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velvetvexations · 2 months

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Mother Velvet I just saw someone being very wrong about transandrophobia and I am being soooooo strong by resisting my desire to message them with a correction. I want, very badly, to (gently) correct their misunderstanding of what transandrophobia is and what people are actually arguing for. Unfortunately I am also of the knowledge that this is probably not a misunderstanding and that they would not listen to anything I say, and that even a gentle "hey that's not what people talking about transandrophobia are saying, that's not the conversation being had" would cause an argument that does more damage to me than just seeing them be wrong in the first place.

I want to say, no, transandrophobia isn't about men being the PRIMARY target of misogyny, that's not what we're saying! I won't say nobody is saying that because someone inevitably will have bad ideas about things, but the broad conversation around transandrophobia is that transphobes see us as women trying to be men and treating us with both misogyny (for being a woman incorrectly, and just having been born female to begin with), and malgendering us (for the crime of trying to be men, which is ontologically impossible for a silly wombyn to do and therefore must be corrected by showing that Dumb Idiot Baby Girl how impossible it is to ever really be a man). It is not, really, seriously not, about how transmascs are the real primary target of misogyny and everyone else is just collateral. It is not us wanting to be the victim, or wanting to barge into marginalized spaces and control the conversation to make it All About Men. It is not trying to argue that misandry is a systemic force. It is not equivalent to being an MRA blaming feminism for the suffering of men.

People talk a lot about how transmascs have a "toxic masculinity problem" and think that it's, like, some inherent aspect of being a man, or that we're trying so hard to be men that we uncritically repeat and reinforce toxic masculinity. As if trans people of all stripes aren't forced to perform the highest standards of their gender in order to be recognized as their gender, as if it's somehow unheard of for trans men to be forced to perform the height of masculinity in order to be recognized as men. Trans men are held to a higher standard of masculinity than cis men because we have to prove to the transphobe that we're "real" men! Cis men already have to perform masculinity to an extreme degree under threat of degendering, do people think that just doesn't exist for trans men? That it isn't worse for us (compared to the cis man) because degendering is misgendering and we have to fight tooth and nail for every shred of recognition as men? The only problem people are willing to accept transmascs have is the toxic masculinity issue, and that is at best seen as a very bad personal failing (and at worst an inherent aspect of Being A Man, and so also a personal failing for anyone who would "want" to be a man; the thought, even from other trans people, is that we "chose" this and so it's the bed we must lie in). Because we are men, because men have no problems, because transmascs trying to discuss their experiences with misogyny are just trying to take from women, trying to control the conversation and deny the reality that others are targeted too.

The idea that transandrophobia is saying we're the primary targets of misogyny is wrong, and I'm being so restrained by not saying anything to that person, not trying to correct them, because even though it's eating me up inside I would be even more hurt by whatever they say to dig in their heels as a response to me. (I sincerely hate that my autism will not let me let go of this stuff! I wish it would stop and that I could see people have Different or even Factually Wrong Opinions about the world without feeling personally betrayed but here I fucking am I guess; this isn't the first time I've come to your inbox to vent about it, I don't have anywhere to talk about these feelings so all I have been able to do with them is suffer through them until I can shove them into the little box in the back of my brain and hope I don't get intrusive reminders of them)

Y'know, I've experienced a lot of transphobic violence, from the emotional to physical. I was kicked out of my home by family members. I had to fight to be accepted as I am, and still have to fight because I don't pass, can't bind my GGG-cup breasts for medical reasons, am too disabled, too short, too mentally ill, too autistic. I was prepared for that, I knew I would be fighting an uphill battle. Trauma doesn't work right for me, I don't find stuff traumatic that should be, and do find stuff traumatic that shouldn't be; because I was prepared, because I knew what I was getting into and knew I would be happier as a man anyway, I have not been traumatized by the transphobia I have faced.

What I was not prepared for, what has stuck with me longer and hurt me more than being thrown out of my own home or threatened or beaten, was how other trans people treated me. How alone I was in a support club for the trans community at my university, in a class about trans art with nothing to show for trans men but boys don't cry and a drag race supercut from the professor's boyfriend, being told I was the wrong kind of trans for the community around me, that nobody knew what to do with me, and treated me like I was an invader desecrating some sacred soil.

In trying to talk about my suffering, I am taking up valuable space that could be given to someone else, someone who is not a man. In talking about the issues I have faced within the trans community, I am attacking trans women, trying to steal misogyny and claim I'm the primary target. It doesn't matter what I say, how gently I try to correct them, how much proof I have that those are not the conversations or goals of discussion, because that's what they want to believe about transmascs. That's the vision of transandrophobia they have. There is no way for me to change the mind of someone who willfully misinterprets what I'm saying.

I'll at least put this in the tag this so people can see it. <3

Transandrophobes are constantly assuming the most bad faith interpretations of what's being said and it's so exhausting even to observe. They're unthinking zombies reblogging second-hand shit about terms they have zero understanding of. It's infuriating just to observe let alone experience first hand.

#transandrophobia #also I love Mother Velvet ty

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dykesynthezoid · 2 months

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Your little post about Armand and structural dissociation has had me googling stuff since you posted it. The only non-normal dissociation I've ever experienced has been your standard DPDR, and I've never heard much about dissociative parts without the dissociative amnesia aspect separating them. So you've had me thinking.

In the books, Armand seems confused and frightened of the sadistic side of himself, talking about how he has never enjoyed violence (but clearly remembering times when he did, or something close to it). Could this be why he feels a disconnect with that aspect of himself?

Sometimes he seems like he has forgiven and moved on from his beef with Lestat, but sometimes he bring it up again, bitterly (Blood Communion). It never seemed like his disorganized attachment style fully explained that. Could that be part of this? Hell, speaking of disorganized attachment, I've read that there's a connection between that and structural dissociation.

In other words, I'd love you to rant more about this. Book and/or show Armand, both or either.

*shaking like a little overstimulated purse dog* yes yes i will speak to you of the gremlin

YES I think his disgust at his own sadism and his inability to move on from what happened w Lestat are (probably) tied to his structural dissociation IMO.

As a basic breakdown I’ll put out there that, at least in internal family systems, which is the modality I’ll be referencing, everyone has different “parts” in the sense that they have different aspects of themselves and their personality (I think you could analyze the different parts extant in Louis, Lestat, and Daniel as well!), but dissociation bc of early/ongoing trauma can cause those parts to be more separated, right, and so structural dissociation theory is a way of examining what happens when those parts are so cut off from each other that your sense of identity is rendered unstable.

In my head Armand has at least 4-5 major “parts” that exist together, and the one we see the most of is his coven leader/caretaker part (these could be considered separate but I think there’s actually little meaningful separation between them). This part, to me, is the one that’s most absorbed certain traits from Marius, Santino, and Alessandra. It’s both a manager part (seeks to construct/police/control/maintain stability) and a persecutor (actively suppresses and victimizes certain other parts).

Then there’s Amadeo, who is a child part, representing a piece of Armand’s younger psyche. Armand’s dissociation from the identity of Amadeo (refers to him in the third person) and his treatment of people who remind him of that version of himself (Daniel and Claudia) make it clear that Amadeo is also an exile; he’s a part that’s been locked away and rejected by other parts (mainly the coven leader part). Armand sees Amadeo as weak, sacrificial, doomed.

However, I think Amadeo is also in some ways a protector part. In Armand’s book, Amadeo is noticeably protective of the other boys. And given how Armand’s mind is likely structured, I think a lot of Amadeo is actually constructed around protecting Arun/Andrei. I think Amadeo basically holds the “key” to Arun and keeps the other parts from being able to access that part or his trauma; this would help explain why Arun’s memories have remained so untouchable. Amadeo won’t let anyone touch the trauma Arun is holding onto, not outside of very specific situations, and even then I think Amadeo is basically acting as a sort of translator or interpreter for Arun.

Because Arun is certainly also a child part and an exile, and he holds onto a lot of Armand’s “worst” (how can you really grade it, y’know) trauma. I think it’s likely that Arun is sort of non “verbal;” not in that he’s unable to speak, necessarily, but in that in psychology, “verbal” memory is the term used to describe memories that are specific and episodic, that are associated with images and details and concrete information. I think Arun, as a part, has had most of his memories locked away for so long (and probably also just wasn’t encoding memories very well to begin with while he was being abused) that he exists more as a series of impressions and bodily sensations than a specific set of images or events or personality traits. And because of this its very difficult for Armand to find a way to describe or narrate his experiences as Arun, even if he did have those memories, bc none of it really exists in that verbal or explicit space. It’s all, by nature, quite muddied and nonspecific and very very physical.

Now to finally begin kind of answering your question, lmao, but I think Armand’s last most prominent part is the demon/gremlin. I mentioned it a bit in that first post I made, but I think the demon/gremlin is an amalgamation of Armand’s most rejected aspects of himself, similar to a Jungian shadow. It’s everything he least wants to look at. I think it would’ve started forming in his time as Amadeo, and initially as a reaction of Amadeo having to reject certain aspects of himself, mainly his mischievousness and rebelliousness. These traits were deemed undesirable and so he had to cut them off. Then with the coven, Amadeo himself is rejected and locked away, essentially “dying” in the fire and in that cell, and he has to start relying on a different persona to survive (again). This is when his coven leader part starts forming, but I think the gremlin is also there. The gremlin takes on even more rejected aspects, like any sort of hunger or neediness. The Children of Satan are meant to deny themselves, after all.

