#there are always those born closer to the light || analysis

[sunriseinsound]

tag dump! the tags are all lines from the books! (except my ooc tag, obviously lol)

[sirensmojo]

“KINDRED”, 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, romance, fluff.

Word Count: 6K+

❰ ​Previous Chapter

(...) 

Several days later.

You were walking London’s street with the confidence of someone that ruled the place. Your back, straight, your head high as the air moved your hair gently, as if you were starring in an old Hollywood movie. 

Your suit fitted you perfectly, a little loose so you were comfortable. You were wearing the jacket closed, one hand in your pant’s pocket as the clicking sound of your high heels resonated against the cobblestones of the empty streets.

It was early in the morning, so early the thick mist nearly extinguished the cigarette hanging on your red painted lips, but your gaze was already as determined as one can be. 

‘This day will be great’ was the mantra you were singing in your head. You were supposed to open the library in less than an hour now, and you had to meet with your new employees to discuss the rules before opening.

You thanked God some of them were already a part of your organisation, which made it easier as they knew the way things needed to be done under your management. 

Entering the building, the women were already waiting, in uniform and standing in a perfect line side by side. 

You offered them a warm smile coming closer to them as you took your woollen coat off.

“Misses and Madams, let me welcome you to the Bridgehead Library. Now, you may or may not know me, I’m Y/N, you, strong fighter for women’s rights & aspirant to a world where we would walk the streets unafraid of any danger. Because we know how it is, for those of you that are single moms, for those of you that were disowned by your own family, those of you who don’t want to get married.” 

You paced back and forth in front of the aligned women, looking at each one of them straight in the eyes, as talking with a firm and confident tone.

“You’re not taken seriously, you’re misused and abused. You fear the barmaid will not serve you a drink cause no man stands on your side, you fear the man that is staring at your body will be lurking in the shadows, following you, and rip off your clothes when you’ll be in an empty street.”

You stop in front of a face you saw in the files of Thomas Shelby while doing some research on him. You identify the individual as Ada Thorne, born Shelby, Tom’s sister. 

“Well, you should know, for as long as you're willing to work here, none of the things mentioned before should ever happen to you. And your family will be fed and more... I guarantee you fifteen pounds a week. If anything… A-ny-thing may happen to you due to your gender, consider turning to Bridget, we will find a solution.”

You motioned to a blonde-haired woman sitting legs crossed at the principal desk to their right. Her hair was middle length and perfectly waved to one side as the other was tucked behind her ear. 

The named Bridget glanced up to you before colliding her lit matchstick with her cigarette. 

“You’re under my protection, use my name for doing whatever pleases you, whenever you want. This is your ticket to a brand new life, for all of you. And all of us, together, we can achieve great things. If the counsellor job isn’t enough for you, I invite you to turn to Ana.” 

You pointed a brunette on your side, her facial expression was passive & aggressive, but for some reason, it was comforting. As if you knew you were in security in her presence. 

“Now, as for the library…” You gave your instructions. 

As soon as you finished your speech, it was 7, the hour of the opening. 

The day was slow at the beginning, but soon enough the library was packed. Not only by people here to find a book, but packed with numerous women, all in a single file that led to a small room at the back of the first floor that had been designated as Ana’s office.

It was almost impossible for Ada not to wonder what was going on. 

Were all these women wanting to find another job than counsellor?

All employees tried their best to keep quiet the visitors, following your orders, but as Ada was passing by the single file to pick up and put back books, she could hear murmurs. 

The individuals were talking about politics, but something so far from what she had ever heard.

Some were talking about the tragic death of a certain Emily Davison before the war at the Derby Epsom and how they rallied the WSPU(Women’s Social and Political Union). 

Others were talking about a recent speech by Emmeline Pankhurst to which they couldn’t assist due to coppers. The Shelby sister surmised that woman must be the leader of the political party given the amount of respect they paid her. 

No need to say Ada was drowning in a tide of data and names she vaguely heard of before.

She didn’t pay that much attention to the women’s cause. Even after the death of her Freddie, after which reality smacked her back into the world she was living in. 

It was either her family or her convictions, as being a Shelby meant drifting from the oppressed to the oppressor. But she was so focused on not being a Shelby that she closed herself to other opportunities. 

She wanted to be a part of something bigger and better to help those in need. But she ultimately admitted to herself she needed her family in order to survive, which led her to jump off the communist boat.

But a part of her was always keeping her beliefs close to her heart. 

(...)

*The library, fourth floor*

You turned the keys in the lock, opening your door’s office. You switched on the light and when turning back, stumbled on a man sitting crossed legs, at the edge of the sofa.

When he was sure he made his presence known, he lied backwards, extending one of his arms on the armrest, his head held high.

He was dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, white shirt, the chains of his watch knotted around one of his buttons with a fine red & blue tie around his neck.

Right above his upper lips was a full mustache, and as your gaze reached his dark eyes, you glimpsed the stranger’s neat hair flattened backward.

“What a surprise.” You let out, walking to the desk as if it was normal for him to be here. You then hung your coat on the coat rack, turning your back at Mosley.

“A good one, I hope.” The man put on his fake smile, lying eyes everywhere he could on the woman’s silhouette in front of him.

“Always, Mr Mosley. How could you be any other thing than a pleasure to see,” you came back to where he was and sat in one of the armchairs ahead “and meet.” You added, offering him a smile.

“It’s a shame we never had time to properly exchange--”

“That’s why you crept into my office.” You cut him and nodded to herself, your knuckles hitting on her thigh.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stared even more at the light-haired woman.

“It is to be said, your name doesn’t get quite unnoticed in society or amongst politicians.” 

“So you’ve heard of me, even more charming.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

 If he thought he could cajole you that easily, he was wrong.

“Not only have I heard of your deeds, Miss you, but I’ve been reported daily about the people you keep company with.” He stated as if it was normal for him to send people spying on whoever.

You remained silent, waiting for the man to say more. 

He was gauging your reaction towards his words, lurking at any sudden change in your expression, but you kept on an unreadable face. Mosley tilted his head to the side, curiosity animating his iris.

“Leading me to question the nature of your relationship with Mr Thomas Shelby.” He continued, squinting his eyes.

“Perhaps socialists are your thing?” He spitted that last part with all the distaste he felt toward both the worker class and Tommy.

By the way your piercing eyes didn’t flinch a bit at his sneaky comment, Mosley surmised you weren't impressed, which eventuated in him smiling while keeping up the stare.

“Did you come all the way down to my library to give me a lecture on your inauthentic Dasein, Mr Mosley? There are doctors for that.”

A rictus at the corner of your lips distracted the eyes of the man in front you, who unwittingly broke the stare.

You won.

You took great delight in the void of Mosley’s expression that surely didn’t understand what you just said. 

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps I’m using concepts you don’t understand.” You didn’t even cover the fact you were making fun of his ignorance, your eyes still as sharp as razors.

“Don’t you know Heidegger, Mr Mosley? He discusses a neat difference between what he calls Sein, that covers what Is, what constitutes human existence with the Dasein that covers the phenomenological analysis of human existence. In other words, he says there is a gap between how things are and how we perceive them.” 

You got up and walked to your desk, making sure to pass by him pretty close so your perfume would meet the man’s nostrils. 

You then opened the ceramic piece in which you kept your cigarettes, and as you grabbed one, you concluded.

“When it may seem to you something is occuring, that doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. It just means your senses want to believe it is happening for numerous reasons, but the main one is almost always the fear of something. You don’t believe it wittingly of course, it’s your inconscient working. But still, you just confided in me an unconscious worry named Thomas Shelby.” You ignited your cig.

By using a psycho-philosophical reference, you were showing him your hand, how studious you were, which meant he couldn’t look down on you or intimidate you easily. 

His attempt to pressure you wasn’t working. And you were setting the standards high.

Mosley didn’t miss any of your movement since you got up. Eyeing you top to bottom. It was crystal clear your monologue satisfied him the most. He, that considered you as illegitimate of the high-society status you had been given. 

Perhaps he was wrong?

“May I add, no offense here, that whatever concerns him, or me doesn’t concern you a bit? I’m afraid you came here in vain.” You smacked her lips at the end of her sentence, faking to be annoyed by the fact he lost his time coming here.

“I found you, Miss Y/L/N, I found you.” He repeated, fluttering his eyes as tilting his head to the side.

His way of intensely eyeing the individual he was speaking to would be quite uncomfortable for you if you hadn’t been a woman in a man’s world for so long.

No wonder why this man was so feared and yet adorned. His whole character emitted mysteriousness while arousing wonder and curiosity. It was hard, nearly impossible to read his face or even get in his mind, but you didn’t need that to face him head-on. 

“And to answer your question, no. Socialists aren’t my thing, Kings are.” His brows raised at the end of your sentence.

You stared at each other some more, Mosley trying to discover the implied meaning of your sentence as you were internally laughing seeing him struggle.

“Anyway, I hope you’re finding our city to your liking. You’re from Birmingham after all.” He paused and got up, walking closer to the door with a hand in his pants pocket.”Talking of which, may I ask why not opening in a library there?” It was obvious the displeasure he felt towards your decision.

“I’ll call it ‘modern conquering’.” You responded with enthusiasm.

(...)

Ada poured wine into two cups when hearing the keys turning in the lock of her house. She first thought it was Ben, her lover coming back from his office, or wherever he was working as they weren’t truly speaking of work when together.

Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother when she turned back to the entrance of the living room. “Tommy?” Her high pitched tone expressing her surprise. 

“Let’s sit down, Ada.” The man always looked worried and thoughtful, but this time it was different, his eyes were actually reflecting emotions, which usually never are. 

“What’s happened”

Tommy came nearer the table and pulled a chair for his sister, without looking at her. “Sit down, eh?” He repeated before sitting down himself.

Ada didn’t stop looking at her brother, she knew him too well. Something wasn’t right. She pulled a chair for herself. 

Tommy tried his best to look at the face of his sister while talking but he just couldn’t, his eyes kept drifting away. “Ben younger is dead. Someone put a bomb in his car.”

As the brunette wasn’t talking, her mouth slightly opened in shook, he kept on talking, “I don’t know how you felt about him or how bad this is going to hurt, but whatever happens just remember you have a baby inside of you.” He pointed to her tummy.

His sister let her back hit the chair noisily, searching the void for answers. “God.” She hardly sighed. “Anyone you touch. Which means anyone I touch. Which means anyone any of us touch. He never knew I was pregnant… I hadn’t told him.”

Tommy that was looking at her to support her pain, once again looked down hearing the hard truth. 

“God, I didn’t love him.” She sighed heavily. “But I liked him. He was decent and good. And I wasn’t gonna marry him. The baby was a mistake but that’s okay… because I didn’t ask anything of him. God he didn’t deserve us.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she exhaled loudly again.

“Well I’ve spoken to his family. They’re going to take care of the funeral” Tommy said as Ada sniffled. “It will go down as an IRA assassination of a British military officer.” He felt the need to divulge her all he knew.

“But what was it really?” She calmly asked, looking intently at him her head tilted to the side.

Tommy smacked his lips and breathed deeply. “It was… a consequence of good intentions. My good intentions.” 

She scoffed.

“I pushed him to report on the fascists. I thought it was the right thing to do. And as a result, Section D or the Branch or intelligence had him killed.”

She scoffed again, looking away this time.

He abruptly took back in hands his beret he previously dropped on the table and started fidgeting with it, looking down. “There was a kid, died in the explosion. He was ten years old. It’s funny isn’t it, how it works?” He cleared his throat and got up, starting to move forward the door.

“No, Tommy.” 

He stopped, his back still turned to the woman.

“Don’t give yourself this excuse. “ Ada’s eyes were filled with tears, some of which hurtling down her face to her chin.

“He was ten years old. if I would stuck to what I do, he’d still be kicking a ball in the street. It’s funny isn’t it?” The meaning of his words was amplified by the thunder rumbling outside. 

(...) 

Days later.

It was the end of the day, employees had started to leave when Ada came to the entrance.

“Can I get the changing room keys?” She asked Bridget, who was sitting behind the desk, lost in a book.

“Ada Shelby? Miss you would like to borrow you a moment.” She pointed to the stairs behind her. “She’s waiting for you.” The desk lady invited the woman standing in front of her to get on her way.

Ada rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelby name. “It’s Ada Thorne.”

The light-haired woman smiled at Ada’s comment.

She got up to the second floor and then to the third one before she wondered what her boss had to say that somebody else couldn’t tell her.

Ada rapidly caught sight of the wooden door at the end of the long corridor. She stops walking when hearing voices, a male and a female one. She stops, not wanting to get into their intimacy, but the door wasn’t completely closed, which allowed the voices to slip out pretty clear.

Not too long after she heard steps approaching and moved backward, so it didn’t look like she was eavesdropping. The door ultimately opened, and the fascist man she saw only once before with Tommy passed by her, without even glancing her way.

She knocked on the door and cleared her mind.

“Come in.” 

She cleared her throat. “Miss Y/L/N, am Ada Thorne, you asked to see me?” She peek into the room. 

“Yep, come in. Take a seat.” You motioned your hand that was holding a cigarette to the chair in front of her. 

Her back flat against the backrest, your E/C’s eyes entered those of the Ada’s.

You were searching for the same light that was twinkling in Thomas’ eyes, in vain.

“Do you know who I am, Ada? I can call you that, right?” 

“I heard about your achievements in Paris. What you did for women.” The brunette answered, uncertain of where this discussion was going.

“Do you know what I do?”

At the question, the woman ahead of you didn’t know what to answer.

Was there even a correct answer for that?

Of course, she knew part of her activities was illegal, she wasn’t blind. And, come on! She was a Shelby too, she could feel those things thanks to her brother’s choice of life. 

But what her boss wanted her to say, exactly? And for what reason? 

“You’re talking about the illegal part?”

“The criminal one” You snapped back.

Ada’s eyes widened.

“I surmised you didn’t. Why did you think there were that many women in here today? I offer them jobs in my London’s counterfeit money’s enterprise.” You leaned forward to Thorne, squeezing the cig into the ashtray. 

You crossed the fingers of both your hands together. “You don’t really want to work here.” You forced out the words as if to convince Ada.

“Understand this library covers an underground organisation that is beyond you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not particularly involved in the “business” of your own family. Tommy gave you a title in it but still, you’re here, working in a library to prove yourself something.

Why would I want someone like you in here? Someone that is unsure of what they are, what they want.” 

The venom entered Ada’s ear going directly to her chest, depriving her of oxygen for a short instant. But her eyebrows surely knitted in anger. 

“Stop acting like you know everything when it is clear you understand nothing.” She gained composure again.

“I heard, you didn’t even want to be a Shelby in the first place, running away from your home and your family.” You nodded, your eyes still deep into Ada’s.

“You ‘hear’ things and you take it as the absolute truth? And you’re the leader here.” Thorne chuckled to herself, her eyebrows raised high.

You sneered at the comment.

“What is the problem with my family anyway? If you want to fire me because I’m a Shelby then just do it. I’ll not come burning your library if that’s the matter.” 

The librarian cackled, putting your head into your joined open hands, elbows on the table. “God! No! That’s not that. It is more about the fact that the first time you’re getting involved in that kind of organisation it’s not your brother’s. Not your family’s.” 

Ada looked away, realizing what the light-haired woman meant. She, who never was included in the family business, rather by choice than by abandonment of her family, was employed in a pseudo library that was covering for dirty activities.

“It’s ironic indeed. But what makes you think I wouldn’t want to work here knowing the truth?”

You shrugged. “You never worked with your brothers. Even your aunt, Polly is actively working there.”

“It was my choice.”

“So you’ve changed your mind.”

Ada dismissed the talk, another question seeming to be more urgent:

“But why didn’t you just let me be unaware of all this and be like the others.” She retorted.

“Because you’re not ‘like the others’. You’re a Shelby and a Thorne. Your brother is sitting at the House Of Commons amongst politicians while getting his hands dirty here and there, and your deceased husband was a very known communist leader. You’re everything but random, understand that.” 

“So you’re telling this to me out of goodness?” She laughed at you without even hiding her reluctance toward this eventuality. 

“Respect.” You rectified with a solemn tone. 

The brunette stops laughing, her expression becoming serious again. She didn’t quite get your the true motives, but she had other questions.

“What are your relations with my brothers, are you enemies?”

“No.”

“Allies, then?”

“No.”

Even if you told Ada about the true roots of this library, she wouldn’t talk about the arrangement between her and Thomas. It wasn’t your place to do so, and you didn’t think Ada needed to know, at least for now.

“It’s not like you’re going to get your hands dirty anyway, but if anything should happen to me, they will associate you with me, so they’ll come for you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Coopers, I don’t have them in my pocket.”

Thorne seemed to be in her head, probably rethinking her intention to keep working here as a counsellor.

“You were already working here with the old owner so I’ll let you choose rather you want to stay or leave. But don’t stay because you want to prove something to yourself, or your family. I don’t need a crybaby. If the communist cause you defend isn’t matching with the cause I fight for, leave.” 

Your words cut in pieces the thick atmosphere that had settled between the two women.

(...)

Thomas convened a family meeting.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the pub. Charlie Senior and Curly were sitting at a table drinking from the bottle, while Johnny Dog and Jeremiah were sipping on whiskey at the counter, next to Aberama Gold, too occupied looking at his future wife Polly. 

She were sitting at a table with her son and his wife, Gina.

As Arthur and Finn passed the door, the oldest Shelby got behind Michael and didn’t miss the occasion to stumble wittingly on his cousin’s chair, pulling away the younger’s back from it. 

Next, he hassled to sit near the counter, pouring himself some liquor that he drank in one go. Finn reluctantly came and sat at the table between Gina and Polly.

Tommy finally arrived, walking around the table to place himself in front of everyone. 

“First of all, an apology from Lizzie. She can’t be here. Charles has a violin concert. Also, welcome to Mr Aberama Gold. He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on, Aberama will be welcomed at our meetings. First item: business. A bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who may perhaps have become a member of this family, was taken from us, four days ago, by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations, we think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada and the baby inside of her, who may one day, sit at these meetings but… Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances.” Pol’ offered while pouring some whiskey in her and Tommy’s cup.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, raising his glass. “To Ada.” He added, soon joined by all the people in the room.

Tommy coughed at the burn of the whiskey and continued his speech, “Item number two: an announcement regarding Michael.” He coughed again as if to release some tension in him, his hand rose toward the younger Gray. 

“Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say, to the whole family directly, regarding finances and the future of this company.” Michael stated, getting comfortable in his chair, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his mother glaring at his wife.

Gina ignored her, looking down and smoking a cigarette.

“According to your own estimations, this new venture of the delivery and shipment of opium will bring into the company around £2 million per year. Therefore, due to the amounts involved, I think this company should be restructured.” He continued, looking fearlessly at a pissed Tommy.

“Michael. I think this can wait ‘till outside the family meeting.” His mother tried to postpone the confrontation.

“Restructured in what way?” Tommy asked, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he needed to know if Michael’s betrayal had limits. Which it didn’t have.

“Because of the amount of money involved, shipment and dispatch will become the primary source of income in the company. It’s simple mathematics.” Gina proudly announced, deciding to match her husband’s audacity as she looked Thomas the wrong way. 

Her husband got up, going behind her as he placed his hands on both her shoulders rubbing them gently. “With the help of my wife, I will organise an expansion into America, where the narcotics business is just beginning to grow. I have very good contacts in Detroit, New-York, Boston, who I’ve already spoken to about this. And Gina has family who are very experienced in this kind of business.”

It seems like the woman surely gained composure thanks to the assurance in her husband’s voice because she finally decides to look back at Polly, who was staring at her the whole time with an unpredictable longing to plant her butterfly knife in her. 

Gina, quickly glanced away as if to snub her husband’s mother.

“According to the conversations I’ve had with them, with a regular supply of pure opium from China, within a short space of time, the American narcotics business will bring in $20 million per annum. Enough money for you to enjoy an easing burden you all now feel. See, I know that the scars and the wounds, they’re on the inside, not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that burden off your weary shoulders. A new decade is coming. There’ll be new opportunities and new territories, more money than we’ve ever had before.” 

He stops looking around to everyone to pause on his cousin only.

“Tommy, you can still do the good work that deep down you want to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house.” 

Polly happily glanced at Aberama, letting herself dream of a good life for a second. 

“Arthur, you can be the man that Linda wants you to be.” 

“Fuck Linda.” Arthur interrupted.

Michael turned to Finn, walking toward him to rest behind the seated man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it proudly.

“Finn, you’ve proved yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New-York with me.” Michael finished his speech. His wife handed him a file that he gladly took in hands. He walked to Thomas and dropped the file on the table that rested between them two. 

Tommy’s eyes went to the file before lifting to Michael’s determined face.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… and you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr Jones.”

He turned toward the other people in the room. “You will each receive a percentage of the profits as an annuity. And you will no longer have to engage in any of the associated activities.” 

Michael then grabbed the file to hand it to Tommy.

“Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.” 

The head of the Peaky Blinders paused, looking at Michael intensely before taking the file. “It’s cold in here, Michael.” He finished, turning to the fireplace and throwing the catalogue there. 

Johnny Dog let out an excited laugh, surely due to the heavy atmosphere the two cousins had settled. 

“Tommy the Americans want to deal with me.” Michael’s jaw tensed as his voice raised with impatience. 

“Item number three--” Continued Thomas as if nothing happened. But he was cut off by Gina’s venom:

“Tell him the truth.” She seemed unsatisfied with the way his husband chose to handle the situation. Tommy’s eyes hassled toward the young woman, speechless. “Go on. He can take it.” She continued.

His eyes went back to Michael that looked away, immediately, as if he didn’t want to come to this end.

“Tell me the truth, Michael.” Tommy encouraged, exasperated by this whole scene.

“The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.” Michael gained composure again, looking blankly at Tommy.

The latter couldn’t even correctly react that some men entered the pub, needing some help to handle Bartley, who was convinced he was still at war. Everybody got out of the room in a hurry except for Michael, Gina, Tommy & Pol’.

Passing by Michael to get out, Arthur leaned to his ear slowly, “Fuck the Americans.”

Tommy turned around, hand on the wooden piece as he was leaning above the fireplace, looking intensely into the orangish flames.

“I’m doing this for you Tommy. It’s time… And you know it.”

The concerned one, closed his eyes taking a deep breath in and tried to calm his nerves and think. But nothing came to him, he couldn’t even properly swallow how much Michael’s betrayal had extended, the worst was that he was sure, it wasn’t the end of it. His cousin probably wanting to take everything from him slowly he surely voluntarily omitted things. 

“Tommy, Mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.” Now that there weren’t people to impress, Michael let the anger he felt toward his cousin’s actions.

The elder blue-eyed man couldn’t stay calm a second more, he abruptly turned around, grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and violently threw it in the fire, creating the flames to only grow bigger. Gina was scared, she held her chair with tightened hands and Polly and she jumped with surprise on their chair.

He turned again to Michael as the latter held him a butterfly knife already open.

“Go on, Tom. Go on cut me. Like the good old days. Or… See this for what it is. A natural succession that someday must happen” His arm going down again.  

At this point, the Shelby brother had calmed down, finding funny the proposition he was offered. His lips smacked and breathed deeply, looking at anything but his opposant. He shook his head in disbelief, “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He looked at his younger cousin, deceived by him and angry at himself.

After losing $2 millions in the Wall Street crash., Tommy gave him an opportunity to come back to England and pay him what he owed him, but even there, in the boat, Michael met with people that are Shelby’s family enemy. When that happened, Tommy gave him the benefit of the doubt. And now this? Michael went too far, and this time Tommy will not close his eyes on it. The only reason his cousin was still breathing was that he's Polly’s son.

He walked around the table and addressed Gina, smacking his fingers as he pointed her, leaning forward. “You. You can tell your family--”

“Let me guess.” She interrupted him, the same satisfying face she had at the beginning of the meeting. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” That wasn’t a question.

Michael grinned, as Tommy quickly got out of the pub. 

“Right?” Gina mockingly asked.

(...)

Tommy was spending most days at the House Of Commons lately doing speeches in favor of fascism to the greatest pleasure of Mosley. 

That day, he was there from early in the morning to the evening. It was already around 10, but his assistant opened the door to his office, saying someone was there but without having an appointment. 

“Who it is?” He asked, raising a brow, one of his hands went in his pocket to check on his watch.

“The librarian.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since your last meeting and at the simple mention of you, he would find his blood boiling in anticipation of the wave of feelings you brought him.

His pulsions talking for him, the Shelby brother ordered to let you in without questioning why you were here that late.

“Mr Shelby, you asked me to get information about a certain Michael Gray?” You came in like a tornado, your voice filled with sarcasm mixed with enthusiasm as you were the one pushing him to act on his cousin’s betrayal weeks ago.

How ironic was it that he had to learn the hard way you had been right since the very beginning,  you surmised something must’ve happened between the younger gray and him given the determined words he’d written on the note he left at the library sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No time for formalities.” You agitated the folder in her hand.

He almost gasped at your movements, he had forgotten how sensual you were.

Whenever they would meet, you would succeed to arouse something in him, maybe even igniting a fire that couldn’t be found when you weren’t around. 

“You might want to read that!” You nodded to yourself, your brows raised high as if you detained the most important information of the decade.

“You do me the lecture.” His playful tone made you look up to him. Your head tilted at the sight of the glasses hanging on Tommy’s nose as you released a little “huh” from your lips.

He squinted his eyes, not knowing why the actual fuck did you do that. Did you just judge him or was he dreaming? 

He took off the glasses and placed them on the table, not wanting to deal with that face you just made again, all while remaining silent and invited you to begin.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Do you think it’s going to be free, Mr Shelby?” You looked intensely at him, your own eyes devoid of emotions.

He hated the fact you were able to just erase your emotion from your face and your eyes as he desperately wanted to see things in them. But him being him, he too put on an expressionless face.

