stuck a poster of "Led Zeppelin" on my student's room, drew a bright yellow blot on the floor of the small studio. I folded a small plane from a dark-blue napkin, set a rag bear on the windowsill. In the last room, I put a mirror ball, the one I bought when I started missing Anna's cat, - for the bright light reflections. The sunny bunnies. They could make good pets, funny and effortless.

I winked at my deformed reflection - that's it. The reflection didn't wink back. It kept seriously examining me as if it tried to understand who it belongs to and does it really want to belong to this person.

All of a sudden, I got scared. I didn't exactly know of what, but it was so strong, I ran off to the street without even changing, happily with the coat I automatically grabbed from the corridor. The wallet in my pocket allowed me to change from the working cloth into a new one in the nearby shop. I couldn't make myself go back into the flat for money and documents.

I spent two nights in the hotel, not sleeping at all on the first one, and making myself take sleeping medicine on the second one. First time in five years. After resting, the fear completely disappeared, so in the morning I couldn't understand why did I run away from my perfect house instead of celebrating the end of the project there. I probably just got too tired - that's the only logical description.

After breakfast, I returned to Basanavičiaus street. Got inside of the house, climbed to the third floor. Walked around all of the rooms, feeling neither fear nor happiness, just a patient satisfaction of a man that completed good work. Finished it, and that's great. Now he can live.

I spent the evening thinking which room should I sleep in. Still couldn't choose, so I threw a dice. It's very comfortable: six sides, six rooms in a chronological pattern, so it's easy to use.

Number one - meaning, the childhood room. I thought that it seems logical.

I spent a long time searching for my "shoes for sleeping," but couldn't find them anywhere. Did I throw them away with trash? Well, what else can you expect from a man who ran away from his own reflection a few days ago?

I fell asleep shoeless.

When I woke up, the room was filled with light. I lay under the blanket for some time, happy with an opportunity to wake up whenever I want, not when the alarm rings, - this is summer! Observed the pictures on the walls. If you look at them long enough, the animals begin to move, walk through the trails, nod to their neighbors, smoke pipes. It's better than any cartoon.

I lay on my back, face up, looking at the wall where fat hedgehogs almost began dancing on the meadow, when the boys in the yard scream: "When are you coming outside?" I stand up, walk to the open window and scream in reply: "In a half an hour."

#the tales of old Vilnius #vilnius #I don't own the text #translator #max frei #fiction #story #stories #experimental fiction

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lids-flutter-open · 6 years

Text

a thing i wrote for the rabbi in preparation for finishing my conversion

1. How did you get to be sitting here today - tell me your story, how you learned to love Judaism, why you aren't x-tan anymore

I grew up in Olympia, Washington. My mother was "spiritual" but not specifically religious, and took us to a Unitarian Universalist church. I think this was a good experience for me, because it connected time in church ("church") to time talking about social justice concerns, and to caring about other people in a concentrated way. The UU church fed people at a shelter and raised money for environmental causes. I think it informed my principles as a person, even though my mother stopped taking us after a while. My father, whose mother was fairly fervently Methodist, didn't like religion. As a child, I associated religion proper--the kind of Christianity that other people did, for instance--with being asked to believe in something that was impossible, and the moral logic of religion, and especially Christianity as my grandmother knew it, didn't make a lot of sense to me. I was without any kind of religion throughout high school. I often felt depressed and anxious; I was gay and trans, and even after my parents began supporting me, many of my friends faced bullying, homelessness, mental health crises, and abuse. As I learned more about war, iniquity, and imperialism, I often felt like the world as it existed was beyond help, and that too many people suffered for the world to have any order. During that time, as I participated in LGBT groups around my town, I met some friends who were Jewish and coming into what that meant to them. I had really interesting conversations around Jewish ideas of God and morality with my friend Levi, who had grown up in a very racist town in Nevada and who embraced the idea of an all-knowing God who at the same time was mysteriously and frustratingly absent and who one had to both believe in and be angry at. In college, I took a class on European Jewish literature since the 1800s and read a lot of literature (from Gluckel von Hameln to Irene Nemirovsky and Stefan Zweig and Marx and Freud) accompanied by the analysis of a very gay older professor who tried very hard to keep his analysis secular while giving us religious concepts to provide context for the significance of writers' desperation, alienation, and struggle. A central idea that stuck with me from that class was the paradox of a God who has issued laws which everyone must follow for the salvation of the world even though nobody is sure exactly how to follow them. It combined the comforting and somewhat idealistic certainty that there was a plan with the sensible conclusion that, based on the chaos and horror extant in the world today, nobody was enforcing that plan and for practical purposes humanity was on its own to solve its problems. I also was fascinated that the ideas of Marx, and the ideas of many of the people who tried to formulate socialist states from the ruins of monarchies in the early 20th century, were influenced by the Jewish messianic tradition and were part of the idea that people themselves could bring on the dawn of the ultimate, perfect era of life on Earth if we only worked together and worked hard enough. It's romantic, but I pictured Jewish socialists motorcycling across the Russian steppe (as indeed they did, when carrying news during the 1918 crisis), imagining that their work might fix what everyone else had gotten wrong. I like Judaism because it recognizes humanity's messiness and mistakes, including prophets. It notes the arguments people have had, the different views people take, the times people have seriously messed up and faced consequences for it, the times people have seriously messed up and faced no consequences. It is concerned with bodies and matter and daily practice more than with immortal souls, but also speaks about souls and love and hope. It remembers, and it watches, and it hopes for the day where the word of G-D becomes something real--something explicitly material--, and tries to work for it, but admits that there may or may not be a clear path to get there. At the same time, it motivates me to do work in the world directed outwards, toward helping people. 2. Tell me about God / spirituality / prayer. What does that all mean to you?

