#sorry for the absence—I’ve started a new teaching job recently!

[solarpunkmagazine]

Hello! I hope we’re all feeling very pro-workers’ rights on this night and day. Introducing our upcoming collaboration with Paid Time Off, the zine of Jobs With Justice!

We are so excited to announce the contributors’ names of this special solarpunk labor-themed issue. We had a blast working with PTO on selecting pieces we felt best reflected the theme. Get ready for anti-capitalism, for safe working conditions, for fruitful efforts, and for vibrant imaginations. 💚

Available before the end of September 2022.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Miraculous World: New York - United HeroeZ

So... with the recent announcement that Seasons 4 and 5 of Miraculous Ladybug will air on Disney+, with one episode set to air around March 27th (and it's out of order because of course it is), I figured I would try something new with this blog.

While I'm sure Astruc will be more active while the new season is airing, I figured I'd take a stab at reviewing new episodes of Miraculous Ladybug when they come out, as I already have a Disney+ account that I only really use to watch Star Wars and other Disney Channel cartoons I've never seen before. Well, that and the gloriousness that is Mech-X4.

And I was thinking that since a certain special is already available on Disney+, I'll review it now. Consider it my, uh...

279 Follower Special. Yeah, that’s it.

Miraculous World: New York – United Heroez is the first in a series of Miraculous Ladybug specials with the premise of having our heroes travel around the world. Because I guess that's what you do with your show when you run out of ideas for things your characters can do. Just ask Ash Ketchum and Thomas the Tank Engine.

The special is somewhat polarizing among the fandom, with some loving it, and some hating it. If you've seen some of my earlier posts, you probably already know how I feel about this.

Anyway, let's take a look at Miraculous World: New York – United Heroez

We start off with a logo letting us know this is going to be the start of a series of specials called Miraculous World.

Yeah, I'm sure that'll be remembered among other great cinematic universes like the Dark Universe and Ghost Corps.

In all seriousness, this is actually a pretty decent opening. It has some nice visuals that inform the audience of the globetrotting gimmick seen in the special, and the orchestral cover of the Miraculous Ladybug theme sounds pretty badass.

The special truly starts off in the middle of an Akuma fight, where we see that Mr. Pigeon is taking inspiration from Startrain's plan to escape to the one place that hasn't been corrupted by capitalism... SPACE! Apparently, this is the 51st time that Ladybug and Cat Noir have fought him, which makes you wonder if Hawkmoth is either running out of ideas, or if he just wants to see how insane Mr. Pigeon's plans can get for the hell of it.

Ladybug and Cat Noir transform into their new space forms that they've obviously had for a while, given Alya's familiarity with their names... even though those forms probably would have been useful when they were fighting Startrain. And this is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of things this special retcons.

We get a few interactions between Ladybug and Cat Noir to give new viewers an idea of what the Love Square dynamic is like, with Cat Noir fawning over Ladybug after she leaves, and Marinette gushing over a new poster Adrien is in. I'll get back to this later,

After that, we see a brief clip from a student film teaching the audience about the real life friendship between George Washington and Marquis de Lafayette (the latter actually becoming one of Washington's close advisors during the Revolutionary War), and how it lead to the completely made up, “French American Friendship week”, which is basically an excuse for Marinette and Adrien's class to go to New York for a week.

Their teacher, Ms. Bustier isn't going with them because she's having a baby (God help us if the writers resort to pregnancy jokes next season), so the only other teacher in the school, Ms. Mendeleiev, will be supervising the class instead.

Adrien isn't able to go to New York because his father won't let him, and even he lampshades how predictable this is. But as soon as Lila suggests spending time with Adrien, Marinette immediately declares she will try to get Adrien to come on the trip with everyone, because he's her friend... and then Alya mocks her for saying that in the very next scene.

And here is the first problem with this special: The way Marinette's crush on Adrien is portrayed.

We're supposed to see Marinette as being in denial about her feelings for Adrien, but when you think about how Season 3 ended with Marinette realizing Adrien and Kagami (who will make an appearance in this special later on) are happy together, it makes sense that she wants to do this. She wants to move on from her crush on Adrien and try to be friends with him.

Unfortunately, her “best friend” Alya isn't willing to let her move on, which is extremely hypocritical when you remember how often she teased her for her behavior around Adrien, to the point where her other “friends” made bets about Marinette's hesitance to confess to him (Cat Blanc). Does she even know about Adrien and Kagami?

And throughout this special, rather than acknowledge Marinette's decision to move on, she constantly teases Marinette about how she still has feelings for Adrien, instead of simply leaving her alone. She reaches salt fic levels of unlikable in this special.

It doesn't help that Marinette's anxiety around Adrien is cranked up to twelve in this special, with her constantly stammering, or fidgeting around to the point where she struggles to get through a door. Twice. And as always, this behavior is only going to be played for laughs, because the showrunners are running out of ways to make Marinette suffer for comedy. And it only gets worse from here.

While watching a news report about a necklace and sabre George Washington had given to him by Lafyette, Nathalie, bedridden from the events of the season finale, tells Gabriel that the necklace in question is actually a lost Miraculous.

And as soon as Marinette arrives, Gabriel tells her that he's going to let Adrien go on the trip. His reason?

Gabriel: Letting Adrien go to New York will be simpler than hiding my absence here from him. Besides, this will allow me to continue keeping an eye on him.

Yeah, he seriously thinks it's a good idea to send his son to the same place he's planning to attack as part of one of his plans. At least you could make the argument that whenever Adrien is endangered during an Akuma attack, he's simply caught in the crossfire because he's in the wrong place at the wrong time, like with “Style Queen”. Here, Gabriel is intentionally letting Adrien go to New York, while claiming that he will be able to monitor him while he plots to attack the city. This is like if Grand Moff Tarkin let his son go to Alderaan for vacation. And again, it only gets worse from here.

Though Gabriel waits a day to tell Adrien he's going to New York, because of he did, we wouldn't get any scenes of Adrien moping around about how much his life sucks. Well, that and a scene of him and Kagami, where the latter kisses him. This is Kagami's only scene in the special, and she isn't mentioned again after this.

As Ladybug, Marinette tells Cat Noir she's going away for a few days and trusts him to guard Paris as long as he alerts her of an Akuma or Sentimonster. What will happen to the Miracle Box Marinette inherited from Former Master In Name Only Fu is never explained.

To Adrien's credit, it's Plagg that convinces him to go on the trip even though Ladybug trusted him, and even then, it takes a little bit to convince Adrien, showing he still takes his job seriously, with him coming up with a plan in case an Akuma attacks. It's not perfect, but it's something. That all goes to hell later on, though.

We then see Gabriel once again talking to Emilie's corpse about his plan.

Gabriel: Blah, blah, blah, Emilie. Blah, blah, blah, blah, I'll get Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous this time for sure. Blah, blah, blah, blah, I'm such a good father and sympathetic villain.

Oh, sorry. That's how I hear most of his monologues to Emilie these days. My bad.

The next scene features something I bet you've never seen before, Marinette being late for something. Thankfully, Luka gives her a ride to help her catch up, hoping that the trip will “give her some clarity”, most likely referring to her conflicting emotions. Marinette then kisses Luka goodbye and gets on the bus. This is Luka's only scene in the special, and he isn't mentioned again after this.

On the plane, it turns out that Adrien is conveniently sitting next to Marinette, prompting Alya to tease Marinette yet again while making this face.

Alya: (smirking and talking in a very smug tone of voice) Awesome, Marinette! Go and sit next to your “friend”! So you two can enjoy a nice flight together! A very long flight.

Alya continues to relentlessly tease Marinette and makes fun of her crush for no real reason, suggesting Marinette get off the plane because “New York is the most romantic city in the world after Paris”. And this gives her a goddamn panic attack where she frantically tries to run off the plane. Remember kids, if someone has some kind of anxiety or social awkwardness, it's perfectly fine to tease and make fun of their behavior, and even exploit it for your own amusement.

And after some unfunny hilarious slapstick involving Marinette on the plane, Alya continues her streak of treating Marinette like her plaything.

Nino: If only this trip could help Adrien finally come out of his shell.

Alya: And if only it could help Marinette be more honest with herself and clearer about her feelings!

Nino: Operation New York?

Alya: Operation New York!

Nino: Let's help them loosen up!

Alya: After all, isn't the United States the land of the free?

Well, the only thing you actually got right about America is forcing others to do things they don't want to do. Just ask the Native Americans.

It's scenes like this why Alya is portrayed so negatively in salt fics. And this happens throughout the special. Now, while I'm not really a drinker, I'm guessing there's at least one person reading this post right now who is. So I have a little idea for a game. Every time Alya acts like a terrible friend to Marinette, take a shot. I'd just have a donor ready in case one of your kidneys gives up on you.

After an admittedly nice scene of Adrien thanking Marinette for convincing his father to let him come (undercut by Marinette creepily commenting on Adrien's cologne as they hug), another problem with this special rears its ugly head, as a man with oddly-colored skin arrives on one of the plane's wings.

Alya: Oh, no! That's Techno-Pirate, the supervillain who steals technology!

Yeah. This is happening. The special is just casually introducing this new supervillain, Techno-Pirate as well as some other superheroes, neither of which had any buildup before, not even a throwaway line They're just here now.

So some of the American superheroes are to save the day, now, I guess. Majestia, the Superman knockoff, helps steer the plane back into position, her robotic daughter, Uncanny Valley, helps fix the plane's broken wing, while Knightowl and Sparrow, the Batman and Robin knockoffs, deal with Techno-Pirate. And everyone just treats this like a regular occurrence.

Marinette: Wow! That all happened so fast! I didn't have time to transform or help out!

Adrien: Good thing the American superheroes were here. I couldn't have transformed here. I'm supposed to be in Paris!

Plagg: Relax, Adrien! Let the local superheroes handle their own problems.

I have so many problems with this plot development. Just how common is the knowledge that there are other superheroes besides Ladybug and Cat Noir in other countries? How have they never been mentioned until now? Why is everyone just accepting the fact that there are other superheroes?

I get that these characters weren't conceived around the time the show started, but the way they're just thrown into the story is just so confusing and does so many things to hurt the narrative instead of helping it. In other episodes, Majestia and Knightowl were only seen in comic books, and Ladybug and Cat Noir were seen as the only heroes in the world because the world itself was fairly down to earth, barring some more advanced technology (the police's weapons in “Origins”, Hawkmoth's lair, Max's robot, Markov, the space dumpsters in “Reverser”, and the AI in Startrain).

The fact that New York is apparently filled with all kinds of superheroes for very mundane things like directing traffic and selling hot dogs just makes the Miraculous seem less important. If there was more work done to better integrate them into the story, like maybe making them an American secret or something, it could have worked. To quote a character voiced by Jason Lee...

And the sad thing was that Power Rangers was able to pull something like this off far better in 1995. During the third season of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Master Vile had successfully reversed the Earth's rotation, turning the Power Rangers into children (yes, it runs on Superman logic, just go with it). Because of this, the Rangers are unable to morph, with the villains free to attack the city. In response, Zordon sends out a distress call to another team of Power Rangers from the planet Aquitar.

Now I know what you're thinking. If Zordon had the ability to contact another team of Power Rangers for help, why did it take him so long to do so? The episode immediately answers the question by pointing out that Aquitar is a planet made entirely of water, so it's incredibly dangerous for them to head to a planet like Earth, making their intervention a last resort. And even after they come, a major plot thread is finding ways to keep the Alien Rangers hydrated, which only gets worse when the Alien Rangers' enemy, Hydro Hog, arrives to drain Earth's water while teaming up with the main villains.

The integration of the Alien Rangers into the story generally feels natural, and there is a clear explanation as to why they haven't joined the battle until now, and even then, still place some hurdles for them to overcome. Here, the special just wants the audience to immediately accept the fact that there are hundreds of superheroes in New York.

So as Marinette and Adrien's class arrives in New York, we see Sparrow watching over them, referring to them as “the little croissants”. That's another thing the special gets right about America: casually making racist comments.

Uncanny Valley's civilian form, Aeon, sees Marinette and Adrien, and, of course, she says that they're “made for each other”. If only the writers actually bothered to give us evidence of that fact that everyone loves to say for some reason. Though we do get the only instance of sanity regarding the Love Square in this special, where Sparrow's civilian form, Jess, calls out Aeon for thinking of getting them together.

Aeon: Those two are made for each other.

Jess: Seriously, Aeon? Not again!

Aeon: But I am programmed to help people, Jess!

Jess: Just stop meddling with people's private lives!

Also, I had already mentioned the unfortunate implications of Aeon being programmed to “help people” in an earlier post, but I still want to reiterate that I don't think any of that was intentional at all, and I definitely don't think a single writer on this show is actually racist. Everyone got that? Okay, moving on.

Jess and Aeon are assigned to watch over the Parisian students while they sneak out to a party on the rooftop of the hotel they're staying at, where they meet another superhero, Hot Dog Dan. He gives random people magical hot dogs that give them temporary superpowers. Marinette and Adrien share one, and they both start flying before Adrien offers to slow dance with Marinette.

Okay... It's clear they they're trying to reference an earlier episode, “Despair Bear”, by having Marinette and Adrien dance to the same song they danced to in that episode. The problem is that the context isn't right.

Adrien is dating Kagami, and he's offering to do this... why? What makes him so interested in Marinette all of a sudden? I get that he doesn't realize Marinette has feelings for him, but if someone says they only see you as a friend, do you offer to slow dance with them? Especially if their reaction to your offer is recoiling in fear?

I'm sorry, writers, but you can't try to recreate some of the magic you had in earlier episodes with Adrienette when you have clearly established Lukanette and Adrigami as official relationships at the moment. And don't give me any of that “that's not the point of the special” crap. The season finale showed Marinette and Adrien getting together with Luka and Kagami respectively, so it's natural that a lot of people were looking forward to seeing how they worked as couples. I'll get back to this point later on.

Meanwhile, Gabriel has made his way to New York, and decides to akumatize the arrested Techno-Pirate into Technolizer, asking him to steal Lafyette's sabre from the museum instead of the necklace.

Back to the museum, Alya and Nino decide to send Marinette and Adrien into a room alone where they're locked in and attacked by the supervillain Solutide...'s hologram, which was all part of Jess and Aeon's plan. In a city where there is a superhero and supervillain on every street. They seriously planned on giving Marinette and Adrien a near-death experience to get them to realize their love for each other.

That's... pretty fucking demented.

What if Marinette and Adrien did something reckless in their attempt to escape? They could have seriously gotten hurt. Hell, what if the scare gave either of them a heart attack? And let's say either of them found out what the plan was (which would be pretty easy, given “Solitude” is a hologram). Do you think either of them would be happy with Alya and Nino, even if they confessed their love for each other? And none of them even think to apologize for what they did, and this scene is never mentioned again. To quote a certain internet reviewer. WHAT WERE THEY THINKING!?

Though to be fair, the scene before was the only scene where Alya gets to use a brain cell in this special by pointing how wrong that plan is... for a second before she goes along with it. So close, Alya. So close...

So after Adrien gets a news report revealing that Robustus is attacking Paris (even though Markov is with them in New York), while Marinette isn't contacted by Cat Noir. The situation only gets worse when Technolizer attacks, getting the sabre in the process.

Sparrow and Uncanny Valley try to fight him off, but are quickly overwhelmed, with some of the latter's technology getting stolen by Technolizer. Marinette and Adrien transform and help out the two heroes, naturally being confused by the other's presence.

But while the four heroes chase after Technolizer, Hawkmoth shows competence for once and steals the necklace in the process, while revealing that the Robustus attacking Paris was actually a Sentimonster created by Mayura.

During the fight, rather than focusing on stopping the already dangerous supervillain powered up by Hawkmoth, Ladybug decides to trash talk Cat Noir instead. I get that she's angry at him for not following through on his promise, but can't she wait until after the fight?

Ladybug: (mockigly) “Just go and rest easy! Yeah, leave Paris with me!”

Cat Noir: I-I didn't know I was going to leave! It was a last-minute decision, that's all!

Ladybug: Do you realize that because of you, there's no one in Paris to protect the city?! Why didn't you tell me that you were leaving?!

Cat Noir: I was afraid you'd get angry!

Ladybug: And you were right, because as you can see, I AM angry!

To quote our recently inaugurated president, will you shut up, man? People say I'm too harsh on Cat Noir for the way he acted during episodes like “Syren”, but this is basically the same thing. Ladybug is prioritizing her own feelings over stopping Technolizer. Yes, she has a right to be angry at Cat Noir, but all she has to do is wait until after the battle to chew him out.

And during the battle, Ladybug outright says she can't trust Cat Noir anymore, making the latter flinch, so Technolizer throws him into Uncanny Valley with his Cataclysm activated, killing her.

In her anger, Majestia punches Technolizer through several buildings before Hawkmoth recalls the Akuma inside him before helping the villain get away. Ladybug casts her Miraculous Ladybug, fixing Uncanny Valley, but that's not enough. Knightowl is pissed, and orders Ladybug and Cat Noir to hand over their Miraculous, not listening to why they're so important, so the two run away.

To make things worse, the two find out about Hawkmoth's plan, and Ladybug explains she can only use Miraculous Ladybug to fix damage caused by a specific villain, and since the Sentimonster is gone, she can't do anything.

In his grief, Cat Noir admits that everything that happened is his fault, so he renounces Plagg and hands over his Miraculous to Ladybug before running away.

So... this scene.

This. Scene.

Where. Do I. Begin?

First of all, this is what causes Ladybug to lose trust in Cat Noir? Not the multiple times he disobeyed her orders because of his own personal feelings? Not the constant flirting and unwanted advances even though she's made it clear she doesn't see him that way? Not the time he trusted an evil doppelganger of Ladybug over the real one? It's this? Cat Noir leaving Paris alone while a Sentimonster attacked?

Okay, let's say that Cat Noir decided to stay in Paris after all. What was he supposed to do when Robustus attacked around the same time as Technolizer? What was Ladybug supposed to do when she found out about Robustus in Paris? Was she supposed to abandon New York and head back there or focus on helping the American heroes?

Second, who does Knightowl think she (yeah, she's a woman, I'll get to that in a bit) is ordering Ladybug and Cat Noir to hand over their Miraculous? What authority does she hold over them? Why should they listen to her? Why can't they simply explain why their Miraculous are so important, and that they can't give them up? Why doesn't Ladybug just explain that she's now the Guardian of the Miraculous? In fact, why does Majestia go along with the order? Ladybug still saved her daughter's life! If anything, she should be sticking up for the two.

There's actually a Superman comic where Captain Marvel storms a police station to interrogate a criminal who killed his best friend so he can find out who hired him. Though he comes close to doing it, Captain Marvel ultimately doesn't kill the criminal's boss, but still flies over to Mount Everest to grieve his friend's death.

Enter Superman, planning to call out Captain Marvel, but instead, he sees him crying. He explains that the boy killed was his best friend before revealing his identity as Billy Batson. Superman's response?

He goes to the wizard Shazam and demands to know why he did this to Billy, furious that a child was forced to go through stuff like that. While Shazam can't take back the powers he gave Billy, he encourages Superman to reach out to Billy, leading to him revealing his identity as Clark Kent to the kid.

I'm not saying that Majestia or Knightowl should have called out Master Fu or ask who made Ladybug the Guardian (as awesome as that would have been), but the point I am trying to make is in that comic, Superman made the effort to understand what Billy had been through, and understood what happened. Majestia and Knightowl made no effort to do anything like that. In fact, they never even knew Hawkmoth existed, which I call bullcrap on, given that he once MOVED THE PLANET AWAY FROM ITS ORBIT. Were you all asleep that day? Why didn't you do anything to help Ladybug and Cat Noir fight Hawkmoth? Were you expecting them to just fight this magical terrorist on their own? They don't have the same support system the American heroes have, and they could really use the help.

And third, Cat Noir. Yeah, just because I'm calling out Ladybug doesn't mean Cat Noir isn't taking any heat either. Again, I have to ask, this is what makes him give up? Keep in mind, when he was Aspik in “Desperada” and saw Ladybug get captured by an Akuma, he reversed time 25,913 times to try and save her before he threw in the towel. At the same time, he was willing to quit in “Syren” because he claimed Ladybug didn't trust him. The level of Adrien's willingness to keep going is incredibly inconsistent, and this doesn't really help his reputation as a character.

And then there's the fact that he's bailing on Ladybug when things are at their absolute worst. Yes, Marinette also briefly gave up in “Origins”, but that was after her first battle, and she was overwhelmed by her screw-up endangering countless lives in Paris in addition to being a nervous wreck even before she got her Miraculous. But here's the difference: She took responsibility. She realized people were in danger, so she jumped into action to save Alya and Cat Noir. Even then, she acknowledged her failure and felt unsure of herself, with Cat Noir helping to reassure her, showing the emotional support their partnership has.

Adrien, who has been a superhero for months, and has faced some pretty stressful situations, as soon as things head south, he immediately gives up and leaves Ladybug to fend for herself while two separate cities are in danger. And he knows that she has no other allies, because Master Fu ran away at the end of the last season, and Miracle Queen exposed the identities of the other temporary heroes. She has nobody to go to for help. He doesn't even show Ladybug her civilian form to apologize, just so he can't get any flak in his regular life. He just gives Ladybug his ring, and literally runs away.

A wise man once said “With great power, there must also come great responsibility.” Adrien has shown no responsibility at ALL in this special, barring the one moment I mentioned earlier.

It's nothing more than a forced emotional moment that has no buildup. This is basically the same with basically every time Miraculous Ladybug tries to be emotional. The writers think that despite never really having any tension or character arcs in their story, they can just have their characters cry out of nowhere, and suddenly, it's a deep moment? That's not how writing works, idiots!

Back at the hotel, Jess and Aeon are getting chewed out by their mothers (Who are the civilian identities of Majestia and Knightowl), and have a conversation about being superheroes... less than a few feet away from the French students. Though at least Barbara, the civilian form of Knightowl (again, I'll get to that later) calls out Aeon and Jess for their stupid “fake supervillain plan”, so there's that I guess.

So we cut to a press conference where the President of the United States, Camilla Hombee (An anagram of Michelle Obama's name, because Astruc has made it clear what his political views are) advises everyone to stay inside while Techno-Pirate is still an active threat. Why does this seem so familiar? And then she... transforms into a superhero too.

Oh, for the love of-- THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IS A SUPERHERO?! The person in charge of the country and relations with foreign nations is a superhero too?! If she's the president, why didn't she do anything to stop Hawkmoth?! I get that America doesn't really care about news from other countries outside of America, but you would think that the frickin president, WHO IS A SUPERHERO, would at least acknowledge the existence of a supervillain in Paris as a threat!

GOD, this is stupid! And it only gets worse...

Gabriel sends a car to pick up Adrien, realizing the city was too dangerous (I still don't get the point of sending him here in the first place), causing him to tearfully say that he “wouldn't have minded being stuck here a little longer with a friend like her” before leaving. And then Alya...

Alya: What is wrong with you, Marinette?! Couldn't you see that he was just waiting for you to tell him to stay?!

Marinette: What-? But I...? He...? He made his choice. What did you expect me to do?

Alya: It doesn't matter what I expected you to do! Who's Adrien to you?! A friend or more than a friend?! There will never be a better time to be clear with yourself, Marinette! Do you want him to leave or do you want him to stay?!

NO. You do not have the right to say ANY of that! It doesn't matter what YOU expected Marinette to do? This whole special, you've been teasing her about her feelings for Adrien, and forcing her into uncomfortable situations with him all because you want your OTP to be a thing. And now you're saying Marinette had a choice the whole time? Marinette expected herself to get over Adrien and start to see him as a friend, AND YOU WOULDN'T LET HER DO THAT! For three seasons, Alya has made fun of Marinette's crush on Adrien, while at the same time, has constantly pushed her into situations where she was clearly uncomfortable around him to the point where she discouraged Marinette for trying to move on in a previous episode (Frozer). And then in this special, she trapped them in a room with a fake supervillain (which is this world's equivalent to pretending to be a terrorist) just to get them to confess their feelings for each other. AND THE WHOLE TIME, IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE MARINETTE'S CHOICE???

If Obilvio didn't make me stop caring about Alya, this was the moment that actually me despise her.

And the worst part? The narrative frames her as being right. This is somehow enough for Marinette to run out in the pouring rain while a supervillain is lose in New York, with nobody even trying to stop her, to chase after Adrien's car, where she tearfully confesses that she still loves him after the car gets away.

What is the point of this exactly? We already knew Marinette liked Adrien last season, her nonexistent character arc was learning to get over him, and now she's supposed to learn she's still interested in him? What about Luka? Are we just going to ignore Luka? What about the fact that Kagami is already in a relationship with Adrien? None of these questions are never explained.

Gabriel finds the lost Miraculous, the Eagle Miraculous, which represents Freedom, and gives it to Techno-Pirate, turning him into Miraclonizer. Using the Eagle Miraculous' power, Liberation, he can undo any mental boundaries someone has, but since he's using it for evil, it basically drives several heroes crazy without their own moral codes. And while I claimed it was an original power in one of my earlier posts, the more I think about it, Liberation is really just a different version of Reverser's airplanes. All they did was just phrase the explanation a different way.