“What do you want?”

“Everything, but you can’t give that to me. So I’ll just answer ‘whatever’.” 

He frowned, not understanding her point.

“When I’ll need something, you’ll be answering present without the option to say no.”

He remained silent, quite taken aback by how forward you  was. His jaw clenched, tension building up in the room. If stares could send lightnings, they’d both be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

Reading his silence, you deduced it means he was alright with the deal and proceeded to answer his previous wish, do him a lecture.

“It is written here that Gina Gray’s family isn’t rich, but they weren’t starving either…” You begins. You then allowed a sweet “bla-bla-bla” to come out your lips as passing over the words searching for a specific part.

Tom didn’t miss your deeds a bit. From the enthusiastic tone in your voice to your serious face. He looked at the way your were sitting, legs crossed with the file on your thighs as you was slightly leaning forward. 

No wonder your were excited to show him your findings while handling business like a boss. He caught himself thinking your were cute. 

It was the first time he’d seen your that commited. He’d seen you focused, but you were always passive whereas now, your seemed completely into what your were talking about.

“The part that interests us is this one ‘Has an uncle that meets up at the docks several times a week with a group of people being a part of the drugs industry. It seems they cover their activities by the image of a protestant group and illegally sends rifles under God’s cause to our beloved Scottish friends, in other words, the Billy boys. And this, on a daily basis.” 

You patted the paper.

“It is written here, they counted around 6 boats per month, Tom.” You raised your kindling gaze to the icy blue-eyed man. 

He paused, his lips slightly opening before sliding a hand on his face and looking down.

It seems Tommy didn’t believe what he was hearing.

He leaned on the desk and opened the wooden box where his cigarettes were. 

His back harshly met his chair as he stared at the woman, blinking.

“I’m serving it on a plate, to you, Thomas.” You”d serenely let out, as if you understood him without having him saying anything. “Just deal with it.”

“How much do you trust this contact?” 

“I trust him with my life.” You responded.

With this partnership, he didn’t proceed the same as usual by offering something in return. He didn’t have the time to give you a proper offer that you'd already started to work in favor of his plan against Mosley, so this relationship was more based on the trust they have into each other rather than a commun exchange of services.

Today was the first time you’d ask him to return the favor, and it was today as well that the man had to wittingly choose to trust her blindly.

He coughed and lighted his cig, and put an elbow on the wooden desk as he was still deeply in thoughts.

You got up, moving slowly and leaned on the desk, hands flat on it, her face not even a centimeter away from his. “If you don’t trust that,” you pointed at him and then at you, “end it.” You finished.

The mood automatically shifted due to the tension that has quickly installed between the two individuals. 

Not for even one second did you imagine things to get this sensual. Here you were, desperately searching other's eyes out of each other’s grip.

Tommy’s eyes hungrily drifted to your lips, and stayed there more than it should’ve.

You moved back and turned your heels, leaving the room.

Too much in too little time. This. What that even was, and what did it mean?

This was the reason why you never got emotionally involved in business . But that was different now. But for you, that always kept the idea that the past wasn't supposed to repeat itself, the present was slapping maybe too hard.

Thank God you succeeded at getting out, not because of Tommy, but utterly because of yourself. If you had stayed so much as one second more, you didn’t know what you would’ve done, or maybe you did know but preferred to bury it away.

It was easier that way.

Following Chapter ❱

[reidgraygubler]

play date (jennifer jareau/reader)

Title: Play Date

Request: no

Couple: Jennifer Jareau/Gender-Neutral!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warning:  allusions to parents death, mentions of a parent walking out, swearing (if any), single parenthood, tbh i don’t really know what else to tag. It’s just straight (or gay) fluff.

Word Count: 3,028

Summary: JJ brings her kids to the park where she meets Reader, who brought her kids to play. The pair’s kids become fast friends, as for Reader and JJ? That’s a whole different story.

A/N: this is my first time writing for jj. please enjoy it bc im big soft for her rn (i will also say that about luke too)... this is day four of my 7fics 7days event for 1.2k followers ! Here is the masterlist for that! And here’s my main masterlist! Thank you all for the love and support! 

also, thank you to @reidetic​ for proof reading this :)))

{***}{***}{***}

It was a normal day, right? I mean, that’s what I thought. My kids and I walked to the park after some chores, and after lunch. Nice fresh air, playing in the park, talking to other parents. Do people actually do that? Talking to other parents in the park? It’s been a while since I’ve actually gone to the park with my kids… 

"Make sure you’re safe. And, if you need me, I’ll be sitting here," I pointed to the bench that held my backpack. My daughter looked up at me and nodded before running off. My son on the other hand was a little bit more apprehensive of leaving my side to go play. Part of me wondered if it had to do with all the other kids running around, playing with one another. 

"What’s up, Buddy? Didn’t you want to come to the park?" I looked at him as I squatted to his height. He looked up at me and shrugged, not really telling me what was wrong. "Oh, c’mon, we’ve been to this park before." I sighed and looked at him while I gently ruffled his hair.

"Your sister wants to play with you, go on." I looked towards the park where my daughter was currently playing. It was a relief seeing her playing with the other kids, not by herself. But she was always quick to make new friends and play with new people. So it wasn’t that big of a surprise. 

"Your son can play with my boys if he wants," a woman looked at me with a smile. I looked away from my child and towards a blonde woman who had two boys standing beside her. They looked to be about my son's age. 

"You wanna play with them?" I looked back at my boy, resting a hand on his shoulder. I watched as he looked over at the two new boys, his little eyebrows furrowed together as his lips pouted out a bit. "C’mon they won’t bite."

"Well, Michael might…" the woman laughed as she looked between me and my boy. I looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. "They like playing superheroes," she was quick to add, clearly realizing her mistake. 

"You love superheroes! You could be X-Men!" I clapped my hands together. My son looked up at me with furrowed eyebrows and shook his head. Over by the blonde woman I could hear her boys talking about something. I looked over at the three and raised an eyebrow. "Did I say something wrong?" I looked back at my son. He just looked at me, his eyes just staring at me like I did, indeed, say something wrong. 

"How about," the woman spoke, looking between my boy and I, and then down at her boys, "You three go play superheroes, and when you’re all done, come back to us," she folded her arms over her chest as she looked down at the 3 boys. My son looked up at me with a cocked eyebrow, silently asking if I was totally fine with him going with 2 strangers.

"It’s okay, go on. I’ll be here. Have fun," I winked at him before standing upright myself. He looked over at the two other boys before running off with them. 

"That was easier than I thought it would be," I laughed as I moved my backpack to the ground, before I sat on the bench. 

"They love making new friends. But they can be a little… shy," she laughed as she stepped closer to the bench, "I would do anything for them," she smiled and nodded.

"Please, you can sit beside me." I chuckled as I gestured towards the empty space beside me.

"Jennifer… Jennifer Jareau," she smiled at me as she sat down beside each other on the park bench. I looked at her and nodded. "But you can call me JJ,"

"It’s nice meeting you, JJ," I smiled before giving her my name, "How old are your boys?" I looked over at the playground and spotted our boys playing together. It didn’t look like they were playing superheroes like JJ and I had both thought. It looked like they were playing pirates or something else. 

"Henry is 9 and Michael just turned 6," JJ smiled at me as I looked back at her. "What about yours? How old is he?" she asked, looking out at all the kids. 

"He just turned 5 a few months ago. And my daughter is 10," I smiled and nodded. I looked back out at the playground, looking for my daughter. She was by the slide, talking with one of the other girls. 

"Oh, and you have a daughter?" JJ asked as she followed my gaze to the girl in question. "Well, they both look just like you."

"Well, they definitely don’t have my  eyes and nose," I laughed and shook my head. JJ looked back at me with a cocked eyebrow. "And I swear my little boy has their personality too." 

"He certainly is adorable," JJ laughed as she looked around at the playground. She laughed once she looked at our boys. I was impressed that my son was actually playing instead of just sitting to the side by himself. To be honest, I don’t remember the last time he played with other kids his age. It was a nice change to see for him. He looked like he was having fun, and that’s all that mattered.

"My little king," I laughed lightly as I looked back at JJ. I noticed she was looking between me and our kids. "Do you come to this park often?" 

"Not as often as I’d like. Work can get busy, and then school gets busy," I relaxed my body as I sat back more on the bench.

"Amen to that," JJ raised her eyebrows as she spoke. Her smile was genuine, and I enjoyed looking at it. It gave me a certain joy I hadn’t had in a while. It made me smile. 

"What is it you do for a living? Surely it can’t be too bad," I laughed as I turned to face her more. She copied my movement and faced me too.

"I… I actually work for the FBI," she kept her voice low so no one around could hear our conversation. I looked at her with wide eyes. And suddenly every little bad thing I’ve ever done came to my mind. The one time I ran a red light because I didn’t want to be late. Or, the one time I stole a chocolate bar when I was a teenager. Or, when I cut someone off on the freeway.

"The-the FBI… Great," I nodded as I looked down at my hands. "Beats my media manager job," I laughed again as I looked up at her.

"Don’t worry. Media manager sounds like a great job," JJ smiled at me, reaching over to hold my hand. I looked at her and nodded.

"FBI sounds even cooler. I bet it’s terrifying," I swallowed roughly as I looked at her.

"Sometimes it can be. It’s the thrill of the chase that keeps me going." Her laughter was like cotton candy: sweet and light and fluffy. I couldn’t help but smile again. 

"I would have guessed it was the boys that kept you going. But, I supposed the FBI does do that to someone," I looked down at her hand, which was still holding mine. I could feel my heart rate pick up slightly as I looked down at our hands. I wonder if she knew she was still holding mine. 

"Yeah, I suppose I do have to try to keep up with those boys," she laughed, again, before looking over at our kids. I furrowed my eyebrows before nodding slowly. 

"Surely their dad must be a load of help, while you’re at work," I asked about her husband/partner without actually asking about him. She looked back at me and cringed slightly. "Oh… I’m so sorry," I whispered before dropping my gaze from her face.

"It’s okay. Really, it's fine,"  she pulled her hand from mine and waved it off. Part of me sensed that she didn't want to talk about it. And, that was okay. 

If it was the same situation as me, if they just walked out? Or if he was ever a part of his kids lives… Did he die? And, if so how? Was he a police officer who got killed on duty? Or was he incredibly sick? It was a bit of a touchy subject. That was until she asked...

"What happened to their…” she started as she looked over at me. “If you don’t mind me asking?" JJ looked at me. And I could feel her big blue doe eyes starting into my spoiler soul. I looked at her and shrugged.

"Oh, uh, not in their lives anymore," I sighed before looking towards the playground, "It was just after our son was born too..." I shrugged, leaving my statement as vague as possible so I wouldn’t have to explain that we were left for another person.

"Oh goodness, I’m sorry," she looked at me, gently resting a hand on my lap. I looked down at her hand and felt my heart rate spike again. 

I think she was able to figure out what happened without me saying anything about him. I mean, I figured out what happened to her husband. If I didn't have to explain what happened, then I think that would be best….

"Anyways, I've been a single parent ever since," I smiled as I looked over at her, “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Those two are my world,” I locked eyes with her. 

“I can agree. Michael and Henry… I’d be lost without them,” she smiled at me as she spoke. With that, we both fell into an odd and slightly uncomfortable silence. We both just turned and looked at our kids playing with each other. I wish it wasn’t so awkward…. 

“So, the… FBI?” I started as I turned back to face her. 

“The FBI,” she laughed and nodded, “I work in the BAU,” she looked over at me.

“What would that be, exactly?” I raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh! Yeah! Right, I forget that people don’t know about all the different sections within the actual FBI,” JJ laughed again, and I couldn’t help but let my heart swell again. “So, there’s a bunch of different branches in the FBI, right. I work in the BAU, which is the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” she explained, looking at me like I already knew what that was. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at her.

“Okay, so… What do you do?” 

“Essentially, we read the behaviors of criminals… Like, serial killers, kidnappers… Stuff like that.”

“Like, Ted Bundy?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Yeah! Kinda. We’ve been all over the country, solving cases, some unsolved ones. It’s a wild world we live in,” JJ swallowed roughly as she looked down at the bench.

“Do you know how many cases you’ve solved? Must be a lot,” I asked, feeling a certain excitement take over. I felt a little embarrassed by the excitement I felt. JJ could sense that too. But I could see how happy she got with my joy. 

“Too many to count, honestly. I’ve been on the team for… 15 years,” JJ’s tone was mildly confused. Like, she wasn’t too sure. 

“Well, if you’ve been in that line of work for nearly two decades, it’s okay if you don’t remember,” I laughed as I reached over and rested my hand on her leg. It was her turn to blush up at my touch. “Media manager isn’t anything cool. Not like travelling the country like an FBI Agent. That’s super cool,” I looked up at her. 

“It is till it keeps you away from home for long periods of time,” she frowned as she looked down at where my hand was resting on her leg. I returned the frown as I retracted my hand.

“I understand being away from home for a while. Although, I think I only go on work trips every six months,” I laughed, trying to cheer her up a bit. 

“Anyways, enough about work,” JJ laughed as she looked back at me. 

I was more than happy when we fell into a comfortable conversation. Better than before, when we fell into the complete opposite, uncomfortable silence. The conversations moved so swiftly from hobbies, to when our kids were younger, to what we do in our free time. Although, our conversations were cut short by a cry from a little boy in the playground.

I instantly shot up to my feet, looking around the playground for my son. JJ was instantly on her feet too, looking for her sons too. The second I saw my son on the ground, in tears and holding his knee close to his body. I sprinted across the playground and right to him.

“Hey, hey, baby,” I knelt to the ground to help him, “It’s okay,” I whispered as I brushed the tears off his face.

“He… He just fell off the playground,” one of JJ’s sons appeared by me. I looked over at him and nodded with an exaggerated pout. 

“That’s okay! Accidents happen!” I looked back down at my son before picking him up and resting him on my hip. He sniffled his nose before pressing his face into my shoulder. “Ohh, is it time to go home?” I frowned as I walked back over to JJ and the bench. 

“Oh no! Did we have a fall?” JJ looked at me as I got closer to her. I frowned and nodded. “I have a first aid kit in the van if you need." She watched as I sat back down. She sat beside me and looked at my son. “Oh, that looks like a rough owie,” she looked at the scrape on his knees.

“You should see his hands,” I looked back at her. JJ looked back at me before standing up. 

“I’ll be right back,” she rested a hand on my son’s head and then mine before leaving us for a moment. 

“Should we go home and take a nap?” I asked, resting my hand on his back. He took a shaky breath and nodded before pressing his head into body. I looked up just as JJ returned with a small first aid kit and a stuffed animal.

“I have X-Men and Batman band aids,” JJ whispered as she sat back down beside me. I turned my son around so he was facing JJ. “Do you want… Wolverine or Batman?” She looked at him with a small smile on her lips. 

“B-batman,” he whispered, looking cautiously at JJ. I watched as she pulled out a wipe, ointment and some Batman band aids. My son looked up at me, tears still fresh in his eyes. 

“This might sting… Do you want to hold Arlo? He’s Michael’s dinosaur,” JJ looked at my son as she offered the bright blue and yellow stuffed animal. I looked down at him as he held out his hands to take the dinosaur from JJ’s hands. 

“You can be a big boy, for JJ?” I asked, brushing more tears off his cheeks. He looked up at me and nodded. I looked back at JJ and nodded lightly so she would just hurry and clean his injuries. 

“Owie,” he cried as he began squirming around. I held him close as JJ tried to be quick. 

“Look! Look! I’m all done!” she lifted her hands to show him that she was truly finished. “You got some pretty cool Batman’s band aids on your knees now,” she pointed at his knees, causing him to look down at them.

“What do you say to JJ,” I whispered, looking at my son’s face. She looked at me, then down at the boy on my knee with a smile.

“Thanks, JJ,” he mumbled before turning to hide into my body. JJ laughed, and looked back at me. 

“You’re welcome, Buddy,” she looked down at him again. 

“And, on that note… I should probably collect my other kid and go home. It’s nap time,” I looked at JJ as I handed her the stuffed Dinosaur. I really didn’t want to bid farewell to her. But, it was time to go. Time had flown by quickly, it was well past nap time and almost dinner time.

“I agree,” JJ frowned as she stood up. I sighed as I stood up beside her. We both called for our kids, waiting for them to run over to us. “Oh, we should exchange numbers… It was nice talking with you, and it’s nice to have friends outside of work,” she laughed as she turned to me again. I smiled and nodded before pulling out my phone.

"We’ll have to set up another playdate soon. I’m sure they all had fun together," I smiled, looking down at my kid. JJ looked at her kids, then over at mine, "Now that we’ve exchanged numbers and all. How would you guys feel about that?" I couldn’t help but let the smile grow across my lips. My cheeks started to hurt a little bit from how happy I was feeling. I honestly don’t remember the last time I was this happy.

"I think that’s a great idea," JJ smiled before looking back at me. I looked back at her and nodded. "And, maybe we can… have a date our… ourselves?" she asked, raising an eyebrow slightly, "Only if you want! I won’t press-"

"That would be… nice," I smiled and nodded, "I’ll call you?" 

"Sounds good! Have a nice night you three," JJ smiled at each of us before corralling her kids towards her van. 

"Who was that?" My daughter looked up at me with furrowed eyebrows. I smiled as I watched JJ drive off.

"A new friend," I answered, looking down at her with a smile. 

if you want to be a part of a taglist or have any comments about this one shot, let me know here

[yuraimi-lee-bunny]

GRAY’S CHARACTER ANALYSIS Part III.5. Graham Calloway: The Walking Enigma.

After a full  two weeks of work I managed to finish this part! As I mentioned before, it will be part "3.5", where you will see interesting details about Graham. It will be a long chapter guys, I warn you. Thank you very much for all your support in the previous chapters and I’m glad that you’re liking it and that it has also helped some to understand Graham in some aspects. Nothing more to say:

Here we go!

In the third season there was nothing of Gray, just a scene where it gave us to show that the moment has come: The return of Gray and his importance in the fourth season is now inevitable.

And well, who would have thought that Gray would be the first thing it showed us in the first scene of last season.

I told you, it’s something important. The first scene with which a season begins is sometimes, in some cases, used to show some signs of what the whole season holds, or what a character holds throughout the season. A great example and one that is one of my favorites, but at the same time it’s painful, is from second season of 13 Reasons Why. The first scene that opens the season is where Tyler Down comes out, a character that with his dialogues and the cut to black of the first scene with which he opens the seaso, is basically anticipating EVERYTHING that Tyler would bring in that season. Showing Tyler, a secondary character, and not showing the main characters, is an indication that you should pay attention to that character, that Tyler (and Gray) would be an important character throughout the plot to point out something, which will be important at some point in history (or the most important). Believe me when I analyzed the Tyler scene, I was fascinated by such visual/narrative language, but at the same time I almost cried to understand everything… sorry, let's get on with Gray.

Here, in my opinion, is the same: it show in just one scene EVERYTHING that will happen to Gray this season. I explain:

(Earlier, Congratulations Gray! You were promoted to Lighting Technician!)

He’s in a dark room, illuminated with the light of the work, which is a red light. As we know, Graham, actually has amnesia, he doesn't know anything about who he really is, that's why the allegory with the dark room. The red light represents Carmen, who watches over Graham, he trusts her a lot, so he's "protected", because Carmen will not allow him to remember that he was a VILE agent. For this reason, a dark room and a red light, and he’s calm and happy.

Well, no more.

ACME has arrived, has revealed his full name, has opened a door that illuminates the other side with white light. ACME is the one who will unknowingly cause Gray to know the truth, and with that, a new path for Graham that will lead him to the light.

A path where he will choose which identity will predominate in his life. But before going to light, Graham/Crackle and Gray will have to endure and deal with many obstacles and decisions. He’s the only one who will decide, No ACME, No VILE, No Carmen.

One more thing.

Graham, what is your obsession for wristbans? All I can say is: Graham likes to do his job well.

Chief introduces herself to Graham, and he can't help but know what would happen if he touches Chief's hologram. As I have already said: he wants to know the answers with his own hands.

She asks him a question and Graham, as he’s in the habit and I had previously analyzed it, he gives details that no one asked, but he likes to give. Fun fact: in the original dubbing, Graham says the english name of the Opera "The Thieving Magpie." In the Spanish dub, Graham says “La gazza ladra” saying the original name, even using a slight Italian accent.

I loved this little detail because it adds to that curious Graham/Gray habit of giving details to his answers, and let's remember something: the dubbing is supervised by the crew, so I guess they liked the idea.

Gray asks if they are Interpol or the CIA. Faced with CHIEF's response that they are "Consider us all of the above. Except they don’t know we exist" Gray thinks of a single person. That is somehow cute like him until he gets excited that maybe this is a new chance to see Carmen again. For Chief it’s a new path towards Carmen.

You don't know how much I would have liked to hear all the conversation Graham gave Chief. With those details that he loves to give. But it makes me laugh a bit as even he has a cup of coffee, hinting that the story was going to be long. And once again, showing his love for coffee. How nice of ACME to have given Graham coffee. One more thing to make you laugh more.

His expression, that expression that seems to express "Thank you but... you aren’t Carmen"

Chief's questions confuse Graham because since he already lived what Carmen does from his own experience, he’s sure that Carmen is one of the "good guys". Confusing Chief further. We move on to how Chief believes that Graham is no clue to be closer to the truth behind Carmen, but Chase arrives, and finally finds Gray again, that missing link for Carmen. Gray is still being targeted by ACME.

Chase arrives and thinks that everything will be easy, but again, he won't be able to get anything because Gray doesn't remember being Crackle back then. Gray finally reveals to ACME his "accident at work" that has caused him to have a year-long amnesia. It's funny how Graham responds to Chase that he's an orphan. As he does not like to mention that part of his life. Interesting point is the only thing I will mention.

Graham when mentioning such an accident and the consequences of it, it shows that deep down, he is worried and intrigued in all that year he disappeared from his life. As if he feels that he can't be himself if he doesn't have all the memories of him. From his body language, he shows how something really affects him.Mentioning this, in addition to showing for the first time more clearly that Graham really cares about his amnesia, this data is interesting to Chase, he believes him and that serves to make Graham closer to the truth. 

Chase and Chief reveal everything to Gray, that although Graham left the hospital, he never entered, all the details, and Gray doesn’t remember anything. It’s revealed that he is telling the truth, and Chief says one of the best ways to describe Gray.

This phrase, this phrase for me is the best way to describe Gray, and not because of his current state with amnesia, but since the beginning of the series, his actions and feelings are a mystery, his empathy for Carmen is clear, procuring the good of people he appreciates, but also his ambition and being successful, going too far to the point of taking actions of questionable morality. Now, something that has left me thinking a lot, is that he really seems very concerned when he notices that many things don’t make sense, and as I already said and this proves it one more: the truth matters a LOT to him. He cares a LOT about identity, really being himself.

Graham already said it, he's an orphan. Of course, no one but him cares to know the truth, of all those memories that are blank. In himself, he doesn’t know anything about his roots, the phrase "Not that I know of. I’m an orphan" suggests that he really doesn’t know ANYTHING about his parents, he doesn’t even know if he had siblings. Surely he doesn't even know if they died or abandoned him. I may be over-analyzing everything, but I think that's why Graham/Gray cares about being himself, being a person of integrity, and want to be successful: because he only has himself. And he can only trust himself. He wants to show himself that he can achieve many things. But everything is for his own benefit. Something that has caused me a lot of curiosity is that Gray is never seen around people, or that he is seen to be extremely sociable. He gets off work and he's alone, he's at work and he's alone, he's in the cafeteria and he's alone. I don’t know if it’s the factor of the series, I mean the fact of not putting more character in the story and the whole story mobilizes faster. But I want to believe that this also reflects how Gray is lonely, for his own sake, because he just trusts himself. Yes, he has a certain personality of being able to work as a team and interact with them, but that was within VILE, but outside, in the world, it seems that he doesn’t connect, or doesn’t want to connect with the world. Why? I think I have a slight idea:

we had already heard it before

Although it’s a good joke, it’s curious that he asks this kind of thing. He’s afraid of the unknown and that it may harm him. This is just my little theory, but maybe just maybe, Gray doesn't like to be and feel vulnerable. He always looks calm, being out of the unnecessary drama, he recovers quickly to any failure or mistake he makes. But deep down, I've noticed that at the 3 phases: Graham/Gray/Crackle, they don't like being vulnerable, being in the unknown and not knowing what to do, being in danger and being harmed. Physically and emotionally. I think I understand why: the world has already hurt him since he was born, living alone, not knowing what to do and why he came into the world.  He doesn’t know his roots, he doesn’t know why he came to the world. What kind of parents he may have had and what kind of "customs" he inherited from them. He only has himself, what he knows is the only thing he has, his memories, his experiences are the only thing he has and he knows what his personality has shaped him, his way. Nobody built his path, nobody guided him, it was him alone. We don’t know if somebody adopted him or if he just wanted to survive as he could. But at least, from what I can see, is that he has always wanted to be alone. Now that he doesn’t have that amnesia, he feels that he has lost himself, because that year of experiences, of memories is important for Graham, because it’s the only thing he has that makes him feel complete in this world where he is alone. I hope I have been clear and haven’t confused you.

His actions and personality come from there, from realizing that he only has himself, that he doesn’t belong to anyone or anything, but still he will give everything to himself, he will not let anyone or anything make him feel bad. He will take advantage of everything he knows and can learn to do, live his entire life completely, be successful, show himself that for him and for him, he will be able to do interesting and great things.

