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cedarxwing · 14 days

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The ending of Hannibal the novel explained

(aka the breastfeeding scene)

Here's the passage (end of Chapter 101):

I thought everyone was kidding about the breastfeeding kink jokes until my partner read Hannibal and the whole ending flew over their head. Their main takeaway was "that was weird." When I checked reddit, it seemed everyone was confused there too. I was gobsmacked to see one guy say that Thomas Harris was playing some cruel joke on the reader by writing an ending that didn't make sense!

How many people are reading Hannibal like this, completely missing the resolution to Hannibal's character arc? They must finish the book confused about what it was all about in the first place. So here's how I understand it!

First, I need to get this out of the way: a lot of people hate this scene, and from what I understand it's because they're weirded out by the "breastfeeding kink." Which is fine, but it makes me want to gently hold them by the hand and tell them that it's ok for someone to suck on a nipple. It happens all the time. Sometimes it just feels good, sometimes it's part of a breastfeeding fantasy, and sometimes it's literal breastfeeding. Between consenting adults, this is all fine and normal. Let's all move past this knee-jerk repulsion (or alternatively, sit in our discomfort and expand our horizons) so we can analyze this piece of art together. :)

Next, authors LOVE Freudian psychoanalysis. Even though it's all nonsense, it's full of literary allusion and makes for compelling narratives and character studies (childhood maladjustment, repressed memories, etc), which is basically catnip for a writer. Thomas Harris was no exception, and probably creamed himself (as I did) when he learned that Freud's oral-sadistic stage was also termed the "cannibalistic stage," referring to the time when an infant is growing teeth and begins to bite at the breast--the psychosexual urge to devour and destroy the thing you love. What could be more appropriate for Hannibal?

Next, consider the pattern of Hannibal's Il Mostro murders. He killed young couples in one of the most romantic cities in the world, then arranged them as Chloris and Zephyr from Botticelli's Primavera, exposing Chloris's left breast just like in the painting. In classical art, an exposed breast is often a symbol of fertility. Chloris is associated with spring, new growth, and transformation.

Perhaps, at the time, Hannibal rationalized these murders as retribution for rude behavior. Maybe the couples were performing disgusting PDA. Maybe they were obnoxious tourists on their honeymoons. Either way, it's clear to the reader that Hannibal has some deep-seated hang up about sex and romance.

The particulars of this hang up are open to interpretation, but based on Hannibal's obsession with the rape and transformation of Chloris as well as his embarrassment at the paintings of Leda and the Swan in the German's house, I think it's safe to say that Hannibal feels like any relationship he has with a woman who isn't aware of his true (monstrous) identity would involve a degree of violence/lack of consent. He is forever barred from normal romance.

Having given up on sex/romance, Hannibal is unable to consciously recognize his desire for Clarice, so he sublimates it into a more general familial love. He longs for a return to innocence, to return to the time before he ate Mischa and became an unlovable monster (cue the teacup metaphor).

But even familial love seems like too much to hope for, so he sublimates it further into something that seems more attainable: resurrecting the person whom he loved and devoured, and who loved him in turn (Mischa) through Clarice.

So we have the breast as a symbol of sex/fertility (Chloris/Clarice), as an object that is loved and devoured (Mischa), and as a literal source of sustenance that must be given up during infancy (mommy).

Big brain Clarice connects all these dots and, in the very same style of therapy that Hannibal has been using on her, distills Hannibal's psychological problems into a single poetic gesture that completely fixes Hannibal in an instant, proving that she's not only his intellectual equal, but is, in some ways, his superior.

When Clarice asks, "Did you ever feel that you had to relinquish the breast to Mischa? Did you ever feel you were required to give it up for her?", she's ostensibly asking Hannibal if he's stuck in the oral stage of childhood development (which yeah he probably is). On a deeper level, she's asking Hannibal to consider if he's given up on love.

When Clarice exposes her breast in the same fashion as Chloris, says, "You don’t have to give up this one", and suspends the drop of wine from her nipple, she is shifting his perception of her breast from familial devoured sustenance to a sexual object. Basically, "Why do you want me to pretend I'm your sister when we could be banging?" Hannibal is being aged out of his childlike mindset, not regressing into one.

There are other layers of meaning in this act. The hedonism of using thousand dollar wine for food play is a sign of Clarice's character development. The way Hannibal kneels before Clarice is a position of subservience, but could also be interpreted as devouring Clarice in a way that's new to him. It's the most self-actualized thing Hannibal has done since escaping prison (LOL) and marks the end of his hero's journey (as one of the first things we see him do in Hannibal Rising is nurse).

Personally, I don't read this scene as breastfeeding kink. Yeah, Clarice talks about breastfeeding, but that was more a metaphor for other stuff. Considering the direction of Hannibal's character arc, I understand this scene as him briefly licking the wine off before they have sex. But to each their own! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ANYWAY, yeah, it's unsettling. It's obviously meant to be. But it's beautifully unsettling! Hate it all you want, but this is peak cannibal romance, to me!!

#hannibal meta #hannibal #clarice starling

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queer-ragnelle · 3 months

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I am so sorry if you have answered this before, I was just wondering if you knew of a good way to get into Arthurian literature? Like… what to read first and what definitely not to read first?

Everything I can find when I search for a good list or order talks about modern retellings, but I am not sure how to get into the older ones. They are a bit hard to approach, so I am worrying that I may be going about it wrong.

I’ve just been slowly collecting different tellings from old book stores over the years, but there is so much that I am not sure where to begin..

hi there! no need to apologize, it's all very overwhelming and confusing. i've answered this question before, but have since added more literature, so i'll go in depth. :^) determining where to start really depends on what you're looking to get out of your reading experience.

lots of people recommend le morte d'arthur by sir thomas malory for an overall understanding of the basic premise without having to read the long and scary vulgate cycle. but as i said in this ask, it's not my favorite text, as it truncates the story so much it can cause confusion. yet it's the "shortest" (ie 1,000 pages lol) recounting of events from arthur's conception through his death, as well as incorporating the often-excluded story from the prose tristan, and adding character-defining elements we've all come to accept as part of the "canon" such as gareth beaumains's humble beginnings as a kitchen boy. (in the vulgate, his story is largely the same as the elder bros he tags along with. in fact, @lefresne and i discovered each of us had a transcription/translation of the vulgate which referenced two different manuscripts of the same story, but had swapped the names guerrehet/gaheriet [gareth/gaheris] and confused the hell out of us bc we had varied accounts of the same scene and were both right! scribes mistake? point is there's not a substantial differentiation between them until the post vulgate and le morte d'arthur, so reading that will give you needed context/depth!)

on the other hand, le morte d'arthur doesn't include some even later additions to the "canon" that are now famous and get incorporated into many retellings, such as sir gawain and the green knight and the wedding of sir gawain and dame ragnelle. (are these a deal breaker to comprehend a retelling? not necessarily. but despite gawain's track record with many ladies, if an author writes in a wife for him, on god, they always choose ragnelle. so that poem is a must<3)

so it's really your own judgment call! no matter what, you'll likely need to read more than one book for fuller context to understand the common "fandom" talking points and frequently adapted stories. in any case, i've just made an FAQ where you can go and figure out what stories will suit your needs. i hope this helps. have a nice day!

#arthurian legend #arthuriana #arthurian legends #arthurian mythology #reading recommendations #reading reccs #ask #anonymous

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gh0stsp1d3r · 1 year

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Tangerines and deers- part 5

“Im gonna go get something.” You said, looking in Ladybugs direction.

“Do you really think that’s necessary, deer?” He asked

“I think it is. It’s what I’m best at.” You said.

“Okay, what are you guys talking about?” Tangerine said confused.

“She has a katana. She always brings it with her.” He rolled his eyes.

“That’s.. new.”

He’s never seen anyone actually fight with one.

“And if I’m dying, I’m dying with it.” You said.

“Where is it exactly? The katana?” Tangerine asked.

“Oh, I hid it. It’s stowed away safe, why?”

“Cause Lemons looking for you both.”

“Oh, got it. Well, I’m going anyways. I’ll be quick!” You said, and ran away.

Ladybug sighed and shook his head and turned back to Tangerine.

“You know what��s waiting for us in Kyoto.”

“Mm-hm.”

“We should just get off this train. Now.”

“If you think I’m stepping off this train without lemon or the case, you must be mistaken.”

“The case is in the first- class lounge. It’s behind the bar it in a trash can. It’s yours. Uh, me I’m calling deer and we’re getting off. I’m gonna go find a temple and reevaluate my choices or something.” He pulled his phone out and began to walk. But tangerine went in front of him.

“Ooh, that sounds very lovely, but here’s the deal, I still need a fall guy. Or- girl.”

“Shit.”

You came back, panting and sitting down.

“You need a fall guy.”

“Wait what?” You said, snapping your head up.

“Yeah.”

“No, I understand. I get it.”

“It’s a bit of a conundrum, cause I’m thinking, do I hand you both back in one piece or do I chop you guys up into little pieces and stuff you inside a fucking momomon doll. That’s what’s going through my head right now.”

“That’s not fair. What about the date?” You sighed.

“Oh my god. Is that seriously all you gathered from that?”

“Yeah. It definitely was.” Ladybug answered for you.

“I have an idea. Instead of giving my amazing friend and partner here to the white death, we can use the hornet as our fall guy.”

“Friend? Hey, you finally learned something from me!” Ladybug smiled.

“That’s if we can find him, which is pretty much impossible in this goddamn train!” Tangerine said, raising his voice and clearing his throat.

“You know, before us now is just a wall, but it’s an illusion, man, it’s a construct. You know, cause within that wall sits a window. A window of opportunity.”

“I think that you meant to say door. You always say door.” You said.

“Within that wall is a door.” He corrected himself.

“I’m finding it very hard to follow this story.”

“He says it all the time.” You chime in.

“My point is, that door is closing.” He kicked tangerine and he went outside.

You sighed and stood up, ladybug laughed at him.

Tangerine got up as soon as the train started moving, and he ran. Then he hopped onto the back of the train.

❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎

“Now the only question is, which one is the diesel, which one is the duck?” Lemon said as he pointed a gun at the two.

“The duck?” The girl asked.

“It’s a kids show. Thomas the train engine.” The man said.

“Close. Thomas the tank engine.” He corrected.

“Please mister. This man, he kidnapped me, and he said that he’s going to hold me for ransom.” She started crying.

“I’m sorry. I get captivated by white girl tears. Bravo. Common sense tells me that this old, shaky geezer here is the one in charge, but I’m really good at reading people, and something tells me that you are just not fucking right.”

He clicked his tongue and thought. “So.. let’s see here. I mean, I can’t shoot you both. Then I get no answers. You know what? How about this? I’m sure you’ll love this. We’re gonna play a little game. I you wanna play a game put both your hands up.”