I think it’s in the wake of Lestat that the gremlin part becomes completely exiled. Armand’s interactions with Lestat alert him to the ugliness of his own sadism, his desperation and neediness. The coven leader part can be cruel, but it’s only in effort to play out his role. The gremlin is the one who’s sadistic, who’s cruel because he’s hurting, cruel for the sake of cruelty. I think the gremlin comes to represent every bit of mischievousness, rebelliousness, neediness, desperation, mindless cruelty, lashing out, hunger, desire, and selfishness that Armand tries to push away. It’s chaos, where the other parts of Armand strive for order. It’s also the part that I think is holding onto his ability to act for his own sake.

(Plus, it explains why Armand may seem over Lestat one moment, and then completely re-absorbed in that hurt the next. It’s bc that hurt has been locked away in a part of himself he works very, very hard to keep at bay. Ofc meanwhile, the harder he tries to repress those aspects of himself, the more they start to bleed unknowingly into his consciousness in a way he can’t control, and the more they’re actually able to influence him when he’s not paying attention.)

Basically I think Armand getting to go full gremlin is a major step in his development and integration, lmao.

I think we’ve also yet to see Armand’s stable Self, the one that’s a blend of all the other parts and presented when his nervous system is at baseline; when he’s feeling secure. Mostly bc we’ve never seen Armand feeling secure or stable (in the show at least), lol. He is literally always freaking out to some degree. There’s always at least one part trying to manage the others, or, under greater stress, desperately firefighting, or, under even greater stress than that, going completely frozen and unresponsive. But I think the stable Armand is one that’s both playful and focused, active and receptive. I think it probably peeks out when he’s playing on his iPad or even when he has that conversation with Madeleine. I think the Armand putting random shit in the garbage disposal is, in fact, his secure and stable self. Which is honestly kind of hilarious.

This is very long and I honestly have even more thoughts than this but. Yeah. I love him. I also have a bunch of thoughts re:Jungian psychology about him. I think when he’s luring people into accepting death he’s actually tapping into a death drive deep in the collective unconscious. Which is why even if someone, on the level of their ego and actual personality, doesn’t want to die, he manages to find a piece even deeper and more nonpersonal, a lizard-brain sort of drive toward destruction, that does.

I really should’ve said more here about EPs (Emotional Parts) and such bc that’s more in line with the actual structural theory of dissociation and I focused more on internal family systems stuff here but! Yeah. Basically certain emotional states, body states/sensations, and even personality elements get locked away from each other (and having several of these separate parts is associated with CPTSD, OSDD, and DID, with CPTSD kind of existing as a gradation between PTSD and OSDD/DID in terms of how separate those parts have become). CPTSD is what I myself have going on and I can attest to the separate parts thing but with limited amnesia, and in my case that amnesia is just certain memories my youngest child part is probably holding onto. (I’ve made peace with never getting those memories back, tbh). My emotional parts/body memories are the ones that are most closed off from each other, and mostly the different aspects of my personality aren’t too separate and can communicate as needed, with some exceptions. So that’s the perspective I’m bringing into analyzing Armand that way.

And I’m sure it all goes without saying that this is all just my opinion and me having fun exploring Armand’s character through just one (1) potential lens. But it’s a very interesting one!

#keep reading over this to edit it down and it’s not working. lmao #armand #iwtv tv #asks

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nocturnowlette · 5 months

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Hypnotic Visuals #1: Ocean Waves

If you'd like, this post is accompanied with a backing track of waves to help better understand and feel the points being made. It is not necessary, though.

...

When it comes to the choice of hypnotic visuals, some consideration should be made towards each one's specifics.

Hypnosis can be a tricky thing in many aspects, but one large reason is just how context-dependent it is. Each person's mind is its own individual landscape of biases and perceptions and strengths and weaknesses, and each one might have a different effect on how one receives trance. However, this variation is also extended outwards, towards the choice of visuals themselves.

Each visual, of which there are essentially infinite, comes with their own common aesthetic associations, so I'd like to make a series talking about various hypnotic visuals and how you can tailor your sessions around them most effectively. Let's start with one of the simplest, and a classic: the ocean and its waves.

The first thing about the ocean is a very important lesson about pre-talk. If you do not get to know your subject and use this visual, there is a chance they have thalassaphobia or some trauma regarding the sea, and have a violent abreaction. Talking with your subject is important for hundreds of reasons, but one is avoiding exactly this. Even a mention of the word "ocean" in an extra vulnerable state like trance could be a complete shock to the system that disrupts trances with you and your subject in the future. Even if unintentional, it's a betrayal of trust and the mind can be slow to mend that.

As for those who do not fear the ocean, they likely find it the opposite, quite relaxing. Relaxation, while not strictly necessary for trance, is almost always a part of it because relaxation frees up perceptive "room", so to speak. You only have so much focus and the mind normally spreads it out to everything around you. Relaxation takes the focus away from everything else, and allows that focus to be pinpointed on me and my words. Some visuals deal with a more active focus, this takes the opposite path.

As such, you want to also pepper in suggestions to focus in on your voice, either through another visual, or just direct "Focus" commands or suggestions.

If you don't take advantage of the relaxation, there's wasted potency just washing away in the waves.

The ocean is something interlinked with the most steady functions of our entire planet. As steadily as the sun rising in the sky, so too does the moon, and with every moment it exists, our tides continue in a steady motion.

Rhythm is very natural to both us and the tides. If one spends long enough near the ocean, they might find their mind get accustomed to that steady rhythm.

The tides going,

Back, and Forth,

This rhythm is useful for trance. When you define one quality of the visual you're using, something natural to that visual, you've essentially defined a plot device. This is the thing you attach suggestions to.

Going back, and forth,

and back, and forth,

This rhythm of the tides has multiple routes one could take. My personal favorite is the kinetic angle. That's to say, the motion of it.

Rocking back,

and forth,

and back,

and forth,

We have a tendency to make unconscious movements when thinking about things. It's so natural to us that it's one of the easiest things to be suggested to someone. It's a way to assert some subtle control immediately. Rocking is also an especially calming motion, in combination with the ocean visual itself.

Back,

and forth,

and back,

and forth,

can even start to serve the form of a mantra.

Mantras serve multiple purposes, but the most useful practically is to fill up the empty space in the subject's mind when you're not actively suggesting them. Relaxation can easily be paired with suggestions of dulling thoughts, and this is a way to start heading in that direction.

Water in itself is a visual, and can also be applied here. Whether it's the water consuming you, submerging you, or filling you, that unmistakable sound of being submerged in water has a very visceral sensory effect on people. You can point out the specifics, of that slight pressure on the skin, of requiring so much more effort to move, of everything being duller and even needing to close your eyes.

When combining dulling visuals with suggestions of your voice being the only thing perfectly clear, you can amplify the strength of your words on both ends.

When you have multiple plot devices, say, the swaying of the tides and being submerged in water, you can intertwine the two and amplify both, as well. When you're submerged in water, you're at the mercy of the tides, being pulled in looong, drawn out motions, tapping into a lack of control. I can tell you that my voice is an anchor, the only thing keeping you steady, that you need to hold on.

Every little detail is another plot point in the narrative, and each one is much more effective than plainly stating what thing you want the person to feel. Stories draw us in, immerse us, and this is not something that should be ignored. These were only a few examples of what you can do, as with the amount of visuals, the amount of qualities and routes to take with each are also wide and varied.

If you want to really give your subjects an unforgettable experience, you need to learn how to weave a story. Visuals are the key.

If anyone has any specific visual they want given extra detail and options for, feel free to ask.

That all being said, I hope you enjoyed reading, and happy hypnotizing.

#owlette #hypnosis #hypno advice #hypnosis advice #hypnoposting #hypnokink #hypnok1nk #hypnosub #hypno fantasy #hypno sub #hypnotized #text hypnosis #hypnotic #hypnosis script #creative writing

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orchidbreezefc · 9 months

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edgar woe.begone: low empathy, high masking

THESIS: my reading of edgar woe.begone is that he's a low empathy autistic who has no innate intuition for social cues and has had to teach himself everything about social interaction from scratch, which is an interpretation that i think explains a lot about him.

now, i am very critical of edgar as a person. i think he's a less than good person and a bad boyfriend. but let me be VERY clear right off the bat: these symptoms don't make anyone a bad person. these symptoms aren't even bad per se. theyre all disabling symptoms that make social interaction more difficult for the person who has them. like any symptom, they have to be managed and compensated for.

some people under the neurodivergent/mentally ill umbrella, as with any group of people, are bad people. being a bad person flavors one's approach to their mental illness, and mental illness in turn flavors the manner in which they're a bad person. the mental illness isn't what makes you bad, but it does affect how your shittiness manifests.

disclaimers done, a good place to start is the way edgar speaks, especially with jeremy's performance. edgar always sounds very reasonable, approachable, and agreeable, and there is never an ounce of genuine emotion in his voice. he talks like an autistic person with zero innate intuition for social interaction who has taught himself to speak in the way that he's learned will get the best response.

edgar's customer service voice is the only one we hear and likely the only one he uses if he can help it. we know edgar's a tactician, a persuader. why use any other voice than the one he's carefully fine-tuned to make people like him and be receptive to what he's saying? this isn't even necessarily cynical: what do you want him to do, talk in a more uncontrolled, emotional way--that he's not used to managing--that will make people like him less?? what good would that do?

edgar likes control. he's more comfortable when things are in his hands, and only his. propagation definitely factors in here--if [link: my theory] that propagation is what solidified the certainty of edgar's death is true, it's no wonder he wants to control and limit the spread of information. edgar prefers to be in charge of making the plans, ideally alone.

