#yes in retrospect he can look back and think 'i was being the mom to that household' but thats not a conscious decision kid dean makes.

[sammygender]

of genderswapped sam and dean. who has the short haircut.

THE REAL QUESTION. i could see a case for either. short hair is probably more convenient for hunting after all....

i think dean wears her hair long as a kid because it reminds john of mary. you could make the case that he'd cut her hair because it reminds him of mary too much, but i can't see it really, i think he'd want to preserve the innocence he sees in girlhood that he doesnt seem to in boyhood (a la that whole journal entry about wishing he had girls and how sons have to be soliders). continuing that, i cant actually really see her cutting her hair short at all because it ties her to her mother in her eyes. i think girl dean is like so obsessed with mary. can you imagine like. her whole life is about avenging mary and she's her daughter and the only girl in the family now. she has no adult female role models except her dead mother. she plays into being john (still loves cars and classic rock and wears flannel and leather jackets and is generally 'masculine') but she still sees herself as mary. john sees her as mary too even though he expects her to act exactly like him also. so i think she keeps her hair long. she probably has childhood memories of mary brushing it and wants to hold onto them. i think she likes it long, and i think john likes it long, and i think it reminds them both of mary, and i think they both like that.

sam? well sam is a lot less invested in playing the Role that's expected of him, so. girl sam is victim to levels of misogyny previously unthought of especially in the way where both john and dean see her as soooo weak and little and in need of protection. and they probably rely on the girl thing a lot to infantilise her. so i can totally see her cutting her hair off in a Fuck You to john at some point. tbh i reckon girl sam would have hair like canon sam's later season hair. though rly i can see anything with sam. also i feel like she'd have grown up with a shortish bob because it's easier maintenance (for dean john winchester is NOT bothered with looking after sams hair <3)

also both of those answers are in an au where one of them's raised a girl and the other isn't. but if we're talking total femchesters? john having two daughters? need to think on this more but im still leaning towards sam. i think girl dean commits to being a Girl the same way canon dean commits to being a Guy, even though both of them are shrouded in the same machismo. but sam fights any role hes given

tldr: sam

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

returning home

(cw: age gap 26/41; nsfw, mdni, smut, a bit of angst and drama, fluffiness and a lot of tears)

the part before: it's the parts of König that she didn't see

a/n: i'm sorry, this got a bit out of hand :') over 9k words, buckle in, we're in for a ride

I have been a mess those past four months. This has been the worst breakup of my life. I mean, not that I had that many partners before. And the only one I still sometimes cry after is my highschool sweetheart.

But this… we weren’t even an official thing. König and I spent a lot of time together in those few weeks, yes. But we never even clarified if we were in a relationship or not. Dating. Being exclusive. And sure, I was basically living at his place after only a week of knowing each other. But that didn’t mean anything in retrospect. Apparently.

You can’t really call in sick for a broken heart and I wasn’t able to leave my bed for a few days. Sleeping a lot, listening to all the sad love songs, barely eating. Until my mom came by, basically kicking me off my mattress. Forcing me – in a loving way – to get a grip and not mope around like a heartbroken mess.

The worst part was when I found one of his hoodies in between my stuff, I must have accidentally packed it with my clothes when I got everthing together, and it still smelled like him. It doesn't anymore because I have been wearing it nonstop when I'm at home. Not outside though, because the piece of clothing looks ridiculous on me with how big it is compared to my size. I could fit myself in there three times and the hem falls over my knees. If I press my face into the fabric, I still pick up hints of his scent. At least that’s what I tell myself.

The marks on my body faded too. The hickeys he left on my skin becoming fainter by each day, until they were gone.

I looked at all the pictures we took together. Well, more like, I took them and König is also in them. And the selfies we sent each other. The only ones I didn't keep were the filthy ones, because it felt wrong, so I deleted them. But I didn't have the heart to do that to the pictures of us, the ones that carried the memories. And it stopped hurting as much over time. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Lying in bed. The one he bought and we built together, because he broke mine. It's unfair, really, because he is gone and I can't escape him still. Repeating his words to me in my mind.

You should be with someone your age.

It never had been a topic for me, not something I would've spent a second thought on, at least not like this. But apparently, it had been on his mind.

Someone who can promise you that they'll come back every time.

And in the back of my mind there is still the little voice that wishes that he would just have had the guts to be with me. Despite the possibility of him not coming back in one piece, leaving me to mourn him. Because like this, he isn't in my life either. And I still worry about him, because there is no way for me to know that he still is in this life.

He didn't even want to hear my side of things. Or maybe he wanted to, but I was just too blindsided by it all, frozen in place as he “broke up” with me.

Afterwards, when I thought about what he said, I wanted to scream. To shout at him. Even if I could never really do that. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and ask him, what the fuck he was thinking. Why the fuck he was thinking that.

Fuck. I’m so sorry, Liebes.

His apologies didn’t help either. Because I wanted to be mad at him. I was mad at him, and I still am. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Because even though I get it - I get what he was telling me - I still don’t fully understand.

And I remember the look on his face as he was crouched before me. When it became painfully clear that I couldn’t read him.

I never meant for this to go this far or… this deep.

Well, I didn’t either. But it did. And he left, even though he felt the same way. Or at least so I thought.

After a few weeks I finally feel better. I’m okay with how it is. That’s what I tell myself.

Not at all ready to go out on dates again. Not that there is any rush. Not that there had been that many occasions, but still. The thought alone of being with somebody that's not him…

I get back to work, meet my friends, hang out with my family, and when they ask me how I’m doing, I can convincingly tell them I’m okay.

Almost every night the thing on my mind before I fall asleep is him. Nothing, but him, and how I wish he was lying right next to me. I still just want him to come back.

And I know I’m not making any sense. It’s just gonna take some more time to get over this.

When I wake up one morning and see the messages on my phone, I don't even realize what they mean at first.

I'm coming back tomorrow I don't deserve you, but if there's any chance that you'd want to see me again... I’m landing at the airfield in [REDACTED], at 1130 I'm sorry, and I understand if you've moved on or maybe we can talk sometime this week if you're busy whatever works for you or maybe you don’t want to talk to me at all which is fine as well, of course just let me know in Liebe, König

I blink, reading the messages over and over again. The little incoherent ramble until it finally clicks. He's coming back.

I groan, putting the phone away, hiding my face in my hands. Contemplating what I should do as the possibility of seeing him again churns in my stomach. And all the emotions come flooding back, tears pricking in the corner of my eye. God damn it.

Men and women are disembarking from the aircraft and I crane my neck, looking for him.

I’ve been waiting here for some time cause they were running late. And I’m not the only one, there are quite a bunch of people waiting. Probably families and partners? They all seemed relaxed, at least more relaxed than me.

I’m hopping from one leg to the other, my hands feel a little clammy as I knead them. And honestly, I’m a little nauseous.

More people in gear than I would have thought come off the plane, meeting up with their relatives, mingling with each other or just leaving.

I already fear that I completely misunderstood his messages, but that couldn’t have been possible, right? Maybe I shouldn't have come here, and just told him I’ll see him some time this week, maybe I shou-

Two more figures emerge from the cargo hold, coming down the ramp. I don’t recognize the man on the right, but the one on the left…

Beige cargo-pants, protectors on the knees and shins. A simple longsleeved shirt, black of course, and a bulletproof vest. Gloves and more protectors on his arms. The band of bright red beads around his wrist.

The mask, the hood fashioned out of simple fabric, red streaks down underneath the eyeholes, held in place by the helmet atop his head. Hiding his face away.

Fuck.

I only saw a picture of him in gear once, when he showed me, but I still would have recognized him instantly. His tall build, the attitude with which he carries himself, gives him away. This get-up can’t hide it.

He stills. Frozen in place, and from the distance I can’t make out anything.

I just stand there, unsure if he already saw me. And I lift my hand, just a little wave, before I drop it again.

Shit, maybe I should have told him that I was coming.

But then he starts running towards me. A slight jog at first, his strides getting longer with every step. I can’t just stand here either, my legs almost moving on their own.

Dropping the bag that hung over his shoulder. His gloved hands are fumbling with his helmet, until he gets it off, just throwing it away, and pulling of the mask too, and when I see his face for the first time in month, I feel tears prick in the corner of my eyes. Running a little faster, only a few meters between us now. The skin around his eyes is smeared with eyeblack, his long hair is clinging to his head, as he also gets rid of the balaclava, just pushing it down, so it sits around his neck, and then…

He stops, just a step before me, not to run me over, but I don’t, jumping up, jumping into his arms, the full impact of my body against his not moving the big guy a little bit. I’m clinging onto his shoulders as he catches me in his embrace. I’m burying my face in his neck, and when his scent hits my nostrils, a little sharper than usual, gunpowder and sweat mixing with his warm soothing scent, the tears flow free, staining his balaclava, wetting his cheeks. Sobs are shaking me as he presses me against him, my legs hugging around his waist.

“I missed you so fucking much.”, he says, his deep voice shaky, and I can’t even answer because it just makes me cry more. “Ssssh, Liebes. Don’t cry.”, he tries to comfort me, but hearing his favourite term of endearment only lets the tears flow freely. “I didn’t wanna make you cry.”

“To-oo late for - that.”, I press out between two sobs.

“I’m so sorry, fuck.”, he sighs, his arms closing even tighter around me. “I don't know how I will ever make it up to you.” His gloved hand is softly caressing down my back.

“I missed you too.”, I finally manage to say, my voice thick with tears, pressing myself against him, and I never wanna let go.

But I need to pull back, only a little, just to look at him again. Touch him. Convince myself that this is real.

My vision is blurred, but that’s still him, his face so close to mine. His gaze intently on me, while one of my hands grabs him, my fingers caressing over his jaw, the stubble a little longer than I’m used to, the smudged black colour around the eye area making him look a little different. He leans into my palm, the eyebrows pulling up and the tension melting away.

His hand cups mine, his thumb softly caressing over it, such soft touches and another small sob is shaking me.

“I don’t want to overstep anything.”, he whispers. “But I would really like to kiss you.”

And I nod, not able to speak the words yet. And before he can lean in, I already press my lips to his. When my mouth meets his, and I taste the saltiness of my tears intermingling with his scent, the wave of relief that floods me is indescribable.

It's as soft as I remember, something that always surprised me. How soft his kisses are.

The way his lips press against mine, like he's searching for something, tasting me. Nipping at my lower lip, his nose rubbing against mine. His stubble scratching over my skin as he tilts his head.

He presses kisses to the corner of my mouth, my cheeks, my nose. All over my face, slowly drying up my tears, and I take a deep breath, calming myself down. He really is back.

When I finally take a look around, I realise that we’re off to the side a bit, but not that far away from the others on the tarmac, so… this must be quite the spectacle for his colleagues and the people who waited for them. Some of them are in tight hugs or talking with the civilians, but some are also looking in our direction, every once in a while. I don't have any time to feel self-conscious though, about being a teary mess.

And the guy who disembarked the aircraft with König comes our way, a little hesitantly, but smiling at us both.

“Köni.”, he says in a deep, but friendly voice, omitting the g in his name.

“Horangi.”, König says, setting me down, but keeping me close by his side, and I wouldn’t have moved an inch away.

The man in front of us is dressed in green and beige camo, quite different from what the big guy is wearing except for the pants. A similarly coloured balaclava around his neck and sporty sunglasses on his head, sitting on top of it in his hair, complete the look.

“I heard so much about you.”, he says lightly, addressing me.

“You did?” My eyebrows shoot up, almost colliding with my hairline.

He nods, grinning, not fazed at all by the threatening stare from König. “Yes. Every time he drank just a little too much, he wouldn't shut up about you.”, Horangi says. “You did a number on the guy.”

I don't know what to say to that at first, honestly a little gobsmacked. “I did?”

“Yeah, yeah, now fuck off.”, König says to Horangi, patting the other man’s back, the frown on his face turning into a grumpy smile.

“See ya, Colonel.”, he says with a grin. “Enjoy your leave.”, adding a little joking salute, before stomping off.

I wave after him, confused for a moment. Colonel?

“Don't mind him.”, König grumbles as I turn to him again, but he doesn't look mad in the slightest bit. “He doesn't know how to behave sometimes.”

My arms closing around his waist, and he repositions me a bit, so the straps on his bullet proof vest don’t press into my cheek.

“So, you really did miss me.”, I say pulling him tighter. Not a question, a statement.

“I did.”, he answers almost solemn as he brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face.

Some of the soldiers are still standing around, talking to each other and the people around them, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

“They’re still looking.”, I whisper to him, unsure what that means.

“Yeah, cause they’re all seeing my face.”, he whispers back, smiling down at me.

Right, the hood!

“Oh shit, I forgot about the mask thing.”, I say, my hand clasping over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.”, he says softly. “They'll survive seeing my face. And I will too.”

“Right, still.”

“Don’t worry about it. I asked you to come here.” He pauses for a moment. “More on a whim, cause I didn’t really think you actually would.”

I take a deep breath. “To be honest, until this morning I didn’t know either.” My eyes pan up to meet his. When I woke up, I knew that I wanted to see him. But only when I got into my car, I called into work to take a personal day off and instead drove here.

“I’m glad you did.”, he says, holding my gaze.

“Me too.”, I whisper back.

“Cause Horangi was right. I was miserable.”

Just like I was. “Really?”, I ask him again, almost soundlessly.

“I was fucking miserable without you.”, he repeats, picking me up again and pressing another kiss to my lips.

I think I don't wanna leave his embrace ever again. But we still have stuff to talk about. Stuff to sort out. And we really can't do that here.

Plus his kisses have their usual effect. As the emotional turmoil and tears dissipate, a familiar feeling spreads through my body, my lower belly tensing up.

“You’re here in your car?”, he asks quietly in between two more kisses. Getting more desperate.

“Yeah.”, I say. “I parked it around the corner.”

“Okay, you wanna get out of here then?”

I just nod, kissing him again, and his little hum against my lips lets tingles erupt all over me. Then we're out of here.

Not before picking up his helmet and hood that he shed on the way, me still in his arms, getting his duffle bag, and I can’t help the little giggle escaping me, because he refuses to set me down when he bends down. Carrying me like I weigh nothing, also not willing to leave my side even for a moment.

On the way to the car, it gets even a little more heated and I’m glad when we turn the corner, hiding away from other eyes.

He’s taking huge strides, heading right for my car, that he spotted in an instant, the small silver one.

My fingers are tangled in his hair, his hands grabbing my ass and thighs, and I pull the car key out my pocket and unlock it. He opens the car door, lying me down on the cushioned seat and I scoot back to make room for him.

Reminders flood my brain how we did it in the back of his car, much bigger than the Toyota I drive. It’s way too small for him, but that doesn’t stop us.

I push off my shoes and get my pants off quickly as he climbs in over me, his shoulders pressing up against the roof of the car, while he sheds his protectors and gloves and shuts the door behind him.

A moment later, I’m folded in half, my knees against my chest, the feet up in the air brushing against the frame of the car. His hands gripping my thighs, spreading me for him.

König is eating me out like a starved man, soft mewls and grunts dropping from his lips, the vibrations of them against my sensitive skin.

“Oh fuck.”, I groan.

His hair is falling over his face, but I just want to see him, brushing the strands back. His gaze burning into me as he looks up at me, the eyeblack giving him a rugged look.

Desperately licking me, my juices glistening all over the lower part of his face. The stubble that is longer than usual is scratching against the insides of my thighs, but I don’t care about that right now, in the contrary, the soft scratch right there makes me even hotter.

It’s him. in this get-up, a little different than I was used to, but it’s him.

When he slips his fingers into me, his lips closing around my clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, something that always made me lose my mind fast, and this is no exception.

The way he fills me up, his thick digits stretching me. His tongue working my pussy, knowing exactly what makes me cry out. His mouth wandering, littering my inner thigh with kisses and hickeys.

The bites and nibbles send shivers down my body, my hips rutting forward, pushing my pussy into him. His arm comes over tummy, holding me in place, so I can't escape his touches.

“Yes, please, just-”, I sigh, and I can feels how he curls his fingers inside me, hitting just the right spot.

I come around them, my cries a bit too loud in my own ears in the small space, and I almost bump my head into the car door behind me as he doesn’t let up, but dives in again. His tongue is toying with my clit, dragging over it, slow, broad licks, and my body shakes and convulses.

“König…”, I plead, my hand tangled in his hair.

He finally pulls back a bit, still lapping everything up, even putting his own fingers in his mouth. His lips closing around them, his lids fluttering for just a moment.

“You taste so fucking good, Kleine.”, he whispers, not breaking eye contact as he meticulously licks my arousal off them, and I can’t help the blush on my face, especially when his tongues darts through between them. Fuck.

Instead of an answer, I pull him into me, to kiss him again, tasting myself on his lips, my hands dropping to his belt, fumbling with the clasp. I want more. I want him.

“Wait.”, he says, his hand coming over mine, I can feel the lingering wetness on them, and I still for a moment. “Shouldn’t we like…”

“You…. don’t want to?”

"No, of course I do, Liebes… I just want to do it right, you know? Make it right. In a proper bed."

I pull one of my eyebrows up. He thinks about that now after eating me out. "We can still do that later, no worries."

"But- I-"

"Yeah, that's all really noble, but right now I just need you." I kiss him again. "So shut up and fuck me. Please.", I say, still fumbling with his belt.

“I don’t have any condoms with me.”, he says, still not helping me to get his gear off.

I pull up an eyebrow. “And?” We did it raw many times, why would it be…

"Did you not... You didn't...?", he stammers, his eyes searching mine.

And then it dawns on me. "If you're gonna ask, if I slept with somebody else in the meantime, I suggest you don't. Because I fucking didn't." Adding after a moment’s pause: “Did you?”

"Fuck, no.”, he answers without hesitation, but his whole body is still shaken with agitation. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I just-" His hand strokes through his hair, exasperated, straightening up a bit and almost hitting his head on the roof of the car.

"König."

He stills, his eyes on me again and I can see the turmoil in them.

"I didn't want anybody else, I just wanted you back.", I say, my voice a little shaky. "And now that I've got you back, I just need to feel you. We can talk and do all the other stuff after getting home, okay?"

Home. The word slipped over my lips before I could think about it. It's out there before I can take it back.

He doesn't move a bit, just looks at me incredulously, and my hand shoots out to grab him which pulls him from his thoughts.

“I do not fucking deserve you.”, he whispers, and then it all happens very quickly. Pulling the zipper down and getting his dick out, the tip slipping between my folds.

He doesn't wait a moment longer and we both groan in unison when he slides into me, and the familiar feeling floods me, the stretch deliciously making me squirm.

Yet my eyes don't leave his for even a moment, not daring to close them, in case this is still a dream and he did not really come back.

But when he grasps my chin, tilting it up and leaning down to press his lips to mine, the tears that have been welling up again roll down my cheeks, the wetness blurring my vision.

I wipe them away, aggressively, a little mad at myself that I just can't stop crying. “Fuck, just… I-” I sigh. “Those fucking tears.”

He’s not saying anything, his thumb brushing over my cheek, a soothing gesture. His lips are peppering kisses all over my face as he starts to fuck me, slowly and sweetly.

I look down to where we are connected, seeing him push into me, seeing and feeling his dick slip into me. As deep as he can go.

With the position I’m in, folded in half, my belly is bulging with every thrust, just a bit, but still. And when he bottoms me out, time after time after time, I inadvertently squeeze around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”, he groans.

He’s not fucking me fast, more hard and deep. The sound of skin against skin when his lap collides with the plush of my thighs, loud and quite heavy. And I’m underneath him, framed by his strong arms, holding onto them.

Every single one of his thrusts lets a moan slip out of me, especially with how his pubic bone is pressing up against my sensitive clit, over and over again.

My breath hits his face, the look on it still a little incredulous, the almost enamored smile.