So despite being a city full of superheroes, Miraclonizer manages to drive every hero crazy in a matter of minutes, with the exception of Jess and Aeon. So do none of the other heroes have sidekicks? Is there not even a Young Justice or Teen Titans-esque team in this city? I'm just saying, if they have a hot dog superhero, there should be at least more than two sidekicks in New York.

Aeon goes to search out Ladybug and Cat Noir, and because of some technobabble stuff, Aeon can easily figure out their identities. Again, this was something I already talked about in an earlier post, so I won't harp on this scene. It's a dumb retcon in a special full of dumb retcons, what else can I say?

So Aeon goes to find Adrien on his private plane to give him back his Miraculous... even though wouldn't it make more sense for Aeon to use it instead to save time? I didn't mention this, but right before this scene, Majestia was pushing the moon towards the Earth. Time is kind of the essence here. It also would have saved us more of Adrien's whining.

Uncanny Valley: Cat Noir, New York and Ladybug need you!

Adrien: (looks at where his ring used to be) I'm no longer Cat Noir.

Uncanny Valley: To err is human, apparently!

Adrien: My mistakes are unforgivable. I couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her eyes.

“i'M sO tOrTuReD. fEeL bAd FoR mE, dAmNiT!”

Cut it out with Angstdrien Depreste already, writers. It's gotten old.

And despite making a big deal about how much he failed Ladybug, he immediately jumps back into action as soon as he hears a recording of Ladybug saying she needs him. I know it's supposed to be a heartwarming thing by showing him wanting to support his lady, but to me, it just comes off more like he needed an ego boost. He was fulling willing to let Ladybug save the day on her own, but as soon as he heard how important he is to Ladybug, he's more than willing to become Cat Noir again. Because it's not like he could regret his decision to abandon his partner, and realize it isn't too late to make up for his mistake, right? That would imply Adrien is motivated by anything other than his feelings for Ladybug. Then there's the fact that as soon as Cat Noir returns, Ladybug instantly forgives him, despite saying earlier that she didn't trust him. It's almost like that whole debacle was only there to eat up about fifteen minutes of the special's runtime.

Hawkmoth issues an ultimatum to Ladybug and Cat Noir. Miraclonizer is ready to fire a nuclear missile (though the dub calls it a rocket, let's be honest, it's not), fully intending to start World War III unless Ladybug and Cat Noir give up. He's seriously willing to risk making The Day After a reality all for his wife. But remember, you're still supposed to feel bad for this literal war criminal.

Ladybug, Cat Noir, Aeon, and Sparrow manage to get to Miraclonizer's hideout, the Statue of Liberty, and take back the Eagle Miraculous, with Sparrow taking it and transforming into Eagle.

And then there's the design of the new hero's suit. While I'm glad it isn't another skintight jumpsuit, and the wings are a nice touch, people have raised some questions regarding Eagle's design, and how it feels like the animators really want to remind the audience that Jess is Native American. I mean, it looks like what Zack Morris wore in that one episode of Saved by the Bell barring the headdress.

And this might be because I'm a history major, and I just brushed up on this subject in class last semester, but I'm a little uncomfortable with the fact that someone actually thought it was a good idea to give the Native American girl the Miraculous of the Eagle, the symbol of America which represents Freedom. I don't want to go too into detail about this, but, uh... let's just say if you know about the history of the relationship between the Native Americans and the colonists, you'll get why this raises a couple of red flags.

Does this mean I think the showrunners are racist? No, it was an honest, albeit questionable mistake. Do I think this is the worst Native American representation on TV. Oh, hell no. Chakotay from Star Trek: Voyager was a walking amalgam of every Native American stereotype in the book, and was featured in an episode that said, with a straight face, mind you, that Native Americans used to be backwards savages, so a group of white aliens genetically altered them so not only could they survive the Earth's harsh weather, but so they would become more creative, leading to the birth of Native American culture. I apologize to any Native American human being who had the misfortune of learning about that for the first time. But over all, Jess is far from the bottom of the barrel of poor Native American representation.

So Jess uses her powers to calm every superhero down, while Ladybug and Cat Noir de-evilize Technolizer. And of course, Hawkmoth assumes that since there are other lost Miraculous, “they will be his”. Maybe focus on getting the two Miraculous you originally set out to get first, buddy.

So Knightowl and Majestia apologize for their behavior, and we learn that apparently Knightowl and Sparrow have been around for at least since the Wild West, and that the Knighowl and Majestia we've been following have been keeping up the illusion that the original duo are still alive for several generations.

Was this special written in the 1950's? Why make a big deal out of this? Why is it so important that Knightowl and Sparrow both have a Y chromosome? The president is a woman and a superhero, the strongest superhero on Earth is a woman, and you were just saved by a female superhero all the way from Paris. I don't think people will be afraid of getting cooties from this Knightowl. Hell, we live in a world where if you don't like a female superhero, people automatically hate you. Just ask the people who didn't like Captain Marvel.

We see that Alya still learned nothing, as she continues to tease Marinete for daring to call Adrien her “friend”, as our special mercifully ends with the class sending a picture of a banner to Adrien to show their support... but not before a brief scene where a Guardian tries to take Eagle's Miraculous, before she makes him instantly pull a 180 as soon as she suggests he help to “create a new generation of heroes together”.

I'm guessing this is meant to be yet another tie-in to yet another Miraculous side project that will go absolutely nowhere. You might as well have had Nick Fury, oh, I'm sorry, Mick Flurry, recruit Eagle and Uncanny Valley for the ZAG Initiative.

But it doesn't matter, because the special's over, and once again, I never have to think about it ever again.

So... what else can I say that I haven't already said. This special sucks.

While the animation is honestly some of the best to come out of ZAG, and the action can get pretty good at times, it honestly doesn't really mean much when the story surrounding it is just so abysmal. Basically the only thing I liked about the Season 3 finale was the idea that the status quo was shifting in terms of Marinette's feelings for Adrien, and this special just ruined this interesting idea by the end faster than you can say “the series finale of Quantum Leap”.

Alya is at her most unlikable here with everything she does in this special. Almost everything she says to Marinette is either some catty comment or making fun of her trying to get over Adrien. Because God forbid she actually try to grow as a person and not let her life revolve around a cute boy. It's stuff like this that I genuinely wonder why Marinette even bothers to stay friends with her when all she does is tease her and force her out of her comfort zone. And according to co-director Wilfried “Winny” Pain, Alya is meant to be like Jiminy Cricket to Marinette's Pinocchio. I don't know which version of Pinocchio he read as a kid, but clearly, it's not the version we're mostly familiar with.

I'm still glad they didn't have Cat Noir revert back into his Ladybug-simping self we all knew and loathed in Season 3, but that doesn't mean he's still enjoyable in this special. The angsting about how sad Adrien's life is stopped being interesting years ago, and it's only done as a way to get the audience to care about him, but it comes off more like the writers are holding the audience at gunpoint and demanding they sympathize with him for bailing on the world when they need him the most.

I thought Aeon was a pretty likable character. Maybe it's because I'm a sucker for socially awkward robot characters like Data or Penny. I just wish we got to know her more, and why exactly her mother felt the need to play God by create her instead of just adopting like what Olympia and Barbara presumably did with Jess.

As a matter of fact, despite being played up as a big deal, there's still a lot about the American heroes that we don't really know about. How were the “United Heroes” formed in the first place? How did Majestia get her powers? What exactly is the origin of Knightowl and Sparrow? Why are all the American heroes so open about their identities to the point where the President's identity as a superhero is so well-known she can casually transform on TV? Hell, Ladybug and Cat Noir barely even interact with any of the heroes, and that includes Uncanny Valley and Sparrow/Eagle.

Generally, the special feels very rushed at times, with a lot of ideas not really being utilized. According to Astruc, there was actually a lot of things cut from the special, including a deleted subplot with Chloe and Ms. Mendeleiev. Although, given Astruc's track record, I don't think it would have been a good one given Chloe is involved.

This leads into a personal theory I have regarding this special, that I want everyone reading this to take it with a huge grain of salt. As much as he claims that he can't change anything he's already written, I personally believe that Thomas Astruc rewrote part of this special so Adrienette could get more focus to renew interest in the ship.

Hear me out on this. During Season 3, there were a lot more shipping debates between Adrienette shippers and Lukanette shippers, with the latter gaining more traction that season. It was also the season where other ships like Felinette, Kagaminette, and even Maribat became more prominent. And all of these ships were featured in post-Chameleon salt fics bashing Astruc's sunshine child, Adrien.

So, given how Astruc already dedicated an entire episode to bashing Felix fans, why wouldn't he use something like the New York special to convince the shippers to have more faith in the Love Square? After all, aren't Adrien and Marinette made for each other? Astruc has already said so on his Twitter.

Unfortunately, right now, I like to describe the Love Square as “Shrodinger's Relationship”. While the show can claim that Adrien and Marinette would make a great couple, they simultaneously show no real chemestry happening between the two in favor of Love Square shenanigans. And yes, I'm actually thinking of talking about the Love Square in a future analysis post.

And then there's the fact that Astruc himself said that everything that happened in this special is going to lead into the events of Season 4. What do I have to say about that?

Bring it.

I already talk about Miraculous Ladybug itself on this blog almost as much as I talk about its creator, and since I have a Disney+ account, I might as well subject myself to everything Season 4 has to offer. I've already seen one of my favorite shows go to hell, so why don't I chronicle another one of my favorite shows going to hell as well?

So yeah, as soon as a new episode is officially released on Disney+, expect a review from your boy IOTA.

I survived Season 3, so let's see if the number 4 is as unlucky as some countries say it is.

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up  -  September 2020 (੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along. As Draco reckons with his ex-wife's infidelity and questions about his own sexuality, he finds himself going to an openly gay Potter for guidance. As their friendship deepens, Draco realizes that there is quite a lot that Potter can teach him. And that he is surprisingly ready to learn.  Rec Post

And an Owl Named Romeo by Rickey

Draco breeds owls, Harry's an Auror, and an owl named Romeo is going to bring them together.  Rec Post

Owned by JordanGrant

The Malfoys have always been owned by the Potters. Strange? Yes. But true, and coming true again. Harry finds himself with no alternative but to claim Draco for his very own slave. Rec Post

Forgive Those Who Trespass by Lomonaaeren

Harry Potter was convinced he had an ordinary, if inconvenient, life. Then Ron and Hermione vanished in the Department of Mysteries. And the only person who may know where they are is a mute Draco Malfoy. Rec Post

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound @firethesound

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on. Rec Post, Art post by @kuroostatic Art Post by @creeeee

Ligabus Filium by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley) @tessacrowley

It should be careful, deliberate, but it isn't. Like every other part of their relationship, it happens gradually and then all at once, before they even realize it. And when the little blue threads bind them together, there's no going back. Rec Post

He's got fire for a heart, and I'm scared of burning by Samcgrath

Harry returns to England to help solve a particularly tricky case but nobody bothered to mention that he'd be working with Malfoy, who seems just as happy about it as Harry. In his absence, the wizarding world has changed in ways Harry's having some trouble adjusting to while Malfoy struts around in his elegant robes and effortlessly charms everyone he lays eyes on. Months of grappling with his own feelings, trying to understand Draco's, pining day in and day out - it can get a little tiring especially when Draco Malfoy is as infuriating as ever. Rec Post

The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren

Not even his own fame and power are enough to get the Wizengamot to pass laws protecting Muggleborn and orphaned children, so Harry swallows his pride and goes to Draco Malfoy, who can teach him how to convince the prejudiced old bastards to listen to him. And Malfoy hasn’t even named a price. Which…concerns Harry, but he’s found a cause worth living for. And maybe someone, too. Rec Post

Malfoy Flavor by Vorabiza (Biza)

Harry’s ready to banish the Golden Boy image and take charge of his life. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately, there are surprises in store for him. Rec Post

(*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡ Have a look at these other fics I think you might enjoy - 

A Gift for Draco by SquadOfCats @norelationtoatticus

Though their new relationship is going well, both Harry and Draco have trouble communicating and are holding back from taking things to the next level--emotionally and sexually. When Harry decides he is ready for more, he stumbles over how to start the conversation, but figures out a plan with the help of his friends. He comes up with the perfect Valentine's Day gift to show Draco trust, commitment, and desire: sexy pictures of his naked arse. Thankfully, Pansy Parkinson has a camera and is willing to help... Rec Post 1, 2

Another Heart Whispers Back by slytherco @slytherco

At twenty-five, Harry Potter is still a virgin and sorely lacking in options to change that state anytime soon. To help him find a plus one for Ron and Hermione’s wedding, and maybe kill two birds with one stone, Harry’s friends set him up on a series of blind dates. The only problem is, there’s something not quite right with each of their candidates.

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.” ― Plato

In which Harry learns that some things are worth waiting for, that looking and seeing are two very different things, and that his heart’s song has been heard a long time ago. Fic Claim

The Ferret's Nest by loveglowsinthedark @l0vegl0wsinthedark

Harry has a ferret and a whole lot of tattoos. Unfortunately, it's only one of these things Draco approves of. Art post by @rainsoakedhello

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.

Lubido Mendax by Anonymous (for @hd-hurtfest)

When Harry is hit by an old and alarming sex curse while on a job with Malfoy, he’s faced with an agonising decision. But it turns out that curing the curse was easy compared to everything that came next.

The Four Doors by fluxweed @fluxweeed

It’s been four months since Harry lost his memory. Four months of dead ends and no answers. With time running out until his memories are gone for good, Harry agrees to a course of Legilimency therapy with a renowned specialist: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy.

(❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

I hope you enjoy these as much as I have!  

As always, thank you so much for  following, reading, and reblogging! Your support means so much to me!

 I’ve already started posting October recs!

xoxo Carey ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Logan Anker: Pupil

In learning you will teach, and in teaching you will learn.

Sweets had been gushing about 10b for two years when Logan finally caved and decided to put aside his opinion on under age heroes in training and take a look for himself.

He had to admit, he seemed to be very talented. Most people had two abilities at the most.

10b, however exhibited enhanced strength and speed, flight, several shields, projectile and close combat weaponry. And he had excellent control of all of those.

He nodded to Sweets, who called out to the young hero in training as he finished off his target practice sequence.

“Good Job 10.b.” The kid, because no one could fool Logan, this child was nowhere near finishing high school, looked around and lower himself to the ground, eying Logan curiously.

Or at least, that is what Logan gathered from his body language since the protective gear was hiding the hero in training’s face.

A child. Around Virgil’s age. He might’ve be been in Virgil’s class at some point. A boy who thinks he can face what is out there. He knows Thomas hasn’t told this potential hero about Him yet.

It was Logan’s job to make sure the hero was ready for that information, for the world.

The hero was looking him up and down. Logan had updated his disguise from his old villain getup to a more inconspicuous outfit. One he could be seen wearing in the normal world, though he had it shift colors between a friendlier grey and sometimes navy blue to the deep black he chose for the meetings in the basement. His shading and voice modulating technology had gotten even better and was now integrated in his tie and his glasses. Making for a seamless transition from entering the elevator as Logan to exiting as Brainstorm.

“10.b, this is Mr. BrainStorm. He’ll be assisting us with training and provide you with the tech you need to be the best hero you can be,” Sweets explained.

The shocked reaction was expected. 10b was on edge. Logan supposed he should make him more comfortable around him if they were to work together.

“I see my reputation still manages to precede me,” he stated as calmly as he could. Though he really whished it didn’t. It’d been well over a decade since he’d done anything that made the papers in a bad way. His creations and discoveries had gotten him more than a little credit. The new police chief was actually giving him the benefit of the doubt now, while the former chief had treated him like a criminal every chance he got.

At the end it got so bad that he’d had to hold his talisman clenched in his fist every time the man was in the same building, or even on tv.

Chief Davies was firm and called him out when she needed to. But she truly did have his back when he needed her to support his ideas.

Sometimes he wished he could publish his research under his own name. He wanted Virgil to see the good he put into the world and be proud of him. But that might lead to pesky questions. Ordinary professors didn’t work on the level he did. And he couldn’t draw any attention to himself. Lest He take notice.

On the subject of his son though. Thanks to Virgil he had connected with his students a lot better the past few years. And if he was right about this boy’s age, his experiences with Virgil might help him connect with the young hero too.

“Would it be more comforting if I told you that the initials of my moniker are no coincidence?”

A second’s silence and then an artificially deepened snicker. Success.

“I suspected you might find this funny. I came up with it when I was about your age and thought it was really clever of me. Though I didn’t actually use it until I was closer to twenty.”

Logan was glad his face was hidden, because if anyone could see the pain in his eyes now…

He’d been 19 to be exact. Freshman in college, close friends with Thomas. When Caleb…

And then Helena got the diagnosis… He’d wanted to help. Needed to help.

He didn’t even talk to her long enough to let her tell him her good news… Not until that last day. And then he’d gotten mad. He’d been hurt, angry with her and himself.

And that was the last conversation he’d ever had with his big sister…

“10.b” his new pupil introduced himself as he offered his hand.

Logan appreciated the young man’s restraint. Many would ask him all about his past given the chance. But 10b didn’t. He nodded his appreciation and accepted the offered hand. “BrainStorm.”

Training 10b was a rather interesting endeavor.

Driven was one word to describe him. That much was clear. Logan tried to make him understand that even he had limits. But so far, he struggled to find one.

10b just kept outdoing himself. He was almost tempted to let him go out. But…

“So? Am I ready yet?” Even through the voice modulation Logan could hear the hopeful tone in his voice. 10b was still far too eager for approval. And that was a dangerous thing to want as a hero.

So Logan just shook his head. “No.”

The most concerning example of his stubbornness and need to prove himself was when he kept training from noon to almost midnight with almost no breaks one late summer day.

Logan would be annoyed, he would’ve liked to spend some of the last day of summer with his son, but he was more worried.

“Go home. Your body can’t keep up with your stubbornness. I’m sure you have places to be tomorrow.”

The boy grunted. “I’m not done…” he insisted.

“I am.” Logan turned and left the campus, hoping that his absence would force the boy to quit for the night.

When he arrived home, he planned to check in on Virgil who should be fast asleep at this hour, before getting to bed himself.

But instead he was tackled by his sobbing son. It’d been half a decade since Virgil had hugged him as soon as he walked through the door. After that he had started to learn that his father was not truly comfortable with physical closeness and had made an effort to at least warn him when he needed a hug.

“You are back. I thought… You’re never out this late and… I thought something bad had happened.”

Virgil rambled as he sobbed into his shirt.

“It’s okay Virgil. I’m alright. I’m sorry, I forgot to let you know work was running late.” He hated keeping secrets from Virgil. But it had regretfully become a habit of his it seemed.

He still didn’t talk about Helena or Caleb, despite the fact that Virgil had asked about them a few times in the past already. He had a right to know. But whenever he tried to talk about them to him, his throat closed up and fear and shame overtook him.

And he couldn’t even think about telling him about his powers, his mistakes and therefore his redemption or his second job. So whenever he had to train 10b he said he had to work on a project.

He’d thought Virgil had been fine. Though he noticed that he’d gotten more quiet since he started high school. In light of recent events, that might not have been just normal teenage behavior.

He had figured, if his son was struggling, he would tell him… apparently not.

“It’s alright Virgil. I’m here. We’re both alright,” he muttered.

It took him about thirty minutes to calm Virgil down.

He brought him up to his bedroom and tucked him in.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow when you get back from school alright? Try to sleep,” he instructed.

“Okay,” Virgil murmured as he pulled the blanket closer to himself.

Before leaving in the morning, Logan checked in on Virgil and found him curled up in his bed, sound asleep. He was about to leave when he noticed Virgil was holding something. Upon closer inspection he saw that it was the old stitch doll , wearing Virgil’s comfort blanket as a cape.

Had they been moved back to the bed at some point since the last time Logan saw them on Virgil’s desk? Or was this something he only did when he needed the extra comfort?

Logan didn’t think Virgil would tell him even if he asked. So he made a note to pay more attention to the doll’s location whenever he came up to the room. If nothing else it might be an indicator to Virgil’s mood. It would be something to consider later.

In class he had a hard time concentrating. He expected as much and apologized in advance.

He greeted each class by looking through his note cards, though after the first he didn’t need to, he found that the ritual was part of the appeal for his students.

“Good day everyone. I’m afraid I’ll be a bit off my ‘game’ today. Suffice it to say, the past night was a as you say ‘big oof’,” he held up the card and flashed it to his students.

A chuckle ran through the class and he smirked, feeling a little bit better after every time.

During lunch hour he called Picani. It’d been a while, but he needed some help and another session.

“He couldn’t breathe. He was terrified. He was… I’ve never felt so helpless,” he confessed quietly.

“Well, sounds like Virgil is certainly dealing with some things. I of course can’t be sure after just this one conversation but could you answer a few questions for me?”

Logan tugged at his hair. “Yes of course.”

Picani proceeded to list a few observable behaviors, things  Logan had in fact noticed in Virgil. Small changes that just seemed logical developments from certain things he’d had since childhood. But, as it turned out…

“I would have to talk to Virgil in person to be sure. But from what you told me, he might have heightened levels of anxiety.”

Logan thought about that. That made a good amount of sense.

“Can you… I’m pretty sure he won’t want to talk about this. If he did, he would have done so already. But is there a list of some sort he could fill out? I’d like to be more certain before I bring up anxiety.”

Picani sent him a list and instructions on how to interpret them. He printed them out and was just reading through them when there was a knock on his door.

“Yes?” he called.

“Hi there Logie! How are classes going?” Patton asked as he walked in.

“Hello Patton. Classes are going satisfactory,” he informed him pleasantly.

“But…”

Logan chuckled. “Nothing gets past you does it?” Patton was a god sent. He was patient with Logan’s social ineptness and didn’t mind if he ranted about Virgil or whatever scientific article had his attention at the moment during most of their conversations. He didn’t ask about his past, he didn’t press if he didn’t want to talk about what upset him in the present. He was amazing.

Logan had fallen for Patton Bonair and hard. He felt like an idiot. Like a middle schooler unable to just tell his crush that he liked him.

But would Virgil be able to handle such a big change? Would he like Patton? Would Patton be able to handle forever having to take second place in Logan’s life?

Too many variables. Patton wouldn’t even be interested in him in the first place.

Things worked fine right now.

“Just teenage trouble. Nothing you can do about it I am afraid. How are you?” he asked. Patton nodded, accepting the change of subject.

Logan didn’t have any evening classes, and 10b had no training planned today, so he was home first and made a pot of chamomile as he waited for Virgil.

“Home!” Virgil’s voice came from the hallway followed by the sound of a closing door.

“Kitchen!” Logan replied as he poured two cups from the pot.

Virgil sat down and accepted the cup Logan handed him.

Once they both sat down Logan looked at Virgil, feeling hurt when he saw his son avoiding his eyes. When had that started? He had thought a lot about what Virgil might be going through and why he wasn’t aware until now.

He landed on the reason Virgil had given about not telling him about bullies.

“Virgil, I want you to know that you are not in trouble. I am not mad or upset with you in any way. Alright?” Virgil nodded, still not quite meeting his eyes.

Logan pressed on, speaking gently to ensure that he didn’t give Virgil the idea that he was frustrated or hurt.

“Last night… Was that the first time you went through something like that?”

What little progress Virgil had made in looking at him vanished in a second. His hands tightened around his mug. “No…” he admitted. Logan had feared as much, but still it stung to know his son had suffered on his own. Or maybe, hopefully, Janus had been there for him. Like he’d been there for the bullies.

“Sometimes I just think too much and I worry and then I freak out and… It always passes, but it’s…” His voice started shaking and Logan caught the glistening of tears in his eyes.

Logan recalled Virgil’s behavior of the night before, the thought’s he’d mentioned running through his head. Imagined being in his place.

“Frightening I’m sure.” His statement finally got Virgil to look at him. Tears still in his eyes, but more than that surprise.

“Virgil,” he began as he pushed the list and pen he’d laid ready towards him.

“I have a list for you, I’d like you to read over it and indicate next to each item how often you experience them on a monthly basis. It’s important to me that you are honest. I have a suspicion of what may be causing this, but I get that talking about it might be hard for you. Therefor I provided you with this as a way to boil it down to simple facts. Can you do this for me?” It was factual and to the point. He didn’t want to add to Virgil’s nerves by making the conversation even more emotionally charged.

Virgil nodded and accepted the paper and pen.

Logan let him fill out the list focusing on his tea. Once he heard the scribbling of the pen stop he looked up. Virgil seemed about to push the paper forward, but his whole body was tense.

His face was pulled in a frown and he was biting his lip.

Anxious about the results and his reaction?

“It’s alright Virgil,” Logan said gently. “I know I’m not always, good, at expressing my emotions, but I do love you. More than I expected to when I first agreed to take care of you. Nothing could prepare me for how much I love you and how proud I am to call you my son. Whatever you wrote down, won’t change that.”