this is part of why mike is perpetually out of the loop, even regarding decisions that concern him--which is pretty damn paternalistic. but there's a more wholesome aspect as well: edgar genuinely thinks he's doing mike a favor.

edgar knows mike has undergone and is undergoing a lot, and that he's terrible with plans and a major blabbermouth. if edgar can take care of a problem without mike having to worry his pretty head and perfect eyebrows about what to do, without knowing it ever existed, isn't that so much better? that's edgar being a good boyfriend, actually. he's helping!

it probably doesn't even occur to edgar how much this limits mike's agency, how much it hurts mike that edgar refuses to let him in, how this puts them on unequal footing, how fucking patronizing it is to not let your boyfriend make his own decisions about his own life. oh, how the tables have tabled since him originally telling mike that keeping the story of woe.begone from him didn't protect him, it impeded his ability to make informed choices.

here's where the low empathy creates problems--edgar doesn't have that innate intuition for how mike's feeling, and he doesn't (effectively) manage or compensate for it, and he definitely doesn't communicate with mike enough to know how he's affected by this shit (avoiding too much information sharing is good, remember?)

and mike certainly isn't going to tell him! mike is a goddamn simp. he's not going to establish boundaries. he's not going to put his foot down and demand better treatment. as if he fucking deserves that in the first place, pshaw. the only time he pushes back is in season 10 when he doesn't remember their relationship, and edgar is deeply shaken.

edgar is devastated to learn he hurt mikey, because he does genuinely adore that man. he would get lasso lessons from michael and rope him the moon if he could. his low empathy and efforts to manage everything himself keep him from realizing that mikey, a hyperempathetic mess who gets sentimental about pens, seriously suffers from being shut out like this.

edgar's thought process must be equally inscrutable to mikey, who just figures it would be asking too much to be an active and equal participant in his own relationship and life. edgar's perfect and great, so if mikey deserved that, he would already be giving it to him. if mikey's unhappy with any part of their relationship, no he isn't. he's lucky he has edgar at all. he's lucky he has anyone.

recall michael's agonized admission that "everything is about rugby, dammit" 10(++++) years and edgar's literal death later. we can only guess at how bad his rugby was, but we do know michael never talked it through with edgar. he tells mike this was him 'letting it go' actually, when the fact that theyre having this conversation at all is proof that he extremely hasn't. this is what 'letting it go' looks like to michael: burying an issue forever and giving up on ever getting closure.

so yes, edgar does authentically deeply love his mikey-bear. unfortunately, if you never establish the communication to bridge the differences between your own methods of operating and that of your partner, love will only get you so far. and the first time around, where it got them was michael fighting back tears in an apartment in latvia over a wound from edgar that he suffered in silence until the day he died.

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felinecryptid · 8 months

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hoooooooooo boy, tmagp 4 go-

this time its becoming apparent that there are some themes and clues that tmagp wants us to notice, the sections stand out, begging for attention

like the recurring theme of bones, and blood, and gore in general (it might be too soon to tell exactly what themes are leading to, but they are definitely there)

the violin could fit right in grifter's bone with it's affinity to music and violence

(the music feels aligned to circus over spiral or web

tho there are elements of the web what with the mind control, but i fear all fears possess a certain degree of control, as such

the violence feels more of the slaughter variety rather than the hunt, though you could make a valid argument for flesh as the words 'sacrifice', 'payment' and 'creature with needs and purposes of its own' do stick in mind

once again i do not think that tmagp follows the same format as the smirke's fourteen (or 15) , i merely use them as parallels to better explain what aspects of the episode sticks out to me (and for me refer back later on))

as other listeners have noted, another theme that tmagp in general follows, is 'obsession', rather than tma's 'fear'

i feel this is also paralleling (intentionally or not) the audience's own listening habits and motives

we first consumed the magnus archives for its content of horror

and yet we are back for the magnus protocol like we never left, and perhaps

we never did

the statement's first person pov depicts a truly horrific picture of the slaughter, of the violence that the violin demands

and his descriptions of the mania on the audience's faces too

it's eerily reminiscent of the france's dancing plague

enough about the statement, lets talk about my boy sam and his co-workers, and their workplace in general

there's a protocol surrounding the magnus institute? interesting interesting, very similar to the police division daisy and basira were part of, the unofficial supernatural division

is this like the civil servant version of such?

another thing that is interesting; how is freddy getting these statements incidents? like sam asked, how exactly does a letter from the 18th century end up in the system?

i don't think gwen's answer is satisfactory (and we weren't meant to either), sure someone might be updating the archives website for reasons unknown but rarely in magpod is something a dead end, every little thing is a clue, a small part of the larger picture

so how exactly does a letter from the 18th century is in freddy's system?

perhaps an 'avatar' or the equivalent (such people are suggested to exist in tmagp universe, like the tattooist from daria's statement)

or maybe the fears themselves manifest in phenomena that upload relevant content to freddy

colin my guy, still being iconic and not trusting tech, hats off to you, the only real character in the whole show

never trust any piece of technology older than paper

the video of lena that gwen got in the end? weird? yeah, fuck yes, but how did she even get it? is there any sort of personal communication available on the ancient system? why gwen?

i have so many questions and so many more thoughts, but this is already so long, im gonna write a separate post about tmagp so far, in general

#the magnus protocol #the magnus institute #tma #tmagp #magpod #the slaughter #the flesh #the circus #tmagp 4 #samama khalid #gwen bouchard #colin becher #freddy #fr3 d1 #themes #tmagp analysis #tmagp 4 taking notes #tw gore mention #lena kelley

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pinkluver93 · 6 months

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Words Left Unsaid

A continuation of my KehXReader fic "Is This Jealousy I'm Feeling?" Enjoy!

“Ovenist….you’re attracted to me in some way, aren’t you?”

Ovenist….Ovenist….

“Ovenist, you okay?”

You look up and Nasir, the special agent helping you with the case, is looking at you oddly. You nod. “Yeah, I just got lost in thought for a minute….”

You had called him to talk about the new evidence you’d found at Keh’s shop. He had come as soon as he could, since it’s busy at the WPA and it’s like he’s the only one there most of the time. It’s been a week since you investigated Keh, and you’ve reviewed all your notes. Now you two are reviewing the stack of papers you found.

“I think it’s some sort of….manifesto or something.”

Nasir studies it for a few minutes, looking at the pages. He nods with certainty and gives a determined smile. “So this appears to be a mockup for a pizza chain Keh is starting.”

You look at him confused. “A mockup?”

Nasir smiles. “Yes, it seems that he’s planning to expand his pre-existing pizza parlor into a chain…but it’s not called ‘Ambrosia’ now, it’s called….” He looks at the top of the paper. “Keh-lifornia Pizza Kitchen. Hmm, sounds familiar….”

You nod. “Yeah, I suppose. I wonder if that’s why he might’ve stolen the dough. Maybe he’s using the notoriety from getting the dough to start his chain?”

Nasir smiles. “Intriguing perspective, and it could be true, given his past….but I would talk to him and see what he has to say about it, since it could be motivation. Let’s keep our focus on the other suspects as well.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Do you have anything else to show me or tell me?”

You shake your head ‘no’.

“Cool, call me if you want to talk about a suspect or show me a piece of evidence.” With that, Nasir leaves, and you get lost in thought. Not just about the case, but Keh’s words still linger in your head.

How am I supposed to continue investigating Keh if he’s caught on to the fact that I kinda like him? Ever since PizzaPalooza ended, I’ve had these butterflies in my stomach I can’t control, and I SWORE I wouldn’t say anything! Ugh, why did I have to let him know how I felt about Angelica deep down? And how he shouldn’t be with her? What do I-

“Hello? Can I get an All-Dressed Pizza? Can I also get it well done?”

You snap out of your thoughts once again to take your customer’s order and move on with your day as usual.

At close, you print the daily sales receipt from your tablet. It was considerably low; you had only completed one ZaZoom order and had to do 2 refunds.

You document the day’s sales on the Pizza City Portal, where every ovenist had to input sales to show whether they are making enough to stay in business or not. You start to think about some aspects of the case you hadn’t thought of before and you grab your notebook and your special pen. Your notebook sits by you but your pen is not in its usual spot.

What the-where's my special pen??

You move everything around in your reach by your shop counter-receipt paper boxes, your store’s lost and found box (which hasn’t been emptied since you opened and is filled to the brim), and some of your personal belongings...but your pen is nowhere to be found.

Soon enough, you have searched your entire restaurant, from the kitchen to the one-person bathroom, and you have no luck. Your heart sinks as you pack up your things, lock the store and walk to your car. As you open your car door, you hear footsteps behind you, and prepare for the worst...

....but instead of a robber’s voice, it’s a gentle, familiar voice..

“Ovenist?”

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

“Ovenist?”

You close your car door in shock and the first thing you see is a shadow..albeit a very tall shadow. Next you look at who the shadow belongs to.....

“Dr. Keh? What are you doing here?”

He reaches into his lab coat pocket and takes something out to show you....

Your eyes widen. “Wait, is that-? My pen!”

You mentally cheer, studying the golden fountain pen with a certain name engraved in it. You reach out to grab it, but pull your hand back....

“Hmm...”

Keh looks at you confused. “What’s the matter? You don’t want your pen? You only tore 3 quarters of your miniscule shop down looking for it...”

You do a double-take. “Wait what?”

“Incase you weren’t aware,” Keh starts. “Every business in this city, yours included, is not only under 24/7 constant surveillance, but it is also public record and uploaded to the WPA website nightly.”