His breath is getting heavier too, rattling grunts shaking his chest. I wanna feel them, I wanna feel his rapid heartbeat against my fingertips. My hand slips under his vest, the other one holding onto it. The soft fabric of his compression shirt is warm, feeling his heartbeat strum against the palm of my hand, as I look up at him. Back in one piece. Alive.

The telltale signs how close he is are written on his face. The breath that halts in his throat every so often. The way his jaw drops. His brows draw together, not his usual frown, the ever-present scowl. Ecstasy visible on his features. And his eyes pressing together, for just a moment.

Looking down at me again, he’s still fucking me, my knees pressed up against my chest, his propped-up arms carrying most, but not all of his weight. My fingers are grabbing his bulletproof vest, needing him closer. The buttons of his waistband and the belt pressing into my ass with every thrust.

But all those sensations get overtaken when my second orgasm washes over me abruptly, just holding onto him, and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, when he doesn’t stop. The pushes of his hips, how he rolls them into me, getting a little more desperate, almost losing the rhythm, as I clench around him.

He’s buried deep inside me, filling me up when he comes, and groans drop from his lips. His face contorting in pleasure. I missed his stupid face, and apparently I also missed his O-face.

He takes a big breath, backing off a bit, giving me a moment to reposition my legs. When his dick slips out of me, I sigh, feeling a bit empty and the wetness against my stomach as it rests over it.

His big heavy body slumps over me, and we just stay like that for a while. Cheek to cheek. My arms around his neck, his hands softly caressing down my body.

Maybe I could even stay like this forever.

Again I remember the time we did it on the backseat of his car, that was much more spacious. Half an eternity ago. Only the second time we ever did it.

Softly kissing now and then. The little sounds and our breath the only thing in the calm silence around us, until he breaks it.

“Can I take you home?”

“Yes.”, I answer without hesitation. We still have some stuff to sort out, and we should get going.

He’s zipping himself up, I put on my pants again, his cum seeping into my panties now, but I don’t even care and get into the driver’s seat, the doors close behind us.

And for once he is in the passenger’s seat, my car still way too small for the big man. It’s almost ridiculous how his stature fills the car. He almost has to duck his head like this, even without the helmet, dwarfing the whole space.

I chuckle a little, put on some music and start driving.

“So Colonel, huh?”, I ask him, pulling an eyebrow up.

“Yeah.”, he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know why I never told you.”

“It’s okay.”, I say. “I guess, that doesn’t really matter in the civilian life.”

“It doesn’t.”, he agrees. “But it also feels like I wasn’t fully honest with you. Which is shitty.”

I clasp my hand over his for a moment, squeezing his fingers. A little reassurance. I don't care about his rank cause it doesn't change anything anyway, and I also never bothered to ask.

“So, I wouldn't get in trouble for insubordination if I called you Sir and not Colonel?”, I ask him, teasingly.

His brows furrow, that certain look in his eyes like always when I was being bratty - and I missed that too.

“You won't.”, he grumbles.

I can't help the little laugh. “Good to know.”

I look to the side, and there he is. It’s him, even in this get-up, it’s him. In my car.

And he’s grinning back at me, not as bright as I was used to, but still. I shake my head as I look back onto the street. He really is back.

I pull into the driveway, the sight of his house alone pulling at my heartstrings. The heavy feeling hits me, the lightheartedness I felt before taking a little hit, even before turning the motor off, getting out the car and heading inside.

He unlocks the door and goes inside, putting down the duffle bag, as I follow him. I stand around a little unsure, taking my shoes off, before heading to the living room.

When I see the couch, I have to swallow my emotions down, not ready to cry again. The memories come rushing back and I just need a moment to take it all in.

Heavy steps behind me, warmth emanating from his body. His presence so tangible, even when he’s not touching me. I’m still so tuned into him.

And I turn.

God damn, I almost forgot how big he is. He fills the doorframe that has been fit to his height. His shoulders seeming even broader in his gear. His head almost grazing the top of the frame.

And I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. We just stand here for a moment.

“I need to shower.. you, uh-”, he starts.

“I’m just gonna wait here, okay?”

He nods. “Yes, of course.” He hands me his phone. “You wanna order something to eat in the meantime? For us.”

“I can do that.”

“Pick whatever you like.”, he tells me before rushing up the stairs with huge strides, taking his bag with him.

I sigh and take a seat at the dinner table we barely ever used. Not daring to sit on the couch like I usually would have.

Unlocking his phone, only clicking on the delivery app, of course. Searching for his favourite take-out place, the grill with the nice little garden out back.

Does he deserve it? I don't know, maybe not. But I'm not gonna be petty over food. I’m adding another dessert for myself, though.

After I placed the order, I put his phone away, picking up mine instead. Scrolling on the usual apps, waiting because I don't know what else to do. He’s taking longer than I’m used to for the shower. And I can feel myself getting a bit restless. My mind coming back to the things he said. When he broke up with me and then today when he came back.

Heavy steps are coming down the stairs, him emerging in a get up I’m more used to, a simple black shirt and shorts.

His hair is still a bit wet, clinging to him in strands. He’s freshly shaved too, the stubble he had before gone. And I can smell the clean and sharp tone of his after-shave when he walks up to me.

“Food will be here soon.”, I tell him, because I don’t know what else to say.

“Okay, thank you.”

“Your favorite.”

“You didn't need to do that.”

“I know.” I hand him back his phone. “And I didn't snoop through it or anything.”

He nods, acknowledging my comment. “I trust you.” He steps a bit closer, taking it. “But you wouldn't have found anything noteworthy either. My phone is embarrassingly empty.” He looks up from the device, to me, a lopsided wry smile adorning his face. “Mostly work emails and photos of you I couldn't bring myself to delete.”

“Yeah?”

He nods.

“What’s the other stuff?”

“Photos of Mimi.” His smile is turning into a grin.

“That little minx. I should have known.”, I say exasperated, but jokingly.

He’s still standing there, swaying from one foot to the other ever so slightly, and almost wanna tell him to just sit down.

“I thought about calling you. I just didn't know what to say.”, he says, his voice quiet. “I wasn't even sure you'd pick up.”

“I don't know if I could have handled talking to you over the phone.”, I say carefully, but honestly. I probably wouldn’t have picked up.

He just nods. “I understand.”

“I actually didn’t know what to think when you texted me.”, I continue. “It was a lot. After a few months of no bleep, no nothing.”

“I wanted to text you. I just chickened out every time.”, he says. “But Horangi kicked some sense into me.”

“Does he do that often?”, I ask, biting back a grin, when remembering the conversation with him earlier. How he basically snitched on him, painting the a bit pathetic picture of drunk König who missed me so much that he wouldn't shut up about me. After he broke up with me of his own volition.

He tilts his head to the side, grudgingly admitting: “Sometimes.”

“And we all need friends like that sometimes.”, I say.

He laughs a little and confesses. “Yeah, he actually helped me phrase the messages because I just didn’t know how I-” He breaks off. “I meant everything I said though.” His eyes find mine again. “I would've understood if you didn't have time or if you just didn't wanna see me. But I still had to try. And I meant it earlier, when I said that I’m glad you came.”

The look on his face, almost pleading. And I feel the same way, but being here with him still feels a little… overwhelming.

“I-”

The doorbell ringing disrupts our conversation. He turns and hurries to the door. I can hear him talk to the delivery person as I get up and hurry to the kitchen to get plates and cutlery.

We’re both coming back a few moments later, setting everything down on the dinner table, taking a seat next to each other. Opening up the containers of food, laying everything out. Loading our plates up, my stomach grumbling. I hadn’t eaten all day, too anxious and nervous. I dig in, taking spoonsfuls of the veggies with rice, and I feel how his eyes are on me, how he’s watching me.

I meet his eyes when he breaks the silence again.

“I missed your birthday, didn't I?”, he asks, but judging from the look on his face he already knows the answer.

“Yeah, a few weeks ago.”, I say, nodding.

“Now there's ‘only’ 15 years between us.”, he says, matter-of-factly.

“There are.”, I agree. “But it doesn’t matter. 15, 16, what’s the difference.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

I put my fork down for a moment and just tell him outright what I have been thinking: “When I teased you, it was never about that. Our age difference never was an issue for me, you know. But I will never call you an old man again, if there is a chance that you will throw it in my face like that.” I pause. “Again.”

“I’m not gonna do that - again.”, he reassures me.

“Good.” I take a deep breath. “If I had known that this was plaguing you, I could have put your mind at ease. Or at least tried.”

“It’s not on you.”, he says with a sigh, his hand dragging over his face for just a moment, rubbing over his eyes. I can feel the frustration emanating off him. “I just- I tried to hide it.” Like he also tried to hide it when he had shit days. I wanna grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“I figured. Because the whole… conversation came out of nowhere for me.”

“Yeah, I felt like such an asshole afterwards. I went about it the most blunt way. The whole thing anyway… it was a mistake.”, he continues, point-blank. “And I’m sorry for that.”

If we had this talk only weeks after he left, I would have been so mad still. The distance helped. It's also helping right now. Acknowledging that it had been a mistake, it doesn't make the "break up"-thing go away. But I feel like I still needed to hear that.

“It’s okay.”, I whisper.

He shakes his head. “It’s not.”, he says. “It wasn’t okay.”

“I know.” I reach for him, our fingers intertwining, my thumb softly caressing over the back of his hand. Our eyes meet and I can see his emotions in them, clearer than ever before. Not trying to hide them anymore. And I understand. A little smile stalks onto my face.

“Let’s just eat, okay?”

And I never have to tell him that twice.

After we finished up, he carries the plates and leftovers to the kitchen, refusing my help, and I finally take a seat on the big couch, slumping into the cushions.

König emerges in the doorframe, just standing there. Frozen in place. I put my phone down and for a moment we just look at each other. The same familiarity hits me, but the guilty look on his face tells me why he’s not moving an inch closer.

It's a bit ridiculous. We fucked, we ate together, we talked about some of the shit that went down. He apologized - again.

I softly pat the cushion beside me. “Come here.”

He’s taking a few steps, hesitatingly approaching and sitting down. But he stops there. I look up at him from the side, and I have never seen him so unsure. It's almost a little sweet.

Grabbing him, I pull him down to me and he just lets me. Positioning his head in my lap, cradling his face, and he lies down the feet dangling over the side of the couch. When my hand caresses over his chest, he sighs. Relaxing into the cushions. I can almost hear the weight drop from his shoulders as he melts into my touch. His hand clinging onto my arm. His brows turning up as he looks up at me.

For a moment we just sit in silence and I let the calmness flood me that his proximity brings. Playing with the long strands of his hair. Softly straightening out the waves that always form when they are freshly washed. Looking down at him.

“I don’t fucking deserve you.”, he whispers.

And there it is again. That sentence. It bothered me when I read it in the messages he sent. And then when he uttered them today.

I grab his face and make him look at me. Squishing his cheeks. “Don’t say that.”, I tell him, my voice trembling. “Don’t fucking say that.”

He stills, his eyes flitting between mine, his mouth dropping open a little.

“I didn’t- I…” I’ve almost never seen him speechless, but today every time I’ve said something that he seemingly didn’t expect he just looked at me like that.

“You think it's flattering or whatever. It’s not.”, I say, exasperated. “It’s like I’m on a fucking pedastal. It doesn’t make me fucking feel good, okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. I don’t need anymore “sorry”s from him. “You already thought that before you broke up with me, didn’t you?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding. Silence between us as I only look at him, reading what’s in his eyes.

“Beating yourself up over this isn’t gonna make either of us feel better. I don’t want you to grovel like a beaten dog. I just want you to be honest with me what’s going on in this thick head of yours.” Tapping on said thick head.

“Yeah, you fucking hurt me by just dropping me off in my flat and fucking off because you thought it was the right thing for both of us. I don’t need you to think for me. I just need you to talk to me.” Damn, I’m laying into him right now, but I fear otherwise I’m not gonna get through the thickheaded stubborness.

“I didn’t mean to go over your head like I did. I was too in my own head already, so it was the only thing that made sense to me.”, he says as calmly as he manages. “I thought it was the right thing for you.”

“Because you didn’t deserve me anyways and I would be better off with someone else, right?”, I summarize. I can’t help but sound a little bitter. And I realise now that that was the thing that hurt me the most.

He nods again.

I feel the jab in my heart. Not knowing what to say to that. It's not nice to have the person you're with express the sentiment that you should be with someone else. Well, it’s pretty fucking far from nice.

He casts his eyes down, fidgeting with his wristband, not daring to look at me. And I can practically feel his self-deprecation prickling at my fingertips, the hand still lying on his chest, clearer than ever before.

“I thought I would be selfish to have you wait for me. And I realised that the opposite is true. I was a coward, I just fucking ran away.”, he sighs, and I can hear the shame in his voice.

His hand clasps over mine, squeezing my fingers.

“You did.”, I simply say.

“And it didn’t fucking solve anything.” He laughs, a barking joyless laugh. “For the first time in a long time it was worse without someone else, you know.” He pauses for a moment, finally looking up at me again. You don't need to be Sherlock to know who he's talking about.

I nod, swallowing back my emotions again, squeezing his hand back. “And it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Fuck. I know, I just- wanna kick myself every time I think about it.” An exhausted and frustrated sigh rising up from deep in his chest. “I don't know what I can say to make it all okay again. I don't know what to tell you to-”

“Just show me.”, I interrupt him before he can go down that spiral. He stills

“I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear.” His hand grabs mine a bit tighter. Pulling it up to his face and pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

I nod, a little smile stalking onto my face. “Okay, good.”, I say, adding a “And don't ever say you're undeserving again.”

“I won't.”

“Thank you.” I lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips, and he answers it like it holds the promise he just made.

When I pull back, I don’t get far cause he is cradling my cheek, not letting me go anywhere.

“Did anybody ever tell you that it’s hot when you get all bossy like that?”, he whispers, a small grin forming on his face.

“Yeah?”, I say, tongue in cheek. “You like getting ripped to shreds?”

“Only by you, Hexe.” which makes me laugh. “But I deserved it too.”, he says.

“You did a little bit.”, I say graciously, and we both laugh.

We just stay like this for a while, holding hands, and I can take a deep breath feeling most of the weight drop away from me that I felt walking into the living room.

He turns to the side, his cheek pressing against my belly as his arms close around me, around my waist. As close as he can get.

I’m brushing his hair out of his face, playing with it. Massaging his neck and shoulders, softly caressing.

He almost falls asleep like that, and I don't think I’ve ever seen him so peaceful. Deep calm breaths. Not a wrinkle on his forehead as I brush over it with my thumb. His eyebrows are turned up. Not even a hint of a frown on his face.

He grabs my hand, pressing sweet kisses to my fingers. “Stay with me.”, he whispers. “Please.”

“You sure?”, I ask.

He nods, not letting go of me. “I just want my bed and you in it, like I dreamed about those last few weeks. So… please?”

And it finally sinks in that the break was just as painful for him as it had been for me. Because I dreamed of the same thing. “Okay.”

He doesn't need anything else, just gets up off the couch, picking me up as well.

I can't help the giggle rising up my throat when my legs close around his hips and my lips find his neck, kissing the sensitive spots, the ones that always make him shiver. My fingertips are digging into his shoulders. The soft lingering touches I know will get him riled up.

He hums. “Glad to see that your ass is still as bratty as before.”, he grumbles, but he can't hide the grin as he playfully places the tiniest spank on said butt.

“Never.”, I tell him before he kicks open the bed room and lies me down on the bed.

We both scramble to get rid of our clothes, pulling them off quickly. He crawls over me, his dick nudging against my pussy while he settles between my thighs and his lips land on mine. His long hair falls over me like a veil, the tips tickling my naked skin.

His hand drops down, his fingers rubbing over my clit as he pushes into me. Carefully enough. And I sigh taking him in.

His mouth is coasting over my neck, making me shiver as he kisses, nibbles and bites. Leaving marks where anyone can see. Licking the sensitive skin, his tongue drawing wet tracks over it. His heavy breath hitting the shell of my ear as he pulls my head back and sucks on the sensitive spot right beneath it.

My fingers are digging into his shoulders and back, his muscles, leaving my own marks with my nails. Dropping down further until I grab his asscheeks, pulling him into me.

He chuckles, pushing deeper, his thrusts picking up pace. I arch my back to meet his movements, my chest against his, the sensations making me throw my head back.

His hand catches my chin, and he’s telling me: “Look at me, Liebes, please just look at me.”

My eyes meet his, a satisfied deep hum rising up his throat. And I never felt more at the center of anybody's attention than in that moment.

He turns, and suddenly I’m on top, riding him, my hands placed on his hairy chest. Slowly sliding up and down his length. One of his arms around my waist, the other on my ass guides me. I almost can't handle it, the way he fills me up in this position, his tip nudging against my cervix. But fuck. I have missed this.

Not just the sex. The closeness. The familiarity. Him.

König looks up at me, the same look on his face that I have seen a few times today, the one that I still can’t quite place what it means. But I love when he looks at me like that. If the warm fuzzy feeling in my chest is any indication.

We spend the rest of the day in bed, talking, fucking, listening to music, sometimes almost dozing off. Until it’s late, almost a bit too late.

My head is resting against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady, his legs entangled with mine. His burly tattooed arms embracing me, pulling me against him. His cheek resting atop my forehead with the way I’m nuzzled into the crook of his neck, so his hair is tickling me when he moves a bit.

His body all around me, with nowhere else to go.

I didn’t like sleeping like this ever before I got to know him. But I really don’t mind anymore. I really don’t.

When I open my eyes the next morning, I need a moment to catch up where I am. König’s bedroom. In his bed, the soft sheets against my naked skin. I stretch a little and turn to the side, expecting to find him still fast asleep. But I’m greeted with a smile on his face, his eyes on me. Wide awake already.

“Good morning, Liebes.”, he says softly, catching my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, and I have to swallow to not instantly burst into tears.

“Hi.”, I answer, trying a little wobbly smile.

His hand shoots out and he caresses over my cheek. A simple gesture, one he did so many times before, but right now it has me crying again.

“Oh Liebes.”, he coos as he sees the tear rolling down my face.

“I swear, I don't wanna cry! I must be getting my period or something.”, I grumble while he presses kisses to my cheeks, softly kissing away the tears.

“I’m gonna make you laugh and come twice as much for every time you cried.”, he says, and the twinkle in his eyes tells me that he is joking, yet at the same time seeming earnest.

I break out in laughter. “That would be a lot of jokes and a lot of orgasms.”, I gasp out, wiping the wetness from my cheeks.

He leans down and gives me a kiss. “That’s okay. Cause I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls back a bit.

“Don't make any promises you can't keep.”, I say.

“I wouldn’t.”, he says, his voice serious and his gaze soft. “I promise.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Now let me start with it. I already got a laugh out of you.”

“You insatiable man. Let me go get my teeth brushed first or-”

“No time!”, he exclaims, pulling away the blanket, to position himself between my legs.

I burst into laughter again, the sounds turning into moans when he pulls away my panties and puts his mouth on me.

“Another laugh… that means I need to keep up with the orgasms.”, he quips, mischief lighting up his eyes as his tongue dips into me.

I sigh, snuggling myself back into the comfy sheets, grinding my hips against his face. Meticulously he eats me out, getting all sloppy with it.

His hands are grabbing the swells of my ass, my legs over his shoulders, until he is buried between my thighs. They are littered with all the marks he left there. Faint bites and hickeys. And he’s leaving even more. Oh god, I missed them.

He spits once before his fingers push into me, soft squelching when he fills me up. I’m still a little sleepy, yawning once while I stretch. Meeting his movements and touches.

“Feels so good.”, I tell him, and a little smile forming on his lips as I look down at him.

“Yeah?”, he quips, his thumb rubbing over my clit while he fingerfucks me, slow and deliberately.

I barely can hold the eye contact, almost a little shy, although we did this what feels like a million times. “Yeah.”

He slips his fingers out of me, taking over with his mouth again. I feel the wetness on his fingers as he grabs my thigh again, his fingertips pressing into the plush.