This makes me a little thoughtful and empathetic, because here Graham, seeing all the details that his stay in the hospital doesn’t make sense, that he doesn’t know what happened, and just having himself, as never before, Graham feels lost, he maintains control as much as he can, but little by little he’s overcoming the situation, he feels a little vulnerable and the saddest thing in some way is that there is no one to help him. Apparently there never was. And let's be honest: Chief is proposing the experimental method just because she wants to know about Carmen and the connection she has with Graham, nothing more, it isn’t to fully help Graham. It isn’t by putting ACME as being “not at all empathic” but rather that this reaffirms how alone Graham is in the world. I hope I don't sound exaggerated with all this I have mentioned.

The moment has arrived:

They put the device on Graham, activate it, and memories begin to emerge.

When Chase asked about the train trip 18 months ago, it’s one of the first memories he sees: attacking Carmen with the Crackle Rod. He screams, and I think I know why, because he appreciates Carmen and can't believe he was going to attack her.

This scene in his eyes is VERY important for later, in the next part of the analysis it will be mentioned why. I loved this scene because taking this approach to his eyes invites you to be inside Graham's head and his memories. And at the same time, it will have a reason for being later.

Seeing the scenes of how Graham suffers without understanding anything, seeing VILE, the Faculty, the training, his first mission. Graham, the one back then who cared about being one of the "good guys" was facing memories where he was a "bad guy." The crew seriously did a good job of showing how much he is shocked and suffered when dealing with so many memories that made him confront his morals.

They turn off the device, Chase worries and wants to see how Graham is doing. But, as someone had already mentioned before:

he woke up AND CHOSE VIOLENCE

He goes out. Without a problem he takes down some Acme agents. And he leaves ACME.

The reason for his uncontrolled "bad" side is because Graham believed that he only had amnesia, but as we already knew at the beginning of this season, they also suppressed his stealing side, his "VILE side", the device not only caused a clash of memories , but also one of morals. Crackle left ACME, but on the street it was Graham, remembering only numbers to dial, which was VILE. Crackle did actions that only confused Graham more and more. Crackle was awake but only unconsciously and for lapses.

Crackle dials the number, but Graham is the one who answers. He doesn’t recognize anything that he does, but those memories, that unconscious that is Crackle is the one who responds. This shot to his eyes again, now with a green glow. The visual language they use in the series in general is simply wonderful.

One of my favorite scenes: Graham saving this boy.

Believe me something, this scene, this action is not filler, it wasn’t only to continue the suspense of "Crackle to Graham and vice versa" but it tells you a lot about Gray's true morality, of his experiences in 18 months with empathy are beginning to bear fruit.Including how much Carmen impacted on his life.

I mean this: Gray is supposed to have had his "VILE side" suppressed, the side of him that steals, but only that, the rest that complements Gray's personality is still intact. Now that Crackle is unconsciously awake, it’s only for lapses. Because Graham didn’t understand those memories in VILE, Graham, the one who cared so much about being one of the "good guys", that body identifying himself as Graham who lived 18 months of empathy, had an effect on his cognition.

Remember in part 3 of this review, I asked if everything that was presented to us in past seasons about Graham was a lie? Well, from these first 3 episodes of this season I can confirm that NO, all that moments weren’t a lie. Although Crackle/Gray didn’t voluntarily make the decision to be "good", his body, his cognition responded well and he agreed to do those actions. Crackle didn’t take full control of Graham, he appeared only when he saw the opportunity to steal.

But when doing something for others, Graham appeared.

The Graham/Crackle body was having a "moral" discussion. Graham was holding on to his belief that he was the good guy. Graham is latent like Crackle. If we call it very crudely, the "good" and "bad" side of it are coming out at the same time, one doesn’t predominate more than the other. Very chaotically and unwillingly, because of ACME's experimental apparatus, he was being Gray. Without fully understanding yet that he’s what he really wants to do: be empathetic or ambitious. When actually it can be both, but then we'll get to that part later.

Graham goes to the boy's house. He considers going to boy’s house to return his wallet.

A point that isn’t from me, but from a friend who insists that I put this. I appreciate her very much, so I will: My friend thinks this smile is because Graham when he looks the house, he imagines what it would be like to have a home and a family. I leave it to your own criteria.

When he looks out the window to see if there is someone, it opens for isn’t properly closed. Again, Crackle emerges.

The unconscious never speaks, it only acts. It's interesting to see that whenever Crackle shows up, he never speaks, it just acts, it just steals.

This is one of the most interesting scenes (and at least for me, it hurt me a little bit)

Do you notice how Graham returns when the world has contact with him? When Crackle arises it’s because he sees his ambition, when those VILE memories come out and they’re the ones that impacted him the most, that marked his life. But when the outside world makes an appearance, makes contact with him, Graham appears again. Graham in 18 months of empathy vowed to be good, and his cognition agreed with that, no matter how strong his memory drives were in VILE. Because this is his personality as he has already been mentioned several times: he’s committed to what he wants to achieve, to what is really born to him.

He sees this woman, and remembers the archaeologist. It’s the same as with the boy who was almost going to get run over, this scene isn’t only for the suspense, it’s to show that memories in VILE have marked Crackle back then. Being in VILE, studying there, the crackle rod, the adrenaline of stealing marked him, but the archaeologist's event also and from another way. When he was going to take a life for the first time. In the second part of my analysis I said it, it was obvious that he wasn’t convinced to do it, something inside him didn’t like doing such an act. This confirms it.

Remembering that whole event, how he almost took a life shocks him so much that he fell to the ground. He’s actually suffering from confusion, but also from remembering something so vile that he was about to do.

He answered not only because the woman asked him, he's telling himself too. You can see that by the tone of his voice, the way he's closing his eyes. He wanted to deny that the one he sees in his memories is him. He doesn't want to believe that he was bad.

Well… now Graham is going to jail. Making him a target now of all: ACME, VILE and Carmen.

He’s locked up in jail, just because Iceland has a very low crime rate, he doesn’t want to eat, he looks sad, and not even the police are there to investigate further his answers. Graham claims that he doesn’t know why he wasn’t in that house. The police only answered by mere logic, that if he had other people's belongings, it was theft. They don’t bother to delve further into Graham's answers to at least realize that he suffers from amnesia and incoherent seizures. Again: he feels alone in this world.

... you know? this whole chapter watching Gray so confused and sad made me feel sick. I'm a very empathic person, so everything that was going on Graham really I feel it. And seeing this scene with Gray's photo, I was between laughter and suffering. I couldn't bear to see him more and more confused.

This shot makes me very sentimental but it's great, can we appreciate it for a moment please?

In addition to showing how frustrated Graham is, the visual narrative in this image also explains his situation. He’s alone, he feels that no one can help him, the shadow covers the part of his head, his forehead to be concrete, where are all those memories that he doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want to accept. Where he lies and now is awake unconsciously Crackle. But his body is in the light, he clings to the light and in believing that he is Graham Calloway and he always was. And at that moment, he’s no longer alone, Carmen's shadow emerges from the light, somehow erasing the fence, that separation between the two. Because unconditionally she was always there. She will always be there Carmen for Graham.

He’s amazed to see her but at the same time he feels so relieved. She’s the person he trusts the most and that he knows that she will help him. But the cleaners arrive and give Carmen a tough fight. Graham helps her with whatever he can. After they leave, Carmen doesn't know why but she doesn't waste time trying to get Graham out of the cell. But the Bellum Robot arrives. And now Graham is in VILE’s hands.

Did you realize that these 3 episodes happened in a whole day? Graham basically hasn't slept. The boy goes a long way without sleeping I guess.

I never believed that he would analyze so much in these 3 episodes, I’m still surprised but very happy. I hope you liked it and as I always tell you: if you have any questions or want to comment/add something that was commented on, do so, what better than feedback from everyone. The fourth part will be published soon, I promise. Greetings!

Part. I Introdution

Part. II Empathy vs Ambition

Part. III Amnesia and it’s Future Consequences

Part. III.5 Graham Calloway: The Walking Enigma (HERE)

Part. IV Integrity At a high (and unfair) price

Part. V The final decision and a new beginning

Plus 1. Gray and his strange habit of explaining things

Plus 2. Crossover: Sabrina And Gray: New Beginning

Plus 3. Crossover: Hawk/Eli and Crackle/Gray: Redemption

[tracybirds]

I can officially switch the status of Being Known from “stuck” to “WIP” again :) It’s been over a year since the last update for various reasons but I’m very excited to go back to this one and provide a new chapter!

For those new to the story, this was prompted by @kenzie-running-free in March 2020 and slightly got out of hand 😅 I’ve never stopped thinking about it and I bit the bullet and deleted the entirety of Chapter Four a few days ago and let myself rewrite it from scratch.... and it WORKED!!! (use technique with caution... scariest thing I’ve ever done.....)

Anyway...

A ‘what-if’ story based on “The Man From TB5” where the Hood recognized John in the scene when he makes himself known (instead of John stuttering).... and then he gets kidnapped :)

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

-----------

Darkness bled into John’s line of vision and he scrubbed desperately at his aching eyes. Time collapsed around him as he worked, the abruptly extinguished bulb the only hint of night. And every new day seemed to bring new weariness as he jolted awake by the sudden onslaught of light which interrupted the deepest part of sleep.

Just another tactic to keep him from gathering his wits together.

This morning, if it was morning, the brightly burning bulb was coupled with the scraping sound of a breakfast tray being shoved through the small slot that had been crudely and hastily carved in the door after he’d lain in wait and brought the tray down over one of the guard’s head. He’d left the man stunned on the floor and made it all the way to the end of the corridor before another guard had grabbed him from behind and thrown him bodily back into the room.

He’d woken to security footage of a fire ravaging a building, his own family on screen.

“They’re not looking for you,” sneered the Hood as he swept from the room.

No guards came in anymore.

Two days later, he’d been savagely poked in the eye when he’d tried to look through the new slot that had been hastily added to his door.

He spent hours every day, searching for a way to send out a message, or even create another receiver. Any link to the outside world would do. But it soon became apparent that the Hood had done one thing right in giving him access to an isolated system, keeping the holomonitor he’d been provided with separate even from his own devices.

One thing right among many.

John peered at the screen with his good eye, wincing at the torn skin that pulled over bruised muscle. His head spun as he stared at the endless commands, trying to replicate the spark of life no-one had ever found before EOS.

Not even him.

And that was the rub of it all.

John didn’t know, not after all his time studying EOS and her abilities, just how she’d been born of code and logical absolutes. How she could grow and change and evaluate her own mind in a way that not only seemed human, but was unquestionably so.

He glanced at the clock he’d created from scratch, counting the oscillations in the electrical current and spitting back a digital time at him. This ‘morning’ truly did correspond with the morning, and that meant the Hood would be paying him a visit for an update.

He wasn’t sure how much more time he could stall for until things got truly desperate.

How much time he had until he had to conclude that he was truly on his own.

*                            *                            *

“Scott, the floor’s unstable there!”

“I know what I’m doing, Alan.”

“Yes, but I have the numbers,” Alan replied, his voice cracking as he spoke. He spun the holo in his hands, checking and double checking the analysis that was running under his fingertips.

“Then the numbers are wrong.”

“They can’t be!”

“Alan,” said Scott, patiently. “I need you to check the parameters over again. I’m seeing two trapped vehicles, with no sign of ground stress, both much larger than me and more importantly containing passengers. I need to get them out of there.”

“Yes, but hang on–”

“There’s no time!”

Alan watched in horror as his big brother barrelled forwards. He crouched low as he ran, grabbing at nearby pylons for support. The ground heaved beneath his feet, but still Scott moved forwards steady and sure. Always with his eyes on the scared little boy in the back seat and a gentle smile on his face.

An alert ticked over into the red.

“Jump, Scott!” he yelled, watching the model floor cave in a split second before a real sinkhole opened beneath Scott’s feet.

“Alan, what’s happening up there?” came Virgil’s urgent voice, bound for home with Gordon from their own rescue.

Alan flipped the channel, realising in his hurry he’d accidentally broadcast his message to everyone.

“He’s fine,” he said, eyes still wide as he watched Scott shakily stand on the other side of the chasm. “The floor went.”

“What?”

“He’s fine, he’s fine!”

“Didn’t you run the simulation?”

“I did,” said Alan, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Silence fell over the space station.

“Hey Alan, can you pilot Thunderbird One over to us? Got my hands full here.”

Scott’s voice rang out loud and clear. Five clear thermal images were standing around him, including one in his arms.

Alan fumbled for the call button.

“F.A.B. Scott.”

“I’ll talk to him, Alan,” said Virgil. His eyes were focused beyond him, but Alan could read the quiet fury beneath the clear focus on his own piloting.

“I can’t do it, Virgil,” whispered Alan. “I must have done something wrong, there must have been something he could see that I couldn’t.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” interrupted Virgil.

“He never would have done this to…”

Alan’s voice failed him.

Twenty-two thousand miles below, Virgil choked back his own distress. Gordon was chewing at his lip, staring anxiously at Alan. He leaned forward so he was in view of the holo.

“Hey, Allie,” he said. “John’s gonna be okay. And he’ll be giving Scott hell for ignoring the modelling like that soon enough.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Absolutely, I do,” said Gordon, cracking a grin. “No way, John would let Scott get away with that crap. Not even if he had to haunt him for the rest of his life in ghostly fury to do it.”

“Is he wrapping up now?” asked Virgil, eyes still pinched.

Alan looked down at the display.

“Yeah, he’s on his way home.”

“Right. EOS?”

“Virgil?” Her quiet voice was sullen and more than a little distracted.

“Got room in your processors for another task?”

EOS’s lights flashed suddenly, and Alan’s blood ran cold at the sight. Three weeks he’d been stationed on board Thunderbird Five and he still found himself walking on eggshells around EOS. Her frustration at turning up nothing in the holonet that could lead them closer to John morphed quickly from long, silent sulks to short outbursts of flying bagels and spinning gravity rings. He’d never forgotten the sight of John floating limply like a rag doll that had been torn apart one too many times by a playful, thoughtless, destructive child.

An angry EOS felt too close to losing his brother for good.

“Will it help, John?”

“It’ll keep his brother alive, and that will make it more likely for us to find him.”

“What can I do?”

“Lock Scott out of his controls, Order TB2-5711FR. Make sure Alan gets to Tracy Island before him. Redirect all calls to local authorities in the first instance, follow Protocol 24.”

“I’m not leaving,” argued Alan. “Don’t pull me from duty, I can do better.”

“No arguments.”

Alan wilted, knowing he had no choice but to follow Virgil’s instructions.

“This is done, Virgil,” said EOS, blankly.

“Thank you, EOS,” said Virgil, his manner still stiff and terse. He shifted his gaze from the open ocean in front of him to Alan, his expression softening. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alan. If Scott takes his life into his own hands, that’s not on you. But we can’t have him in the field like that, cutting corners to get back to finding John. So, we need you down here in his place.”

“You can’t pull Scott,” said Alan, his eyes wide. “What would… well, what would Scott say?”

“We’re doing him a favour,” remarked Gordon with a sarcastic twist of his lips that made a mockery of his usual grin. “He wants to find John, we all do, but if he’s willing to risk lives and rescues to do it then he should put his energy into searching and we shouldn’t stop him.”

Alan swallowed, his eyes filling with tears that he angrily swiped away.

“Does he think we’re not looking just as hard?” he asked. “We haven’t forgotten him. Have we?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alan,” said Virgil, firmly. “John would have our heads before we put the possibility of finding him above the certainty of ignoring people who need our help.”

“So, we keep going out there,” agreed Gordon. “And when, when Allie, Kayo and Lady P and Parker find something, and they will, we’ll be right there without a moment to lose.”

“I just don’t want him to think we’ve forgotten him.”

“John’s too smart for that,” said Gordon. “Promise you, Allie.”

*                            *                            *

He’d worked it out. Every time he did something to anger the Hood, innocent people paid for it in blood. There was no point in harming him directly, not when what the Hood wanted was inside his mind, ripe for extraction. But his heart and spirit could be broken, as a video feed periodically forced itself over his work to make him watch. Earthquakes, landslides, tidal waves, anything that would get International Rescue on the scene and off his scent.

Senseless destruction and despair epidemic across the world because he couldn’t make an AI fast enough.

But senseless destruction that he could use.

There was no doubt in his mind that his family knew the natural disasters were anything but, he could see it in the determined fury in Scott’s face, in the tense draw of Virgil’s shoulders, in the sardonic mockery in Gordon’s smile as he quietly pocketed yet another piece of equipment.

He didn’t see Alan, and he thought of his baby brother up in space often. None of his brothers had any real idea of the full extent of his contribution, no matter how grateful they were for his guidance, and he hated to know Alan would be forced into that knowledge.

He also suspected that when Alan did spill the beans, he’d find his own rotations scrutinised with a lot more care.

Still, the limited glimpses of his brothers did nothing to discourage him, and he found himself contemplating a plan of escape well into the long, cold nights.

He needed more information.

He needed access to an external holonet connection. And the only way he’d get near one was with a working AI.

Or something that could pass for a few minutes as one.

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

The Maid Class Analysis

Maids are those who are often thought to only be a servant to those around them, answering to every beck and call that someone higher in authority than them gives. Rarely ever catching a break or being shown much respect, instead tending to play the role of a silent caretaker - a person meant to be seen rather than heard. When whatever job they have been assigned for the time being has been completed, they are often shunted aside, locked away in waiting until the next chore must be done by someone with such a delicate, skittish touch. Oftentimes Maids are those looked down upon - they are the underdogs who no one ever sings about, no one ever makes murals in their memory, rarely given the kindness and respect they so deeply deserve. 

Yet, it is also the Maid who is meant to be the one to keep order in one fashion or another. They are the ones who clean, after all - whether that cleaning is merely tidying up any dust or grime collected over the years, or the mess leftover by those surrounding the Maid. To be rather blunt, the Maid is one who is underappreciated, as well as underestimated in how large of a part they play in the groups they are a part of. Chances are that a Maid is the reason for countless important, largely defining moments for one or even several people they have come across. Maids leave impacts wherever they go, whether they realize this or not. Much like the scrubbing of a cloth against a wall, the bristles of a broom on a dirty floor, or the gentle feathers on a dusty desk - a Maid will always leave a mark wherever they depart from; good and bad alike.

Although some of what has been described may describe that of a typical, non-Classpect related Maid, those who are bound to this creation Class are ones who go through these similar struggles. The life of a Maid is rarely ever an easy one, as they often will face countless challenges along the way of - to be quite honest - their entire existence. One of the biggest defining struggles of a Maid is their Aspect itself. More specifically, the fact that their Aspect is something that has nearly consumed every last piece of the Maid’s world - themself included. While at first it may seem like a play-on-words for a Maid’s Classpect title to be “Maid of Aspect”, there is an unfortunate truth to such a label; one in which the Maid never truly agreed to in the first place. 

The Maid is one who has a seemingly endless supply of their Aspect to the point where it feels almost inescapable to the Maid themself if they ever wished to get away from it. Down to the Maid’s very own decision making - their Aspect is a weight placed on their back and shoulders from the exact moment they were born, and it is one that has rarely ever seemed to become lighter, no matter what they do. As much of their Aspect they have, it is rarely ever something that truly benefits the Maid. In fact, for some Maids, their Aspect is something that is extremely debilitating - an oppressive force that has its claws dug in deeply into the Maid’s heart and soul. Even an Aspect as seemingly beneficial as Space, Life, Breath, Blood, Light, etc. would have their own downsides to someone as unfortunate as the Maid.

They are someone who could be argued to be at constant war with their Aspect, one side always trying to dominate over the other since, if the Maid is not entirely careful, their Aspect could eventually overthrow them entirely - leaving only a lifeless husk of the Aspect to wander around and serve whoever calls their name. However, that is only one of the struggles that the Maid faces, yet there is no doubt that it is still one of the biggest and most difficult obstacles in their way. Unlike the Prince or Bard who seek to destroy their Aspect yet must instead learn how to destroy through it, or the Knight who must learn how to wield their Aspect like a shield or blade, the Maid is one must learn how to put the excessive amount of their Aspect to good use. Although it appears to be a force that only wishes to oppress and perhaps even damage the Maid, it is still up to them to figure out what exactly they wish to do with it. Unfortunately, they won’t ever be able to truly rid themselves of their Aspect, there is no doubting that. That doesn’t entirely mean they have to simply learn to live alongside such a lingering, almost oppressive force, though. There may be some Maids who do find a purpose for their Aspect, one way or another. 

Of course, there are the variety who don’t wish to even associate with it and may even be afraid to become accidentally, completely submissive to it. In these cases, they will most likely go with the option of ignoring or even running away from any and everything that has to do with their Aspect. Whether it is avoiding discussing it, places or locations that are filled with it, people who are linked to it, etc, there will always be the Maids who will merely try to rebel against it as much as they can. In a way, it could be seen as them running away from the duties and responsibilities tied into their Class. Maids are often a crucial part for any group that has been given the privilege of having one amongst them, after all.

Before heading into the powers of a Maid, and just how they can put the excessive amounts of their Aspect to good use, let’s take a moment to reflect on the social life of a Maid, as well as the overall personality this busy and bustling Class are known to have. Starting off, Maids are those who are quite dedicated to doing what is best - at least in when it falls under the light of what they deem to be the most important. If there is one thing Maids dislike, it is having their time and energy wasted on a job, person, or thing, especially if it all turns out to be pointless in the end. This is often because Maids can become extremely dedicated to anything, as well as anyone, that they put their mind to. Maids tend to enjoy working towards some type of goal, fulfilling a promise, making a dream into reality - these are often the things they will deem as far more important than anything else in their life. However, these things that a Maid views as being the most important and deserving of their care and attention will always take the top of their to-do list, pushing aside anything and anyone else closer towards the bottom. 

When a Maid has chosen to commit themself to a belief, individual, cause, group, task, or what have you, then they will do whatever they can to make sure the end product will always be one of perfection. Details are often a large priority for a Maid, especially when it comes to their own private or personal plans, projects, or otherwise creative endeavors. If there is one thing out of place or not exactly perfect, chances are it will be something that will fester and gnaw away at the Maid’s mind and emotional state until one of two things happen. They will either get to fully delve into their project, perfecting every last nook and cranny of it, or they will become fully enraged that their plan or project has not become the best it could be, and may even go as far as to tear apart or throw out whatever it was that they spent so long working on. Oftentimes, when a Maid puts in so much effort, energy, and time into a project, they inevitably begin to associate their very own worth with that project, seeing it as their sole purpose in life. As such, when their project is incapable of reaching such a state of perfection, what does that say about them? That they are not perfect, but rather flawed, and will never, ever be able nor allowed to reach such a state of perfection? 

As eager as Maids can be in regards to dedicating themselves to something, they are often just as quick to begin neglecting themselves if they deem their own health to be not as important as other chores, tasks, or even people. On the other hand, a Maid may be one to seek out ways to live their personal best life; one of luxury, peace, success, and so much more. In order to do so, however, they will often begin neglecting everything and everyone else around them - including their own Aspect. If they believe that their Aspect is truly holding them back, then they will often invite others to come and take their own bits and pieces of it, if only so that it will allow some temporary peace for the Maid. Little does the Maid know that this is one of the biggest, most self-destructive mistakes to make. That is something to be discussed later. As the Maid builds themself up to be a person of grand appearances, wealth, health, and more, they will only truly be able to achieve this by stepping on the toes, backs, and shoulders of other people and places around them. To simply put it, the Maid is one who could either become the most selfless person in the world, or the most selfish. 

No matter how a Maid may present themself towards the world or even the people they meet, it is best to keep in mind that, in life, there is always a weak point to even the grandest, most breath-taking structures. For the Maid, it should come as no surprise that it is their willingness to help anyone they deem worthy or in need of such care. Although some could merely say it is the friendships and relationships in the Maid’s life that is their weak point, that is a point which assumes every Maid has any relationships - real or otherwise - to speak of. In reality, Maids are those who will often have large, open hearts that tend to steer towards being caring souls. Every Maid has their own soft spot for at least one individual, whether they care to admit it or not. While there is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to help those who are in need of support, mending, or even love, there is a flaw in being a person so quick and eager to be the one who helps anyone who cries loud enough. Give a wild animal some food, and chances are it will come back. Give a person an inch, and they will eventually ask for another, then another, until they have claimed an entire mile. Allow someone into a section of your heart, showing them unconditional love and support, and chances are that someone will inevitably come around and ask for more than what they are already getting. To simply put, the Maid is one who is often a victim of being used by others - their kind, trusting, loving nature being seen as just another slab of rotting meat for vultures to swoop in and peck away at.

Maids will rarely often do anything about this, as their sympathy - or perhaps even empathy - is that which runs extremely deep; coursing through every vein in their body. The longer the Maid allows for such selfish souls to strip away all that they have and all that they are, hoever, and eventually the Maid will be left with nothing to give but the biggest part of their entire person: their Aspect. Yes, even the Aspect of the Maid can fall victim to being mistreated and even abused by those in the Maid’s life. If these vultures see a chance to have it, then they will stop at nothing to sink their talons into its metaphysical flesh, during which the Maid, too, shall suffer greatly. 

Even though the Maid may hold grievances towards their Aspect for all the trouble it has brought them, this force is still a fact of their personality that they simply cannot ignore forever nor allow it to be destroyed, stolen away from them, or manipulated into something it is not meant to be. Although Maids are capable of standing up for and taking care of themselves it’s their lack of confidence - or rather the fear of stepping out of line - that is often what holds them back. Rather, it is their submissive, conflict-avoidant nature that so often lands them in situations of mistreatment. When a Maid has had enough of such a thing, however, there is no doubt that the Maid will make quite the show of declaration that not only have they had enough, but that their services are now closed off to anyone; allies and enemies alike.