You stand there, stunned. “Wow....that’s crazy...”

Keh snorts. “Yes, I’m not really rather fond of being constantly under scrutiny, but that’s the cost of having a business in this city, and...it does have benefits..”

“Yeah...” You absentmindedly say. “Wait, you see benefits of this?”

Keh smiles. “Yes, it was rather fun watching you destroy a good portion of your store only to spend your time to put it back the way it was again. It was better than watching TV, dare I say.”

You cross your arms and frown. “Real funny. That pen was very special to me, okay? The fact that I lost it and the thought that some member of the Deep Dish Gang had stolen it from me really messed with me.”

Keh was still holding the pen and nodded. “I wasn’t laughing at the fact that you lost something valuable and meaningful to you, Ovenist. I was merely laughing at you destroying your store for any reason whatsoever. I cherish my belongings as much as anyone.”

You nod solemnly, taking the pen from his hands. For a moment, your fingers touch his fingertips, which have a strong but silky-soft texture. It felt like a smooth lotion had just been applied to them. You think you saw Keh slightly blush at the contact, which you would’ve never seen if not for the bright street light by your car. “Well thank you for keeping it safe for me. I really appreciate it.”

While he tried to hide his blushing cheeks, he coughed. “Well uh...you’re quite welcome.”

“Do I owe you anything in return?”

Keh raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

You slightly smile. “Well it’s just....whenever you do or want to do something nice for me, you expect something in return, like with the artichokes. So I was just asking....”

Keh looks at you for a minute, then nods. “I see. Well, you dropped it when you quickly left my shop so I knew it was yours. I studied it and knew it was very special to you.”

You look up at him in confusion. “But....why didn’t you come by if you knew it was mine? You waited until now to come....”

Keh put both of his hands in his pant pockets and looked down a bit, then looked at you in the eyes again. “Well, we’re not exactly on good terms, Ovenist, given our history overall. I feared you would think I stole it if I brought it to you. I was originally going to have someone send it to you anonymously....”

“Anonymously? Well why didn’t you go through with it?”

Keh put his hands on hips and studied you. “Because for once, I wanted you to think of me as...well...”

You look him in his eyes. “What?”

“I wanted you to think I was a good guy, okay? I wanted you to...well, think at least somewhat highly of me...”

You blush a bit. “But....why me? Why not the other Ovenists?”

Keh rolls his eyes. “I could care less what Cicero thinks, I REALLY don’t care what Alicante thinks....but you, Ovenist....I don’t know. For some reason, you’re different.”

You start to fiddle your special pen in your fingers and shyly look up at him. “I’m....different?”

“I can’t explain it, but....yes.” Keh says. “For once in my life, I’ve found a puzzle I was never able to solve, and that’s you, Ovenist.”

Now is your turn to snort. “You could’ve fooled me! You’re always so mean to me....”

Keh swallows and nods. “Yes, and....I deeply regret it. I’m sorry. I’ve been trained since I was a youth to be incredibly competitive and ruthless, and.....because of that, I-”

You both hear a group of tourists approaching, walking down the street.

You widen your eyes. “I think we better go our separate ways for now. I’m sure you don’t want anyone spreading rumors, right?”

Keh nods. “Yes, I agree. Though I think the Pizzagram hashtags are already trending....”

You both get in your cars and drive away before the tourists see you both together....

#good pizza great pizza #dr keh #dr. michael keh #dr keh x reader #gpgpfanfiction #what you have together has to be hidden #he's incredibly vulnerable here #he starts to show his kinder side #you're still shorter than him in this lol #gpgp #teewritessmth

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romancingromanoff · 1 year

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Secrets & Sketches

Andromache the Scythian x f!reader

I decided to create a series of loosely related one shots for Andromache (my beloved). Here’s part 1 and part 2

Summary: You were always staring at her, not knowing she was staring back.

TW: None?

Word count: +5,100

Author's Note: Hi y'all. Here's some slightly domestic fluff before the action happens and the stakes skyrocket through the roof.

Despite never having lived with four strangers before, it turned out that your new situation offered you far more privacy than you had ever experienced while living with your mother.

The woman had a compulsive need to control every aspect of your life, from what you wore to what you ate. You were barely even safe in the bathroom. The years had taught you to lie with your words and carefully crafted smiles. Knowing what she wanted to hear from you and how you could appease her temper was like mastering a second language. Your skills in the craft became more and more refined throughout the years and your confidence ultimately grew. But you underestimated your mother and made the greatest mistake of them all.

“I know you’re lying to me! What are you trying to hide from me, you ungrateful whore?”

A picture frame nearly collided with your head, chipping the door frame instead of scratching your face. The glass shattered on the floor and your body jumped twice, once at the sound and another time when your eyes settled on the damage and found that your favorite childhood photo with your grandmother was destroyed.

“Whatever you did, I will find out! You cannot lie to me, I am your mother!”

It was one afternoon you had wanted all to yourself to go see the movie Roman Holiday after school. The charismatic Audrey Hepburn, riding on a Vespa with the largest smile you had ever seen, caused strange feelings to stir in your stomach when you had first watched the trailer. She was a princess masquerading as a commoner in order to freely experience the wonders of the Eternal City. Oh, how you envied her character. Your mother, however, could only focus on how short her hair was. The shortest your hair had ever been was when you were a fresh newborn. Once it grew past your upper back, you were never allowed to cut it, despite all the other girls you knew being able to short styles.

“How disappointing.” She scoffed when a clip of her getting her haircut played. “Such a beautiful young woman and she wants to make herself look like a man? I really don’t understand your generation, you’re all confused.”

When you arrived home late that evening, she refused to believe the lie you had produced about giving some tutoring lessons after school. It was only two days later that she found the proof she wanted. While snooping through your journal she came across the movie ticket you had pasted next to your latest entry. She burned the entire thing as only one portion of your punishment.

How your mother could predict your actions, anticipate your every move, and see through every single one of your lies you did not know. It was like she knew you and how your mind functioned but could never truly understand how suffocated you felt by the twisted ways she expressed her “love” for you. She was your mother, the closest kin you had left after your grandmother’s passing and the woman that had known you for your entire existence. The fact that she birthed you was one she’d never let you forget, yet you knew she would spend your entire life trying to mold you into something you weren’t if she could. If she could never accept you then how could anybody else?

Then you met Andy, who always seemed to be in tune with whatever you were thinking. Hell, she could practically guess your thoughts word for word without even really trying, yet not once did it ever feel like she was violating your mind as your mother had. You were almost completely certain that she was fully aware of the times when you were drawing her. It was impossible not to see the art in her movements. She’d be doing something mundane yet slightly active such as washing the dishes and you’d pull your sketchbook out. The moment you put pencil to paper she would slow down ever-so-slightly. A plate that needed maybe two wipes suddenly took four or more to clean. She must have known what she was doing to you, softly smirking as she folded laundry

But did she know what it was doing to you? How intensely you felt about her and as more than just an art subject, more than someone you merely admired. Pages full of sketches, varying in detail and design, became dedicated to capturing the alluring domestic side of the ancient warrior. Every angle, every shadow was carefully reconstructed (to the best of your ability anyway) as if to preserve each moment and time so that your eyes may never forget what she looked like chopping onions on a rainy Tuesday evening. A brief moment that might be incredibly insignificant for a being that has walked the earth for thousands of years, but one that was still so precious to you. The time you spent together, even the moments everyone else might consider to be dull, were filled with color all because of her.

Why she allowed you to draw her so frequently was something you couldn’t quite figure out. This rather untraditional dance the two of you engaged in was never spoken about in words. There was no doubt that Andy would have said something much earlier had she been uncomfortable being drawn by you. A part of you enjoyed entertaining the idea that, perhaps in some small way, Andy might actually return your feelings. But at the same time, you didn’t want to be wrong and come off as an artistic creep trying to invade her privacy.

The good thing was you never had to worry about any of the others looking through your sketchbook. The one time Joe had asked if he could take a peek it hadn’t even crossed your mind that you could have said ‘no’ to him. But the smallest bit of hesitance that he had seen in your eyes as you prepared to hand over your most personal and sacred treasure immediately stopped him.

“Y/N, you don’t actually have to show me anything if you don’t want to. I was merely curious but no part of me would be offended if you want to keep your art to yourself. I will always respect your privacy first.”

His words were almost foreign to you, like ones you had only ever read on pages and later discovered were pronounced completely differently when you finally heard them spoken out loud. Still, you knew Joe meant everything he said. Though all of your new companions were certainly capable of it, none of them had ever once tried to deceive you or keep you hidden from the truth. Previously living with a pathological liar had taught you all the signs you needed to know and not once had you found a single one since joining the old guard.

It was a bit startling how safe you already felt with these few strangers you had only met a few short weeks ago. You could talk to all of them about (almost) anything, although you did worry that your endless amount of questions might annoy any one of the unnaturally older beings. Sometimes you nearly cringed at the thought of how ignorant and stupid you must have appeared in their eyes. It mostly motivated you to contribute where you could. Cooking and cleaning were not tasks you necessarily enjoyed, but it felt nice to make some type of contribution to the team. Still, you longed to prove yourself as something more, to help save lives and make Andy, Booker, Joe, and Nico proud. And maybe, just maybe, if you became worthy enough of someone like your rescuer, she might look at you differently.

┊ ┊┊

It was nearing morning hours and your endless thoughts hadn’t allowed you to sleep yet. There was a buzzing in your body, making it impossible to fully relax, even though you knew you had a busy day of training ahead of you and you needed the rest. You tried to conjure up the comforting sound of Andy’s steady heartbeat as you imagined her lying next to you, only to grow even more anxious when you began feeling guilty for indulging in such thoughts.