In the time apart nothing had changed about this. It still feels like he has memorized every little part of me, which buttons to push to make me cry out.

His own moans and grunts give away just how much he enjoys this, and I don’t think I will ever get enough of him. Seeing how his hips restlessly move, almost fucking into the mattress, while his tongue dips into me, fucking into me, over and over again, it does something to me as well.

When he nips at my clit, I jolt, my hips lifting off the mattress, but he doesn’t let me go anywhere. Repeating the same move and I come on his face. My back arching, my fingers grabbing at the sheets, curses dropping from my lips.

With a deep breath I look at him again, the big man still very comfortable between my legs, his chin and lips glistening with moisture before he wipes it away.

“And that’s the first one.”, he says with a little grin, and I can’t help the little laugh.

I sit up and grab him. “Yeah, but it’s your turn now.”, I tell him as I pull him up to me, needing him closer.

A wry smile adorns his face. “I’m sorry, Liebes, I already...”

“You… what?”, I ask a little dumbfounded. Looking down while he sits back on his knees, his tummy all sticky, coated in his come. The sheets beneath him soiled, like he humped himself to completion spilling all over them, while eating me out. My jaw drops. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

This man. The lop-sided smirk, making him look younger than he is. The long hair all messy. Not ashamed in the slightest that he came like that, just eating me out.

“Just give me a few minutes, okay?” He grins down at me as he crawls over me. “And maybe a shower.”

“But I need to get to work!”, I tell him.

“Who said, you'll ever leave this house again?”

“König!”

“I’m keeping you.”, he says, like a definite statement, while he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder.

“Brute.”, I say poutily while I can't hold back my giggles.

He just laughs, grabbing my ass as he carries me to the bathroom. “Gonna fuck you in the shower, two birds with one stone. Still need to make you come one more time.”, he lays out his plan.

And I could never say no to that, could I?

We manage to be on time though, even drinking a coffee in the kitchen together, and then he drives me to work.

He also picks me up again, not ready to spend any possible moment apart.

The stupidest biggest grin stalks onto my face when I head out of the office and see his car already parked, faint drum and bass sounds penetrating through. I run up to it and open the door, recognizing the song as Shadow of Intent’s ‘Oudenophobia’, one of the songs I showed him some time ago.

I get into the passenger seat, his hands already grabbing me before I’m properly sitting. Pressing his lips to mine in a kiss. The simple greeting turning into something else with the way he kisses me. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Hi.”, I finally manage to say, a little out of breath.

“Sorry, missed you all day.”, he whispers apologetically, backing off a bit, just looking at me.

“No, come back here.”, I say, my hand grabbing his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, and I pull him down to me again for another kiss.

When he pulls back now, he’s grinning down at me. And I don’t need to tell him that I missed him too. He knows.

König straightens up in his seat, shifts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. (The only thing he ever pulls out of, really)

“What’s the plan for today, Prinzesserl?”, he asks me then.

“Oh oh, there is this new Asian fusion place that opened up a few weeks ago.”, I say. “I haven’t been yet.”

He pulls up his eyebrows. “Asian fusion?”

“Yes.”, I say. “They have all kinds of stuff from all over.”

“Spring rolls too?”

“I bet.” I grin up at him.

“Then let’s go.”, he says, the expression on his face mirroring mine.

I sit back, crossing my legs and snuggling into my seat. His hand lands on my thigh and mine clasps over it.

It’s like he never left. Well almost, at least.

And I know that not everything’s forgotten. It doesn’t work like that. My heart is content, but my mind is still catching up. Sometimes thinking about what he said when he left. The promises he made when he came back. Working out how this relationship between us will be from now on. Working with him on that, for both our sakes.

Because despite what happened and my efforts while he was gone... I still do love him.

And we both deserve it.

the whole story in the Masterlist

i'm sorry, i'm so in love with this man that isn't real :') (well, he is, in my mind)

[madraleen]

The Promised Neverland - Kaiu Shirai/Posuka Demizu Vol. 16-20: A “YOU STUCK THE LANDING!” Commentary + Overall Thoughts

-the seven walls are time and space? very interesting.

-smol emma jumping out of the cupboard and screaming RAAAYYY is the epitome of emma.

-jeez, hayato is adorable

-wth, ayshe's and demon's story is heartbreaking

-one thing i have to commend the manga for is structure. it stops the action and moves away to keep the tension- but just so. just for long enough. not too long so that it becomes frustrating or that you've forgotten what's happening.

-julius' comrades as first food offers?! JEEZ!

-hayato is a snitch.

-Iss should ask for emma's family, right? the most important thing to her? i call the being "Iss," yes. i don't know what to do with the lettering

-okay, clearly the reward is an emma sacrifice, but i don't believe for a second that emma will get an unhappy ending so how are we solving this

-oi! OI! NORMAN IS COUGHING UP BLOOD, OI, STOP THAT! i figured he might have been experimented on too, but oi~

-omg ray's so happy to see sonju and mujika

-low-key cathartic that emma calls norman a liar that she can't trust. yes, girl, say it. it's the same thing, always the same story, it goes beyond this manga. the positive traits when someone is your ally become negative traits when they become the opposition, even though the person themselves hasn't changed at all.

-norman's "i'm scared" inner thoughts are heartbreaking

-the part where norman asks ray and emma to help him, heartbreaking

-norman: gives the most honest and vulnerable "i want" speech of his life. ray: got it. the brevity, the simplicity, i love it.

-with all those lil lines on his face, i'm just imagining norman permanently beet red at this point. and i love the idea that extreme determination and single-mindedness can actually be a cry for help. i haven't seen it put so bluntly before, and it's very true.

-now that norman's opened up, he looks like emma and ray's age. it's cool

-OI BITCH LEAVE ZAZIE ALONE!

-SONJU IS THE QUEEN'S BROTHER?!?! PRINCE SONJU?!

-why did they give norman a bow, that boy can't shoot to save his life

-REDEEM YOURSELF, ISABELLA! NOW IS YOUR TIME TO SHINE

-yes, oliver, slay! we love to see it

-damn there's such good moments in these final volumes, i'm starting to worry about s2 of the anime. is any of that there?

-YES ISABELLA YES! YES! she looks so chipper when she explains she'll betray the farm, lol.

-i know i'm obsessed with aot, but at times i legit think the promised neverland is the deliberate antithesis of aot. and i have no problem with that.

-leuvis is also a sibling? did we know that? if so, i forgot.

-ray's scarf is blue?! i imagined it maroon

-ugh, they shot minerva in the back. somehow that feels worse

-SMEE?! SMEE?! SMEE KILLED MINERVA?! NORMAN'S SMEE?! (*in retrospect, norman’s smee is never explored, oof. an oversight)

-ray and norman are having a sweet moment in the panel where everyone's celebrating the end of the farms, it's adorable

-aah okay, not gonna lie, i teared up at emma and phil's reunion

-ray's expression when he says sorry and thanks to phil, they nail it.

-oooh you're killing off isabella? i didn't expect it, but it makes sense.

-yeah, of course they love isabella and isabella loves them. it's not as black and white as ally and enemy.

-don be like, "RAY GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, MOM IS CALLING"

-ray continues to be my favorite and most nuanced character, followed by norman. but ray is number one by far. by far far far

-I CALLED IT, THE REWARD MUST BE EMMA'S FAMILY! i don't know what that means yet, BUT I CALLED IT because the story abides by its logic, love that for it

-lmao imagine how terrified all these children/adults who knew nothing must be, just whooshing out of existence into another world

-AHAHA EMMA'S NOT HERE! NICE! what did she do and how do we save her

-yes, that's a good reward. true to the story. i mean, bad for everyone, but narratively good. amnesiac emma

-emma feeling the void in the space inside of her where her family was, very well-expressed

-ah. final chapter. please stick the landing.

-TWO YEARS! IT'S BEEN TWO YEARS!

-GHOSTIES SAVING THE DAY AAAHHHH

-ASDJHKSFJK THEY FOUND HER, WHAT A GREAT PANEL, RAY AND NORMAN AND EVERYONE. she must be terrified. they're all strangers.

-my boy ray shines, i love it

-aww norman "thank goodness," what a soft boy. also he's crying, have we ever seen him cry before? he didn't cry for isabella

-the lambda group thriving :'))) they have effective medicine for their side effects :')))

-dang it, norman's speech is giving me the feels

-"why does it feel warm but also painful in my heart?" is literally a summary of the final chapter.

-ah, bb ray is crying now too

-THEY'RE GONNA LIVE TOGETHERRRR, SCREW DESTINY

-mujika looks happy, and sonju looks sonjuish :)

-not sure if the old man knows it, but he's just been adopted by fifty thousand children

-okay, i am so happy. this is a perfect ending. this is just. it's so good. it tooketh and it gaveth and now the mini torettos can all live together. i'm so happy with the ending.

~ ~~ ~~~

-i'm so happy in general that i read the manga. we started off neutrally, then things got rough and i genuinely thought if it might be better to quit, but from around the midpoint and onward it just got better and better. the story is exactly what it promises to be, very true to itself, and it pays off in every aspect.

-ray is my GOAT in this manga. norman is as nuanced as ray, i just vibe with ray the most. but i consider them both good characters. emma, on the other hand, is a very straightforward character, very static, but she works. she is the pillar of the story and she's exactly what she's meant to be. i like that she pushes everyone towards kindness, and when *they* can't be kind, she takes care of the issue herself from a place of kindness so that they won't have to fight from a place of unkindness. it's an interesting approach. and then, i have a soft spot for oliver and hayato for some reason.

-one thing that made me roll my eyes was that in such a huge cast, everything is so unanimous. the norman and vincent incident aside, there's no fights, no real resistance, no dissent. but it's not the kind of story where there would be, where there would be a point to be, so i don't feel like holding that against it. and it tried to give it that aspect too, with emma going against her fam to find Iss and all that.

-everything abides by the logic and tone of the story. and the ending just elevates the whole thing even higher, because it stuck the landing so well imo.

-now on to the anime, to finally hear their voices. i fear for the dreaded s2, and dare i say, i am also a little intrigued.

[87dvhnk]

i skip around, reading comics. for example, i skipped forward from huntress to the second appearance of deathstroke, basically, and then doubled back before shit got real with blockbuster. it's fine. however, it does shuffle things around in my head sometimes, so i can get things wrong. however. you know when i was writing about how bafflingly homoerotic venn diagram was, i didn't fully grasp the context of dick's new partner being a gay man, which is why he broached the topic of dick's potential "dads." which. which if you look at it in context, doesn't invalidate anything i wrote about the scene where dick sees slade; however, it does add something. a note. a texture. to dick. okay, so dick really walked in on his partner (malloy?) being old-fashioned bush-era gay bashed in the locker room by other cops. he stepped in and rescued him. it was made expressly clear that he knew why his peers were attacking when when he is accused of being gay/being with his partner, and he's like, "and so what if i am?" then he gets his ass chewed out by his partner because he's really tushy tender about being gay in the climate. (the vice president shot a friend in the face and made him apologize live on tv for having been shot by the vice president hurting the vice president's reputation. this doesn't have anything to do with homosexuality per se, but you have to understand.) also might have had a concussion. and that's it for a while. until venn diagram. his partner has had time to calm down and adopt a more charitable view of dick's motivations. he wonders why dick stuck his neck out for him. until one day he overhears him calling a man "mom," assumes (hopes?) that dick stepped in because he has gay family, and the scene unfolds exactly how it did before:

okay. right. so. if i'm understanding this correctly, this is the conversation they're having: partner: so are your parents gay? dick: nah, but gay family structures are inherently funny partner: .... dick: nobody's gay. partner: i'm gay. dick: .... partner: you literally interrupted my gay bashing in the locker room. dick: the locker room? at the station? our station? there's a gay person in the bpd? partner: ....there is one (1) gay person in the bpd, yes. dick: sounds fake. brb.

like. that is what happened, right? and then dick went off to have one of the most intensely homoerotic romps i have ever seen in my life. this means dick a) had no idea why his partner was being assaulted and may have not even understood the question and the "so what if i am?" was like smiling and nodding when you don't understand what's being said just to move the conversation along, or b) he understood why his partner was being assaulted and is simply unable to take a theoretical reality (someone in his daily life being gay) and firmly root it in reality (my partner right here is a gay man living with his gay boyfriend in their gay house on this here gay earth) and thought the cops were attacking his masculinity, which is, of course, rendered void by homosexuality, so they were gay bashing him for rhetorical effect. neither of these options are anything less than hilarious. turns out, his partner was right to want to beat his ass for virtue signaling or moral grandstanding or whatever. i mean, that's not what he was doing. in retrospect, i don't even think he knew what he was doing. still. what the fuck, dick.

[eldritch-queern-magicat]

As it would happen, we were still fracturing from other things when Mom died. It's what made us so fragile that we shattered when it happened. Losing Grandma was a very harsh blow and put me under even more emotional pressure. I suppose the one blessing is that she didn't have to watch me let our family tear itself apart over the abuse reveal.

I fused back with the part once named Zero, who changed it to Rhodes. Era makes for a funny name, but Rhodes literally means rose. And yes, that makes all the difference. When I first got into fandom spaces, I literally just called myself Rose until I was comfortable with myself online.

And the only reason we did that was that we were using our daily name, Cari, for the main character of a 130 chapter-long heroic vampire girl epic. It was the most fun I'd had writing stories, based on how I spent about fourteen months regularly writing it so I had many chapters already done and ready to post on a weekly or so basis. It was a messy as hell Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy crossover of sorts, and a totally unashamed self-insert adventure. At the time, my primary crush from Kingdom Hearts was Zexion (this was around the time we got Re:Coded across the globe). I did finish the story in early 2012, so Mom got to see our satisfaction at finishing that crossover fanfic epic. She was incredibly supportive of my ultimate dream of being a published author, and we talked through new ideas a lot.

I also had my crisis around my sexuality at that time, because hey! I'm finally in a place where I can safely explore myself. I had, through my corner of the Quizilla Kingdom Hearts community, discovered I had a crush on Kairi. To be honest, I had a crush on most of the KH original characters. Definitely except for Vexen, because he was basically my main self-insert's dad whenever I was working with her in my fanfics. It was part because it's funny, but there was also a very sincere affection for the character.

There have been dividing lines between us for ages, and of course they coincided with our characters and stories more over time. But they didn't reach all the way through us back then. We felt largely stable, even though we were still pretty brittle. The cracks had slowed significantly before Grandma died, then it got worse a lot faster. I wasn't even close to properly opening up in therapy about much of anything at that point. Even when things seemed to be looking up, it was still just a massive downward spiral from there.

My writing slowed significantly over the years as my mind just split over and over again. I tried so many things to get the creativity flowing again, but I only delayed my inevitable crash. I don't think it helped that I became progressively bitter as time went on. I got mean again, and it's hard to create when your mind has been sharpened into a blade. Though what I did write did become progressively darker as time went on. It was part of coping, mostly, which is what makes some things I came up with so uncomfortable in retrospect (though I did come to understand my love of horror a lot better). My stories were already a mess of my unprocessed childhood trauma, even during high school in its entirety, when awful things were still going on.

It's very likely I put my writing down because I couldn't handle what it was all from. And with the other things that happened, it was made worse by me misunderstanding the source of it. I literally didn't realize how much of it was just internal conflicts. My descent into madness was intense, but maybe now I can finally unpack what happened.

Honestly, there was at least one good thing that came of that mess. There was a decent amount of spiritual healing at that time. My cards, both tarot and oracle, gave me a structure for understanding some stuff. My first Fool's Journey was with my darling Herbal Tarot. I met many dissociated parts that I mistook for spirit beings, because that's how deeply shattered I was. I literally had no sense of self at that time.

So much of my identity at that time was tied to Mom and our tested, unbreakable relationship. It legitimately felt like I wasn't anything at all anymore. Charles saying it was like something in me also died still hits me pretty hard. Even when he said it, I knew inside that he was right. But back then, I just wasn't ready to admit it. Still not easy, but it's getting better. And that's enough, for now.

-Rhodes 🗝️😻

[iantimony]

i once again am overwhelmed by stupid busywork. Get Me Out

listening: finished the counter/weight prequel eps! feels good to be listening to a friends at the table thing in-time with when they're released, lol. i fully laughed out loud at the heartfelt moment between aria and hymn being interrupted by austin's fucking ice machine. incredible. no notes. "people are gonna go insane about aria in this one" keith you are SO right.

music for the week was the spotify release radar! just gettin some new tunes. i'm thinking of making a playlist that's just the songs that i like from release radar and the at the end of the year i can have a New Of 2024 list, idk. i AM going to try and be more discerning about what things i post, though - it would be very easy to just drop a huge list of all the songs on there that i kinda liked with no commentary but i think it'll be more fun to do fewer songs and actually talk about them, y'know?

philadelphia (matt maltese): feels like a mug of tea. very soft. nostalgic for something i've never seen. travels (rob blivion): really does seem like it should be playing over some indie film montage of someone travelling through mists in the scottish highlands. harsh truths (lemoncello): another indie soundtrack song. i think there's a bass in the background? although in retrospect i think it's a cello. lemoncello. duh. anyways it's very good. burning down the house (paramore): this is SUCH a fun cover. what can't paramore do for real. oh no::he said what? (nothing but thieves): BOUNCY. toe tapper. i am driving down a neon highway at 10000mph. coming home song (sammy rae & the friends): back to wistful and nostalgic. feels a certain kind of way especially right now because i am in the process of finding a new apartment, entirely alone for the first time. jolene (maneskin & dolly parton): speaking of really fun covers, yes yes yes. everything i would have wanted from this.

honorable mention to love me not (emei). i do not like this song particularly. it is stuck in my head though.

reading: fallow.

watching: just like last week: with the boyf, the newest dungeon meshi, i loved the way they animated the mimic. then some kill la kill. we're up to episode 11 now, almost halfway! also went to a superbowl party sunday. basically what you'd expect. fun socializing though.

playing: only had the one dnd last weekend, the one i run! went well. definitely was kinda sleepy and not as focused as i'd like. sigh.

making: mostly fallow...i cut out some of the border pieces for my handsewing project in a nice matching solid blue during the superbowl but have not attached any of it yet. started idly crocheting a rectangular prism-shaped object to use as a mtg deck case.

drew a little birthday card for my grandma i guess? mostly watercolor pencil, some prisma marker for the background. can't be assed to rotate it the right way, sorry, lol

pottery-wise, i did not take pictures but i have some fun interesting stuff in the works! biiiiig pot for my mom (got a little busted. but i think it'll make it). mug. glazing a bowl using sgraffito to carve out some waves (my roommate accidentally dinged the rim and i'm incorporating that into the design). did not take any pictures last week but i'll get some tomorrow for the next tuesdaypost.

eating: my roommate made a truly enormous focaccia in a 9x13 glass baking dish to cut into super bowl party sandwiches. they were delicious and we are still eating them for lunch basically every day. she also made a marinated beef bulgogi-type object, served over rice with veg and a fried egg and some spaghetti squash...yumb.

misc: i can't even be like "i just have to make it through this week" because i know next week will look literally exactly like this one (homework due wednesdays for one class, fridays (plus ANOTHER assignment alternating wednesdays) for the other). really bad vibes. just gotta make it through this week this semester.

[fiveminuteswithelissa]

4-17-18 for myself

The moose and the goose wandered around with nothing to do,

Until they drank at a lake and across was you know who.

They traveled together all the way to Timbuktu!

Sharing stores of past loves and laughs,

Not knowing why their life brought them to this path.

Miles and miles they walked as the days seemed to get longer,

But they just kept on going not letting that bother.

From time to time they would stop to rest,

Assure themselves they were doing their best.

When they got to this gully, they saw a bully.

And teamed together to stop him from hurting;

Brought him on their adventure,

And let him talk of what inside was turning.

At the end of their walk;

the moose and the goose realized why they had met,

To take the time to help someone else realize respect.

Respect for themselves and the beauty around them.