Within every songbird is a phoenix, waiting for the fires to come and unleash their true, untameable spirits. Within every Maid is a person waiting for the day where someone will repay their kindness and free them of their shackles. The company in which the Maid finds themself within is often wide and extremely diverse, if only because the Maid is someone who attracts people of all walks of life. Yet as many people as the Maid is happy to know, so comes the stress of having to figure out who is truly a friend and who is merely a wolf hiding amidst the shrouded masses of the Maid’s social group. After all, they are someone who is often prone to falling prey to the gnashing teeth and razor claws of monstrous people, and so it might be likely for them to develop a sense of anxiety or underlying trust issues towards the people around them. On the other hand, they may also be just as quick to dismiss all previous negative, toxic relationships as flukes, mistakes, small errors in their own judgement that will never, ever happen again. The Maid is meant to be perfect, are they not? No perfect being would ever allow such a silly thing to happen over, and over, and over, and over again. If there is anything the Maid is, it would be perfect with no flaws to speak of whatsoever. 

People who are aware of the Maid often are those who are either extremely eager to try and befriend, spoil, and care for the Maid, but there may be just as many who are off-putted and unnerved by the Maid, sometimes finding them, their mannerisms, or their ideologies and philosophies on anything to be perturbing or even downright upsetting. Just as well, there are others who are looking to only use them and their trusting, kind-hearted ways for selfish, twisted reasons that rest within such tainted hearts. Despite all of this, though, the Maid will typically, and simply, sit in the center of it all; appreciating and loving every last person to ever show them kindness and care. If there is one thing for certain amongst most, if not all, Maids, it is that they are more often than not complete and utter hopeless romantics in some fashion or another. Whether this means the poetic, literary type of romance; of love for the innocent, tender, far more natural ways of life, or maybe it is the emotional sense of romance that comes with some variation of attraction. Maids wish to dedicate themselves to something, but they will almost always be wanting to dedicate themselves to someone more than anything else.

When it comes to a group setting, Maids are often those who play a far more neutral role in everything that transpires amongst everyone else. Rarely, if ever, are they the ones to ever start something of great importance. If anything, they are the ones meant to see that everything plays out as it is meant to; maintaining order, coherence and appearance in the greater narrative of it all. If life is a play, then the Maid is often the set designer - the one who pushes every set piece, plot device, etc. into place. Whether this is done by their own want to do so, or if their hand is being forced by someone or something else, this is often something that depends on the Maid and whichever predicament they find themself within. No matter what, though, even when it seems that the Maid is the root cause of one plot point, positive, negative, or otherwise, it is quite likely that they were forced into such a position of center-stage-performance. A director, unseen, pulling the curtains back far too early or turning on a stagelight at the wrong moment. Do not take this as Maids being deemed as unimportant or even disposable, however. On the contrary, Maids are one of the most crucial parts for anything, as well as anyone, to function in a world full of plot holes and loose threads. It is merely that due to their title of Maid, others tend to downplay the dire importance in someone such as them. 

The biggest reason for the Maid’s importance is that of their powers - their abilities to affect and leave grand ripples in wherever they go and whoever they meet. There has often been some debate as to a Maid’s true powers for as long as they have been around. The two biggest powers that stand on the top is that of whether a Maid is one who creates their Aspect, or creates through it, or if they are those who heal their Aspect, or heal through it. Their counterpart Class, Sylph, is one that has been noted to have healing properties. As such, would it not make sense for the Maid to have such powers, as well? Well, personally speaking, the powers of the Maid are much like that of a Knight: far more completed when one tries to put them down on paper. The powers of the Maid are that of someone who creates their Aspect while also capable of healing it, or they can create through their Aspect so that they may heal through it. 

Quite a mouthful, as well as seeming quite convoluted, no? If one were to wish to shorten it or make it far easier to read, then the Maid’s powers are that of merely creating their Aspect, or creating through it. Nevertheless, the reason for this extensive conclusion is merely one question that seemed to pop up when personally pondering the powers of this Class: what is, ultimately, the difference between creating and healing? Is healing not the process of creating something better than before, building up from the rubble of what has been soiled and destroyed? Is creating not healing an empty space where something once was, only to be torn out one way or another?

Let’s take a step back and revisit the fact that Maids are ones whose kind, loving natures are often taken advantage of - used and abused by those far more cruel and selfish in this world. When the Maid, or any of their true friends for that matter, is incapable of keeping their Aspect - and therefore themself - safe from the talons and jagged beaks of those who seek to consume all the Maid has to offer, what will ultimately be left of it; of them? Tatters, ragged clothes, bruises, tears - bloodied and forgotten by those who only sought to tear down the Maid and take away all that they are. A broken person in an even more broken world, with their Aspect left in shreds. 

As much as the Maid may hold hesitance and perhaps even ill-feelings towards such an ingrained part of themself, it would be no different to hating one’s own hands, or their legs, or even their lungs or heart. Their Aspect is as big a part of the Maid, as well as everyone else around them. Because of this,  is just as vulnerable as any other part of these mortal, organic coils. Who is to be the one, then, to come forward and mend what has broken? Who is to be the one who takes charge and heals what has been harmed; to create, heal, and restore balance not only within themself but wherever else the Maid’s Aspect may lie? After all, a Maid’s Aspect is something that completely defines them and their actions just as much as it is a fog that lingers upon everything they encounter throughout their life.

Maids are creators first and foremost, whether it is taking their Aspect - or what is left of it - and creating more of it so as to not only benefit themself but the world around them, or they create through their Aspect, honing in on all of its properties, perspectives, and forms so as to build, restore, and configure whatever they wish or need. The idea that Maids are healers is merely an offshoot of their creative powers, which can occasionally have secondary healing effects on those who are touched by the Maid. A Maid may restore the Hope within another person via creating it, but some could see this as the Maid healing that person’s Hope directly. It is an extremely thin line that the powers of the Maid walk upon, always teetering towards one definition over the other. 

This balancing act is why, personally speaking, Maids will be remarked as those who create their Aspect, or create through it, as their primary power. Any possible healing that comes from these acts of creation is uncommonly an accident, though some may try to claim it more as a miracle than anything else. Let’s not forget, as well, the questions brought up before and their core themes: what is truly the difference between creating and healing? Does the difference truly even matter? For some, yes, it does, but for others, they may be just fine accepting this idea that thematically and in regards to action, there truly is very little that separates the two of them.

As for the journey in which the Maid would go about unlocking these powers, that can become quite an elaborate tale to tell. To give a brief summary here, the Maid’s journey to unlocking their powers is often one of great pain, loss, and suffering that will always force the Maid out of their comfort zone - if they even had one to begin with. To further elaborate, the Maid is one whose life is one marked with struggles, internal or otherwise. Ever since the Maid takes their very first breath of air, their Aspect will latch onto and embed itself throughout the entire Maid’s mind, body, and soul. One could argue that the Aspect is like that of a parasite to the Maid, always taking, taking, and taking, yet rarely ever giving anything back to the Maid. What can be said about this argument is how that is only a slightly accurate description of the relationship between a Maid and their Aspect. If the question being begged in one’s mind is ‘well then, what is the relationship’, one might be slightly disappointed to hear that, as is often the case, it simply depends on the Maid and their circumstances. Ultimately, the relationship between them is an extremely complicated one, but there will always be one thread that runs throughout all of these cases; the ever-looming threat of being totally and utterly consumed by one’s Aspect.

Much akin to Heirs, Maids are those whose Aspects are extremely difficult to shake off. Unlike Heirs, however, who simply drift ever closer to the blackhole that is their Aspect, the Maid is one who has already fallen into some sense of servitude to their Aspect. It is already a force that controls almost everything in their life, whether it is seen in a Maid of Void constantly being overlooked or left with countless secrets, or a Maid of Hope being shoved into a box of rules, standards, and laws for them to play by, or surrounded by countless people, places, and things related to faith and beliefs. The Aspect to a Maid is ever-present, almost to a suffocating extent, and it is one that rarely ever benefits the Maid directly. If anything, the Aspect of a Maid is a force that only seeks to bring torment, harm, and perhaps even death to such an unwilling victim of circumstances. 

Yet as much as their Aspect is something that seeks to harm them, and as much as the Maid may come to despise their Aspect, neither of them could truly exist without the other. At the end of the day, though, a Maid’s Aspect is that which seemingly only wishes to envelop the Maid, making them into a vessel only meant to carry out and fulfill tasks related to their Aspect. This is something that often terrifies Maids, and, as such, they may try to seek out ways to handle such a ravenous beast.

Perhaps some Maids subconsciously seek out destructive people; those who will rip and tear and use up all the resources and energy the Maid has to offer, their Aspect included. Maybe it is simply an unfortunate side effect of their naive, far too loving and kind nature. No matter what, though, there will inevitably come a handful of times throughout the Maid’s life where their gentle, near submissive, way of socializing will be taken hold and advantage of. This will come to happen until, finally, the core of their very being has been revealed for all to see, and the Maid’s Aspect will be shown no mercy. The brightest flower, the freshest and most succulent fruit, the most healthy, bountiful soil, and the most tender of meat is that which will always be torn apart and ravaged the most when it comes to those selfish souls. 

Although the Maid may have thought it good that their Aspect will finally be chopped down like an invasive plant entangling them, suffocating them, a horrific discovery would be awaiting them. As their Aspect is savagely and haphazardly used and abused, exhausted and ragged from a never-ending crescendo of everyone wanting to get their own sliver of Breath, or of Mind, or of Light, there would come a point where the Maid would realize that once all their Aspect has gone, they will have nothing left to offer to those around them. If the Maid were to truly allow for all pieces of their Aspect to be ripped away from them and consumed by these wolves and vultures, then what would be their purpose? Who would see any point in keeping the Maid as a companion if they cannot dazzle everyone with their Aspect and what it holds? Moreover, who would the Maid even be without their Aspect? Who is a Maid if not their entire Aspect, flaws and everything?

If they are to survive, then the Maid cannot allow their hatred and rivalry with their Aspect to persist. As much as it has tried to destroy them - to overtake them and make into a husk - such a similar fate is what awaits the Maid if they are to have every last part of their Aspect picked clean from their soul. The two of them are one in the same - two forces who oppose yet must continue to coexist with one another; especially if neither wishes to be left with a longing sense of emptiness. Because of this, the Maid must not only learn how they and their Aspect can coexist with another, but also how to save both forces from being destroyed for good.

Although some of the Maid’s friends played a part in this act of self defamation, it will also be the Maid’s friends who will help them and their Aspect not only become whole again, but, ultimately, become one. Indeed, the Maid must first learn how they can help to restore their Aspect - create it so as to help fill in the gaping spaces that lack its presence - before learning how to create through it. There are many Maids who see such a long-winded journey as far too daunting, and so they often abide by the ways of only ever creating and restoring their Aspect. For as powerful as it may sound, there still lies that underlying tension and fear of losing themself in their very own Aspect. After all, in order for them to create through their Aspect, they essentially have to swear themself over to its whims, ways, and wires, becoming synchronized and aligned with one another to allow peak performance of power to occur. 

However, those who hide and run away from such power will never be able to truly unlock their full potential, even when it comes to their base powers of creating their Aspect. Never will they be able to fully heal, create, or restore what has been lost of their Aspect, not if they don’t fully submit to it. Even the Maids who know this and still choose not to are often content as is when it comes to their powers. Perhaps it is because they still hold a grudge to those who hurt them, and as such see no reason as to why they should make such a grand sacrifice for a few saps who most likely would never do the same in return. Who is to say other than the Maid themself? Who is to say even the Maid knows the reason for this defiance.

At the end of the day, the base power to create their Aspect is one meant to heal their Aspect. Oftentimes, though, they do end up playing the role of a healer to those around them, as well. The longer the Maid creates and heals their Aspect, the more they will come to realize how truly important they are to not only the people around them, but in the grander schemes of everything, as well. 

By creating their Aspect, the Maid is one who manages to maintain the balance needed for everything, and everyone, to function and grow. They are the ones who make certain every last domino falls, exactly as it needs to be. Whenever there is a hole to be filled, chances are that the Maid will do that job well, if only in a rather arbitrary and seemingly convoluted way of doing so. Such a thing is not uncommon for Maids, though, as they do often show themselves to be either victims of outside forces - often ones far out of their own control - or they are ones who orchestrate such a thing; going against the grain as they see fit. 

Their minds are ones of grand creativity, and their powers are ones most certainly meant to accentuate such a trait. Even if a Maid never ventures further on their path of creation, even the base power of creating their Aspect is one that can surely evolve into something extremely grandiose. A Maid of Doom capable of wiping out or rooting away a hundred mile radius of any life with a wave of their hand, a Maid of Breath creating a storm so disastrous it could rip away entire mountains, or even a Maid of Hope who can bring back a lawful and justified balance; soothing whatever rageful beasts may be surrounding them. The Maid and their Aspect have always meant to work side by side, beneficiaries to one another; when such synchrony has even been partially fulfilled, the Maid is one who can prove themself to be quite the daunting force to behold.

Once the Maid has proven themself well equipped in their power of creation, so will come the moment where they can decide whether they wish to further their power or not. To become one with their Aspect, to create through it, is a power not many Maids may wish to partake in as spoken of before. However, for the ones who do take up this challenge, knowing the risks that may come in their possible failure, they are the ones who will not only truly know their Aspect, but will act as a type of ambassador for it. They will represent all that their Aspect is - the good, and the bad - in order to become one of the finest creators of their time.

By creating their Aspect, there may come a time where the Maid finds themself to once again have an excessive amount of it. It is through this excess that the Maid will find their power of creating through it; honing in on what has bubbled over the brim of the pot, the Maid will be able to create whatever they wish from such concentrated amounts of their Aspect. Through stardust itself, a Maid of Space could create what they wish - or what they need, a Maid of Mind could use their ability to foresee consequences of actions to create the ultimate battle strategy, or a Maid of Time could create a perfectly synced series of events across countless timelines; dominoes falling until they make the final push that allows for the Alpha Timeline to continue pushing forward.

To create through one’s Aspect is to use all that is, was, and ever will be to one’s advantage. However, much like their base power of simply creating their Aspect, these actions tend to have an odd offshoot, or rather side effect, of healing to them. When a Maid creates their Aspect, they may unknowingly be healing someone that they never even considered to be in need of such a service. The same goes for the Maids who create through their Aspect, though this can be one on a far broader, or perhaps even more personal, scale. After all, when creating through one’s Aspect, it is often an action that requires a more direct approach from the Maid. No longer do they sweep the halls or dust the artifacts of a castle, but they now have a far better say as to what happens in the castle; they have more control over it. Although they will never reach the levels of control that a Muse or Lord holds over the castle that is their Aspect, they most certainly are ones who hold the ability to come close to such power.

The role of a Maid is one of great importance, yet also one often looked over. They are the ones who help to bring and maintain balance in a group, no matter how many conflicts seem to threaten the stability of it all. Although such a task is one that often calls upon their powers of creation to be used, and still be given very little reward for their efforts, such a fact is one that the Maid can learn to live with. Of course, there may be moments of hot-headedness from the Maid when it comes to their efforts of healing and creating being unacknowledged, but so is often the life of the Creative Classes. After all, some of the best creators are those who were rarely truly appreciated during their time of life.

A Maid is a healer, creator, and a cleaner. They are meant to fix what has been broken, polish what has become rusted, grimy, or smudged, and, most importantly, love what has been neglected. Their Aspect was once left in such a state of disrepair, and the Maid is not one afraid to admit that it was by their own hand. Becoming lost in pettiness, hatred, and fear is often problem the Maid is known to have. It is only when they enter such a state of mind that not only themself, but other things and peoples around them will begin to truly suffer and descend into a state of disarray. After all, when the bringer of balance no longer does their job, who is going to be the one to look after the castle and the people who reside in its kingdom? Perhaps the Knight, though they are most certainly not ones meant to clean things up.

No, a group without a Maid, or at least one who does not play their part, is most certainly a group destined to be filled with many moments of internal and external strife, complications, and struggles. Considering the nature of the Maid, and how people are often drawn towards them, chances are that the Maid will most likely find at least one or a few people within the group worth the time and energy in healing whatever they lack of the Maid’s Aspect. After all, even the most stubborn Maids will always have their weak points - those bleeding hearts inside of their chests - and there will always be the people they simply cannot say no to, for better or for worse.

Ultimately, though, a Maid is someone who merely looks towards doing the right thing - even if that “right thing” holds questionable morals in order to achieve it. Maids can be excellent friends and allies to have, primarily due to their dedicated nature. While at first they may have been more than ready to put someone in front of themself and their Aspect, the Maid has learned through all of the hardships and trauma from such self-destructive actions that, truly, if one wishes to be the change in other people’s lives, or even the world, they must first change how they treat themself, flaws and everything. They have learned that in order to see the true value and worth in everything and everyone, they must first value themself and their Aspect.

Once they manage to climb over this obstacle that is their hatred and/or fear of their Aspect, they will manage to see the good in not only it, but also themself. When they achieve this state of realization will they be allowed to begin their own journey of personal healing. Such a journey will be long, and at times seemingly treacherous. As long as the Maid keeps to the path that they set forth themself, then it will be their true self that will be there to greet them. When they shake hands, they will finally become the mystical, magical mender they were born to be. For it is not the Witch who sews the clothes and relationships when they have become torn and ragged, it is not the Bard who keeps everything in order and equally distributed, and it is not the Thief who is capable of restoring what once seemed lost and forgotten. No, it is the Maid who does this, and it is why they are one of the most important players out of any of them.

[ineedglasses]

VK Character Analysis: Rido Kuran

Rido is a complete, messed up, SOB, but I still like him as a character because he is simply such a fun villain. If I were to place him in that alignment chart thing, he would be “chaotic evil” without a doubt.

While he is generally seen as a creepy, sister-obsessed, maniac, I really believe he was different earlier in his life. 

This analysis is based off the Rido we see in the manga and the light novel, NOT the Rido in the anime, since the anime was trash and deviated from the manga when it came to his arc. Anyway, at the start of the post, I will go over the info from the light novel and manga, next will be my headcanons of him as a young man and at the end is my interpretation of him when he was crazy, as we see him in the original series.

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The Deranged Love story in the Fleeting Dreams light novel talks about Rido’s obsession with Juri and gives some info on their past. However, when compared to the original VK series there are several points that don’t add up, and some parts of the light novel simply make no sense.

First, Both VKM and the light novel mention that Rido killed his parents and presumably devoured them to take their powers. That makes sense, it seems like something he would do. What doesn’t make sense to me is the timeline. When exactly did he kill his parents? 

All the light novel tells us is that he killed them immediately after they engaged him to Shizuka. Is this around the time Haruka and Juri got married? I always assumed Haruka and Juri have been married for a while, like at least 1000 years. If this is the case, within that time period, how can they not notice that their parents are dead and that their brother killed them? 

Or does their murder occur closer to the time Juri got pregnant? But this doesn’t make sense either because Rido referred to Shizuka as a “small child” when he killed his parents, and by the time Juri was pregnant with Yuki’s real brother, Shizuka was probably already at least one or two thousand years old. Unless Shizuka is much younger than we thought? So when exactly Rido kills his parents is quite the mystery.

Secondly, How did he kill his parents? 

I assume the older a pureblood, the more powerful they are. So how can he, by himself, kill his parents, both of whom are older and more powerful than him? I doubt his dad was a weakling because as former king of vampires, he should be quite powerful. In the light novel, it seems his parents were already wary of him and wanted to keep him away from Juri. Thus they wouldn’t completely let their guard down around him. And its not like Rido could carry around a hunter sword with him without it being noticed. Even if he was carrying something small like a dagger, his parents should have been able to overwhelm him in a fight since its 2 vs 1. 

Kaname has commented that “purebloods have equal powers, so they would only exhaust each other in battle”; basically it is hard to kill another pureblood unless you have some advantage (e.g. Shizuka being already wounded by Zero’s hunter gun). So the only logical way Rido can kill his parents is if he catches them off guard, such as when they are taking a centuries long slumber in the family mausoleum, basically doing what Sara did to Hanadagi. 

Thirdly, another point that makes no sense is that Rido in the light novel says:

“My parents had taken my precious Juri far away from me and made it so that we could never meet.” 

How exactly did his parents take Juri away and stop them from ever meeting again? Send her abroad with no intention of ever letting her return? And yet the manga clearly contradicts that, because Rido is still in contact with Haruka and Juri, he was there to see their firstborn baby!

Fourthly, this is a small detail that has always irked me: In the manga, when Yuki’s brother peed on him, Rido mentions that he used to change his siblings’ diapers when they were babies. 

However the light novel kind of contradicts that, because young Rido upon being called in to meet his baby sister says: “I will confess that newborns seemed very uninteresting to me at that time”; does this sound like an older brother that would change his younger siblings’ diapers? It sounds like a guy who would leave baby care to the nannies and stay far away from soiled diapers. 

Finally, we get to the biggest illogical point in the light novel: Rido was a psychopath that just randomly developed an obsession upon seeing the newborn Juri.

“ It was in that moment – somewhere in the depths of my being – something abruptly flared to life. […] I was overwhelmed by the urge to devour her.”

No normal person just out of the blue feels the urge to consume a baby, only crazy people do. The rest of the light novel story continues depicting Rido as a psychopath. Their parents notice there is something wrong with their son because the mom slaps Rido and starts to keep him away from Juri. Adding on to this portrayal of him as batshit crazy, after he (somehow) kills his parents, he says the following:

“That’s what you get for getting in my way, you naughty things…” 

LOL, who in their right mind would call their parents “naughty things”?

My issue is this: I highly doubt Rido was crazy from the start, because it would make no sense. If Rido was crazy, how the hell could Juri and Haruka not have noticed for over 3000 years?! Even the dumbest person would get a clue that their brother was crazy after just 30 years, much less 3000 years. They trusted him enough to let him hold their baby, so they clearly believed Rido was not crazy. There is no way that Juri and Haruka were that stupid and blind. Thus, I doubt that Rido was crazy at the start of his life. So, this aspect of the light novel is just total BS to me.

IF Rido really was crazy from the start, then his mom and dad were bad parents. Yes, it makes sense to keep Juri away from Rido if he really were a psychopath, but their other actions were just extremely irresponsible and selfish. If you know your son is dangerous, maybe you should address this issue properly. After all, he is a pureblood and if you don’t deal with the problem, there will be huge repercussions for everyone given the destructive powers of purebloods. 

But instead of taking their son to see a mental health professional like any decent parent would do, Papa and Mama Kuran decided to solve the problem by engaging him off to a “tiny child”. I’m no parenting expert, but I’m sure if your son has mental issues, you definitely should NOT marry him off to any girl. Even if they didn’t get him some help, they should have at least locked him up like Shizuka to ensure he didn’t harm anyone... but they just let him roam free.

If this is the extent of their problem-solving ability, then it’s for the best that they ended the monarchy because they must have been cruddy rulers. But who knows, I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe they believed the “tiny child” they chose for him has a PhD in psychology and can provide their son with the help he clearly needs. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, I consider the light novel to be only pseudo-canon since it was inspired by Hino but written by someone else (Ayuna Fujisaka), so I will just ignore the parts that don’t make sense and keep the parts that do.

                                                              XXX

This following section is what I believe Rido to have been like when he was a (sane) young man, based on the info in the manga and the few bits that do make sense in the light novel.

Since Rido was the oldest son and born in a time when the Kurans were still the ruling family, he probably grew up with a lot of pressure and expectations as he was the crown prince. Given these conditions, he was most likely serious and hardworking, doing his best to live up to those expectations and preparing to be the next king (kinda like Eins in The Royal Tutor LOL).

He was also probably a bit older than Haruka and Juri (because according to the manga he has experience changing their diapers and taking care of them). And since he was probably busy with his princely duties, he did not spend a bunch of time with his siblings and thus Haruka and Juri were naturally closer to one another than Juri was to him. She probably saw him a respected older brother but not as reachable and easy to connect to as Haruka.

Rido was probably arrogant, possessive, and entitled even at the start (though at much milder levels than towards the end), which makes sense given his background. Not only was he a pureblood, but the crown prince too. And since he was prince, he probably had to deal with the dog-eat-dog world of politics from a young age, so that probably made him more cynical and darker than his siblings who had much less pressure and responsibility. It would almost be shocking if he was a humble and kind person instead.

Anyway, according to the custom of primogeniture, both the throne and Juri should have been his. Since it was tradition of the Kurans to marry their siblings, it only makes sense that as the oldest son and legitimate heir, he was the one that Juri should have married. Yet for whatever reason, their dad decided to end the monarchy, which must have been a huge blow to Rido who spent his whole life preparing to be the next king. He probably drove himself to despair questioning why and if there was something wrong with him that his father would pull such a move.

Then Rido probably got another big slap to the face: Juri choosing to marry Haruka instead of him, with his parents probably giving them their blessings. So not only has he lost the throne, he also lost the fiancée that should have been his according to precedent. And Juri choosing Haruka probably made Rido lose face among their society, since people would naturally wonder why Juri spurned tradition and married the second son instead.

(Actually, it wouldn’t matter if the monarchy getting dissolved took place first or if Juri choosing Haruka took place first, the point is both happened and it screwed him up.)

Rido most likely didn’t love Juri, but simply believed he did. He probably conflated Juri with what he lost/ what should have been his by birthright and became unhealthily obsessed with the idea of her. It didn’t help that the one Juri chose was Haruka, who we know has a mild and kind personality. To someone like Rido, those are traits probably considered “weak”, and thus he probably never thought of Haruka as his rival. Therefore, the fact that he lost to Haruka of all people shocked him, and there might have been some anger and sorrow at being betrayed by a sibling. So anyway, Rido’s emotions as well as his ego got clobbered.

But fate is not done with him yet! His parents most likely decided to engage him to Shizuka “without his consent” around the time that Haruka and Juri got engaged/married. They might have rushed to engage him off to whoever was available at that time (unluckily for Shizuka it happened to be her), hoping to get him out of the way of his siblings’ happiness. Rido probably was pissed, since not only does he not get to choose his new fiancée, the one chosen for him hails from a clan with a history of supposedly going insane, instead of someone with a less problematic pedigree. His parents really doing him dirty lol.