Both of their hands were still up.

“You’re gonna close your eyes, and I’m gonna count to three. Whichever one is In charge, raise your hand, whichever one isn’t, you point at the one who is. Now if you both raise your hands or you both point at each other, I know you’re both liars and the truth ain’t in ya. And then I’ll fucking shoot you both. Ready?”

“You said you couldn’t kill us both, you’d get no answers.”

“I did say that. Didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes you gotta shoot first and come up with answers later.”

“One.”

Kimura thought back, and remembered that she had said if she didn’t answer the phone to kill his son.

“Two.”

He thought, he would do anything for Wataru.

“Three.”

He had his hand up, and the girl pointed a finger at him. He didn’t realize he had been shot, he looked down at his hand and the blood and collapsed onto the ground.

“Am I dreaming?” He asked as he saw a snake and was carried away by the two.

❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎

Tangerine struggled to stay on, but he practically hugged the glass.

❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎

Lemon and the girl had dragged him into the bathroom. He set him on the floor.

“Sorry, mate. Not your lucky day.”

He took another sip of water as the girl kept speaking, he silently hoped she would shut up.

“I have a wire in my bag, and I think that we could use it and lock the door from the outside.” She said While going through her bag.

But, as she set her bag down she must’ve forgotten to close again. Because Lemon now saw a gun in her bag. He reached into it and took it.

“It was so scary.” She said, as she tied the wire. “He said that if I didn’t do what he said, or if I yelled or anything, that he would do awful, awful things to me.”

“Then why didn’t you use this, then?” He showed her the gun.

“N-“ she struggled to find an excuse.

“Yeah, he kidnapped you and uh, gave you his gun to hold, right?”

“No, no, no. Um-“ she stood up and tried to think of something.

“Easy.” He pointed the gun at her.

“Please. I don’t know how to use a gun. I don’t know. Please.” She put her hands up.

“Fuck me. You are fucking good- you are really good. You sure you didn’t study? You’re not even afraid and your lips quivering.”

A tear came out.

“That’s a tear. That is really authentic, mate. You’re the diesel. I gotta kill ya.” He laughed.

“Please, I’m just a kid. Please.”

“How do you do that?! It’s really unbelievable!” He said as she begged.

He sighed “You are-“ He felt dizzy. He stuttered and breathed heavily.

“I got, uh… it’s fucking— you stay right there. Did you—? What the fuck is happening?” He walked back slightly “Everyone loves lemons.” Is the last thing he said, before he fell back and hit the floor.

#tangerine x reader #bullet train #bullet train x reader #aaron taylor johnson #tangerine bullet train #tangerine #aaron taylor johnson x reader

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 11 months

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Matthew | I Told You So | Romantic

Requested: Yes

Matthew proves wrong the doubtful Disciples when they question whether he indeed has a special someone back home.

With a tilted head, Matthew observes Thomas and Ramah across camp, narrowing his eyes in curiosity as one moves closer to the other, their gazes loving and affectionate. Something envious sparks within his gut, a feeling quite alien to Matthew, for he wishes he could be close to the one he holds dear to his heart.

“You know that it is creepy to stare at people, but when you’re staring at two people who are very obviously in love with each other, it’s even more weird.” Simon Peter plants a hand on his hip as he catches Matthew’s current occupation after following the former tax-collector’s gaze, and Matthew sharply turns to the fisherman.

“What?”

Simon chuffs. “You can’t just stare at people. And they are having a moment. I’m sure that you aren’t aware of these things, but when you find someone you love, you wouldn’t like being gawked at by some tax-collector.”

“Simon, stop picking on him.” Mary Magdalene interrupts their conversation, and Simon crosses his arms.

“I’m just trying to teach him a life lesson. You’ll understand it in due time, Matthew, but I don’t expect you to know what it is like to have a special someone to make eyes at.”

Matthew shrugs and turns back to the clay writing tablet in his hands. “Actually, Simon, I do have a special someone back at home.”

Simon’s eyes widen and Mary’s interest is piqued as well. Before Matthew can open his mouth to tell more, however, Simon whistles over his younger brother, who trots over to the others with a confused look on his face.

“What’s happening?” Andrew asks.

Simon grins and nods at Matthew. “Our tax-collector here just claimed to have a special lady back in Capernaum. If that is the case, Matthew, we must know her as well! Come on, don’t be shy, tell who it is!”

Matthew, not really picking up the tone of Simon’s voice, who is still in doubt on the truthfulness of the tax-collector's words, finally opens up. “It’s (Y/n), the daughter of Jehoiakim.”

Andrew lets out a sound of disbelief and Simon’s jaw falls open. “What, her? What does she have to do with a publicanus like you?” the curly-haired fisherman exclaims, “I always thought she was still a bachelorette.” His eyes suddenly shimmer a little disappointedly, “Well, if this is true, I’m glad that I haven’t made a fool out of myself by asking for her hand yet.”

“I don’t believe you.” Simon immediately retorts, “A lot of men have always been after her hand, why would she choose you of all people?”

Matthew blinks and fiddles with his handkerchief, formulating an answer. “W-Well, her parents and mine have arranged for us to be married ever since we were very young. We are just waiting for the right moment.”

Simon rolls his eyes and laughs, as if Matthew has just said something pretty funny, whilst Andrew looks rather defeated at the revelation.

“Who is (Y/n)?” Mary pipes up, not familiar with the name.

“(Y/n) is a woman in our village, neither of us knows her very well but we’ve seen her from time to time. I know that a few of our friends are interested in asking for her hand, so I’m curious to see how long Matthew can keep up his little joke.”

Matthew stands sharply and looks Simon straight in the eye, something he doesn’t often do, so it genuinely takes aback the son of Jonah. “I wouldn’t lie about such things, Simon.” he firmly states, “(Y/n) and I have been together for a long time.”

“And everyone just failed to tell us? I don’t believe it.”

A tad nervously, Matthew lowers his gaze. “I think they kept it under wraps because of my occupation.”

“And (Y/n)’s parents still want to go through with it? My, they really have no spine, then!”

“Simon!” Mary snaps, “Stop being mean to him! Matthew, I would love to meet her one day.” She smiles at her abashed friend, “She sounds like she is a lovely person.”

Blushing slightly, Matthew nods at the thought of you. “She is, both inside and out.”

Andrew shakily exhales and runs a hand down his face. “I’m a fool. I’m such a fool, to think that I thought she was available!” Simon puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it.

“Don’t worry, little brother. We’ll be going to Capernaum next week, so we’ll be able to see for ourselves.”

Whilst the sons of Jonah leave both Matthew and Mary behind to process the revelation, Ramah walks up together with Philip and Tamar, who give strange looks to the distressed form of Andrew retreating.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ramah queries.

Mary smiles. “Well, Matthew just told us he has a girlfriend.”

“He has?” Ramah squeals excitedly whilst Philip’s eyes widen in surprise and Tamar lets out a noise, “That’s wonderful, Matthew! Tell us all about her!”

Smiling, a tad bashful under the several pairs of eyes on him, Matthew shrinks, a fluster on his cheeks. “Her name is (Y/n), and she is my betrothed. And she’s very beautiful.”

Ramah grins and gives a dreamy sigh. “That’s amazing to hear!”

Tamar gestures towards the two fishermen who are now sitting a little away, the younger of the two sulking. “That doesn’t explain Andrew’s sour face.”

Mary shrugs before explaining: “Ah, it turns out that it isn’t exactly well-known that Matthew and (Y/n) are getting married, so he has just found out that he must look for another marriage candidate.”

Philip whistles through his teeth and grins. “Good for you, Matthew!” he tells his friend, wrapping an arm around him, “I didn’t know you would be getting married soon!”

Matthew hums and rubs his arm, picking at a loose thread on his tunic. “W-Well, we were still waiting for a good moment, because we had a few mishaps in our families, but she is still very adamant on marrying me, so I am very glad and grateful. She–She is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and I’m so lucky to have her.”

The three women let out sounds of delight in unison, which catches the attention of a few other Disciples around.

It does not take long for the entire camp to hear that Matthew is engaged to a woman named (Y/n), and all of them find out that they’ll get a chance to meet her soon.

Curious, none of the followers wants to let this opportunity pass up.

Your smile brightens every room, but your gleeful demeanour is not limited to indoor spaces only. Every merchant at the market knows your name and face, and you are known as the woman who brings a little bit of positivity to every dark day.

When the love of your life had accepted the position as publicanus to work for Rome, your doubts had only been brief. You had been certain that Matthew would one day turn around again, that he would realise who he truly is, and that nothing will ever deter you from marrying him. Although not everyone in your family agrees with your decision and his father had disowned him for some time, you had always believed in him and would determinedly fight for him.

Concluding a morning of browsing stalls and purchasing some necessities, your attention is drawn to the shop selling colourful flowers of all kinds. Deciding to treat yourself, you hoist your basket full of produce a little better around your arm before heading there.

“Shalom, (Y/n),” the woman behind the flower stand says whilst you let your eyes go over her wares, “It is good to see you again. How can I help you today?”

“Shalom, Peninah,” you greet her, tapping your chin in thought. “All of your flowers are blooming so beautifully today, I barely know what to choose!”

The woman smiles and gestures towards her brightest blossoms, shades of pink and purple and blue, and you follow her gesture. “Because it’s you, they can go for a discount.”

“Really?” you muse, “You’re the best, Peninah, thank you!”

She starts assembling a small bouquet whilst you rummage around your pouch of money to take out the amount of shekels she tells you to pay.

Right when you put the money into her hand, a familiar voice calls out to you.

“(Y/n)?”

You turn over your shoulder to see nobody less than Matthew, who is holding the strap of his bag, giving you an almost pleading look. The smile that breaks out over your face causes him to brightly blush and you nearly forget your flowers, quickly thanking the merchant before taking your bouquet and rushing towards your lover.

“Matthew!”

Although you’d love nothing more than to jump into his arms, you wait for him to make the first move, knowing better than anyone else that he is not fond of unsolicited touches, no matter how close you are. To your relief, Matthew has missed you greatly and opens his arms immediately for you to fall into and you laugh softly, whispering his name once again, inhaling deeply to take in his scent.

“I’ve missed you so much!” you murmur. Matthew’s hands tighten on your waist and he buries his face into your neck, smiling against your cheek.

“I’ve missed you, too.” he tells you softly, “You have been on my mind a lot.”

“There is probably so much you can tell me!” you breathe, pulling away from the embrace so that you can look into the pair of dark eyes that you’ve seen in your dreams countless times in the past months of him being away. Matthew nods, flushing a bit as he realises how close he is standing to you out in public for all to see, and he steps back to create some chaste distance between you, but the warmth in his eyes remains. “How are you, my love?”