Did she even like women the way you did? You certainly had your suspicions and noticed the way her heart seemed to break anytime there was a mention of Quynh. The necklace that never left her neck also appeared to hold a great amount of pain and significance to her. But even if you were right, Andy had never brought up any details regarding her love life and you were determined to respect that undiscussed boundary. The tossing and turning was just an unfortunate side effect that eventually had you cave in and get up to grab a drink from the kitchen.

“Can’t sleep?” The voice of the very person you had been thinking of came from behind you as soon as you had turned on a small lamp. You let out a nervous laugh and kept a steady hand on your chest when you caught her smiling directly at you. It made you take some extra time while getting your glass of water so that your heartbeat had a chance to settle.

Andy sat at the bar sipping on a mug of coffee. Even with the light being so dim, you didn’t need it to tell her beverage was completely black.

“I still don’t know how you’re able to drink that. Every time I try it it’s like trying to swallow hot liquid dirt.”

“Really?” The Scythian chuckled and you prayed the darkness would hide your melted expression. “That’s surprising considering how you drown yours in milk and sugar.”

“Hey, we can’t all be as tough as you.”

“No one said you had to be. No one said you weren’t already.” You supposed you were tough in the context of being able to override death itself, but besides that, it wasn’t a character trait you ever considered yourself to have. Even the immortality thing was basically a fluke.

The dark haired woman gestured for you to sit down and you awkwardly lowered yourself into the chair across from her. Your glass of water looked silly standing next to her more refined drink. “Yeah, that’s me. I got tough hands covered in paper cuts and callouses from drawing.”

“Art is tough for a lot of people. It’s tough for me. I could never quite get the emotional vulnerability part down and I feel like all the best art pulls from that. I would say you could probably teach me a thing or two about drawing but you have something more inborn than that. It can’t be taught.”

“But you’ve never seen my work?” Had she? You didn’t think she’d go through your things without your permission but there was definiteness in her tone that told you her words were true.

“No,” she shrugged. Nothing in her seemed to waver. “I don’t need to. There’s this look you get in your eyes when you’re completely focused on drawing that seems to transport you to this different world. I always wonder where you go but don’t want to tear you away when you’re clearly inspired.”

You had been staring at her for so long believing that she was merely tolerating your strange behavior. You assumed she simply felt unbothered. The idea that she might have been secretly staring back never once crossed your mind.

“You… You watch me?” A beat passed and your brain short circuited, unsure of what kind of answer you even hoped to hear. If she did then was it with the same unspoken desire you held in your heart that you could be worthy of her one day? No, it had to be something far from that. Your awkward, uncoordinated behavior could only be considered entertaining at best if Andy didn’t find you pitiable. You imagined it was like watching your neighbor’s beagle after they arrived home from a medical procedure at the vet. The poor thing was so loopy yet unaware that he couldn’t walk in a straight line. Every few steps he took he’d also crumble to the floor before eagerly trying to get back up and making another attempt with the same results. That’s what she must see whenever she saw you trip over your own feet. Or how silly you looked the other day when Booker tried to show you how to hold a pistol and you shook so hard that it fumbled out of your hands.

Even with all the time in the world, it was a struggle to see yourself ever truly earning your place among the rest of the guard one day. You not only lacked combat experience but had been thoroughly sheltered from the world by your mother. She hadn’t allowed you to participate in any sports, not even the more feminine ones like dance or golf. The result was barely being able to do a push-up and having the wind knocked out of your lungs after only a brief jog.

The others had started you off with some basic self defense techniques, which caused you to wake up with sore muscles you hadn’t even known existed. Everyone was extremely patient with you, stressing the importance of slowly building up your strength and reminding you that there was no rush to suddenly reach their skill level when they’d been fighting for longer than some of the strongest empires had lasted. But then you’d watch them training together or listen to one of them recount several of the missions they completed while you were stuck waiting in the safe house. They were out there saving lives, as well as literally sacrificing their own, while you could only hope to one day do the same.

In the back of your head you could hear your mother berating you for having such ridiculous dreams. If she could see you struggling to learn a pull up she would certainly laugh at your miserable attempts. But Andy didn’t look at you like you were “perfectly pathetic” as your mother often described. No, she seemed to stare at you softly, which made you feel like you were the only person she was thinking about.

“I find you interesting. More specifically, it’s been a pleasure to watch you grow into yourself these past few weeks. You look much more relaxed.”

You were fairly relaxed, aside from the fact that your heart was currently threatening to jump out of your chest. Or if physicists could somehow harness its energy then it could power the entire world. She had just admitted to finding you interesting and you were supposed to answer back in words. You took a painfully slow drink.

“Well, it has been nice being able to make my own decisions and not have someone constantly looking over my shoulder.” You think back to an instance where you were recently baking a lemon glaze cake for the team and some icing stuck to your fingers. Immediately, you went to wash your hands as your mother would have insisted upon when it occurred to you that she no longer had control over you. Licking your fingers after that had never felt so satisfying. “Even the little choices I’m able to make now are kind of exciting. Is that strange to say?”

“Not at all.” Andy shook her head. “It’s a beautiful thing, seeing how far you’ve come in such a short amount of time. Not to mention how glad I am that you feel safe enough around us to be yourself.”

A pang of guilt ran through you. What must she think of you if you were keeping cryptic drawings of her a secret? “I really do, which is why I don’t want you to believe I’m trying to hide things from you! Not forever, at least. I trust you, and perhaps it’s more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else. But with my drawings… I suppose it’s rather complicated and I’ve never willingly shown them to anyone before. They’re nothing inappropriate, though! I would never do anything like that.”

Before you could completely melt into a puddle of despair, Andy reached for your forearm, anchoring the two of you together while helping to calm you down. Her hand was warmed from holding her hot mug.

“Hey, it’s alright, I trust you too. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I’m flattered about the drawings and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I can wait until you’re ready to show them to me when you feel comfortable doing so.”

It was completely vexatious how patient Andy could be with you, or how she always seemed to know the right thing to say to make you feel better. She possessed the ability to soothe the fears you understood intimately along with the others which you had tried to suppress and nearly forgotten about. You simply weren’t used to being treated in such a way.

“How are you so patient with me all the time?” Your question came off more irritated than you intended, making you cringe inwardly. You weren’t even sure what you were really asking about.

In the few moments it took Andy to start processing the question, your thoughts finally began to come together and spill out all at once.

“I’m deeply appreciative of how understanding you’ve been, don’t get me wrong, but when I imagine myself in your position, it must be frustrating. You do so much for me, all four of you do, but you especially. I’m always needing your help with countless things even though I have nothing of use to offer in return. You’re all incredibly worldly people, capable of doing more than I ever have even before your first deaths. I’ve been kept sheltered my entire life and probably wouldn’t last a day on my own. Having me join the team probably feels a lot more like babysitting than anything else, yet you never complain about it.”

Even though you knew it wasn’t in her nature, sometimes you wished she would allow herself to be angry with you. Or if she even expressed the slightest bit of irritation then that might make you feel better somehow. You waited for Andy to tell you that you sounded ridiculous, or to make another comment about your tendency to overthink things. Nothing like that ever came.

In one swift, breathtaking movement, her hand carefully tilted your chin up towards her face so that you were caught in her stare. The skin of her thumb was rough and her green-blue eyes bore into your own, tender yet determined as they searched for something deep in your soul. Though her touch was completely innocent, it was also intensely intimate from your perspective at least. You wanted to bear your entire being to her, consciously preparing your mind and body to take in whatever words she was about to say.

“Y/N, listen to me. There is nothing you owe me. Relationships aren’t transactional and I enjoy being able to help you. You also didn’t choose this life and I can’t hold what you don’t know against you. I won’t lie and say patience comes to me easily. Truthfully, when you get to my age everything is frustrating. I’ve seen… far too much in my life aside from any type of explanation for it all and it has made me bitter. But you don’t deserve any of that and I don’t want to be that type of person anymore. I don’t ever want to turn my back on people I care about again.”

Her eyes glossed over with the hue of a haunting memory, something from her past clearly bothering her. She let go of you in the crest of the emotion and you nearly whimpered when you lost her touch, but found the rare opportunity to offer Andy the comfort she needed.

“I may not know much in the grand scheme of things, but I know you’re not bitter. Truly bitter people try to tear down everyone around them because there’s nothing misery loves more than company. You’re nothing like my mother, she wanted to control me and keep me trapped in a life where I could never have my own happiness. You set me free. Anyway, it would be hard to live as long as you have, see the things that you’ve seen, and not become discouraged with all of the wickedness that has happened throughout history. What matters is that you’ve continued to fight for others that wouldn’t normally stand a chance on their own. If you were actually as bitter as you think, you could turn your back on everyone without a single care in the world. I see how much you care for others, Andy. Bitter people only care about themselves and I don’t see how you can believe you’re one of them.”

The fact that you were so young was partially why Andy felt the need to hold herself back and take things slow with you. Although your life would never be normal, she wanted to give you the chance to choose your own path and chase whatever dreams you fancied. Right now, it was crucial to prepare you for the world and to teach you how to keep your shared secret safe. But she knew you’d want to adventure out on your own at some point, and that you’d probably want to experiment with other partners closer to your age. Andy was aware of the baggage she carried, as well as the fact that the nature of your relationship meant she held a type of influence over you. She would never allow herself to take advantage of you like that.

But one thing she couldn’t let you do was downplay yourself, not when your words touched her in ways she hadn’t felt in thousands of years.