I think he really had some deep-rooted problems with his parents. Sometimes parents just don’t like their child, because of personality and ideological differences…Anyway, they were definitely in a strained relationship which would explain why Rido could go so far to kill his own parents and feel no guilt over it.

                                                                XXX

Finally, towards the end of his life he really just lost it.

Rido probably tried to keep up appearances and act like everything is okay and that his world is not falling apart, thus allowing Juri and Haruka to still trust him. But over the years he just stewed in his anger against his parents, his siblings and the world in general and turned into a very bitter and hateful person on the inside. And although he probably tried to suppress his growing darkness, his bad traits got amped up while his better traits died. It was probably extremely infuriating for him to see his siblings so happy in their pink glittery world while he himself was drowning in darkness.

(Even Kaien was annoyed by Haruka and Juri’s “pink world”, imagine an already salty and bitter Rido seeing this type of scene for centuries and just frothing with rage on the inside LOL)

So Rido became a sadistic ass towards the end, taking his anger out on people that have nothing to do with it. He tried to make Shizuka miserable and force her to be docile and had no luck with that but succeeded in breaking Senri’s mom and driving the poor woman crazy. Though if you think about it, in a way he did succeed in breaking Shizuka too… he caused her lover’s death and when she lost her lover, she basically lost her will to live.

Hino showed how talented Rido is at antagonizing others. While he possessed Senri, he intentionally hurt Senri’s body to toy with Takuma.

Even after his death, his dregs were tormenting Kaname by pointing out all his inner concerns, taunting Kaname about how he has no hope left. 

In VKM, Yuki mentions Rido as someone “with overwhelming desires that only plunge the world around [him] into misery.” Overall, Rido probably got his giggles by making others miserable.

Besides getting high off ruining the lives of other people, he was just a bastard in general. He used everyone around him as tools, even his own sons. Unlike Shizuka or Kaname, he did not care about his subordinates at all, to him they were just “appetizers” and expendables. He also had zero reservations about forcing lower vampires to submit to his will.

Anyway, Rido probably was already a bitter jackass but he really snapped when he found out Juri was pregnant and would start a happy little family with Haruka. Maybe he was idiotically holding onto hope that as long as Juri didn’t have a kid, he still had a chance? Regardless, it was at that point that he gave up any vestiges of humanity he had left and decided to just pursue power instead.

With no hope left he just decided to give in to his primitive instincts and lust after power, at the expense of family ties. In a way, he might have felt betrayed by his family, and reasoned with himself that unlike the throne and Juri, at least power won’t be stolen away.

BTW, I think his decision to sacrifice Yuki’s real brother to ancestor Kaname was spontaneous and not premeditated. After all, crazy people are unlikely to plan things in advance and just do as their whims dictate...

Maybe it came to him right when he stared at Juri holding her newborn. 

“It’s such irony that this baby was named ‘Kaname’ like you. That’s what got me started thinking of this.”

Because his plan (if he had one) sucked. He should have known that the famished, revived ancestor would attack him, since the blood of a tiny baby was clearly not enough. And yet he made no preparations to fend off such an attack and ended up getting drained by Kaname.

As a side note, Haruka could have killed Rido right then, when Rido was badly wounded by ancestor Kaname. 

But he didn’t, and chose to have Rido imprisoned by the Senate instead. Haruka should have known that Rido would never give up on destroying his family as long as he lived, so the logical thing would have been to kill him. Even Rido mentions this later when he returned for Yuki.

While Haruka’s pacifist nature played a part in this, I think he also restrained himself from giving in to vengeful rage partly out of the fact that they are family, and more likely out of guilt. Perhaps Haruka had always felt guilty for marrying Juri and realized that he was partly responsible for driving Rido insane.

Anyway, Rido crossed the line by killing a helpless baby and basically burned all his bridges. At this point he didn’t really give any fucks anymore. 

Asato mentions how Rido was like a child, even though he has lived so long. I think the analogy fits, because Rido acted like a child throwing a tantrum, trying to destroy everything and doing whatever he pleased with no regard for consequences or others.

In a sense, like Shizuka, Rido had already lost his will to go on living. The only thing keeping him hanging on was the need to lash out. Even though he acted like he was pursuing greater power, aiming to consume Kaname and Yuki to become more powerful, he wasn’t actually trying. 

If he was serious, he would not have gotten easily distracted, suddenly deciding to have Yuki replace Juri instead of continuing with the plan to devour her. Rido also didn’t bother trying to fight seriously at the end and Zero comments on this.

Otherwise Zero and Yuki together could not have beaten him, given how Rido is much older/powerful and consumed at least 2 other purebloods. Even Sara said that Rido was acting foolishly reckless, saying he was just having fun.

                                                             XXX

Overall, given this interpretation of Rido, I actually feel bad for him. I believe that he drove himself crazy wondering why his parents ended the monarchy instead of letting him be the next king, and wondering why Juri chose Haruka over him. Those questions probably haunted him for centuries.

That feeling that you tried your best, did everything you were supposed to, but still ended up with nothing is something I can relate to. Sometimes one just wants to watch the world burn given how unjust life usually is (even though logically we know it is wrong to feel this way). So yeah, these are my headcanons and analysis of Rido, who I prefer to see as a deeper/more interesting character than just a sis-con psychopath LOL.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Happy new year everyone 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

I know 2020 has been hard for everyone.

And I want everyone to know, suffering isn't a contest and we all suffer in different ways. But I feel I should give my year in Review. Just some things that happened to me personally.

This was an intense, and long and spiritual and emotional journey for me...

I really discovered what it meant to have community, family and what my life means to me.

But I feel I need to get this in writing cause I can remember the year with vivid detail and I will probably forget if I don't get it down.

Do I have to share this publically online to my tumblr account for a bunch of strangers to see? not really.

Do I want to?

Yes. I think so. Just from how so many people on tumblr and real life have touched me.

This is kinda long and no one needs to read this.

(idk how to do a readmore on mobile. But this is where I would add it later. No one needs to read if they don't want to.)

January/February: (and some background on the last five years of my life cause.....well. it's important.)

As people knew, I got way into Invader Zim last summer. I spent most of my waking life working a dead end job at a grocery store. I lived a sad lonely life, going straight home to a single dark studio apartment. With not many material possessions outside of games, my laptop and my tablet to my name. Half of my material loves, such as home furnishings and books were still in boxes from when I moved in. In case I ever had to move again, or get some "big screenshot or copywriter" job in the city.

....

I lived in that city in the same dead end job and apartment for five years.

No friends. No social life. I often refused to make doctor appointments or attempt to establish myself in that city. I didn't even talk to anyone in my workplace.

Work. Go online. Go to sleep.

I lived like that for five years.

I thought it was good.

Even my therapist thought I was doing well.

When I really wasn't. My main character flaw I struggle with is motivation.

I can talk to someone about very detailed plans I have to fix a problem... But I tend to never follow through.

Just because I can describe in detail how to fix my personal problems, it doesn't mean I will do it.

(I have gotten better at this but it's a major struggle)

I might have been a Zombie during the day...

But by night I was pouring my soul into my AU and my analysis.

After being so thoughly ignored or overlooked by the Naruto fandom and the Undertale fandom, I felt like I had finally found my home and was settling into a community there.

I just loved that people loved what I had to say.

Especially my AU.

It's no secret that a lot of themes in my au revolve around found family, grief, and loss.......

Fatherhood, in particular.

What it means to be a father, how much do you need to try when you mess up, how willing should a child forgive their parent, especially those that have wronged you and how much of it is factually accurate and simply a self projection of what children want their parents to be and visa versa... What amount of forgiveness and change is nessasary...is it needed?

....

It's no secret that a lot of my AU is a giant coping mechanism for my Dad's death. Espessially the falling out and growing closer with a lot of my family members throughout the years following his death. (Most of the time I keep it ambiguous to how it relates to my personal life unless I include a readmore that states so outright. I feel my au can be enjoyed by a variety of people in the fandom who don't need to know me as a person or my life story.)

My Dad passed away in 2016 in February and my family still feels the aftershocks to this day.

It's part of the reason I moved to the city, alienated myself from my family and people that loved me and refused to experience life for five years.

My entire world was Zim, and I was okay.

March: When America finally realized and started to feel the effects of the pandemic....

A lot of people got scared.

Me included.

I didn't have any streaming services or access to the news. So I only heard accounts from my mom.

I didn't understand why the store was so dead quiet and empty for a few days, then it went into mass chaos and panic in the span of two days.

It felt like Retail black friday in the worst way. Everyone was packed like sardines. Everyone was yelling. The lines at the registers bled into the clothing department.

I was witness to customers shoving others for toilet paper, being rude to cashier's and just overall unpleasantness.

At the time, I didn't even fully grasp what the pandemic was, and I feel a lot of people at the time didn't either.

I ended up absentmindedly scratching my eyebrow in front of a customer and she screamed and villanised me for it. That they didn't want groceries touched by my "unclean hands"

I ended up breaking down into tears.

The customer behind me gave me a hug and told me I was doing a great job.

But the damage was done. It was the final straw, I couldn't stop crying and I was breaking apart.

Thankfully my Boss (the one who likes me) pulled me aside and asked what's wrong.

It was then that I quit. No notice. Same day. I had to get out of there.

I was planning to move to an apartment with my sister in the summer, but my Mom offered for me to move back in with her temperarily just so I can get out of the city and away from the pandemic.

So I did.

I got scared, broke my lease a month early and quit my job of five years that gave me nothing back.

He told me, "take care of yourself and your family, I won't keep you here, do what you need to do."

So I did.

April-June:

A very eventful few months.

My mom offered for me to live at her place, but for some reason she was acting like I would live there forever. That this wasn't a temporary arrangement, and that I didn't have an apartment set up already.

This was in large part to my sister, who had lived with my mom taking advantage of her for years.

Even though my sister and I were going to move in together, I was just never sure about it cause of how she never packed her stuff or made any effort to find a job.

My mom often acted like I was lazy and not searching and was treating me like... Well, an unruly teenager instead of a woman of 29 years. She acted like I was a failure for returning home when it was her idea in the first place.

I would have just been petrified in the city.

Like usual, I retreated to my au again.... And in the spring, something eventful happened.

In may, 8th 2020:

I was invited by @rissynicole to join an invader zim discord.

Now, I've never really used discord before. I always thought it's interface is too confusing.. and I'm a member of a few other iz discords and I usually don't follow them that closely.

Rissy assured me it was different cause some friends of thiers made it and it was smaller.

Before I knew it, I was sharing memes and getting to know everyone there.

It wasn't long after I invited my partner in IZ crimes, @paketdimensioncomic who was genuinely wary of iz servers due to a bad experience with the last one they were a part of.

But soon they were sharing memes and laughing with everyone else.

My eyes were starting to open and I was able to connect to fans of my work in an interpersonal way. And I was able to discover new artists and aus I never knew about.

I was also able to meet so many others of the community and invite them to the server myself.

The moo-ping 10 server kept me sane while I was living with my judgmental mother.

Not only that, the summer was very productive for my au.

Drawing was all I did, and it was a huge break from the job as a cashier I had.

Not only that, June came, and with it, me and Ceph's first collab fic:

A result of us just going back and forth in our DMs constantly about Professor Membrane and how he changed in ETF for the better and how much we adamantly stan "trying-to-be-a-good-dad-brane" and how much of his ETF development has to be implied off screen in order for the emotional resolution in the movie to matter.

The only reason I never professed my love for Membrane as a character in the fandom before the fic dropped was.... Well....

Membrane can be a decisive character in the fandom and I was so worried people would hate me if I did an analysis on him, simply because he's not the best parent in the world. (As an understatement)

Ceph and I really encouraged each other to scream our love for the science himbo loud and proud more frequently and so often.... I actually start to see less Membrane hate posts and breakdowns then their used to be.... I like to think it's a combination of Me and Ceph's influence, along with ETF and the Quarterly's painting Membrane in a slightly more nuanced light then he was previously.

I never wrote a collab fic before and it's such a rewarding and fun and unique experience that I don't think I'll ever have again. And I love working with Ceph on our fics so much.

So much so we did it again...

July-August:

I never thought I would be one of those people who writes NSFW IZ fic... But here I am.

The Brainbrane au started.... An au of my au where Membrane and the Computer fall in love and Membrane makes him a body.

This ship was based around the idea where we joked that Membrane and Zim's Computer would have funny interactions if they ever met, under the pretense Membrane thinks Computer is Zim's parent.

Our headcanons morphed and shifted until we just full blown started shipping them.

Just because Membrane and Zim's Computer have overall REALLY entertaining chemistry.

It's a character dynamic never seen in the show or comics (yet) and I imagine thier interactions to be nothing but entertaining banter.

The fic was also born from spite... Making fun of the troupes and cliches that we found personally destestible in some questionable zadr fics.

So an angry ace and a demi-bisexual collab on a porn and end up blessing the fandom with

Compapa headcanons,

Computer being recognized as a more common used fanon character,

The ship of Brainbrane.

The fandom having a crisis of "oh God, not only are we xenophiles we're technophiles too!!!" Or "why you gotta give Zim's Computer an ass"

More android Computer designs

It was an eventful summer.

In the midst of all this, I moved into my new place, got a new job, and I was able to see my friend (who is def my platonic straight soul mate) who lives in Indiana.

She came to visit, showed me how to decorate and how to take care of my body better! Things were looking up! It was great.

September-November:

My job was at a boat store. If was approaching the fall and my hours were being severely cut.

I was getting into a rut of depression again.

I thought things were changing but the same routine I was trying to escape from was the same thing coming back.

But instead of letting it take hold, I decided I was going to do something about it... I was gonna visit a museum and go with my sister. Just... variety stimulation.

Well that didn't happen.

I talked about this shortly in my au itself...but..

My sister had a complete mental breakdown.

She stopped taking her meds, went off the deep end and was in the hospital a total of five times throughout November.

A lot of it was acting out and the perfect storm of environmental factors that made her scream and act out so she would keep going back to the hospital.

It was traumatizing for me.

I just can't explain what it's like. For her and for me to be in that position.

I'm not telling the full story and a lot of bullshit things happened I won't share here.

She got diagnosed with bipolar one and my mom expected me to be a caretaker for her.

I threatened to disown my family and move away out of state.

It was just too much for me to handle.

So much I was a nervous wreck.

I tried to pick up a second job... Cause my sister was in the mental ward so frequently and couldn't pay the bills.

But I was fired within a week cause I was so stressed I couldn't retain the basic information they were training me for.

It was an office job.

My dream.

It could have been.

I was fired from something I really wanted.

I was only there for three days.

I could not retain any information.

I was a mess.

My sister was a trigger, my mom wanted me to live with her. I couldn't live like this.... I had to get out.

I had to get out.

December:

Remember my Indiana friend?

Well the first week of December is my birthday.

My 30th to be exact.

While I did pick up a seasonal position at Target (not my first pick)

I took the first week of December off so I could spend time with her. Cause she agreed, I needed a break from this crap.

Surviving 30 years is cause to celebrate and if I had to celebrate with my sister I would have cried.

I know there was a risk traveling out of state during a pandemic...

But I needed out, I needed a friend..

And I kinda wanted to look at the place since I was considering moving there.

My friend's mom was sick so she avoided me and her daughter and got us a hotel room.

It was fun! I got to swim in a salt water pool, we talked about Naruto, I showed her the iz and su art books I brought, also Computer and Membrane tea.

I also got to meet her other friends and get crunk. And her bf who is super nice and funny!

I had a super fun birthday....

Until her mom told my friend that her grandparents had covid and that was what she had. And my friend got sick within that same day.... As did I.

I owe so much to her family.

I was an entire state away...about a ten hour drive from home.... She let me stay at her house. "The covid house" we called it.

Cause everyone (except the father. He avoided everyone and booked a hotel immediately cus he was an ER doctor) had covid within a day.

I called in, the test results were positive and I had to stay with her family for ten days quarantine before I could work again.

Which would have been fine....

If my tumblr didn't log me out perminately of my old account. @dana-chan325 .... Which really sucked cause I had a constant headache and was too sick to engage with tumblr or much of the fandom. I didn't want to make a new account when my head was in a bad fog and I could barely breathe or smell.

It's not like I saw much of my friend either.... We all slept at different hours and she had more symptoms then I did.

It was just netflix, danganronpa v3 and cry.

I was miserable, but at the same time.... Not?

I really feel like God himself was the one who pulled me off from tumblr, and my living situation.

Maybe a whole extra week feeling like a bobblehead was what I needed.

It gave me some much needed clarity on my relationships with my mom and sis and friend.

Running away to Indiana was not the solution here.

Once I was better within ten days and no longer had a leave of absence, I drove home.

I am glad I fully recovered (but from how I understand it, my dear friend is still ill. I'm praying for her)

I might have gone to work a bit too soon, cause I had an asthma attack after trying to unload a single cart in the span of six hours.

My boss lectured that my speed was unacceptable, and even though I explained the covid situation and breathing problems many times, she threatened that I'd be fired if I'm that slow again.

Que the next few days of work where they put me on register.

Instantly I was sent into a panic remembering the last time I was on the register and how that panic attack caused me to quit.

I even asked if I could go back to stocking, since my breathing had improved. My boss assured me that I was put on the register cause they needed help and nothing to do with my covid thing.

Then as December concluded and the new year began, my boss said that this was the last shift for me cause my position was seasonal and they were letting a lot of people go.

I then asked why I was on the schedule for Sunday, and he told me to ignore it and I'm free to reapply for full-time.

I mean.... They can act smart about it...

But putting your general merchandise stocker onto register after she had an asthma attack and missed working the first two weeks of December due to covid.....

Not a good look.

So once again, I'm jobless once more.

Will probably continue to live with my sister for awhile.

But I do not feel as if it's a bad thing....

I met so many good people this year....

My friend's family even gave me 500 usd to cover my rent since I couldn't work for a majority of December.

I've seen evil and good from humanity this year. I've seen acts of god, good friends and what my real family means to me as well as friends I consider family.

This year really made me look back at the person in the mirror and say,

"I deserve better."

And actually worked for it this time.

Oh and after Christmas I got a horrible yeast infection that burns over most of my body currently.

Very accurate doodle to the pain I'm in right now.

(seriously my body is a fungus.)

But hey, good news, I respected myself enough to go to the doctor about it!!

So that's progress.

I really hope 2021 holds good things for me.

Thank you to the mooping 10 server for always being there and keeping me sane,

Thank you tumblr for liking my au and everything.

AND A SUPER SPECIAL THANK YOU TO @evartandadam and her family for housing me and my dumb diseased ass. Everyone, she is an angel and I can't express how much she means to me. Please check out her art and buy her stuff on redbubble.

Anyways... Byebye 2020.

I look forward to what I can accomplish for myself this year.

[bookfreaky]

LOVE DOING - The Analysis

Intro:

I try to never analyse my work while still working on it, because I believe that the painting must be born from an image in your head, or a feeling, and not from a concrete idea. That is the foundation of abstractionism. Then when you’re finished and you are kind of star-gazing your own work, you try to find what made you create all that, what made you use that colour or this shape. I did that and I saw that all the dots were connected in the same theme: Love.  

Love as a broad concept and my experience with that. I think love is a very liquid sentiment, like water, it takes the shape of its every container you put it, but pretty much it’s still love. That same impulse is there. It can be like water also in the way it reflects the sun light, how it changes colours and distorts shapes. Love can be illusory; it can be lysergic but it can also be the answer to many simple questions in life. In its gas form it can be contagious and performative as it inhabits imagination, but it can also become solid when under pressure, just like water becomes ice under high pressures. In difficult situations, the love you feel for that person may be the only thing that keeps you going. I experienced that, and I think many people did too with so many people getting ill and dying during the Covid pandemic.

Like water it nurtures, like water it drowns. Love can be represented as a substance, like it just did, but also it persists as an action, an abstract action at so, an actual verb. In abstractionism, it’s to be said that colour is verb while shape is noun (I won’t remember to said that), for that reason I focused in this collection mainly in two colours in their variations, red and blue. Without the political branding aesthetic, red is seen in psychoanalysis as a active colour, the colour of human blood. Blue could be described as a “calmer” colour, but not so lacking in action. As Rebecca Solnit said, I quote:

“Water is colourless, shallow water appears to be the colour of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue. The sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance.”

So I dedicate this four paintings to the people I love and whomever loves things, but also to all the feelings that come about with love. Some of these paintings are capable of calming me and I could keep looking at them for hours, forgetting about myself. Others make me feel angsty, uncomfortable and looking at them oblige me to think about my own existence and fear my future.

I really hope you look at the paintings before you read the whole thing, and suffer through the same. Thank you.  

Love Escaping Into the Blue:

This one was the first painting I made, before I imagined it to be a collection, and it was born from the experience of decompressing love from a place of deep passion; where you are taken by this sudden and enormous sadness but also relief. I felt free, really. I read this biology paper from the Monterey Bay Aquarium, called “Light in the Deep Sea”, and it explains that there’s some uniformity of colour in the ocean animals according to how deep in the water they inhabit. Animals living in the great depths of the sea, between 6,000 and 11,000 meters deep, have commonly a very vivid red colour, but closer to the surface of the water, between 200 and 1,000 meters deep, most animals are silver and grey. That’s because in this depth the brightness of sunlight is fragmented into a blue colour, and grey reflects the blue light creating the illusion that the animal is, in fact, blue. A Blue Whale is actually grey, not blue.

[Seadevil Fish (Cryptosaras couesii), left. Blue Whale (Balaenoptera musculus), right.]

The painting shows a leak of red coming into blue and bluer space, which is this feeling of infatuation and selfish desire, possession, fear and jealousy that is very red in colour and has connotations of violence and anger, moving into a place that is not so deep in the water but clearer and wider as the open sea, illuminated by this navy-blue light. It’s like you can finally breathe and see that your love is still there, but it has changed. In hope by being closer to the atmosphere it is also somehow closer to the divine. I imagine some people might feel lost when love escapes into the blue, and I get this sensation too, but it’s about loving freely, learning how not to feel love so deeply into ourselves, but widely like the ocean.

Love Growing in the Pit of the Stomach: 

When I looked at this painting in particular after it was done, I had this sensation of angst that was difficult for me to name. It’s about desire, it’s about this feeling growing inside of you that you know it will be something more than what you want, but what you need. I’ve become obsessed with the image of holes, looking like they are piercing the canvas; I think they show this emptiness I feel, like a window showing how hollow I am inside, but also, they give me this satisfying feeling by looking at them, like opening a wound and poking a bubble. I think this emptiness comes from the idea most trans women cannot take away from the back of their heads, which is if you do or do not have a “female genitalia”. Gender in our culture is very centred around genitals and biological sex, for centuries being a woman has been defined by the person who’s able to carry a man’s child. There is this little fantasy of mine where women have this little hole in them that can swallow the world. The idea of it, for me, has grown into a very real desire very much like the desire for sex. Actually, very close to sex too. But the roots growing out of the hole, in green and blue, represent pain and fear, because I’m not sure if I’m okay with the idea of having to undergo a surgical procedure to fulfil this fantasy, neither I am sure if it is a fantasy or a need.

Most of my work resembles yonic shapes (resembling the form of a vulva), either in this work or in former ones, and it’s never intentional, it sort of just slips from my subconscious. I believe that the vulva, as well as the womb, are under-shadowed symbols of power. Phallic shapes are very common in art and what-not, they are usually associated with offense and aggression. Like when school boys draw a dick on the toilet stalls as if marking their territory. The vulva, however, is never quite portrayed like that.

I read about this Japanese visual artist, Megumi Igarashi, who made several pieces of art shaped after her own vagina, including a yellow vagina-boat (which I absolutely loved) and she got arrested and fined for “obscenity”. I think that for her subversive art-form she should be considered a national hero. Many man-made constructions are phallic images, look at the Washington Obelisk, or the Eiffel Tower, but in nature we most commonly find yonic shapes, like the Grand Canyon.

There is a profound violence in desiring this, feeling as if a part of your own anatomy is lacking, but you can’t grow it naturally, you can’t do it in a god-intended way. The bright red colour represents violence and sex, and in this case both. It’s way more complicated than the concept of having kids and being a mom, it’s a lot more than to be seen as sexual beings, and sexuality, and to feel loved; it’s about symbols of power and somehow getting that denied. It’s about learning how to love this new body, a body that is foreign, infertile, obscene and unconventional. That love is hard to achieve and it is violent because women, and especially trans women, have been taught to hate their bodies.  

Love Falls In The Bathroom:

This one took the longest to finish and left me with the most unsure brush-strokes, much perhaps because it isn’t based off on an idea but on a memory, on dream. In three more years I’ll be the same age my mother had and she had me, 29 years old. Somehow it feels like a looming date. Having kids and getting pregnant, specifically, have been sporadic subjects of therapy sessions – the antithesis is always the same: you are not lesser of a woman for not being able to get pregnant, you can still be a mom through other means, you are not even sure if you want kids or marriage, you can always adopt – Those answers feel reasonable, but none of them ever could appease the deep feeling of something missing in me, like something is perpetually wrong with me. Then I understood that in this painting, I was trying to evoke these feelings. Love and grief.

[My mother, pregnant with me, in the 90s.] 

My friends tell me I seem to be older than I actually am, and sometimes I wonder if that’s not because I had never been a happy child. I feel like I had my childhood robbed from me. I mean, I had an okay, comfortable childhood, and a problematic teenage-hood, but I never had a girlhood. I am still grieving it. I had been assigned male at birth, I’m still grieving that too.