I like thinking of God as the connection that exists between people, and anything good, but also as something boundless, beyond good and evil, and utterly incomprehensible to human identity, morality, etc. God is in the wonder of a wave crashing down on the sand. God is the potential for good things to happen because God is the potential for anything to happen, and when someone is a human, the best potential is that humans can come together and fix something, or figure out a way to care for each other better. Prayer is also being glad to be alive, to see candles or smell smoke or feel one's arms working in the morning. I pray because I believe there's some way to tap into that sort of divine similarity I have with all other beings and all other matter and make something happen that's good. I also think there is a lot to be said for the way Jewish prayer emphasizes sensual pleasure and simple appreciation of one's material body and material existence. I think God is a way for me to understand all bodies as good, for all experiences of bodies to be divine, even if they are painful.

3. What are some meaningful Jewish rituals / practices that you do and why are they important to you?

I observe Shabbat by avoiding grocery shopping, laundry, and travel on that day, and by trying to spend time with friends. I attend services on Friday nights and some Saturday mornings at CBE. In the last year, I have also observed the Jewish holidays of Shavuot, Tisha b'Av, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Simchat Torah, Hannukah, Purim and Pesach. On Rosh Hashanah, I made food for my friends, including two new friends from my synagogue, even though my apartment is pretty small, and tried to incorporate foods traditional to the new year like apples and honey, round challah, and other foods. I observed Tisha b'Av and Yom Kippur by fasting, and throughout the month of Elul I thought a lot about the things in my life I wanted to change and about calamities I wanted to do something to prevent or to help people recover from. I read a book recommended by Rabbi Katz (This is Real and You're Completely Unprepared by Alan Lew) in order to better approach the holiday from a mindset of introspection and reconciliation with the parts of myself I wanted to leave behind. I also took a new appreciation of the themes of Elul and Yom Kippur with me as I rewatched Angels in America, which deals a lot in Jewish reconciliation, forgiveness, and death. On Hannukah I went to friends' houses in order to eat latkes and other oily foods and also engaged in conversations about the dubious victory of the Maccabees/when a revolution becomes a repressive regime. On Purim I went to party and attended services, and thought about what it means to survive something terrible and what it means to ask for revenge or to make up a story where you get revenge, and what the difference is. On Passover I was with friends in 2017 and 2018, talking about freedom, human trafficking, refugees, motherhood and reproductive freedom, and a list of other issues that seem more relevant every year. In 2018 I also learned songs, both traditional and more recent. In terms of everyday rituals: I try to give to people who ask for things. I try to care for people in my life who I value. I try to think critically and to better myself and to improve the world. I try to criticize tyrants. I try to be thankful for my body. I try to forgive people, and also to think carefully about when someone deserves forgiveness. I try to rigorously evaluate my standards for living a decent life and see if they are good enough. I try to remember history. I think about how the lessons of Torah relate to my life and what wisdom that text contains that I can apply to my life and sometimes make Spotify playlists related to books of the Torah. I try to read the weekly parsha and think about it critically. I read feminist books about Judaism and read fiction by Jewish authors. 4. What do you still want to learn / read about when you are Jewish?

I want to learn Hebrew so I can comfortably read in services in either language. I want to learn more about the history of Jewish people in the United States and around the world, because even as I learn more there is still a lot I have missed out on.

5. What Hebrew name are you thinking of having? And Why? Zev as a biblical name originates from a reference to Benjamin, who is called "a wolf that raveneth". The text refers to Benjamin-as-wolf killing prey in the morning and dividing spoils in evening. But there isn't much reference to whether Benjamin actually ever does any killing, though he gave rise to the line that included Ehud, Saul and, supposedly, Mordecai. Some consider the term "ravenous Wolf" not to refer to war at all but to refer to Temple sacrifices. Benjamin is known in rabbinic tradition as being a uniquely upstanding, sin-free person, and is also notable for being the youngest son of Rachel, and the last child of Jacob. When I was considering names for myself as a fifteen-year-old after coming out as trans, I considered Benjamin (on the advice of my therapist!) because of Rachel trying to name Benjamin Benoni after her pain and death, but failing. The name represented a triumph above origin while also presenting a puzzle because the actual etymology of the name is contested--it means son of days, son of the south, etc etc. But I didn't choose Benjamin as a name then, and I don't want to choose it now, because it's too full of a story and too precise. I like Zev because, though it's technically an allusion to this character, it also just means Wolf. I like that there are aspects of Benjamin's life I could step into, but don't want to draw parallels between myself and a biblical character every time I say my name. I like wolves, and have since I was a child, because they are both powerful and dangerous but also care for one another. Researchers studying wolves have found that in the wild they are far more communal and less aggressive toward each other than they are in captivity or under stress. I think that the protective powers of the wolf, and also the familial bonds between wolves, is something I want to emulate. I want to step into a different aspect of the name than Zev Jabotinsky, whose militancy and ferocity I think are antithetical to building an enduring, peaceful, prosperous future for humanity and other species on this planet.

#judaism #conversion #jewish conversion #text/#religion/

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elizabethrobertajones · 7 years

Text

13x07 Watching Notes

Should probably not have multiple scenarios where I snark out loud and then the very next line of dialogue is that snark but innocently delivered.

Heyooo it’s not our Christmas cliffhanger though!

Expectations: It has literally just occurred to me right now sitting down to type out my expectations that this season's *entire* main plot so far has been "the spawn of satan is cuter than we expected".

I'm still trying to wrangle the idea of how you get hours of Buckleming plot twists and slow exposition out of this, although introducing 18 different angles for them to tackle the problem and returning us to the AU world is a good start to have at least 4 plot threads going and hey I feel like this episode is supposed to be a breather for having too many Jack episodes in a row which makes it even funnier that they're gonna have to deal with the absence of something but who knows maybe he will show up before episode 9. If not they may genuinely be tricked into considering narrative negative space in some form or another, at least by the actual omission of Jack from the episode, despite the fact it has to be about him.

There's like at least 3 individual ways each arc might go terribly, and I'm typing this as pre-yoga thoughts while trying to do my NaNoWriMo and I watched Brooklyn 99 already this morning, and essentially I'm pretty much just bracing against "Oh god this new sleep pattern is the worst and it has ruined nearly every episode this season for me" migraines. So I'm just gonna be super chill because the stress of this ridiculous bed at 8pm awake at 5am thing is killing me without bad writing on my favourite show.