The nickname makes Matthew look away shyly and he smiles. “I’m good. I’ve been learning a lot recently. And how about you? How are things here? And how is your pottery business?”

Your delighted face falls and you sigh. “Bah, my business idea was no success. People didn’t buy my wares and I had to shut down within a week.” Fiddling with one of the flower petals, you exhale sadly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matthew mutters, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. His touch is rare and so, a smile forms on your features again.

“It is alright,” you say, “I will find some new opportunities. But what have you been up to? Probably to a lot more than me, that’s for sure!”

Matthew shrugs and smiles a bit. “Yes, I have met a lot of different people. Actually… I’d love for you to meet some of them, if you want to, of course.”

Eagerly, you nod, beaming brightly. “Oh, that is just wonderful, Matthew!”

Hooking your hand into the crook of his arm, you let him lead you to the house where most of them have gathered – you recognise this part of town, but aren’t too familiar with it – and follow him inside the home of a few faces you do know, although you don’t know which names are connected to them apart from Andrew and Simon. Your entire body stiffens, for Matthew had sometimes told you stories about them, and how they didn’t seem to be too fond of your fiancé.

“Shalom everyone,” Matthew announces, “I… I would like you all to meet my intended, (Y/n).”

You curtsy and smile a little as you let your eyes go through the room, met with a few kind expressions, some curious, some beaming, Andrew’s inexplicably crestfallen as he gives you a wry smile. “Shalom, it’s nice to see you all.” you greet them.

Two women immediately head your way to investigate whilst a few others trail behind.

“It is so nice to finally meet you!” a woman wearing a pink veil breathes, “My name is Mary!”

“And I am Ramah.” adds the other young woman, who shakes your hand.

You bow your head and smile at them. “Shalom shalom, Mary and Ramah. Thank you for taking care of my Matthew.”

“Of course!” Mary ensures you.

Ramah puts a hand on your arm. “We are so thrilled to meet his bride-to-be! He mentioned you to be beautiful and he was right! Oh, we just– We want to know so much, from how you met, what made you decide to marry him, when you are planning to do so, everything!”

Matthew flusters beside you and you giggle, squeezing his hand. “I will tell you in due time!”

“(Y/n),” Matthew speaks up, “I want you to meet a few of my other friends!” He gestures to three men who approach with inquisitive looks on their faces. One of them smiles kindly and introduces himself as Philip. The other two are named Thaddeus and Nathanael, the latter who slowly nods at you.

“Matthew was right when he said he was getting married to a very beautiful woman! He is a lucky man, ha!”

Matthew gives you an apologetic look whilst Thaddeus punches Nathanael’s shoulder. “So sorry about that, (Y/n), Nathanael doesn’t always have a filter.” Philip says.

You shrug and smile. “Well, thank you regardless. If anyone is lucky, it’s me. Matthew and I go way back, so we are meant to be!”

Simon Peter lets out a sound across the room. “Lucky? Are you serious?” There is a dangerous annoying edge to his voice, which you don’t like one bit.

With an estranged knitting in your brow, you plant a hand on your hip. “What is that supposed to mean, Simon?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Simon huffs. “Well, that a tax-collector gets to marry a popular woman like yourself. You know you could have done better, right? My brother, for example, was looking to marry you as well.”

“Apparently, you’ve got a lot to learn.” you sigh. “To see past Matthews former occupation, for example.”

“She is right, you know.”

A familiar voice cuts through the air and you immediately spin to the source thereof, coming face to face with the Rabbi who had called your beloved to follow Him standing on the threshold, and you let out a slightly nervous huff. “Shalom, Teacher.”

Jesus smiles and enters, approaching you. “Shalom, (Y/n). It is good to see you again, it has been a while.”

You gulp, nodding. “I… I wanted to thank you again for seeing in Matthew what I saw in him all these years ago.”

Chuckling, Jesus puts a hand on your shoulder and lets His gaze go to Eden. “Actually, you’re not the only person in this room who has that beautiful sentiment towards their partner. I know that the two of you love one another very much, so thank you for letting us bring him along in this ministry.”

With a soft smile, you nod. “Of course, Rabbi. What kind of lover would I be to let him pass up on this opportunity?”

Jesus grins and turns to Simon, then to Andrew. “I understand your confusion regarding Matthew’s betrothal, but he, too, needs someone to come home to.”

Andrew gives a sad sigh and tugs at a loose thread on his tunic. Simon doesn’t dare to look his Master in the eye.

“There will be someone for you too one day, Andrew,” Jesus promises, “There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

The pun causes a few people in the room to laugh, including you.

Jesus pats your shoulder and winks. “And don’t you worry, (Y/n). We will be returning to Capernaum every so often, and one day, Matthew will return home. You will have a role in all of this, too, but that is a conversation for another day.”

Fondly, you wrap your arm around Matthew’s waist, holding him close.

“I know.” you whisper as he looks at you besottedly, smiling. “I can wait.”

Matthew squeezes you gently against him.

Simon’s wife approaches you. “Shalom, (Y/n), my name is Eden. Since I’ve already got a few guests over for dinner, would you also like to stay?”

With a grateful beam, you hum in agreement. “I would appreciate that.”

She gives you a nod as she returns to her cooking, and you’re ushered towards the dinner table, where everyone starts talking your ear off by asking about your life as well as your relationship with Matthew. Your fiancé sits beside you, his hip pressing into yours, and you keep your hand in his throughout the entire evening.

For a few days longer, you have your sweet betrothed close to you, holding onto the promise of Jesus that one day, you’ll have him at your side for longer, as well as the words that you will have a part in all of this, too.

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #x reader #chosen x reader #angel studios #the chosen matthew #matthew x reader

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aziraphales-library · 11 months

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Hi there! Do you have anything about circular timelines, or time moving in the wrong way, or having to fix a timeline? I'm thinking less about characters travelling through time and more about the timeline being out of joint. (Although of course I'd be grateful for anything you'd find.) Thanks so much!

Hello! We have #time loop, #time travel, and #multiverse tags, which you may be interested in. Here are some fics with some time travel and multiverse elements, but focused more around timelines and circular narratives...

The Apple of My Eye by MaterialMortal (G)

On his way to drink away the End Times, after discovering Azirafell's pawn shop flooded with holy water and giving up hope, Anthony trips and falls into a portal to an alternate universe - one with a living Azirafell, but not his own.

Somewhere else, Aziraphale is packing up his bookshop only to be interrupted by an Archangel falling on his floor.

And the Stars Look Very Different Today by Jackie Thomas (NR)

Aziraphale and Crowley travel back in time to put right the things they keep doing wrong.

“Are you suggesting you’re both from the future?” Cravat-Aziraphale asks, sounding put out, as though he now has to accommodate some unwanted house guests.

All Of Me by Katzedecimal (T)

There was a customer in the shop, which was odd because the shop wasn’t open. Aziraphale sighed and put his book down. The shop had a mind of its own sometimes and it was always open for someone in trouble. He got up to put the kettle on then went to take a quick look at his visitor, to get an idea of what kind of trouble they were in.

As it turned out, rather a lot.

Not So Different by effing_gravity (T)

When a demon named Crowley walked into the bookshop one day to find a demon named Aqzirab closing it up like he owned the place, he was understandably confused. When he found out that he himself was in the wrong universe, his confusion deepened. In the next universe over, an angel named Gadreel was experiencing something similar with an angel named Aziraphale.

Or, in which there are multiple timelines, Gersonides was really on to something, and the Archangel Raphael is there.

I've Loved You Forever by tenandi (M)

The tale of an involuntary time traveler and the ethereal love of his life.

Anthony Crowley first met the angel in 1976, yet Aziraphale first met Crowley in 4000 BC. Throughout their confusing six-thousand year history, one thing has become certain: there must be a reason that they keep finding each other, over and over again…

"I travel through time and end up in random places. Except they aren’t so terribly random. It’s always where you are.”

“Where I am?” the angel repeated.

“Like a tether,” Crowley said softly. “You’re my constant."

Wrong Turn by anticyclone (T)

Lots and lots of somethings are wrong. First, Crowley's nearly hit by a car. Then he almost brains himself tripping over new and excessive piles of books at the bookshop. To add insult to near-injury, Aziraphale starts throwing knives at him. Safe to say his day could be going better.

The thing that's the most wrong of all is the universe, of course. In this one there was never an Arrangement. Aziraphale and Anthony (they can't both be 'Crowley') aren't friends and they certainly never agreed to prep for Armageddon. Unfortunately, the end of the world is two days away.

So that's something Crowley really has to fix before they can figure out how to get him home.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #time travel #multiverse #mod d

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gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun · 7 months

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In defense of trashy ya dystopias

Okay, I’ll admit it: Hunger Games is an excellent book. It is powerful and well crafted, and deserves to be an eternal classic. I’m not sure any of the ya dystopias that followed it were quite so good, and I understand why they get mocked so often. Still, I think they deserve a better rep than they get.

Now, I understand that some ya dystopias are really, really bad. The only literary criticism that would call them good art would be a reader response based method that just says “well, some people like them so they must be good!” I don’t think that’s exactly how art works, but to an extent, that’s true. If a book inspired someone, encouraged them to read, and broadened their view of the world, who are we to say that it’s not worth reading? No matter how terrible a book is, it can at least make someone a bit more passionate about reading, and that’s value enough.*

First, I have to talk about Divergent. It makes me sad how many people hate that series. There are some valid criticisms, but most of it doesn’t make sense to me. People accuse Tris of being flat and basic, saying she’s an overpowered Mary Sue of a blank slate. That in particular confuses me. Tris isn’t dull and underdeveloped, she’s depressed. She’s reactive because she doesn’t care enough to be proactive. She’s numb, which comes across as her being unemotional. Now, we can debate whether that makes her a bad choice as a main character, but I won’t stand for her being painted as a bad character.

I was horribly depressed when I read Divergent. Watching Tris made all the difference in my life. I related to her when she threw a chair from the roof and watched it shatter on the concrete below, wishing she could follow it. I would have followed her to her death when she convinced herself that dying for her friends was noble sacrifice, not suicide, not the easy way out. I nearly cried when she realized at the last moment that she didn’t want to die, that she had to choose to keep going. I watched her build her life back up, even through the misery, pain and loss. I watched her find happiness, and I broke down when she gave it all up to protect someone else, someone who was trying to throw away his life out of guilt and grief. She sacrificed everything she had to give him a chance to fight through it and become someone better. She would have done the same for me. I needed to keep going, to honor that sacrifice and follow in her lead. Tris taught me to fight, and I am so grateful.

The Maze Runner was one of my favorite series. My longest completed story I’ve written was a trilogy of (unfortunately very straight) TMR fanfiction. I know it’s pretty garden variety dystopia, but it was very meaningful to me.