That bully for a moment took in his surroundings a bit

Only to realize no matter what his new friends looked like

He finally seemed to fit. 💜

When the lamb met the lion he asked

What there was to life after this

Nothing just be happy and be free

He replied

That story has already been written for thee

Take this life

Make those wishes

Raise those hopes

For when the day is done

And the sun starts to fade

Life is a game

And you my little lamb you are the arcade. 💙

4-18-18

The little bunny looked so funny playing with the duck

Rolling around on the ground having so much fun

With smiles in tacted and laughs in progress

They were so care free it sent chills down my spine

to be so pure and full of life

is to say be the least the best

not knowing what this world beholds

not knowing what the future holds

just knowing how it feels to see Mom smile

knowing how it feels to laugh with Dad a while

endless possibilities all at her fingertips

lessons and triumphs in her abyss

it is these fine little moments

I have no doubt as a mother

I will truly miss. 💜

I'm so happy I take photos

Capturing memories for fun

And at the end when all is said and done...

no matter how we felt in those prior moments and days

even when our minds felt like a circus of parades..

Sometimes the past we all wish to go back to. 💜

4.19.18

missing my family a bit more than I would like to admit. in life you have the family you are born into and the family you chose, at some point they mesh together as the pieces begin to fuse.

the more you pull away, the more they try to stay. to prove to you that you are worth the greatest things life has to offer even when things seem to dark to try and bother. there is a bond between those who share blood, those who share memories full of life and love.

tears, years, pains, gains and far from un heard screams. all I want for you is to find YOUR happiness and to fulfill YOUR dreams. I may take my space, I may sometimes hide. but it is only to protect myself, protect my pride. To hold onto what I have built to survive but please never for a moment think I don't hear your cries.

When you are growing up you are led to believe motherhood comes so easy - from breastfeeding to diaper changes and all the oddities in-between - it wasn't until I held you in my arms that I knew what kind of mother I was. I was your mother and that was as perfect as it will ever be. Everyone does things differently, everyone second guesses if they are doing things right. But for what reasons when in retrospect, it's only our actions and thoughts that bring that fright. yes other people and places may have painted things a different color but it is from inside your character, inside your being that shows you your true mother.

your true nurture by nature and all that is glory

4.20.18

consider yourself blessed to be able to touch feel smell taste & experience the outside world - some people never get the chance. trust me and all my scars that depression can be a serious life changing thing and sometimes getting out is harder it seems than breathing since that just kind of happens and thus we keep on living.

4.21.18

Some moments are harder than others

Some hard to grasp

As they vanish so fast

My how fast they flee

While emotions take a hold of thee

Are you supposed to have a button

Which just brings you to center

In moments of intense uninvited endeavor.

Tossing and turning

What is sleep anymore

All for this little bundle of joy

All for this little girl

All for this tiny human being

who has completely changed my world.

Oh how I cherish you.

Tales of a shattered heart

A misguided judgement of unspoken terror

not knowing where exactly this life took error.

The tales of a brand-new mother.

4.22.18 7am [bathtime]

Man I haven't scrubbed walls since 2007

By this day and age I thought I'd be in 'heaven'

not saying I'm not happy I am here

Just back then my mind was filled with such fear

Do any other moms just wake up and start to clean?

without a second thought about it

Eyes open like..

"Oh shit those clothes...they need folded"

As you float out of bed..

Talking to yourself over and over in your head

"But I just want to sit" "But I just want to not" "But can't someone else do it" "But I just want to cry" "But I just want to be" "But does anyone else feel like this or am I all aone"

My head filled with so much "but"

Yet sometimes I don't like the one I have to sit on.

Sometimes I wish things were much easier

Yet there is so much harm in that..

I wouldn't be the amazing person I am today

Had I not gone though all that crap.

All those things that made me stronger

All those things that made the nights seem longer

Made days never ending and life seemed like one big book.

Until I stepped back and took a hard look..

Went to rebab and back to find who I am

Yet..I'll always be wandering.

I'll always be wondering.

I'll always be t h i n k i n g

What if things were easier?

Constant battles in my head.

One fighting the other to leave things unsaid.

I miss having people.

I miss having friends

I pushed people away when I needed them the most.

I hit the panic button and my being went ghost.

Over the years I disappeared more and more.

Doing drugs to numb the core.

Til one day I woke up again..

Woke up wanting to feel,

Not wanting to suffer,

Just wanting to heal.

Take time i said.

It will be your longest journey

But at the end of all of it

Hopefully you'll figure out why you're hurting.

Come to terms with the past

As they lay where they do

Just keep turning the pages

In that book that is you.

4.23.18

Sometimes I just want to cut my wrists open

Just to see how much I bleed

It's like unless I feel the pain on my flesh

My mind will never find ease

I smoke away the pain

Day after day

But when all the demons manifest

When the next day comes to play

Open my eyes to a world full of options

And yet to no surprise -

All I want to do

Is lock myself in the bathroom

And take some time to myself

I need those few moments to recollect my health

I know I am a wonder woman

Full of so much strength

But when the darkness tries to take a hold

It's so hard to keep my eye on the gold

More distant and cold it feels

As the days turn into months

Not knowing when I can speak

Just knowing when to keep quiet

Knowing when the darkness comes

I can't do anything but hide it.

I wonder who I was before the harm

Before those moments that stole my charm

Took me away from reality and set my mind in a twirl

The someone I never got the pleasure of meeting

That undisturbed Elissa, that quiet little girl.

I wonder if why I starve myself

I think it's the only way to hide

to hide the hurt, the pain, I really feel inside.

When things get really bad

I need to physically feel pain

So I sit alone day after day

Not allowing food into my brain.

Because razors show blood and blood shows scars

But as my insides lay dying

And a smile on my face

Noone can tell that inside my soul

Is a sprit that needs ecscapes.

I write, and I just want to be heard.

They are truly beautiful writings.

Even if some are disturbed. 💙

4.24.18

So much distress

So much anxiety

When you walk through the door

And I don't know what to say to

I can't imagine a life without you

But I know I deserve the best

Is it that you truly don't want to be my one and only

Or are you too broken inside to try to figure out the pieces

I decided to have a family with you because you are my best friend

I thought you went out and realized it was me you wanted in the end

My mind just races with un happy thoughts

Reminiscing on the faces that we have seen in the past

Wondering why I was so broken I tried to distroy the one I loved

Why I ever did the things that scared your being so much

You question our love

You question if it's right or wrong

You question if you really mean to inflict harm

All I want is for you to find happiness

But in doing that allow me to be myself

Allow me to have friends and not question my intentions

But if you do have fears, call for interventions

I want to have this life with you

I want to continue making memories

But now with our daughter

Who needs the both of us

And if this isn't something you see for the longrun

Than I have to do what's best for her

I don't want you to pack your things one day when she is four

And all she knows is dad's gone, he went out the door

She seems him sometimes but mom seems sad

Never having the real answers of why things went so bad

I'll allow her to ask questions as I wish I could

To pry and to analyze

What happened to her.

When you came back into my life,

And the fire in my heart grew bigger again,

We decided to start a family.

But for some odd reason

That doesn't seem to be your winner

At least not anymore.

Is it because anytime you have tried to change

It's all lead to sadness?

Well guess what sweeite -

The world is full of that shit,

It's all maddness

But sometimes you stumble

Sometimes you find

Someone you become passionate about

And you suddenly become humble.

I just want to be that person you trust

The person you can talk to

When your whole world starts to crumble.

4.26.18

I feel like an unfit mother

Just going through the waves

All of the days turn to nights

With in between bits of rage.

Do I want a different life?

No, I just want things to change.

I want to have more opportunities for myself

More things to do with my daughter.

If you don't want to be part of this life

The one I thought we created together

I'll be okay, I know that to be certain

Doesn't mean it will be easy or won't be a burden.

I would have never done this

if I didn't want to work through things with you

But as time journeys forward it seems clear what to do.

It feels like you need to be alone,

Shit maybe we both do

To take the time to look inside

To see what's just a true

I won't keep her from you

I wouldn't ever wish that on anyone

I know what it was like to have one parent,

You do to - only opposites and look how great we turned out.

I will always question what it's like to have a mom

To have someone comb your hair for you and

Not just pop back into your life when I'm 13 and smoke a bong

And you'll always wonder what it was like to have a dad

Someone to go pick bugs with you out the grass

I never wished this upon my children but I understand

That when we are so close together

Things get tangled and it feels hard to breathe

Sometimes you just need a break but here we have no space

Even with all the miles and empty roads here in Hagerstown.

5.5.18

I love my birthday

It's like every year I have an excuse to grow up.

5.6.18

As the dust settles and we wind up back "home"

I can't help but feel distance

I can't help but feel alone

Like I am on this journey with two shadows

One whom can't speak

And one who can't seem to enjoy the things I keep.

TIRED. FEARFUL & ALONE

How is one supposed to call this place home?

Just back from such a lovely adventure

Made memories in which I'll forever treasure

Blessed beyond belief to experience this life

So compassionate about having our own child

In which to provide courage and protect

Not show weakness and disregard and disrespect

From someone who claims to love or even try and care

Yet when shit hits the fan and the mask of happiness is removed

You don't wish to see the tears I hide and the madness I keep inside

I know you don't know what it's like to have family

But I know what it's like to have someone who cares

I know what unconditional love feels like and I need that again.

I found it in my father. I thought I found it in you, friend.

In these bodies we will live

In these bodies we will die

Where you invest your love

You invest your life.

5.8.18

All these songs about drugs money women and sex

What about self love, good nutrition and self respect.

What about not second guessing your intuition.

What about making the best of every situation

and leading your own life instead of fallowing others limitations?

Instead of how to numb yourself on every radio station..

Why don't we teach our youth about hardships and self preservation?

I was always so back and forth about having children

Knowing this world we live in

One full of such fear and constant strife

I just know I don't want my kids to live the same life.

If there is anything I wish to teach my daughter,

It is how to love herself.

For friends, family, pets, flowers -

everything comes and goes and you only get one you.

So please if you can do one thing for yourself,

Forget what standards other people hold you to.

Take those moments for yourself.

Take that quiet time.

Take those little steps you must,

In order to feel prime.

All you have is 24 hours to do things differently.

To serve a different plate

And taste a different life

To do things to center yourself

To make sure you're alright.

For if in every 24 hours we could listen to ourselves

We could take out those memories and dust them off the shelf

We could make new memories and not stay so stuck in the past

We could make those memories self sufficient and kind

We could take those moments and change the ripple of time.

we all have our moments. that is what makes life worth living. If things were always beautiful, there would be no room for growth :)

5-21-18

I miss people. I miss human contact

Someone to listen to me and not zone me out

Someone to hang out with and talk about what life is about

I find myself waiting as soon as you leave

For you to return back home

But for what?

It's not like when you return I feel less alone.

Hours and hours spent waiting for the door to open

Only to have it happen and I feel even worse

I thought it was a blessing

Maybe it is a curse.

How does one make friends these days

When we are all hiding behind our phones

Day after day I just want people to talk to

So I don't feel so alone.

5-22-18

Little Leighra Nova

You are the light of my world

You are everything I ever dreamed a child would be

And I am beyond words blessed to be able to call you my daughter

You make me want to live everyday like the last but work harder

I love you endlessly and you are my ray of sunshine

Never for a moment doubt my love for you

For it's one I have never known

But inside me each and every second

My admiration for you has grown.

I love you to the ends of the Earth and back again

You are my favorite person in this universe,

And maybe the next.

[prismatic-bell]

So the other day I said a thing about how I felt like a line could be drawn between antis, and the rise of 24-hour news networks. I’ve given that thought some time to bubble to see what, exactly, my brain meant by that statement, and here’s what I’ve got:

When I was a kid (back in Ye Olde 1990s), we had three major news stations in my town: Channel 12, Channel 24, and Channel 35. These corresponded to NBC, ABC, and CBS, but I don’t remember which one was which so don’t ask me. Anyway--you had a half hour of news at 8 or 9 am (depending on which station you watched), an hourlong program at noon in which half the program was stuff like “here are today’s beach closures and some recipes and also if you’re looking for stuff to do with the kids this weekend here are local promotions,” and half an hour at either 5, 5:30, or 6 (again, depending on which channel you watched). One of the three stations also did a half-hour capper at 10pm. So unless you were watching all three stations, and picking the news every single time, the max amount of news you were going to get was like an hour and a half. If you wanted more news than that, you read the newspaper. When my mom was a kid (back in Ye Olde 1960s), this would have seemed like an inordinate amount of news--for her, it was half an hour at 6pm and ten minutes at 10pm and then the station (there was only one station that did the news) played the National Anthem and went off the air until 6am, at which time you might get like . . . the weather and a traffic report.

For anything else, you read the newspaper.

Now with only half an hour to present a whole lot of news, what are you going to do? You are going to stick to the facts. You don’t have a choice. You have a very short time to fit a whole lot of information. “Notre Dame cathedral caught on fire today. French firefighters are working to get the flames under control, and authorities in charge of the cathedral are doing their best to remove relics, paintings, and other holy objects while it’s still possible. French President Mr. Somebody addressed the nation and stated every attempt to save the building, and to rebuild the damage, will be made. In local news . . . “ And that’s it! If you want more information, you’ve got to wait for the newspaper in the morning, and you’re going to have to get a copy of the New York Times or USA Today, because the local paper will only have a blurb, and that blurb will mostly cover what you just heard!

But then the news changed.

By the time I was a teenager, the non-cable news looked like this: All three channels had a morning show that started at 5 or 6 am (depending on your station) and ran until 8 or 9 (depending on your station). The station that ended at 8am then had a half-hour morning news show. The mid-day news at 11 or 12 was still an hour. Channel 35 did a half-hour news segment at 5 and another at 5:30, back to back. The other two stations simply did an hourlong segment. And then one station did half an hour at 10:30, and the other two did hourlong segments at 10pm.

What do you do with that much time? Well, you expand. Yes, you can fit more news, but you can also fit more about the news. “Notre Dame cathedral in Paris went up in flames today. The fire began in the famous historic bell tower, and spread to the roof. At this time, portions of the roof appear to have caved in, and there are concerns about the integrity of the medieval stonework in the cathedral walls. French firefighters have been working since 8am Paris time to get the flames under control, and authorities in charge of the cathedral are doing their best to remove relics, paintings, and other holy objects while it’s still possible. Some firefighters are also helping with this project, as portions of the building have become too unsafe to enter. French President Mr. Somebody addressed the nation late this evening and stated every attempt to save the building, and to rebuild the damage, will be made. Of the cathedral itself, Somebody said, ‘Our Lady has weathered worse troubles than this. Paris as a city, and France as a nation, will overcome.’ In local news . . . ”

Still facts, but a few more facts. At this point the internet as a public thing is just past its infancy, and in theory you could go look up some stuff on, like, AOL, maybe, about what was happening.

(Nina, you were talking about antis . . . ?)

(Yes, I was. Bear with me.)

But at this point you also saw the rise of Fox News and CNN.

Now up to this point, I could trust the news. That is important to know. “Nina, American news is full of propaganda--” Listen, you’re not wrong, but the point is, if Scott Brennan told me Notre Dame cathedral was on fire and priests were trying to remove the holy relics, I could safely assume Notre Dame cathedral was on fire and priests were trying to remove the holy relics. If Channel 24 told me “the blizzard of the century” had occurred the night before, I could look out the window of my snowed-in house and go “yeah, that seems legit.”

I grew up, in other words, in a world in which facts were facts. We didn’t waffle or wring our hands over whether or not Notre Dame was on fire. And this allowed me to take a similar approach to fiction: it is a fact that murder is wrong, and knowing this, I can read a book in which someone commits murder for very good reasons, but still know they did something wrong.

But now you have 24 hours of news to fill.

No matter how you pad it, no matter how many voice clips you play or retrospectives you do, you cannot find enough news in the world to fill 24 hours, seven days a week, 365 days a year. You just can’t.

So they started adding “opinion pieces.”

Notre Dame is on fire--is it worth saving? Notre Dame is on fire--but is it as big a catastrophe as it’s made out to be? Notre Dame is on fire--but France has been steadily calling themselves a secular nation, so is this the punishment of G-d? Notre Dame is on fire--

--wait, what was that?

Yep. You saw it, I saw it, we all saw it. But as the “opinion pieces” slowly took over the regular news and stopped being called “opinion pieces” and started being called “programs,” it became less and less clear what was and wasn’t fact.

Now obviously Notre Dame is on fire. But now we have to ask ourselves: is it worth it to save it or not? Is the financial cost outweighed by the history? Will those answers change depending on how bad the damage becomes? And you, lonely elderly person in your chair whose predominant socialization these days is at church, how does this make you feel about French people? These are questions that once would have been asked of the church caretakers and the French government. Now every single person is being asked to think about them, without being provided all of the context that is available to the church caretakers and the French government. And along the way, you get these nice, nasty little bits of prejudice and slanted thinking and bias sneaked in.

I told you I’d come back to antis. And here we are.

The vast majority of antis are very young. They grew up in a world where those “programs” were the norm. They were not provided with a cultural basis of “these are the facts.” They were provided a basis of “here is what I think about the facts.” They were provided a basis of, as Mr. Banks said in Mary Poppins, “kindly do not cloud the matter with facts.”

There are no facts! Who fucking cares! An anti who’s 15 years old today was eleven years old when we were introduced to “alternative facts”! Is it wrong for a 27-year-old man to pursue a relationship with a 13-year-old girl? Depends on which news channel, and which presenter, you ask!

They literally grew up in a world in which critical thinking was discouraged. Once upon a time, you would have seen on TV that Notre Dame was on fire, and at dinner--or whatever your family did for together time--you might say things like “going to be expensive to fix that, I wonder what they’ll do,” but you wouldn’t have been hit with six presenters telling you exactly why Notre Dame should/shouldn’t be rebuilt. And don’t forget--even if you, personally, do not watch the news (or read it on the internet, which is just as bad, because everybody’s after those elusive advertising clicks, everybody needs the “scoop” two seconds before it happens), you know people who do. You hear their opinions and their hot takes and their retellings all around you. And those  opinions and hot takes and retellings will be colored by which “program” that person saw first.

Watch the first thirty seconds of this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dn2RjahTi3M

Walter Cronkite, a legendary news anchor, giving his opinion on Vietnam. You will notice that he states, very clearly: “it seems very clear to this reporter.” This is Cronkite���s opinion, nothing more, and he makes it clear that he is speaking only for himself.

Now skip to approximately 1:05, and watch him report the Kennedy assassination. You can see he’s emotional, but also keeping it under wraps as best he can because he has An Important Job To Do, and that job is twofold: to deliver the news accurately and concisely, and to keep the American public calm (you can see this when he hurriedly says Johnson is probably taking the oath to become President; a missing VP would be a crisis at this moment). This is a man who’s just found out the most beloved president in modern times is dead. And not just dead--murdered. It’s not like Kennedy had a heart attack, his damn head was blown off. This news is still coming in so quickly that you can see him glancing off the screen to get fresh reports. He’s one of the first to receive this absolute blow--and he’s still holding it together, barely wavering. (When I was a kid, this role would go to Dan Rather. He was no Cronkite, but he tried.)

Where is that kind of rock for today’s teens? Imagine--heaven forbid, in the state our country’s in right now--that tomorrow we get the news Biden was shot.

How would we get that message?

Would it be delivered by an even-keeled, just-the-facts reporter like Cronkite? Or would we get it from a bunch of half-hysterical articles and crisismongering “programs”? And would it be delivered to us straight, like Cronkite did, or would it be buried in three days’ worth of opinions on his “legacy” and policies and What This Means For America?

Now: how are you supposed to build any kind of strong convictions and moral compass on a world like that? Where anything can be true if enough people have an “opinion” on it? Where the facts get immediately buried in a wave of bullshit?