So, instead of modelling a worst case scenario, here's a best case one: it's crowded, the pacing is bad, there's some bizarre lines of dialogue and no room for any character interaction and the sneak peek already showed us the sum total of Destiel interaction but in hindsight with the rest of the episode that's actually a plus, and aside from that there's no rape or catastrophic bad decisions or characterisation that just makes our guys look like idiots because the villains aren't that smart and they're still outwitting them or something. Cas wasn't even mentioned in the episode description if I recall and I would like to think that is because he gets Buckleminged in the way where they forget he exists so he's in 2 scenes and just kinda stops at some point and that's the last we hear of him for a few episodes but at least nothing happened to him :P

(It HELPS that the bad decision of the year seems like it should be Jack and Kaia ganging up in 13x09 and this is just a plot filler episode where they can't blow everything up from sheer incompetence, since the main plot is still Jack, and all Buckleming can do is escalate stuff but not so much we find Jack, so they're mostly running free with Lucifer, Michael and Asmodeus on the playground they've been permitted to keep them distracted. On the other hand, that does not lend itself towards 'storytelling structure' whatsoever. So I may derive some fun from mentally re-writing this episode as it goes as well.)

Hi I'm back and I have tea and preemptive paracetamol and look I not do crap like this lightly but the only thing wrong with me is sleep and yoga but glug glug glug down the hatch, I'm not fucking around, migraine. I swear to god if I even see a HINT of you...

I should also mention that my only prep for this episode was watching Tall Tales last night with my mum because we're lightly re-watching season 2 and I thought you know what look how far that fucker has come that he's just one of the show's regular directors now or something. I forgot that completely this morning so I'm amending my expectations (it WAS annoyingly early in the day) to add that Speight hasn't directed a Buckleming yet but I'm interested to see how he handles it.

The episode starts with Mary cheerfully punching Lucifer at least 3 times in the face. I am still extremely proud of her for doing that but overall disappointed that it's led to her banishment to be a Buckleming character this season, which has been a fast way to ruin characters.

We get the entire first minute of the recap in Buckleming POV, aka they write the corny villains - and specifically a lot of Asmodeus point of view, his summary of the situation and what needs doing, having graciously inherited this throne, and comments on where Lucifer is as a sort of trailing off, well that's not my concern if he's gone. Only at the minute mark does the recap flip around to something genuinely ABOUT Jack as we've been seeing him, rather than trying to sell Jack as woooo Lucifer's scaaary son. Suddenly Jack's own identity crisis and him leaving.

Maybe it's just because they were trimming for time, but they cut the "all of you" from "I know I'm going to hurt you" but they also left the focus on Sam. I am mostly amused that by removing the clarification - which has been a theme of the season - it reduces that moment to a bare minimum surface layer, as if to say bye bye writing depth hello random action.

I had a burgeoning theory last year from one episode or another that pretty much everyone is lampooning Buckleming while letting them get on with writing their stuff, and trying to run loops around them in basically any other way.

There was something going on on screen involving a lot of stock footage while I was digging around in my bag looking for my 3DS assuming this was gonna be a Lucifer scene. I still think they're softening him up to kill him, but that's something I have to hope. One of the other non-redemption options is that they need to make him at least halfway manageable if he is gonna end up working with Cas or something. There is something vaguely appropriate matching Buckleming dialogue to Lucifer melodramatics, but unfortunately I really can't give these writers or that character much of a chance so while I'm happy to let them take him to play with over on their bit of the story like a chew toy to keep them off the stuff I like, it is annoying this is all the canon of the show I like >.>

One or the other of Buckleming really really dislikes God and organised religion though, and that does often lend the interesting thing to an episode where for some reason as soon as religion is involved the writing actually gets halfway decent.

One thing Lucifer says that catches my interest is his idea the universe is written without irony, when tbh that has literally been his downfall in season 5, and in general the universe is ironic to the WINCHESTERS to whom the universe is actually happening to, and there's the whole Dean is the centre of the universe thing, and THEN there's Billie's line about how sometimes the universe is poetic, coupled with how Dean got Cas back entirely through dramatic irony. I can't remember if Chuck commented on dramatic irony. Anyway Lucifer sucks, the story doesn't happen to him and he doesn't have the resources to read it. Metatron *thrived* on that sort of thing.

I like the visual of Michael standing with the sun behind him - it gives him absolutely the divine look he'd love to have, and I just wish he didn't have randomly shirtless Lucifer taking up some of that visual. If someone doesn't make a gifset chopping Lucifer out to just enjoy that image, I will make one, perhaps.

Something else to enjoy about this: they locked Mark P in some sort of medieval torture device and no matter how comfy you try and make it, there's obvious limits to that, so I will enjoy that he had to do that.

Michael sees that Lucifer is scared of being locked up and caged, which actually is... accidentally or not... a pretty clever callback, although it wouldn't have killed them to have Michael deduce this on screen, because in 9x18 Dean - Michael's vessel - deduces that Gadreel - a blatant Lucifer parallel in many respects while obviously not in many many others - is terrified of being caged again.

Of course that exchange is one of the single most fascinatingly well-acted exchanges of the entire show which on my umpteenth viewing still knocks me completely flat so it's not a FAIR comparison, but it is an interesting one.

I like that Michael think that the main universe is already paradise - in comparison to his shithole, definitely, because it still has pretty stock footage. Thematically interesting since obviously paradise is a bit of an issue with what people want...

LOL Wanek's ridiculous "concrete bunker" set... The camera pulls back and there's a massive Jesus on the wall and Lucifer's hanging behind him screeching and it's like... That is an inanimate lump of wood and I can see it rolling its eyes at you.

In the earlier moments out here in the AU we saw the church from 8x23 poking up out of the rubble, and whether this is the same one or not NOW, because I think it was a bit too buried to be this one, it conjures the memory of 8x23, and that one was interesting specifically because Jesus wasn't there - the cross had only his hands and feet remaining and the rest had been torn down. Sam was inserted into that empty space because he was doing the big heroic world-saving sacrifice that from one direction of pure irony the episode was named after (since he decided not to do it/the real motives for his sacrifice were way more interesting than him going through with it heroically anyway etc) but it was another Sam and Jesus moment, like in 5x22 where he more straight-forwardly sacrificed himself.