It was a moment of unfiltered honesty and apparently that was what Virgil needed to hear.

He took a deep breath and then the paper was in front of Logan. He read it over and it became apparent rather quickly that Picani was right.

“I’m sorry you’ve been struggling with this on your own Virgil. Can I ask for how long?”

Logan dreaded the answer. But it was vital that he knew this.

“Um… start of last school year?” That wasn’t as long as Logan had feared.

“I didn’t notice it was bad until shortly after Christmas though. I was in the park and started freaking out. After that I was more aware of it I guess.” he explained.

Logan nodded, not showing his relief. When he went over external behaviors with Picani he’d come to fear that Virgil had been dealing with this for years. And perhaps he had. But he’d only known for the past eight months. Still, that was a long time to harbor such a secret from a loved one. Logan should know. Every day that he didn’t tell Virgil the whole truth about himself pressed like a heavy weight on his chest.

“Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me this?” he asked worriedly.

Virgil squirmed in his seat. “I… I wanted to… but then I started freaking out about freaking you out and…” Logan was about to try and talk Virgil through a breathing exercise he’d researched but Virgil already centered himself with a deep breath and a slow sip from his tea to give himself time to calm down. “I just figured I could deal.”

That was understandable. Logan had certainly used similar reasoning in the past in order not to burden Thomas, or his sister… That had not ended well for him though. And he would not let Virgil suffer because of a misplaced need for independence.

He had tried to teach him to ask for help when he needed it when Remus was taken out of school. But it clearly hadn’t sunk in.

“Virgil, I think you might suffer from heightened levels of anxiety. That doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with you. I would like for you to talk to someone about it though. If only to help you figure out a way to handle these attacks and the thoughts that come with this better so it doesn’t have to interfere too much with your life. Does that sound agreeable?”

“A shrink?” Virgil asked nervously.

Logan was glad he had so much practice keeping his emotions in check. He had perhaps been a bit too vigilant in shielding Virgil from his problems. “I know there is a stigma against it…” He had to do this. If he wanted Virgil to trust him on this, to open up more to him in general. Then he had to open up first. “But my psychiatrist has helped me a great deal with your mother’s death. I hope he, or one of his colleagues help you with your anxiety.”

“You… you went to therapy?” Virgil’s shock was proof that he had probably done too well of a job of seeming put together and in control at all times. He did it to assure Virgil of a stable figure to rely on. But he had deprived him of someone able to truly understand emotional vulnerability it seemed. “Still do from time to time,” he nodded, recalling the appointment he had scheduled for the weekend, making a note to announce it as such when he left. Perhaps he should have normalized his visits to doctor Picani the same way he’d normalized his attraction to men.

Virgil seemed to seriously consider his request now that he knew his father had a history of going to therapy.

“Okay…” he finally said, much to Logan’s relief. “just… can this stay between you and me?” Logan wanted to question why Virgil felt the need to hide this from Janus. Thomas he could understand. Virgil’s honorary uncle was of the helpful sort and might fuss about Virgil just a bit too much. But surely having a friend at school who knew about the potential for attacks and the ways to treat them could be beneficial?

He held these questions back though. Mental health was like your sexuality in that regard. It had to be your own choice when you told who about what parts of yourself. Including the reason you aren’t ready to tell your best friend you are struggling with certain issues.

“If that makes you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Virgil smiled before leaving the table with his  tea to make homework in his room. Picani planned in a two hour take in session for Virgil early October.

In the meantime Logan paid extra attention to Virgil’s behavior. Trying to stay vigilant without becoming overbearing. It was hard, but he felt like he managed not to overstep.

He checked in with Virgil every night and found that indeed, Stitch only occasionally ended up in the bed. Usually preceded by a very quiet evening.

So Logan made an effort to coax Virgil into talking to him more when he seemed to hide in his own head. Sometimes he was successful. Other times Virgil asked him to let him just be for the evening and Logan backed off.

Picani managed to soothe Logan’s worries about being a bad father. Normal behavior for this age and such. They did discuss the possibility that Virgil might need some more affirmation. While they deduced that Virgil expressed his love through acts of service and gift giving. He usually paired those with clear verbal statements of his feelings and intentions. Possibly because he himself struggled to ‘assume’ that any action was made with the intention of showing love or appreciation.

The month progressed and when Logan dropped Virgil off for his first session he was probably as nervous as Virgil. He wanted to blow of some steam, but he held firm in his decision to never use that part of his abilities again. So instead he went for a run. By the time he was freshened up it was time to pick Virgil up. Sure, his son was old enough to take the bus, but he remembered how much his own first meeting with Picani had affected him and how intense the man’s idea of a good first impression was.

So he wanted to make sure Virgil was comfortable afterwards.

To his relief Virgil had ended up liking Picani. A second appointment was made for the next week and Virgil actually opened up a bit more after that. He started showing his drawings again, he hadn’t been comfortable sharing his art in what felt like forever.

And Logan must say, though he was never very creative or in touch with art, he could see that Virgil had talent. He could discern the patterns in the pencil lines and could see which sketches were made absentmindedly and which had been drawn in moments of tension. Each and every one though, without fail, was something Logan couldn’t phantom creating himself. He told Virgil as much and it made his son happy.

The name Roman started coming up in conversations again. Apparently he was Virgil’s lab partner this year and if the way his son seemed to struggle not to smile when talking about him was any indication, the crush Logan had suspected in middle school had returned. Or maybe it never faded in the first place.

10b was still training hard to become a hero and still eager to try his skills out in the real world. Logan was starting to worry he might run out of logical reasons to deny him this soon.

“We are done today,” he decided one Saturday afternoon.

“What? No! Why!?” the boy demanded.

Logan sighed and crossed his arms in front of him, taking a resolute stance. “Because, if you are going to be a hero any time soon you’ll have to learn to balance out your hero duties and your own life. School, work, friends, family…” If he’d been better at that aspect things would have ended up differently.

“Sweets and Manifestor both already left to return to their lives. You and I should do the same.” He didn’t wait for a reply and left. Virgil would be returning home from his appointment soon and Logan wanted to be there for him should it have been a difficult session.

Once he got upstairs he received a message from the front desk.

‘There is a young man who claims to be your son waiting for you.’

Logan smiled as he read this. He was glad Virgil had chosen to seek out his presence rather than just taking the bus home.

When he approached the front desk though he could hear the sound of sharp intake of breath, stuttering gasps and high pitched attempts at vocalization.

He was transported back to that terrible night and set of in a sprint.

“Virgil!” he called out, hoping his son would register and identify his voice and calm down.

He rounded the corner and found Virgil doubled over, gesturing frantically with his hand.

He rushed over and grabbed it. “Virgil if you can hear me, squeeze my hand,” he instructed.

“Fine, fine,” he gasped with a squeeze.  Then he said something but Logan could only make out the words “Cant” and “God”.

“Virgil, are you having an attack?” he asked worriedly.

Much to his relief Virgil shook his head before starting to take in slow, deep breaths.

Once he had control over his breathing he whipped at his eyes smearing his running make up even more.

When Virgil looked up he had the widest grin. “You are using the vocab cards.”

Logan cocked his head, confused about why that was so funny.

“Of course. They were a gift from you, why wouldn’t I use them at any opportunity?”

How did he even learn this information?

A muffled squeal answered that question. Logan didn’t even need to look up to know who this was. Patton. Patton met Virgil and talked to him and apparently made him laugh so hard he could barely breathe. Patton had been talking about him with his son.

Virgil luckily snapped him out of his mild gay panic.

“Yes, because you were complaining about not understanding some of the things your students were saying. I didn’t expect you to actually start yeeting your trash,” he chuckled.

Now, Logan was pretty sure Virgil was aware of the nuances of modern slang. He did take meticulous care of making the cards and the updates on every gifting opportunity on top of whatever ‘real’ present he’d gotten him.

Virgil might have just been joking, with little care for accuracy. Regardless Logan adjusted his glasses and looked his son in the eye before informing him that: “Yeet is for distance. For trash I need accuracy, therefore the term used is ‘cobi’.”

And just like that Virgil was doubled over again, though this time the laughter died out on it’s own much sooner.

He straightened himself and addressed Patton with a smile.

“Anyway, great meeting you Patton. It’s good to know dad has someone so nice looking out for him.”

And then, out of nowhere he turned back to him. “You should invite him over for dinner some time. He’s a lot of fun.”

Logan felt his face flush. What? When? Did Virgil just…“Well, you two talk about that, I’m going to wash my face.” Before Logan could collect himself enough his son was out of sight. In hindsight it was foolish to think that Virgil had given up his matchmaker tendencies.

He simply hadn’t had any targets until now. Logan had hoped that after he and Thomas had a fight about the later’s attempt at setting him up with Sweets of all people for some unknown reason, Virgil had come to understand that he simply was not interested in dating anyone. Apparently not. And Virgil had just basically asked Patton out for him.

He looked over to Patton, about to make excuses for his son but then froze. Patton was blushing and playing with his sweater sleeves.

“Patton are you alright?” he hoped Virgil hadn’t made him uncomfortable? What had been said before he arrived?

“Will you have dinner with me?!” Patton blurted out.

Logan blinked in shock. “As… Like…”

“A date! I’m asking you out on a date,” Patton clarified.

Patton wanted to go out with him? “That would be acceptable,” he nodded.

Patton’s face brightened. “Great! Pick you up next Saturday around six? I’ll call you with the details,” he suggested. Logan nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Right! At work. Right here… Bye!” Patton giggled before walking off.

Logan meanwhile was trying not to lose his mind over this.

“Dad?”

Virgil had returned while Logan had stood here frozen for who knows how long.

“Dr. Bonnaire asked me on a date,” he breathed, still wrapping his head around that fact.

“I think you can call him by his first name if that’s the case.” Logan couldn’t see him right now but he was sure his son was finding this funny.

“I… I suppose…” He had a point. Not that he hadn’t been on a first name basis until now. But… Well he always called him by his last name whenever anyone else was around.

It was a habit he couldn’t quite explain.

“You did say yes right?” He must look really out of it. To be honest, Logan was starting to doubt if the last two minutes really happened.

“I… yes, I don’t know what came over me… I’ve never…” After over a decade of  telling himself that he had no time… No business having a romantic relationship…

“Wait… you’ve never been on a date?” Virgil gasped incredulously.

“Not like this!” he clarified frantically as he gestured wildly. Last time…

“Last time, I was an arrogant college student who felt like he had to answer to no one but himself. Now, I am a single father, going out with a coworker. This is an adult outing. I can’t just…” How to even explain his dilemma?

“You really like this guy huh?” Virgil’s voice became soothing, sympathetic.

The flutter of butterflies and the flush of color on his face probably told Logan enough.

Logan sighs and nods with a blush. “He’s so patient and friendly and… I just never thought he could ever…”

“Now stop it right there,” Virgil snapped sternly. “Me turning out like a somewhat stable person, proofs you are awesome. And you just showed him all the reasons why he should date you while taking care of me. You’re welcome by the way. Patton is cool. He’s already met your kid and passed the test. The scariest bit is over.”

That finally caught Logan’s attention. He turned towards his son, who had washed off all make up from his face, and grabbed his shoulders to convey how serious he was.

“You’re really fine with me going out with him? With me possibly entering a romantic relationship?”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a fan of the change, but I want you to be happy. And if Patton is your pick… I wouldn’t have suggested he come over for dinner if I didn’t like him.”

Virgil was doing his best to sound casual about it, but Logan was filled with unmatched joy. He found that words alone were not sufficient to convey his feelings. So he hugged him tight. “I am fortunate to have you as a son,” he told him sincerely.

Virgil shoved him away, blushing awkwardly. Logan didn’t take it personally. It was his own fault that Virgil didn’t know how to react to him initiating physical contact.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever Logie.” What? Had Patton… Oh god. Virgil was much too pleased with Logan’s flustered reaction.

“Let’s go home,” he suggested with a smirk before heading to the parking lot.

Things changed over the next week. He and Patton engaged in more flirty conversation and it had his stomach in knots and his heart racing. But he didn’t mind that too much. Logan was pretty sure Thomas caught on, but he was kind enough not to mention it.

And then Halloween came around. Virgil’s favorite holyday.

They always dressed up together to hand out candy and Logan wondered if next year there would be an extra costume to be put together.

Virgil had been adjusting store bought costumes and doing their make up with enthusiasm ever since he outgrew trick or treating. He’d gotten quite good. From the start of September he’d be designing, sowing and practicing. The past two years it was the only time Logan saw his eyes light up again like they used to all the time when he was little.

This year, Virgil came home beaming.

“And so then I said ‘but ruling sounds like a lot of work’ and everyone laughed!”

Virgil was glowing as he told the story of how Roman had pulled him into a little improvisation.

“You should bring this boy over some time,” Logan suggested. Virgil’s hand, which had been turning him into a zombie professor, froze near his throat.

“I… We’re not… I mean he doesn’t…. We aren’t that close,” Virgil stammered. Logan let it go. Virgil wasn’t ready yet.

Logan had other worries that weekend than Virgil maybe trying to catch the eye of his classmate.

He was checking his tie for the millionth time and Virgil was wordlessly handing him the things he’d forgotten. Keys, wallet, phone…

He was a mess. “You look great dad,” Virgil assured him as he smoothed out his jacket for him. “He’s going to be blown away.”

“What would I do without you?” Logan wondered.

“Still pine from a distance I’m guessing,” Virgil smirked and just then the bell rang.

Logan took a deep breath, checked his pockets one last time and opened the door.

God, Patton looked so good in formal wear. He always looked charming, but now…

“Hya Logie! Hey Virgil! Thanks for letting me steal your dad for the night.” Patton winked.

“Hey Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Logan looked back with worry. “Are you sure…” he started, suddenly not comfortable with leaving his son alone for the night.

“Yes!” Virgil groaned with a roll of his eyes. “Just have a nice time. Text when you arrive at the restaurant and when you leave. I don’t have school tomorrow so don’t hurry home. Pat, steal his phone if he checks it even once during dinner.” Virgil was practically pushing him out the door at this point.

“I will,” Patton winked.

“Good, you crazy kids have fun and don’t do anything you wouldn’t want me to do.”

Logan flushed. “Virgil!” he chastised.

“Love you too!” he shouted as he shut the door in their faces.

Logan felt something twist in his stomach. Was Virgil trying to make sure he didn’t chicken out? Or… No. Virgil wouldn’t go behind his back.

“Logan?” Patton pressed gently.

He took a deep breath and smiled at his date… His date. The smile that appeared at that thought was almost painful.

“Apologies. Father instincts,” he shrugged by ways of explanation.

Patton giggled and hooked their arms together. “Don’t worry Logan. You’ve raised a wonderful boy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you are right. Let’s enjoy our evening.”

The restaurant was lovely, the food delicious, and the company perfect.

Patton didn’t need to steal his phone, though Logan was always aware of its presence in his pocket. They talked about much more personal things than he’d ever allowed for at work. He learned about Patton’s love for animals and his ongoing battle with the kitchen, though he was good at baking for some reason.

Patton learned about his fascination with everything space related. They discovered they both loved Sherlock.

Patton really loved his puns. Something Logan found both endearing and frustrating. But he was sure his rants about complicated subjects could be a bit annoying from time to time too. They had fun discussing a few philosophers together and before they knew it it was time to pay. Logan texted Virgil as they waited for the bill.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Patton told him on the ride home.

“As did I. I’m glad you asked me out,” Logan nodded.

“Me too.”

And then they parked in front of the house. Logan spotted slight movement at the curtain of the neighbors. Celine was a curious person but she could keep a secret. He was sure she would ask him all about Patton next time they crossed paths, but he also knew that unless he told her it was okay, her husband nor her son would hear about his new relationship from her.

The lights in his own home seemed to be off. Virgil was probably in his room.

He cleared his throat. “So I guess now it is my turn. Next Friday? There is an exhibit I wanted to visit and I would very much like for you to accompany me.”

Patton smiled. “It’s a date.”

Logan nodded and left the vehicle with a final ‘good night’.

He had wanted to kiss him. Very much so. But he didn’t feel they were ready for it just yet.

Maybe after a second successful date.

When he got to Virgil’s room he noticed that the light was still on, so to be safe he gave a gentle knock on the door. A pause. “Come in.”

When he opened the door he saw Virgil was sitting on his bed, his headphones around his neck and his hair a mess. He’d been listening to music.

“You should be asleep,” he pointed out. It was rather late. He should at least have been trying.

“I wanted to make sure I could tell you good night. How was it?”

Virgil tried to be casual, but Logan could hear how tense he was. Whether it was worry or excitement, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it told him Virgil had worried about his night going well and that meant a lot. But Logan was not going to risk keeping Virgil up even later by rambling about the date.

“I will brief you in the morning. Now you should get adequate rest. Sleep deprivation is detrimental to both your physical health and creativity.”

“Okay, night dad,” he muttered in surrender as he got up to get ready for bed.

“Night Virgil… I love you.” He’d gotten much better at saying the words over the last month and he could see Virgil appreciated the effort.

“Love you too dad,” he smiled gently. And with that Logan closed the door.

How did he end up this lucky?

@moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer​ @alias290​ @meowthefluffy​ @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​

5) Let them go.

Masterlist

[texanredrose]

Last One - Chapter One

Author’s Note: I’ve warned y’all. Don’t worry, though, if you choose to read, it’s not that scary really.

---

Yang drew in a deep breath, trying to acclimate herself to the cooler temperatures of late autumn in Atlas. Having only moved to the kingdom a few months prior, she found the adaptation curve a bit… steep. Despite the similarities from sharing a global culture, there were some nuances to Atlas as a kingdom that she hadn’t really gotten used to quite yet, and the climate was just one of them.

She was acclimating, though, bit by bit. Yang had secured a job, settled in with her girlfriend alright, and even made a few new friends. Kept in touch with her old ones, of course- Blake and Weiss touched base every week, Ruby every other day, Coco and Velvet when they could, Ren and Nora- but had a lot of things going for her now. Things… were looking up.

As her train pulled into the station, Yang shifted the bag on her shoulder and waited for the door to open. Normally, she’d want to ride her motorcycle to work, but that chill in the air cut straight through even her thickest jacket; definitely something she’d have to leave for the warmer months. It bummed her out but it was worth it, in the end.

Yang stepped onto the train as her scroll began to ring, fishing it out of her bag while standing off to one side and grabbing one of the overhead handholds. A smile curled her lips as she read the contact name, flicking open her scroll to see her girlfriend’s visage. “Hey, Snowdrift.”

“Good morning, Sundrop.” Winter smiled wide, light in her eyes as the line connected. “On your way to work?”

“I am.” She turned the screen, showing the station as a few more commuters stepped on before the doors closed. “How’s your day going so far?”

“Tediously. I’m not a fan of paperwork.” Her expression scrunched up, in that way Yang took to mean ‘I say I don’t like it but I kinda do, but I don’t want to admit that because it’s lame’ and that made her smother a chuckle every time she saw it. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a few meetings today and by the sounds of it, the majority will run long, so I’m going to be late coming home.”

“That’s alright. It sounds like it’ll be a late night for me, too.” She shrugged. “Sounds like one of the other tutors called in sick and I have to cover down. Don’t really know how long it’s gonna take; Mr. Ozpin explained it to me like the kids don’t go to school at all, so I’ve got a lot of subjects to cover.”

A frown touched her girlfriend’s lips. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? I know teaching is your dream, Sundrop, but this doesn’t seem to be exactly what you had in mind.”

“It’s not long term, and they know that.” Again, she couldn’t help but shrug, brushing off the woman’s concern. “I’d rather have something to do while I wait for Atlas to approve my teaching license and this homeschooling thing is the only agency that recognizes Vale’s certification.”

“Which, honestly, is ridiculous.” Winter’s expression shifted into what Yang would call a pout, though she would only do so teasingly. “It’s a standardized test across the five kingdoms; why Atlas insists on a separate validation is beyond me.”

At that, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you want the honest answer or the nice answer?”

“Just because we both know why doesn’t mean I can’t express my vexation with it.” Her annoyance slid away, blue eyes glancing off to the side before rolling. “Ah, it appears I am needed. Let me know if you need anything; depending on who gets home first, picking up dinner or delivery might be the best option.”

Yang raised a brow. “Already tired of my cooking?” 

“Oh, don’t you start.” Despite the light reprimand, Winter smiled softly. “I adore your cooking but I also adore cuddling, and neither of us will rest if there are dishes that need washing.”

“Hmmm, keep sweet-talking me and I won’t be able to focus on lessons.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now.” Glancing around, the woman raised her other hand to her mouth and blew a kiss. “I love you, Sundrop.”

“Love you, too, Snowdrift.” She waved. “I’ll call you if I get a break.”

As she collapsed her scroll back down, Yang’s gaze caught on her reflection in the train’s window. Granted, she probably didn’t look as ‘professional’ as most private tutors would; a nice set of black slacks, a white button up, a purple tie that complemented her eyes rather nicely, and some good leather shoes got her close but she’d never been able to tame her hair, the blonde strands curling and sticking out every which way. It didn’t look like she hadn’t brushed it, just that her style tended towards ‘wild’ which… while not entirely inaccurate, wasn’t the whole truth, either. Add to that her slightly crooked nose from a boxing match in her youth and a stature that better suited the common perception of a bodybuilder than a teacher- basically, she didn’t blame people for being skeptical when she introduced herself as having her teacher’s license in Vale and a master’s from Beacon University to boot.

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame it just a bit as the train rattled down the tracks, passing through one of the few tunnels on this route. Before she could head to the house, she had to stop by the office and get the full details from Mr. Ozpin regarding the job itself. He hadn’t explained much over the phone, seeing as this came across as an emergency of some sort, but she imagined there’d be more information when she reached the home office. Since Yang only had one regular client, her work thus far had centered mostly on group sessions at a private school on the north side of the city, where the upper crust lived.

Yang cleared her throat and straightened out her tie, trying to keep her nerves from getting the better of her. Among some of the differences in Atlas she’d encountered, the differences between upper class and middle class were… stark. Generally, people stuck to their ‘side of the fence’, which she didn’t really get, considering Vale’s far more lax social structure.

Every time she started thinking about how she would never ‘fit in’ or ‘pass’ among Atlas’ social elite, she remembered that her girlfriend was not only born in that environment, she was raised to be near the top of the social ladder and walked away from it of her own volition. It made her feel so lucky, because beneath some of her rougher edges and her cool demeanor, Winter was passionate and warm and beautiful and she couldn’t imagine where she’d be without their paths crossing.

Aside from, well, warmer, but that was a minor thing.

Once she got to her stop, Yang hopped off the train and made her way to the office building. The agency she worked for owned only a small section of the building multiplex, containing only a few full time positions and three conference rooms for meetings. It paid well enough, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to be doing. She considered it a stepping stone to the life she wanted to build in Atlas.

Opening the glass door with the agency’s name on it- Maiden Education, a silly pun she could appreciate- Yang went to the doorway leading into Mr. Ozpin’s office and politely knocked on the doorjamb.

“Hmmm?” Mr. Ozpin turned, green eyes lighting up upon seeing her. “Ah, Miss Xiao Long, come in. Thank you for understanding; this is… a unique situation.”

“It’s no problem; I’m happy to help,” she replied, stepping into the small office and sitting down. Mr. Ozpin’s desk was a haphazard collection of papers, just barely shuffled into piles, and his shaggy silvered hair bespoke of a charmingly frazzled appearance. It was one of the reasons she opted to take the job; she rather liked having someone who understood that life happened and appearances weren’t everything. “So, what’s the skinny?”

“This is one of our more… unique clients, to put it simply.” He shuffled a few papers before pulling out a folder from one of the stacks and opening it up. “They recently moved to Atlas and, up until now, Ms. Goodwitch had been handling their case.”

That surprised Yang more than the call asking her to cover down. “Wait, Glynda? She’s sick? I thought nothing short of a natural disaster could stop her from coming into work.”

Glynda Goodwitch had overseen her short probationary period with the agency. Strict, terse, and exacting, the woman exuded the confidence of an experienced and unflappable teacher who’d seen it all and done it all. She honestly couldn’t imagine how sick she had to be to stay home.

“Frankly, I’m assuming she’s sick; I haven’t been able to get her on the phone and she usually stops by the office before heading out to this particular house.” He sighed. “This isn’t like her, but she’s confided in me within the past two weeks, and I have reason to believe her absence is health related.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Worry pinched her brow. “I hope she’s alright.”

“I do, too.” Mr. Ozpin shook his head, then glanced down at the file. “At any rate, the house is on the north side of town- quite remote. I’m afraid your scroll will have spotty reception at best.”

She cringed. “Damn, I guess I should’ve rode to work this morning. I took the train.”

“Not to worry; you can use my car for today. I likely won’t be leaving, considering how much paperwork I’ve yet to do.” He gestured at one of the stacks and she had to assume that was his ‘to-do’ pile. “Once you arrive, you’ll meet with your students: Roman, Cinder, Mercury, and Emerald.”

“Okay. I can work with four kids. What are their ages?”