I think part of what made it special was having a male protagonist. Most ya dystopias are centered on teen girls, the intended audience, and while TMR could have used more diversity of gender in the cast, it was nice to see myself in the main character (although I like to believe I’m not that stupid). Thomas is also a very competent MC, which is always appreciated, and it feels earned more than Gary Stu-ed.

TMR has, despite not having any canonical evidence, a lot of gay ships in the fandom, probably because the boys all have a ton of chemistry and there are no girls (pretty much). I was deep in denial (see my straight fanfic), but TMR still gave my budding queerness a place to grow. While insisting that being gay was wrong and my homosexual crushes were Not Gay, I still managed to have very strong feelings on which Maze Runner ships are correct (Newt X Alby and Thomas X Minho, Newtmas shippers fight me). Being represented, even if I didn’t know it at the time, was so important to me.

Lastly, TMR taught me bravery. It taught me that even if things are just going to get worse, you have to try and make it out. I look at the world around me, and it’s not hard to imagine the Flare, or WICKED gaining power. Us kids have been handed the burden of fixing the world, and I need all the courage I can get. Like I say in my fanfic (the AWWWB series on Wattpad, first book called Good Grief), “Maybe the universe is just cruel. But… if we don’t know what’s outside of the Maze, then we’d better hold on to the fact that it’s just as likely to be a good place as a bad one.” We have to keep hoping that something better is coming eventually, even if it never does. We have to keep fighting.

I don’t have any others in mind right now, but I want to hear about other books (dystopian or not) that made more of a difference than they’re given credit for. Seriously, I want y’all to defend Twilight, to champion the Matched series. Tell me how they changed your life.

*note: books that spread harmful messages are different than poorly written books, but that’s a whole conversation by itself, so we’re going to be idealists in this post and pretend that’s not an element while acknowledging that in the real world it’s a true and harmful thing

#dystopia #ya books #divergent #veronica roth #the maze runner #tmr #james dashner #thg #the hunger games

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thedepthsoffandomminds · 2 months

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Maze runner chapter eleven

Previous chapter

The doors behind you slid open, letting light fill the current darkness. Slowly you each stepped out into the hallway. Lights clocked on one by one until the white light filled the hallway. It looked like it went on forever in both directions.

Mai Mai was first to move, her nose sniffing the air as she walked. You all followed her in a deafening silence. She stopped at a door, a green light beside it. It was black with red letters printed across it. Thomas stepped forward and with a shaking hand he took hold.of the handle twisting it downward. it opened into a white corridor, orange lights span as a warning through the thin layer of smoke. Two men were lying on the ground. Mai Mai jumped up at a window and pressed her nose to the glass, her breath steaming it up. You look in and see two bodies covered by sheets and know instantly that it was Ben and Alby. Your heart broke a little.

“What happened here?” Winston asked as you walked through. More people in white coats lay on the ground with bullet wounds. Newt sees the many monitors at the work stations.

“So they were watching us. This whole time.”

Thomas stepped up to a station and he knew in his heart this had been his. He pressed a button on the screen and a video of a woman sprang into life.

“Hello. My name is Doctor Ava Paige. I'm Director of Operations of the World Catastrophe Killzone Department. If you're watching this, that means you have successfully completed the Maze Trials. I wish I could be there in person to congratulate you…” the tiger touched your hand and led you to a smaller room at the back. Ok the floor a woman, the woman in the video laid. Blood on her face. You pick up the small revolver gun by her hand.

“but circumstances seem to have prevented it. I'm sure by now, you must all be very confused… angry, frightened. I can only assure you, that everything that's happened to you… everything we've done…”

You zone out the video deciding instead to look at the computers. There is a list of everyone's names that you run your finger down. It's in the order you each arrived in. Beside them was a tick or cross indicating which were alive and which were dead. It hurts your heart to see so many crosses.

“All in an effort to understand what makes them different, what makes you different. You may not realise it but you're very important. Unfortunately, your trials have only just begun. As you will no doubt soon discover, not everyone agrees with our methods. Progress is slow, people are scared. It may be too late for us...for me… but not for you. The outside world awaits. Remember… Wicked is good.”

The video ended with the woman shooting herself in the head. The others spot you and then the woman.

Another door opens up and you all assume it's the way out.

“Is it over?” Chuck asks optimistically.

“She said we were important. What are we supposed to do now?” Newt asks.

“I don't know. Let's get out of here.” Thomas said.

“ No.” The voice makes you all jump and turn round.

“Gally?” You whisper. Mai Mai takes a step forward but then stops and holds you back.

“Don't. He's been stung.” Teresa says. She had seen the black in his eyes before you.

“We can't leave.” He says.

“We did. Gally, we're out. We're free.” Thomas tries to convince him.

“Free? You think we're free out there? No. No, there's no escape from this place.” Gally holds a gun up towards you all.

“Gally, listen to me. You're not thinking straight. You're not. Now, we can help you. Just put down the gun.” You say raising your hands up in front of you.

“I belong to the maze.” He holds back his tears.

“Just put down the gun.”

“We all do.” He says. There is no time to think, Minho pushes you back and throws his spear, Chuck doves in front of Thomas and Gally fires his gun and he drops to the floor. You push past the other boys and rush to Gally's side.

“No Gally, please don't do this, we can save you, come on.” behind you Chuck looks up at Thomas.

“Thomas…” blood soaked his shirt and he fell to the ground

“Chuck. Oh, shit. Shit.Look at me, look at me! Oh, shit! Chuck, look at me, all right? I got you, buddy. Just hang on It's okay.” Thomas cries as he holds the boy.

“Thomas, Thomas…” Chuck presses the small figure into Thomas's hand and takes his last breath.

“No, Chuck. You're gonna give it to them yourself. Remember, I told you that. Come on, wake up! Damn it! We made it. Come on.”

In that moment the doors to the outside world open up. There is a shit fired and you see Mai Mai slump to the ground. Men in uniforms come rushing in and start leading you all away. One man grabs at you and though to try to fight him, he manages to pull you off Gally and carry you outside and throws you into the helicopter. You land next to Newt.

“Where's Mai Mai? You call out.

“It's okay she's in the copter, you'll see her soon.” An older male voice explains. You rest back against Newt, Gally's blood on your hands and cry. Thomas finally gets into the helicopter after being dragged much as you had been from Chuck. The man who had spoken to you finally removed his mask once the copter doors where shut.

“Don't worry. You're safe now. Relax, kid. Everything is gonna change.”

Next chapter

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @afalls14universe

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slasher-male-wife · 1 year

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hello hello ! been a while since ive requested. could i get og micheal, thomas hewitt, jason, and the sinclaires with a really out-there gothic bf? im talking the whole nine miles, extravagante makeup, very gothic clothes, loud goth music, all of it. i just wanna see what their reactions would be! thank you :]

also shhhhh take the dabloons i gave you, even if it isnt applicable on tumblr. please i have too many dabloons i must share my wealth.

- 🫀

Of course I can heart anon. So I was goth for about a year before I just kind of wasn't interested in it anymore and I've had my fair share of out there looks. I've dyed my hair every color under the rainbow, I've drawn on horrible big eyeliner, etc. But I still hold an interest in goth looks, music, etc.

Slashers with an out there, goth male reader

Includes: Og Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Jason Voorhees, and the Sinclair brothers

Warnings: Slashers being a little mean, mentions of self harm and mental health issues, mentions of stalking, kinda implied Stockholm syndrome

Og Michael Myers

Now Michael first started stalking you because of how out there you looked. He was so curious about your big hair and huge eyeliner.

He'd watch you very often, learning that this is just how you are and not actually a costume. This just drew him in even more.

Now as for when you start dating Michael will be a little jealous because of all the attention you're getting from strangers. He doesn't care how you dress it's the fact that other people feel the need to comment on it and constantly look at you that bothers him.

He's not too confused about why a man is wearing makeup because he doesn't fully understand gender norms but he still wonders why you do it.

I know goth music is a wide set of genres but I feel like he'd like the slow and dark music. He honestly might put on a few of your records if you're out and he's at home.

Overall Michael doesn't care so much how you dress but it is something he likes and thinks you should keep doing.

Thomas Hewitt

I wouldn't say he's scared the first time he sees you but he is kinda freaked out. Thomas is a sheltered Christian man so seeing someone like you is freaky for him. Although if he sees you wearing rosary's he's feeling a little better.

After getting to actually know you he sees that you're not that scary and that he doesn't really mind how you look. Although his family will give you odd looks and rude comments about how men shouldn't wear makeup.

As for the music Thomas is a little sacred. I know that everyone thinks he would listen to metal but if we're being honest he was raised on country music and gospel music. He doesn't mind your music it's just new and a little scary.

He'll also worry about you getting hot in all black clothing. He'll try to get you to wear lighter colors but will give up when he realizes that it's not going to happen anytime soon.

Jason Voorhees

Pamela warned him about people like you. Goth's, who according to her are all depressed and cut themselves. But upon meeting you Jason learns that's not true. You're actually pretty happy and you just enjoy dark music and clothes.

He'll watch every morning that you put on makeup. He loves seeing your process as you create thin sharp eyebrows and big black eyeliner. A little confused about why a man is wearing makeup but he honestly doesn't care too much about it

He doesn't mind the music. I feel like Jason never really listens to music anyway so this isn't too big of a deal for him

He's also glad that you don't really mind being around death. Obviously he's going to keep you away from the people he kills but it at least means that you're not going to hate him for it.

He's a little freaked out by the music. No one he's come across has had this kind of music before so it's new to him. Start off slow with The cure and Siouxsie and the Banshees.

Vincent Sinclair

Out of all of the Sinclair brothers he's the most supportive. His mother would have hated you and he loves that. Especially if you have dyed hair, piercing and or tattoos.

Speaking of dyed hair, if you have it he's obsessed with it. He'll convince Bo to go buy you more when your roots grow out and he'll help you with dying it.

He loves goth music. He loves the instrumental elements and how dramatic it sounds. I have a feeling if you gave him pictures of what some goth musicans look like he'll make some of the wax figures look like them.

He'll steal clothes from victims if he thinks you'll like the clothes and probably makes some accesories for you. He'll kinda treat you like a goth barbie doll with how he want's to constantly dress you up and do your makeup.

If his brothers ever make any kind of rude comments he's quick to shut them down. He loves you so much and he won't let Bo give you shit for wearing makeup.

Bo Sinclair

I'm not gonna lie, he's gonna think it's a sex thing. You quickly shut that down and he realizes you just genuinly like the style and music. But he also never even knew about the music element.

But like Vincent he thinks his mother would hate you and he loves that. Probably one of the reasons he keeps you alive.

He'll think you're a little gay for wearing makeup but point out how he is literally dating a man and he'll quiet down really quick.

Doesn't mind the music and will probably start listening to some of the bands you listen to as well.