(And jeeze you watch one episode with the guy and now I can't get him out of my head - remembering in 9x18 Gabriel snarking about how he died for their sins and then making one of the few Jesus references on the show. Jesus is usually extremely absent from this show, so actually having him on screen is very interesting)

Anyway I am pretty sure this is almost entirely to remind Lucifer what a great big fucking drama queen he is being about this all and of course he's sacrificing for nothing.

Blah blah promo scene.

They have the photo of Jack from Mia's security camera which means no one has snapped a cute picture of him on their phone yet, Cas included. Disappointing.

Now, I'm pretty hesitant to get into characterisation in BL episodes, and Dean just generically wryly comments on how powerful Jack is which could mean anything but Sam then says he might be covering his tracks and then Cas, who has to be written sympathetic to Jack, comes through the door saying that it could mean Jack is in trouble with the various forces that want to control him. Sam's comment coupled with Cas's interruption seems to make it much more likely that Sam's comment is to be taken as vaguely unnerved/suspicious of what Jack can do, and that he's doing things like that Dean implies. That Jack learned so fast he might be able to cause a fair amount of destruction but conceal it from them and if they're trying to track him, Sam is expecting destruction.

Dean also came from the kitchen with coffees so why is Cas coming from the back of the Bunker... I'm gonna have to assume he was until just now lounging around in Dean's bed and Dean was like I better go get coffee and help Sam and Cas was like yeah but thanks for the 'sorry your son ran away' sex i feel a lot better and Dean was like no problem babe, and probably gave Cas one of those ridiculous shoulder nudges in the most no homo way ever before he got up to find where they threw his underwear an hour earlier, and Cas just kinda chilled while Dean was getting the coffee so as not to be suspicious by piling in on Sam after taking the exact same length break from the search but then they fucked it up and still managed to enter the scene within 30 seconds of each other.

Yeah, that's probably it.

I just saw the list of guest stars wander by and took 3 emergency gulps of my tea at that combo of Osric and for some reason DHJ because file that under genuinely unexpected :P

PS: I know we knew Kevin would be back this year but the fact I managed to find Kevin thematic stuff in the last 2 episodes in a row still feels important to me as storytelling rather than foreshadowing.

Anyway Cas tries to tell Dean the angels don't like him, and Dean volunteering to go with him because "i could go with you" is a thing and they keep doing it to each other and ow

Blah blah we could work a case. Are you serious? I really seriously hope this is not literally Buckleming's thought process about wtf do we do with Sam and Dean this episode after establishing maybe 4-5 other plotlines we need to handle away from them. I hope it turns out to be directly main plot related, whatever they stumble on, but we already now have them in a position where any involvement with the main stuff will be them stumbling on it or it coming to them. See above: ways in which the main characters are automatically made to be stupid. Subtle things, like not being able to imagine a way in which Sam and Dean are resourceful enough to even start to find Jack which doesn't involve googling things.

I mean we have no clue what you're doing with this random witch seeming case, why can't you bring a detail foreward if it's from the main plot to give us a clue. And if it's not, tell us something connected to it which will at least make Sam and Dean interested in it as a lead? Even if they're not right about why, put them on the trail because they're good at their jobs!

Anyway hi Asmodeus? As soon as we clear the promo scene etc I start assuming everyone is Asmodeus

I mean, in this case it literally is. but you can't trust anyone these days.

He needs to have his equivalent scene to sitting around in the Bunker googling, which, which is to say, the same type of minions who brought Crowley or Lucifer news are now coming toadying in to tell Asmodeus news, and the only difference is his name is harder to spell.

He's trying to do the same thing reaching out to Jack that we saw Lucifer trying to do last season, to Dagon. There is always the possibility that Asmodeus just isn't powerful enough to get into Jack's head from this extreme range when he has no idea where he is. Loser.

This minion seems to be mistakenly labelling Jack as "the Jack", maybe not as a mark of respect but more misunderstanding what he is, that he's not a thing, that that's his name...

Asmodeus asks who's protecting Jack, and cut to the image of Jesus again. I don't know about him, but tbh it could just be that Jack is protecting HIMSELF and they've massive underestimated him to do that. Jesus on this show represents a lot more of the personal autonomy saving yourself thing.

Also hey as long as we're not seeing Jack, we're getting that gosh darned hole in the narrative that he represents while he's missing. Is this actually a lesson in subtlety?

Michael meanwhile is enjoying tormenting Lucifer some more because blah blah sole purpose in life and what do you even do when you win.

Lucifer appears to have claimed to be a god in the SPN verse and Michael's like, here you're pathetic, and I'm like, mate, he was pretty pathetic in the main SPN universe too

There's some cool crosses on the walls which are trying to help, bringing light into this church.

Yeah where is Mary anyway - I wasn't gonna ask, but then Lucifer seemed to imply that Michael was keeping her around.

I mean sheesh the easiest way to get Mary around is to just have her in the scene still lurking but then film it as if it's almost entirely from her eyeballs POV if she doesn't have anything else to be doing right now - having her witnessing this theatre as the person from the main SPN world who's come over here.

KEV

Awwww he's gone a wee bit off the rails in this world, seeing as he'd have had to be helping Michael and reading tablets the entire time and also the entire world appears to be destroyed.

I don't know why Lucifer's having a personal reaction to Kevin unless I totally forgot something but they were literally never in the same seasons as each other although weirdly both in 11x21 so obviously must just be angels would know all the prophetsand which one was currently active... Maybe he's just surprised that in the AU Kevin survived even longer than he did in the supposedly better world.

Well there aren't any Winchesters in this one and Lucifer always underestimates them, in this case positively re: likelihood of getting Kevin killed :P

Oh great they're powering down Lucifer a bit. Well that should make him much more irritating.

I mean mostly because everything makes him irritating.