Antis are reacting to a world of “opinions” and “programs” being thrown at them 24/7 by trying to create a world they can control, where there are in fact things that are true, in a world that has actively refused them the opportunity to learn how to parse and process facts. And so what they’ve come up with is this grossly distorted version of facts, because gross distortions of facts are all they know. It’s all they’ve ever seen. They’re perpetuating a system they don’t even realize they’re part of, because they never experienced life before it existed.

They’re not lying when they say they were heavily influenced by fiction because the bounds between fact and fiction have been actively erased. On purpose. And it’s difficult to grok that, if you grew up in a world where you didn’t have to go seek out photographic evidence to be absolutely certain that Notre Dame was, indeed, on fire.

So what we need to be doing, first and foremost, is rebuilding that wall of facts, that line of truth. Otherwise, what we’re going to see is more of this, but getting worse daily.

We set them up for this, and now we’re paying the price for it.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

You Remind Me of You

Summary: Spencer Reid is good at many things, but he just might be too good at pretending to be in love with Reader.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 2.3

Warnings: One use of f*ck (non sexual sense)

Author’s Note: This is the second installment for the 500 Followers Co-Celebration. Thank you to everyone who has voted, read, liked & reblogged our fics. Spencer’s thoughts are shown in italics. This title comes from the Jack Johnson song, I know it’s about his kid, but I was listening to the song and was like hold up, this works really well for a title!

You Remind Me of You

In retrospect, Spencer probably should have seen it coming. He should have realized that the floaty feeling he gets where he Y/N waltzes into his apartment was something beyond the scope of friendship. He should have realized that her laughter, even when he was tired and beaten down from work, could make him feel like he could take on the world. He should have realized that Y/N makes him want to kiss in the rain without a care in the world.

He should have realized that he loved her before he had to pretend to be in love with her.

Or rather pretend to be in love with her, while simultaneously pretending to not actually be in love with her.

Spencer always considered himself an excellent multi-tasker, however this task was proving to be a little worrisome. He backtracks, thinking back to what got him roped into this mess in the first place. Like most misadventures he’s gotten himself into, they all start with Y/N asking him to do something with her and him not being able to say no.

“Spencer,” Y/N groans, her legs rest on Spencer’s, both of them tucked underneath a blanket watching Reputation Stadium Tour for the 14th time, “I need to ask you a favor,”

Yes, anything. I’ll do anything for you, Y/N.

“What is it?” Spencer croaks, just stopping himself from saving what he actually is thinking, “How can I help you?”

“I have family reunion,” Y/N laments, throwing her head back dramatically, “and I might have told my parents that I was dating someone,”

“Well, you’re not. Right?” Spencer asks, for a second believing that in the less than 45 hours he last saw Y/N, she’s already dating someone, “I mean, I think I would be one of the first people to know if you were dating someone. We’re neighbors and I have a key and you’re...well, you’re”

You

“Relax, Spencer,” Y/N says, sitting up to rub a reassuring hand against his arm, “I’m not dating anyone. We really don’t have to worry about that problem,” Y/N mutters under breath.

“So, let me guess, they want you to bring this boyfriend to your family reunion?” Spencer questions, he hugs Y/N’s blanket covered legs for what he tells himself is for warmth, but he knows better than anyone that the weight of her body is like a therapeutic blanket hugging him and keeping him safe.

“That’s exactly what happened,” Y/N says, sinking down into the couch and letting the blankets cover her face, “and I might have mentioned that you’re my boyfriend,”

There’s a beat of silence where isn’t sure what he is supposed to say. He doesn’t want to appear too eager, as if he’s jumping at the chance to be Y/N’s fake boyfriend. And he also doesn’t want to play it too cool, like the idea of being Y/N’s boyfriend, albeit faux boyfriend, is something akin to a chore. Luckily for Spencer he’s rather quick on his feet, yet unluckily for Spencer his quick feet turn into two left feet the moment his brain is flooded with domestic imagery of him and Y/N.

“I’ll do it,” Spencer says, and judging from the look on Y/N’s face it is the right answer, “I’ll do it. You name the date and I’ll be there,”

“Well it’s like a whole weekend. Like this weekend,” Y/N says nervously, looking up at Spencer with a curious expression.

Spencer rests his hand on Y/N’s knee, drawing stars and nonsensical shapes with his thumb absentmindedly, “of course, Y/N. I’ll be happy to go. Anyway it’s been awhile since I’ve seen your moms,”

“And they’ll be thrilled to see you again,” Y/N says, looking over at him almost like she could really love him, “they were actually kind of excited that my boyfriend is you,”

If there ever is a statement that stumped Spencer, it’s this one. How can he respond to this without wanting to hold her face in his hands and kiss her everywhere his lips can reach?

“Were they really?” Spencer asks. Being a child of a divorced marriage and a member of the BAU, Spencer never got a chance to see what a loving, healthy relationship looks like. Y/N’s parents were nothing short of being absolutely in love.

“Yup, Momma was all like ‘I always knew I liked that boy’ and Mom was like ‘he’s a sweetheart, Y/N/N and you better not break his heart,”

Spencer ducks his head away from Y/N’s knowing gaze. She’s the kind of person that could tell exactly what Spencer is thinking with a single look. Spencer just supposes that she’s amazing like that.

“I think my mothers in-laws like me better than my own wife,” Spencer teases, wrapping his hand around Y/N’s hand and squeezing. She laughs loudly, like Spencer has just told the funniest joke she’s ever heard.

“They did through around fiancée like it’s a piece of candy,” Y/N says, “fiancée, that’s such a strange word,”

“Actually,” Spencer says, gesturing with his hands, “the word fiancée has etymological origins in both French and Latin. In around the 1840s the word morphed from it’s Latin root, which was roughly translated to “promise” or “trust”, or even according to some scholars, “faithful”, to mean betrothed. That translation is more closely related to its modern usage,” Spencer, still talking, gets up from his spot on the couch, and dashes off to his bedroom.

“Where you going?” Y/N asks, straightening out the blanket and pausing the television, “Spence, please don’t tell me you’re getting a dictionary to tell me more about the root of fiancée, I might just call an annulment,”

Spencer comes out from his bedroom with a little velvet box in one hand. He sits back down on the couch next to Y/N, who looks over at him with a confused expression on her face.

“This was my mother’s,” Spencer explains, “after my dad left, she got their rings. Both of them, I guess she wanted me to have them in case I did get married one day. I suppose she thought they’d be put to good use. You know, used by people that love each other deeply and unconditionally,” he explains, sneaking a glance at Y/N.

“So we’re gonna pretend to be engaged?” Y/N asks, “I guess that could be arranged, but we need to get our story straight,” she agrees, holding her hand out like she expects Spencer to put his mother’s ring on her finger and wants him to take it off after this weekend.

“Here,” Spencer says quietly, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He can’t believe how he’d be able to handle this if it was real, when he’s shaking like a leaf when it’s all for show, “You look-it looks beautiful,”

“Thank you,” Y/N says equally as quiet, a sudden shyness cloaking her usual cheerful, upbeat demeanor, “your turn,”

Y/N takes the other ring from the small velvet box and grabs Spencer’s hand. Spencer knows an awful lot about fingerprints, but even though he knows it’s impossible, he’s sure that Y/N’s fingerprints will be burned onto his skin after she lets go. She hardly touches him, but her fingers leave his skin tingling in the spots that she leaves her mark.

“That ring suits you, Spence,” Y/N says, sitting back in her spot. She rests her legs on Spencer’s again, settling easily into the couch, “so our story,”

“Our story,” Spencer repeats, his mind already weaving a fantastical romance between the two of them. It’s strange though, reality and fantasy don’t usually blend, but when it comes to Y/N, Spencer reckons that their story is a perfect tapestry of reality and fantasy.

“Tell me when you first realized when you loved me,” Y/N says.

I’m fucked, thoroughly and completely fucked.

***

“Spencer, tell me again how you proposed,” Lucy, Y/N’s mother asked him.

“Well, I kind of had it all planned and-” Spencer starts, but Y/N’s hands around his neck that travel down his chest silence him immediately.

“I’m so sorry, baby. But I want to tell the story,” she says, planting quick kisses on his cheek. Spencer wills blush on his cheeks to die down. The last thing he needs is to be embarrassed around his fake future wife’s (but very real love of his life) mothers.

“It was perfect, Mom,” Y/N says, sitting down very close to Spencer on the porch swing, “we’d spent all day at the Farmer’s Market and it ended up raining on the way home. We were soaked and just a mess,” she says, smiling so brightly that it makes the story seem authentic, “and I was in the bathroom and Spencer came in and just told me that there wasn’t another day that he didn’t want to not be married to me,”

“Oh Spencer, you’re a romantic?” Hazel, Y/N’s other mother says from the stoop.

“Not really, I think Y/N just brings it out of me,” Spencer says, pulling Y/N tighter into his side.

“I’m just really happy that you both are happy,” Hazel says, tears filling her eyes, “I’ve told Luce so many times that you two were made for each other. And now look at you!” she says, wiping her eyes, “after all those shitty boyfriends Y/N has had, I’m glad you found someone that is sweet and kind, Y/N”

“Oh Momma, Spence is the best,” Y/N says, smiling up at him. Spencer brings her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her hand in quick successions.

“Hazel, let’s let these young folks enjoy the peace,” Lucy says, ushering her wife into the house. Hazel and Lucy each kiss Y/N on the forehead and hug Spencer before heading back into the house.

Spencer and Y/N swing silently on the porch. They’re alone, for what seems like the first time that day. Between nosy aunts and curious cousins, Spencer put on quite the act of a loving boyfriend, even though it wasn’t that hard to pretend to be in love with Y/N.

“I can move if you need me too,” Y/N says, a little apprehensive about encroaching on Spencer’s personal space. To answer her question, Spencer starts to draw stars on her arm. He’s reminded of the day when Y/N asked him to pretend to be her boyfriend. He wonders if that could be considered their proposal, despite it not being an actual proposal.

“You’re perfect just where are,” Spencer says, trying to not sigh when Y/N’s head rests peacefully against his shoulder. It’s almost like she belongs there, next to him as equally and perfect as he belongs there next to her.

“You remind me of you,” Spencer says quietly, yet it’s the loudest thing he’s ever said.

“What?” Y/N says, twisting to look at Spencer, “is that supposed to be a good thing?”

“The best thing,” Spencer says, “You remind me of everything good in this world, because you’re the good thing in this world. You’re the best thing in my world, Y/N,”

Y/N gets quiet, which tells Spencer two things. She’s ready to run away without him, or run away with him. He personally hopes that it’s the latter rather than the former, but he was never one to dream.

“Spencer,” Y/N says, her voice just a whisper above the crickets, “you can’t say that stuff to me and not expect me to fall more in love with you,”

“What?” Spencer asks, not trusting his ears to hear what he thought he heard, “you’re in love with me?”

“How could I not be, Spencer. You’re-you’re you,” She says, like it’s enough of an explanation as to why she loves him back. It shouldn’t matter why she loves him back, but Spencer doesn’t ever want to not know an answer.

“Y/N, I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Spencer says, his heart soaring as Y/N nods slightly. She smells of honeysuckles and peach tea. Her lips are softer than Spencer ever could have imagined. Kissing her is something he’s thought of to fall asleep, to think of something other than finding terrible criminals, to think of something besides the pain of being painfully Spencer. Kissing her is nothing like he expected. He doesn’t mind when she takes control of the kiss, setting the pace as her mouth glides over his. She pays attention to the nape of his neck as her fingers tug and pull gently at his hair. Y/N is the first to break the kiss, not to Spencer’s surprise. He’s always told himself that if he ever got the chance to kiss her, he’d never be the first to let go.

“I always thought you’d be a great kisser. Your lips are very nice, Spence,” Y/N says, resting her forehead against Spencer’s. Spencer’s arms are tied around Y/N’s body, while she hangs her arms lazily around Spencer’s neck. It’s hot and sticky out on the porch with bugs the size of quarters buzzing around, but Spencer couldn’t care in the slightest. He kisses her lazily, like he’ll be able to do it again and again, no matter who’s watching or if they’ve gotten into a fight moments before.

“I love you, Y/N,” Spencer says, kissing the tip of Y/N’s nose. She settles back down on the swing, resting her head on Spencer’s lap. He brushes her hair from her face, not wanting her eyes or her face to be obstructed. Spencer is done with abstaining himself from beautiful things and beautiful people, even if the only person he ever wants, he already has.

“I love you more,” Y/N says, booping Spencer on the nose with her ring finger, as if she’s showing it off “do I have to give the ring back?”

“It’s your’s, Y/N. It’s always been yours,” Spencer says, as he litters Y/N’s finger with kisses.

“That’s good, because I’m pretty sure I didn’t want to take it off,”

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

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[reidingmelodies]

Dinos and Tigers and Donuts, Oh My!

Summary: Spencer wanted one thing this year: for your kids to plan his perfect Father’s Day Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Includes: dad!Spencer, heavy mentions of Father’s Day, mentions and consumption of food Category: Fluff Word Count: 2.6k A/N: This isn’t my favorite, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile all the same! Happy Sunday ♥️

 When Spencer was called away on cases your house seemed to lose a bit of its charm.  Mornings felt more tiring than ever before, the afternoon slumps dragged on for what seemed like years, and dinners, even with babbling five and seven-year-olds at your side, were a little too quiet.

This time around though, things were different.  You woke up to your five-year-old daughter sitting by your feet, her mind preoccupied by one of the search and find books Spencer had bought her the week prior.

The space next to you was empty, a piece of paper lying where your husband previously was, and you knew exactly what it was going to say before you even picked it up.

Good morning, love,

I got called on a case this morning, but it’s local and the team thinks we can wrap it up by tonight.  The kids both ate breakfast- and PSA that they were a little too excited I was going to be gone for the day.  I don’t know what they’re planning, but good luck.  I love you, and I’ll see you soon.

-Spencer

Unlike Spencer, you knew exactly what the kids were excited for, and it had everything to do with Father’s Day being tomorrow- you just hoped he would be home in time to celebrate like he predicted.

You folded the letter and placed it in your nightstand along with the others you’ve found gracing his pillow in years past when your bedroom door opened just the slightest amount.

In walked your seven-year-old son, comically exaggerating his tip toe motions as he stage whispered to his sister.  

“Is Mommy still sleeping?” He shifted his gaze in your direction, all effort to keep quiet out the window when he saw your eyes meet his.

“Mom! Guess what?” you opened your mouth to respond, but your daughter beat you to the punch.

“Daddy left for a work trip this morning!  So, we can make our plan today while he isn’t here!”

There was no denying that your kids loved their daddy, that was for sure.

“That’s so great!” you matched their enthusiasm with ease, getting ready for the day while they kept brainstorming in the background.  

Just last week, you had asked Spencer what he wanted to do for Father’s Day over dinner, and the children were as attentive as ever, eyes wide and lips pursed as they waited to hear the plans for the big day.

But, to their amusement, Spencer’s only plan was that they plan the entire day.  His reasoning was that they were the reason he was a dad so they should be the ones to decide what to do, but really you knew the truth was that he overheard their whispers about having the perfect plan for his day.

A plan you were finally going to be let in on, so it seemed.

The three of you made your way down to the kitchen where you settled down with your breakfast, eyebrows raised in enjoyment at your children.  They were sat across from you with a stash of markers and fresh index cards, and they had a few stacks of previously filled out index cards resting along the center of the table.

Ah- so that’s where they’re going with this.

It had become a bit of a family tradition to have a family scavenger hunt whenever you had a full weekend together.  You and Spencer were all too familiar with the concept of cherishing the time you have with your loved ones, and there were many a weekend where Spencer was called away, or you were busy with a million other plans ranging from extended family gatherings to birthday parties or weddings.

It was all the more reason to make the moments where it was just the four of you count even more- and thus, family scavenger hunts were born.

When they were toddlers, the scavenger hunts centered around finding certain shapes or colors, be it in the house or at the park.  Once every item was checked off you would have a family outing of their choice: the go to choice used to be another trip to the park (the one with the ‘fancier’ slides this time), but with the upgrade to slightly harder scavenger hunts centered on science and math they’ve upped their prize to ice cream.

What could you say? They were Spencer’s kids through and through.

“Wow!” you exclaimed, relishing in the beaming smiles on their faces, “do you guys want to make a scavenger hunt for daddy?”

Two enthusiastic faces nodded eagerly in your direction as your son grabbed one of the red markers.

“Yes! And we can have dino pancakes in the morning and get donuts after our scavenger hunt at the zoo- all of daddy’s favorite things!”

Dino pancakes were a Sunday morning staple in your home- you would use a cookie cutter to cut out a dinosaur shaped pancake, and the kids would eat those while you and Spencer would eat the ones with the dinosaur outline in them (and a few regular ones for good measure).  But donuts instead of ice cream?  That was new.

“That’s a great idea, I’m so proud of you guys for working together to plan this,” you praised, “but why donuts?”

Your daughter peered up from the index card she was drawing flowers on to answer your question, “because they’re daddy’s favorite and it’s daddy’s day!”

“And for our scavenger hunt we want all the animals to spell out ‘best dad ever’,” your son tacked on at the end, already beginning the task of writing numbers and circling them on the front of the card.

That was another newfound tradition for your family.  Now that the kids were learning to read, the two of you would try to have the first letter of each answer spell out a certain word or phrase.  Sometimes, it would be something like ‘I love you’ or ‘hello’, other times it would be the name of a special someone that would be joining you for ice cream afterwards (so far ‘Aunt Penny’ and ‘Uncle D’ were their favorite ones to come across).

You grinned once more, moving to grab your laptop and pulling the Smithsonian’s National Zoo site up to look at their list of animals.

“Alright, my loves- let’s do this”.

***

Three hours, eleven index cards, one snack break, and two very patient children later, your scavenger hunt was finished, index cards clipped and ready to go for the following morning.

Each index card had blank slots, the number of which corresponded to the name of the animal, on the front of the card with three fun facts written on the back.  In retrospect, Spencer wouldn’t even need the slots (or more than one fun fact, to be fair), but you knew he’d make a show of trying to think of each and every animal tomorrow afternoon.

Yet another reason you loved him.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur, all of your energy going into spending time with your kids. But once they went to bed, that energy was refocused into prepping for tomorrow to take your mind off the fact that it was nearing 10 PM and your husband wasn’t there.

You couldn’t bear to think of your kids disappointment if he didn’t make it home that night.

Outfits out and pancakes ready to be made, you made your way to the couch when the clock struck 11:30 PM, ready to settle in for a movie while you awaited his return but there was no need- as you walked into the room your husband made his way through the front door.  He looked as exhausted as ever, but the glimmer in his eyes proclaimed what you knew to be true.

He was happy to be home.

***

7 AM the next morning found you face to face with two wide eyed children gently shaking you awake, joy radiating from them as they saw that their father was fast asleep next to you.

With much persuasion in the form of puppy dog eyes, you made your way out of bed and into the kitchen to start the first task of the day: dino pancakes.  

Your little helpers set the table and brought Spencer’s gifts from the coat closet and into the dining room in the meantime, and as you placed the last pancake on a plate two arms wrapped around you and pulled you back tightly.

“Good morning, darling,” his raspy morning voice brought a soft smile to your face, and you leaned your head back to kiss his lips in greeting.

“Happy Father’s Day, Spence,” you laid another kiss against his lips, pulling back as the patter of little feet made their way into the kitchen.

“Daddy!  Happy Father’s Day!”

“Daddy!  Come see your gifts and eat pancakes!”

Two little voices fought for the spotlight, and Spencer kneeled to the ground to wrap the both of them in a hug.  You laughed at the scene, watching as they squeezed him just as hard before grabbing onto his arm and leading him to the dining room table.

“C’mon, Dad,” your son pulled his chair out and pushed his gifts closer to his seat, “let’s eat and open gifts!”

“Gifts?  You guys know I don’t want anything,” his brows furrowed as he looked at you, but you shrugged your eyes and took a bite of your pancakes in response.

“You always say that,” you rightly claimed, “and we always buy you gifts anyway- it’s practically tradition”.