He doesn't get the fashion and thinks it's just for attention but over time he won't care as much and understand it's more about self expression.

While he does (lovingly) make fun of you for being goth. If anyone else does it, especially a victim he's not having mercy on them. Sure he thinks you look ridiculous sometimes but only he can say that.

If you have piercings and tattoos he will encourage you to get more. Maybe will drop the idea of getting his named tattooed but if you don't want it then he won't force it.

Lester Sinclair

You scare him a little. But after talking for a little bit and seeing how sweet you actually are, he falls for you very hard.

Again, like his brothers he loves you even more because his mother would hate you.

Thinks your music is scary but he won't tell you that.

Loves watching you get ready and how you turn from some normal dude into a super hot vampire.

He loves to play with your hair if it's big and teased up. He knows it's crunchy form hairspray but please let him touch it Y/n.

Will gift you things made of bones and animal skins that he thinks look gothic. He's glad to have an s/o who's so into death. It makes it easy for him to talk to you about his job.

Will defend you against his brothers. Lester won't put up with Bo calling you freaky or asking if you cut yourself. Honestly I can see him getting physical with Bo if it gets to that point of him being an asshole.

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eternal-smiles · 2 months

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Meanwhile…

Once the teens had their rest, they quickly set off. Eleanor guiding the brothers and Ein through the metal halls, looking at the map as she pointed out: “Next stop, the… Eh? Am I looking at this right?…” She looked back to made sure to read what she was reading, causing one of the brothers to peak over her shoulder.

“Yep, Tickler.” Tobias said, making Eleanor very confused about this..

“Why that one? Isn’t that a bit too… well… invading personal space?” She shivered as she puts the map away. “I am uncomfortable if they try anything like that…”

“We can understand that Ellie. But if I remember, it aims to tickle ya until you smile. I swear to what ever god out there if they do that… wait-” Thomas had the realization as a small chuckle escaped. “Ha! Jokes on them, me and Toby are freaking bricks!”

“Oh yeah! I remember Abuela tried to playfully tickle us when we were six years old. To this day I can still feel that sadness.” Toby felt sad for his grandmother from that day. Yet happy memories did surfaced when his and Tom’s father was with them, how they had such a wonderful time… until…

Toby quickly snapped out of it as he felt Ein nuzzling his leg. “Hey, I’m good. Thanks for checking up on me bud! Ellie, is Ein always like this?”

“No, usually he’ll be on my side so people won’t distract him. I guess when we were taken, he’s been on guard.” She spoke, seeing Ein then walk up to Thomas. Who stopped and softly pinched the Shiba’s cheeks.

“I forgot how squishy and stretchy ya guys are!~ ¡Oh, es tan lindo!” Cooed Thomas, while Ein is being very patient and allowed Thomas to stretch his face. “Good doggy!~ Okay… Ellie, how far are we?” He looked up and saw it. Tickler section. Feeling a bit of fear for what they’re getting into.

“Round 2…. But this time, we can fight. Let’s roll.” Thomas spoke, as the four entered the next section. It wasn’t long enough before they heard machines humming and more developing advocates laughing. “Uuuggghh… I hate this already…” Thomas shivered with unease.

“Same here bro…” Toby took a look into the cells, and yelped in shock as a woman crashed herself on the door. “GAAHH!!”

“You! Dog! You are a real dog, yes?!” She spoke, looking in a mix of herself and Marmalized. “Who is the owner of this Guardian?!”

“M-Me?….” Eleanor nervously spoke, causing Ein to get in front of her to protect Eleanor. “I’m his owner… He is my service and guard dog… are… are you-”

“I don’t have time! Neither do you four! Please take this! Hound, protect those who cannot protect themselves! Honor, Duty, Loyalty, Wisdom, Knowledge, Faith, Justice, and Brotherhood will forever be your weapons…” She dropped a beaded necklace outside of her prison, Eleanor quickly grabbing it and held onto it. “I’ve made sure to hold onto this family treasure. A heirloom! I and my family helped raised hounds to become Canine Warriors… Your Hound will fight until his time is up…. Now go! Run! They are coming!”

The group were confused, but on high alert now… and rightfully so, as Ein growled angrily and protectively as two MOJ guards appeared.

“Oh? Hey! Aren’t those the trouble makers? We didn’t expect all of you to be here! Please come along with us nicely!~” One happily spoke, causing the teens to back away from the two. While both Tom and Toby had their instruments out and ready.

“Oh don’t be scared!~ We won’t hurt any of you… Well… May be the Ministry’s Top bests in Marmalisation, but they won’t hurt you!~” the two began to walked forward, but noticed Ein. Now in front of the group as he delivered barks… but for the two guards, they’ve completely melted with Joy.

“AWW!!~ So! So! SO Cute!~ Hey there little guy! Oh my goodness!!~ I didn’t know a cute puppy was here!! Oh I hope you stay here to help make the world a happy place!”

“Look at his adorable face! Such a sweetheart! I must pinch those flexible cheeks!!~” Said the second Guard as he happily pinched Ein’s squishy cheeks.

The three and Woman were very dumbfounded, but Ein took this as an advantage and allowed the two men to touch him. He honestly hated it, but this was the teens’ chance. Toby and Tom noticed what Ein was doing as they whacked the two men on their heads, knocking them out cold.

“Huh…. I’m surprised you four are very prepared for this…” the Woman spoke with astonishment by their teamwork. “Still, you cannot stay here. And make sure your guardian keeps those beads with him…”

“Not… Not really…” Eleanor then looked over to the woman. “You look very familiar…. Before we go, may I know your name?…”

“I….I-I sadly can’t remember…hehehe…. They gave me a new one… Jovial… 64% from being Marmalized… kids, you must keep going….” A part of her was ready to laugh, but held it in, not wanting to scare them.

“We can at least free you! You are not going to rot away here!” Thomas spoke, pickpocketing the guards to find their key cards and keys. “You can still have the will to resist them. Jo, or whoever you are, this is your chance to rebel against them.” Thomas unlocked the door and opened it, seeing inside… he felt great sadness and fear… the woman was covered in scars and some blood, it looked like she just escaped from her binds. Looking further in the room, a machine that almost looks like it could be part of a car wash… “Is this… how they do it?…”

“Yes… but please, go… I don’t want to bring you all more harm… make sure your hound wears those beads… please be safe….” Jovial softly spoke, she was so tired, sick, and mentally falling apart. Causing Thomas, Tobias, and Eleanor looked at each other wish sadness.

“The door will be open. Just know this: The only one who is in control, is you and you alone. No one has the right to erase who you are, you have to keep going. No matter how painful it’ll be, show them why you kept fighting… Show them who you really are.” Thomas spoke to Jovial with a determination and given her a kind smile. She herself didn’t look, but she felt the kindness radiating off from the young man. “Please reconsider it. And thank you for giving Ein a gift. We will remember you.”

The group left to keep going, despite the horrors they’ll face… they had to march on to get their parents back. This made Jovial think deeply about her new choice… leave or stay. As she now looked at the wide open door…

To be continued…

#the smiler #the smiler alton towers #the smiler oc #the ministry of joy #ministry of joy #eternal echoes #eternal smiles

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barris-ftw · 9 months

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Character Analysis: Why Did Richard Ellis Get Married?

Firstly, please understand these are just my thoughts on the matter! If yours are different from mine I’m more than happy to see yours shared in replies or in a reblog, I love discussing Downton stuff :)

It’s true, that it’s surprising when we learn in the second movie that Richard’s gotten married, after first seeing him so besotted with Thomas. But what I think is important to remember is that Richard is a character like any other in Downton; he has many sides, many qualities, flaws etc., but of course due to his limited screen time we only get to see a very certain “Richard,” and not all of him.

The events of the movie are adrenaline fuelled and fast paced, enough for Richard to let himself feel he has a chance, with Thomas. But he is also a man who knows the dangers of being homosexual, as he advises Thomas to be more circumspect. After freeing Thomas from prison and then flirting with him in the night, he’s probably feeling more free than he has in a long time, so he lets himself hope.

In my imaginings, he leaves Downton and thinks… well that was stupid. He is besotted with Thomas, and he does want a chance with him - but after the whirlwind of meeting him, after returning to reality, he realises it’s impossible to hope. I can imagine Richard admonishing himself for letting Thomas hope, too.

I think a very important hint in the first movie is when Richard says, “We all have to do what we must to get by.” And yes, this could easily be interpreted as seeing men but being inconspicuous about it to stay hidden. But there are other ways to stay hidden - such as getting married. Considering we know so little about Richard’s character, I think it therefore could make sense for him to get married.

But I also enjoy thinking about and discussing the specifics - what exactly made him get married? Now, further considering Richard’s quickly decided attempt to continue what he’d started with Thomas, by promising they would meet again (when really, this is very difficult and I’m not sure he thought it all out much,) then he seems like the kind of man to make decisions on impulse. Perhaps there’s a rumour going around, perhaps he’s been careless if only for a moment, or perhaps he spent too much time enjoying a platonic relationship with a woman and now his friends are confused as to why they aren’t married. Any of this (and more), I think, is enough for him to make the decision to break things off with Thomas - not only to keep himself safe, but to keep Thomas safe too. After all we know he cares about Thomas’ safety, after taking risks to get him out of the police station, even when he barely knew the man… yes I also headcanon Richard as a bit of a hopeless romantic. Maybe not as much as Thomas, but he certainly has it in him. He’s just also a man who may have lived one too many experiences of close calls, danger, and perhaps heartbreak, that now he’s wary about relationships with men. As much as he wants them, he believes more in staying safe, now.

This is one of many reasons I love Barris; Thomas would be the one to give him confidence and courage to take the risks they would need to for love, and to stay together. In my mind it’s a lovely dynamic - even though Thomas is the more introverted of the two, more shy, Richard is the one who’s more afraid of what he is (Thomas has already lived through his own shameful experience of trying to change his sexuality, but we know that by now, he’s accepted it. “It isn’t what I want,” he said to Mrs Hughes about marriage, which she called him brave for. Thomas is brave, and I believe that’s a quality he has which he himself would never truly appreciate or believe, but he has it all the same.)

(Continuing from that, I just had to include this scene from S5 E6 because it’s one of my favourite Thomas and Baxter moments;)

Remember, this is more my own headcanon; my own way of explaining why Richard might make this decision. Please let me know your own thoughts, I’d love to read them.

Btw this is actually a comment I posted on a fanfiction which I’ve copied & pasted, and amended the bits that refer specifically to the fic. (The fic is Once_More_With_Feeling’s “Down Came The Rain”)

#downton abbey #thomas barrow #downton abbey ramble #richard ellis #phyllis baxter #thomas barrow x richard ellis #thomas barrow and phyllis baxter #downton abbey movie

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retlasute · 7 months

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॰ In The Rich Man's World ॰

Word count: 4530

☆ Table of contents

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Chapter 13 - Funny How Time Slips Away

''(Y/N)?''