“Do you really believe you’re of no use at all and have nothing to offer? Y/N, I’ve traveled to every corner of the world and met the wisest individuals that still led directionless and unfulfilled lives. They thought of themselves too highly, pushed others away, and in the end their knowledge meant nothing when they were unable to make meaningful connections. You have all the time you need to perfect your knowledge and learn every skill that exists or will develop in the future.”

Your head tilted in perplexity.

“What? You think we had phones or electricity back when I was growing up? I didn’t learn how to drive a car until late last century. It was really like the blind leading the blind in those early days.”

Imagining a Victorian era Andy accidentally crashing a motorized carriage or angrily shaking her fist at experimental drivers from atop of her horse was certainly entertaining. You wondered if the two of you would ever share a similar experience together.

Temporarily distracted by your smile, Andy nearly forgot the importance of the message she was trying to convey to you.

“Y/N, you’re right that you’ve never really been given the chance to grow before all of this. None of that was your fault. The wonderful thing now is that you’re on your way to becoming smarter, like anybody else can when given the right tools. What you already have, your emotional strength and intelligence, is far more rare and valuable in my eyes. You teach me to look at things from a different perspective even when I’ve felt stuck in my ways for hundreds of years. Don’t overlook how much of an impact you can make or how much we all appreciate you.”

“Andy… I… Thank you.” You try not to cry, though you know she wouldn’t judge you if you did. Viewing your emotions as a strength is something that you never considered before. They were always a weakness back when you experienced nothing but misery, and now everything couldn’t be more different. Your new life was full of evenings spent getting tipsy and laughing at the stories your friends told you of places and times that sounded unreal. It was wanting the taste of more, the promise of the adventures that lay before you and the people you would get to share them with. It was a life you could hardly believe was real and you got to spend every single day with a woman that made your heart race with a single smile. Even if she never felt the same way about you, there was no chance that you’d trade your time with Andy for anything or anyone else. “Thank you for everything. I’m glad I get to experience all of this with you.”

She almost let her resolve crumble upon hearing your words. The grip around her drink tightened, heating up her flesh to a tender sting but she persevered through it. She knew that if she touched you again then it would all be over. There would be no way she could let go.

“As exciting as everything can be, I can’t help but feel nervous for what’s to come. I worry that no matter how hard I train I won’t be prepared. No matter how much I learn, there is bound to be something I overlook.”

How right you were.

“One thing I can tell you is that there are some things you’re never ready for, even if you spend centuries preparing. People, history, and almost everything I’ve encountered follow some type of pattern maybe 99% of the time. But all it takes is that 1% chance of randomness to make life unpredictable. Even the most meticulous of plans can end up going sideways. At the end of the day, I always ask myself why I’m here or why certain things happen and I’ve never been very close to an answer. There are questions I’ve carried with me for even longer than I can remember.”

It would have been quite terrifying to hear those words from anyone else besides Andy. If she still struggled to figure things out then you were practically cursed to be clueless for the rest of your existence. Although strangely enough, it was actually comforting to hear that she shared a similar sense of existential questioning. Both of you were human even if your lifespans or biology no longer were.

“Okay, but you must have a guess for when we’ll see flying cars at least. Or do you believe people will really be able to walk on Mars one day?”

A smooth attempt to cover up her broadening smile by lifting her coffee up to her mouth might have gone unnoticed if you hadn’t been so enamored by each one of Andy’s actions. She had a harder time hiding her eyes, which playfully rolled at your question.

“Sure, I suppose it’s possible. Hey, maybe you’ll be the first one and you can tell us all about it.”

“While the prospect of accomplishing something you’ve never done is intriguing, I wouldn’t want to do it without you.”

The words left your mouth, leaving only your pair of eyes holding hers throughout a deep silence. It wasn’t often that Andy looked like she was at a loss for words but this was definitely one of those times.

Quickly, you tried to cover up your confession with a stupid excuse. “I mean if there really are man-eating martians up there they’ll want to eat you first. You have way more muscle.”

“Right,” Andy laughed in agreement. “I guess that’s all I’m good for besides being a model for your artwork. Are you fast enough to draw me up there in time before I get turned into alien food?”

“Maybe.” You blushed and tried to go for Andy’s move to cover your face with your cup, only to realize that it was practically useless when it was made of glass.

“I, uh, really wanted to get some sleep tonight before waking up for early training but I guess I’m not doing a very good job at that.”

“Sleep in, you deserve the break. You’ve been pushing yourself really hard and should get to sleep in for once. There’s no need to overexert yourself.”

“Wait, aren’t you leaving for your mission around sunrise?” Andy was planning to look for some intel in the city and you knew she might be gone for up to a few days. “Wake me up before you go so I can say goodbye.”

For a moment, all the Scythian can do is try to memorize the look on your face, wishing that she could permanently sketch the vision on paper like you could. You gazed up at her with such innocence and devotion in your eyes, as if she was simply running to get milk from the grocery store the next morning. The team had actually glossed over the more important details about Andy’s assignment and what it would entail. It wasn’t that you were unaware of Andy’s brutal past and countless killings, but you still had yet to witness such violence. She couldn’t help but worry that witnessing that side of her would not only change how you saw her, but also influence your own self perception when the time came to take another life yourself. It was painful to imagine the countless amount of years you might spend plagued by inner turmoil, hating the person you would become even if it was inevitable. She’d die in a million more excruciating ways if it would shield you from such a curse.

“Andy, are you alright?” Your voice of concern brought her back to the present. There was a slight look of worry between your furrowed eyebrows that she wished to smooth out herself, but she practiced self restraint.

“Sorry, I guess I’m a little tired too. If you want me to wake you before I leave then I will.”

With a satisfied smile on your face, you nodded and rose from your seat. The urge to ask Andy if she might join you tugged at your heart. You always slept more soundly when it was in her arms. Your nightmares were much more infrequent by now and it had been some time since you had been able to fall asleep while breathing in her scent, snuggling deep into her chest. The temptation to voice your request was almost impossible to resist, save for the fear of jeopardizing your friendship and making her uncomfortable by revealing your feelings.

Eventually, you found yourself back in bed alone and replaying your conversation. One specific realization you couldn’t get over was that Andy had undoubtedly expressed some type of interest in the art you made of her. Sure, it’s possible that it might have been in a completely platonic sense, but you held onto the fantasy of it meaning something more and decided you’d keep it to yourself, for now.

#Andromache the Scythian x reader #andromache x reader #Andromache the scythian #the old guard #joe x nicky #booker #yusuf x nicolo #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #sebastien le livre #andy the scythian x reader #andromache the scythian x reader #immortal lesbians #Charlize Theron character

146 notes · View notes

moonstrider9904 · 5 months

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And so, the last Bad Batch Eve falls upon us.

It is surreal to think that a show that has meant so much to me for three years will come to an end. I've talked about how meaningful TBB is to me many times, and I most certainly will in the future, but I didn't want to pass on the opportunity to do it on the last Bad Batch Eve we'll officially have.

The night before Aftermath premiered, I'd struggled with some pretty bad anxiety. In the weeks following after that and throughout the first season, I dealt with depression and anxiety being diagnosed as well as an ear infection the doctor attributed to said mental illnesses. I went through a pretty bad breakup. The lockdowns were at their peak where I was. But despite that being a rough time, I also vividly remember being in my room at home, my favorite place in the world, eating my favorite food and drinking my favorite relaxing tea, hearing it rain outside, wearing my favorite hoodie and my PJs, watching/rewatching those season 1 episodes. Seeing Crosshair deal with the inhibitor chip seemed to echo some of what I was going through, i.e. having something in your head you couldn't really control. I wondered how afraid he must have felt, and I sympathized with him.

During S2, as Crosshair was off with the Empire, I was off living in my hometown the first time, away from my true home and my family, and I have to admit I was very lost during that time. I did make mistakes. I did return home, and I left it again, albeit now more ready, more prepared, more stable. But it was still a second time leaving home.

S3 Crosshair has all but solidified my intent in going back home and not freaking leaving and I really hope the day in which I can return home to my family the way he did is sooner rather than later. Seeing him grow, own up to his mistakes, forgive and be forgiven, learn to control what's in his head, and heal, feels like a very fitting peak to a journey, a journey that had and still has its ups and downs.

And let's not forget the writing and the fandom. I have written things I didn't think I'd write, things I've loved so much that part of me wants to go back in time and rewrite to experience the joy of doing it all over again (looking at Moonlight here lol). I have also made gifs, which I didn't ever imagine doing! I edited music videos and crack meme compilations, which I had wanted to do for years. Fear not, I'll keep doing all of that - slowly, yes, but not with any less love. Y'all are stuck with me. 😁🩷

And as if all I've mentioned wasn't already very valuable, I cannot forget all the beautiful, wonderful, amazing people I've met because of this show. People who I've learned from, laughed with, cried with, fangirled with, gamed with... every single one of you has been the icing on the cake, the lattice on the pie, the parmesan on the pasta. You have all truly made this worth it and make me love being in the fandom. You give what I do a greater purpose, and you have become people I am happy to call moots and friends. I am over the moon that this show allowed me to cross paths with you. @photogirl894 @rebekadjarin @darthzero22 @arctrooper69 @jedi-hawkins @stardustbee @s-pirth-lemonade @eloquentmoon @sageislostinspring @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @kimageddon @emperor-palpaminty @rainydaydream-gal18 @imabeautifulbutterfly @paperback-rascal @pankeki-25 @dragonrebelrose @dragonrider9905 @questforgalas @lightwise @zoruui @nunanuggets @misogirl828 and everyone else 🩵

I love The Bad Batch and what it's done for my life in so many aspects. I love these characters for their growth and because they were there for me when nobody was, and because they brought me to so many amazing people. I am grateful that this show exists and I cannot wait to keep creating all the stuff I have planned, writing or otherwise.