But it means the show wants him around some more but they can't have him at full power because it's just inconvenient so now they're finding a reason to water him down so they can have him around dragging his heels and complaining. I suppose it might make some comparisons to Cas, who's on a smidgen of left-over grace, but again, see also: eye rolling wooden Jesus, there's no way you can redeem Lucifer and not by comparing him to Cas.

Metatron got some sort of treatment but he was nowhere near like Cas even when he was done being redeemed and he still had to be killed off doing a heroic thing rather than let him stick around.

I'm just grinding my teeth and I already got part of the way through the next scene but UGH

So hey thinking of random versions of other characters why is DHJ's magnificent facial hair making a cameo return role on this side of the interdimensional nosense? You can't just grow a beard and start hunting witches on the down low on the winchesters' turf.

I'm assuming including DHJ's names in the credits was specifically some sort of nonsense now

specifically monsters going around looking like other things.

Maybe it was a shapeshifter Ketch punched a few weeks ago. It's only been a few weeks since he died, you know.

Maybe it's Asmodeus.

Maybe it's maybelline

The plot reason for the beard had better be hilarious.

I like Daniella the Beret Witch. For some reason I thought she looked tons like the witch Sam and Dean were looking at on the CCTV but when I went back to look I actually spotted her in the background watching them and waiting to make her move, and she doesn't look like the one on the CCTV at all so I guess my brain clocked her and filed her away because she was sitting around in a huge scarf, sunglasses and a beret and my brain didn't want me to not pay attention to her in case she was useful.

Kevin's weirdly pristine but still grey hoodie is making me giggle. He looks like the AU has barely touched him and Michael's even dirty and ragged.

I'm not sure I even want to touch random morality discussions from Buckleming. Lucifer says Michael is pure evil, Kevin says "aren't you Satan?" and Lucifer really hasn't done anything ever to make us actually want to root for him. Like sure Michael is the much worse bigger bad in the show's rankings but that doesn't make Lucifer less quanitifiably evil. Michael's way more complex because Lucifer is the big cartoon evil that Sam had to originally fear, the "what if I am actually evil" character mirror that obviously Sam isn't but it meant Lucifer needed no character complexity other than whiny manipulative interpretations of how he'd been mistreated where he could protest he had a side. Michael is waaaay more complex just in the like 2 episodes he actually talks in season 5 because he's "what if Dean was the big bad" and he's not evil, he's just 100% black and white morality rigid "good" in the sense of punishing evil, to the point of not questioning an order to kill his brother, and not even having a particularly "cool motive still murder" approach like Cain, but literally just like well okay then I guess I will kill my brother. How to make DEAN evil, or to personify the darkness that lives in him.

I mean I am massively simplifying but dear lord Buckleming if you read my notes this is the baseline direction you need to be writing these characters from and I am trying to HELP.

I am genuinely feeling like you're mistaking "apparent fan favourite because they make a lot of memes about him, Lucifer" as "this must mean people genuinely like him because he's Lucifer" and any possible reason I would find him interesting as a villain who was held up to just kinda exist and be himself doing his awful things contrasted to Michael who was just around existing and doing his awful things, is all just draining away down the toilet. Like you've got Lucifer lodged in there and you're flushing and flushing around him >.>

Anyway I'm going to take this entire scene as 100x more ironic than it was probably originally intended to be, that Kevin is not exactly right about Michael (and lol, Michael being the Dean parallel just kinda using Kevin all the time for random spells and always having him on the hook for doing things for them) but he's sure not wrong about Lucifer, Lucifer protesting Michael is evil because he's mistreating him and has destroyed this planet sure isn't WRONG but it's not a "so therefore I must be right"

And I kind of think the level of subtlety this writing is at is that "Michael is a dick and therefore Lucifer looks better in comparison"

But that's not how any of this works

*insert Jesus eyeroll*

*pats poor overworked manic AU!Kevin's hair*

I wonder if he's actually going to be able to do it

it would be HILARIOUS if they waste Lucifer's grace on this

Hey he did it, I'm proud of you AU!Kev. He always manages to do the thing :P

Okay not good that Lucifer has just been thrown back because A: Mary is still trapped over there, I assume for the much more important emotional arc stuff to do with rescuing her especially in the parallel to getting Cas back and all this stuff for Sam's arc and all

But UGH the writing of Lucifer is just really annoying me on so many levels and punting him back into the main SPN universe depowered and humbled by his brother, just annoys me so much.

Like I don't know how much more less enthused I have to be about Lucifer having struggles.

Boo hoo

Last season Dean got mistaken for homeless after he got hit with the memory spell, and was offered cash to make him go away.

he handled it considerably better than Lucifer.

I am just gonna assume this random woman is Asmodeus.

Lucifer probably ought to go grab that cash he was offered...

Oh wait here's Asmodeus, torturing some poor bloke called Karl who apparently works at the motel from last week.

I'm impressed they managed to track Jack that far, tbh

The question is, is there an actual memo that the Winchesters are camped in an old, heavily warded, impossible to map or locate MoL bunker, or is that something you only find out after you tail them for a bit? I mean Jack might not be there any more either but it would be a start :P

I feel extra skeevy about this scene because Asmodeus is being a total moron for starters by not checking Karl's level of clued in to this, and so he's this white plantation owner coded guy in his shiny white suit, torturing a black guy who isn't even on the same level as him for info he doesn't have, and could in no way be resonably expected to know. So it's doubly cruel. Although in some respects Asmodeus's coding makes this gratuitous violence a commentary, just like Buddy and Dave being collosal douches to women in the last few episodes was called out in many ways simply by their existence and coding as collosal douches.

Still not nice to watch on screen, especially without even more specific reference to Asmodeus's doucheyness because the stupidity of this dialogue is not helping.

Like did the minions just bring Karl to him and say hey we tracked the Winchesters and Jack this far, he might know more?

Like...

This is the sort of basic intelligence test fail here, that they're not over-thinking this scene in the specific details that you need to not have your main villain parade around displaying total idiocy over.

Like why the Winchesters would book into a motel under "Sam and Dean Winchester and Jack the Nephilim" and then Karl would know that and know what that means.

You can't just drag a normy into the Hell Main Office and torture them for info about Jack when they have no clue who that is.