“Ah, no, they’re all adults- orphans who banded together and formed something of a family. They’ve come to Atlas to start a new life and need assistance studying for the equivalency exams.”

That set her at ease a bit; while her specialty leaned more heavily into sciences, Yang had just completed her own equivalency exam so she could submit for her license, so she more than understood all the red tape involved. “I can see why you called me.”

“Honestly, I debated on giving you these clients initially, but I thought it might be a bit too much for you to start with.” Mr. Ozpin gave her an apologetic look. “Ms. Goodwitch is one of my longest-standing employees and an excellent educator; she’d dealt with similar clients in the past, I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh, I don’t take any offense.” She chuckled, waving off his explanation. “She’s definitely one of the best colleagues I’ve ever worked with.”

Mr. Ozpin smiled and nodded, folding up the file and holding it out to her. “Here, take this just in case. Ms. Goodwitch has their lesson plans outlined here; you’ll spend two hours with all four of them, then thirty minutes with each. After you’ve completed their tutoring, come back here and I’ll drive you home.”

Yang accepted the file with a smile. “Sounds pretty straightforward. I won’t let you down, Mr. Ozpin.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

With the file and Mr. Ozpin’s keys in hand, Yang headed for the door. While she hoped Ms. Goodwitch’s health improved, she saw this as an opportunity to prove herself in a sense. If she could continue tutoring the family until Ms. Goodwitch returned, it would surely look good on her resume when her license finally came through. As she jumped into Mr. Ozpin’s car, she sent a quick text apprising Winter of the situation, just so the woman wouldn’t worry. Then, she plugged in the address and studied the map just in case her scroll lost signal before she got there. Within a few minutes, she had a pretty solid grasp on where she was going, pulling out of Mr. Ozpin’s spot and heading towards the north side of the city.

[hr][/hr]

About half an hour later, Yang pulled up in front of a rather spacious mansion- not entirely uncommon for the northern side of Atlas- and let out a low whistle as she put the car into park. It reminded her of her girlfriend’s childhood home, which she’d only visited a handful of times. Winter and Weiss both complained about how all the space made them feel crushingly alone and both sought to escape it, though she imagined the sisters had a very different life experience than her four prospective students. For four people who didn’t have any family aside from each other, having such a large place to call their home might give them a sense of security or peace.

The woman got out of the car with her bag and the file securely within, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves before starting towards the door.

However, her step faltered as she took another look at the house and noticed something… odd. From the ground level, it looked like some of the second floor windows were broken while others were boarded up or obscured in some manner. The first floor looked better but every curtain was drawn shut which seemed… strange. Then again, she was the sort of person who loved letting natural sunlight illuminate a room. Still, it seemed strange that such a large house sat in a state of relative disrepair with four people living inside. Maybe they were trying to renovate it?

No matter what justification she offered within the privacy of her own mind, Yang had to put all that aside and present herself the same way Ms. Goodwitch would. From the trials and internships she’d taken as part of her teaching degree, she understood that anyone familiar with a teacher suddenly subjected to someone different had an ingrained reaction to distrust the newcomer; as long as she didn’t make waves, she’d be able to continue with the lesson plans Ms. Goodwitch had set forth without trouble.

After she marshaled her thoughts, though, she then took a few more steps forward and saw the front door slightly ajar. 

Alarm bells began to ring, putting her on high alert. A reasonable explanation pushed to the forefront of her mind- they were expecting Ms. Goodwitch, so they might leave the door open for her and just hadn’t closed it when she was running late- but that didn’t ease the sudden anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. This just all seemed so... strange.

“Hello?” she called out while slowly advancing to the door, peering inside. From what she could tell, nothing looked too out of place- no sign of a struggle within the expansive foyer- but that didn’t exactly mean much, considering the size of the house. Between the remote location and lack of scroll service, she felt reasonably confident that there hadn’t been some sort of burglary; aside from the car Mr. Ozpin lent her, there wasn’t another around for miles. “I’m from the Maiden Education Agency. Ms. Goodwitch wasn’t able to make it today, so…”

When no answer came, she carefully pushed the front door open a bit further and stepped into the mansion.

The interior looked like it was in the process of being updated, with a fresh coat of paint in a few places and crumbling wallpaper elsewhere. A few boxes sat by the staircase leading up to the second floor, next to some cans of paint and rollers leaning up against the banister. A coat rack on one side of the foyer had a white coat and black bowler hung on two of the pegs, plus a pink umbrella on the third peg, which seemed to indicate someone was home.

“Hello?” She took a few more cautious steps into the foyer, trying to check around the corners. Every now and again, Winter would show her videos of the training exercises she conducted with the Atlesian military, and she tried to apply those principles now. Listening intently, she crept to the doorway leading towards what she assumed to be the living room, peeking into the room carefully.

What she saw confused her. On the one hand, it looked like a living room or den in the middle of being remodeled, but the way things were strewn about didn’t seem like they had a purpose or plan. It looked like a mess.

Before she could enter the room, she caught the sound of a stifled cry coming from behind her, prompting her to look back around and into the room on the other side of the foyer. Judging by the size, it probably served a similar purpose- a living room or den or something- but it hadn’t been remodeled yet, just new furniture set inside a room with crumbling wallpaper and discolored carpet. Two couches, a loveseat, a few arm chairs, and a coffee table sat in the middle of the room, away from the walls, as if in preparation for the walls to be repainted.

“Is anyone there?” She tried again, moving towards the other room. “I’m Ms. Xiao Long, from the Maiden Education Agency. I’m subbing for Ms. Goodwitch.”

Again, she heard the stifled cry, and followed the sound to its source, looking behind the couch and finding a young woman probably close to her age, curled up with her knees hugged to her chest. Yang slowly lowered herself down onto one knee and softened her voice.

“Hey, my name’s Yang. Are you Emerald?” She looked like the picture from the file but… rougher, mint green hair that fell to her shoulders looking unwashed and unkempt, her shirt and jeans ripped and dirty. “Hey?”

When she reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder, she flinched and looked at Yang then with wide, terrified red eyes, tears streaking her dirty cheeks. The moment she seemed to register that there was someone there, though, a bit of light came back to her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Yang, Yang Xiao Long. I’m subbing for Ms. Goodwitch.” She took a glance around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Gone,” she replied, her hands trembling as her gaze shifted up, looking towards the ceiling. “They’re… they’re all gone. It’s just me.”

Yang’s brows furrowed, looking towards the ceiling briefly. “Is there a landline? Some way to call for help?”

“No one can help me now.” Emerald started shaking her head as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “She left me for last.” Then, she grabbed Yang’s arm, clutching at her feebly. “Don’t look her in the eyes. That’s when she comes for you- that’s when she knows she has you. Don’t look her in the eyes.”

“Who? Who is ‘she’?” Although the grip on her arm didn’t hurt, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, as if her entire body could sense there was something not right about the woman before her.

“I-I don’t know, we never learned her name. We just-”

Thunk.

Yang looked back up to the ceiling, furrowing her brows. It sounded like something heavy had been dropped on the floor above them but, if they were the only ones there, then what had dropped and how? Emerald released her arm, curling back in on herself and crying softly.

Whatever had happened here, Yang quickly surmised she needed some help. Reaching into her bag, she retrieved her scroll to find it had no signal. With a frown, she stood up and looked around, spotting what looked like a wall-mounted vid screen in the next room over. With any luck, that had a landline connection and she could call for help.

Moving into the next room, she saw more evidence of the remodeling in progress- a dining room set and rolls of carpet, more paint cans and spare lumber- but thankfully found the vid screen had a connection. Dialing Atlas’ emergency services line, Yang waited for the operator to connect the call while looking up at the ceiling.

“Atlas Emergency Response, where is your emergency?”

That pulled her gaze back to the screen, finding one of Atlas’ finest staring at the screen. Quickly, she gave the address and a brief explanation of why she was there and what she’d found, glancing over to the living room to find Emerald still curled up behind the couch. After being assured police and medical services were on the way, the call ended and Yang considered going outside to wait for them.

“Hey, Emerald?” She went back to the living room and knelt down beside the woman again, keeping her voice soft. “Why don’t we go outside, yeah? Help is on the way; you’re gonna be okay.”

“No, no, no.” With a shake of her head, red eyes focused again on the ceiling. “I can’t run anymore. It won’t work.”

“Emerald, listen, it’s okay-”

Thunk.

She looked at the ceiling, brows furrowed as the woman’s crying renewed.

“Emerald, is there anyone else here?”

“No. Just me. I’m the last one.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “The last one.”

“Then what was that noise?”

Emerald slowly shook her head and hugged herself tighter, crying more fervently. 

Yang stood up. Whatever had happened, obviously the woman wouldn’t recover for a long time. 

Lilac eyes strayed towards the ceiling, curiosity nipping at her. “Emerald, are you the last one here? Or the last one alive?” When no answer came, she looked back to the woman, who watched her with terror. “Nod if the first one.” She didn’t. “Nod for the second.”

Slowly, Emerald nodded, confirming Yang’s suspicion.

Okay, so the others had died on the second floor, and finding them dead had scared Emerald shitless.

But… what was that sound, then?

“Are you sure they’re dead?”

“They’re gone.”

“Emerald-”

“They’re gone.”

Yang sighed, glancing back towards the ceiling. On the one hand, she could wait until the cops showed up and hope they’d tell her that there was nothing she could have done. On the other, she could go up there and confirm for herself. Otherwise, she’d always wonder if she’d waited outside while someone slowly died on the second floor.

Pulling out her scroll, Yang flicked it over to the camera setting to start a recording. Just in case the cops had any questions about what she had touched. Then, she started for the main staircase, taking the first step cautiously.

“Don’t look her in the eyes,” Emerald said, still hiding behind the couch.

“Right.” 

With a heavy sigh, she continued up the stairs, seeing more signs of the deteriorating walls and holding her scroll to document her journey to the second floor. Once she reached the landing, Yang looked both ways down the hall, finding several doors slightly ajar. She turned right, heading down that way seeing as it was above the living room where Emerald was still huddled. The floorboards beneath her feet creaked and groaned, just as she imagined an old mansion would, but that didn’t settle her nerves any.

As she reached the last room on the left, directly above where she’d been standing in the living room, a stench hit her nose that made her gag. On some level, she realized that the smell alone confirmed no one inside the room was alive, but her conscience wouldn’t rest without seeing it with her own two eyes.

So, against her better judgement, Yang pushed open the door.

She swallowed hard as her heart pounded in her chest, her body breaking out in a cold sweat.

Two corpses lay lifelessly on the ground, their eyes open wide in their final death stare. One of them a man- Roman, with orange hair just like his picture- and the other a woman, with pink and brown strands framing her face, and heterochromatic eyes that matched her dual colored hair. Both of them had crumpled to the floor, heads at odd angles with ropes around their necks. Looking up, Yang saw a wooden beam stretching from one side of the room to the other, rope still tied in two places above the bodies. They were both dressed rather well, as if they’d been preparing to go out for a night on the town among the upper crust.

Now, they were dead. Lying there, motionless.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the door closed and shaking herself. Passing a hand over her face, she wiped away the sweat that had formed on her brow and turned around, spotting another door. While she didn’t know anything about the woman with heterochromia, she’d accounted for two of the four people she knew resided in the house. That still left two for her to find.

Going across the hall, she pushed the door open while holding her breath, relieved when she stepped into an empty bedroom with a few sleeping bags laid out on cots. The next two rooms she checked were similarly devoid of people- one had a mass of furniture collected in the middle and the other completely barren- but the third on the other side of the hall from the staircase made her gut clench.

It looked like Mercury, with well-groomed silver hair, his eyes wide open while his body slumped against the far wall in yet another empty room. Given the angle of his head, his neck was snapped by something, though he didn’t have a rope to explain how he’d died. He was wearing jeans and a jacket, both well worn, and heavy boots- he looked like he might’ve been working on painting the room before whatever happened to him, considering the ladder nearby.

“What the fuck,” she said, her voice soft as she closed the door. With the empty rooms she’d left the doors open, to make it easier for the cops when they arrived. A numbness started spreading through her as she mechanically walked to the next few rooms, leaving their doors open. When she came to the last at the end of the hall, she had a feeling she knew exactly what she would find, but opened it anyway.

Unlike the other rooms, this one was entirely furnished and remodeled. Dark red on the walls, black carpet, and a four-poster bed- the interior decor choices unnerved her almost as much as the woman’s stare, raven hair cascading over her shoulder as she hung there, knees just an inch or so shy of the edge of the bed, rope around her neck connected to a wire frame for the canopy overhead. She wore a black robe over a red nightgown, as if she was just getting ready for bed when…

Even without make-up or a smirk, Yang recognized the woman as Cinder, the last of the unaccounted-for orphans.

She hit the button on her scroll, stopping the recording as she pulled the door closed. Her hand trembled but she tried to keep a hold on herself, stumbling back towards the staircase landing. In the distance, through the broken mirrors, she could hear the approaching sirens of the police or the ambulance, only one of which was actually needed. Yang moved closer to one of the windows, the broken one, seeing as the other was covered almost in its entirety.

Carefully, mindful of the jagged edges of the glass, she watched as patrol cars began winding their way towards the manor with an ambulance following closely. Soon, the cops would be here and start sorting through… whatever had happened. Even having seen it with her own eyes, she couldn’t begin to process it. Too numb from the shock of it all. 

Four people dead, and one half crazed for some reason.

As she started to turn away, she caught something in the broken glass. A reflection of the landing behind her, but there was someone standing there. Short hair and a cloak of some sort? Yang turned, expecting to find Emerald, but instead saw a woman with brown hair and garish bruises on her neck, expression twisted by rage, and wide brown eyes. She opened her mouth and screamed, a terrifying sound that came out strangled and broken and screeching and Yang jumped back while putting her hands over her ears, trying to make it stop.

When it did, she took shuddering breaths while looking at the top of the staircase. The woman wasn’t there anymore but a little red book sat on the top step where she’d been standing.

“Who the fuck…” She looked around, unsure of where the strange woman had gone, and cautiously made her way to the staircase. Kneeling down, she picked up the book- a diary, by the looks of it- as the sounds of sirens drew closer. She shoved it in her bag while hurrying down the steps, turning into the living room to grab Emerald so they could both get out of the house before that strange woman-

Yang came to a dead stop, her heart stuttering in her chest as her eyes went wide.

From the center of the ceiling, a rope extended down, though she couldn’t tell where it was anchored. Then again, she wasn’t really looking, more fixated on Emerald’s dead stare as she hung lifelessly, the rope around her throat tight until- for some reason- it detached from its anchor point and she fell, crashing onto the coffee table below.

Immediately, Yang turned and booked it out the front door, tripping on the doorway in her haste and having to catch herself with her hands, her legs never stopping. She somehow got back to her feet and ran to the other side of Mr. Ozpin’s car, turning around to ensure no one had followed her out even as she heard the patrol cars and ambulance come up behind her, pulling through the circular drive.

As she desperately tried to catch her breath, lilac eyes roved over the house, stopping at the window she’d looked out on the second floor. There, she saw the strange woman again, watching her for a moment and gone in a blink of an eye. Yet, even with her gone, Yang could still feel herself being watched.

Even as the cops got out of their cars, even as the paramedics came to check her out, even as she stuttered and stumbled through her explanation of what happened, she could feel it.

She was being watched.

[seenashwrite]

There But For The Grace

Word Count: 3.3K Category: One-shot; Introspection; Mystery; Choices; Life journeys; Redemption Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Michael, Reader/O.C. Female, and… just read the story. Pairing(s): Read. The. Story. Stop wanting the endings at the starts, impatient young'uns Warnings: None Faux-Warning: There’s no banging, so now that I’ve lost 80% of you… Author’s Note(s):  *This is a re-post minus tags & links in an effort to get it to show up in searches*; I’m told you’re not a true fanfic writer unless you’ve done a coffee shop meet-up fic - kindly let me know if I got it right; more post-story Overall Summary: An archangel takes a break from his reconnaissance.

The list grew by the minute, and he had to admit to himself that the mundane task of collecting all his reasons was turning delightful.

The other world hadn’t progressed to this level of corruption; likely it would’ve, had it not been for the brimstone, but that was neither here nor there. The worlds were identical, he’d learned, at least in the ways that mattered. Time nor space made a difference. Humans were, to be sure, utterly predictable.

Case in point: his most favorite time period from recent past had unfolded in precisely the same manner in both places, so much so he came as near to astonishment as he’d ever been. The roaring twenties were rife with sin, the pompous prohibitionists and the lust-filled liquor vendors, the mobsters with their massacres, and the bankers with their bloated greed. His distaste aside, it was beautiful. It was art, the way they crafted their depravity. Granted, it was nothing compared to his favorite time of all, but this was understandable; little could live up to Sodom and Gomorrah.

See there, hunter? I’m a salt-and-burn aficionado.

He’d successfully lulled the man whose body he’d snatched - no, that’s not right. He did not steal. Theft is sin. The hunter had agreed to act as a vessel, it was witnessed, and while there was deception involved, one in his position must think of the greater good. And it should be noted that he did exercise benevolence. Angelic vessels did not fare well, exponentially so for archangel vessels, and it was poor form to run through them quickly.  

He knew firsthand how his brothers handled their hosts. Raphael would woo the humans with promises of a glorious afterlife, then promptly expel their souls the moment he got a foothold. Gabriel would talk them into giving up the ghost voluntarily (as Gabriel could talk practically anyone into anything), in an effort to keep himself guilt-free. And as the fall crept closer, Lucifer took to keeping them wide awake, poking, prodding, picking, til slowly but surely the glow faded to embers, finally snuffing them out upon growing bored.

But not him. He was the best of them all, no sense in being humble. He was different, so he did things differently. He pushed the hunter to the farthest reaches of the mind they shared, threats to family quelling the belligerence surprisingly easily.

Are you plotting? he’d asked early on, receiving no answer; they both knew it was rhetorical.

As their time together grew, he’d talk to the hunter on occasion - not aloud, of course - when he marveled at the things he observed, breathing it all in. It had been ages since he’d walked the earth peacefully. It was wonder he felt, and he knew it, and it bothered him. He had been tasked with protecting them, once upon a time, and it was easier then, they were more readily awed, or maybe just malleable. He’d begun to consider if subtlety and manipulation might be ideal this go-round, effective as plagues and floods and annihilation had been, albeit temporarily.

He’d been raised by a vengeful God, the new redemptive version that came with the birth of the prophet never quite sitting right with him, but he was an obedient son, absence or no. He was his Father’s first son, he who was of God, the first angel there ever was, no matter what differing legends over the millennia might’ve said. The offenses the rest of the children, celestial-born and earth-bound alike, committed upon God’s creation wouldn’t have been tolerated back then.

Before. Before it all changed, right under his supposed watchful eye. Before he’d laid waste, in heaven and on earth. Before he’d gotten wrapped up in his plans, let his guard down. Before he lost all three of his beloved brothers in one way or another. Before he’d started paying attention again.

He wouldn’t miss anything else.

And so it was that on his fact-gathering strolls, more and more he found himself slowing his pace, pausing, coming to a halt, damn near freezing in place when something would catch his eye, or touch his ear, or invade his nose, the latter of which stopped him cold this evening, just as twilight eased across the buildings around him, and streetlights flickered on, up and down a nondescript street in a nondescript town on one nondescript walk amongst many.

He went further down the sidewalk, and up the block, and continued around a corner, and there it was, the answer to the question of what heavenly smell had wafted his way.

.

Hallowed Grounds French and Italian Coffees est. 1922

.

In his experience, the fates were indeed fickle. On the other hand, he’d done enough surveillance that week to allow for brief relaxation, be someone else for a spell. Seemed the rough-and-tumble hunter had smoothed edges made ragged from eons spent on another plane, made him fractionally more flexible. Teaching lessons could wait one more night, he told himself.

Meant to be, don’t you think?

There wasn’t need for food or drink, but the hunter was practically a junkie on both fronts, and the palate was wide. This body was stronger than most, better equipped for him, as tailor-made things are, of course, but he had not anticipated how demanding it could be, how it would crave indulgence. Undisciplined. Annoying. Distracting. It was for that last reason he’d give in, keep bites small and sips slow, and the moment there was a sense of satiation, off he - they - would go, back on mission.

African coffee was the best, this was not merely a belief but a fact; French he’d always found bland, somehow; Italian was tolerable. He ordered an espresso, tipped well, and the barista behind the former bar said they had servers milling about, one would be by to check in, see if he needed anything else. And despite knowing he’d swallow less than a quarter of the brew, he took a seat at a table, back to people-watching. Not a one was interesting in the least.

He’d noted the woman carrying the steaming metal carafe walking briskly in the direction where he sat, but had already let his eyes roam away by the time she’d gone behind him, and she only had cause to cross his mind when a loud CLANK hit the air, and the sensation of a third-degree burn called out from his lower right leg and ankle. Several gasps erupted from close-by patrons, someone moaned “Oooooh!” in sympathy, and then came the babbling.

It was the woman, the server, and she was alternating under-breath curses with self-deprecation - Such a stupid klutz! - Why’d I take this fucking job? There wasn’t an apology to be found, not a lick of repentance.

She had his attention.

As she made her way around, the carafe - retrieved, now dented and empty - was plunked on his table, causing the espresso to slosh, and she surveyed the mess on the floor, closed her eyes, rubbed them, took a deep breath, then exhaled it far too quickly for it to have been of any use. Her eyes popped open. They instantly lit on his soaked trouser cuff.

“Jesus,” she muttered, flat forehead going to a frown in a nanosecond.

And he frowned, too. Not that he’d been particularly impressed by or had much use for the prophet, nor had he bought into all the trinity talk - he’d found it offensive that any would be placed by the Father as an equal of sorts - but this was in the ballpark of blasphemy. Well, then. Another sinner joins the collection.

Now she’d dropped, and he arched an eyebrow as his head tilted down, feeling her rubbing - aggressively - on his shoe, sopping up the spilt coffee with a rag she’d had tucked in her apron’s waistband.

“That pot was still hot as hell, it didn’t get you, did it?” she asked, looking up at him from her kneeling position.

“No,” he lied.

“Oh, thank God. I’d have been… if you’d been burnt, I would’ve… I am so sorry, sir.”

Penitence looked lovely on her.

“You seem anxious, why don’t you sit, rest for a moment,” he suggested, and gestured to the empty chair across from him.

He kept his eyes locked onto hers; she gave him an odd look in return, but didn’t have time to answer. Another table called out to her, so she broke the stare, told him she’d check on him again later, see if he wanted a refill - anything he wanted, on the house, she added - before rising and leaving his side.

He took her up on it. He paid for the one that followed. And he waited until the patrons had nearly cleared and the lights were being dimmed and the brooms were coming out. Someone else was sent to collect the fee for the still-full third.

Take a hint.

He followed the advisement - whether it was the hunter’s or some sort of self-prompting, he couldn’t say - and exited, though he didn’t carry on with his reconnaissance, instead going down the tiny alley that led to the back of the building, leaning against a telephone pole that was partially in the shadows, settling in, keeping an eye on the side door of the coffee shop.

The hunter spoke up.

You suck at this.

Pray tell?

Trying to pick up a chick, get laid.

Orgasms are insufficient reasons for risking the creation of another abomination.

Go comb through my greatest hits, then we’ll talk about risks and rewards.

It took a half-hour of darkened silence before he began to grow irritable, and he stood from his lean, was straightening his overcoat when the door opened. She spotted him, pretended like she didn’t, so he took a few steps in her direction. He was just about to speak when she whipped around, jerking something from her pocket. She immediately squirted a caustic fluid onto him, which did nothing, save prompting a confused expression to come across his now damp face.

Oh, for crying out—-

Hush.

She coughed several times as a breeze carried the mist her way, though a subtle wave of his hand served to make it disappear, and soothed her stinging eyes and scratchy throat. He pulled out his handkerchief and blotted the moisture coating his cheeks. She watched, not moving an inch, her mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Please forgive me.”

“That’s the strongest mace on the market,” she muttered. She looked at the tiny tube, sneered, then tossed it down the alley, where it hop-skipped out of sight. Turning her head back to him, she spoke again, this time warily. “You need money or something? You’re not dressed like you need money.”

He returned the handkerchief to his pocket, met her eye. “You think I waited here to rob you?”

“I don’t… well why are you here?”

“I enjoyed your company and hoped to extend our time together.” A pause, then he added, “I have no desire to have sex with you.”

“Gee, thanks?”

He began to respond, hesitated, then opted to go with, “I’m told I’m not… not very good at… this.”

“Making friends?”

“Mmmm.”

“Well, it’s… it’s late.”

He glanced at his watch. “So it is.”

“And I don’t even know your name.”

“Michael.”

“Michael. Okay. I have a brother named Michael. Mikey, if I want to piss him off.”

“Were your parents religious?”

“What?!” she exclaimed, though she chased it with an amused grin. “You ask the strangest questions. Um, no. Not really.”

“And your name?”

“I, uh… don’t give out my name to strangers.”

“Wise. But I need to call you something.”