In July of this year, I experienced a very vivid dream, in which although short all the images and the sensations were, felt very real. I was taking a shower in my bathroom, I close off the water, wrap myself around a towel, my usual pink one, and when I’m stepping out of the shower stall I fell. I hit my right elbow against the toilet lid as I fell with my legs open in opposite directions, a sharp pain struck me under my thighs, close to my groin, and a light string of blood followed right after that. It wasn’t menstruation blood, thin and clear red, but thick and dark. It was all very quick but I knew, right then, right there, exactly everything that was happening. I was pregnant, 13 weeks, alone in the bathroom floor, surrounded by blood. I wonder how many days of my recent life, how many hours a day, I am really just sitting down alone on my bathroom’s floor surrounded by blood. I woke up and it still felt very real. I had spent the next two days very quiet, not wanting to speak to anyone. I wanted to tell someone as soon as I was back from the dream, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to call someone, a friend, anyone, and say “I lost it. I lost my baby”. I realised then, in that post-dreamy state, that I have been silently grieving for a lot of things, things I haven’t yet allowed myself to grieve for. Things I still did not have a chance.

Love Lost In Imagination:

This one is the only one what doesn’t forecast red and blue colours, but instead in red and blue paint mixed together in a royal purple colour. It was the last one I made, and it’s the one that differs the most in shape. I like to imagine it was love in it’s gas form, vaping inside your brain like Nitrous-oxide, with white-coloured cloud shapes and yellow peacock eye-feathers. It’s about how sometimes love can only exist in imagination, how we often elaborate better scenarios in our heads, and we think “what if things were different?”. I believe to be okay to fantasize, anyway the utopia is what moves us towards a reality, but sometimes we can get lost in imagination, and in questioning the same questions over and over. “What if I hadn’t done this and done that?”; “What if I hadn’t said no?”; “What if I had stayed longer to watch that movie?”; “What if had come out as trans earlier?”; “What if I had become a professional writer?”; “What if I had born a woman?”. Is love real if it perpetrates only in thought?

I would be more than happy to quote some of Saint Augustine here, and his theological virtues, love being one of them, but I wouldn’t like to make this essay even longer and complicated.

I think to myself sometimes, when was it that I started to prefer having peace then pleasure. My head has always been very noisy, very noisy, and I wanted it to stop. Now it feels like I’m constantly too quiet about everything. That somehow, like the Little Mermaid by Hans Christensen Andersen, when transitioning into a woman I exchanged my legs (my body) for my voice, and now I can’t voice or even pinpoint what I want. I’m just so tired. So, so tired. My mental health hasn’t been great for more than one year, and the pandemic didn’t help. I’m constantly anxious around people, even the closest ones to me (especially the closest ones to me), I’ve been eating like a bird and sleeping like a cat. Still, sometimes I imagine what future I would like, and I imagine myself living somewhere with open space, trees, breeding horses just like my grandfather did, space for dogs, musical instruments and the kids. Space for being big.

The painting makes me think that sometimes I can only love myself in this imaginary place. Otherwise, it just looks slightly like a chicken’s head. You decide.    

- Original work, G.L. Alódio.

[justfinishedreading]

The Diary of Adam and Eve by Mark Twain

Spoilers (Sort of)

Before reading this book I had never read anything by Mark Twain, but I had heard that he was a great comedic writer and I was looking forward to my first experience of his writing. The Diary of Adam and Eve is his somewhat comedic and satirical version of the biblical legend, told in diary entry form, alternating between Adam and Eve. It’s important to explain that The Diary of Adam and Eve is not actually a single work of fiction; during his lifetime Mark Twain wrote seven short texts on the theme of Adam and Eve, published in different literary journals. These texts focus on different ideas within the context of the legend and do not always follow the same storyline or describe the same events in a consistent way.

The first text contains ‘Extracts from Adam’s Diary’ and ‘Eve’s Diary’, we’re first introduced to Adam (of course), he talks about the arrival of a curious and chatty creature who calls herself Eve. Adam is a solemn and territorial recluse; his diary entries are brief and mostly talk about how annoyed he is that Eve keeps hanging around him and thwarting his frequent attempts to run away. It is Eve who introduces the word “We” to Adam, before her, the possibility of the concept of a collective never occurred to him.

Eve’s diary entries are much longer and philosophical, in them she questions the existence of the creatures in the garden of Eden, their nature, and her own existence and feelings. She examines lions and tigers and tells Adam she believes their teeth look like they were designed for killing and consuming flesh, yet these animals currently eat grass and flowers. Adam tells her that animals killing each other would bring Death to the garden, which is something that has not yet happened. Eve’s observation is telling us that if animals were already “designed” this way, to inflict death, then it is with the anticipation of an event the creator already knows will happen. According to the Bible, Disease, Pain and Death were released onto the world once Eve and Adam ate the forbidden fruit, however if God’s world was already designed and created in preparation for such an event, was it ever Eve and Adam’s fault for disobeying an order given by a being who already knew the order would be disobeyed? With time recluse Adam warms up to Eve, although he doesn’t seem to have many redeeming qualities, one thing I will say for Adam is that I don’t recall him ever even thinking about blaming Eve for their “downfall”.

There are some amusing scenes in this first set of texts, for example Eve gives birth to Abel while Adam is away travelling, when he comes back Eve explains nothing and Adam is perplexed by the baby and keeps trying to conduct experiments on it. He is also obsessed with trying to capture another one from the wild. Twain gives both Adam and Eve a child-like wonder and amazement at the world and entertains us with stories of Eve trying to fetch stars from the night sky and wondering who stole them when day approaches.

Eve is convinced that she is some sort of experiment. The way the story of Adam and Eve is interpreted is usually that Adam was made in God’s image, God then took a rib from Adam and made Eve, therefore Adam is closer to God, and Eve is somewhat inferior because she is a copy of a copy. But if we think about what happens with anything that is created, the first creation is never the best version, usually with each new creation it is better than the last, it is improved. In this light we can view Eve not inferior to Adam but superior.

Eve tells us that she sometimes acts silly, or she conceals things from Adam in order to save him from feeling embarrassment, she realizes that he lacks some of the abilities she has and she does certain things to dumb herself down in order to not hurt his pride. This is something many women can relate to, myself included: needing to tip-toe around some men who have fragile egos and high tempers, this is one of the amazing things about this text, it was written a century ago, and by a man, and yet it is refreshingly feminist. We’re currently going through another feminist revival, and during a time when a lot of machismo and sexual harassment by celebrates is being exposed on social media, and we are losing faith in men in the public eye, it’s hopeful to read a work like The Diaries of Adam and Eve and find a male voice not blinded by ego, not threatened, but with an understanding nature.

Regarding humour, there are certain jokes that aren’t very funny, that are baffling and which I can only presume are related to some event or common joke specific to the time and place Twain was writing in. However there are other amusing scenes, for example interactions with dinosaurs are always funny, in this text and the others we see that Twain has an interest in science and the scientific method, the existence of dinosaurs is proven and Twain is not about to leave them out of Eden, so we get Eve trying to ride a brontosaurus, he “followed her like a pet mountain. Like the other animals. They all do that.” Eve, bright as she is, is also humble, she notices that several animals, particularly the dog and the elephant seem to understand her, and talk, but she does not understand them, and in this case they must be her superiors. In a later text Adam and Eve find a pterodactyl. They name him Terry.

This first section ends on a bit of a sad note, Eve theorizes why she loves Adam, that it is not a product of reasoning, she naively states that she would still love him even if he abused and beat her, words which made me very sad to read. In the end she says she is “only a girl, and the first that examined this matter, and it may turn out that in my ignorance and inexperience I have not got it right.” It is a true portrayal of First Love, of thinking that it’s noble to love someone even if they hurt you, and yet Eve has the wisdom to perceive that her understanding of this may change with time. In a later text Eve describes meeting Adam for the first times and thinking he must be some sort of reptile based on how emotionless and inactive he was.

From Adam’s analysis of their love we have simply, and touchingly, these few words written on Eve’s grave: “Wheresoever she was, there was Eden.”

The above points all relate to the first text in this collection, and it was the one I liked most, the one that gave me what I most expected. I would have loved a full novel written in this style, with themes and events expanded upon, but I can understand how it would have been financially and socially damaging for Twain to write such a book in the early 20th century American south, the novel would have ended up banned and part of book-burnings by religious groups across the country, then and now. It’s a shame, there’s are so many good ideas here, surely somewhere someone has written a novel on Adam and Eve – I should do some research on this.

Now regarding the other six texts, they all have differing tones, they were clearly written with specific different themes in mind, written as one-off literary amusements, imagine the opinions section in a newspaper, with articles bouncing off ideas contemporary to the time. I’m just going to mention a few aspects that I found interesting without really describing each individual article.

Eve writes “For we were children without nurses and without instructors. There was no one to tell us anything.” Throughout all these texts by Twain, God is absent, we hear Adam mention once or twice that he was instructed by God to not eat the fruit, but that’s it. Later when Satan appears, Adam and Eve are full of questions. In this imagining of Eden there is no dialogue between God and Adam and Eve, and before those of you who are more religious rush to protest, why should Twain not write their relationship as it currently is for so many of the Christian faith today? Sure there are some who say they speak to God, have a special relationship with him, but for the vast majority there is no clear two-way conversation going on. As Eves says, they were left alone, they discovered, HAD to discover, things by trial and error.

There’s a moment when just before eating the fruit, Adam and Eve have a discussion about what is Good, what is Evil, what is Pain, Disease and Death. Since they have experienced none of these, since they have seen none of these, they have absolutely no concept of what they could mean. How do you explain colours to someone born blind? So, whilst they were warned that eating the fruit would release a bunch of these (completely unknown) concepts, they decide to go right ahead.

Some other humour to note: Eve writes “the ability to spell correctly is a gift; that it is born in a person, and is a sign of intellectual inferiority. By parity of reasoning, its absence is a sign of great mental power.” As someone with a level of dyslexia myself, I welcome this thought. A good story from Adam is when he and Eve asked Noah what happened to all the dinosaurs? “he coloured and changed the subject.” After some persuasion he blames it on his sons for not carrying out their duties correctly, he then says that the dinosaurs and some other animals were left behind because they knew they would be needed for fossils one day… and also there were some miscalculations regarding the ark…

Amongst the jokes and the theological theories, there’s also commentary on the current state of affairs: Eve muses that the human population is too great in number and will consume the earth to devasting effects. This written by Twain a hundred years ago. Wow, what would he think if he saw us now?

There is a truly gut-wrenching and touching moment when Adam and Eve experience Death for the first time; Cain and Abel fight, Abel is hit, but none of them know what death is, they do not recognize or understand the moment he dies, instead they take him to his bed and wait, and wait, for Abel to wake up. All they comprehend is sleep, and therefore they presume that that’s what’s happening. Eve writes of spending hours by Abel’s side, covering his cold body with wool in a futile attempt to warm his body. There’s another diary entry describing her anguish as Eve begins to suspect that this might be what Death is.  

I’d like to end with a small but significant sentence, Adam writes about Eve: “She was never able to keep her composure when she came upon a relative; she would try to kiss every one of these people, black and white and all.” Apart from the fact that all other people of colour are ignored and humanity is basically divided into just white people and black people, and that nowadays the need to specify black and white people in such a sentence almost has the oppose effect and actually sounds racist, but given the time, and the fact that Mark Twain was born in the south, it is a sentence that has good intentions behind it, it is a sentence that is saying: we are all relatives of Adam and Eve, independent of colour. We are all family.

Review by Book Hamster

[paramsiddharth]

#15: The Independence Day

However tempting the title may be at suggesting my life is at peace now, it painfully isn't. I don't want this to prevent me from glorifying the decades of freedom from colonization we have enjoyed, how much we have recovered from post-colonization trauma, and how we are more responsibly planning to evolve in future. Lots of love to my country. I love my dear Bihar, I love India. I am grateful to my parentland for everything it gave me, such as the beautiful cultural heritage and the opportunity to identify myself as a proud Indian. 🇮🇳 I give my heartfelt pranaam to my nation.

Why is it always such that I make a post, disappear for months (or years), and then make a sudden reappearance? I love writing. Why this discontinuity? I asked myself this question.

I realized it is because I am always too overwhelmed by my past and future to express my present without hurting myself. And don't expect me to mourn that; It is part of my situational awareness, learning from my experience, and practical preparedness and I'm not ashamed.

I'm not proud either, but there's little I can do to change the circumstances I'm put in. The very reason behind my continuous complaining and being a crybaby is because that's what has happened to me throughout my life, and continues to. There are plenty of people to blame, but definitely not me.

I will start talking about the time after the day I posted that Kharagpur blog, but I will move in a logarithmic fashion i. e. Increasing the amount of focus on the part closer to the plateau (present) rather than the cliff (past).

Do you use olive oil at home? Is it a common ingredient in most of the food that you have at home? I recently learnt an interesting truth about food oils. Mustard oil, olive oil, and refined oil are the 3 major oils used to cook. In my family everything is cooked in mustard oil. I used to watch recipe videos and wonder why the colour of the oil looked so different. Turns out they generally use olive oil.

Based on what mom told, mustard oil is much more fatty and considered not good for health, at least in comparison to olive oil. That being said, mustard oil comes for a lot cheaper than olive oil. So do we use less healthy oil to cook food for saving money? Yes. Are we the only ones? I really don't know.

As much as I don't want to, I pity myself. It's pathetic, but every time I pity myself, I assume it can't get worse. But it does. It very much does.

5-6 days ago, my parents had a very violent fight. I was there to get them to settle, and since my classes were not going on, I could give more time to home. Despite my struggle to get both my parents to be peaceful, they kept saying things to each-other for half the night, and kept hurting themselves, mentally and physically. I was there to help them, but they weren't welcoming to any support. And I understand why. They must feel like they are put into a position where they can't express themselves to anyone, and that nobody can feel what they are going through.

Folks and friends tell me not to get in between when they fight. I wouldn't… If only it remained verbal. But it gets worse. It gets physical, in a manner that they end up hurting their internal and external biologies causing more than just short-term damage. I barely manage to save the day everytime… Because I love them. I don't want to listen to my friends. My parents are my everything. Losing one of them means losing half of my life's purpose. I'm nothing without them, no matter how they are.

And I managed to calm them down. 3 days ago, we woke up to a news that wasn't initially so devastating: The water motor wasn't working. It had been a common problem, I easily assumed it will be fixed soon. We got it checked, had some analysis done, some parts bought. By evening, it was still being worked on, and that made the situation tense. The day ended with the news that the plumbers will come the next day and attempt a better fix, something they referred to as "slizing" (I think it supposed to be slicing). I didn't eat much that day, for reasons. Others ate less too.

So we got the "slizer" expert the next day. The whole day was going to be a wasted struggle again, and what happened at home made it far worse. The lack of food, hydration, and sanitation made our patience and moods worse. My parents had an argument, and once the light was sparked, it ended up being probably the worst fight they have ever had in the whole lifetime. One where they almost hit each-other. I came in between as a shield and got beaten up instead, gladly so. But will I always be able to get in between?

The situational dilemma hit me harder than the physical strokes. I was pulled down deep into the realization of how traumatizing the past 5 years have been for my parents. From being loving, caring, and supportive, they've become beasts. They have turned into people with no emotional control, and mood-swing patterns that encourages self-harm exclusive to interpersonal fights between those two.

As much as they fight, scream, misbehave, and misunderstand each-other while arguing, they are the only 2 adults I could ever rely on. The rest of my ostensible family has been far more hostile to us, in a much more heart-penetrating way than physically. Who else can I look up to? And even if I had anybody else to look up to, my parents are the 2 people I will never let go of. It is my life's purpose to see them happy, and I won't let anything go wrong before that happens.

Their hatred for each-other while fighting is no longer silenced by their want to live, and their heart no longer melts by the thought of their kids' happiness. They aren't able to think straight during a fight. What would a person in this condition be advised to do? Take therapy, I suppose. We can't afford that. Will the one who advises us pay for our therapy? I'm sure not.

Money is the one big thing in our life that's our biggest joy and harshest pain at the same time. If we had more money, none of our current problems in life would remain relevant. We will be able to cure everything, including our financial instability and mental illnesses. We will be off to a happy life, constantly evolving. If only we had more money. If only…

Let me slap myself out of this dream. It isn't here yet. A minimum of 2 years before I even get on my feet are to be borne with patience and… Struggle. No, my parents have to remain together, no matter what. The hardwork they did for their whole life, won't lose meaning so easily. We're close, and we will make it. I will get a good job and change everything. I will be able to fix us. I will do it… Won't I?

I wasn't able to cry, because I hadn't had water for 50+ hours. My parents eventually lost energy and got diverted by updates from the plumbers and the expert. It failed. They didn't even attempt the "slizing" part. Maybe next day.

Day 3. No eating, drinking, peeing, or excreting. We felt like lifeless blobs, and it was harder for us to make it through, considering my mom has an OCD. Although we were convinced that the service folks were fixing the water issue, we also knew the kind of people we have in Muzaffarpur. They were using our helplessness as a measure to maximize visible worktime and increase the payment. The only thing they were aiming for is profit. No sense of wanting to provide quality service, no concern for our degrading health, nothing. They were just extending and pulling out days from our lifeless schedule.

On day 3, we slightly hinted that this would be the last day we let them work. We ensured them that if they don't fix it by the end of the day, instead of wasting more money into something that isn't even working, we will urgently invest into getting a submersible pump installed, the ultimate answer to all water problems in the poverty-stricken lands of India.

God knows how, by the end of the day, water started coming. We were not relieved, especially I. Not instantly. I waited for the next morning, and then, was a little calmed. After having the payment report (just because I make it sound professional doesn't mean it was, it was an informal description of how much we have to pay and a disambiguation telling why), we realized the fixing cost us over ₹22,000. That's a lot of money for a sudden life problem. And then the motor stopped working again in the evening, whereafter we asked them to have a look again. A quickfix and it started working after adding some water in the pipe.

We are firm that the next step is to get a submersible pump, but even if we put aside the financial challenge for a moment, this season isn't the best one to get it installed. In fact, that should be our last resort, if all options are exhausted, like it would have been if day 3 ended in a disappointment too. But now we have some time to think, plan, and gather money. ₹80,000 isn't a small amount (that's to start, you know it's always more than it seems).

It was the independence day. Wow, what a beautiful day. An independent country, where there are lakhs of smiles of people happy and proud of their country. And lakhs of neutrally frowned faces who don't even know what a country is. All they know is food, water, shelter, and survival. I felt them, I can tell. It must be worse. I wish we had a little more independence too. A stable financial life, my mom's OCD cured, feels like a lovely eye-tearing dream.

Hahaha… I don't know why I'm crying. Is it because of the trauma of 3 painful days? Is it the fear of my parents getting into a fight again? Is it the painful possibility that I might not get a good job because of my not-so good college or my own ineligibility? Or is it just me, a 19 year-old who doesn't even know what to do with his life and is struggling to survive mentally, physically, biologically, academically, and socially?

For those 3 days, I was in a state of suffering. Since I didn't eat much, I didn't need to use the bathroom, but I would have loved to. I would have loved to satisfy my dry throat with some water. Having not drunk or eaten in days had fatigued me. If you want a feel of how long it had been, here's a day 3 picture of an initially dark yellow arhar dal cooked on day 1:

Still, I was receiving phone calls.

Them: Hey Param! What's up? Can you help me with this thing?

Me: Hi, I'm sorry, I can't… I'm kind of in a problem… ...(trying to explain my situation).

Them: That stinks! Sorry about that, dude. Take care. Oh, by the way, can you help me out with this quickly? I really need to do this.

This makes me realize how awfully tooled I have always let myself be. If it was a regular day, I would have probably let go of my busy time and helped them out, but I was in pain. I was enraged. Very angered by their stubbornness and lack of concern for my happiness, when I have always been the one who was there for them. I hung up and left my phone. I didn't feel like touching it anymore. Life felt obsolete.

Evening, day 4, we were preparing for dad's birthday next day. Planning a surprise, we ordered a cake for him by collecting some money. We were very excited. Little did we know our happiness was about to be shattered… That's when the water had stopped working again. We know it got fixed later, but the intensity of the trauma in the moment embedded itself deeply into our hearts, and despite the want to be excited, we weren't very relieved after the news that it was working again. We were constantly afraid it will stop working again.

We desperately tried to stay happy and celebrate his birthday. 12 AM, August 16, we sang happy birthday. Crying on the inside and smiling on the outside, we made ourselves believe that we ought to be happy for survival. The desperation was visible on our faces. Here are some pictures:

Now that I'm out of it (pray, the water works fine), I still don't feel so good about it. I want to hug my parents and stay in their arms forever. I want to see them smiling and keep talking to them forever. I want to be able to forget my pain and begin a happy life with my parents someday. Other people won't help me achieve that, I will.

I attempted to get myself a job offer at some good companies, and the recruiters would admit that I'm worthy and eligible and all, but then conclude, "…but our company generally gives only on-campus opportunities.". I get it. I'm not in an IIT. Not privileged enough to be allowed to compete with those IITians I'm far better than. I'll not have a chance, because they'll never come for on-campus opportunities to my college. Bless the IITs, for they've now stolen a hundred options of success from me despite my hardwork.

It is the interview season. I recently had a huge spam of texts and phonecalls by my seniors, asking, requesting, and even threatening me to help them with their online coding entrances. I clarified that I find it ethically wrong, but they continued to mentally disturb me by saying stuff that they, as my elders, shouldn't. I made a post on LinkedIn regarding that. I was so mentally tortured I couldn't take it anymore. And guess what? The responses were equally surprising and hostile.

A good number of people supported. By "supported", I don't mean "liked the post". Anybody would do that for free. Rather, some people appreciated my bravery and told me I did the right thing. On the other hand, some others simply scolded and criticized me brutally for the defamation of JUET, the possibility of JUET being blacklisted by recruiters, and making LinkedIn an unprofessional platform with my plea. What value I hath wrought from years of hardwork didn't seem to be anything to them. Shame on them for looking down on someone they should have been supportive to. And all those cowards who enjoy the perks of the flattery of such devil elders, may they suffer the consequences. Ahh!

Life is so stupid. Why am I working so hard? Whom for? Hello? Is anybody ever going to acknowledge me? Am I ever going to get any appreciation? EVER? Why me? Why? 😭

The question is on me. I've come far enough to understand how this universe works to a much better extent than before. Will I be able to plan my future strategically and always do what's right for me and my family? I hope I do. I hope I don't disappoint the one person who is always there to support me: Myself.

I had once felt like I saw God, but suddenly there was no God. I looked around. Nothing. I was alone. All by myself. Nobody was there to help me achieve my dreams. I suddenly felt this urge to be so grateful for what I have, and not assume that this is the worst it can get. It could get worse, and there's a lot I can get out of my present rather than worrying about my future. And you, dear reader, ought to be grateful for what you have, too.

I sincerely take my leave now. ❤️

Lots of love,

Param Siddharth.

[presleepthoughts]

Purpose - Part 2

A/N: Next chapter. 

/

Beca dragged her feet along the corridors, heading towards her office the next day. Her mind had been working overtime since yesterday, thinking about ways to get rid of the journalist that had been assigned to follow her around like a puppy. Watching her every step. And Beca didn’t like that.

Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t have a problem with Chloe – if Beca actually took the time to get to know her she’d probably turn out to be a good person – but the feeling that she was being judged, criticized in any way didn’t sit well with her. Chloe was a journalist. She was trained to make stories interesting, make them dramatic and truthful. What if she made a mistake and it would be plastered all over on the newspaper, looming over her head for the rest of her carrier? She would be forever labeled wherever she went.

She sneered at the thought and pushed it to the back of her mind. She knew she was being paranoid; a trait she always had a hard time controlling.

It was earlier than usual, Beca kind of hoped she would get to spend the morning alone, getting herself ready for the day but those hopes were squished when she pushed open her doors, finding Chloe already sitting on the couch, snipping a beverage. Beca slightly haltered in her steps but regained her composer and greeted her politely. An extra coffee cup was waiting for her on her desk.

“I didn’t know if you drink coffee or not but I thought maybe you’d like it?” Chloe explained softly when Beca remained silent. The detective exhaled through her nose and grudgingly accepted the offering.

“Thanks.” She added shortly and sat down at the desk, grabbing some files on the surface ready to start working.

Their day seemed to drag along slowly with nothing much happening. Beca finished her paperwork while Chloe asked questions back and forth. The detective didn’t mind it as much as she thought she would, until the questions turned personal.

“Why did you want to become a detective?” The question was innocent enough to Chloe, who didn’t bother to glance up from her notes, patiently waiting for an answer. When Beca wasn’t forgoing with one, she lifted her gaze with curiosity as she saw Beca’s expression glaze over in thoughts.

The reason behind her decision to join the department was the one she was most protective over. Not many people knew her past and she’d like to keep it that way. Not have somebody print it out on paper for anybody to see.

“For personal reasons.” She answered sharply, her tone indicating she wouldn’t be answering that question at the moment.

Chloe titled her head slightly in wonder, eyes piercing into Beca’s while the brunette avoided the connections. The journalist could sense the uneasiness ooze from the detective so she pivoted the conversation.

“Do you mind if I film you for this portion of the interview?”

Beca sighed and nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Chloe hit the camera icon on her phone and raised it to her eye line, making sure Beca was in focus.

“You graduated from The Connecticut Police Academy, right? Why did you decide to come back to your hometown?”

Beca narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “How do you know so much about me?”

“I did my homework, Detective Mitchell.” Chloe smiled friendly. “You have a very impressive resume. After college you spent three years in NYPD then went to Michigan then transferred to right here, Jackson, Georgia and spent three years at the local police station before certifying as a detective to the FBI. Why did you come back to such a small town?”

Beca sat tongue-tied, leaning back against the back of her chair as Chloe listed her whole life. She didn’t realize the journalist would dig up anything she could find out about her. Chloe zoomed in on the detective’s face.