He literally

can shapeshift

into anything

Go to the Stampede Motel, turn into a pretty girl in a low cut top, and lean on the motel check in desk until you know what you were after.

I'm no longer impressed they found Karl, I'm AMAZED.

Why did they kiiiiill him

Lol Asmodeus is so hammy

what's he sensing

Has he figured out Lucifer is back?

Meanwhile: Sam and Dean voluntarily go to a creepy cabin in the woods with a witch. This is not quite as stupid as Asmodeus was just being.

I am loving the plot development that David Hayden Jones has returned to the show as himself to find Rowena. Like dammit, you were a really cool character I had no interaction with but we coulda had some screen magic for all you know. You may or may not be in this episode as a surprise appearance which as Lizzy said putting MY name in the credits is the "hey it's that guy" fuckery to distract from the fact there's some bigger fuckery at foot (like... aside from the fact I was back to back with OSRIC FUCKING CHAU) because you don't *just* randomly put my very recognisable name in the credits at the start of the episode with Osric unless it's because something's up. So heeey here I am, I'm looking for Rowena, because dangit Ruthie deserves another chance to be in this show.

Daniella is also really slow to realise that Sam just said she was going to be bait. It took until Dean repeated it for her to realise.

She's really pretty though.

She starts choking like several moments before the gas hits her

... is that DHJ?

I mean we're getting a close up on his face but I literally. Do. Not. Recognise. Him.

I remember rambling at some point in my watching notes in season 12 when his face was being particularly hilarious after I'd seen con photos of DHJ that Ketch is one of the most effective character disguises I've ever seen for an actor's face. TBH it's the same weird different face thing I get from Alex Calvert - that he's all clean shaven and filmed as a wee nougat child in the show but he has an instagram of unrecognisable smouldering glamour shots, often with scruff. DHJ has a beard and that's his face, and part of the Ketch look was being clean shaven and crammed in a tight collar which is an incredibly British upper class twit look, and even in other clothes later the illusion lasted... But add a beard and stop grooming his hair and he just turns into some other person entirely.

Ah well, Dean gets to punch DHJ with Ketch's accent again which must be satisfying for him.

Did they take DHJ back to the Bunker? Really?

Oh he doesn't have the tattoo

LOL he's his "twin" "brother"... Obviously.

Yeah okay whatever you say, DHJ.

elizabethrobertajones Hey what if DHJ was actually Rowena

mittensmorgul oh god, don't give them ideas

ALSO if you have an "evil twin brother" you would generally assume that this sort of thing would happen a lot and you'd try and clarify sooner? I bring up my twin like every other time I talk about myself.

Also this is a ridiculous concept I refuse to engage with

I mean, thematically, wowsers. Fits right in with Buddy and Dave and things that look like other things

ALSO DHJ has been going around torturing witches so it's not like he's been the good twin

ALSO WHY IS HE HERE?

Apparently he's a hitman hunter

I suppose it's kind of like Bela but I do find it really strange.

Like how does anyone even know to hire him if no one knows monsters exist? Who is pointing him at these things?

Insinuating himself into situations like Bela to get work maaay be a way to do it, like if the Winchesters showed up in town and immediately told the sheriff what was up and then offered their fee as contractors or something. Pfft.

Pfft.

And then he's like "we hunters" because he's trying to bond with them or something

To google!

It's convenient he kept a beard his whole life

Oh okay Sam stole hard drives from the BMoL and is using their actual data.

I like the side by sides of their report cards where the prop people literally did them backwards from each other. "*More effort required!" they say about Alexander, and "Excellent work!" for Arthur.

Dean isn't buying it

LOL they dumped Ketch's corpse into the waste canal.

Do you want a haunted Bunker? That's how you get a haunted Bunker.

Anyway Dean is like NOPE don't believe it and Sam's like... there's so much proof... and then he goes in to question DHJ again and DHJ is like... you literally saw me get shot in the head last season, you don't trust that? And Sam's like no I had to concede that Dean had a point that we really can't trust anything and I guess Cas did just randomly come back or something and we have horrific problems with the white men on this show coming back again for completely random reasons that make no sense so you had better bloody well actually be re-introducing Rowena into the narrative even more dramatically than the warning Billie gave about the red-headed witch that Dean probably didn't tell me about now come to think of it, but I'd still like to see her again because we had a sort of weird thing we never really talked about going on...

Also are they keeping DHJ in the store room that showed up for the pencil scene but isn't the other store room? It looks like a different part of the Bunker repurposed.

Sam mis-reads Ketch, maybe because he never knew him as well as Mary or even Dean saw him. DHJ is like dude I played him for a year and psychoanalysed him and his crush on Dean in multiple interviews, so trust me when I tell you all his character exposition.

The stuff about being loyal to Heaven - I mean the BMoL - and being a company man echo what Ishim said about old Cas in 12x10

DHJ like, I did so much character work in those interviews, and I never got a chance for Ketch to be sympathetic so let me offer some more insight on him now you have me in the worst interview chair ever.

Also, don't go into pop culture journalism, Sam

"If he were here, he'd admit regret to some of the things he did to your family"

Yeah unless you have a magic twin link (well... not unlikey tbh with random ass canon pulls) you're either Arthur Ketch or just DHJ enjoying doing interviews about Ketch to a twisted and weird level and I'm sort of gonna have to do an intervention on this for him.

CAS

NEW PLAYGROUND

New angel!

mittensmorgul dumas? that's the name the superwiki has linked, but her page is blank

elizabethrobertajones Heh 3 musketeers again first in the off-brand nougat now that

"If we had him he wouldn't be imprisoned he'd be put to work"

SHE WANTS NEW ANGELS

I don't freakin blame her

But Jack shouldn't be "put to work" either - he would have to want to do it.

Awww Cas getting protective over Jack before I'm done typing that of course this means Jack would be forced to do it and the angel says "No other choice" because of course she does.

As usual heaven isn't comic book evil but its purposes in the name of "good" are super shady. Even if Jack was pure evil himself, Heaven enslaving a powerful nephilim for its own purposes would be dodgy.