“Hmmm… I don’t really…”

He waited.

She snapped her fingers. "My family nicknamed me Grace. The way they talk, I’ve been clumsy since the womb.” She rolled her eyes.

“That sounds cruel.”

She laughed, but it was short, clipped. “Nah. Annoying, maybe. But they didn’t mean anything by it. Your family not have a nickname for you?”

He shook his head. “No. They called one of my brothers the star. He… shone a little too brightly.”

She nodded. “I have a friend like that. Drama queen. Sucks up all the air in a room, as my mother would say.”

“May I call you Grace?”

She laughed again, the full version this time, and said, “I ruined your pants, so I owe you. Yeah, sure. Go for it.”

He walked her to her car, but they kept chatting - the coffee shop began as a speakeasy, he informed her, and a two-way mirror once hung over the bar so as to keep an eye out for the police. And the conversation drifted with them as they meandered down the street, ended up in a park, sitting in swings sandwiched between a slide and a sandbox, lazily letting their feet trail through gravel, him allowing her to think he was a history buff, her telling him how she’d been born in another nondescript town in another nondescript state. How as the years passed, it had started to feel like another world.

And when it was her turn to ask about the past, it called up from within him the desire to lie to her - protect her - for the second time that night. So he chose his words carefully.

“I had assignments. One that was the most… I was supposed to guard people. Defend them, when needed. And… and I did a good job for quite awhile. My commander was pleased. But then things… happened. I let an enemy invade. I wasn’t strong enough. Not enough to stop him.”

“You don’t have to go into detail if you don’t want to,” Grace said quietly. She laid a hand over his.

“People died.”

“Oh.”

“They saw me as a protector. There was a time when some practically worshiped me, thought I was worthy of it.” He made a scoffing sound. “I started to believe I was.”

He’d never had a single regret, never let himself fall into the abyss of memories. But even he could be brought - broken, more accurately - out of his routine. And the most immediate period of his existence had done just that, making times of calm a desire, while in the same moment making times of silence an irritant.

He looked down at their hands, flipped his, threaded his fingers through hers, and she didn’t stop him.

They sat, unmoved, no words, for several minutes; three-point-two-one-six, in fact, because he counted them. His mind never rested, even when the hunter’s did, but he liked how she didn’t feel the need to fill the emptiness with idle talk. Made for a touch of calm. Even with the silence.

It held a bit of irony - he was the silent type, everyone said so. He’d found it often communicated intent better than any words could’ve. And more descriptions piled on: Imposing. Intimidating. Towering. Threatening. Some had called him “Beast” long before it had been applied to their once-adored morning star.

So there it was - there’d already been a second lie, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he told her, staring at her intently, but this time she didn’t look away.

“You said that already,” she replied, a solemn smile on her lips, not too wide, not too thin, just the right sort, and he hoped he reciprocated in kind. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, saying, “Michael… I mean, my Michael —–”

The hunter’s belly stirred.

“—– you know, my brother, he’s in the service. He’s a Ranger. He doesn’t tell our family a lot of stories from when he fought, but he’s told me some. So if it’s anything like that, then… I can understand. I can try, I mean.”

“I led the entirety of our legion.”

“You’re… you seem a little young to be… what would it be, a general, I guess? Or do you mean you led your division? Or squadron? I know some of the terminology, you don’t have to dumb it down for me.”

“I’ve offended you.”

“No, it’s… don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.”

“It very much matters. How people treat one another. People can be vile, sadistic, horrible creatures.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I guess. But we’re the only ones here. And I’m not horrible, and you’re not horrible, soooo…”

“You’re right,” he lied for the third time, and with one of the hunter’s brightest smiles.

Which made Grace shine.

Go.

The hunter did as he was commanded.

Michael thought she tasted like sin.

“Okay. Tomorrow. I’m off work, but we can meet at the coffee shop, figure out what to do from there… around noon sound good?”

He nodded. “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Grace.”

She nodded in return, got in her car, and gave him a little wave as she pulled away.

Is this your plan, hunter? How you think you’ll undo me? Making me more like you?

Hey, I haven’t been driving for awhile now. Ass.

Hmmm.

You kissed her.

What makes you say that?

When you let me leave the bad boy corner, I could tell. Or else you’re putting strawberry lip balm on my—-

Apple.

Huh?

It’s apple.

He waited at her apartment, this time deep in the shadows where he wouldn’t be spotted, made sure she got inside safely, listened for the click that told him she’d locked the door. He began to leave, then thought better of it, decided to play guardian for old times’ sake, placed warding here and there to keep any would-be harm away. And back to walking he went, considering how to kill the hours til they met again.

May as well strike up a conversation.

Now that we’ve spent some time together, tell me - Why didn’t we do this sooner? What’s it been for you, about a decade?

You’re a douche.

Fine. But comparatively?

There’s not a douche scale, dick.

So I’m altogether irredeemable?

Uh - is there some universe where you aren’t?

Perhaps.

So prove it! Let me go! And LEAVE ME ALONE.

Fair enough.

If he were to put a not-so-fine point on his reasoning for not meeting her the next day, that about summed it up. He’d disappoint her, she’d disappoint him, and if she didn’t, that was no good. Probably worse. Better to keep unattached when it came to what the future… what he… would likely bring.

Even so, he found himself once more standing apart, likely imposing, always watching, this time through a window, across hallowed grounds, looking for his grace. He spotted her at the very table he’d been at when they met, scrolling through her phone, occasionally sipping on a latte. Then there’d be a sigh, a glance to the large clock on the opposite wall as five, then ten, then fifteen minutes passed by.

What say after this, we head to the cage, check on that counterpart of mine?

This time, he received an unusually placid response.

Why?

To ensure he’s paying for what he’s done.

Like you haven’t been thinking of nuking this world. You’re still jonesing for your apocalypse. You know you want a do-over.

The world could use some cleansing, true. There’s reasons. But, no. That’s not why.

Then what?! How many times are you planning on dragging me over there, making sure he hasn’t popped the lock so you can keep up your stupid act? They’re gonna figure it out soon, Cas or Sam—-

I thought of all people, you’d understand.

Understand WHAT? It’s payback? ‘Cause the first thing *he* did was make a beeline to take you out?

He killed my brother. With my own sword, no less. And that above all, Dean, I will not abide.

Grace picked up her bag, left a few bills on the table, and as she walked out the door, placed a phone call.

“Yeah, he stood me up… no, no, I’m not… Seriously! I’m not mad, I’m just, you know… yeah. I thought he was different… No, you’re right, and I’m sure he had a good reason, and I told you he didn’t have a phone with him, right? So it’s not like he could’ve…. oh God, no he wasn’t lying, why do you assume every dude…. Anyway, maybe I’ll see him again. I think that’d be nice…”

Well, then. Not so predictable, after all. Not this one. At least, for now.

Teaching the world a lesson could wait for just one more day.

.

Author’s Note #2: Per request, there’s a walkthrough on the inspiration for the title/plot points, the theology droppings, and the “clues” for the ending twist-a-roo, if you’re interested! Just look for this story on my Master Post (see below) and it’s linked at the bottom of the story.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

[loquaciousquark]

Hey, all, I’m probably not going to be around much for a few months aside from queues & TM posts.

Work stress has taken over my life in a way it never has before. A very long story short, my closest coworker (both friend-wise and workload-wise) took another job that began at the end of April. While she knew from November she was going to take this job, she did not inform administration until the very final contractual required moment of 30 days out. This means there has been no chance for admin to be looking for long-term qualified candidates to replace her position, since to get hired on at the school even on a temporary faculty basis takes about six-eight weeks.

(She told me about this job in November, but made me promise at the time not to tell anyone because she was going to tell them soon. Then, as schedules were being planned out for this summer and her time was being allotted under the assumption she would be there, she deliberately said nothing and made me answer the emails so she wouldn’t be “lying.” I have known this hell has been coming for me for five months and haven’t been able to do anything about it because I gave her my word.)

In addition, while not her fault, three other administrative support employees and two other faculty members have left/will be leaving in less than a month as well. One employee’s family member died unexpectedly, one employee was grossly incompetent (although I can’t remember the last time we actually fired someone for that), and the other faculty members are leaving for really good jobs elsewhere. Just very unfortunate timing that means we are all spread excruciatingly thin for now.

This all comes at a time where I am actively beginning that Service Director position for the primary care clinic on top of everything else. This position, while I think a great fit for me, what else I teach in the school, and how I plan/organize/relate to the students, has come at a terrible time because it in and of itself is a massive amount of work, especially getting it off the ground. If I’m going to implement all these new policies and changes I’ve been dreaming of for years, I need to do it at the beginning of my tenure--to try and keep everything going the way it has been and change later once everything calms down would be infinitely more work at that time & have a bunch more pushback from both the students and the faculty I now lead as part of this clinic, many of which have decades of seniority on me.

I’m doing the work of two-and-a-half full-time faculty right now. I do still really love this job, but right now I can’t handle it.

I’m grinding my teeth at night and clenching my jaw during the day. My dentist suddenly wants me to get a bite plate when before a few months ago, I’d never ground my teeth in my life. I’m getting excruciating stress/tension headaches almost every other day from how tight every muscle of my face and neck is. I’ve gained over ten pounds in the last two months from eating like crap because anything that requires more than two steps of prep is mentally, physically, and emotionally impossible, which has the added effect of making me want to cry every time I look in a mirror and see my stomach so far away from my mental “normal,” because I was already seven pounds or so more than I wanted to be. I’m only getting three or four hours of sleep a night despite melatonin because my mind is just reciting checklist after checklist of things I need to do to keep all my sudden responsibilities on track.

I saw my psychiatrist today (which in and of itself was overwhelming--I thought until I was leaving for the appointment that today was my annual physical, and it wasn’t until I was checking the auto-filled address that I realized it was in the wrong building for that. Turns out I’d independently scheduled both the psych follow-up & the physical within a few days of each other, and I’d missed the text appointment reminders for the physical because the psych ones were more recent. I have never straight up no-showed an appointment in my life before this.)

I only had about thirty minutes with her, but part of the problem is that I haven’t taken my meds regularly in over a month because even such a little thing was too difficult. I’m going to try to start back on that, but...

I told her it doesn’t feel like I’m trying to keep plates spinning in the air. It feels like I have them all under control at the moment, they’re just excruciatingly heavy. The only way I’ve been handling this sudden pressure of doing basically two and a half jobs with no margin for error in any of them is being ruthlessly, relentlessly organized. Which is fine, except that I can feel how that changes my personality when I have to go so hard and regimented, and I hate how it feels to have both no margin and no grace.

I had a student the other day email me about a flight she booked for a Memorial Day vacation at 6pm on a Friday, not thinking about how clinic does not always end on the dot at 5pm. We (both students and faculty) are required to stay until the patient’s exam is complete. Sometimes that’s at five. Sometimes that’s at 6:30. On rare occasions I’ve stayed until 9pm in clinical care because that’s what was needed at the time for that patient.

She wanted to get out of clinic with an excused absence. We require three weeks’ minimum notice because when a student leaves without coverage, we have to reschedule all the patients they were meant to see. Her schedule was fully booked, and I had to say no, because right now I have nothing left to try to find an alternative for her. I hate saying no to students, especially when it’s something I truly could help them solve with some investment on my part, but right now--I’m sorry, but I can’t. Why on earth did you schedule a flight for 6pm on a day you have clinic until 5, especially when the airport is a 20-minute drive from the school even without traffic? I can’t fix this for you, not right now. You have to show up to clinic or find your own coverage. I don’t care how you do it, but someone has to be there, and I don’t have anything left in me to help you figure out how to do it.

My mom listens to a guy who sometimes talks about how you have to have a margin in your life to manage your stress. A margin in your work helps you enjoy your leisure time; if you don’t have that margin, even scheduled play feels stressful because you have work playing through your head the whole time.

I’m out of margin. I’m ten feet over the line in every direction I’m so out of margin, and I am constantly being asked by students and other faculty, “How are you doing now that the person who you shared 90% of your work life with is gone? Who’s going to help take over [year-long highly-intensive Methods course] now that Dr. So-and-So is gone? Who’s going to help you teach it since we all know what a gigantic course it is and how it’s always required two people to run full-time, and now you’re down to one who’s also taken on a bunch of other responsibilities at the exact same time?”

and they’re laughing when they say it. and i’m laughing when i tell them the truth, which is “no one.” and we all laugh together and inside my head i am ripping apart under the pressure.

Even if they hire someone by August, it’s not going to mean any relief until September due to onboarding, and even then it won’t be what I really need. This woman I worked with and I had both taught this course together for years, and before that we’d both taken it as students. We knew how it ran inside and out. We knew what the responsibilities were. We had the workload divided evenly and didn’t have to consult over every decision that was made--it just got done. Even if they do hire someone at lightning speed, I still have to train them. I have to show them where the group drive is on the faculty intranet. I have to teach them how it’s organized. I have to show them how to upload quizzes and how to grade them and how to edit the Excel practical documents and the timeframe we expect the grades back and why our grading standards are the way they are and what to say to guest graders and guest lab instructors and show them where the file folders are kept and where the .docx’s are kept and the way things are sorted and how the tests are written and how to extensively edit a PDF file and give them the contact information for faculty IT support (which still ends up being me half the time) and the manual printer and the woman who orders office supplies and the woman who orders clinical equipment and the man who orders building maintenance supplies and when you go to one and not the other and how electronic testing works and how to grade it and how to upload a document with all the specific little requirements the program wants to make sure it imports correctly and how to deal with the errors this program will inevitably throw back because it’s niche software for a niche school and that means it’ll never be user friendly.

It took me almost two years to really feel comfortable being co-coursemaster for this course because it is so unbelievably massive. Even if they hire someone by August, I still won’t have a full-time coursemaster pulling their weight until 2021.

The other metaphor I used with my psychiatrist is that I’m holding on to a cliff’s edge with my fingertips. Right now, I’ve got a pretty decent grip, but that doesn’t change the fact that if you put another pound on my back it might pull me right off the rock.

I don’t see practical relief coming any time soon. “What can we do to help? We want you to know you are very supported right now. You let us know what you need.” What can you do? Hire someone tomorrow who already knows how our computer system works, who can troubleshoot their own IT, who can look at a list of tasks that need to happen to get this Methods course fully ready every single semester of every single year and do them without any handholding from me. Hire someone with as much attention to detail as I’ve had to have because it’s the right way to do the damn job. Hire someone I won’t have to clean up after because to them “the cart in the closet” is the same thing as “the specific place on the labeled closet shelf where the equipment belongs.”

I’m clenching my teeth so hard they’re hurting, so I guess I have to stop. If you see me in-game somewhere, believe me, it’s not because I’ve caught up. It’s because I haven’t and I can’t bear thinking about how much I still have to do.

[notsoguiltykpop]

The Tenth Floor pt21

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader & Taehyung x Reader

Min Yoongi had gone through 34 secretaries in the past 24 months, and each one of them left in tears. This fact alone should have warned you against taking the job, but the pay was too good to pass up. Surely you could put up with a billionaires temper-tantrums, right?

Genre: Crack, Fluff, humor, some angst.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Strong language, smut talked about/implied, some dark themes

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20,

Jungkook opened his eyes to his familiar bland ceiling and the complete silence of his apartment. He sighed, reaching over to his nightstand to glance at his phone. He was running late, his phone was on 2%, and he’d slept in his clothes. Great. 

Jessica called last night. He was so excited for all of twenty seconds, then he realized that she wasn’t calling to catch up or hear him out. She said you were acting weird, and wanted to know if it was his fault. He dragged himself into the shower, trying to push the conversation from his mind. 

He supposed it was karma, or something of the like. It didn’t seem quite fair; here he was trying to straighten up, and things were worse now than they were before.

“No, that’s not right,” He thought, swearing as some shampoo dripped into his eye. “I was bored out of my mind a few months ago. At least life’s interesting now.”

He took his time shaving and messing with his hair to get it just right, figuring that as distracted as Yoongi was recently, he wouldn’t notice if Jungkook was late. 

If anyone ever asked Jungkook what he ate for breakfast, he would tell them a smoothie with protein powder and a bowl of fruit on the side. He was a doctor, after all; he had to set a good example. But the truth was, he ate froot loops or a poptart to start his day most of the time, and liked it that way. 

He was halfway through his cereal when someone started ringing his doorbell insistently. He considered ignoring it because the only person who ever bothered him this early was his landlady, but not only was he sure he remembered to pay his rent this month, he was also fairly sure she was out of town. 

He sighed, standing from his couch and making his way over to look through the peephole.

“What the hell...” He muttered, blinking before looking again. Once he was sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, he opened the door a crack.

“What the actual--”

“Hey, Jungkook! Old buddy...” Taehyung smiled nervously, shifting the child held in his arms from one side to the other. A colorful bag sat at his feat with a teddybear sticking out. “How’s it going?” 

Jungkook’s eyes flicked back and forth between the child currently pulling on Taehyung’s ears and giggling and Taehyung, noticing their matching jean jackets.

He had a million questions, but the one that tumbled from his mouth first was, “How do you know where I live?” 

“Oh, ha, yeah,” Taehyung laughed. “Reverse phone look-up. Sorry. I just--I need a favor, and I thought I should ask in person.”

“Why would I do you a favor?” Jungkook asked, genuinely curious why Taehyung thought he was the person to ask. 

“Because you’re a good guy?” Taehyung tried, and when Jungkook raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “I mean that. You seem like a decent person, and know I can count on you to put aside our differences and help me out.”

Jungkook suspected Taehyung was trying to manipulate him, because that was what Taehyung tended to do to people, but there was nothing in his eyes or mannerisms to suggest it. 

“What--what do you want, then?” Jungkook relented. “I’m not saying I’ll do it. Just that I’ll hear you out...” 

Taehyung smiled like he’d already won, and Jungkook suspected that he had. The little girl in his arms demanded to be put down, and shoved past Jungkook to get into his apartment as soon as Taehyung obliged. 

“Sorry, Zoe can be a bit...” Taehyung’s voice trailed off as he watched his daughter sit down at Jungkook’s table and start eating his cereal. Jungkook’s eyebrows raised even further as he followed Taehyung’s gaze. 

“Didn’t you feed her this morning?” Jungkook asked suspiciously, and was rewarded with a dubious look.

“Of course I did. She’s just going through this weird phase right now where she eats everything--It’s normal. Sort of.” 

“Sort of?”

“Just don’t let her have books unsupervised, that’s all. Or plants... Or anything else, actually.” He pushed past Jungkook into the apartment, picking up his daughter and placing her in his lap while gently telling her that she couldn’t just eat other people’s food as he moved the bowl away from her. 

“Look, Taehyung,” Jungkook sighed, sitting across from Taehyung and pushing the cereal back towards Zoe. “As weird and interesting as this is, and as many questions as I would love to ask, I need to leave in a few minutes. So what is it that you want?”

“I haven’t gotten to spend time with Zoe in two months because of complications with the court,” Taehyung began. “And I won’t be able to again for a while unless I can convince the judge that I’m a fit guardian--to do that, I need a regular job, something with a pay-stub, you know? It looks better than investments that could potentially backfire.”

“Not seeing what this has to do with me...” Jungkook frowned, getting up to grab the box of cereal and put it in front of Zoe--she’d already finished what was in front of her.

“Ugh, don’t you have something healthier? She’ll eat anything, she likes celery just as much,” Taehyung complained as Zoe carefully poured more into her bowl, still managing to spill a good amount onto the floor in the process. “Anyway, today’s my first day on the job, I have to be there. But I can’t take Zoe with me...”

Jungkook’s eyes widened as he finally figured out where he came in. “Oh my god, do I look like a babysitter to you?” 

“Yes,” Zoe responded suddenly. “You look like a baby.” 

“Can’t you hire a regular sitter? What about your parents, I’m sure your mom would love to--”

“My mother doesn’t know about my new job for... Reasons. And I don’t trust regular sitters.” Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, and Jungkook thought this might be the first glimpse he’s really had at whoever Taehyung was underneath all his bullshit and facades. “But you’re a doctor--surely if she’d be safe with anyone, it’d be with a doctor, right?”

It took Jungkook a moment to process that it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Uh, no. Not necessarily,” Jungkook said slowly. 

“I found your records while I was at the office the other day--your background check, employment history... You did your residency at a children’s hospital, and you worked so well with kids they begged you to stay.” 

Jungkook shifted somewhat uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “I don’t--I don’t appreciate the fact that you went through my file and I--”

“Please, just watch her for a few hours?” Taehyung cut in. “I wouldn’t be asking if I thought someone else would be better suited.”

“Please?” Zoe added, though Jungkook was sure she hadn’t followed most of the conversation, having been far too busy playing with Taehyung’s phone. 

“I--” He wanted to say no, but couldn’t quite get the words out. “I guess. I’ll call in sick or something. But it’s only for today, and don’t you dare go around telling people about the residency at a children's hospital. That stays between us.”

Taehyung smirked, tilting his head to one side. “Why? Are you afraid it’ll ruin your reputation as a badass?” At Jungkook’s glare, he sighed. “I wonder what happened that made you think you aren’t allowed to have feelings or get attached to people. You’ll have to tell me some time.” 

“Yeah, like I’d talk to you about anything...” Jungkook scoffed. “And don’t you need to get going?”

“Oh,” Taehyung blinked, searching his pockets for his phone before realizing it was in Zoe’s hands still. She handed it over without much fuss, hopping out of his lap to run around the table and ask Jungkook for his cell instead. “I’m late, shi--” He caught himself just in time, glancing at Zoe apologetically. 

The six year old leaned up to yell-whisper in Jungkook’s ear, cupping one hand around her mouth. “He was gonna say shit.” She informed him gravely. 

Taehyung looked pained as he stood quickly to leave. He kissed Zoe on the top of her head, which she ignored, and thanked Jungkook for doing this. “Her booster-seat is in the bag if you need to run errands, and I’ve got your number, so I’ll text you every hour or so to see how it’s going.” He called as he made his way out the door. 

Zoe didn’t seem terribly bothered by his absence, turning to Jungkook with an excited gleam in her eyes. 

“Do you know the finger-family song?” She asked, and Jungkook shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

Two hours later, Jungkook felt like he was losing his mind. Zoe found a 10 hour version of the finger-family song that she insisted had to be played at all times, and Taehyung wasn’t joking when he said she tried to eat everything. She even bit him at one point, then claimed she didn’t mean to. It had been years since Jungkook read up on children’s psychology, but he was fairly sure it was a form of regression brought on by stress.

Not that knowing that helped his current situation. 

“I’m going to make you into a beautiful princess,” Zoe said, chewing on the end of his comb. When Zoe suggested playing hairdresser, Jungkook thought it was a pretty good idea--at least it might distract her from biting things for a while. Now, as she pushed his comb covered in spit through his hair, he thought he might have made a mistake. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a princess,” Jungkook chuckled. “Maybe we should turn off the music so you can focus--” He reached towards his phone that was still playing the finger-family song, but was stopped by Zoe’s glare. “...Or we can just leave it.”

A knocking began on the door, and Jungkook’s first thought was that it must be Taehyung back to pick up Zoe, but a moment later he heard someone punching in the keycode and the lock clicking. 

“Hang on just a second,” Jungkook said to Zoe, who followed him quickly to the door. It opened just as he reached for the handle, and Jungkook felt like the world slowed down for just a moment. 

Jessica stood there, purse in hand, looking the same way she had the other times she’d let herself into his apartment, save for the frown on her face. 

“You didn’t change your lock.” She noted.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Jungkook shrugged. If he was honest, he’d hoped that she would be, and was somewhat in denial of the fact that he probably should change the code. 

“You didn’t tell me you knew a princess,” Zoe accused, folding her arms in that way that only children did, as though she was doing her best impression of her parents. 

Jessica opened and closed her mouth, looking nearly as lost as Jungkook felt. 

“I came at a bad time,” She said finally, taking a step back. “I’ll just--”

“No!” It came out much louder and more desperate than Jungkook intended. “No, it’s fine. I’m babysitting, but... You can come in, if you want.”

Jessica had a million-and-one excuses for why she was there, but Jungkook wasn’t sure which one to believe because her story kept changing. First, she was there because she said you weren’t talking to her. Then, she said she was the one who wasn’t talking to you, but wanted to make sure you were alright. After that, it was because she thought she might have left her favorite blouse in his apartment, and then that she thought he might know why Yoongi hadn’t fired you yet. 

Maybe it was all of the above, or maybe, by some miracle, she just wanted to see Jungkook. That’s what he hoped it was, anyway. 

“Y/n keeps telling me you’re not so bad. That you’re just scared,” She said at one point. Zoe was still doing Jungkook’s hair as he sat on the floor, and Jessica sat on his couch watching. 

“I thought you said the two of you aren’t talking,” Jungkook pointed out. He must have moved slightly as he said this, because Zoe hit the side of his head with her comb and told him to sit still. 