"Huh?'' You sat up with your heart pounding, the sound of your name ringing in your ear. ''Who... what?''

''You were asleep. Damn, I knew it must be the wrong time. Sorry, should I hang up?''

It was a slight buzz in his voice that made the confused and slightly delayed connections in your nervous system click into place. Phone. Phone ringing. You had answered it on reflex, still dreaming.

"Thom!'' The rush of adrenaline from being woken up was fading, but your heart was still pounding. ''No, don't hang up! It's okay, I'm awake.'' You ran a hand over your face, trying to untangle the phone cord and, at the same time, straighten out the crumpled bedclothes.

''Are you sure? What time is it there?''

''I don't know. It's too dark for me to see the clock.'' You said, still sleepy.

A deep, reluctant laugh was the answer.

''I'm sorry. I tried to calculate the time difference, but I must have done it the other way around. I didn't want to wake you.''

''It's okay, I had to wake up to answer the phone anyway...'' You said, and laughed.

''Yes. Well...'' You could see the smile in his voice and you lay back on the pillows, pushing the strands of hair away from your eyes, slowly adjusting to the here and now. The sensation of your dream was still strangely present, more real than the dark shapes of your bedroom.

"It's good to hear your voice, Thom.'' You said softly. You were surprised at how good it was. His voice was distant and yet it seemed so much more present than the distant wails of sirens and the sound of tires on the wet asphalt outside.

"Yours too.'' He seemed a little shy.

''Are you still in Ireland?''

''A bit lower. Switzerland.''

''Can't you stay in one place for more than two days?''

Then he laughed again.

''I'm due back in the States this weekend, just in time for something very important...''

''The conference in Boston?''

''Ah, yes... Yes, yes, the conference too.'' He laughed, bewildered. ''But I have time for something else... I thought I'd go if... well, there's no good way to put it. Do you want to go out with me?''

''Do you want to take me to this important thing? And what would that be?''

''A new movie by Martin Scorsese. Taxi Driver, have you heard of it?''

''Taxi Driver? Don't tell me that movie is about a taxi driver.''

''Well... maybe. But it's by Scorsese, so it's sure to surprise you.''

"Um...''

"So? Do you want to watch with me?''

You held the phone tightly and your heart raced.

''Yes, of course!''

''Oh, so you don't mind? It's just that... you didn't show up for our last get-together. I thought you didn't like mixing work and personal life."

''Oh... I was just tired. This project is killing me, you know.''

''I'm sorry, I didn't imagine it would be so tiring when I assigned you the research. And you're my best card...''

''No, it's okay, I was just...''

''I didn't mean to...''

Your words collided with his, and you both stopped, overcome by shyness.

''I didn't want to force...''

"I didn't want to be...

It happened again, and this time he laughed, a slow sound of good humor coming from the vast distance of space and time, comforting as if he had touched you.

"All right, then.'' Thom said firmly. "I understand.''

You didn't answer, but closed your eyes, an indefinable feeling of relief taking over you. Thomas Foster was probably the only person in the world who could understand. What you hadn't realized before was how important that understanding could be.

"I was dreaming.'' You said. "When the phone rang.''

''About what?

''I don't know... a lot. But I was far away from you. Much farther than the distance from America to Switzerland. Perhaps much farther than the moon.'' Your throat constricted a little when you said that. The same thing happened when you thought of him. You could still smell the musty hay warmed by the sun in your dream, and feel the pine needles being crushed by your boots. ''There were more people, even Louise was there... It had something to do with the Ecclesiastes corpse, I don't remember very well."

"This project is really messing with your head.''

"Yes, maybe you're right.''

Thom laughed and you suddenly remembered him, throwing back the dense black hair he didn't always cut, his dark green eyes half-closed as he smiled. You realized you were running the tip of your thumb across your lower lip and stopped yourself.

"I wish you were here right now.'' You spoke on impulse.

"Really?'' He looked surprised and suddenly shy. ''Ah, well... that's good. Don't worry, I'll be there in a few days.''

''Thom... about Sue...''

"Don't worry about her.'' He said quickly. ''I'll be there soon, we can talk when I get there. Leave Sue to me, okay?''

You remained silent.

''(Y/N), I...''

''Yes?''

You heard him pull in air and had a clear memory of the sensation of his chest rising and falling as he breathed, warm and firm under your hand.

"I'm glad you said yes.''

You couldn't get back to sleep after hanging up. Sleepless, you threw your feet out of bed and walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. After spending several minutes looking into the fridge, you realized that you weren't looking at rows of ketchup bottles and half-used cans, but at tall trees, black against the dawn sky, along with a blue hat and blonde hair a few inches away, watching the landscape.

"Ah, (Y/N), good morning.'' Said Johnny, looking at you over his shoulder.

"Oh, no... fuck!''

Then you straightened up with a slight exclamation of impatience and slammed the barn window hard. You shivered slightly and rubbed your arms, cold. You no longer knew what was real and what was a dream. To be sure, you approached your red-spotted horse, hoping that your hand would pass through its body as if you were touching a cloud - but you were disappointed when you felt the animal's rigid, warm muscle vividly in your palm.

A fine rain was falling, cooling the air enough to make breathing inside the barn comfortable. Judas jerked his head in your direction and you stroked him wistfully.

You hadn't bridled him, so Judas was the only horse loose in the barn. Small waves of dizziness washed over you every few minutes and you forced yourself to hold onto the animal's neck. The ground beneath you seemed to rise and fall like waves in the sea.

"Judas... you're my first pet in a long time, you know that?'' You murmured to the horse. "My kitten was run over a few years ago, and I haven't had any pets since. I think horses and cats are very different... but you seem to be a good boy, despite your name."

''You've slept more than anyone else and you still look tired.'' A voice said from behind. "I think this is the first time you've slept in your life.''

And you looked back to see just who you were expecting. Gyro smiled, shaking his hair out of his face.

"Is Louise awake?''

''Yes, she's helping Johnny saddle the horses.'' He replied. ''Actually, Johnny is teaching her. If you want some lessons, ask him, because I'm not going to teach anyone.''

"I don't want to, thank you.'' You said dryly.

''You talk in your sleep, you know that?''

''Oh... no. What was I talking about?''

''I have no idea. I think you have your own language or you can speak Greek fluently.''

"Can you say one of the words?''

''I don't know... taxe? It's something about Scots.''

''Scots?''

''Yes. You were saying something like... scozzese.''

You no longer remembered the dream you were having well enough to understand it.

"Maybe I know Greek subconsciously.'' You said, going back to stroking Judas. "Do you know what day it is?''

Gyro stopped, and you only realized now that he was concentrating on putting on his boots. One foot was sockless, the other with the wrong boot on. The time he needed to think made you assume that he was as lost in his notions of space and time as you were. Would time travel have the equivalent effect of a long journey by ship from one continent to another?

"Saturday, I think.'' He said. "Or Sunday. I think you'd better ask Johnny. Why?''

Saturday. Voluble, moody, once cheerful and relieving. Gyro, realizing that he was trying to fit his left boot on his right foot, corrected himself awkwardly, with the mordant grace of his coruscating frame. He was as tall and shapely as a wild horse would be - much like Valkyrie, you thought -. Unbearably attractive from head to toe, but with the delicacy of an ogre. An old-fashioned man in every sense. You let your hand rest on Judas' mane.

You took a deep breath and shook your head.

"We need to talk.''

"Yes, we do.''

You stared at each other as he finally pulled on his boots.

"I'll call Louise and Johnny.'' You said.

''No, you won't.''

''Excuse me?''

''We'll talk to your friend later.''

''What about Johnny?'' Your voice, in your head, sounded softer, kinder, but in reality you looked like you were about to cry. ''You're not going to tell me you want to start an interrogation on your own.''

"You don't have to make Johnny believe you, just smile at him and he'll take you wherever you want to go.'' He laughed softly, correcting his posture. ''But me? I don't believe a word you say about anything. You're going to have to convince me not to strap you on a train to Washington.''

You began to feel your hands go numb and wanted to move them from their position, entwined in the hem of your shirt, but they refused to obey you. Then he got up from the crate and instructed you to sit down. You were nervous, knowing that you could never tell the complete truth, so your mind clung to your surroundings. It didn't seem likely, but if Gyro tried anything, you might scream. But who would you shout at? Your weakened friend? Johnny? You came to the conclusion that the best-case scenario was that Gyro didn't try anything.

So you sat, looking at him and he at you, listening to the faint rustle of hay.

"Who are you?'' He asked, and you felt your own throat move as you answered:

''(Y/N).''

''Right, let's try again.'' He sighed and put his hands on his waist. ''Who are you?''

''An archaeologist. I used to work for the Speedwagon Foundation.''

''You did? Okay, let's pretend I believe that. Why don't you work anymore?''

''Because... I fucked up pretty bad. Bad enough to lose my job.''

''This has to do with the corpse, right?''

''Yes.''

''Who sent you to New Jersey?''

''Nobody. I came with Louise.''

''Why did you come? To get the corpse?''

''No, I already had the corpse.''

''So you were running away?''

''Not exactly.''

''Then why are you here?''

A sepulchral silence overtook the barn, as if even Judas had stopped making noises to wait for your answer.

"Why are you here, Miss Archaeologist?'' He asked again, impatiently.

"I can't say.''

''Why can't you say? Some kind of agreement?''

"Because no one will believe me.''

He stopped, not expecting this answer, and then knelt down after a few seconds. He looked at you, making you understand that he deserved more than a six-word explanation. He sighed and faced you, his bright green eyes narrowing.

"Right, let's say I'm going to believe you...''

"You won't, so why?''

''I will, believe me I believe you.'' Then he decided to continue. ''Why don't you tell me how you got here? You told Johnny that somehow you managed to travel from Washington to New Jersey as fast as a straight train ride. But there are no straight tracks for this route.''

''I...''

''You came with a car, that's what you told Johnny. But as far as I know, there are faster horses than cars.''

''It wasn't... any car. Not a car from here.''

You were losing control of the situation, you were at an overwhelming disadvantage in the face of what seemed to be endless lies.

"You're no help with these guessing games.'' He grumbled. ''Can't you see I'm trying to help you? Creed is alive and he thinks you're our partner or the lover of one of us. He's going to take this corpse to Dio and then Dio will also think the same thing and you'll be in a danger you can't even imagine.''

"Well... I'm not, am I?'' You said, reasonably. "At least you know that.''

''Yes, I know that.'' He repeated, showing exaggerated patience. ''What I don't know is who the hell you are! An archaeologist? A madam? A lawyer's daughter? Dio's spy? Terrorist? I have to tell you, signorina, if you don't make me come to a conclusion that makes sense, I'm going to lock you and your friend in a train straight to Washington.''