Btw I am still torn about Cas's compulsion to care about Jack but on the other hand I am really enjoying Cas generally existing and being alive - and wait a minute she didn't even ask about how he was doing that - so I'm pretty much enjoying the surface level about Cas and Jack right now. Because of course I see the good in Jack that he DOES need protecting, so however Cas ended up on this, at least he is doing the right thing and taking the right stance.

"Castiel, he's not your pet. He belongs to all of us."

Uhoh, Cas is probably going to get grabbed.

*surprise*

Hey he did pretty well considering he's fighting 3 angels and is much weaker than them.

Oh boy, here's Lucifer. This is gonna go great.

Does Cas or Lucifer need to start this with the "you're supposed to be dead/in the AU" first?

Lol, Cas is the first person in this entire damn episode to actually ask a relevant question, and it's one we already know the answer to

*waves a little flag for Cas though*

Hey and then Lucifer asks about Cas being alive, what do you know.

He then calls Cas "cowboy" and pretends like Cas wouldn't kick his ass.

I am pretty happy about the "cowboy" thing :P

Lucifer has found a tan jacket somewhere, specifically one that looks like the one Jack was wearing but maybe a bit thicker, more like Cas's new coat. He's trying to edge in on this family and I can only assume this is not even a veiled metaphor for the douchey biological father wanting to be all interested in his son's business.

Lucifer in a tan jacket makes me think wolf in sheep's clothing.

He does, however, shelve the issue of child custody for now, and he appears to be genuinely freaked out enough about Michael to make that a priority and tell Cas about it, because if you want help against Michael, we've had 2 references to Team Free Will in short succession and that was a phrase coined specifically to spite Michael...

I don't think Lucifer should be allowed in, remotely, because it's become a family term, but the imagery is interesting anyway that he is trying to leech off the success of TFW to accomplish the goals he could never do himself. Especially because it was blatant in season 5 to everyone but him that Michael would kick his butt since he already did it once before and nothing has changed, 12x12 confirmed Michael would kill him slowly, and now meeting an AU Michael, he discovers that yep Michael sure is stronger than him, even when he was the last strong archangel left, and then Michael took that from him...

None of this, however, makes Lucifer sympathetic or good, just self-interested in not dying, and who is better at not dying than Cas?

I mean he wasn't even expecting to see Cas here, I guess he was going to a heaven portal to try and get them to listen?

LOL Kingdom Beer sign over Cas and Lucifer having a chat in a bar.

Cas looks Weary.

"I came back from the dead to deal with THIS? Please take me back to yesterday when it was fun kinky cowboy times with Dean."

I'm glad Cas isn't remotely friendly to Lucifer and is quick to remind him about how killed he got last time they hung out. Lucifer continues to be whiny and annoying about it all, unrepentant for killing Cas over petty nonsense.

LOL Lucifer is like "this Michael is much more powerful"

buddy. dude. go watch 12x12 then get back to me about how whooped your butt would have been. I mean go look at that lovely painting of him whooping your butt that was in 12x12 and unrelated to the fact he had that fucking lance in the first place.

Anyway he's trying to convince Cas to use his influence on Jack to get them to be the ultimate team up but they're fundamentally incapable of doing that because they're the 2 rival dads for Jack and blatantly symbolically being shown as that in these costumes, and that's one of the huge thematic things.

Cas like "You are the Weakest Link, goodbye."

I love Cas being so snarky, so maybe Lucifer being around is good in some respects, that it makes Cas this snarky because he has something to bounce off as awful and despised as Lucifer. Not even Crowley got THIS dismissive treatment, because they had emotional baggage that was of a whole different sort, whereas Cas and Lucifer have been opposite mirrors the whole time since season 4

Lucifer is emphasising how he and Cas are the big cosmic powers around here, with Jack. Hm...

Lol Cas is like "I'm calling my guys who deal with these things" and Lucifer bangs his head on the table in despair. I guess this is like the boy who called wolf except that instead of calling wolf he was literally going around eating all the sheep and was banned from being a shepherd for life and locked away and got out and ate more sheep and was locked away and got out and ate more sheep and got locked away and THEN came back like oh hi something's gonna eat all our sheep.

Lucifer then says Cas needs him and that he needs Cas and they all need Jack.

So Um I guess "Need" is The Worst Word right now :P

"Jack. Your son's name is *Jack*" *pats Cas's hair*

Pfft themes "is he a chip off the old block?" "thankfully, no. he seems to favour the mother"

Theeeeeeeeemes

Cas squinting when he lies - I don't think that's his lying tell because he does it too much, but perhaps uncertainty. The fact he squinted so much in the reintroduction huggy scene last episode feels to me less like lying and more like no clue what was going on and how mad he had to be about his humans sacrificing for him to come back.

Laughing at all their labelled phones lying around permanently charging. I think this is the first proof we've ever seen that they have a Bobby phone bank, but I can't imagine who would rely on the Winchesters to answer the phone when they need proof of ID :P They're like ALWAYS being abducted or disappearing on cases.

Or dying.

Okay so the phones are more just for their personal IDs for the cards THEY give out and they're just getting a call back from the motel for some reason, I suppose because Jack was with them (seriously. Dean gave the motel the name Jack? I have to assume Jack said his name before they could re-name him on the fly and so he was registered as a guest there as Jack the Nephilim because why the fuck not... Berens has a magic skill of un-fucking Buckleming canon but it seems Buckleming's skill is fucking up poor Davy's, in 12x13 and 12x17 and now here...)

ANYWAY jesus christ Asmodeus is stupid. "Evil Colonel Sanders" literally walked in and abducted Karl in person which means that his stupid ass questions weren't even because his minions brought him the guy and presented him in an idiotic way, but our shapeshifting villain wandered in and took Karl, himself in person with his own freaking face that the Winchesters KNEW and is extremely memorable, and took his prize.

...

DHJ better turn out to be Asmodeus even though I think their screentime overlapped and this makes no freaking sense since he has some established history wandering around attacking witches before they caught up with him.

I'd rather have a time plothole than a stupid plothole :P

Anyway DHJ is hanging out with them in the library eating a sandwich because... um

reasons?