You had a point, there.

Breakfast passed by in a blur of conversation, dad jokes, and present unwrapping.  And just like that, Spencer was the owner of new books to pass his time on the jet, a 5k puzzle you were sure he’d solve in an hour flat, and a homemade Father’s Day shirt with your children’s handprints decorating a globe, the words ’Best Dad in the WORLD!!!’ gracing the blank space.

His eyes sparkled when he saw the shirt, and you swore you’ve never been happier to call that man your husband and the father of your children.

Granted, that thought passed your mind no less than fifteen times a day, but still.

Within the hour, the four of you were out the door and on the way to the zoo, Spencer’s Father’s Day shirt proudly on display.

You drove with a grin, the radio turned off in favor of listening to your children explain today’s scavenger hunt to Spencer.  They were practically giving a word for word verbatim of what the two of you usually told them pre-scavenger hunt, all the more proof that your kids were sponges.

An equally exciting yet terrifying thought.

You were at the zoo within half an hour, your hand intertwined with your son’s while your daughter latched onto her father, everyone eager to start the scavenger hunt.

“Alright, guys,” Spencer began, “what’s our first clue?”

“Mommy can read it!” your daughter piped up and you nodded, grabbing the small pile from her hands before reading the first card of the day.

“Okay, so!  This animal has six letters in its name, and your three fun facts are: whiskers help this animal detect objects around them which helps them navigate the dark, they’re the largest rodents in North America, and when they’re in danger they slap their tail on the surface of the water” you finished your explanation and watched as Spencer’s eyes lit up in recognition, but just as you predicted he dragged the process out instead of guessing right away.

“Hm, it sounds like we should go to the rodent exhibit first!” He proclaimed, and your kids nodded, walking in a row like little ducklings to the exhibit.

The four of you took your time looking at each of the animals, until you came face to face with the animal in question.  “Aha! I think the animal we’re looking for is a beaver,” his answer was met with cheers from both of your children, and you wrote the answer in the blank slots before continuing with the hunt.

At the end of the hour you added an electric eel, sloth bear, tiger, dama gazelle, alpaca, and degu to the list.  Eight animals down, four to go.

Which was fantastic, considering that your kids were starting to get antsy for donuts.

“Okay, guys!  Are we ready for our next animal?” You were walking hand in hand with Spencer, your kids skipping directly in front of you and eagerly shouting in affirmation at your question.

The four of you stepped to the side, and you grabbed hold of the fourth to last index card before reciting the hints.

“Alright so!  This animal is two words, seven letters in the first word and seven in the second.  They have whiskers that look like mustaches, they’re native to the southwest Amazon Basin, and they have claws on each of their toes but the big one”.

“Hmm.. I don’t know guys, what do you think?” Spencer turned to your children, smiling wide when your son giggled in response.

“We can’t tell you, Dad! It’s a secret”.

Spencer laughed, sighing in defeat as your daughter gestured for him to come closer.  He did as asked, leaning down until she able to reach his ear, “I think we should go to the monkey exhibit!”

Her not so quiet whisper brought a smile to both yours and Spencer’s faces, and a grimace to your son’s but to the monkeys you went, where you came face to face with an Emperor Tamarin.

From there you crossed a Von der Decken’s Hornbill and an Eld’s Deer off your list until you had one animal left.

“Alright, my love- last one! This animal is two words, three letters in the first one and five in the second.  They mainly eat bamboo, their fur acts like a camouflage when they climb in trees, and they live in temperate forests in the Himalayas,” you finished your spiel with a quick eyebrow raise towards your children, both of which were not so discreetly pointing at the red panda exhibit just a few feet away.

“Is it a red panda?” Spencer asked, giving both your kids high fives when they jumped up and down in excitement.

“Yay Daddy, you got it! And guess what all of the first letters spell? Best dad ever!” your daughter jumped into his arms and Spencer chuckled, spinning her around and laying a gentle kiss on her head.

“Is that so?” he asked, “you three are too nice to me”.

Truthfully, you didn’t think it was possible to be too nice to Spencer.

“How about our last surprise for Daddy now, my loves?” your question was met with enthusiasm from your little family, and you were back in your car and on your way to Spencer’s favorite bakery in ten minutes flat.

As you pulled up to the bakery, two eager children and one extremely happy father made plans as to what donuts they were going to eat.

It was decided that Spencer would get a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles, your son would get a glazed donut, and your daughter would get jelly.

And you? You had every intention to get your favorite too, but above all you were just happy that another amazing Father’s Day was in the books for Spencer.

The seventh of many.

***

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[ghostdrew22]

i am such a fucking sucker for the “hold my jaw with your hand and tilt my face upwards so that our eyes meet because i’m shorter and you’re taller and we can both feel the tension as you look down at my lips and then back up again quickly before the moment’s lost” cliches so can u maybe write something like that for Draco and Slytherin reader please

Five || Draco Malfoy

I REACHED 100 FOLLOWERS THE OTHER DAY (AND I FUCKING MISSED IT LIKE A DUMBASS BITCH BUT I’LL DO SOMETHING IF I GET TO 200) THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! <3

I did get a bit carried away with the banter but it’s only because I seriously love this trope and the build-up is the best part, anyway I hope you like it and  I hope the ending made you happy! <3

Thank you for this request, I honestly had so much fun writing it, it’s adorable!

Requested: Yes Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!fem!reader Warnings: swearing and major cockblocking, I feel like it’s quite fluffy but if there’s anything you think I should add let me know <3 Summary: Y/N and Draco have been desperately trying to relieve the tension between them both but someone always has to get in the way.

WORDS : 1955

Fred Weasley is your best friend.

Fred Weasley is, also, a massive piece of shit.

Not that you don’t love him because of course you do, he is your best friend after all.  

Buuuut, that doesn’t mean he’s without his flaws. For example, he’s got a disgusting habit of getting in the way of your romantic endeavors, especially when they involve Draco Malfoy. And it’s not even because Fred’s into you, because he’s definitely not, but it gives him an odd sense of pleasure to watch your jaw clench when he interrupts one of you and Draco’s ‘moments’, as he likes to call them. It’s his hobby.

“Y/N…” Fred whines as he tugs on your right arm.

“No.”

“Please?” He pouts and you roll your eyes as you pry his hand off of your arm.

“No, I told you that I hate watching your practices.”

He gasps dramatically and places a hand on his heart. “Because you don’t love me?”

“Because it’s so bloody cold that I almost freeze my toes off every time.”

“You can wear my jumper.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“And the Slytherins are practicing with us today.”

“I know, I am one dumbass.”

“So you’ll come?”

“No Fred, let it go for fucks sake.”

By now you ought to know that you can never win an argument with Fred Weasley, but it’s nice to pretend. After a further 5 minutes of arguing he’d somehow gotten you in his jumper, pulled you down toward the Quidditch pitch and left you sitting by the bleachers while he walked down to the field to join practice.

“Bloody hell.” You mutter to yourself as you watch the ginger skip down to join his teammates. You hear a chuckle erupt from your left and turn to find Draco approaching you.

“So we’re wearing Weasley’s clothes now?” Draco raises his eyebrows at you as he stops to stand right in front of you.

You laugh and shove his chest playfully. “We’re not doing anything but I’m relishing in the warmth of Fred’s jumper. Nothing warmer on planet earth.”

“My arms beg to differ.”

You laugh and shake your head. “You’re such a nonce, go practice.”

“I think I’d much rather stand here with you if I’m being honest.”

“I don’t blame you.” You shrug, “I can’t imagine anyone who’d prefer the company of a sweaty Quidditch team compared to me.”

“Cocky.”

“But with reason, no?” You raise your eyebrows with a playful smirk.

He doesn’t respond but instead clenches his jaw to wipe away the smile that was begging to surface.

When his eyes finally turn back to meet yours there’s an atmosphere of tension that envelopes you both once again. You can’t tell how long the two of you stand there staring into each other’s eyes, it could be seconds, minutes, hours. But it all fades away into nothing when his blue hues travel down to capture the sight of your lips, and you have to swallow hard to reconnect with planet earth again.

His fingers grace the space beneath your chin softly, pulling your face up so that he can stare directly down into your eyes because Merlin, he’s so tall. And you think that this is it, he’s going to kiss you, because why wouldn’t he when his lips are so close that you can practically feel the air expelling from his lungs coming into contact with your face.

His lips barely brush over your own when,

Fred fucking Weasley happens.

“Oi, Malfoy! We’re all waiting down here for you so that we can get started.”

You groan in frustration as Draco lets his hand fall and a heavy sigh escapes him.

“I’m coming.” He responds curtly, frustration clearly lacing his voice, and Fred resists the urge to smirk from behind you both - he fails.

“Hurry up then!” Fred responds and you send Draco an apologetic look.

“I hate him, I want you to know that I actually hate him.” Draco says simply.

You laugh and shake your head, “Go on.”

“Weasley:1 and Malfoy:0.” Fred says to Draco when he finally reaches the bottom of the stands.

“You’ve got a load more than 1 at this point.”

“I know but I like to refresh the score every week so that you feel the weight of my power, you know?”

Draco doesn’t respond.

But Fred does get a nice taste of grass when his face comes in contact with the ground because Draco tripped him.