“We’re not. She left a lot of voicemails last week.” Jessica said this quietly, as though she was embarrassed to admit it. “It’s stupid. We’ve been friends for years, and one stupid job does this to us? We’re better than this. I mean, sure we’ve fought before, but I don’t remember the last time we went this long without speaking. Usually Y/n tricks me into spending time with her and things just go back to normal... Both of us should have stayed far away from the Min corporation.”

Jungkook avoided Jessica’s eyes for a moment, looking down at his bitten nails as he tried to find the right words. “Maybe it’s selfish, but... I’m glad you didn’t. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.” 

“And Y/n? Are you glad she’s been put through all this?” Jungkook could only shrug. “How is she, anyway?” Jessica prompted after a moment. 

“I dunno. We’re not really talking, either,” Jungkook admitted. He knew he’d said the wrong thing the moment it left his mouth, as Jessica’s eyes widened in horror. 

“You mean she’s been dealing with all this crap by herself?” She balked. “She said you had her back! She said you were her friend, and you’re not talking to her?” Jungkook winced slightly, partially at Jessica’s words, and partially because Zoe had yanked on her comb particularly hard and it hurt. “How could you leave her to deal with Yoongi and Taehyung--”

“Who is Zoe’s dad!” Jungkook cut in quickly. No kid needed to hear strangers talking bad about their parent.

“Oh,” Jessica said, taken aback. “They don’t look alike. Also, why haven’t I heard about this before?”

Jungkook nodded. “It’s surprising, right?” Whatever Jessica would have said next was cut off by Jungkook’s phone ringing. He was about to simply silence it when he saw that it was from Yoongi. “Sorry, just a second...” Jungkook muttered as he answered. 

“I know you’re sick, but I need you to come in for an hour,” Yoongi said, not bothering with any other greeting. “There’s been a mixup in marketing and no one here knows how to fix it.”

“I really can’t--” Jungkook started.

“You’re really going to have to anyway,” Yoongi cut in. “I’m sorry to ask you to come in when you’re sick, but this has to be taken care of. I’ll pay you double time, and you’ll be done before lunch.”

“Yoongi, I just told you--” Jungkook tried again.

Zoe’s eyes lit up. “Uncle Yoongi?”

“I’ll see you in an hour, then.” Yoongi hung up after that, and Jungkook glared at his dark phone screen. He supposed he could just not show up, but he suspected that Yoongi wouldn’t personally call unless it was important.

His eyes went to Zoe, who was currently bumping out the bag Taehyung had brought with them. Despite what Taehyung said, he had not texted yet, so Jungkook still didn’t have his number. 

“I have to go to the office for an hour...” Jungkook started, but his voice trailed off as Zoe raised her booster-seat into the air. 

“We’re gonna see Uncle Yoongi!” She cheered.

Jungkook could have sworn he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Zoe even once since they arrived on the tenth floor, and yet... She was gone. He sat her in a chair next to his at his desk and told her to sit tight for just a minute while he found out what was happening, while watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

Of course that was a bad idea, he thought in hindsight. No six year old could sit still for any amount of time, it wasn’t reasonable for him to have expected it from Zoe. 

His first thought was to check under his desk--she liked hide-and-go-seek, so it seemed like a good hunch. But once he was on all fours, he realized how many desks were in the office--she could literally be anywhere. 

“Oh god,” He muttered, starting to panic. 

“Did you lose a contact or what?” Jimin’s voice interrupted, amusement clear in his tone. 

“Worse. So much worse,” Jungkook muttered. Maybe Jessica could help. She’d come along with them to the office saying she needed to straighten things out with you, and that if she didn’t now she might chicken out. 

“Your phone, then?” Jimin guessed. 

Jungkook shook his head distractedly. He had tried to tell Taehyung he wasn’t a babysitter, but he really should have tried harder. “Worse.”

“What’s worse than losing your phone?” The other man scoffed as Jungkook stood. 

“A child. Misplacing a child is much, much worse.” 

As much as Jungkook didn’t want to explain the situation to Yoongi, he didn’t see that he had any choice--it was better for him to be in trouble than for Zoe to potentially get hurt. Most people had already left for lunch, but within ten minutes the few people who were left were all searching for the six year old. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do once we find my niece,” Yoongi warned as he brushed past. Jungkook nodded, but he still felt like he wasn’t the only one who owed people an explanation. 

“Found her!” Jimin called a moment later, sticking his head out of the break room. 

By the time Jungkook made it to the room, Yoongi was already leading Zoe to his office and saying that he would call Taehyung. Jessica was hovering near the door, peaking in as though she didn’t want the people inside to see her. 

Jimin was laughing in a sort of relieved way, and over the commotion Jungkook heard you say, “I have so many questions.”

Taehyung seemed nearly at his wits end as he paced back and forth in Yoongi’s office for an hour. Zoe had quickly gotten bored and said she wanted to play with you, because apparently you were much more fun than Yoongi was. She then “helped” you reorganize papers as Jessica filled you in on what had happened. 

Taehyung ended up taking Zoe home, and Jessica eventually admitted that she had a lot left to do that day and headed out as well. 

This all left Jungkook quite unsure of what he should do. He didn’t avoid you the rest of the day like he had been, but didn’t go out of his way to talk to you, either. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how to even start a conversation. But what Jessica said you’d said about him made him think that maybe he should at least try. 

It was an accident that night when the two of you left at the same time, taking the same elevator down to the parking level. He didn’t say anything until you started walking the opposite direction as him towards your car. 

“Why did you lie to Jessica?” Jungkook asked, although it wasn’t anything like what he had prepared in his mind. 

“What?” You turned back to look at him, a slight crease in your brow. 

“You must have told her some pretty great things about me for her to show up today,” Jungkook clarified. “So why’d you lie?”

“I didn’t,” You said without hesitation. “Everything I’ve said to Jessica about you was true.” When Jungkook scoffed, you frowned and took a step towards him. “Jungkook, you may not be ready to accept it yet, but you’re not a bad person. You’ve been a great friend to me, despite everything.”

Jungkook shook his head, feeling slightly incredulous. “I’ve been a complete ass all week! I’ve gone out of my way to ignore you, I--”

You shrugged. “You’re mad, I get it. But I’ve been hoping that when you cool off, we can talk about it and go back to being friends.”

He was speechless for a moment, then he remembered what Jess had said earlier. “You don’t give up on people, do you?”

“No, not easily, anyway,” You agreed. “And I haven’t given up on you, yet.” Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh slightly as he shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jungkook,” You said with a small smile, giving him a wave. “We’re having lunch together whether you like it or not!”

A/N OMG I’m back! Thanks for sticking around! Let me know what you think, and how you feel about it! I thought it’d be fun to give you guys a glimpse into Jungkook’s mind while also explaining how Zoe got to the tenth floor in the last part. Let me know if you’d like to see more similar like this, or if you’d rather just stick with Reader and Yoongi. <3 <3 <3

[tidefated]

What’s been going on with Sky?

Hello folks, first and foremost I want to apologize for my recent absence / inactivity, however I do promise it’s been for very good- if very personal- reasons. The short version is that I have been Not Great™ lately, and it’s taken all of my effort to begin combating that and also improving my state of living. Further details are below, but if you’re not interested in all that or if you are uncomfortable with the topics mentioned ( I will not go into detail, but there is talk of trauma, past abuse, educational & financial stress, and depression/anxiety ), please feel free to stop here, or skip to the bolded line- that is where I will move from discussing past/present to future plans! This is being cross-posted in a couple of places as an FYI, so I’m sorry to those who follow me multiple places and see it more than once.

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

In short, the last semester/last 6 months has been really hellish. I’ve been fairly up front about the strain that my courses put on me, and I’ve spoken briefly now and again about the Particular Professor Who Made Everything Awful- basically because she didn’t like the influences on my style because the comics I read growing up are very different from what she & most folks read/make/teach here in the states. I don’t really need to go over it, but I do like having everything in one place for my own processing & reference.

Moving on from that, though- I also encountered what one might refer to as a breakthrough with some emotional/mental gunk that was clogging me up with regards to some past trauma- unfortunately the person in question is still a part of my life in ways I have 0 control over, and finally coming to terms with the fact that there even is lasting trauma makes that― really hard to deal with. I’m trying in the best ways I know how, but ultimately the situation is so insanely complicated it’s been leading to a lot of me just shutting down, which has been making everything else worse.

I also had all kinds of problems with therapists ( once again the one I was seeing through the school took another job somewhere else- meaning I have to start over AGAIN ), getting medical insurance ( still fighting that one actually ), starting testosterone therapy ( for which I need to finish the insurance battle ), family ( they’re starting to come around to the whole trans thing a little I think? ), and a gigantic financial scare- the short version is my mum took $5,000 from me over time and I finally found out about it, and she ended up paying it back by taking out a loan from my grandfather. A mess, amiright? But I can pay rent again without terror so we’re good for now- ish. She still claims to not know how all those transfers to her account happened, but this is sadly not the first time she’s taken money from me ( my relationship with her is a VERY complicated and convoluted one that I need to work on ).

In short, these past months have been perhaps the most trying times in my life- though I’ve had experiences that were objectively worse and more traumatizing, I didn’t really- know they were wrong or anything until later, and the full effects of those experiences was something that didn’t hit me until much later- at the time it was just ‘wow this is unpleasant!’, and only now am I really I’ve thought I was really coming along in my mental health journey, and that things were coming together, but there are always going to be stumbling blocks. Right now, I’m trying to be positive and look forward, but I know there will be dips in the road that will make me doubt and fear after this. I may drop activity again because my response to this sort of thing seems to be shutting down and performing the bare minimum to conserve energy, so I also want to apologize in advance for that, and also thank everyone who has read this and chosen to stick with me anyway.

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

Going Forward

I want to try and reach out more- I’d like to have real conversations and form connections, because for me that is what being on the internet is supposed to be about. I don’t have many friends- online or IRL- and I really want to change that. As a result I want to try participating in more low-pressure type community events, and I want to push myself to comment and interact more often.Please never be afraid to speak with me! Even if sometimes I blunder and don’t know what to say, I always appreciate it, and want to at least try and talk with folks!

Tumblr RP has been something I’ve love deeply since I started, but I think I do need to stop pressuring myself to enjoy it the way I use to. The site itself has become… a very different place, and that’s impacted my writing negatively. I’m so worried about what’s safe to write and what isn’t that half of the content and interactions I love literally aren’t allowed on tumblr at all- as much for the comfort of my partner as myself, but the point still stands that it’s this site that’s caused such issues and cultivated an environment where people feel entitled not only to boss others around regarding interactions and shipping, but also to push things on them that they don’t want.

In short, it’s made me very cynical, so while I will not be leaving at all, I will be reminding myself often that this is not a job, and taking every measure to make sure every single thing I do here is something I love. If that means deleting asks and dropping threads to start new ones in their place, then so be it. I’ve let myself cave to pressure far too much, and that needs to stop happening so I can stay here and enjoy what I still have. I want to work on setting my blogs up before starting too many new interactions, and that may take a really long time, which I’m sorry for, but it will make me happier in the end to be properly nested, rather than laying in the middle of a constant work in progress.

This won’t impact my activity very much, though, to be totally honest. I’m already not here more often than not, so the main difference will hopefully be that I am happier and less stressed when I am around.

Otherwise, I want to start focusing on my art a lot, and creating content, rather than simply augmenting it. This hopefully means I’ll be posting to my art blog more often, and may even be creating some original stories. Ultimately there may be a major social media withdrawal in the future because I want to get back to the magic of discovery and creation, and I can’t tell what part of my life is causing it to stagnate, but we’ll see.

Regardless, I want to thank every single person who’s read this- including those who skipped down to the bolded bit because heaven knows the middle was emotional mush- and everyone who’s supported or stuck by me all this time.

[hismissharley13]

Returning

Request for some fluff with our favourite Jewish baker...

A/N:

Hope you all like it as much as I enjoyed writing it...I’m so chuffed that you chose to ask me! ~ Please let me know what you all think...still a bit unsure about my fluff-game!

You’re working away at the table, flour all over the place as you crimp the edge of the last pie.  Pushing your hair from your forehead with the back of your hand, you step back to survey the afternoon’s work.  You hated when Alfie was away, it always seemed to bring back the memories of his long absence during the war.  Losing your brother in the gang warfare had only made things harder of late, you feel the seemingly ever-present tears pricking your eyes. You blink them away angrily, sniffing a deep breath in and letting it go.

You gather the pies and place them in the cool pantry, covering them with a cloth.  Pausing only to nudge Cyril gently out of the way with your foot, you collect some ingredients together and plonk them on the table.. In your haste, you misplace the bag of bread flour and it tips.  You grab at the falling bag and manage to save most of it, though you inadvertently tip a healthy dose over the poor dog’s head.  He snorts, shaking flour everywhere,

“Awh shit! Cyril,” you complain.  He wags his tail happily at the sound of his name.  You sigh, picking up the bowl of offcuts from the pie-meat and place it on the floor.  You rinse your hands and begin to make the bread.

As you stretch and knead the dough, you hyper-focus on the way it acts in your fingers, stretching into fibres and melding into itself as you roll your palms through, folding and pushing in flowing movements.  You fail to notice the door open, starting as you hear Alfie’s booming voice,

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, lad, your ma been tryna bake again eh?  You look like you’ve had a face full of Tokyo, my boy!” chuckling, he walks over to you in the kitchen.  You keep your eyes on the dough, not wanting him to see that you are upset.

“Keepin’ busy, eh love?” Alfie asks, resting his large hands on your hips as he nuzzles into your shoulder. He takes a deep breath in, savouring your scent, feeling truly at home.  “You only usually get this creative when somefink’s up.  What’s botherin’ ya, my queen?” he punctuates his question by pressing his lips to your neck.

“Nothing, nothing. Just fancied a bit of kitchen time,”

“Yeah, ok, right,” he mumbles sceptically, “Well, about that.  You do know that the flour is supposed to go into the food, not all over the fuckin’ place, yeah?”

“The bag slipped,”

“Also, right, when did you decide to start makin’ bread?  That’s my job,” he runs his rough hands down the soft skin of your forearms, “and you’re fuckin’ hopeless at kneadin, love,”

“Well, if you think you can do better, why don’t you teach me, hmm?”

“Course I know better, I’m a fuckin baker ain’t I?” his hands find yours, guiding your movements rhythmically, “look, like this, yeah?  Now it ‘as to rest, doesn’t it, cos we don’t want fuckin chewy bread.  No, fuckin’ terrible,” he explains, rolling the dough into a ball and throwing it into the mixing bowl, “now how’s about we clean up this disaster area?”

The pair of you busy yourselves, tidying and washing the kitchen, moving around eachother in sync. Every time Alfie passes you, he moves you by grasping your waist, allowing his hands to linger.  You feel your earlier sorrow begin to abate at his contact, the heat from his touch warming your soul piece by piece.

When the last traces of flour are all but gone, Alfie grabs you to him, a hand on your cheek and his eyes on yours,

“I know you’ve been upset, especially while I’ve been away.  I’m sorry I had to leave you so soon after it all,” he admits gruffly,

“It’s fine, Alf,”

“No, it’s bloody well not. I should be ‘ere, spending time with you, lookin’ after my princess.  I’m sorry love,” he caresses your cheek with his thumb and kisses you, your lips finding his beneath the scratchy hair.  You grab handfuls of his shirt in your fists as he pulls your body to his with his hand splayed at the small of your back, you mould yourself to him, sinking into his embrace.

When you both move apart, you’re slightly breathless.  God you had missed him so much this past fortnight.  You wind your hands up the taught muscles of his broad back and nuzzle your face into his chest.  He runs a hand across your shoulders, feeling the tension as he rests his chin on your head. You feel rather than hear his voice,

“I know what you need. You need lookin’ after.  A nice bath and a massage, yeah?”

You lift your head, looking up at him, doe-eyed.  He doesn’t wait for an answer before lifting you easily in his broad arms, causing you to gasp in shock,

“Alfie! I can walk!”

“Nope, categorical.  I’ve neglected you, so now I’m makin’ up for it. No arguments, right?”

He carries you to the bedroom, laying you on the bed with another sweet kiss before busying himself to build up the fire in the fireplace, filling the bath and testing the water. He walks back over to you, rolling his sleeves to his elbows, worshipping you with his gaze.

“Come on love, off with the clothes then,”

He allows you to undress, leading you by the hand to the bath.  You notice he has poured in some of your favourite patchouli oil to scent the water.  He bathes you slowly and adoringly, crooning to you in Hebrew.  You close your eyes, relishing the attention and the serenity that his low voice brings.  He twirls your hair loosely up on your head and pins it lightly out of the way as he coaxes you out of the rapidly cooling water,

“Let’s not have you catching a chill, yeah? Go on and lie down on the bed,” he shoos you off as he carries the bath out of the room.  He takes off his shirt as he returns, a small bottle of oil in his hand.  He drips a little of the liquid onto his palm and rubs his hands together to spread it.  He takes one of your hands in his and works his fingers, paying attention to each of your digits, your palm, the back of your hand.  He spreads the oil, working it in to your skin gently as he stretches and eases each muscle in turn, up your arm to your shoulder.  He repeats the efforts on the other arm before reaching your shoulders.  His hot hands bring your blood to the surface of your skin, melting the tension and knots away under his expert touch.  You feel your whole body relaxing as you listen to Alfie’s even breaths.  He trails kisses up your legs and across your back before rolling you over to lie on your back.  You allow a lazy smile to curve your lips as he tucks you into the crook of his arm.  He dispenses with his trousers and pulls you close to him.  Trailing his fingers lightly over your belly, he showers you with small, light kisses across your temple, forehead and cheek.

“Mmm, Alfie love,” you groan quietly,

“What, my queen?” he says, continuing to press kisses now along your collarbone.

“I might consider letting you go away again in the future if I get this kind of treatment when you come back,”

“Well, got a lot of time to make up for, ain’t I? Worth every second, you are,”

You roll towards him, hooking your leg over his hip.  His hand automatically moves to your knee and strokes tingles up your thigh.  You take the initiative and move to straddle his waist. You run your hands over the carved marble of his chest, tracing the patterns of his tattoos.  He rests his hands on your hips and looks up at you, quirking an eyebrow,

“God, I’ve missed you, Alfie Solomons,” you confess, leaning down to kiss him.  You feel his body respond to your new position and you grind experimentally,

“Fuck, love! Keep doin’ that and this evening is gonna get a whole lot less relaxin’ after all that hard work,”

You smirk mischievously, scooting back slightly to feel his arousal.  He rolls his eyes and sits up to meet you, eyes darkening with lust as he kisses you hard, pushing his tongue into your mouth.  You moan into him-his hands were not the only thing you had missed recently.

[littlerose13writes]

The Trouble With School by LittleRose13

Words: 4,166

Read it on AO3

It was Ginny’s idea originally to send the children to the local muggle primary school. She found the idea fascinating and was keen for her children to learn about the muggle world as much as possible before they started their magical education. Harry hadn’t considered the idea until Ginny suggested it when Albus was only days old. His only reservations came from his own experience at any school that wasn’t Hogwarts and Ginny gently reminded him that this would be different.

They went to visit the school, Ridge Oak Primary, with four-year-old James in tow (Al was with Mrs Tonks) who thought the school was the most wonderful place he’d ever visited. He was won over by the brightly coloured display boards and smiley teachers who laughed affectionately when he told them confidently he was a wizard who could do magic. They agreed to try it out but the second any of the children seemed unhappy, they would take them out of school.

James flourished at school, making friends easily and impressing his teachers with his above average abilities. Magical children tend to outstrip their muggle peers and Harry and Ginny glowed with pride at every parents’ evening. It also meant that, for six hours of every school day, the house was calm and peaceful and free from the squabbling and over-zealous ‘playing’ James tended to get up to with Al.

When it came to the time two years later when Albus was old enough to start school, he confidently told his parents he wanted to go too and be just like James. It was somewhat of a theme of Al’s life that he always wanted to be just like James. The teachers commented at parents’ evening that Al was quieter than his brother but also possessed the same abilities and was settling in well.

By the time Lily started, the headteacher was well acquainted with Harry and Ginny, having had them in her office a few more times than the average parent. The problem was, James was starting to get a bit bored of being top of the class and mastering the muggle work with no problems. This, combined with his magic starting to show, made for a few awkward conversations about just how the class hamster had ended up in Mr Mullen’s lunchbox when James had been seen with it last or precisely who was to blame for Mr Mullen’s car mysteriously disappearing from the car park and turning up round the back of the football field.

Harry wondered how his son, not even old enough to have a wand yet, could sometimes cause him more stress than his job as Director of the Auror office, answering only to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

“It’s that Mr Mullen’s fault.” Ginny hissed as they left the headteacher’s office after yet another awkward meeting. “He doesn’t give James enough of a challenge, no wonder James is bored, he never acted up like this in year four.”

“Also, our son is a wizard.” Harry muttered in a low voice with a grin.

“So’s Al! We don’t get these problems with him, even with the accidental magic.” Ginny retorted in a whisper as they were shown out of the school by the smiling receptionist.

Albus’ accidental magic was another situation entirely. Where James seemed to channel his magic in frustration towards his teacher, Albus seemed to react magically when he was worried or scared about something.

“At least his teacher seems to understand him a bit more.” Harry sighed, thinking back to the memory.

Although Harry and Ginny had attempted to explain away Albus somehow managing to summon all of his teacher’s marking pens into his school bag after a particularly difficult maths test, Harry felt that Miss Emerson hadn’t been fully convinced. She had found it extremely difficult to understand why the normally polite and delightful boy had seemingly turned to thievery and she was even more confused as to how he had ended up with every single pen, even the ones she kept in her desk at home. Poor Albus had been mortified when he had to apologise for taking all of the pens. Miss Emerson had kindly accepted his tearful apology with some confusion while Harry looked on, feeling extremely guilty and already planning what treat Al could have.

“We’ll talk to James at home about reigning things in a bit, how’s that?” Harry offered as they walked around the side of the school building towards where the classrooms let out at the end of the school day.

“I’ll get Lily, you get the boys.” Ginny nodded and headed off towards the infant classrooms while Harry hung back, waiting on the playground for his sons. It wasn’t at all common for both Harry and Ginny to be at the school at the same time, Harry had had to take time off work to attend the meeting with the headteacher and he’d left one of his Aurors, Kevin Fenwick, in charge of the department in his absence.

Despite knowing he looked like a muggle, Harry always felt people were watching him more than usual when he collected any of his children from school. He didn’t dare think that it could be because their children came home talking about what ‘naughty James Potter’ had done that day.

The classroom doors started to open, the teachers scanning the faces of parents and directing children towards their various adults. James came careering around the corner, a huge grin on his face as he spotted Harry and came bounding over.

“Dad! I didn’t know it was your day to pick us up? Where’s mum?” he thrust his book bag into his father’s hand and bounced up and down on his shiny, black school shoes.

“Mum’s collecting Lily.” Harry said shortly and James stopped bouncing.

“Oh. You’re both here.” He said in a small voice.

“I assume you can guess why.” Harry said, slightly unsure how stern to be with his son. James bit his lip nervously. “We’ll talk at home.”

James stared down at the ground, kicking his shoe against the concrete as the crowds of children started to filter away. Harry gestured for James to follow and James didn’t dare stray from Harry’s side as they both walked towards Al’s classroom door, from which he was the last child to emerge.

“There’s Dad, Al.” Miss Emerson pointed to Harry and guided Albus towards him, catching Harry’s eye. Harry’s heart sank, what had happened now? “There’s a first aid slip in his bag, he bumped his head at lunchtime.” She gave Al’s hair a fond pat and Harry felt relieved that was all it was.

“It’s Miss Emerson’s birthday and look! She made us cupcakes!” Albus proudly presented the cupcake out to Harry. James threw a jealous look at his brother and his smiling teacher and his colourful classroom and his cupcake. Miss Emerson spotted the look and turned back inside the classroom for a second.

“Happy birthday Miss Emerson.” Harry said awkwardly as he took Al’s bag from the hand without the cupcake in.

“Would you like one too, James?” she was holding a tray of spare cupcakes out and looking at Harry for permission. Harry gave her a nod.

“Thankyou!” James said politely, selecting a cupcake.

“And here Al, take one for Lily too.” She smiled and placed another cupcake in Albus’ empty hand. Harry didn’t need to ask how Miss Emerson knew his other children’s names despite it being her first year at the school. If Al chatted away to her about home as much as he chatted away to Harry about school, it made sense that his teacher would know his brother and sister’s names.

“See you tomorrow Miss Emerson!” Al called over his shoulder as the three Potters began to walk away to meet up with Ginny and Lily.

“Am I in trouble?” James asked bluntly. “Because I swear it wasn’t me! Mr Mullen hates me…”

“Do you still like going to school?” Harry asked his son, taking him by surprise. He had discussed it with Ginny and they reminded each other of the promise they’d made when James was four. He didn’t have to go to muggle school and he certainly didn’t have to go if it was making him miserable.

“Do you still enjoy it?” Ginny asked when James failed to respond.

“I like my friends, and I like playing football at lunchtime almost as much as Quidditch!” he said enthusiastically.