His voice sounded increasingly impatient, but he seemed to be trying hard to stay calm and was doing a good job. You lowered your head and closed your eyes, letting your face be taken over by a shadow. Your head was aching and so you pressed your fists against your orbits. Then, when you took a deep breath and looked back at Gyro, you saw him still kneeling in front of you, his elbow resting on his knee.

"I can answer more clearly...'' You said weakly. "If you explain a few things to me.''

He didn't say anything, and you took it as a "go ahead".

''I know I should be asking about your steel balls but... somehow, I feel like they're much more understandable to me than Johnny's nail shots. I was too sober and aware to be sure I wasn't crazy when I saw him shooting his own nails. What the hell was that? Are you even human? I mean, obviously you guys are, but...''

Now he seemed as hesitant to explain himself as you were and, realizing that you were now both in similar positions, he gave in faster than you thought he would.

"You're an archaeologist.'' He said. "You must understand better than anyone about the mysteries of humanity.

''Well... yes, that may be true. But what does it have to do with anything?''

''Two years ago, at the start of the race, Johnny and I met up with a family of freaks. The Boom Booms. They were terrorists who were after the prize for my head.''

"Prize on your head? But you...''

"There we met a man called Mountain Tim.'' He interrupted you. ''A good man who also died because of the corpse. He was just like me and Johnny, he also had these mysterious abilities. He said it's called stand and told us how he got his.''

Although Gyro seemed a man incapable of explaining anything properly, you could understand the story very well. Your eyes were fixed on his, almost inert like those of someone who isn't paying attention, but is simply too familiar with stories like that.

"You're telling me...'' You muttered when he finished telling the tale of his late friend, Mountain Tim, who had been a victim of a popular curse. ''That he got that stand ability on the Devil's Palm? As the tales say?''

''According to him, yes.''

''That... you've also been to the Devil's Palm at some point?''

''Yes, and I hope that clarifies things for you.''

''That... doesn't make sense. How can I believe you?''

His frown deepened, confused.

''Huh? What are you saying? The hardest part to believe you saw with your own eyes; Johnny shot his nails into that pervert."

''Yes, I know, but it still doesn't make sense. If these stories are real, then I should also have these superpowers or something.''

''What? Are you saying you've been to the Devil's Palm too?'' This time, he sounded very surprised, with a more energetic, albeit worried tone. ''Well, I think Johnny said you were delirious when you were saying things about the Devil's Palm, but I know you're sober now... are you sure?''

''Yes! Absolutely sure!'' You assured yourself. ''Not only have I been there, I've slept there! All those months I worked at the Speedwagon Foundation were dedicated to monitoring the Devil's Palm!''

''You slept there? Wait... monitoring?! What do you mean?''

''I mean that I spent months deciphering the locomotion patterns of this phenomenon and tracking it to... well, to find the corpse.''

"That doesn't make sense.'' He quickly questioned. ''The corpse was placed in a bunker and only... well, only one person knows exactly where that bunker is. Are you telling me that you found the corpse lying around in the Devil's Palm? So who took it out of the bunker?"

''I don't know... and it wasn't exactly me who found it, but the rest of the research team and... Louise. She was there, but she's not part of the team of scientists. Anyway, this story doesn't make sense. Cursed abilities from stepping on a meteor crater? I refuse to believe it!''

''Whether you believe it or not is not my problem. I just want you to tell the truth now.''

''The truth about what? I've already told you everything!''

"You didn't say how you traveled from one state to another in less than two days.'' He said impatiently. ''Nor why you're here. Nor why you stole the corpse. Nor why you've been tracking the Devil's Palm. Is the Speedwagon Foundation also interested in the corpse? That's worrying. By the way, how the hell did you manage to monitor the Devil's Palm?''

You stopped to think about the penultimate question. Yes, the Speedwagon Foundation was interested in the corpse, but about a century from now. Now, the company's only concern is to look for more profitable sources of oil in South America.

''Ah, well the Speedwagon Foundation isn't interested in the corpse now... not exactly. I really don't know how I can explain it.''

''Just open your mouth and say the words.''

''It's not that easy!'' Then you stood up, impatient, desperate to leave. ''It's not like you know what satellites are or have ever seen a real car or a highway! How am I going to explain that I traveled from Washington to here on the JFK highway when you don't even know who the hell Kennedy is?! It's not that simple, Gyro, trust me!''

Then the conversation was interrupted by a bang and the sudden light of the morning sun illuminated the barn completely. Seizing the chance to escape the awkward situation, Judas left through the same door that Johnny had entered and you wished for a second that you could do the same.

"What the hell is going on? Why are you shouting?'' Johnny quickly stepped in to assess the situation without a second thought.

"She's going crazy, Johnny.'' Gyro replied. ''She's just saying nonsensical things and still wants to go with us to collect the corpse.''

''And why is that? I thought you wanted to go home.''

The tension of it all hit you. You shook off what was paralyzing your hands and quickly covered your face with them in desperation. Then you grabbed your own elbows, moving from side to side, digging your fingernails into your skin.

"Louise...'' You stammered, then looked up at Johnny. ''Where is she?''

''Outside with the horses, do you want me to call her?''

''No... She doesn't need to go through this horrible interrogation.''

''We just want you to unravel everything at once.'' Gyro, with typical impatience, continued.

Then you stopped walking and remained motionless, your eyes disturbingly fixed on Gyro's, breathing heavily, trying to control yourself.

"I'm telling you everything! I used to work for the Speedwagon Foundation and I know about the corpse because I was paid to! Everything I know about the race is because of Thom... I know about your life because Thom told me! I know that you exchanged letters with the Vatican, I know about the identity of the corpse, I know about all this because Thom told me!'' You spoke faster and faster, trying to control the vertigo at the sound of your own voice. You felt as if you were going to faint and clenched your eyes shut.

They remained silent, perplexed, listening to everything and trying to understand.

"Everything I've ever said about myself is true, but maybe I lied about Louise's husband.'' You said, shaking your head wildly as if to calm down. "Everything about me is true. My father is a lawyer, he gave me a car, and I live in Washington. But I don't have a family, or any property or a house. I don't have any of that yet! I have no story, because it hasn't happened yet!''

So you looked at them, waiting for some reaction. Desperate for some change in their faces. Be it a raised eyebrow or an open mouth. But no, they remained still, side by side, listening intently and in a terrible silence that urged you to keep talking.

"Do you know how old I am? When was I born?'' You asked, your eyes watering. You knew your hair was disheveled and your eyes were drooping, but you didn't care. "I was born in 1952. Did you hear me?'' You asked again, because they blinked at you, paralyzed, as if they weren't paying attention to a word you were saying. ''I said nineteen fifty-two! Sixty years from now!'' You were shouting now, and they shook their heads slowly. "Do you hear me?!"

"We're listening...'' Johnny replied softly.

"Yes, you are!'' You shouted, enraged! "And you still think I'm completely crazy, don't you?''

You felt your face crumble. All this time trying to hide the truth, being questioned, realizing that you could never tell anyone, and now you realized that you could have told those two men just as crazy as you. Those men who shoot their own nails and use steel balls as weapons. You could tell them... and they still wouldn't believe you. They couldn't believe you, even though they had already witnessed the curses of the Devil's Palm and the miracles of the sacred corpse. It was simply absurd.

"It was the Devil's Palm...'' Gyro said. ''Wasn't it? You were wondering why you didn't have any cursed abilities... but it must be because your curse is much worse.''

Your legs went weak and you didn't realize the moment you had to sit down to stop yourself from crying. These last few days had been summed up in tears that disgusted you. You didn't want to cry anymore. You then let yourself fall onto the crate and buried your head in your hands. There was a long silence in the barn, and knowing that they still thought you were just crazy was torturous.

"I'm sure...'' You continued, wheezing, increasingly incoherent. ''I'm only here because of the corpse. If it was just the Devil's Palm... the whole team would have disappeared. I could find the Devil's Palm after getting the corpse... just two miles north... but how many days have passed? How many miles north, and then west, had this crater traveled? I should have thought there was something wrong with all those tales... but how could I have known? They were just silly stories that I couldn't believe. But look where I am because of those tales. Just look!''

The silence continued long enough for the horses outside to regain their courage and begin their roaring again, calling to each other with a high-pitched, fragile neigh as they hunted for the freshest grass on the ground.

You raised your eyes at last, thinking that perhaps they had simply gone away, overwhelmed by your revelations. But they were still there, standing still, their arms crossed, their heads down as if they were meditating.

Just behind them, then, you saw a delicate silhouette and the orange glow of Louise's hair on the doorstep. It wasn't possible to know how long she had been standing there, but you could tell from her face that she hadn't dared to step into that barn and face the situation. You couldn't blame her. Her hair shone like copper wires in the firelight and you could tell that it was matted, like a dog's hair. She was afraid of that conversation, if not of you.

Then your eyes slid to Johnny's, leaning on the old wooden column in the middle of the barn, looking down at his feet as if he was trying to digest all that information.

"Johnny...'' You said, feeling your heart crumble with absolute loneliness. ''Gyro...''

Then you curled up like a ball, trying to envelop the core of your pain. Nothing else mattered and you just sobbed.

Then a warm hand on your shoulder lifted you up, enough for you to see his face. Through the mist of tears that wouldn't fall from your eyes, you saw the look a man wears in combat, of a fight that will go beyond the point of tension and become a quiet certainty - whether of death or victory.

"Don't cry.'' That's what Johnny said. "We believe in you. We don't understand any of this, it's true, but we've seen enough weird things to believe in you, haven't we, Gyro?"

Gyro let out a soft noise of uncertainty, but he knew Johnny was right.

''Yes, I think so.'' He replied. ''This is much stranger than anything we've ever seen, you know, Johnny. But after all... it's not impossible. But it's still strange, it'll take me a while to get used to it. Now I know why you didn't want to tell us anything.''

Johnny gave you a gentle shake.

"I can see in your eyes that you still have a lot to say.'' He continued. "But not now. Not here. Stay calm and rest, and you'll tell us the rest on the way to Stafford Township. And we'll believe you.''

You were still sobbing, unable to understand what he was saying. You struggled, trying to pull yourself free, but he lifted you up and squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. Suddenly, out of sheer exhaustion, you calmed down enough to raise your eyes and say:

"How can you believe me?''

"We're going to tell you a few more things we saw in the race, and then you'll know.'' Gyro replied. "How old are you, (Y/N)?''

Gyro smiled at you. His mouth twitched slightly, but he smiled. He was curious and the question seemed so meaningless in that situation that it took you a while to think.

"Twenty-four...'' You replied.

"Ah...'' Johnny exclaimed softly. "I thought you were younger.''