“You git!” Fred exclaims as he jumps off the ground and starts to chase after Draco - who’s running off with a mischievous laugh and a glint in his eyes.

~~~

Blaise Zabini is Draco’s best friend.

Blaise Zabini, like Fred Weasley, is also a massive piece of shit.

“Y/N, please pass me that.” Draco mumbles as he stirs the cauldron. You oblige and grab what he was gesturing to before passing it to him. Your fingers run over each other for just a moment and you can’t help that small smile that finds its way onto your lips.

“We studying together after school today?”

Draco turns to you with an apologetic look and you sigh, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I’ve got detention.”

“What did you do to get detention this time?” You ask with a roll of your eyes and he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

“I’m already mad.”

“Y/N…” He whines and you roll your eyes again but sigh in agreement.

“Fine, I won’t get mad.”

“You know the flag pole out front?” He raises his eyebrows at you as he finishes up with the potion and sits comfortably in his seat beside you.

You nod hesitantly, “Yes…” 


“So, Blaise dared me to-“

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t take anymore of Blaise’s dares?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Okay, yes, but this one was too hard to resist. He looked at me like I wouldn’t do it!”

“You’re a pussy.”

“I guess I am what I eat.” He says with a smile and you feel the air leave your lungs.

You look up at him with the intention of clapping back with something smart. But how can you possibly say anything when he’s looking down at you like that.

Merlin, if this boy doesn’t kiss you-

“Sorry, don’t mind me, just passing through.” Blaise says as he steps in between you and Draco to grab your notebook off the table. You’d told him earlier that if he needed help then he could borrow your notes, but you hadn’t meant that he could borrow them right as you were about to get a kiss from the Slytherin Prince.

You peer your eyes at him and notice a faint smirk on his lips. oh. He was not just passing through, he was cockblocking and he was cockblocking you hard.

He turns to leave with your notes and, without even thinking, you and Draco both spread your legs out. Blaise, fixed intently on the writing in front of him, doesn’t notice what’s happening until he’s already halfway toward the ground.

In retrospect he had it coming. He’s been working with Fred for weeks now to keep you and Draco from finally locking lips. Was it objectively deserved? No. Did it feel good? Hell fucking yes.

But Snape seemed to think that it was out of order, and that was how you got yourself a front row seat in detention, next to Draco.

“I’m surprised Fred wasn’t in detention.” Draco mumbles as the two of you finally leave the detention classroom.

“He reserves Thursdays for detention.” You respond and Draco laughs. “To be honest, I was half-expecting Blaise.”

“Oh no way.” He shakes his head as the two of you walk down the hallway. “His mom will kill him, and me for that matter, if he gets another detention this year.” Draco adds with grimace.

“Why you?”

“I’m usually the one who ropes him into stupid shit.”

You giggle, “No surprise there.”

“Uncalled for!”

“Considering your track record it was 100% called for!” You exclaim as laughter continues to shake you about. You don’t even notice how far ahead of Draco you are, until he wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you back toward him.

Your face almost collides with his chest and you let out a yelp at the sudden movement. When you move your head up to look at him and ask him what he’s doing, you find that words escape you completely.

“Y/N.” Draco whispers as he brings his face down to yours.

“Draco.” You whisper back with an inquisitive smile.

“We’re alone.”

You turn your head a bit and observe that the hallway is, in fact, completely abandoned. “Holy shit, it seems like you’re right.”

He smiles down at you, “I’m tired of dancing around this, I want to kiss you.”

“Then do it.”

His lips are inches, inches, away from your own when some random first year stumbles into the hallway, whistling about like he’s auditioning to be fucking Mickey Mouse. You’re so frustrated that you don’t even know what you’re saying until the words have already left your mouth.

“If you do not leave right fucking now I will hex you so badly that your unborn grandchildren will feel it.”

The student’s eyes widen and they immediately turn back the way they came from.

“Well that was-“ Draco starts but you cut him off as you grasp the back of his neck and pull him down to kiss you.

Maybe all the tension was worth it, because wow.

Draco sighs happily against your lips as his hands find home on your waist. It’s almost too perfect, like the two of you are doing a dance that you’ve rehearsed over and over again. The kiss goes on for so long that you completely lose track of time, almost forgetting that you need oxygen to live.

But then, once again, Fred fucking Weasley happens.

Except for once, he’s too late.

“Oh for fucks sake, no!” Fred groans as he steps into the hallway and you grin as you pull apart from Draco to face him.

“Suck on that, Fred!” You exclaim as you stick your tongue out at him.

“Weasley:3. Malfoy:1.” Draco adds.

“Actually…” You start as you stare into Fred’s eyes and use your hand to bring Draco’s lips down to yours. “Malfoy:2.”

“3.” Draco adds as he pecks your lips again.

“4.” You smile widely.

“If you don’t stop I will dye both of your heads red.” Fred says with a playful glare.

“I say do it just for the hell of it.” Blaise shrugs as he joins the conversation from out of nowhere.

“That includes you Zabini.”

“What the fuck, why?” Blaise asks in disbelief and you and Draco struggle to hold in your laughs.

“You didn’t do your part in preventing this!”

“Excuse me but last time I checked this was a two man job!?”

“Well, thanks to this one man’s failure,” Fred starts as he pushes an accusatory finger into Blaise’s chest, “We all have to suffer the wrath of Draco and Y/N’s sappiness!”

“How was it my failure when it was your turn to watch them?”

Draco chuckles and your eyes immediately leave the two arguing boys to find Draco’s. He smiles goofily down at you and you smile back. “We should’ve picked nicer friends.”

“As if anyone else would put up with us.” You respond with a smirk and he nods.

“Fair.”

That familiar tension from before is back, except now with a hint of something else- assurance perhaps? The two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a while before those blue iris’s find the curvature of your lips again and you swallow hard with the growing anticipation.

“5?” He asks breathily and you merely grab the back of his neck to capture him in a kiss.

When you finally pull away all you whisper back is, “5.”

<~>

Everyday I wake up and wonder, why am I a dumbass bitch? University of Kent just offered me conditional acceptance but I don’t think they’re going to accept me because I have NOT met the conditions, and it’s literally just because I have one braincell that can’t do math.

Anway, if you have any feedback on whether I should do a fluff or angst sequel for ‘Falling Out Of Love With Astoria Greengrass’ then please let me know <3

love you all,

your favourite shitshow, jean <3

[five-rivers]

Like Kind

Prompt by @dp-marvel94: As soon as Maddie saw Phantom, she KNEW. It had happened, the thing that she dreaded and feared but in the back her mind knew would happen. Her Danny, her baby wasn’t human anymore….but then again he never had been completely human.

 In retrospect, she should have seen this coming from miles away.  Perhaps she had seen it, and her surprise now was the result of having willfully turned away.  But now, it was being rubbed in her face, thrown up in front of her in gleaming neon letters, staring her in the eye.  

The last was literal.  

Phantom floated a few meters above the ground, eyes fixed on hers.  

Phantom, who was undeniably Danny.  Her son.  Her baby boy.

He vanished from sight, flying up through the ceiling.  Maddie waited ten minutes, frozen and holding her breath, before sitting down hard on the floor.  She had thought—She had hoped—

(A memory plagued her.  Out with Vlad and Jack after Vlad was discharged, Jazz with a sitter. Red eyes where there should be blue. Panicked apologies.  Blood on the sheets and an ache radiating through her whole body.)

She had hoped.  

Had hoped that a child born to someone who had been possessed would be entirely human.  

(But even as a young child, something had been… not right about Danny.  He’d stared at empty corners, spoken to thin air, had a bizarre fixation on clocks. There had been other signs.  She’d dismissed them all.  But then.  Phantom.)

(She couldn’t ignore this.)

She went through the rest of the day, even the kidnapping of the mayor and a fight with a whole horde of ghosts in a daze.  Danny was there.  Fighting.  Doing these… these things.  And now she knew.  

Did Jack realize?  Had Jack put two and two together to realize that the boy he’d raised, the boy he’d taken as his own son, was now… this?

Was now a ghost?

.

“He’s our responsibility,” said Maddie, hands clasped under her chin.  She couldn’t meet Jack’s eyes.  “He’s our responsibility, and he’s giving in to his—to his nature.  What he did last night…”

“Maddie,” said Jack, reaching across the table.  “Just.  Stop.  Maybe… maybe there’s another way we can do this. Up until now, he’s been fighting the other ghosts, hasn’t he?  Maybe we could encourage that part.  Guide him to something less, less malevolent.”

“That’s what we thought we were doing from the beginning,” said Maddie.  “It hasn’t worked, Jack.”

“That’s when we thought he was still human,” said Jack. “We can—We could invent something. To help him control his—”

“This isn’t a movie, Jack,” snapped Maddie.  “He isn’t a vampire we can feed animal blood or a werewolf we can lock up during the full moon.  He’s a ghost.  This isn’t going to get better.  It’s going to get worse.”

“We don’t know that,” protested Jack.  “We could at least try, couldn’t we?  Don’t we owe him that?”

“Jack…”

“He’s our boy, Maddie.  We can’t just give up on him.”

“It’s already getting worse.  You’ve seen his grades.”

“It might not be because of intellectual degeneration,” said Jack, urgently.  “If you suddenly found out about—” he waved his hand vaguely “—wouldn’t you have some trouble focusing on schoolwork?  I know I had enough trouble when I was in school…”

“This isn’t the same,” said Maddie.  

“I know, that’s my point.”

Maddie covered her face and sighed.  “Alright,” she said.  She couldn’t let herself hope again.  “We’ll… we’ll try it your way, first.  What do we tell Jazz?”

.

“You already know?” asked Maddie, aghast.  

“Yes, I saw him transform, once, but I thought it would be better to let him come to me, tell me on his own terms.”  Jazz licked her lips.  “Does this mean you’ll stop shooting at him?  Maybe be more supportive of what he’s trying to do?”

“Jazz, he kidnapped the mayor.”

“I’m not sure he did.  A lot of people were possessed this past week.  The mayor could have been one of them.”

Maddie closed her eyes and swallowed, suppressing the feelings that rose in her at Jazz’s casual pronouncement.  

“I mean, a lot of people at school were talking about how little they remember…  Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”  She collected herself.  “Ghosts,” she said, “aren’t human.  They don’t have a human psychology.”

“Danny’s still human.”

“Partially.  For now. We don’t want to lose him to this. Will you help us?”

Jazz looked away, frowning.  “Even if ghosts are different,” she stressed the word, “that doesn’t mean they’re evil.  The wolf ghost helped Danny, didn’t it?  And Danny’s doing good.  I don’t think you should try to ‘fix’ him.  It isn’t right.”

Jack jumped in.  “That’s not what we’re doing,” he said, reassuringly.  “We just want to make sure that he stays himself.  That this doesn’t affect him negatively.”

“But you don’t want me to tell him that’s what you’re doing.”

“Based on recent events,” said Maddie, “we’re concerned that he’ll react poorly and run.  We just don’t want that to happen.  We can’t help him if he runs from us.”

Jazz bit her lip.  “Okay,” she said, finally.  “But you can’t do anything to Danny that he doesn’t want.  No experiments.  No tearing him apart molecule by molecule.”

“That isn’t—”

“Don’t tell me it didn’t cross your mind,” said Jazz, harshly.  “You talked about it at the table at breakfast.  More than once.  I’m keeping an eye on everything you do.”

It was better than her running to the police or trying to free Danny right away because she couldn’t understand.  

“Alright,” said Maddie.  

.

It was a good thing Danny’s physiology hadn’t changed enough to give him a resistance to simple sedatives.  Watching him nod off in the middle of dinner was as cute as it was tragic.

Jazz was… unhappy.  Clearly.  But she didn’t say anything.  

.

Danny knew he was in lab as soon as he woke up.  The buzz of the overhead lights and the hum of the portal made his hair stand on end and his mouth go dry.  

This was bad.  This was a nightmare made real.  

He didn’t move.  Maybe, if they thought he was asleep, they’d hold off on the dissection.

Although… he didn’t seem to be on the examination table. That was a good sign, right?  IT had to be a good sign.  

“Danny.”

His breath caught in his throat and his fingers curled on the surface beneath him.  It wasn’t metal.  Something… not quite soft.  But not hard. Like… a thin air mattress.  

“Danny, we know you’re awake.”

He screwed his eyes shut even tighter.  

“Please don’t hurt me,” he said.  “I’m me.  I’m really me.  I promise.”

“We know,” said Jack.  

That made Danny open his eyes.  “You do?” he asked, hopeful despite the fact he was in a box with thick, plastic walls.  He pushed himself up on the bench.  “Then why—” He was almost hyperventilating.  

“Danny,” said Maddie, “Danny, calm down.  We’re just- We know you’re Phantom, and we’re here to help you.”

“We know how hard it must have been for you, fighting those ghostly urges,” said Jack.  “But we’ll find a way for you to beat ‘em back, son.”

“I don’t- I’m not—” He shook his head.  “If you’re talking about the robberies—”

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” said Maddie.  “But it’s okay.  We’re going to keep anything like that from ever happening again.”

Danny bit his lip and felt despair clutch at his heart again.  They weren’t going to listen to him.  But—Jazz. Jazz would notice he was missing. She didn’t even believe in ghosts, not really.  She’d save him.  Or Sam and Tucker would look for him.  

He just had to hold out.  Even if they thought he was… succumbing to his ‘ghostly instincts,’ they wouldn’t hurt him.

Right?

.

“It isn’t working,” said Maddie, head in her hands, surrounded by crumpled by pieces of paper.  “He’s getting worse.”

Jack had to admit that he was.  It was tragic to watch his son fall to what could only be described as a ghostly Obsession.  Just last night Danny had been reduced to clawing at the inside of the containment unit. Crying.  Screaming to be let out to fight ghosts and ‘protect the town.’  

He… didn’t know what to do about it.  Any of it.  

“Maybe…” said Maddie.  “You remember what he said about the portal.  What if he was right?  What if he really…”

What if he really died?

“What if he did?” asked Jack.  “What would it change?”

“He’s not really alive,” said Maddie.  “If he isn’t… maybe we should… let him go.”

“W-what? You mean give up on him?” demanded Jack.  “We can’t do that!”

“No!  Not give up.  Never give up.  But- but maybe it would be better for him if he, if he was among like kind.  If he was…  We don’t have to destroy ghosts after all.  We just have to… have to put them on the other side of the portal.  Close it.  Close it so no more ghosts can get through.”

“You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying,” said Jack.  

“Like kind,” said Maddie.  “You remember that one Grimm’s fairy tale.  The little boy who couldn’t move on.”

“That’s not Danny,” said Jack.  

“I know.  I know it isn’t.  But, still… We…  Please, Jack.  Just… Tell me, what can we do?”

.

Danny tumbled head over heels into the Ghost Zone. He stopped, turned around, sending a blast of ectoenergy from his foot to accelerate himself back towards the portal.

He was too late.  The portal doors slammed shut, then winked out of existence.  

They were gone.  Danny was stuck here.  In the Ghost Zone.  

Fine.  

You know what?  Fine.  

He was here.  He was stuck here, because he didn’t know where or how to find natural portals. He didn’t know what was happening back home in Amity, and he was half out of his mind with worry about it.  

Fine.  

They thought he was a ghost.  A terrible, evil ghost.  Something to be cast off and thrown away.  

Fine.  

He was a ghost.  And he’d be the best ghost.  Ever.

[chemicalreal]

The retcon about Ethan Winters' condition

(Warning: long post and spoilers)

This screen belongs to that shocking and somewhat hilarious moment in Resident Evil 7 when Zoe staples Ethan's hand back. As you can see, she is telling to an half unconscious Ethan to not die.

According to Eveline, and RE8 plot, Ethan was already dead right after the first Mia boss battle, when Jack stomps on your head and welcomes you to the family. Then Zoe asks you not to die. Ironic, right?

Fans have been trying to connect the dots by justifying the new direction claiming that Ethan wasn't given any sort of cure after the first game.

I don't think that's the case since both him and Mia needed a cure: he confirms by reading several files by the end of the game that he is in earlier/mid stages of infection (miraculous healing, hallucinations). Mia herself is infected again in the ship, however Eveline's influence is not as strong as before and she can save Ethan without triggering a new boss battle. One could safely assume they both got cured off screen. There's no need to show that.

Or maybe they didn't need to since the Queen B of the hivemind was dead so they were free from her influence, and they could enjoy their new regeneration pack. But that puts Mia on the same boat as Ethan.

(Lack of sleep obviously)

Another popular claim is that Ethan is now a mold man mimicking a human and tricking himself into being him. Now, we know Eveline really likes to be a pain in that place, and as a kiddo would do, she'd probably hyperbolize the truth, especially to a guy she particularly despises, like Ethan, by telling him he is nothing but mold to let him down. And to add insult to injury, why would his fellow molded attack him? Shouldn't he be their homie now?

Most likely the mold kept Ethan's vital functions intact and possibly some kind of molecular recombination (passed to his daughter) but it was still Ethan, not some kind of psychological zombie. Ok I'll just shut up before I give them more ideas.

Because dead people can't have children. In theory.

Lucas: another 100% human that could reattach his limbs just like Ethan. But he turned out to be a psycho without weird hallucinogenic mushrooms. Several theories circulated about him being a little different than mom and dad, which included tactically avoiding eating the disgusting food.

(Conveniently throwing the food at Ethan)

Mia's condition though, caused more controversies than Ethan, during RE7. The fact that she looked almost as gone as the two senior Bakers yet the serum doesn't calcify her but Zoe.

Yet, they never gave her any space to focus on her condition post 7. Except that she was experimented on, but seemed to be perfectly fine. Why would Miranda experiment on her if she was completely mold free.

So, no, it's not like "hey now everything from 7 makes sense" like many claim because it doesn't. But this is not to say retcon is bad. That's not the aim of this rant. I think RE8 was a strong title even though the ending was pretty sad. It's just to notice how you can take several ambiguous moments to create a new direction. And that's what capcom did. But it was unlikely their intention from the beginning.

There are several moments in 8 that might sort the same effect on future games, especially when it comes to the luckiest man on the face of the earth Ethan. He might not be entirely gone (another word they really like to use instead of dead), because what does death even mean for him at this point? Several, in appearance innocuous, stylistic choices in dialogues, are what capcom will use to leave certain doors open for the future. In retrospect, the stapled hand was most likely an artistic choice of impact, for body horror value, but it could be turned into "he lost the hand before he died so he needed staples" when beforehand it was "he was in a very mild stage of infection that he probably needed some physical support to reattach it".

(100% canon game files that have the purpose to explain why he can reattach limbs)

This series is in continuous evolution that you never know what to expect, especially with the new characters. Like Zoe turning into a crystal fairy, because yes.

(I wonder for how much money you can sell this to the Duke)

The father's story came to a close but Ethan's (or whatever he is now) is really over? I wouldn't be so sure. He just can't return to his old world after all.

[nillegible]

It wasn't supposed to hurt him. Ouyang Zizhen had used the talisman before, on his sister and his sister's idiot fiance (Now he was her fiance. Before the talisman, he'd just been a shixiong who absolutely refused to confess his feelings to her). In retrospect perhaps it was unkind. A talisman that was meant to force you to confess what you were hiding from the other person? Jiujiu would have smacked him for even thinking about using it.

Jin Ling would punish himself if it would help, would do anything, to snap the talisman, or to get his stupid uncle to just say his stupid secret, because right now?

Right now, his uncle is choking on his secret, literally forcing it down by strength of will alone while Wei Wuxian flutters around desperately, trying to destroy the talisman and Hanguang Jun plays his guqin. The spiritual energy from the Lan musical technique is so heavy that Jin Ling's skin buzzes with every note, and it's even more concentrated on the three older cultivators, visible threads of it sparking over their skin.

Jiujiu still looks like he is in agony, breaths harsh and ragged, choking, his face screwed up, twisted, awful.

"Jiang Cheng please, please, just spit it out, I don't care what you still blame me for, I don't care just say it," Wei Wuxian begs, but it's no use, his uncle shakes his head no, and Jin Ling covers his own mouth to stifle a sob. He hadn't listened when Jin Ling begged, either.

It's such a simple talisman, so terribly simple a compulsion that it's not meant to be fought or broken. Powered by the strength of the secret and the spiritual energy of the person it was affixed to… Jin Ling hadn't known it was possible to even try.

"Jiang Wanyin," says Hanguang Jun. He has to say it again to get his uncle's attention. "Let me help." His uncle stares blearily for a few moments, then nods again. Abruptly, even the gasping choked off noises break off, and Jin Ling rushes closer, but he's okay. He's still okay, slumping a little and leaning onto Wei Wuxian in exhaustion, but alive.

"Wei Ying," says Hanguang Jun, and apparently that means something to his other uncle, because Wei Wuxian immediately turns his attention back to paper he'd been scribbling on, and continues.

It takes Wei Wuxian a full hour more to break the compulsion, for his uncle to collapse sideways like a broken puppet onto him, and cough up mouthfuls of blood while Wei Wuxian rubs his back. "Thank you, Hanguang Jun," says Jiujiu.

Then he looks up at Jin Ling, who is frozen in place, not sure if he should run or fall to his knees and apologize, and holds out a hand. Jin Ling throws himself forward and hugs his uncle sobbing his apologies. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."

“Stupid,” Jiujiu says, voice hoarse, but he doesn’t let go of Jin Ling until he falls unconscious, and Wei Wuxian disentangles him from the half embrace – Jiujiu’s other arm was clutching Wei Wuxian’s robes, tightly – and lifts him into his arms.

“He’ll be okay, right?” asks Jin Ling, a bit pathetically. This was all his fault, after all.

“Jiang Cheng will be fine,” says Wei Wuxian.

When Jin Ling thinks back to this moment, he will realize that Wei Wuxian sounded oddly broken, not just tired.

*

It turns out that Jin Ling had actually ruined everything. He’d been sure that his uncles cared for one another, he’d watched the weird way they held each other at arm’s length but seemed desperate for more, and only wanted to help them out. Whatever it is they were keeping a secret couldn’t be worth it right? Wei Wuxian was back from the dead. He was, not Jin Ling’s mom or dad or anyone else. Jin Ling had only wanted them to make the most of it.

Instead, all Jin Ling does is show Wei Wuxian that Jiujiu has some giant terrible secret that he would rather tear his lips bloody trying to suppress than admit to, and Wei Wuxian seems to give up. He’s cautious around Jiujiu after that, He’s polite. And that only makes Jiujiu angrier and frostier in turn.

This is not what had happened to Ouyang Zizhen’s sister and her husband! (They’d gotten married in the spring, Jin Ling had even gone to their wedding.)

Perhaps Jin Ling should have considered what would happen if the secret was a bad one.

“Would you tell me?” asks Jin Ling. He’s treading on dangerous ground here. Jiujiu hasn’t punished him for the stunt ( “You’re a Sect Leader now, brat, you pick your own consequences,” he’d said, and Jin Ling had assigned himself a lot more make sure Jiujiu is recovering okay missions, whenever he could make the time) and he doesn’t want to remind him to.

“Of course not,” he snaps, Zidian sparking in hollow threat on his finger. At least he scowls? When Jiujiu isn’t busy being angry, he’s been strangely melancholy, recently. Jin Ling hates that, too.

*

It’s Hanguang Jun that Jin Ling approaches in the end. Oddly, he’s the one who’s angriest at him, Wei Wuxian had just waved off his apologies and asked him to introduce him to the maker of the talismans, and never mentioned it again.

“I really am sorry,” Jin Ling tells him. “I want to know how to fix it.”

Hanguang Jun is silent for a long time, and Jin Ling braces himself for dismissal, to be told he can’t, that it was his fault in the first place, he should stay away from Hanguang Jun’s husband.

“It is hard to speak when you are afraid,” Hanguang Jun observes. Which, what? Yes, of course. But why now? Jin Ling nods uncertainly. “Why should Jiang Wanyin be afraid of Wei Ying?”

Oh. Huh? “He’s not, he’s never…” Jin Ling trails off, uncertain. He’d grown up secure in the knowledge that Uncle Jiang would protect him from the evil Yiling Patriarch. That he wasn;t afraid of him. Things were apparently far more complicated than that, but Jiujiu had never been afraid of Wei Wuxian. So why wouldn’t he tell the secret. What did he think his secret would do, that hasn’t happened already? They barely even look at each other anymore! Hanguang Jun just keeps his steady gaze on Jin Ling, waiting for an answer. “Um. He was afraid… to hurt him?” asks Jin Ling.

He gets a slight nod in affirmation.

“You’d think Senior Wei would know all the awful things already,” Jin Ling says, quietly. Wei Wuxian’s life kind of sucked.

“Sometimes, it isn’t the terrible things that hurt,” says Hanguang Jun.

Jin Ling peers at him closely. “Does Hanguang Jun know my uncle’s secret?” he asks.

“No,” he says, and explains nothing further. “And Wei Ying does not.” He looks up then, over Jin Ling’s head, towards the door. “Wei Ying does not need to know, if he trusts Jiang Wanyin.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, lightly. “Who would have thought Lan Zhan would be defending Jiang Cheng some day, hm?”

“He’s right, Wei Qianbei,” Jin Ling hurries to say. “Jiujiu cares for you. He says awful things, he’ll say, ‘You’re a stupid brat, who raised you, I should break your legs’ but he doesn’t mean any of it. Except maybe the stupid part.”

Wei Wuxian laughs again, then drops a hand to Jin Ling’s head. “I know, A-Ling,” he says, the name sounding so fond when he says it. “He’s my brother, and that part of him hasn’t changed.”

“He hasn’t changed,” says Jin Ling, fiercely. Jiujiu is the only constant in Jin Ling’s life, he wouldn’t just become something else.

“He has though,” says Wei Wuxian softly. “He’s all grown up, now. The last time I saw him, he was little older than you. And look at him now, keeping secrets from his shixiong.”

“I don’t believe he ever called you that,” says Jin Ling, because his nose is sour and he doesn’t want to cry.

“No, no, you’re right, he didn’t,” says Wei Wuxian, a little more cheerfully.

*

They put themselves back together slowly. Wei Wuxian makes an effort to reach out again, far more determined this time. With some pointed nudging from Jin Ling, Jiujiu tries his best to meet him half way.