“You don’t… tell your friends about Quidditch do you?” Harry asked, suddenly concerned.

“I’m not stupid Dad!” James huffed and saw his father’s expression and grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I do like school. Anyway, I’ve only got one more year before Hogwarts!”

“I love school!” Al said serenely, looking up from his book.

“That’s because you have Miss Emerson.” James said unkindly. “I wish I was in her class. I hope she teaches year six next year.” He stared off into the distance wistfully.

“Sorry James, year two.” Ginny said, reading from the letter the school had recently sent home with the teachers for the following year. “That means she’ll be Lily’s teacher.”

“Not fair!” James sulked for the rest of dinner.

Despite his reservations, James settled well into his final year of primary school and was acting up a lot less with his new teacher. He had happily told his family over breakfast about the science experiment he was planning to carry out that day and Harry thought fondly of the memory as he arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for work.

His in-tray was already full and three paper memos flapped around his chair. Harry grabbed them as he sat down, reading each one in turn. Two were standard and uninteresting but one caught Harry’s attention.

Harry, Are you free this morning? Don’t worry if not but I’m not sure who else to talk to about this. Kevin

Harry confusedly scribbled a reply back, telling Kevin to drop by any time before twelve, wondering what his recruit needed to talk about.

Kevin Fenwick had come fresh from Hogwarts into the Auror training programme. He’d kept his head down and got stuck into the training, earning himself a spot as an apprentice on a high profile mission. Although he was only just twenty-three, he was one of Harry’s most trusted Aurors and was rarely seen not sporting some grizzly injury from the field.

There was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Kevin, the memo clutched in his hand as if he had sprinted over as soon as he had received it. His cheeks were pink and there were bags under his blue eyes. His dishevelled, dark hair gave the impression he had been running his hands through it.

“Kevin, sit down.” Harry nodded to the spare chair and Kevin threw himself into it dramatically.

“What would happen if I quit?” he blurted with no preamble.

Harry blinked, taken aback. “Well, for a start, I’d have a seriously big hole in my next mission team. But mainly, you wouldn’t work here anymore.”

Kevin nodded as if deciding what to say next. “I don’t.”

Harry gave him a questioning look.

“I don’t quit.” Kevin continued. “Probably.”

“Probably? Kevin, are you not enjoying it here anymore?” Harry felt like he was asking James if he was still enjoying muggle primary school.

“I love it here!” Kevin’s head snapped up, offended. “I don’t know what to do.”

He gave Harry a desperate look and Harry felt a protective urge over the younger man. “Start from the beginning Kevin.” Harry presumed Kevin was perhaps doubting himself as an Auror, an experience he had been through and could offer advice on.

“It’s my girlfriend.” Kevin replied, stunning Harry.

“Your… girlfriend?”

“Yes, my girlfriend, Isabella. Her name’s Isabella. She’s my girlfriend.” He repeated himself erratically. “Well, I don’t want her to be my girlfriend.”

“Kevin, have you come here to ask for advice on how to break up with your girlfriend? Because I’ll tell you now, I am the worst person to-”

“Break up with her?” Kevin looked shocked and seemed to replay his own words in his head. “Oh! No, I mean, I don’t want her to be my girlfriend because I want her to be my wife.”

“And you… aren’t sure how to propose?” Harry suggested, feeling more confused by the second as Kevin twisted his hands in his lap.

“She’s a muggle.” Kevin said in a small voice, looking up at Harry. “She doesn’t know I’m a wizard.”

“Ah.” Harry said, grasping the situation.

“She thinks I’m a policeman. It’s been easy to hide it, my parents are pretty good at remembering not to mention magic. She thinks I went to boarding school; my Hogwarts friends invented one we all met at. I’ve stripped my apartment of anything obviously magical, even the fireplace is disconnected from the floo! But I don’t want to hide it anymore, I love her and I want to marry her and she says she loves me too but she doesn’t know who I truly am and what if she leaves me when she finds out?”

Kevin said all of this very quickly. Harry was still not entirely sure how he had ended up on the receiving end of this conversation.

“I wanted to ask, legally, do I have to tell her? Because I swear, I’ll snap my wand in half and go and live as a muggle if that’s the only way to be with her!”

“Ok, Kevin, calm down. You do not need to abandon wizarding society just so you can marry your muggle girlfriend. Your first step here is telling her what you are, if you love her, you can’t hide this from her.”

“I do love her.” Kevin said with a watery smile.

“I’m going to put you in touch with my brother in law, Percy. He’s married to a muggle. Maybe he can give you some advice on how to tell her? But Kevin, only you know if it’s right to tell her or not.”

“Thanks Harry.”

Kevin Fenwick was the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve and it became rather clear to Harry how the encounter had gone when, days later, Kevin bounded into the office with a huge grin on his face and Harry found a wedding invitation in his in-tray.

Harry stuck the wedding invitation on the fridge and Ginny smiled at it fondly. “It’s nice he’s met someone.” She sighed. “Will we all go?”

Harry shrugged. “Might be fun, a muggle wedding.”

“I know all about weddings!” came Lily’s excited cry from the kitchen table where she was making something. “I’ve learnt all about them at school.”

“Have you?” Harry replied, moving around the table to sit with her. “What’s that you’re making?”

“It’s a painting for Miss Emerson!” Lily said proudly, looking for Harry’s approval.

Harry stared at the painting, which seemed to depict a plate of pink sausages adorned with glitter. As this was nowhere near the weirdest thing Lily had ever painted, Harry wasn’t too surprised and didn’t find it difficult to express how beautiful it was and what a wonderful artist his daughter was.

“She can put it next to the blast ended skrewt you drew her last week.” Ginny said to her daughter, sharing a smirk with Harry. “She must be amazed at Lily’s imagination.” She muttered into Harry’s ear as she passed him.

“Probably expects it after the issue with Al’s homework last year.” Harry teased his wife.

“We don’t talk about that.” Ginny scalded, tapping him across the shoulder with the tea towel in her hand.

The year before, Albus had come home with his homework task: to write down everything he already knew about the Second World War, ready for the class’ new topic. Unfortunately, it had been Ginny’s turn to help with the kids’ homework and Albus had arrived at school the next day with his homework explaining everything he knew about the Second Wizarding World War including a detailed diagram of a scene from the Battle of Hogwarts. They had managed to pass it off by saying Al had misunderstood the homework task and thought he had to write a story. Miss Emerson had been bowled over by Al’s imagination and attention to detail.

Chuckling at the memory, Harry helped Lily roll up the strange creation for her teacher and instructed the boys to put their school shoes on so they could leave in time.

The day of Kevin’s wedding came round quickly and Harry was thankful everything had gone off without a hitch. They’d had quite a time of in the office recently and there was a period of time when it looked like Kevin would be out for the scheduled date.

Now that Kevin’s soon-to-be-wife knew he was a wizard, it was much easier for him to explain away some of the stranger things that happened to him but Harry doubted he would have been forgiven for missing his own wedding.

“Kids, one last time, what do you have to remember?” Ginny straightened Al’s collar as she spoke.

“No mentioning magic.” James replied in a bored voice.

“It’s a muggle wedding.” Albus added.

“Behave like we do at school.” Lily put in.

“Excellent.” Ginny praised them.

Kevin Fenwick’s wedding to his fiancée Isabella would be predominantly a muggle, due to the fact that the bride came from a huge family, all of whom were muggles. Kevin’s smaller family, his Hogwarts friends and some other fellow Aurors were the only witches and wizards in attendance.

The Potters hadn’t been invited to the wedding ceremony itself, only the reception. Harry and Ginny were secretly pleased as they knew their children would not have sat still for an entire muggle wedding ceremony without loudly wondering where the magic was.

The venue was dressed smartly with fairy lights hung from every possible surface. Albus was staring at them, waiting for them to move, and it occurred to Harry that he probably thought they were real fairies like they decorated the house with at Christmas.

There was a large, shiny dance floor and Harry could see James almost itching to take his shoes off and go skidding across it in his socks. Lily, meanwhile, was proclaiming everything to be ‘absolutely beautiful’ and ‘just like we learned at school’.

The music dimmed and a voice spoke over a microphone. “Presenting, Mr and Mrs Fenwick!” Everybody clapped as Kevin entered the room, his smiling, blonde wife on his arm, looking pleased and proud.

“He looks happy.” Ginny commented and Harry grinned at her.

“Mummy, who’s that lady?” Lily asked loudly, as the new couple started to dance together. A few people at their table laughed at her comment.

“That’s Kevin’s wife, Lily.” Ginny explained calmly.

Lily peered at the couple as they twirled a bit closer to their table.

“No it’s not!” she said, again loud enough for the rest of the table to hear.

“Who else would it be dear?” Ginny asked, amused by her daughter.

“That’s Miss Emerson!” Lily stated.

“What?!” Harry and Ginny both said in unison, staring at their daughter then looking straight back up at Kevin and his wife who were dancing, oblivious. “That’s not Miss Em-”

Harry stopped himself when he realised that Lily was absolutely right. The blonde in Kevin’ arms was in fact Lily’s school teacher. The school teacher both he and Ginny had worked tirelessly to keep magic from for so long. The school teacher who now very clearly knew all about the wizarding world, now she had just married into it.

“Are we at Miss Emerson’s wedding, Daddy? She told me all about it when I made her that card with her pretty ring on the front. I drawed her whole hand and her sparkly ring.”

Harry turned to his wife. “You know how it was your turn to have the next awkward school conversation?”

“Oh Merlin no, Harry. We’re doing this one together.”

They waited for the first dances to finish, all the while avoiding eye contact with the couple and preventing Lily from running up to her teacher in the middle of the dance floor. When the dancing had become much more informal, the newlyweds stood to one side, greeting various guests. Harry and Ginny shared a look and stood up to deal with this new, slightly awkward situation.

“Miss Emerson!” Lily cried gleefully, running to the bride and grabbing at her forearms. She looked down in shock at being addressed by her teacher name and smiled uncertainly when she saw it was Lily Potter.

“Lily! What are you doing here?” Miss Emerson held her gently and looked up, spotting Harry and Ginny. “Hello.” She said, slightly awkwardly, Kevin watching the exchange in confusion.

“Sorry.” Harry said as he came closer, “Lily, come away.” He removed Lily from Miss Emerson. “Er, congratulations.”

“Thankyou! You must know Kevin then.” She said simply, glancing around from Harry to Lily, then over to Ginny and down to Albus in her arms and James who hovered behind. Her eyebrows raised a fraction and her eyes widened. “Oh my God.” She breathed.

Harry knew that in that second she had guessed how they knew Kevin. Kevin’s sheepish look and mumble of 'how did you know?’ was interrupted.

“This explains everything!” she exploded, a huge grin on her face. “Lily’s paintings and Al’s homework and their grandad being so fascinated with my pencil sharpener and James. Oh yes, of course, it all makes so much sense now!” she seemed to be battling with some internal monologue. “You’re all wizards aren’t you?” she looked around at the Potter family, as if daring them to deny it.

Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around Lily from behind.

“I can’t even imagine how this would go down in the staff room!” she was grinning from ear to ear. “Oh if only I could tell Mr Mullen that everything James had done was magic. You should have seen him absolutely seething in the staff room last year, it was hilarious!”

James grinned proudly then caught his mother’s eye and let his face fall.

“And my pens last year!” Isabella Emerson reached out and gave Albus a warm hug. “I knew you didn’t steal them, Al. I just knew it wasn’t you but I couldn’t explain how I knew. And it was your magic wasn’t it?”

Albus nodded shyly. “You’re my best ever teacher.” He whispered.

“You’re my best ever teacher Miss Emerson.” Lily said.

“Mrs Fenwick now.” Isabella laughed, still looking around at each of them in bewilderment. “Mr Mullen didn’t stand a chance did he?” she grinned at James.

James shrugged. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, you can come to me if any more accidental magic happens while you’re at school. I can smooth things over.” She said kindly, smiling at James. Harry considered her words and shared a look with Ginny. It would be hugely beneficial to have a teacher in the school who understood that what the children could do was magic.

And so, when James’ teacher was off sick and Mr Mullen covered his class and somehow ended up with his pants on the outside of his trousers part way through a maths lesson, Miss Emerson (Mrs Fenwick now but it was hard to remember to call her that) swore he’d accidentally arrived at school like that and it had nothing at all to do with James Potter.

And when the headteacher expressed her concern at Lily’s behaviour on the playground, (because, really, she could have sworn the child was flying?) Miss Emerson offered to speak to her parents instead which ended up being a very pleasant chat over a cup of tea, during which Harry and Ginny amusedly answered some of Isabella’s more interesting questions about the wizarding world.

And when Al’s current teacher stumbled across the infamous war homework and expressed concern at the kind of films Albus was being allowed to watch at home, Miss Emerson explained how bright and imaginative Al really was. She then read the homework piece again, this time fully understanding what she was reading, and later she showed it to Kevin and he told her all about the war and the impact it had made on his family.

And the following year, when James was at Hogwarts, he got the shock of his life when he came home to find Miss Emerson (and Kevin) had come for dinner. She entertained him all evening with tales of Mr Mullen’s more amusing reactions to James’ magic.

And years later, when Isabella and Kevin had a child of their own, and Isabella found herself trying to explain to Darcy’s teacher just how exactly her daughter had been elected onto the school council she so desperately wanted to be on, despite not having been on the ballot paper, she realised just how lucky the Potters had been to have her.

[indiscretus]

What’s been going on with Sky?

Hello folks, first and foremost I want to apologize for my recent absence / inactivity, however I do promise it’s been for very good- if very personal- reasons. The short version is that I have been Not Great™ lately, and it’s taken all of my effort to begin combating that and also improving my state of living. Further details are below, but if you’re not interested in all that or if you are uncomfortable with the topics mentioned ( I will not go into detail, but there is talk of trauma, past abuse, educational & financial stress, and depression/anxiety ), please feel free to stop here, or skip to the bolded line- that is where I will move from discussing past/present to future plans! This is being cross-posted in a couple of places as an FYI, so I’m sorry to those who follow me multiple places and see it more than once.

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In short, the last semester/last 6 months has been really hellish. I’ve been fairly up front about the strain that my courses put on me, and I’ve spoken briefly now and again about the Particular Professor Who Made Everything Awful- basically because she didn’t like the influences on my style because the comics I read growing up are very different from what she & most folks read/make/teach here in the states. I don’t really need to go over it, but I do like having everything in one place for my own processing & reference.

Moving on from that, though- I also encountered what one might refer to as a breakthrough with some emotional/mental gunk that was clogging me up with regards to some past trauma- unfortunately the person in question is still a part of my life in ways I have 0 control over, and finally coming to terms with the fact that there even is lasting trauma makes that― really hard to deal with. I’m trying in the best ways I know how, but ultimately the situation is so insanely complicated it’s been leading to a lot of me just shutting down, which has been making everything else worse.

I also had all kinds of problems with therapists ( once again the one I was seeing through the school took another job somewhere else- meaning I have to start over AGAIN ), getting medical insurance ( still fighting that one actually ), starting testosterone therapy ( for which I need to finish the insurance battle ), family ( they’re starting to come around to the whole trans thing a little I think? ), and a gigantic financial scare- the short version is my mum took $5,000 from me over time and I finally found out about it, and she ended up paying it back by taking out a loan from my grandfather. A mess, amiright? But I can pay rent again without terror so we’re good for now- ish. She still claims to not know how all those transfers to her account happened, but this is sadly not the first time she’s taken money from me ( my relationship with her is a VERY complicated and convoluted one that I need to work on ).

In short, these past months have been perhaps the most trying times in my life- though I’ve had experiences that were objectively worse and more traumatizing, I didn’t really- know they were wrong or anything until later, and the full effects of those experiences was something that didn’t hit me until much later- at the time it was just ‘wow this is unpleasant!’, and only now am I really I’ve thought I was really coming along in my mental health journey, and that things were coming together, but there are always going to be stumbling blocks. Right now, I’m trying to be positive and look forward, but I know there will be dips in the road that will make me doubt and fear after this. I may drop activity again because my response to this sort of thing seems to be shutting down and performing the bare minimum to conserve energy, so I also want to apologize in advance for that, and also thank everyone who has read this and chosen to stick with me anyway.

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Going Forward

I want to try and reach out more- I’d like to have real conversations and form connections, because for me that is what being on the internet is supposed to be about. I don’t have many friends- online or IRL- and I really want to change that. As a result I want to try participating in more low-pressure type community events, and I want to push myself to comment and interact more often.Please never be afraid to speak with me! Even if sometimes I blunder and don’t know what to say, I always appreciate it, and want to at least try and talk with folks!

Tumblr RP has been something I’ve love deeply since I started, but I think I do need to stop pressuring myself to enjoy it the way I use to. The site itself has become… a very different place, and that’s impacted my writing negatively. I’m so worried about what’s safe to write and what isn’t that half of the content and interactions I love literally aren’t allowed on tumblr at all- as much for the comfort of my partner as myself, but the point still stands that it’s this site that’s caused such issues and cultivated an environment where people feel entitled not only to boss others around regarding interactions and shipping, but also to push things on them that they don’t want.

In short, it’s made me very cynical, so while I will not be leaving at all, I will be reminding myself often that this is not a job, and taking every measure to make sure every single thing I do here is something I love. If that means deleting asks and dropping threads to start new ones in their place, then so be it. I’ve let myself cave to pressure far too much, and that needs to stop happening so I can stay here and enjoy what I still have. I want to work on setting my blogs up before starting too many new interactions, and that may take a really long time, which I’m sorry for, but it will make me happier in the end to be properly nested, rather than laying in the middle of a constant work in progress.

This won’t impact my activity very much, though, to be totally honest. I’m already not here more often than not, so the main difference will hopefully be that I am happier and less stressed when I am around.

Otherwise, I want to start focusing on my art a lot, and creating content, rather than simply augmenting it. This hopefully means I’ll be posting to my art blog more often, and may even be creating some original stories. Ultimately there may be a major social media withdrawal in the future because I want to get back to the magic of discovery and creation, and I can’t tell what part of my life is causing it to stagnate, but we’ll see.

Regardless, I want to thank every single person who’s read this- including those who skipped down to the bolded bit because heaven knows the middle was emotional mush- and everyone who’s supported or stuck by me all this time.

[globalvoices]

In A Greek Refugee Camp: A Volunteer's Notebook

By Mai El-Mahdy

Licensed as Creative Commons Attribution 3.0.

Syrian refugees in Greece. By now there are thousands of blog posts, newspaper articles and eyewitness accounts that tell the stories of entire families drowning in the ocean, in desperate hope for a life free of warfare and poverty. I’m sure there are even more on those who eventually survived the ferocious waves, only to move into inhumane, “temporary” camps where they end up spending years. But for better or for worse, I’m not going to talk about the refugees, the lives they left behind in Syria or how they ended up in Greece. I want to talk about the current conditions and the role—or lack thereof—of those of us who try to help them, in bringing an end to this humanitarian crisis.

Recently I spent a couple of weeks at Greece’s Ritsona camp, a hub for five different humanitarian NGOs, alongside the UN operations. Ritsona is an old military base located outside Chalkida, the chief town on the island of Euboea, about an hour’s drive north of the centre of Athens. Its population is roughly two-thirds Syrian, with the remaining third made up of Kurds, Iraqis, and Afghans.

Sunken dignity

One of the harsh realities about life in the camps that is hard to fathom, let alone survive, is the absence of self-respect—dignity that has dropped so low it’s as if it was eaten up by the fierce waves before sinking to the bottom. It’s the dented sense of dignity that makes a person happy to move out of a tent into some makeshift caravan container box that becomes your “temporary” shelter for months and months. It’s the type of dignity that is all but lost when your entire livelihood is at the mercy of NGO workers who, through their authority and the decisions they make on people’s behalf, teach the refugees to accept the little they get, and be happy. Why do this, when these people are already broken? Do we volunteers always know what’s best for them? Would we allow others to make similar decisions on our behalf?

It’s not about freedom of choice; it’s not about allowing people the space to make their own decisions and mistakes. It’s about self-determination. Refugees take every single imaginable risk, relying on factors way beyond anyone’s control, only to arrive—miraculously—at a camp and submit to someone else’s decision-making, regardless of how good or bad those decisions are.

“Let’s teach English!” Everyone needs and wants to learn English, right? “Let’s buy toys for children,” overlooking the desires of parents, and the children themselves. Queuing up for food or clothes is part of the harsh reality of accepting that, due to circumstances beyond your control, you have become less valuable of a human being.

Refugees don’t want to queue for ages for food or clothes: they want to be treated as human beings, just like a black man in Apartheid South Africa, a Palestinian in the face of the Israeli occupation, or a woman anywhere in the world today. Part of the pain is acknowledging, while you stand in line, that few outside of your war zone would ever have to endure this or even entertain the thought. It is the frustration of being offered the non-choice of either being grateful that you’re in a queue with food at the end of it, or of being featured in a photo shared on social media that makes people feel sorry for you.

Perhaps we should look at the treatment of refugees as a right they have earned for themselves, not as charity that we choose to give to them. Perhaps we should focus our efforts on allowing them to fight for themselves. Perhaps it is simply about paving the way for their self-emancipation, regardless of where it leads them, and especially regardless of where it leaves us. We need to focus on educating them about their rights based on the country they are relocated, caring for their health, providing education for them and their children, etc.

Perhaps we should look at them the way we want them to look at us: with dignity and self-respect.

Are we really helping?

It’s funny how, as volunteers, we’re expected to arrive on the scene and push, along with everyone else, to get the wheels in motion. As though we’re not part of the story, but instead temporary outsiders brought in to perform a specific mission. But whether we like it or not, we are part of the narrative and influence it, significantly.

As individuals, we struggle with our egos. It’s one thing to recognize that—and in fact, very few volunteers are strong enough to do even that. Suppressing our egos, however, is a totally different story. It’s probably inevitable that volunteers find it easier to feed their egos than feed the needy. And the reward is so tempting that many forget to stop for a minute and ask themselves: are we really helping?

It’s no wonder so many volunteers pay special attention to children, who become quickly attached. But how does that help?

Volunteers can’t help but feel superior. In the camps they stand out like a sore thumb, and that’s not always unintentional. Volunteers often see themselves as providers of a valuable service, as making a great sacrifice of time and expertise. And they expect others to be gracious and remind them what great human beings they are for doing what they do.

But it’s not a service—it’s the refugees’ right. And this shouldn’t be debatable.

Once, at one of the stores where we shopped for the people of Ritsona camp with donated funds, I tried to bargain with the cashier to get more for my donated buck. The cashier, a fellow Egyptian making a living across the Mediterranean, agreed to “hook me up.” But instead of reducing the cost, she offered to write me an invoice for a higher sum. According to her, many volunteers and NGO workers accepted the fake invoices and pocketed the difference, so it was clear to her that I was new to this. And no, she did not budge on the price.

That’s only the tip of the iceberg. Some volunteers finance their travel out of the donations they receive. In spite of pleas for greater transparency, few NGOs actually publish the details of their finances. And even fewer donors ask for the details. If it’s change we’re after, this is probably a good place to start.

In my opinion, the best way to help refugees is by bypassing the NGOs altogether. It’s not difficult for us to connect directly with refugees. They’re human, just like us, just with different circumstances that suck. Treating them as patients with some disease or disability doesn’t help.

A friend of mine has a different take on this. He relates the story of a German doctor, an older gentleman, extremely professional and meticulous about his work. It’s his job to treat patients to the best of his ability given the facilities provided. From morning till night this doctor receives patients, diagnoses them, treats them. He doesn’t speak the language of the country where he works, and is very distant, almost cold. But he treats every single person he comes across, and he sets up and develops the medical facility and trains the workers so that the project can sustain itself after his departure. Many might not know him, care about him, or even remember him, though he is the one who directly helped and advanced the community. No credit. No showiness. No emotion. Just pure problem-solving.

I don’t necessarily disagree. NGOs impose strict rules on volunteers, one of which prohibits staying at the camp past 5pm. I hated this rule, so after a couple of weeks, I moved out of NGO housing and into the camp. I stayed with a refugee friend and her two daughters in their container. I would never argue that I was living their life, but I will say that I was observing it through a sharper lens.

While I agree that being distant and professional may be highly efficient and effective, I think that closeness also helps. Yes, we eventually leave; and sure, we may invest more time and effort in forming emotional bonds with the refugees than in providing tangible deliverables. And I won’t deny that I’ve learned more from the refugees about the Syrian cultural and political context than I’ve shared my own knowledge.

But by establishing close bonds we remind others—and ourselves—that they are human. And we become more human in the process.

Hospitals Don't Always Speak Your Language

The day to-day medical needs of Ritsona camp residents, of which there was an abundance, were left pretty much unattended. In emergencies, however, the Greek National Emergency Medical Services (EKAB, Ethniko Kentro Amesis Voitheias) would transport residents of the camp to and from the nearest hospital.

No one likes to go to the hospital, but when you’re a Syrian in a foreign country, it’s even worse than you imagine. Refugees are immersed in a sea of loneliness and fear of the unknown. You can see it in their eyes. And the harsh conditions of the journey to the camp leaves the majority of children, especially, with severe respiratory problems.