Thank you, Clone Force 99, and thank you everyone for being a part of this journey!

🩷🌙

#moonstrider speaks #the bad batch #star wars tbb #clone force 99 #star wars #bad batch eve #tbb #tbb season 3

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deripmaver · 1 year

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Casca and Griffith: Before and After The Eclipse

Back by unpopular demand: ME!!!!

My main MO in Berserk fandom is Sad Casca Hours, where I make posts that literally just exist to make you feel sad about Casca, because I feel sad about Casca and why should I be the only one who has to suffer?

To me, one of the absolute most heartbreaking aspects of Berserk is Casca and her (platonic) relationship with Griffith. It is genuinely impossible for me to look at the way she talks about him, thinks about him, and interacts with him in the Golden Age without feeling a lump in my throat. I think this particular relationship is overlooked - and honestly, I get why. It's just so fucking sad, you can't think about it and also expect to have a good day after LOLLLL.

I want to take a look at their relationship by comparing and contrasting two specific moments in it: Casca's first meeting with Griffith as a child, and Casca's first meeting with Griffith as Elaine, post-eclipse. I also want to go briefly into how, textually, Berserk handles atonement and forgiveness.

We're here to have a bad time!

Griffith Meets Casca as a Child

Griffith, as the young commander of a mercenary army, comes across Casca as the nobleman who purchased her from her family attempts to rape her. As Casca tells Guts looking back, it was as though an angel came down to her, a powerless girl, and gave her the agency to fight for herself.

It's not JUST that he saves her from the noble, it's that he puts the sword in her hand and shows her how she can fight for herself.

Casca's life up until that point has been marked by terror after terror, to the point where the daily injustices become banal, just part of her every day existence. Her family is helpless except to flee when bandits ride through their village. Then, at the age of twelve, she is offered up as an unwilling sacrifice for the good of all them. When a noble offers her family money to take away one of the mouths to feed, they have little choice but to accept. It's not ever specified how she felt about this at the time, and it's not clear if her parents have some inkling that the man they're selling their daughter to has ill intent - but what is clear is that there's no way for them to refuse the offer. After being sold off, the noble attempts to rape her - yet another instance of powerlessness.

Griffith giving her the sword might actually be the first time in Casca's entire life that she has any kind of power. It's key that he lets her kill the noble, both because of how it gives Casca agency over her own fate, again for the first time in her entire life, and because it reinforces the recurring theme in Berserk of atonement coming through direct confrontation with the people you hurt, in this case the sub-theme "everyone gets to kill their rapist."

It's also important to point out that Griffith's motivation here is seemingly completely altruistic. He hates that the nobles exert their power over the most helpless among them, and he gleefully takes the opportunity to humiliate the noble by turning the tables on him. Casca at this point is malnourished, and a girl, and completely unable to fight - there's no reason for him to welcome her into his band. There's no way he could have known how good of a fighter she would become, and how loyal, but in this moment he just says that if she wants to come with him, the decision is hers. This points to Griffith, in the early Golden Age, genuinely pushing for a more egalitarian world than the ones the nobles currently control (though I maintain that he always envisioned himself as being the supreme ultimate authority of that world as opposed to destroying the hierarchy entirely).

Griffith Meets Casca After the Eclipse

Casca, after the eclipse, is in a shockingly similar position to where she was when Griffith met her for the first time.

She's traumatized from sexual violence, unable to fight, unable to even talk, and helpless to the violence of the world around her. It's not quite right to compare her directly to twelve year old Casca, because child Casca was mentally sound and was capable of learning combat - but then the comparison isn't exactly right also because of the history between Griffith and Casca, and because of the years of loyalty and service Casca gave Griffith.

It's always complicated to analyze how, exactly, Griffith felt about Casca before the eclipse. For my part, I see him as viewing her akin to a favorite tool - he felt genuine affection for her, but in a sort of dehumanized way, while of course Casca saw him as beyond human and even godlike. He saw her as someone he could pluck up and put wherever he needed, and he took it for granted that she would always be by his side regardless of what he did. Honestly, I do think he geniunely liked her.

His actions towards her during the eclipse, and immediately before, are a reflection of having that stability shaken. When she attempts to exert her own agency by forming her own relationship with Guts, Griffith is suddenly made aware that she's stopped acting just like his favorite tool, and I think this makes him angry. His rape of her is in some ways reminding her of her "place" - she is being treated like an object both because of the rape itself, and because the main reason he rapes her is to hurt Guts. He is purely using her as a tool for his petty, malicious vengeance.

Then, two years later, he is reunited with her on the Hill of Swords.

I'll post these panels given the slightest opportunity lol. Griffith doesn't expect to save Casca - he moves completely unconsciously to protect her, and then when his heart still throbs upon seeing her and Guts, he says it must be because of the child inhabiting his body. This is of course up to interpretation - I don't fully buy it, because Griffith has never been honest about his feelings.

What I need to point out with this scene, though, is that Griffith does not for a second consider Casca. Everything on the Hill of Swords is about Guts, when arguably Casca is the one who was hurt the worst during the eclipse, and who was the most loyal to Griffith. For goodness' sake, she's the only reason Griffith still had a BotH to sacrifice in the first place. Griffith tells Guts that he no longer feels anything for anyone, and after saving her from the rock fall, Griffith does not even spare a glance towards her. She genuinely seems to mean nothing to him.

Interestingly, as Griffith leaves, again not even deigning to look at Casca, he gives one of the only examples of victim blaming in the entirety of Berserk, by saying that Guts should have expected what happened.

Griffith in the Golden Age seemed intimately aware of the dangers a young girl alone could face, and he wants to protect Casca from that despite her being a perfect stranger. Griffith after his rebirth must, then, also have some awareness of the dangers in the world facing a disabled woman like Elaine, particularly a branded one - and yet he leaves her to those dangers, uncaring of how she struggles under them.

The purpose of this comparison isn't to make an argument one way or the other about how much Femto is the same as Griffith. Just for clarity's sake, my stance is that Femto and Griffith are one and the same, and that all of Femto's actions (rape included) are actions taken by Griffith.

What I really just want to highlight here is the pure, unfeeling cruelty with which Griffith treats Casca after the eclipse. KLSHGSLKJ as if sexually assaulting her and completely destroying her mentally isn't enough, his apathy towards her after becomes a near constant torment as much as his outright hatred towards Guts. It must be noted that he offers Guts and Rickert a place in Falconia, while Casca gets no such acknowledgement. It's as though, to him, she doesn't even exist, while her entire life has been consumed by the trauma of his betrayal during the eclipse. Isn't that just painfully realistic, though? How often do the people who hurt you the most go on in life, unaware of the deep pain you feel every day?

A quick note I'd like to make is that, of course, we're intentionally not being given any sort of look into NeoGriffith's mind, save for the slightest hints in the Hill of Swords. We don't know if he does harbor any sort of thoughts about Casca, if he's intentionally avoiding thinking about her due to guilt (wouldn't that be nice), or if she genuinely means nothing to him with his heart apparently frozen. While I do want to point out that we shouldn't take what Griffith says at face value, I find myself struggling to imagine what internal monologue could justify his treatment of Casca, both during the eclipse and after.

I think if you're reading this you're wondering why tf I'm getting so emo about Griffith, who canonically raped Casca and killed everyone she ever knew and loved in front of her (save Guts), being mean to Casca in the aftermath. Like, do I think he should be nice to her? Pretend like nothing happened? No, of course not - what I want is that he didn't assault her in the first place, not after how much she idolized him and loved him. It's brutal to have watched that happen, and to watch the utter apathy with which he looks at her after, to the point that I wonder how he could have ever cared about her if this is what he would do.

As for protecting her as Elaine from the dangers in the world, am I really suggesting he should have plucked her up and away from Guts to hide her away from all the monsters in the world?

SPEAKING OF WHICH.......................

Griffith's Kidnapping of Casca

ohhhhh nmy god oh my fucking godhksdjfghnvlskfdj

Griffith left Casca to the dangers of the world on the Hill of Swords, and then the minute the fact that she's apart from him presents a weakness to him (ie his uncontrolled travel to visit her and Guts during his full moon transformations into their son), he just... Kidnaps her.

Casca has just revived, and has this sweet close-knit support system, and Griffith pulls her away from all of that because, to him, she is just a tool that he can pick up and place wherever he needs her. Again, we don't know what's going through Griffith's head as he does this, but we very much do see the way it impacts Casca, and that to me overrides whatever internal justification Griffith may have for his actions - if he even bothers to justify it to himself.

Smug bastard.

The utter dehumanization that Casca is subjected to by Griffith in chapter 372 is so... cruel. It's just cruel. There's no other word for it. After everything, he has her drugged in Falconia, and again he won't even deign to look at her. I have a whole post on Ch 372 here where I go through this in depth.

Before everything, Casca used to look at Griffith like this.

In Berserk, in order to be forgiven, characters need to go through an internal transformation that relates to the harm they previously caused. We look at Farnese, who was going to have Casca tried for heresy, and who wound up being Casca's protector and humbling herself by learning magic from Schierke. Then, with Guts, after assaulting Casca he makes a point of changing his whole ethos and allowing Farnese and Serpico to join him. His narrative punishment for this, also, is directly related to his relationship with Casca. She is terrified of him and refuses to be near him, to the point where he can't even help her be revived. Not to say he's fully forgiven, or that he SHOULD be fully forgiven until he can speak with revived Casca, but these are examples of how Berserk treats forgiveness and atonement. I really recommend this essay by @imhaitusncarnate on Guts and toxic masculinity.