It’s not easy. There is. There is so much between them that Jin Ling will never understand, broken promises and dead family, and debts that can never be repaid.

It shouldn’t be possible, to put all of that aside and start anew. Especially not for Jiujiu, who held his grudges forever, and didn’t quite believe in second chances.

They had once been the twin prides of Yunmeng though.

They don’t care that it shouldn’t be possible.

They do it anyway.

[Inspired by this post because holy shit I love Yunmeng Pride reconciliation fics so incredibly much, but it’s not always about divulging that secret really, is it? I just wanted to write one which is definitely about that secret but also not if that makes any sense. I’m not sure if I succeeded, if I confused you I apologize.]

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: jumin han x reader

♡   —   tags/warnings: fluff overload <3

♡   —   a/n: This is part of @mysme-rbb​ ‘s event MysMe Reverse Big Bang! I had the opportunity to work with Maryellen, this great artist. Please check her work here, it goes along this story! <3

♡   —   length: 1.8k

♡   —   masterlist

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

You looked back at him, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course, honey. You said you wanted to experiment new things with me, right?” you asked with a smile.

“I know and I do, my love. I just don’t know if a roller coaster is the way we should do it.”

You sighed and put your hands on your hips, looking up at your husband. A couple of days ago, you had commented on the photos Yoosung had sent to the RFA chatroom. There, he was at the theme park, a wide grin on his face as he had his arm around his girlfriend. He talked on and on about how much fun they had, how many things they ate and that it had been an incredible date. Everything was fine until Jumin dared to ask what Yoosung's girlfriend was holding in her hand.

“Cotton candy?” Yoosung replied.

“Is it derived from cotton? That’s actually interesting.”

The rest of the RFA erupted in laughter, mocking Jumin’s question. You were sad Jumin wasn’t there with you in that moment as you could have avoided that awkward moment.

“I actually have never tried cotton candy either,” you stepped in but the other members were far kinder to you, explaining what the candy was made of and how it tasted. “No, I know what cotton candy is,” you corrected them. “But my mom never let me have some as a kid. My nutritionist was against it.”

After Saeyoung’s joke about both you and Jumin having nutritionists since you were babies and how “rich people were just different” and “you and Jumin were made for each other”, they moved on to another subject.

Usually, you would have let it go. Coming from an accommodated family like Jumin and being a heiress of a company you had very similar experiences as your husband and found comfort in that. But Yoosung’s picture roamed around your head the entire day and it was so obvious Jumin asked what you were thinking about as you brushed your teeth in front of the bathroom mirror.

“You know me too well,” you chuckled, mouth full of toothpaste. You spat on the sink and then washed your toothbrush as well. You left it on the small vase and then took your night face cream, putting a small amount on your fingers and then massaging your cheeks with it.

“You’re my wife, of course I do,” he replied. You handed him your cream and he imitated you, applying it to his face as well.

“Don’t you ever feel jealous about not having the same childhood as everyone?”

Jumin paused, considering your question a couple of seconds before shaking his head.

“No.”

“I do,” you sighed as you massaged your forehead. “Sometimes I wished I didn’t have to learn Economics when I was eight. It would have been fun to be a kid at a theme park, you know? Eating cotton candy and trying out the different rides.”

“Is this about Yoosung’s photo?”

“Yes,” you admitted, drawing gentle circles on your jaw with the cream until you were satisfied with the result. “I just think when you’re a kid, even if you’re rich, you should get to enjoy things more, you know?”

“I don’t know why but if you say so, then I agree,” Jumin said, leaning over and kissing the top of your head. You smiled sweetly at him through the mirror. “If you’re really upset about it, I can accompany you to the theme park.”

“Really?” you asked excitedly.

He nodded. “I told you long ago. Be as greedy as you want with me.”

Jumin was deeply enamoured with you. He couldn’t picture his life without you in it and if there was anything you wanted, he would find a way to give it to you. He knew you were more than capable of buying yourself pretty things but there was nothing else he adored more than to see your eyes sparkling as he handed you a new present.

But he had miscalculated when he offered to take you to the theme park. Even with two security guards following you, for the first time in many years he was unsure for his safety.

“I just don’t think it looks safe.”

“Jumin, it’s just a rollercoaster. It’s the smallest and shortest one here- look, even five year olds are allowed,” you said as you pointed at the sign, “And with these VIP bracelets we can avoid the line, c’mon. Please?” you asked, sticking out with lower lip,

It worked like a charm.

You could see how firmly Jumin grabbed the handles as the roller coaster got faster and faster. Your arms were firmly looped around Jumin’s right arm, screaming gleefully during the first fall. In retrospective, sitting on the front line hadn’t been your brightest idea but you wouldn’t have changed it for anything. You were surprised you didn’t hear him scream so you looked up to him, holding back a laugh when you saw his lips pressed in a thin line as he had his eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you okay!?” you asked loudly but he just nodded.

When the ride was over, you stepped away and did your best not to comment on Jumin’s wobbly legs as he led the way, holding your hand tightly in his. His hair was a mess and you pulled him closer, stepping on your toes and grabbing his face sweetly.

“I love you so much,” you grinned, pressing a small kiss on his lips. Despite his shaken state, he accepted your touch and leaned into you, his muscles visibly relaxing.

“I love you too.”

As you walked around you decided to wait before you asked Jumin to jump into another ride with you. Never letting go of his hand, you walked to the different stands and were delighted when Jumin and you bought matching cat ears. You made sure to take several selfies of you both to share with the other RFA members.

You kept on looking at the different stands, being amused at magic tricks and children playing along with the parents to win different prizes. You got your eyes on a pink stuffed bunny and once the competition was over, you walked to the young man as you took out your wallet from your purse.

“Hello, how much for the stuffed bunny?”

“Those are prizes for the game, Miss. It’s not for sale.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jumin interjected. “It must have a price.”

“It does, but…” the man paused, slightly confused. “That’s how the game works. You shoot three cans and you can get the bunny.”

Jumin and you looked at each other with a confused expression, trying and failing to understand how this worked.

“You pay $3… and you get three shots. If you take down three of those cans,” the man said, ponting at a tower of cans behind him. “You get the bunny as a prize.”

Jumin handed him the money and was given one of the guns. You smiled as the CEO of C&R wearing a pair of cat ears held a gun, squinting so he could get the cans.

But he almost hit the man.

Nevertheless, Jumin was a relentless man. Before you could notice he was trying out his luck for the fifth time but hadn’t managed to take down a single can. As Jumin paid for three more shots, you put your hand on his arm gently.

“Honey.”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t we let John try out his luck?” you said, leaning your head towards your bodyguards. Jumin shook his head.

“I think I’m capable of doing this for my wife.”

“Jumin, this is you taking photos again. Your hands are a little shaky,” you chuckled. “How about we try together?” you offered. Jumin’s silence gave you the green light to stand closer to him, holding the gun with him and pointing it to one of the cans. “Okay… shoot!”

Jumin pulled the trigger and one of the cans fell to the ground.

“Yes!” you screamed in excitement, jumping up and down.

Two more shots of teamwork and you held your stuffed bunny in your hands. You grinned widely as you walked with your husband across the theme park. A warm feeling crept on your face as you watched him eat cotton candy at a slow pace. You had already devoured yours faster than you wanted to admit.

“Thanks for coming with me here,” you said.

Jumin squeezed your hand gently. “Of course. Anything for you.”

“I just think it’s important we get to experiment these things, you know?”

“I’m not quite sure about that,” he confessed. “But if it makes you happy, then it is important for me as well.”

“But didn’t you have a good time?”

“I did,” Jumin nodded. “I just don’t understand how this experience is vital for our lives.”

“How are we supposed to try and give our son or daughter a normal childhood if we haven’t experimented it beforehand?

Jumin chuckled. “We’ll have plenty of time to worry about that.”

“What if we don’t?”

“What do you mean?” he asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

“What if… we have to worry about it right now?” you continued, a timid smile forming on your lips.

Jumin stopped in his tracks, forcing you to do so as well.

“Are you… Do you mean you’re…” he asked with an uncharacteristic quiet voice, his eyes darting from yours to your stomach.

“Four weeks,” you beamed, feeling tears forming in your eyes as you broke the news. 

Jumin’s lips parted and you watched him struggle as he chose his next words. You waited in silence, giving him the time he needed as he took all the information. It had been a week since you had been late and after an inconclusive home test, you had gone to the doctor, wanting clarification. After an ultrasound, she had confirmed you were pregnant and since then you had been planning out the perfect way to tell Jumin the good news. Initially, you had decided on telling him later during dinner but your feelings got the best of you, not being able to refrain yourself any longer.

The next thing you knew is that Jumin was dropping the cotton candy on the floor and pulling you into a tight hug. You hugged him back, burying your face on his chest with a wide smile as you let happy tears stream down your cheeks.

“Thank you,” Jumin whispered against your hair. “I promise I will do my best. I will give them everything they need, I will- I will come back from work earlier, I won’t accept as many business trips. I will let them be themselves, I don’t care if they’re loud or quiet or popular or shy, I just- I will let them be happy. I swear, I will do my best.”

You nodded pulling away from his hug a little to press a kiss on his trembling lips.

“I know you will. That’s one of the reasons I chose you,” you reminded him.

Jumin wiped the tears from your face as you laughed again, overwhelmed by the knowledge you were about to start a family with the man you loved the most. 

[doorsclosingslowly]

There’s someone waiting out there with a mouthful of surprises

The Jedi recovered the bisected Sith apprentice from Naboo and imprisoned him underneath the Jedi Temple. A young Anakin finds the way down to his cell.

Anakin is twelve when he declines one of Chancellor Palpatine’s invitations for the first time. The resulting devastation looks wrong on his kindly old face, and Anakin wants to take it back—besides, it’s just an opera and a glass of bubbly, where could be the harm?—but he remembers golden eyes pleading up at him and then a skull-patterned face scrunched up into a splotch with how hard it’s trying to hide utter desperation, and he repeats his invented excuse.

It doesn’t matter that this one-sided rivalry for Anakin’s attention that has developed between the mutilated imprisoned murderer Sith (slave) he has befriended and the Chancellor of the Republic is honestly deeply stupid, from Anakin’s point of view. It’s not like he couldn’t spent time with them both: his missions with Master Obi-Wan have increased in number recently, but still, he’s been talking to Palpatine once a month and he’s also managed to fit in the regular trips down below to the high security carcer. It’s ridiculous.

But Anakin understands loneliness—and fear and attachment and jealousy and all the other disturbances of the peace he shouldn’t feel—he didn’t have friends for years in the Temple, after all, and it makes sense, at least a little, that Maul is scared he’ll be forgotten down there when Anakin has any other option. Not a lot of sense, because really what he’s saying is that he thinks Anakin so disloyal he’ll just ditch the only real friend he made on Coruscant, and Anakin would get back at him for the insult if it wasn’t for an energy gate perpetually between them and the fact that it’s a just a little bit unfair to tussle with a guy crawling on the floor because he doesn’t have legs… The jealousy is still kriffing stupid, but if anyone knows stupid fears it’s Anakin.

So he declines, and he keeps declining, and two years later the invitations stop.

.

Anakin is eleven when he starts smuggling droid parts down into the top security oubliette underneath the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. The first time is, in retrospect, a terrifying accident. He’s built a tiny moving starfighter that Master Obi-Wan just glanced at and said, “Well done,” nothing more, like Anakin didn’t need to use pincers to weld the tiniest engine parts together, like he didn’t cast the alloy all by himself. He sulks in his room, the ship buzzing at his head, and then remembers that there’s at least two more people who might like to see. Palpatine is probably busy, and that leaves…

The Sith prisoner is a far more appreciative audience than Anakin’s Master. His eyes glint and widen when he sees the presence next to Anakin’s head, and he even pulls himself off his berth: pulls himself off the edge and tumbles down head-first, and then panting and with his nails dug into the duracrete he drags his torso over to the energy trellis that separates him from Anakin.

He looks up at the droid in childlike wonder.

There’s a tenderness to his questions that he hasn’t shown Anakin up until now, and it’s not just the hoarse panting of exertion that takes away the last dregs of his usual intimidating mien. He wants to know everything, from the full-size model of the ship it was based on to the assembly process to details of every single one of Anakin’s new projects.

“I can—I could feel the movement of the droids I built, in the force,” the prisoner whispers reverently. “They were a constant presence when I was young.”

“Right? Right?” Anakin is excited. The Jedi have been trying to tell him that droids don’t have force presences, and he’s almost believed them by now, but if he’s not alone in feeling it then he was right. Master Obi-Wan was wrong. He knew it.

He brings down the next droid he builds—yes, two days after the first trip he did realize he brought something easily used as a weapon to the dangerous Sith prisoner, but all he did was talk mechanics with Anakin so clearly it’s harmless—and the next and next. He watches the prisoner drag himself across the floor. He sees the abrasions covering the prisoner head to abdomen—covering him on every inch of the body he still possesses—the injuries that he must be sustaining from his only mode of movement. He feels the shame radiate out from the prisoner down on the floor, painful, cloying. He watches him try to play it all down.

One day, Anakin brings down a ship that he designed himself to meet the exact dimensions and functionality of a short humanoid’s prosthetic thigh. He pushes it against the barrier. It moves through.

.

Anakin is almost ten years old, and he knows that down in the bowels of the Jedi Temple there lives a monster. The Sith is caged so deep below that no-one can hear his growls and mutters, his whimpers, his pleas, or so Master Obi-Wan promised Anakin yesterday when he’d worked up the courage to ask about the sounds he keeps hearing whenever he closes his eyes. He’s locked down so deep that the shivering of his despair and the gall of his hatred must be a hallucination. He’s been caged for months, first interrogated daily, then found useless and forgotten. But not by Anakin.

(He saw the monstrous enemy of the Jedi for the first time when he’d just turned nine. It pulled its black hood off its bright head and panicked Master Qui-Gon and Master Obi-Wan, and Anakin was sent away for safety that quickly turned into cosmic warfare. Before that moment, he knows, on Tatooine it tried to run Anakin over with its bike. After that moment, he’d seen the monster—or what remained of it—being carried out of the Naboo palace on Master Obi-Wan’s back, moaning and delirious with pain, but dangerous nonetheless. It had bitten Obi-Wan so hard he’d flung it reflexively to the ground.

Down there, it had begged. “Honor,” it had rasped. “Give me honor. Give me death.”

Master Obi-Wan had picked it up by its arm, and it had whimpered in protest, “I fought with honor!”

Obi-Wan had ignored it. Anakin would have, too; this thing had killed Master Qui-Gon, and whether it had done so with honor or not didn’t matter when Master Qui-Gon was dead. It had killed the Jedi who’d won him, who chose to train Anakin, who was the only guarantor of his future safety, and he didn’t know what would happen now, and he hated it.

It had grown more frantic then, terrified. “Kill me, Jedi, please, when my Master—”

And Anakin had swallowed a cry of shocked recognition.)

Anakin will be ten in two months, and today he’s gonna see the monster again. It’s not the force that calls him down staircase after staircase to the oubliette below the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. He’d be able to explain if it was the force, if he got caught, he thinks, but that’s not what’s going on. It’s just homesickness, and loneliness, and it is that word.

The way he said it.

Anakin has met more Masters in the last year of his life than ever before, has uttered the word more often than on Tatooine, and he’s doing pretty well, he thinks. He doesn’t flinch with his body when he says it and not with his face either, and even the highest Masters—there it is again—they can’t feel the acid in his force presence anymore.

He greets Master Obi-Wan in the morning and he bows to Grandmaster Yoda whenever they meet.

He doesn’t talk about his childhood. He doesn’t talk much, nowadays, to anyone but Master Obi-Wan or his teachers. He knows he’s weird. He wasn’t on Tatooine, but here… He doesn’t know the things the other padawans do, and his reflexive associations, his interests, his memories shock them. There’s no point, Anakin has learned, in expecting people who can say Master without galling—who don’t need to pretend enjoy it—to listen to him. They’ll never wake up in cold sweat and feel for the bomb that was cut out of their neck, that was injected into it while they were awake and their mother cried, that had so often almost gone off. They don’t cry for their Mom. They’ll only shush him when he talks of his past.

When he talks of his fears.

Of himself.

They’ll never understand him. No-one will. No-one will let him be the Anakin he really is, without fussing over him and muttering and looking like he should know better by now. No-one wants anything beyond the parts of himself he can salvage that are untainted by his past. The parts that don’t remember his mother.

The only person who listens to all of him is Palpatine, and even he often doesn’t know what to say.

No-one will understand, possibly, but…

The monster that lives down below the Jedi Temple had forced out Master like the word tastes of fire and dread.

Like it heralds pain.

The monster is a fellow slave, Anakin is sure. He’s the only being on Coruscant who might understand; the only person who will let him be whole. He’s killed Master Qui-Gon, yes, but he didn’t have a choice, just like Anakin wasn’t allowed to disobey his Master and neither was Mom or Kitster or Beru or anybody else back home.

It was so obvious, the moment he said it.

The monster’s a slave.

Point: Anakin is so tired of having to pretend he never was a slave.

Point also: He just found a map of all the layers of the temple in a garbage chute, wedged in a decommissioned droid’s dataslit. A map that shows the oubliette for ancient evils.

Point also also: Master Obi-Wan’s fast asleep, and Anakin can’t get his thoughts to stop racing.

The monster’s a fellow slave.

Ergo: it’s time to sneak down and make a friend.

What must be hundreds of meters below the current Jedi Temple, at the bottom of the bottom-most staircase, smells faintly of sweat and boredom and despair. The only illumination Anakin can make out is a set of force trellises, and if the schematics he found were right then that’s exactly the spot that he’s looking for.

Pulling his hood down deeper just because it’s chilly and definitely not because he’s nervous and needs something to fidget, he sneaks closer.

Victory!

The Sith’s inside the cell. He looks just like the attacker Anakin remembers, with a red-and-black face and some horns and a scowl. He looks completely different, too: he’s naked, or at least his torso is. The lower half of his body is just missing. Did the Jedi—but no, Anakin can dimly remember Master Obi-Wan mention the way he beat him. That he’s still without prosthetics, even though his scars are well-healed… Anakin knew a woman who’d survived a bomb blowing off her leg, on Tatooine. She lived off of fellow slaves’ charity, for a few months. Her head wasn’t all there anymore from the pain, Mom told Anakin, and her Master had just let her leave. Why invest in a prosthetic when you’re not getting any use from its recipient?

The Sith is doing better than her, at least, even if he’s missing way more flesh. He’s doing pull-ups off the head piece of his callow berth. His yellow eyes gleam in the soft light of the force trellis when he looks over. When he notices Anakin. For a long moment, he looks stunned, and only then he remembers to snarl.

“Hi,” Anakin says.

The prisoner puffs up his defined arm muscles, as well as he can when he’s still hanging off the frame of his bed. He must have decided that dropping down onto his torso—and probably his face—would be even less dignified, though, because he stays put, sweaty and glowering out at Anakin from under his armpit, like he’s desperately trying to look threatening and tough in an unfamiliar situation where the other person has all the power.

It’s a scene Anakin has known intimately for most of his life.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Anakin says.

A beat.

Right.

“The Jedi didn’t send me,” because in his situation that’s what Anakin would most like to know. The Jedi are not this guy’s slave masters, but they do have all the power over him right now.

“I was a slave too, before they took me here. You can trust me,” and at least that gets a reaction: the prisoner looks absolutely apoplectic and even opens his mouth. Finally! He’s angry, which isn’t ideal—Anakin should have remembered that some slaves don’t want to admit they are—but they’re talking!

But the Sith just closes his mouth again.

He keeps his sullen silence for what feels like hours while Anakin tries one conversational gambit after the other. He just can’t have blown his one chance at talking to someone whose mouth makes the right shape for Master. Anakin refuses to accept that.

But it grows later and later, and Master Obi-Wan will wake up at some point, and he doesn’t have to concede defeat for forever, after all, but maybe for today…

“Fine.” Anakin puffs out his chest. He should say something soothing that’ll buy him a foot in the door next time, but he’s been pleading and pleading, and it hurts. “I don’t even care if you don’t want to talk. I’ve got plenty of friends. Chancellor Palpatine asked me to come over for tea just yesterday!”

The voice is so threadbare that he almost misses it, but it’s there. The Sith clears his throat. He sounds more sure and velvety when he repeats his plea to Anakin. His golden eyes are so wide it looks painful.

“Wait! Repeat what you just said!”

.

Anakin is nineteen when he climbs down into the bowels of the Temple for the last time. He hasn’t slept for two days, barely even closed his eyes, because on the insides of his lids is his mother, writhing, pleading.

No-one up in the Temple can give him any help. All they have to offer is platitudes about Uncertain the future is and Let go of attachment you must, but it’s his Mom, and she’s being tortured! She’s dying! She can’t be dying! She’s Anakin’s Mom!

He’s pleaded to be sent to Tatooine on a mission, but Senator Amidala’s protection detail is more important Master Obi-Wan said, and he can’t just go against the will of his… He can’t go. His Mom’s dying every moment he closes his eyes and he can’t go.

Maul is his last hope.

No-one will even notice that Maul’s gone. He’s been locked up for a decade now, and only the meal droids and Anakin still climb down to his level. Anakin’s friends with the meal droids, too, and he can definitely talk them into keeping silent about the Sith prisoner’s disappearance.

Maul’s a fighter, and he was able to find them on Tatooine and follow them to Naboo so he must be able to find Anakin’s Mom, too, wherever she’s been dragged off to. He’ll be able to save her.

He’ll—

Anakin has already sliced the force trellis control panel and turned it off when the fear grabs him. He’s spilled all his nightmares of his mother’s death, has shared the only plan for her survival. He’s received the assent he was sure to get. Now, he’s helping Maul put on the smuggled prosthetics that have been hidden in the stuffing of Maul’s prison berth, kneeling down before him.

And suddenly, all he tastes in the air is raw hatred.

He flinches. The trellis must have functioned as a shield from Maul’s presence before, keeping Anakin from realizing the true depth of Maul’s anger, the extent of his strength.

He could kill Anakin right now. He could attack the temple, and it would all be Anakin’s fault.

The frailty and humiliations of the prisoner’s mutilated body have lulled Anakin into reacting with kindness. He’s seen a man who is weak, helpless, and of course he offered help.

The cadence of Maul’s voice has made him sound like a friend.

But he’s the Sith who slaughtered Master Qui-Gon.

He’s filled to the brim with hatred and jealousy and pain, the force around them screams, will never release them to meditation like Anakin has tried and tried to do; he’s everything the Jedi Council saw in Anakin that day a decade ago and that he’s tried so hard to bury. He’s a Sith.

He’s warm.

It’s not just the hand he rests on Anakin’s shoulder but the very air he expels. Anakin expected the dark side of the force to be frigid, the way his own loathing and terror have kept him shivering and cold, but this is a hearth: protection, purification, an almost magnetic pull. It wraps around them. He shudders again.

“Do not be afraid,” Maul says, and from the soft look in his eyes he has misunderstood completely. “I shall find your mother, apprentice. You will do admirably while I’m gone. Just remember everything I taught you.”

And then, the darkness curls around Anakin again, hot and possessive. “While I’m gone, don’t talk to Palpatine.”

.

Anakin is twenty-three when he decides to brutally murder the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. His wife is laying in the delivery room, holding the boy twin—holding their baby boy!—while he strokes her hair reverently, and there is his Mom beside him, holding the girl twin—holding their baby girl!—and next to the door, scowling, stands Maul.

“Do you want to hold her?” Mom asks Maul gently. She knows him best now, and if she decides Maul’s standoffishness towards the twins—his twins!—is shyness rather than dislike, then Anakin will forgive him for not cooing over the babies—his kids! His and Padmé’s kids!—like any rational person would.

“Even His patience runs out one day,” Maul whispers.

Anakin’s hairs curl in shocked recognition, and he doesn’t even need to hear the word, but—

“I told you, Shmi, he started talking to Anakin as soon as he arrived. Somehow I managed to keep them apart, to interfere with the attempts at molding him, but the very fact He showed interest must warn us… As soon as he learns of this birth, and His spies are everywhere…” Maul turns back towards the door, palms laid across it as if he could keep the gate shut. The force burns with shielding hatred. “My Master will come for your children. Soon. Palpatine likes them young.”