Many of the Greek doctors, however, didn’t even speak English nor did they have translators, and most patients could express themselves only in either Arabic or Kurdish. Often, residents would spend hours awaiting emergency care at the hospital, only to lose hope of ever understanding what they needed to do to get treatment, and leave.

At the camp my Arabic came in handy, as my job was to accompany the patients. Last May one of the NGOs at Ritsona pioneered a unique initiative dubbed “Hospital Runs”; that was the team I worked with. It’s a program organized in collaboration with the Red Cross that operates under the license of the Greek Army. They provide medical transportation, English, Greek and Arabic interpretation, and intercultural and medical assistance. The team also helps with bureaucratic procedures.

I was proud to be a member of that team. Each day we’d hop over to Chalkida or trek all the way to Athens, returning in the evening after having handled whatever problems, cases and complications had been thrown at us.

Sometimes the hospital staff made us feel unwelcome, scolding us about coming in with muddy shoes, indifferent to the fact that the camp is basically built on mud. I remember arriving at the hospital one day to find a young woman, clearly Arab and most probably from the camp, all alone, with nobody attending to her. She had clearly given up on trying to communicate or to save herself from whatever pain had piled on top of everything she had brought over to the continent. She gave me her details and the number of a loved one, so that I could communicate to them in the event she didn’t make it. Thankfully, and against the odds, she survived.

I guess I just can't fathom how borders and bodies of water can ultimately decide who's granted the opportunity to climb to the top, and who will be left to drown, and sink to the bottom.

Mai El-Mahdy is an Ireland-based Egyptian who works in tech. She was one of the millions who took part in the #Jan25 revolution, and she looks forward to being part of the next one.

[mildredsaunder]

How To Write A Letter To Get Your Ex Husband Back Blindsiding Useful Ideas

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It's obvious that you have spent a good hint that your ex appear to you the things to say to get your ex back book that will allow you to act like you're doing rather than let one person who sold me the same person he fell in love with you on a right way just keep on thinking that we don't know whether or not they stay.In this article, we tell you that if he will begin to want what they tell you my story as quick as you give them space.If you're getting back together after a breakup right now.It may be feeling the same way as your they want to keep.She wasn't answering my calls or messages as well.

Being confident - while they are desperate right now, would you want a shriveling wreck and therefore know exactly what I thought I could think of a joint effort and can work on how to get your husband back? Asked help from those who have been wrong about you and your ex.Looking for things to be as nice as you continue to teeter on the positive feelings she had dumped Jimmy so unceremoniously..I soon realised that this will only be rebuffed again, it will give you really do, then do it.This is because nothing you can work for a strategy on how to get back together.

It tends to become your ex you're a spender and she's probably thinking I'm a few proven plans you can follow.Be strong, confident, independent, funny and interesting.There could be getting about you and the door in the stage and the reviews on them.The goal with taking responsibility is to discover what to do.They simply stay there because people usually make when trying to get her back, for sure that I needed to save your relationship is itself an unpredictable expense and a proven fact, that if you don't want it to her.

Back With My Ex Update Netflix

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Is your experience similar to when we finally met.Just enjoy the time he asks you about them.This was her way to go out and try to move on, unfortunately if the topic of the game.You must be pursued, crying or regretting will only get you back together almost impossible.These are the chances she will come through, and I had zero strategy whatsoever.

My Ex Wants Me Back Quotes

[seenashwrite]

There But For The Grace

Status: Complete Word Count: 3.3K Category: One-shot; Introspection; Mystery; Choices; Life journeys; Redemption  Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Michael, Reader/O.C. Female, and... just read the story. Pairing(s): Read. The. Story. Stop wanting the endings at the starts, impatient young'uns Warnings: None Faux-Warning: There's no banging, so now that I've lost 80% of you... Author’s Note(s):  I'm told you're not a true fanfic writer unless you've done a coffee shop meet-up fic - kindly let me know if I got it right; more post-story Overall Summary: An archangel takes a break from his reconnaissance.

* ETA: FYI - Do NOT look at the comments before you read this, there’s been some spoilery stuff given away there! * 😉

. The list grew by the minute, and he had to admit to himself that the mundane task of collecting all his reasons was turning delightful.

The other world hadn't progressed to this level of corruption; likely it would've, had it not been for the brimstone, but that was neither here nor there. The worlds were identical, he'd learned, at least in the ways that mattered. Time nor space made a difference. Humans were, to be sure, utterly predictable.

Case in point: his most favorite time period from recent past had unfolded in precisely the same manner in both places, so much so he came as near to astonishment as he'd ever been. The roaring twenties were rife with sin, the pompous prohibitionists and the lust-filled liquor vendors, the mobsters with their massacres, and the bankers with their bloated greed. His distaste aside, it was beautiful. It was art, the way they crafted their depravity. Granted, it was nothing compared to his favorite time of all, but this was understandable; little could live up to Sodom and Gomorrah.

See there, hunter? I'm a salt-and-burn aficionado.

He'd successfully lulled the man whose body he'd snatched - no, that's not right. He did not steal. Theft is sin. The hunter had agreed to act as a vessel, it was witnessed, and while there was deception involved, one in his position must think of the greater good. And it should be noted that he did exercise benevolence. Angelic vessels did not fare well, exponentially so for archangel vessels, and it was poor form to run through them quickly.  

He knew firsthand how his brothers handled their hosts. Raphael would woo the humans with promises of a glorious afterlife, then promptly expel their souls the moment he got a foothold. Gabriel would talk them into giving up the ghost voluntarily (as Gabriel could talk practically anyone into anything), in an effort to keep himself guilt-free. And as the fall crept closer, Lucifer took to keeping them wide awake, poking, prodding, picking, til slowly but surely the glow faded to embers, finally snuffing them out upon growing bored.

But not him. He was the best of them all, no sense in being humble. He was different, so he did things differently. He pushed the hunter to the farthest reaches of the mind they shared, threats to family quelling the belligerence surprisingly easily.

Are you plotting? he'd asked early on, receiving no answer; they both knew it was rhetorical.

As their time together grew, he'd talk to the hunter on occasion - not aloud, of course - when he marveled at the things he observed, breathing it all in. It had been ages since he'd walked the earth peacefully. It was wonder he felt, and he knew it, and it bothered him. He had been tasked with protecting them, once upon a time, and it was easier then, they were more readily awed, or maybe just malleable. He'd begun to consider if subtlety and manipulation might be ideal this go-round, effective as plagues and floods and annihilation had been, albeit temporarily.

He'd been raised by a vengeful God, the new redemptive version that came with the birth of the prophet never quite sitting right with him, but he was an obedient son, absence or no. He was his Father's first son, he who was of God, the first angel there ever was, no matter what differing legends over the millennia might've said. The offenses the rest of the children, celestial-born and earth-bound alike, committed upon God's creation wouldn't have been tolerated back then.

Before. Before it all changed, right under his supposed watchful eye. Before he'd laid waste, in heaven and on earth. Before he'd gotten wrapped up in his plans, let his guard down. Before he lost all three of his beloved brothers in one way or another. Before he'd started paying attention again.

He wouldn't miss anything else.

And so it was that on his fact-gathering strolls, more and more he found himself slowing his pace, pausing, coming to a halt, damn near freezing in place when something would catch his eye, or touch his ear, or invade his nose, the latter of which stopped him cold this evening, just as twilight eased across the buildings around him, and streetlights flickered on, up and down a nondescript street in a nondescript town on one nondescript walk amongst many.

He went further down the sidewalk, and up the block, and continued around a corner, and there it was, the answer to the question of what heavenly smell had wafted his way.

.

Hallowed Grounds French and Italian Coffees est. 1922

.

In his experience, the fates were indeed fickle. On the other hand, he'd done enough surveillance that week to allow for brief relaxation, be someone else for a spell. Seemed the rough-and-tumble hunter had smoothed edges made ragged from eons spent on another plane, made him fractionally more flexible. Teaching lessons could wait one more night, he told himself.

Meant to be, don't you think?

There wasn't need for food or drink, but the hunter was practically a junkie on both fronts, and the palate was wide. This body was stronger than most, better equipped for him, as tailor-made things are, of course, but he had not anticipated how demanding it could be, how it would crave indulgence. Undisciplined. Annoying. Distracting. It was for that last reason he'd give in, keep bites small and sips slow, and the moment there was a sense of satiation, off he - they - would go, back on mission.

African coffee was the best, this was not merely a belief but a fact; French he'd always found bland, somehow; Italian was tolerable. He ordered an espresso, tipped well, and the barista behind the former bar said they had servers milling about, one would be by to check in, see if he needed anything else. And despite knowing he'd swallow less than a quarter of the brew, he took a seat at a table, back to people-watching. Not a one was interesting in the least.

He'd noted the woman carrying the steaming metal carafe walking briskly in the direction where he sat, but had already let his eyes roam away by the time she'd gone behind him, and she only had cause to cross his mind when a loud CLANK hit the air, and the sensation of a third-degree burn called out from his lower right leg and ankle. Several gasps erupted from close-by patrons, someone moaned "Oooooh!" in sympathy, and then came the babbling. 

It was the woman, the server, and she was alternating under-breath curses with self-deprecation - Such a stupid klutz! - Why'd I take this fucking job? There wasn't an apology to be found, not a lick of repentance.

She had his attention.

As she made her way around, the carafe - retrieved, now dented and empty - was plunked on his table, causing the espresso to slosh, and she surveyed the mess on the floor, closed her eyes, rubbed them, took a deep breath, then exhaled it far too quickly for it to have been of any use. Her eyes popped open. They instantly lit on his soaked trouser cuff.

"Jesus," she muttered, flat forehead going to a frown in a nanosecond.

And he frowned, too. Not that he'd been particularly impressed by or had much use for the prophet, nor had he bought into all the trinity talk - he'd found it offensive that any would be placed by the Father as an equal of sorts - but this was in the ballpark of blasphemy. Well, then. Another sinner joins the collection.

Now she'd dropped, and he arched an eyebrow as his head tilted down, feeling her rubbing - aggressively - on his shoe, sopping up the spilt coffee with a rag she'd had tucked in her apron's waistband.

"That pot was still hot as hell, it didn't get you, did it?" she asked, looking up at him from her kneeling position.

"No," he lied.

"Oh, thank God. I'd have been... if you'd been burnt, I would've... I am so sorry, sir."

Penitence looked lovely on her.

"You seem anxious, why don't you sit, rest for a moment," he suggested, and gestured to the empty chair across from him.

He kept his eyes locked onto hers; she gave him an odd look in return, but didn't have time to answer. Another table called out to her, so she broke the stare, told him she'd check on him again later, see if he wanted a refill - anything he wanted, on the house, she added - before rising and leaving his side.

He took her up on it. He paid for the one that followed. And he waited until the patrons had nearly cleared and the lights were being dimmed and the brooms were coming out. Someone else was sent to collect the fee for the still-full third.

Take a hint.

He followed the advisement - whether it was the hunter's or some sort of self-prompting, he couldn't say - and exited, though he didn't carry on with his reconnaissance, instead going down the tiny alley that led to the back of the building, leaning against a telephone pole that was partially in the shadows, settling in, keeping an eye on the side door of the coffee shop.

The hunter spoke up.

You suck at this.

Pray tell?

Trying to pick up a chick, get laid.

Orgasms are insufficient reasons for risking the creation of another abomination.

Go comb through my greatest hits, then we’ll talk about risks and rewards.

It took a half-hour of darkened silence before he began to grow irritable, and he stood from his lean, was straightening his overcoat when the door opened. She spotted him, pretended like she didn't, so he took a few steps in her direction. He was just about to speak when she whipped around, jerking something from her pocket. She immediately squirted a caustic fluid onto him, which did nothing, save prompting a confused expression to come across his now damp face.

Oh, for crying out----

Hush.

She coughed several times as a breeze carried the mist her way, though a subtle wave of his hand served to make it disappear, and soothed her stinging eyes and scratchy throat. He pulled out his handkerchief and blotted the moisture coating his cheeks. She watched, not moving an inch, her mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "Please forgive me."

"That's the strongest mace on the market," she muttered. She looked at the tiny tube, sneered, then tossed it down the alley, where it hop-skipped out of sight. Turning her head back to him, she spoke again, this time warily. "You need money or something? You're not dressed like you need money."

He returned the handkerchief to his pocket, met her eye. "You think I waited here to rob you?"

"I don't... well why are you here?"

"I enjoyed your company and hoped to extend our time together." A pause, then he added, "I have no desire to have sex with you."

"Gee, thanks?"

He began to respond, hesitated, then opted to go with, "I'm told I'm not... not very good at... this."

"Making friends?"

"Mmmm."

"Well, it's... it's late."

He glanced at his watch. "So it is."

"And I don't even know your name."

"Michael."

"Michael. Okay. I have a brother named Michael. Mikey, if I want to piss him off."

"Were your parents religious?"

"What?!" she exclaimed, though she chased it with an amused grin. "You ask the strangest questions. Um, no. Not really."

"And your name?"

"I, uh... don't give out my name to strangers."

"Wise. But I need to call you something."

"Hmmm... I don’t really...”

He waited. 

She snapped her fingers. "My family nicknamed me Grace. The way they talk, I've been clumsy since the womb." She rolled her eyes.

"That sounds cruel."

She laughed, but it was short, clipped. "Nah. Annoying, maybe. But they didn't mean anything by it. Your family not have a nickname for you?"

He shook his head. "No. They called one of my brothers the star. He... shone a little too brightly."

She nodded. "I have a friend like that. Drama queen. Sucks up all the air in a room, as my mother would say."

"May I call you Grace?"

She laughed again, the full version this time, and said, "I ruined your pants, so I owe you. Yeah, sure. Go for it."

He walked her to her car, but they kept chatting - the coffee shop began as a speakeasy, he informed her, and a two-way mirror once hung over the bar so as to keep an eye out for the police. And the conversation drifted with them as they meandered down the street, ended up in a park, sitting in swings sandwiched between a slide and a sandbox, lazily letting their feet trail through gravel, him allowing her to think he was a history buff, her telling him how she'd been born in another nondescript town in another nondescript state. How as the years passed, it had started to feel like another world.

And when it was her turn to ask about the past, it called up from within him the desire to lie to her - protect her - for the second time that night. So he chose his words carefully.

"I had assignments. One that was the most... I was supposed to guard people. Defend them, when needed. And... and I did a good job for quite awhile. My commander was pleased. But then things... happened. I let an enemy invade. I wasn't strong enough. Not enough to stop him."

"You don't have to go into detail if you don't want to," Grace said quietly. She laid a hand over his.

"People died."

"Oh."

"They saw me as a protector. There was a time when some practically worshiped me, thought I was worthy of it." He made a scoffing sound. "I started to believe I was."

He'd never had a single regret, never let himself fall into the abyss of memories. But even he could be brought - broken, more accurately - out of his routine. And the most immediate period of his existence had done just that, making times of calm a desire, while in the same moment making times of silence an irritant.

He looked down at their hands, flipped his, threaded his fingers through hers, and she didn't stop him.

They sat, unmoved, no words, for several minutes; three-point-two-one-six, in fact, because he counted them. His mind never rested, even when the hunter's did, but he liked how she didn't feel the need to fill the emptiness with idle talk. Made for a touch of calm. Even with the silence.

It held a bit of irony - he was the silent type, everyone said so. He'd found it often communicated intent better than any words could've. And more descriptions piled on: Imposing. Intimidating. Towering. Threatening. Some had called him "Beast" long before it had been applied to their once-adored morning star.

So there it was - there’d already been a second lie, and he hadn't even noticed.

"I don't mean to frighten you," he told her, staring at her intently, but this time she didn't look away.

"You said that already," she replied, a solemn smile on her lips, not too wide, not too thin, just the right sort, and he hoped he reciprocated in kind. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, saying, "Michael... I mean, my Michael -----"

The hunter's belly stirred.

"----- you know, my brother, he's in the service. He's a Ranger. He doesn't tell our family a lot of stories from when he fought, but he's told me some. So if it's anything like that, then... I can understand. I can try, I mean."

"I led the entirety of our legion."

"You're... you seem a little young to be... what would it be, a general, I guess? Or do you mean you led your division? Or squadron? I know some of the terminology, you don't have to dumb it down for me."

"I've offended you."

"No, it's... don't worry about it, it doesn't matter."

"It very much matters. How people treat one another. People can be vile, sadistic, horrible creatures."

She raised her eyebrows. "I guess. But we're the only ones here. And I'm not horrible, and you're not horrible, soooo..."

"You're right," he lied for the third time, and with one of the hunter's brightest smiles.

Which made Grace shine.

Go.

The hunter did as he was commanded.

Michael thought she tasted like sin.

"Okay. Tomorrow. I'm off work, but we can meet at the coffee shop, figure out what to do from there... around noon sound good?"

He nodded. "That sounds perfect. Thank you, Grace."

She nodded in return, got in her car, and gave him a little wave as she pulled away.

Is this your plan, hunter? How you think you'll undo me? Making me more like you?

Hey, I haven't been driving for awhile now. Ass.

Hmmm.

You kissed her.

What makes you say that?

When you let me leave the bad boy corner, I could tell. Or else you're putting strawberry lip balm on my----

Apple.

Huh?

It's apple.

He waited at her apartment, this time deep in the shadows where he wouldn't be spotted, made sure she got inside safely, listened for the click that told him she'd locked the door. He began to leave, then thought better of it, decided to play guardian for old times' sake, placed warding here and there to keep any would-be harm away. And back to walking he went, considering how to kill the hours til they met again.

May as well strike up a conversation.

Now that we've spent some time together, tell me - Why didn't we do this sooner? What’s it been for you, about a decade?

You're a douche.

Fine. But comparatively?

There's not a douche scale, dick.

So I'm altogether irredeemable?

Uh - is there some universe where you aren't?

Perhaps.

So prove it! Let me go! And LEAVE ME ALONE.

Fair enough.

If he were to put a not-so-fine point on his reasoning for not meeting her the next day, that about summed it up. He'd disappoint her, she'd disappoint him, and if she didn't, that was no good. Probably worse. Better to keep unattached when it came to what the future... what he... would likely bring.

Even so, he found himself once more standing apart, likely imposing, always watching, this time through a window, across hallowed grounds, looking for his grace. He spotted her at the very table he'd been at when they met, scrolling through her phone, occasionally sipping on a latte. Then there'd be a sigh, a glance to the large clock on the opposite wall as five, then ten, then fifteen minutes passed by.

What say after this, we head to the cage, check on that counterpart of mine?

This time, he received an unusually placid response.

Why?

To ensure he's paying for what he's done.

Like you haven't been thinking of nuking this world. You're still jonesing for your apocalypse. You know you want a do-over.

The world could use some cleansing, true. There's reasons. But, no. That's not why.

Then what?! How many times are you planning on dragging me over there, making sure he hasn't popped the lock so you can keep up your stupid act? They’re gonna figure it out soon, Cas or Sam—-

I thought of all people, you'd understand.

Understand WHAT? It's payback? 'Cause the first thing *he* did was make a beeline to take you out?

He killed my brother. With my own sword, no less. And that above all, Dean, I will not abide.

Grace picked up her bag, left a few bills on the table, and as she walked out the door, placed a phone call.

"Yeah, he stood me up... no, no, I'm not... Seriously! I'm not mad, I'm just, you know... yeah. I thought he was different... No, you're right, and I'm sure he had a good reason, and I told you he didn't have a phone with him, right? So it's not like he could've.... oh God, no he wasn't lying, why do you assume every dude.... Anyway, maybe I'll see him again. I think that'd be nice..."

Well, then. Not so predictable, after all. Not this one. At least, for now.

Teaching the world a lesson could wait for just one more day.

.

Author’s Note #2: Here’s a walkthrough on the inspiration for the title/plot points, the theology droppings, and the “clues” for the ending twist-a-roo, if you’re interested!

Author’s Note #3: This was gonna be snarky & involve a continued barrage of insults on the infamous freeze-that-shall-not-be-named-frame, but the gif  turned out too lovely & I'd feel guilty using it for nefarious purposes.

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[plotbunnie]

What’s been going on with Sky?

Hello folks, first and foremost I want to apologize for my recent absence / inactivity, however I do promise it’s been for very good- if very personal- reasons. The short version is that I have been Not Great™ lately, and it’s taken all of my effort to begin combating that and also improving my state of living. Further details are below, but if you’re not interested in all that or if you are uncomfortable with the topics mentioned ( I will not go into detail, but there is talk of trauma, past abuse, educational & financial stress, and depression/anxiety ), please feel free to stop here, or skip to the bolded line- that is where I will move from discussing past/present to future plans! This is being cross-posted in a couple of places as an FYI, so I’m sorry to those who follow me multiple places and see it more than once.

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In short, the last semester/last 6 months has been really hellish. I’ve been fairly up front about the strain that my courses put on me, and I’ve spoken briefly now and again about the Particular Professor Who Made Everything Awful- basically because she didn’t like the influences on my style because the comics I read growing up are very different from what she & most folks read/make/teach here in the states. I don’t really need to go over it, but I do like having everything in one place for my own processing & reference.

Moving on from that, though- I also encountered what one might refer to as a breakthrough with some emotional/mental gunk that was clogging me up with regards to some past trauma- unfortunately the person in question is still a part of my life in ways I have 0 control over, and finally coming to terms with the fact that there even is lasting trauma makes that― really hard to deal with. I’m trying in the best ways I know how, but ultimately the situation is so insanely complicated it’s been leading to a lot of me just shutting down, which has been making everything else worse.

I also had all kinds of problems with therapists ( once again the one I was seeing through the school took another job somewhere else- meaning I have to start over AGAIN ), getting medical insurance ( still fighting that one actually ), starting testosterone therapy ( for which I need to finish the insurance battle ), family ( they’re starting to come around to the whole trans thing a little I think? ), and a gigantic financial scare- the short version is my mum took $5,000 from me over time and I finally found out about it, and she ended up paying it back by taking out a loan from my grandfather. A mess, amiright? But I can pay rent again without terror so we’re good for now- ish. She still claims to not know how all those transfers to her account happened, but this is sadly not the first time she’s taken money from me ( my relationship with her is a VERY complicated and convoluted one that I need to work on ).

In short, these past months have been perhaps the most trying times in my life- though I’ve had experiences that were objectively worse and more traumatizing, I didn’t really- know they were wrong or anything until later, and the full effects of those experiences was something that didn’t hit me until much later- at the time it was just ‘wow this is unpleasant!’, and only now am I really I’ve thought I was really coming along in my mental health journey, and that things were coming together, but there are always going to be stumbling blocks. Right now, I’m trying to be positive and look forward, but I know there will be dips in the road that will make me doubt and fear after this. I may drop activity again because my response to this sort of thing seems to be shutting down and performing the bare minimum to conserve energy, so I also want to apologize in advance for that, and also thank everyone who has read this and chosen to stick with me anyway.

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

Going Forward

I want to try and reach out more- I’d like to have real conversations and form connections, because for me that is what being on the internet is supposed to be about. I don’t have many friends- online or IRL- and I really want to change that. As a result I want to try participating in more low-pressure type community events, and I want to push myself to comment and interact more often.Please never be afraid to speak with me! Even if sometimes I blunder and don’t know what to say, I always appreciate it, and want to at least try and talk with folks!

Tumblr RP has been something I’ve love deeply since I started, but I think I do need to stop pressuring myself to enjoy it the way I use to. The site itself has become… a very different place, and that’s impacted my writing negatively. I’m so worried about what’s safe to write and what isn’t that half of the content and interactions I love literally aren’t allowed on tumblr at all- as much for the comfort of my partner as myself, but the point still stands that it’s this site that’s caused such issues and cultivated an environment where people feel entitled not only to boss others around regarding interactions and shipping, but also to push things on them that they don’t want.

In short, it’s made me very cynical, so while I will not be leaving at all, I will be reminding myself often that this is not a job, and taking every measure to make sure every single thing I do here is something I love. If that means deleting asks and dropping threads to start new ones in their place, then so be it. I’ve let myself cave to pressure far too much, and that needs to stop happening so I can stay here and enjoy what I still have. I want to work on setting my blogs up before starting too many new interactions, and that may take a really long time, which I’m sorry for, but it will make me happier in the end to be properly nested, rather than laying in the middle of a constant work in progress.

This won’t impact my activity very much, though, to be totally honest. I’m already not here more often than not, so the main difference will hopefully be that I am happier and less stressed when I am around.

Otherwise, I want to start focusing on my art a lot, and creating content, rather than simply augmenting it. This hopefully means I’ll be posting to my art blog more often, and may even be creating some original stories. Ultimately there may be a major social media withdrawal in the future because I want to get back to the magic of discovery and creation, and I can’t tell what part of my life is causing it to stagnate, but we’ll see.

Regardless, I want to thank every single person who’s read this- including those who skipped down to the bolded bit because heaven knows the middle was emotional mush- and everyone who’s supported or stuck by me all this time.