At least he's in chains.

Oh my god I said that sarcastically moments before Sam said it sincerely and then pointed out there's no bathroom in the armoury

what the fuck

Like I said up top: as stupid as the villain is, your main characters have to be about as dumb as they are, either only just enough to outwit them, or more stupid if they get outwitted...

Poor Sammy, he was having such a fantastic season

Dean just straight up pretends Mary is phone when DHJ asks because why the heck would you monologue your sad life story to the bad guy, and give him emotional leverage over you? Especially when he ASKS because "Alexander" should have no knowledge of Mary or care about her, but then he also shouldn't know the DHJ interview details of Ketch's inner life.

YAY Dean and Cas are talking and Dean phoned Cas probably just to hear a sane voice because Cas is managing to weave around being Buckleminged, so far, possibly just because he was not in the opening half of the episode, and then this was a really important conversation they couldn't fuck up so probably got supervised.

elizabethrobertajones tee hee Cas standing by the gents to take a call from Dean wait hang on ... I'm not even being jokey I literally just had that moment in the chat with you :P *rewinds* Longing retcon Confirmed Oh dear that is hilarious I don't know if that's the moment you wanted me to see or not but I'm delighted :P

elizabethrobertajones Cas was standing away from Lucifer ready to take Dean's phone call and had to have walked off up to a minute before he called, but most likely in that time when Dean was like UGH I need to talk to Cas and hear the one sane voice in this episode and Cas was like... Brb I... have to use... the 'Gents' and got up and wandered off to take the call eat it, 12x10 and that "where's my phone" moment I mean Buckleming introduced it to fill a plothole so why should they not use it to cover more plotholes at their leisure

... did Speight know? I mean he coulda been like what the heckeroo, and added Cas getting the call and legging it from the table.

The only other option I can think of is Cas decided he may as well just get up to "go pee" because Lucifer is so annoying that pretending he needs to go to the loo buys him 5 minutes to let his migraine subside.

Also what the fuck DHJ was wandering around the bunker so he could use the bathroom. I am confused. Is this actually like... being hinted at. Like, "hey children, please remember who does and doesn't need to use the bathroom in this episode"

Omg

Cas like "I would *like* to see you too" is he literally pretending he and Dean were canoodling on the phone as a cover?

I hate everything

Anyway need/want blah blah I have been over that a lot lately :P Cas is using his DESIRE to see Dean to get help, by Lucifer saying he NEEDS Cas.

"Smooth was never your strong suit" oh my god Lucifer also thought Cas was pretending to be flirty too what is going on

why has this episode confirmed all the headcanons about Cas being the most shittiest phone sex guy ever

of all the things.

why.

DHJ wants to go because he misses being in on the action with the guys

Like. No, go take your sandwich and sit down.

Dean is sad about Cas always getting killed by Lucifer and stuff when he does stupid things.

Cas's "ugh stop talking Lucifer" face is a whole layer more existential misery than dealing with Crowley... I think he was secretly fond of Crowley or at least enjoyed hating him, whereas Lucifer is just EXHAUSTING.

He's needling Cas for attention.

LOL randomly Asmodeus as if Cas's headache wasn't bad enough, now we got thunder and lightning and very very frightening...

Pfft.

bahahaha Lucifer called Asmodeus the dim bulb

I mean he's not wrong, Asmodeus has been completely idiotic all episode. And of course, narratively, his "evil plans" are just self-interest which will endanger the entire world because even if Lucifer is a twat, he has a point about the coming danger of Michael, and Asmodeus just refuses to see the danger, which is all kinds of various political commentary, and using his era aesthetic to say this kind of thinking is such a throwback...

I think this might be the most confused Cas has ever been about if he should stab someone or not - if he actually WANTS to defend Lucifer. Not really, but Asmodeus seems like a bigger problem because at least Lucifer isn't trying to kill him.

I hope this just randomly gets Asmodeus killed.

Or Lucifer

Asmodeus just called Lucifer "screwable"... do they even know what they said? :P

EEEP there was a Margiekugel sign and it just flickered off

"Nick's bar" pfft because Lucifer?

It seems like Sam and Dean are too late and Asmodeus already made off with everyone?

I hope Cas is okay

being held captive by that idiot seems like a fate worse than death. You're going to get villain monologues all day.

Anyway fight fight fight

Good fight.

Where did DHJ even come from?

that was a ridiculous nonsense about how he escaped. I also will die if he took Dorothy's bike and not his own left stashed there. Also he nodded at Dean like hey you didn't cavity search me like you should have, which... Is he actually Ketch?

He's actually Ketch

Of course that means Dean knows him very well and trusted his gut instinct on knowing Ketch to prove that he was not, in fact, the actor David Hayden Jones, chillaxing on set and being weirdly cheerful about being beaten up by the Winchesters.

Pfft he used Rowena's charm to get alive again

Well she better be fine if they're gonna use her like this.

"Is she?"

LOL Ketch ninja'd out of there

Oh good it wasn't Dorothy's bike

Considering how they use Rowena, DON'T use Mary, etc I'd have taken Dorothy's bike as a personal insult. I guess Ketch rode his over to the Bunker before 12x22.

I mean at least this means Ketch remembers he got shot and then also he revived in a sewer where he belonged because he is garbage.

Wait. He set up this whole thing in like a month or so TOPS since he got shot? If he’s been chasing witches has he even had TIME for a side business?

Oh boy, Asmodeus using Cas's voice to talk to Dean.

BAD HELLO DEAN.

That "see you soon" is also way too cheerful. It should be as much of a tip off as Cas begging Dean to come help him in the previous call.

I hope Dean sees through it.

Though it's so Buckleming-y I don't think people should be mad if he doesn't because this was them doing a smart!Dean episode.

PFFT of course they team up - colonialism from all sorts of fun angles!! The ultimate trashy white guys in suits team up.

Thanks Buckleming!

Man, I need a whole pot of detox tea now. I don't even have closing thoughts.

#13x07 #my stuff #season 13 spoilers #buckleming appropriate wank for ts #*quietly lies face down on the floor*

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