Beca took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I was born here but left when I was sixteen. I never looked back once but after spending so much time in different places I wanted something familiar. This is the town I grew up in. It also didn’t hurt that I know it like the back of my hand.”

“Why did you leave at sixteen?” Chloe asked.

Beca clenched her jaw and hardened her gaze at the memory. “I had to. The system found me a foster family in South Carolina.”

Chloe’s eyes rounded in surprise at the admission and she unconsciously lowered the camera slightly while Beca chuckled humorlessly at the reaction.

“What? You didn’t know that, huh? It looks like you weren’t thorough enough with your research, Ms. Beale.”

Chloe inhaled sharply at the jab. She sensed the topic of foster care was a nerve so she didn’t push for the time being. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that. And please call me Chloe. We’ll be spending too much time together for you to keep calling me Ms. Beale.” She said softly and discreetly wrote down foster care on her notepad before looking back up. “Let’s continue.”

 /

After two hours of conversation and a light lunch, the phone finally rang loudly in the office calling Beca to the west side of the village for a crime scene. They popped into a vehicle and sped down the streets. As the car rounded the corner, Chloe straightened up in her seat as several police cars, paramedics and the FBI were seen parking on the street in front of a typically standard two-stories home. Yellow police tape barricaded the scene from onlookers, probably neighbors who were curious about what was happening.

Beca parked the car at the curb and they exited the car, the detective walking slightly in front of Chloe and showed her badge to the local police to let her through.

As they stepped inside the building, Beca spotted Jesse walking towards them.

“Hey, what you got?” She asked and Jesse pointed to the staircase.

“Suicide. At least that’s what the police say but I thought I gave you a call and let you take a look.” They walked up to the master bedroom. Beca noted that the room was spotless, nothing out of place or out of ordinary. However, upon arriving at the en-suite bathroom Beca winced at the sight that greeted her.

A pale, Caucasian woman spread out naked in the bathtub, arms resting on the edge and blood still slipping from both of her wrist from two deep cuts. The water around her painted red and the shower curtains laying at their feet on the floor. Beca noticed the mirror above the sink were shattered.

Chloe inched her way closer and looked over the detectives’ shoulders. She felt her stomach launch slightly at the disturbing sight but she swallowed it down and pulled out her phone to record.

Beca talked to Jesse while she stepped inside the small space and examined the body further. “Do you have an ID?” The woman’s upper body were visible from the water and Beca didn’t see any bruising, only on her forehead.

“Helena Jones. 41. Her ex-husband found her an hour ago and notified the police.” Jesse listed as he and Chloe watched Beca look around.

“You said the police think it’s suicide.” Beca said while pulling a glove out from her jean pocket and putting it on, opening the medicine cabinet. She found anti-depressant and pills for anxiety inside but it didn’t alter her thoughts.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it was self-harm.” She stated and turned back to Jesse, closing the cabinet and pointing to the broken mirror. “If she wanted to die, why would she break the window with her head before she slit her wrists? Why not just sit down in the tub and do it?”

Jesse shook his head. “Maybe she was angry with herself for having these thoughts and wanted to stop it. Clearly she was unstable.”

Beca bit the inside of her cheek and lingered on the woman lifeless body. Something didn’t seem right. “We have to bring in the ex-husband for questioning. Tell the team to swipe the entire house from top to bottom and let’s see if they found something. I have a hunch this was way too obvious. The pills for mental health, the slit wrists, the position.” Beca shook her head. “For some reason it feels too staged for me.”

“Got it.” Jesse replied and left the two women to give the police instructions.

Chloe stepped inside cautiously.

“Do you think it was murder?” She whispered quietly.

“I don’t know but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s no evidence of another person being involved but we can’t rule out anything until the autopsy results. That’ll tell us what happened.” Beca said, looking at the redhead.

 /

When they arrived back at the station, Jesse already had the ex-husband set up in an interrogation room, ready to be questioned. The trio stood behind the two-way glass, observing the man sitting behind the table.

“He’s oddly calm.” Jesse commented, seeing the man with his hands intertwined on top of the table, gazing before him, zoned out. “He just found his ex-wife dead inside the bathtub. I would be a freaking out.”

“Let’s leave the analysis to the shrinks, Swanson. We have no reason to believe he was the one who did it as of yet so let’s just go in there and learn something new.” Beca demanded sternly as she turned to the redhead behind her. “You stay here and observe him. Maybe you’ll see something we’d miss.”

Chloe swallowed down her protest and tensely nodded her head. She knew it was hopeless to argue with the seemingly stubborn detective and simply closed her mouth and pulled out her phone to capture anything.

Jesse opened the door, letting Beca step in before him as they both took their seat silently before Thomas Pierce. The man sat with his intertwined hands on the table, eyes bouncing back and forth between the detectives with a tense grimace.

“Look, I know my rights. You can’t investigate me as a suspect without proper evidence and you can’t hold me here.”

“Mr. Pierce, you are not accused of anything. We just want to know what happened to your ex-wife. That’s all.” Jesse started out, explaining their motives in a calm tone as saw the man visibly relax and leaned forward.

“Now according to the police report, you were the one who notified the police, correct?” Beca opened up the file in front of her, pretending to read it out meanwhile she already memorized every last detail about the case. She needed to give the man a false sense of certainty to unconsciously pull the truth out from him.

“Yes.” Mr. Pierce answered quickly not elaborating.

“What were you doing in your ex-wife’s apartment that day?”

Mr. Pierce glanced between the pair. “I went there to pick up the rest of my stuff that I left from the move. We separated not long ago. When she didn’t answer my calls, I went upstairs to the bedroom and found her in the bathtub. And I called the police.”

Beca squinted her eyes at the explanation. “I understand your divorce was a long drawn out process. You were in and out of the courtroom for four years, battling over the custody of your three children.”

Mr. Pierce grinded his teeth as he stiffened at the mention of his kids. “I gained full custody for all three but Lena didn’t make it easy. She pulled out all her cards against me and poured out my dirty laundry in front of the judge. But in the end, it didn’t matter because the judge declared her unreliable to take care of them because of her… mental problems. She had the audacity to call me a deadbeat father.” Mr. Pierce growled out. “I wasn’t the one who tried to kill myself three times while my children were in the house.”

Jesse leaned forward. “You sound angry.”

“I was! She had the nerve to try and fight me for my children while she was the one who cheated.” Mr. Pierced exploded but taking in the unchanged reactions in front of him, he regained his posture. “That was the main reason we got separated.”

Beca glanced at Jesse, silently communicating with her partner before focusing on the man before her.

“I have one last question, Mr. Pierce. Did your wife had any enemies? Anybody that wanted to – I don’t know, take revenge on her?” Beca asked, eyes piercing into his as she tried to catch any sight of indication he was lying.

“Not that I know of…outside of the house, she was a very nice woman.” Mr. Pierce said, shaking his head. “Inside the house was where she had problems.”

/

“Okay, what are we thinking?” Jesse spoke out as he closed the door behind him. Chloe pocketed her phone as the three of them watched the man through the one-way mirror as he leaned back into his chair and constantly checked his watch on his wrist.

Beca wracked her brain for anything to give them a lead but came up empty. She crossed her arms over her chest and addressed the redhead beside her.

“Chloe, what do you think?”

Chloe stared the woman in surprise, not thinking she was going to ask for her opinion. She noticed Beca liked to work inside her head, planning out her every move before she informed her partner. Chloe glanced back at the suspect and bit her bottom lip.

“He didn’t show any sign that he was lying. He didn’t cross his arms or leaned away from you which would be a sure indicator but he maintained eye-contact and his tone didn’t falter at any point. He showed anger instead of fright which suggest he wasn’t intimidated and that he didn’t have nothing to hide. He answered honestly and didn’t try to dodge any of the questions.” Chloe listed off her observation without waver. “I don’t think he did it.”

The detective pair slowly turned their heads toward the woman, eyes rounded from shock. Chloe self-consciously shifted on her feet.

“What? I have a master in Phycology.”

Beca bobbed her head, impressed. “You keep surprising me.”

“I have a lot of talent you don’t know about, Detective Mitchell.” Chloe replied back, her tone dangerously dancing on the edge of flirtatious as Beca eyes bore into hers.

Jesse flickered his gaze back and forth between them like a tennis match, red flags appearing in front of his sight warning him of danger. But before he could break up the moment, Beca’s cellphone beeped loudly from her pocket.

“Jenna is finished with the autopsy. It’s time we finally got some answers.” Beca summarized the text message and pocketed her phone, strolling determinedly toward the department, the other two hot on her heels.

/

“What did you find?” Beca called out as soon as they stepped over the threshold of the sterilized room, Jenna Watson the FBI’s pathologist were hovering over the deceased woman’s naked body. No matter how many times she saw a corpse, Beca couldn’t help but feel her stomach whirl in disgust at the sight. Something about it looking like a sleeping person didn’t sit well with her.

Chloe tried to conceal her reaction to seeing the body opting to staying far away from the table it was place upon.

“Detective Mitchell, Swanson. Great to see you both. Although, not under the right circumstances.” Jenna commented as the three gathered around the table, eyes roaming over the surface. Jenna cleaned the outer regions of blood on her wrists and covered the victim from the waist down.

“Enlighten me.” Beca spoke out sarcastically, not having her usual sense of humor to make jokes of the situation.

Jenna quickly turned serious and pointed to the cut on her forehead. “You said the mirror was broken in the bathroom. Well, I wouldn’t say it was self-inflected. Some strands of hair were missing from the back of her scalp and I predict the suspect must’ve grabbed her from behind and smashed her into the mirror. However, there’s no further signs of evidence of self-defense, no bruising, no marks, nothing which is strange.”

“The husband said she wanted to kill herself. Maybe that’s why she didn’t fight.” Jesse suggested but Chloe shook her head.

“Self-conflicted harm and harm by somebody else is different. When she wanted to die, she was in control of her actions; she knew what to do and when to do it. With somebody else doing it for her, the strongest form of human nature flair to life which wants to live. Even without knowing it, she would’ve fought back.”

Jenna glanced at the newcomer raising her eyebrows. “Exactly. Now I did find some anti-depressant in her blood but the amount wasn’t anything alarming to numb her body.”

Beca nodded slowly, working the knots in her mind. “Okay, so you say she was attacked.”

“Definitely.” Jenna conformed before a quick smile escaped from her expression as she pulled out a manila envelope from her desk and handed it to Beca. “She definitely didn’t do that to herself.”

Beca cautiously opened the package and pulled out two photographs. Her eyes widen in surprise before they hardened into determination as the story became a little bit clearer.

“Perfect job as always, Watson.” Beca complimented the pathologist as she handed the envelope to Jesse for keepsake. Chloe watched as Jesse had similar reaction to whatever that file contained and her curiosity grew tenfold. She couldn’t wait long enough for Jesse to hand it over to her. As her eyes took in the sight, her mouth gaped open.

The pictures contained the bare back of the victim with the letter ‘A’ carved along her spine.

TBC

[perrypixel]

Bathtub Scene/Trollhunters Season 3 Analysis

Okay, it’s been 2 years since Trollhunters ended and I think I’m ready to talk about the scene.

For obvious reasons I’ll tag this post with suicide and suicide mention.

The first scene we get is when Jim pours the elixir into water and Jim drops the jar on the floor. You can see in eyes that he is unsure whether he should go through this or not. Jim hear’s Merlin’s words echoes in his head.

Pour the elixir into water. Emerge yourself into said water and presto! You will be born anew.

In my head I thought there was no way Jim was gonna go through with this

The next time we see Jim, Claire calls him on his cell phone, Jim sits in the toilet continuing to be torn between the choices he has. Jim let’s his phone vibrates. Jim looks down and stares at his amulet.

You need to become both troll and hunter…

You need to be more…

He looks at his reflection in the mirror, he remembers the first time he transformed in his armor. He was chosen. This is his call to make.

He has to do this.

The cell phone falls off onto the floor while it continues to ring.

He’s not answering them. 

Jim is about to enter the bathtub but he stops when he hears his mother calling him, banging at the door.

“Jim, are you in there?” Barbara bangs at the door.

He wants to go back to them, to his mother, and his friends.

“Jim, what’s happening? Please, let us in! Are you okay?”

Then you hear Jim saying “I’m fine, mom. You don’t need to protect me. I think this is what I was meant to do.” from when Jim brought Barbara to the Heartstone to save her. It’s like conversation between them in his mind.

He has to do this, it’s what’s he is supposed to do.

As the last sunlight Jim would ever feel dawns on him, Jim remembers when he went to the darklands by himself.

Perhaps a parallel between the last time Jim made a decision to do something by himself? Either way at the end, Jim did face Gunmar by himself.

“Jimbo, we’re a team! Don’t do this!” Toby yells and they cut to Toby at the other side of the door knocking for Jim.

“I’m sorry, I have to finish the fight…alone.”

JIM WHY!!?!? WHY YOU DO THIS TO ME?!?!!?

“Jim!” Claire yells

Claire. Jim thinks. He love her. He has protect the people he loves.

My amulet does not make mistakes

And of all creatures in our world, I chose you

Then there are these memories flashing with every single creature he had encountered in his his journey, troll, goblins, changelings...out of all then he was chosen.

Every single moment where he felt defeated but Jim persisted but continued to fight and won. Where Jim triumphed.

He was chosen, and there is a reason for that.

Out of all creatures in the world Jim has chosen something that others would be afraid of or wouldn’t even dare. Jim is scared. He doesn’t know what’s going to happened to him or how fast his life would change. He is losing a part of himself, and perhaps upon losing a part himself he might lose himself...

“They’ve freed Morgana!” Claire tells Jim through the door.

Jim want to go back to them, but after hearing that, if they have even the slightest chance of winning, Jim has to take it. Anything that will bring them one step closer to victory

He looks away from the door and steps into the bathtub.

This is it. This is when I realize he was actually gonna go through with it. I kept whispering to myself that he wasn’t gonna do it, but when he did, I begged for Strickler to open the door and stop him. I begged and I pleaded. But they didn’t make it in time. My heart utterly shattered into a million pieces for him.

Jim takes one last look at the world he knows. He’s scared, he’s afraid, but he has to this.

Blinky’s speech is going through his mind, pushing him forward telling him that he must go through with this.

His entire journey flashes in front of his eyes.

Every moment throughout his journey has come down to this.

This is for the people he loves. For his mom. For his friends. For every moment in his journey. For the world.

Jim closes his eyes and sinks into the bathtub.

Strickler finally busts the door opens and they all run inside the bathroom. But it’s too late.

“Jim!” there voices echo in the darkness.

Jim sinks into the deep black abyss.

He falls and falls

His amulet lights up; he’s in pain.

Strickler picks up the empty jar.

“What’s happened to my son? Where is my son?” Barbara asks Strickler who is in disbelief.

Claire and Toby are at the doorway. Neither can believe what just happened. They are in complete and total shock.

Where is Jim?

The light fades away

Jim continues to sink.

Then just darkness

You can hear Jim’s heartbeat and his breathing throughout the credits.

Is he coughing?

He’s breathing.

Then the episode ends.

I wiped the tears away from eyes and clean my nose.

A huge pit was in my stomach. Just an endless pit. My throat just choked up. I was eating a sandwich, I didn’t want to eat after that. In my head just thoughts running through my head. My chest had this agonizing pain that lasted for days.

I felt angry, frustrated and depressed. I just wanted to scream at the world. I felt like a lost a friend. It feels like a lost someone dear to me. A character I have related to, A character that hold near and dear to my heart. A character I would protect because I know he'd do the same for me. And in the show he did...

He saved everyone...

I finally broke down sobbing on the kitchen floor after I saw the sunset. I thought, “Jim Lake Jr can’t enjoy the sunset why should I?”I was so angry because it felt unfair. Jim deserves everything good in this world.

I questioned EVERYTHING. I questioned about myself. What was my purpose? What is my destiny? Why am I here? People think this is a joke how painful this was, well it isn’t, I was serious. All those posts about me being sad over Trollhunters are serious. I stared at the wall for the next couple off days.

I thought I could handle any angst Trollhunters was willing to throw at me. I was WRONG. I was so wrong. Never in a million years, I would have never imagine THAT.

Jim Lake Jr. a 16 year old CHILD had to make the biggest life changing decision in his life. I was 17 when season 3 was out, seeing a kid my age go through that was insane. That pain in my chest lasted for DAYS. Couldn’t stop thinking about this for WEEKS. And for MONTHS I wasn’t able to rewatch Trollhunters season 3. When i did I stopped at In Good Hands cuz I could not watch it again. Sometimes I would skip A House Divided altogether.

You know the more I think about it, the more I realized I couldn’t think of SINGLE way that better conveys the emotions and tells the story of what happen to Jim. The parallels of the scene that strongly suggest suicide, but the thing is, Jim didn’t kill himself, only a part of himself was lost. And through those parallels we felt what Jim really felt like.

Every single scene and detail was thought out so perfectly. The music absolutely breathtaking, from starting out as this ominous background music then gradually transforming into this heartbreaking music that further cut my soul in half. The lighting is stunning, having the last of the sunset’s light hit Jim in a heavenly way, like an angel because Jim is one. The sun setting as the day ends and when Jimhunters begins night arises which can be a metaphor for Jim’s transformation. The animation always so fantastic, but this time, I knew what Jim was thinking through his eyes, I saw fear, uncertainty, and indecisiveness. I saw fear in everyone who was at the door. The scenes they have chosen to play in the scene to have perfectly paralleled to what the characters where saying and thinking. Those scenes that were chosen only further proves how the visual effects of the show is beautiful are and with how stunning the dynamic shots and effects are.

Even after 2 years, I haven’t met a single animated feature that would come close to this.

Trollhunters taught me the true meaning of bittersweet is. When the final scene ended, I was happy that they finally defeated Gunmar and Morgana, but I felt like they lost so much more than this victory. Jim’s life changed overnight, Toby was left behind and separated from his closet friends, which was the final blow to my heart. It felt unfair, but then I realized we felt exactly what the writers wanted us to feel, how it feels like to lose, but get up and win.

James Lake Jr lost a part of himself, but he moved forward and won.

He did it.

Jim did win.

And if he can, then so can I

[elliemarchetti]

Holiday Inconveniences

@redqueenetwork 03 | happy holidays!

Warning: NSFW

Words: 3462

Numerous neon signs hung on the walls, illuminating the bottles of liquor behind the counter, sadly reminding her of how far away she was from home, where she would never have sat at the counter alone but at her usual table, along with her siblings and her best friend. It’s not long and you’ll be there, she told herself, taking a long sip from the bottle of cold beer, and it really was like that, but the thought wasn’t enough to make her feel less alone. Since Ann, her roommate, had left to go home to her family three days ago, the dormitory, where she hadn’t made friends with anyone else, partly thanks to her temper, partly because she shared all the courses with Ann, so she didn’t really needed another friend, had become an unsustainable place for Mare, so here she was, in a cheap bar not too far from the campus, but not too close either, to avoid making unpleasant encounters, trying to get drunk. There were still two days to spare and then the boy her mother contacted to share the car with her would pick her up and left her directly in her house’s driveway. He was the son of an old friend, or so her mother had said, but Mare hadn’t paid too much attention to her when she called, concentrating on helping Ann to choose which clothes would be good to take with her for the first holidays together with her boyfriend, a guy who was studying in another college south, though she couldn’t remember which.

“I won’t give you another one, honey, so try to enjoy it.” the waiter said without even looking up, continuing to clean the counter. Mare didn’t reply, he had already risked enough to give her a few drinks even though it was evident that she wasn’t yet twenty-one, it was understandable that he didn’t want to risk it further by letting her go out completely drunk. In order to avoid any kind of discussion, or supplication, given that the place seemed a lot like the classic one where customers desperately implored the bartender to have “only one more”, the man served the only other customer at the desk that Monday night, or that Tuesday morning, based on point of views, a plump middle-aged woman with red and swollen eyes that only confirmed Mare’s theory. At the same moment the door swung open and a guy, a little older than her, probably already in his first year at university, entered and sat down two stools away, loosening his tie and undoing the first button of a perfectly pressed white Oxford shirt. Where did he think he was, in some fancy place downtown?

“You really are very young to find yourself in such a place.” the stranger commented, evidently speaking to her.

“What do you mean with such a place?” the waiter asked, falsely offended, but the boy ignored him. They had to know each other well because the comment snatched a smile from the young man.

“I’m not young,” Mare replied, “only minute.”

“So you drink cheap beer because you miss the old days or because of lack of taste?” he asked.

Mare rolled her eyes and finally decided to look more closely at him. He was as beautiful as the California weather and couldn’t have been more different from Kilorn, her best friend, for whom she still had to decide whether or not she had a crush on. He certainly had one for her, even though he didn’t really call it a crush when he declared his love before she left for college, a couple months before, but that wasn’t the right time to think about it, not with that Greek god with bright bronze eyes that stood out on the tanned skin, in front her. Someone of this kind could’ve instilled in the average male a certain fear, but she didn’t have the feeling that he was dangerous, even though she was renowned for not having particular judgment when she drank and it was confirmed by the abundance of stories her siblings told each year when they all met for the holidays.

“Because I have no money to throw in alcohol.” she replied coldly, glancing at the glass of an expensive-looking liquor that the bartender had served him without even needing to ask. So those two didn’t just know each other but he was a regular customer.

“Do you live here?”

Mare looked at him sideways. She didn’t like the question, but her interlocutor seemed to understand, so he reformulated: “Jesus Christ, girl, where are you from? Because it’s obvious that you weren’t born here.”

“Chicago.”

“And what’s your name?”

“I’m not interested.”

“What a ugly name!” he exclaimed. “It looks like the name of someone who is running away from a man and isn’t interested in having another one.”

This time Mare looked at him bluntly. He was handsome but also presumptuous, despite having seen it right, or at least in part. She was in town because she went to college there but she was in that bar because Ann wasn’t there to help her tidy up her messy mind. What if she had returned home and Kilorn hadn’t waited for her as he had promised to do? After all, it had been almost four months since they last talked, and Mare hadn’t shown signs of returning his feelings. But yet… Yet she knew what Ann would’ve told her if she had been here: there was an attractive stranger to get distracted with for a night, why bother when she could postpone the analysis of the problem? Maybe the experience would help her understand. So she didn’t tell him she wasn’t interested in a one-night stand and answered his subsequent questions in a much more exhaustive way.

“Do you want to go?” he asked, and when she nodded he paid for both her last beer and his glass of liquor with a large banknote, leaving the bartender a huge tip, leading her to the conclusion he must also be rich. In any other situation, Mare would’ve hated him and anyone at home would’ve kicked her for even thinking about spending the night with him, but she wasn’t at home and her siblings didn’t have to know, so she let him open the door for her and take her hand on the sidewalk. He was much taller than her and being so close to him gave the feeling of being seated in the cinema’s front row, so much so that she had to lift her chin to look into his eyes and challenge him to kiss her. He immediately caught on and what began as a tender, hesitant kiss became romantic and passionate, with their lips moving in harmony. Mare felt something she had never felt before, like a jolt all over her body, and when they separated they turned the corner quickly, and then crossed the street as soon as the traffic lights turned green. They entered a large building and walked up a flight of stairs before finding themselves at the right door. Mare glanced at the label on the bell, which said T. Calore, and an instant later they were inside, thanks to the stranger who suddenly pulled her to him, squeezing her hips as he needed her. It was a wonderful feeling, something she believed to exist only in movies, but she forgot that too as his silky soft lips found her neck. With expert and decisive action he covered her with tiny kisses up to the jaw, passing then to the ear and going back down to the collarbone. He seemed to implore her to get closer and despite the same irrational impulse, the delicacy with which he acted kept triggering strange shivers that radiated from her shoulder throughout her body. The apartment was warm enough not to miss the jacket, which she freed herself of by throwing it on the ground, helped by her new lover, and they both nearly fell while he took off his black leather boots. When their lips came together again, she more than willingly let his tongue touch hers as she clasped her hands behind his neck. He took off his shirt and Mare found herself in front of a sculptural chest, the result of a perfect combination of genes and years of training. She touched his muscles and his sculpted abdomen, then put her hand on the button of his trousers and with the other touched the enormous erection. The dry sound of the zip gave her a shudder between her thighs: she craved the desire to be caressed and sank her fingers into his arms as he kissed her shoulders and breasts, pulling her jeans off. He admired her for a moment, a sexy disaster with her hair ruffled, her shirt half-unbuttoned and, incredibly, no pants. Her siblings had always praised the benefits of one-night stands and that young man, who lifted her by putting her legs around his waist like he was used to it, seemed the ideal candidate to experience them. He kissed her until he laid her gently on the sofa’s pillows: “Comfortable?” he asked, almost murmuring. When Mare nodded he gave her a kiss and took a square sachet from his wallet, which he tore with his teeth. He lowered his trousers and underwear enough to unroll the thin latex easily and quickly, only to return to devote his attention to her. He kissed her again, as if the wait had killed him, holding his breath while trying desperately to prolong the crazy, senseless, irresponsible and stupendous ride. He pressed one hand on a pillow while with the other he held her knee against her shoulder. Mare had white knuckles from how hard she was clinging to the sofa cover and every time he entered her, making her feeling that fantastic wave of pain that spread throughout her body, she tightened stronger, regardless of the fact that the fabric could break or be ruined: with all the money he seemed to have, he could easily have bought a new one. The house owner brought his mouth closer to her and Mare was instantly lost thinking how passionate and at the same time soft and extraordinary his lips were, with every touch of his tongue studied, experienced, designed to give her pleasure. As he continued relentlessly, he grabbed her thigh and with one hand opened her legs more, then with the other touched her delicate skin in the middle. Afterwards she screamed, raising her hips to meet his own, and squeezed his waist with trembling knees. He leaned down and touched her lips with his as she moaned, smiling, satisfied with the girl’s reaction. He continued to move slowly, giving her tender kisses, until he lost all control, contracting his muscles and penetrating her again with more force; now that he had made her reach orgasm, he concentrated only on himself and the thrusts became ponderous, inexorable. His moan sounded muffled against her lips, now dry from too many kisses. He lay down beside her and Mare closed her eyes for only a second, but when she opened them again it was because of the nearly white light that penetrated from the large French window.