Griffith, while running Falconia as an apparent utopia, has done absolutely nothing like that - and his interactions with Casca in particular are just absolutely horrific, torment after torment like she's not even a person to him. I think this is meant to set him apart from characters who truly seek to atone for the things they've done. With Guts, he's flawed and he fucks up again and again as he tries to protect Casca. With Griffith, he won't even acknowledge her as she's drugged and helpless in his "paradise."

It's so incredibly painful to look at their first meeting where Griffith saves her, and puts agency into her hands for the first time in her life, and then to see how he treats her now. That, I suppose, is the crux of this essay - in many ways I think Griffith's morality as a character is represented in how he treats Casca, and to overlook that (and to overlook her) is to miss some of the most important overarching themes in Berserk. In fairness, I think this goes for Guts as well. He's narratively supported when he's caring for Casca, and narratively punished when he isn't.

There can be some arguments that this treatment is simply because Miura doesn't care about women, but genuinely I don't buy that. I think there's plenty of textual evidence that, while flawed at times, Miura even from Conviction Arc intended Casca and her trauma to be a key player in both Guts' and Griffith's character arcs.

I don't think you need to be reminded every day of how horribly Griffith treats Casca post-eclipse because not everyone has an overabundance of melancholic humors like I do, but I think it's important to acknowledge it exists and not chalk it up to misogyny on Miura's end.

I think, eventually, Casca will have a moment where she takes agency back into her own hands, in contrast to the moment where Griffith helped her all those years ago. I also think, at some point, Griffith will have to really look at Casca again. It'll be interesting, and heartbreaking, to see what happens then.

#berserk meta #casca berserk #griffith berserk #casca #berserk #griffith #sad casca hours lfg

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mybworlds · 10 months

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Bittersweet

CHAPTER 1

status: ongoing

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: your life is full of 'must'. You live with your overprotective mother who controls every aspect of your life. You have a dream, to write romance novels, but love - real love - you haven't found yet. Your mother has even decided what you must do in your free time: play music. One day, however, when you go to your music teacher's house, you will have an unexpected encounter and from that day on things change…

rating: 18+ explicit (minors, DNI)

Before to start... Hello people, I know there are other two ff that I already started, but I dreamt this new idea for my new ff. So I decided to write it down it. So here we are. If you want to let me know what you think about it I'd be glad to read you.

No offence pls, if you dislike it go away :)

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

You always dreamed of doing something special, of being the person who would make a difference in the world….

So you hoped.

You hoped to become a great writer of romance novels, and you hoped to instill hope in the hearts of young people not to give up in the face of love and the possible obstacles that may arise.

But not all dreams come true.

In fact, you ended up working in a small bar on the outskirts of your town, surrounded by the many stories of the many diners who populate the place during the daytime or evening hours--depending on the shifts. These stories are the most different, and cannot help but feed your wild imagination.

In the evening, when you are not on shift, you write dozens and dozens of stories on your computer: some are shorts, some are very long and have happy endings, some less. It depends on your mood and how you imagine certain events you've witnessed or heard will end.

"I'm home!"

Your mother has just returned from a nearly seventy-two-hour shift at the hospital, she works in emergency medicine, and - since your father died (or at least she always said) - when she's not at home, you have to do everything, housework and bar work, grocery shopping, paying bills.

"Hi, Mom."

You absentmindedly greet her by putting down your computer glasses and crinkling your eyes in exhaustion.

"Did you buy groceries?"

The usual string of questions starts, to which you always answer with a distracted yes. You are almost 30 years old, but sometimes you feel like you are 40s or even 50s. Sometimes you think you would just like to enjoy youth, to be carefree, light-hearted, you would like to be free even to make mistakes, and instead you feel caged in this life. In a life where the only rule is you must.

"So you're okay with that?" your mother suddenly asks, making you get your feet back on the ground.

"What?" you ask confused.

"You might even listen to me for once!" blurts out Mom.

"I just got distracted for a second!" you exclaim trying to catch up.

Mom snorts, "I asked you if you were free tomorrow for your guitar lesson."

Ah yes, the exhilarating guitar lessons!

Mom, ever since Dad left (but she always said it was as if he was dead), has demanded that you take piano lessons first and guitar lessons later, like your father. You can't understand your mother, sometimes she seems to hate your father, sometimes she doesn't.

About love, you've always wanted it to be forever. Maybe it's just some romantic bullshit you always watched in movies or read in books, but you want to believe that there really exists out there for you, someone who is willing to love you for a lifetime. Too bad you haven't found anyone so far who is willing to love you the same way you love, to want you the way you want!

Going back to your guitar lessons, your teacher is a bit of a peculiar guy, a bit of a loner, a lover of many things and one opposed to the other. He's -- you don't know exactly how to define him. You've never been able to decipher him. He seems gruff, but at the same time he has a good side and probably deep down sweet.

Very deep down.

"Yes, don't worry." Mom, ever since he left, has become overprotective in some ways with you, has demanded to control you even though you are not so young anymore, wants to know what you read, what you see, what you do. It may seem normal, perhaps, for a mom to try to get to know what her child does, but not the way she does. If you are evasive for one reason for another, she becomes a hound, suffocating almost. Once she even demanded to read a chat you created with friends fearing that you might be in touch with a man much older than you, and instead she found herself a chat where you were exchanging sometimes funny and sometimes even private messages with some of your close friends from school, which even embarrassed you, but mom justified herself by saying she was doing it for you. She even banned you from driving for fear that you might have a car accident! You have a driver's license, but your mother won't even let you drive around town. She always has to be the one to drive you. These manias of hers are suffocating!

"Good. Do you have money to pay for it?" she asks you.

"Yes, don't worry," you reply, going to prepare dinner.

"We have to be very punctual or I'll be late for the hospital," she informs you.

"Do you have another night?" you ask her "It will be the fifth time in a month! But didn't there used to be shifts once even in the hospital?" you ask again as you prepare some pasta.

"Yes, but -- you know, there are only a few of us and then there are even more emergencies than usual."

You follow your mother with your eyes as you see her typing on her cell phone. Your mother sometimes looks like the young woman and you look like the mom.

What an unfair life!

The next day your life flows as usual, you get up very early, make coffee bringing it also to your mother, go to shower, get dressed and go to work.

At the café there is the usual hustle and bustle, who wants coffee, who wants a croissant, who wants a slice of pizza, who wants something else. You don't have a moment to yourself. Only when it's almost lunchtime now, you stop and go to the back of the store to eat your sandwich and smoke. Yes, you smoke. The only real transgression in your life. If your mother found out she would probably kill you, but you don't care smoking makes you feel good and maybe it makes you feel good because it's a decision you made, not because it was forced on you.

You rub one temple and look toward the road covered with a hint of snow. You wonder what you would have been doing by now if you had not been there with your mother, if maybe you were busy in college or maybe in pursuing some master's degree, you wonder who you might have been if you had dared to live your life to the fullest.

In the afternoon, your mother - after making sure you are dressed appropriately, that you have sheet music and whatnot - drops you off in front of your teacher's building.

The latter lives on the top of seven floors, it's practically a penthouse, it's beautiful place. Being with him -- a little less so.

When you knock, you are about to greet him, but a completely different man from your teacher appears in front of you. He is tall, much taller than your teacher and you, curly brown hair, dark eyes, a look that is at first grim, then curious, defined jaw line and curved nose. He is perhaps 40 years old.

You stand open-mouthed, thinking you had the wrong house for a moment, then realizing it's the right address.

"I was looking for Mr. Miller," you say.

"In person." he replies.

"Tommy Miller," you say.

"I'm his brother." he says again.

You are about to say something, but he is the one who interrupts you by asking if you are his student and calling your name, you nod in confusion.

"My brother had to leave yesterday morning. He told me you were coming and to wait for you to let you know." he clarifies by placing his hands on his hips.

He is incredibly muscular; you have never seen a man like him. He hits you right away.

"I see. Then -- I'll go." ready to leave.

You make to turn your back to him "Did Mommy tell you not to talk to strangers?" he asks making you turn back to him "I saw you get out of your mother's car." he adds noticing your confused look.

"What did you say?" you ask in annoyance.

You see him smirking and cross his arms "Are you afraid the big bad wolf will eat you?"

You wrinkle your forehead "First, I don't even know who you are." you say moving a couple of steps closer to him "And second…"

"Joel." he introduces himself by extending his hand.

"You're creepy -- Joel," you say looking first at his hand and then at his face.

"You, on the other hand, are shy." he notes looking at you and running his gaze over your figure. No one has ever looked at you like this. Making your skin warmed. "Yes, you are a shy little one." he adds, smiling and making wrinkles appear on the sides of his eyes.

"Your brother is definitely nicer," you say.

Lie. Tommy has always been very much on his own.

He just bends his head to the side, "Funny, people always told me I'm the nice one of the Miller brothers."

Gotcha.

"Well, maybe they never really knew you!"

"And you in less than a minute figured out who am I?" he asks, leaving you speechless.

No, you know very well that you cannot judge anyone in less than a minute. If someone had judged you in less than a minute they probably would have dismissed you as an ordinary young woman, lacking dreams of her own, trivial.

Perhaps the same thing applies to the man in front of you, Joel Miller.

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