“Good morning ‘I’m not interested’” he said, making fun of her line from the night before, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Good morning Mr. Calore. T. What is it for? Thomas? Timothy?” she tried to guess, but he corrected her - it was Tiberias - and sat up again. Neither of them could say they slept badly, but the night on the couch hadn’t been a blessing for the already aching muscles and she began to feel cold and the embarrassed.  

“Pretentious name.” she commented as he pulled his pants back on, heedless of the morning erection he had to be used to. Having three siblings, it was certainly not a source of embarrassment, but she imagined that many other girls had somehow been annoyed or put in awe of the thing, so she didn’t bother to tell him that as much as she cared he could even walk around naked. Another merit of growing up surrounded by male: no one expects a useless sense of decency and they are the ones who are embarrassed in front of the female bodies and not the other way around, something that had given many advantages both to her and Gisa. With this guy, however, it was different and she thanked that fortunately the shirt and cardigan she wore were long enough to cover her private parts.

“Your parents were obsessed with Latin or something? No, wait, they studied classical literature.” she ventured, hoping that filling the silence with chatter was enough to dispel the tremendous feeling that tightened her stomach. She didn’t really felt guilty, but she certainly didn’t know how to get rid of that sexy mess.

“It’s Tiberias, with an e, not Tiberius, and it’s also my father and grandfather’s name.” he explained.

“Are you noble? Wait, I know, you’re English immigrants!”

Tiberias smiled guiltily, proving her right.

“Well, Tiberias, thanks for a fantastic and unexpected end of a shit Monday, but now I really have to go, I have to pack my bags as I leave tomorrow to spend the holidays with my family.”

"Don’t you stop even for breakfast? A shower?” he ventured, watching her. She had to be a disaster even more than the night before, her hair uncombed, her clothes wrinkled, her makeup smudged and her face swollen so she didn’t object, and determined not to be part of that hateful group of people who got on the bus without first showering, she agreed. He showed her the bathroom, that was as beautiful as the rest of the house, white and dove gray tiled, with a huge shower and a tub for two, with a headrest on each side, matching the rest. Everything in that house seemed almost unused, as if no one lived there. She imagined that this was the case most of the time. Once left alone the smell of musk and cleanliness was no longer as enticing as it had seemed the night before and the perfectionism had lost much of its charm, but reminded herself she didn’t have to like it because, once she took advantage of the abundant breakfast he would’ve surely provided, she would go back to her messy room and leaving behind a beautiful experience.

“I’ll leave you some clean clothes outside the door. That’s all I can provide that can someway fit.” Tiberias told her in a low voice over the wood that separated them. Mare didn’t answer but smiled at the idea. The trousers, although they had spent the night on the floor, were safe, but she could hardly say the same thing about the shirt and the cardigan. Intrigued, she went to see what he had brought her, revealing an old black t-shirt with a slightly baggy collar and a simple cashmere sweater of the same color. Did he really trust her with that stuff? The sweater seemed pricy and after all, she was pretty sure she would never see him again. Maybe he thought she would give them back. Perhaps he would use them as an excuse to see her again, even if he didn’t seem so banal. Anyway, she kept thinking about it under the boiling water, which filled the whole room with steam, and while drying her hair with a decidedly new and expensive-looking black hair dryer. Without her products the result was a bit frizzy, and without make-up the not-so-healthy complexion and deep shadows under her eyes were evident, but she imagined that it would play in her favor when it was time to leave, which she no longer wanted to do once she smelled hot bagels from the kitchen.

“I hope you like cheese because I have nothing else to fill them with. And no coffee or tea, only orange juice.” he said apologetically, as if it wasn’t the best breakfast she’d eaten in four months. They sat at the table, and despite the silence her host seemed incredibly cheerful, but Mare blamed it for the previous night.

“Where do you study? Because it’s pretty evident that you’re a student.” he asked out of the blue, between bites, leaving her speechless. Were they chatter without a purpose, those? After all the silence? Or thought… She should’ve told him, she should’ve told him she wasn’t sentimentally available, or then, if she didn’t , she would’ve wanted to bang her head against a wall, or Ann would kicked her ass once she found out about the thing, or maybe not, but it didn’t matter. So she took a last bite of the best bagel of her life, and once she had tasted it fully, she began to explain that it wasn’t his fault, that he had been fantastic, but she couldn’t.

“At least let me take you home.” he said when she had finished, but he didn’t seem disappointed or angry though he wouldn’t have the right, as he was the one who pointed out that she didn’t seem to look for a man, less than twelve hours earlier. As far as Mare wanted to accept the ride, she knew it was profoundly wrong to take advantage of him further, so she refused, claiming she could easily call a taxi, even if it was a lie: she didn’t even know if he had enough money to pay for the bus ticket but after all it was a few miles, and despite the cold of mid-December she could have made it to the dorm.

“If you wait a moment I’ll accompany you.” he said, alluding to his breakfast. “I also have the final preparations to do before leaving for the holidays.”

"Oh, go ahead, don’t worry, I know the way.” she answered, with her hand already on the handle of the exit door. Going down the stairs she tried not to think, more attentive to her surroundings than to the implications, if indeed there were any other than the moral ones, which she wanted to ignore, of what she had done. The walls were of white bricks, the handrail wrought iron, without the slightest trace of dust, just like the door, that didn’t move an inch when she tried to push it. She tried to pull, although she was pretty sure that the night before he had pulled it toward him, but nothing happened. She tried to catch a glimpse of something beyond the worked glass, but everything was a large white indistinct mass. Why was everything so white? A wave of panic swept over her. It couldn’t be snow. She couldn’t really be trapped in a stranger’s house because of snow, not the day before she left for home. Maybe, if she had found someone who could open the door for her, pushing with a little more strength… But to whom could she have asked? It wasn’t like the dormitory, there was no concierge that took care of what was wrong, nor could she ring all the bells of the building. Sure, she could’ve waited, but with that bad weather probably no one with some sense would’ve moved. But Tiberias had said he had some errands to do, so if she went up to ask him to open the door for her… she would’ve seemed stupid, of course, but better stupid than trapped, right?

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave. Tell me, did you fall in love with the entrance or with my bagels smell?” the guy’s voice said from the landing.

“I can’t open the door.” she answered coldly, with the same attitude she showed the night before.

Tiberias seemed incredibly ready. Hadn’t he even taken a shower?

“I know, I was coming to warn you, wherever you were. The city is blocked, or at least this part certainly is. There is no public transport, nor taxis.”

“I can walk. If only you opened that stupid door, we could end it and we both could go back to our respective lives.” she replied.

“Come up a moment and look out.” he said, and waited for her to go up the stairs with a grim look before turning his back and entering the house, where he pulled the curtain of the large window from which the light that had awakened them penetrated, showing her the city covered not by a blanket but by what looked like a whole duvet of snow, above which other white flakes were piling up at an impressive speed.

“I can do nothing about it so I’m afraid you’ll staying here for a while.”

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 1/?

Happy birthday, @teamhook​ ! You have been a faithful reader of my fics from long before I came over to tumblr, and I appreciate your support so much! As a matter of fact, you were the first one to encourage me to get a tumblr blog. Anyway, I hope you have a marvelous day, my friend.

You told me this Gabrielle Aplin song was one of your favorites that reminded you of CS, so I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Then, just a few days ago I watched a Hallmark Christmas movie (yes, I’m already watching them, don’t judge) called a Christmas to Remember. It had Elle McKinnon in it, who played young Alice Jones on Once, and the whole thing gave me CS vibes. Then I realized the song really fit the movie’s plot, and this fic was born. Unlike the movie, however, this doesn’t happen at Christmas. I also couldn’t finish it in a one-shot, so here we go, another MC/WIP. It’s worth it for you though, @teamhook​. I hope you enjoy it!

Many thanks to the CSRT discord chat for helping me brainstorm parts of this, especially @shireness-says​ for giving me the idea to make Emma part of a rock band. I was having a very difficult time coming up with a band name that hasn’t been used yet in the fandom, when the name of a band from my college came to mind - Wendy Sews it On. It suddenly hit me what that band name is a reference too, and I was giddy with excitement!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is?

Side note: Has anyone else written from the point of view of someone who can’t remember her name? Well it’s hard, ya’ll - lol!

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and both Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook@kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree​@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @winterbaby89​ @distant-rose@shireness-says​ @xhookswenchx​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @branlovestowrite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​

Oh today I’m just a drop of water and I’m running down the mountain side. Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean. I’ll be rising with the morning tide.

The road stretched before Emma’s tiny yellow bug, she was sure, for miles upon miles of the thick forests of northern Maine. Yet all she could see out her windshield was about a car’s length in front of her through the thick swirling snow. Her tires kept sliding on the slick roads, and more than once she had trouble keeping the car pointed in the right direction. It didn’t help that she was completely and utterly lost, her GPS losing signal at some point miles back.

Emma cursed rural Maine, cursed the snow, and even cursed Regina for suggesting this week of r&r to begin with. A cabin with all the amenities next to a spa sounded like heaven. Or maybe anything secluded sounded like heaven - a place to get her head on right again, maybe even write a new song.

She just wasn’t sure it would be a love song like Regina and the record label was hoping for. She added Walsh to her list of stuff to curse.

Her headlights, for a brief moment, illuminated a sign up ahead: “Welcome to Storybrooke.” She cursed again as she squinted down at her phone which still mocked her with the little swirling icon and the word “buffering.”

“Come on,” she muttered. She started to type in “Misthaven Resort and Spa” again, glancing from her phone screen to the road and back again. She knew it was dangerous to use her phone while driving, especially in weather like this, but if she didn’t figure out where the hell she was, she might run out of gas and die out here in the snow anyway.

It was a cost benefit analysis, really.

God, she needed to start spending time with people besides Regina and Walsh. She hadn’t even seen her former bandmates since this solo career train had catapulted out of the station.

Anna would have loved that mixed metaphor. It was the kind of line Emma’s red-headed, bubbly, almost little sister would have put into a song. Like the Beatles, every member of Wendy Sewed it On wrote songs for the band. Anna’s were quirky and upbeat, Elsa’s were soaring, epic ballads, Ruby’s were tongue in cheek and driving.

And Emma . . . well, fans said her songs were sad and haunting, but deep. Wendy Sewed it On had their biggest hits with Emma’s songs, even though it was Elsa who belted them out. Being all alone on that stage, laying her soul bare with those lyrics . . .

Emma’s thoughts were cut off and a scream flew out of her mouth as a wolf bounded onto the road in front of her. It was all a blur after that: breaking glass, her continuing screams, pine trees surrounding her on all sides as she plowed off the road and down an embankment of snow.

There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then it’s like the sun came out.

A severe winter storm warning has been issued for central Aroostook County. Visibility will be extremely low, roads impass-

Killian switched off the radio in his pickup, not wanting to alarm Henry. His windshield wipers were on the highest setting, his lights on bright, and for now, he could still make out the road far enough ahead of them that he was fairly confident they would get home long before the storm reached its peak. Part of him was second guessing bringing a ten year old along on this call, but Henry had been so excited at the prospect of helping deliver the foal at the Nolan farm.

“Dad,” Henry said, picking at the aluminum foil Mary Margaret had used to wrap up a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, “why doesn’t Uncle David work with you anymore?”

“Well, he and Mary Margaret had been saving up for years to buy that farm. I always knew horses were his dream, not the animal shelter.” He glanced from the road to grin at his son. “And you’re dying to have one of those cookies, aren’t you?”

Henry’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

Killian laughed. “I’ve been a dad for a decade now. I have a sixth sense.”

“So can I have one?”

“No, you have to share with Alice.”

“Aw man,” Henry pouted, but it was short lived. Both of his children were extremely curious and regularly peppered him with questions. “Why couldn’t Uncle David just deliver the foal himself? He knows animals.”

“Because it was breech - that means it was upside down inside the mother horse. David’s not a vet, so he called me.”

Henry arched his brows. “And they pay you in cookies?”

Killian chuckled again. “David and Mary Margaret, yes.”

“They are good cookies,” Henry agreed, taking a big whiff of the plate in his lap. “Maybe Alice wouldn’t mind if we - DAD!”

Killian saw the figure in the road at the same moment his son did, so before the word even left Henry’s lips, Killian was swerving to avoid the person. The roads were wet and slick enough to send his tires sliding, and if Killian didn’t have so much experience driving in such dangerous conditions, they may have ended up in the ditch. When the truck finally came to a stop, he turned first to Henry.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked him, running a hand nervously over the boy.

“Yeah,” Henry gasped, “I’m good.” The boy twisted around in his seat. “What was that?”

That was a good question. It had looked like a person, but who would be out in this weather? Unless they were in trouble. Killian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Stay here,” he instructed Henry, giving him a steely look lest his overly curious oldest child be tempted to disobey. Thankfully, Henry nodded, his face a mask of intensity.

After Killian exited the vehicle, he could clearly see a woman stumbling around in the middle of the road. He approached her cautiously, fully aware that a man appearing before the woman in the middle of the forest could be frightening to say the least.

“Are you okay?”

She turned then, and he could tell from the blank expression on her face that she was in shock. She had obviously experienced some sort of trauma, and his heart plummeted at the thought. He walked slowly closer. The woman was now turning in a circle, unsteady on her feet as if she might be inebriated. Her gaze was lifted to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings. When he was close enough, Killian reached out tentatively to rest his hand on her upper arm. She was wearing a red leather jacket; not the smartest choice of outerwear for snow like this.

“I’d like to help you,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on injured animals. “What are you doing out here?”

She blinked, as if trying to focus on his face. Her skin was almost alabaster, her hair completely coated in a layer of snow, and he wondered how long she’d been out here in the elements. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked down at it, almost in confusion. When she did, he noticed the blood matting the top of her head.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered.

“I - am?” she whispered back.

He smiled, relieved to hear her voice finally. “Aye, you have a rather nasty gash on your head there. Were you in an accident?”

“Was I?” her voice sounded thready and far away as she reached a trembling hand up to touch her head. “Ow, that hurts,” she gasped. Yet she kept patting at the wound frantically.

“I’m not surprised, so let’s stop touching it shall we?” he took her slender, ice cold hand in his to still her nervous movements. “What’s your name? Can I call someone for you?”

“I . . . I . . . “ she began to sway as her words turned to incoherent mutterings, then she crumpled against Killian’s chest. He scooped her up in his arms, turning his gaze nervously to the sky as the snow fell in fat, thick flakes. He followed the tail lights back to the truck. He had no choice but to take the mysterious woman home with him before the storm got worse.

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

She awoke in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange little girl staring at her. She hurt everywhere, but her head especially throbbed with a sharp, jabbing pain. The sunlight pouring through the window made her wince, and the image of the little girl sitting at the end of the bed went fuzzy.

“This is my room,” the child told her, “but you can use it until you get better.”

She looked around her, evidence of a child everywhere from the dollhouse in the corner to the childish artwork tacked all over the walls. What was she doing here?

“My name is Alice,” the girl continued, bouncing on the bed a bit, making its injured occupant wince. “I’m seven. How old are you?”

“Alice,” another voice gently rebuked from the doorway, “let our patient rest, please.”

“Okay, daddy,” the little girl sighed, but obeyed, skipping out of the room.

A man drew closer to the bed, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest, the urge to flee overwhelming. He lifted both hands, slowing his approach, a gentle look in his eyes. It didn’t help - she didn’t know this man or where she was.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my family’s home,” he explained, “my name is Killian Jones and my son and I found you wandering in the road. We’re in the midst of a bad storm, so I had no choice but to bring you here.”

She had never been so confused in her life, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and she reached up to find a bandage on the top of her head.

“What happened to me?”

“Well,” Killian told her patiently, “you had a gash on your head and some other cuts and bruises. I bandaged you up.”

“You’re a doctor?”

He smiled, and despite the situation, she found it charming. “A vet, but the principles are largely the same. Nevertheless, I’ve called the town doctor and he’ll be coming out once the roads are cleared.”

“The roads?”

“We’re snowed in.”

She moaned. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and shame washed over her. She couldn’t let this stranger see her cry.

“Listen,” he said softly, “you were hurt and wandering around. Do you remember what happened?”

She lifted both hands to cover her face. “No, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”

“Well, how about your name? Let’s start there.”

“My name is -” Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “Oh my God. I don’t know! I don’t know my name!”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Killian soothed, laying a hand tentatively on her shoulder, “you hit your head, so it’s understandable. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”

How could he be so damn calm? She didn’t know who she was!

“I . . . I . . . “ she looked down at herself and saw a pajama top covered in pink roses, “I’m in pajamas.”

The man smiled again in that way that made her heart flip like a damn teenager. “And you look good in them, so that’s a win.”

“I hate pink,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “And flowery shirts.”

Killian’s eyebrows quirked up. They were quite expressive, she noticed. “Well there you go, you remember that!”

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “how did I get into pajamas?” Surely she wasn’t wandering the road in her pjs.

His eyes grew large and he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me! My friend Mary Margaret did that. She’s a volunteer down at the hospital.”

“I helped!” Alice called out, popping up from the foot of the bed. “Cause I want to be a nurse. Or an artist. Or a pilot.”

“Alice Milah Jones,” her father scolded, “I thought I told you to give our patient some peace and quiet?”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Killian looked back at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”

She bit down on her lip, those damn tears threatening to spill over again. “No. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

He frowned, the pity on his face clear. She hated pity. How did she know that? And that she hated pink? And flowered shirts? But not her own damn name?

“Okay,” he told her softly, patting her foot gently through the down comforter on the bed. He was handsome too, she noted. Dark hair, a strong jaw covered in nicely trimmed scruff, bright blue eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that somehow made them more piercing. Suddenly, taking him in from head to toe and thinking of quirky but sweet little Alice, she was sure that she was in a safe place. How she knew she wasn’t sure, but it settled deep within her and took root.

Killian left, closing the door silently behind him. She slid beneath the warm blankets as her eyes fluttered closed. She dreamed of snow and blue eyes and strong arms but not of who she was or where she came from.

[batb1tch]

It’s my boy’s birthday so here are some Jason Todd head-canons 🎉

Probably 3rd to last (Alfred and Bruce) on the list of ‘understanding internet slang’ in the household. He died and just sort of fell behind on the times (including memes, pop culture references,etc..) I know he’s known for making snarky quips and sarcastic comments but I have no doubt his siblings would call him out on his outdated references. It’s likely it’d really piss him off too like, knowledge is really everything to this kid and here he is with a group of teenagers who are always on top of shit (Steph, Tim, Duke, even Dick) and he doesn’t know what they’re talking about the majority of the time. Can’t figure out how to use Twitter or Snapchat and he does not have the patience to learn. It’s a genuine sore spot for him regardless of the humorous side.

Has an inner city accent that will never leave him. Still pronounce “on” like “awn” and frequently drops his r’s (which Bruce acts like he hates but really he finds it endearing.) Drops his “ing”s like “nothing” is “nothin.”

Fantastic chef, learned from the best. Very good at making something out of nothing and making it last. Steph has been showing him how to can things like fruit and vegetables. She’s basically just enabled his doomsday prepping behavior.

Speaking of, if you think Bruce is bad with the backup plans (yes there is always a b c d — z) where do you think Jay got it from? Absolutely anal about planning and contingencies. Has a backup for his backups.

Has a small hoard of books hidden in an end-table back at one of his safe houses. His favorite classics (mostly gifted by Bruce.)

Loves the smell of paper.

Definitely could use them but refuses to get glasses. Babs teases him for his squinting when she gets the chance.

“Just join the club book-worm, promise it won’t ruin your badass reputation.”

Jason ~squinting~ “I’d rather die....again.”

Collects cool bookmarks.

Definitely names his guns.

Favorite meal is literally any Spanish/Mexican dish followed by a good chili dog & a coke.

Can pack away enough food to feed a horse and keep going, not even Bruce knows how he does it. Alfred acts like he’s a pain in the ass to cook for but loves feeding him anyways. “You’ll eat us out of house and home someday my dear boy, good god.”

While we’re at it, he is 100% taller and wider than Bruce. You might think it makes Bruce a bit uncomfortable when standing right next to him (I mean...it does lol) but he absolutely loves when Jay throws his weight around because the malnourished string-bean of a child that he met on the street could now powerlift a small automobile and he is so fucking proud and happy that he grew up to be big and healthy (that he managed to grow up AT ALL mind you) how could he be mad? He probably tears up at the dinner table after Jay fills his plate for 4th time that evening and still intends to stay for dessert because he loVES HIM.

His feet definitely hang off the end of his bed by like, the shins because his room only has a full compared to everyone else’s king/queen. It never got upgraded when he hit puberty (because he was dead) and then he wouldn’t let anyone change it once he came back because that’s his bed “don’t fucking touch it I still fit just fine.” (Even though he’s like 22 and there’s a dip in the mattress that could put the Grand Canyon to shame.)

Still has a picture of Catherine hidden away. Visits her grave on the anniversary and always brings her favorite flowers (Lillie’s.)

His hands get cold really easily and they’re always dry/calloused.

Snores. Loudly.

The Lazarus pit did NoT heal his autopsy scar that shit is there for life and it is big and it is ugly. He doesn’t like taking his shirt off because of it and the look on Bruce’s face when he sees it could strip wallpaper.

Stopped dying the lock of white hair on his head.

Has spring allergies that turn him into a giant snotting watery eyed whiny baby.

He’s claustrophobic and not a fan of the dark. It’s why his helmet has night vision.

(While we’re at it, that helmet has to be the equivalent of like, iron mans on the inside. Definitely has built in comms, scopes, analysis systems, navigation, etc etc. the WORKS. whICH he designed and created himself because he’s brilliant.) (Actually Roy might have helped a little but don’t tell him that.)

Has a work-in-progress bike in the cave that hasn’t been finished for over 2 years and it will never be finished because he uses it as an excuse to hangout and spend time with Bruce. Drives Steph crazy to see it sit there but she gets it.

During his first Thanksgiving with Bruce and Alfred he cried for 15 minutes before dinner (which he’s still embarrassed about to this day) and then ate until he literally puked. He hasnt missed many Thanksgivings since he died.

TERRIBLE at 1st-person-shooters and super pissed about it.

“That’s not even realistic, an HK-416 doesn’t even have a 200 round drum. It’s bonkers! It’s madness Tim!”

“Shut the fuck up Jason you haven’t even been facing the right way since we started.”

(He’ll stick to Space Invaders and Mario fuck you very much.)

Really good at piano. Bruce asked him to start playing seriously when he moved in because “learning a musical instrument teaches self -discipline and versatility” but really it’s because one day during his Robin years Jay sat down and started plinking on the keys to a song he learned at the public youth-center on the “old shitty out of tune” wood one they had and it just happened to be a song Martha used to play Bruce all the time. He wanted to hear it fill the halls again.

Gets in a screaming match with Bruce nowadays and instead of lighting up one of Penguin’s underground casinos (like he might of used to 👀) he’ll disappear for a month to cool down. You can always tell when he gets over it though because he sends the family a postcard from wherever he is in the world. (Alfred puts them all on the fridge.)

Pit symptoms used to (and occasionally still do) include horrific night terrors, black-out rage, and brief moments of hallucinations or flashbacks. He had to relive the period of time shortly after he was pulled out through graphic and warped recollections (typically after not getting enough sleep or engaging in physical altercations.) He really only started to work through this after Ducra had suggested keeping a log and writing down everything he could remember. After a time he was able to piece together the things he had experienced or done (mostly to others) and as awful and horrible as knowing may have been, he could at least start to move on.

The more time he spent with Damian after he came back the more he could remember as well. He will occasionally speak to him in Arabic & not even realize he’s doing it (which scares the pants of Dames, himself, and Bruce.)

He does feel closer to the little gremlin because of it though. Talia likely had him as a baby with her the majority of the time after he was born and Jay was recovering/training, so he spent a substantial amount of time with both of them.

Bruce bought him a kindle for Christmas one of the first years he was back and he was (and still is but don’t tell the old man that) elated.

Occasionally mumbles in his sleep, usually in a variety of languages.

He does smoke, mostly only when he gets stressed out (because everyone reams him for it otherwise.) You’d think it’s a rebellious street kid thing but it’s actually because Catherine used to smoke the same brand and the smell reminds him of her.

His shoe size is a 13.

The time shortly after he crawled out of his own grave he could see ghosts (and I’m talking straight up dead people.) He can’t recall much of this or the time spent actually deceased (even after his dunk in the pit) but even now he’ll see things move out of the corner of his eye or get cold chills or feel like he’s being watched. When he hasn’t slept for like, 4 days and is bordering on manic depressive and harmful behavior, he starts seeing them again. Constantine prob finds him real interesting.

My guess is that he did see Catherine when he died but overall ended up in some sort of purgatory-like state which he can’t recall.

When he blushes it’s the hollows of his cheeks, back of the ears and neck and all the way down the front of his chest. The autopsy scar shows up white against it.

Has those hands that no matter how many times he washes them the oil/gun cleaner doesn’t come out of the cracks. Looks like a mechanic.

Tends to wear thicker work/type clothing like carhart fireproof pants and boots. Obviously his jacket too.

Not a fan of cold weather at all. His nose and cheek get really red and he shivers (as unmanly as that is)

OCD. His apartments are spotless, weapons and ammunition categorized and logged, etc.

Had asthma as a child and sort of grew out of it but sometimes his endurance suffers as an adult because of it.

Has this particular phone case 💀