They didn't move for a second. But then they looked at you.

''1976?'' Gyro asked.

"Ah?''

''The year you... were. If you were born in 1952 and you're 24... then you should be in 1976.''

"Well, yes, I should.'' You said it stupidly.

#gyro x reader #gyro zeppeli #jojos bizzare adventure #steel ball run #diego brando #diego brando x reader #jjba part 7 #johnny joestar #johnny x reader #ao3fic

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marieamardill · 3 months

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Downton Abbey - The Story of Emma Barrow

Thomas Barrow x 8-year-old-Daughter, set after the events in Season 3

Peeking through the crack in the door, she saw Carson slamming his door shut. Thomas stood alone in the corridor. He looked sad, desperate, as if all his dreams and hopes had been shattered in a second.

Emma went to her father. The old floorboards were quite rough and cold beneath her bare feet. She grasped Thomas's upper arm. "Dad," she whispered, "come with me," and led the man into their shared bedroom. A glance back revealed an angry Alfred. Emma was all too familiar with that look from O'Brien—a look that seemed like this was just the beginning of what was to come.

After the door closed, Thomas ran his hands desperately through his hair, and tears began to snake down his cheeks. "I'm such a fool. Why did I do that? I thought he would be like me. He would feel the same way I do. I just want to feel a little love," he cried, plopping down on his bed.

"But I love you!" Emma spoke up. From behind, she nestled against her father, wrapping an arm around him while her head rested on his shoulder. "I love you, Dad," she repeated her words. "Really, I love you a lot!"

"I know, my little dwarf," he smiled sadly. His injured hand touched hers. "Your love means a lot to me. I'm very grateful for it."

Silently, she just nestled against her dad. Since he didn't object, the girl was pretty sure he enjoyed their current hug. They sat like that for a while, with Emma's head resting on his shoulder.

"Emma," Thomas began with a quivering voice, "I'm not normal. I'm different, you understand?"

Emma looked up, pulling her head back slightly to look at her father. His face was marked by worries and self-doubt. Her forehead furrowed in confusion as she asked, "Different? What do you mean, Dad?"

Thomas sighed deeply and struggled with his own thoughts. This was a moment he had avoided for years, fearing the consequences. But he could no longer hide it, not after what happened a few minutes ago. It was only a matter of time before Emma learned the truth, and perhaps it was best if Emma heard it from him instead of being manipulated by Mrs. O'Brien and Mr. Carson.

"What I'm about to tell you, Emma Grace Barrow, you mustn't tell anyone," he began quietly. Emma swallowed hard as she nodded slightly. Emma Grace Barrow. Her full name was only used by her dad when it was something extremely important or when she was being scolded. However, his voice didn't sound strict and commanding but rather reflected despair and fear.

"Actually, I didn't intend to burden you with this, but I guess it's better if you hear it from me," he continued. With his uninjured hand, he desperately ran it across his face, wiping away tears from his cheeks. What if his little dwarf would hate him? Would Emma treat him like everyone else in his life who found out about his differences?

"I'm different because..." Thomas halted his sentence. Suddenly, he felt a certain lightness and coldness on his shoulders. Emma had already pulled away from him. Apparently, no further explanation was needed. Why had he even felt the need to enlighten his child? He should have kept quiet and shown Emma a perfect world.

Thomas took a deep breath, still trying to find the right words. "I like the same type."

Confusion deepened in Emma's eyes. "I don't understand. What does that mean, Dad?"

"I kissed him!" it burst out of him, and after a short pause to catch his breath, he added, "Jimmy."

"Different means... you love men?" she concluded hesitantly.

Her father quickly formed a hushing gesture with his finger in front of his mouth. Emma perked up her ears. There was nothing to hear outside. They were probably the only ones still awake at such a late—or rather early—hour. "You must never speak of this, Emma Grace."

The girl swallowed hard. She sat about an arm's length away from him.

"Nobody. Really nobody must know about my differences—not even Ruby," he explained with a pleading undertone. "There's a law that says people like me should be locked up in prisons."

A moment of silence followed his words. Emma stared at him as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. Then, as if she couldn't grasp it, she asked a question that might have sounded a bit silly: "But you still like pancakes, right?"

Thomas was surprised by this question, and despite his own inner turmoil, he couldn't help but smile slightly. "Yes, I still like pancakes. My food preferences haven't changed."

"And you still like smoking?" she inquired.

Thomas nodded a bit uncertainly, wondering where Emma was going with these seemingly trivial questions.

"And you still read me a bedtime story every night, right?"

"If you still want that, then yes," Thomas took a deep breath. "Emma, I can understand if you don't want to have any contact with me anymore. It would be okay if you wished to move in with Anna. It wouldn't be fair for me to force you to stay here. You wouldn't be the first one to hate me and it's okay. I'm used to it."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Emma's thoughts began to churn. She tried to grasp what her dad had just revealed to her.

Emma sat motionless, her heart racing as she processed her father's words. Thomas almost interpreted the silence between them as a definitive end to their relationship. His little dwarf sat far away from him. Why had he even broached this delicate topic?

Finally, Emma broke the silence. "I don't understand," she began hesitantly. Her forehead creased as she tried to piece together the puzzle in her mind. "It doesn't change who you are."

He looked at his daughter sadly. She really seemed not to grasp it. "It does, Emma. Everything has just changed," he said, swallowing hard. Emma scrutinized her dad. His face reflected deep fear. The uncertainty of how his daughter would react to this revelation tormented him.

Emma tried to comprehend what her Dad meant. What had changed? He still like smoking, pancakes and reading stories. "No, it hasn't," Emma concluded after careful consideration. "You're still my Dad. You still read me bedtime stories, like pancakes, and smoking. Nothing has changed. So why should I hate you?" she asked, studying her father's face. He looked so broken, a side of him she had never seen before.

"You are right. You don't understand what this is about." Thomas realised, "I'm different, and just that is a reason why you should hate me," explained Thomas, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Emma placed her hand on her father's. "Not for me" she whispered. Thomas flinched slightly under her touch. "I could never hate you. You're my Dad, and I love you," declared Emma, pressing a kiss to his cheek "so very much." Then, her arms found their way around Thomas's neck. She nestled closely to her father. "You're still the person you always were – the one I got to know. I don't care who you love. We always stick together, remember? We're a team... " Emma pasued, "No, we're a family."

His daughter's words nearly brought Thomas to tears. Thomas's tears snaked down his cheek. What was happening here? Why didn't his child scream in horror? Why didn't she run away or avoid him like everyone else who learned of his difference? Why did this little girl stay with him and embrace him? He had expected rejection or judgment, but instead, he felt unconditional love and acceptance.

"Please don't cry, Daddy. I'm here. I'll always be on your side."

For the first time, Thomas experienced an overwhelming sense of unconditional love and acceptance. The torrent of emotions coursing through him was both bewildering and profound. The fact that his child, instead of reacting with fear or rejection, chose to embrace him in the face of his deepest secret, left Thomas in a state of disbelief and profound gratitude. It was a transformative moment, a glimmer of light breaking through the shadows of his past, as he realized that, at least in the eyes of his daughter, he was not defined by societal expectations but rather embraced for the person he truly was.

"I'll never leave you." Emma told him. She gently wiped away his tears with her thumb, a silent gesture of comfort that spoke volumes. In that tender moment, without uttering a single word, she sought to provide solace to her father. The touch of her thumb, a small but profound act, conveyed empathy and understanding, bridging the emotional gap between them. In the quiet exchange, the unspoken language of love and compassion unfolded, creating a space where Thomas felt seen, accepted, and embraced by the one person whose opinion mattered most to him.

"I promise you, Dad, I'll never reveal your secret to anyone. Pinky swear," vowed the 8-year-old, hooking her little finger with her speechless father's.

Finally, Thomas reciprocated the loving embrace. His arms now found their way around Emma, holding the child even tighter. "You're a truly miracle, my little dwarf," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears once again. "What you just said means a lot to me." He had his daughter's understanding and love, and that was the most important thing in the world for him.

Do you like the sneak peek? You can read already 42 chapters on Fanfiction.net, Ao3 and Wattpad!

#thomas barrow #downton abbey #fanfiction #downton downstairs #rob james collier #rob james-collier #emma barrow

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pancake-breakfast · 11 months

Text

I could sleep. I could play video games. Or I could Trigun Bookclub.

Trigun Bookclub it is.

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for Trigun Vol. 1, Chapters 9-10 below. (More detailed thoughts will be their own posts.)

Chapter 9: Between Wasteland and Sky...

I love that the girls actually comment on how hot and uncomfortable those suits were.

Meryl is right; this is very non-standard for an insurance agent. It's even pushing it for a reporter.

Howwwww does Prada even exist out here?? How did they manage to transfer name brands this far away?? Did Mr. Prada (I know almost nothing about Prada) buy himself a cryogenic stasis chamber on one of the ships??? Where are they getting the materials? Why are they getting the materials?? Are they just... made out of Thomas leather??? I HAVE QUESTIONS.

Please apply the previous point to Gucci, and Fendi....

I don't have anything in particular to say about it, but I do like the title page spread.

Ok, what's going on with the proportions on this page. First, Katie only comes up to Vash's waist, and then she's a little below shoulder height when he's only barely slouching? Dude.

I think she asks a legitimate question about the functioning of his pain receptors.

Letting a plant overload is bad. Letting a Plant overload is worse.

My dude Mr. Hat Guy. You recognize the blueprints are valuable. Do NOT step on them! Rude.

Honestly, this shows a lot of maturity from Katie. Even if one is working to make things right, there are still consequences one must accept. And Vash... he seems to accept her decisions in this. Or maybe empathize with them, but I'm getting ahead of things.

I like this guy peeking around the text bubble.

Plant reveal! Though I feel like Vash's line might be misinterpreted to be referring to Katie instead of our new bubble lady friend.

I wonder if Plants are really ever in control. They're already century-old tech that (almost) no one understands, and so they're not really controlled so much as maintained.

Yep, hitting the angel imagery HARD in the manga.

Oooh, she's getting sparkly.

Vash is trying to help, but the fact that he just jumped into things and is like, "You guys do stuff while I take care of something that no one else knows how to take care of," is just creating confusion.

Plant lady is NOT happy....

Oh, these pages are beautiful. I love how calm yet determined Vash is as he approaches her. I love his wings showing, clearly for the reader's sake and not as something anyone around them can see. I love their hands mirroring each other on the glass. I love the way her expression changes from this...

...to this:

Putting the "dead" in "deadline" here, aren't we?

TBH, I LOVE that they gave taking care of the heat valve to Wolfwood in Stampede. I mean, I know he hasn't even shown up yet here in the manga, but having him show up sooner and then push his way through the people to handle it on his own really drives home both how much he's changed from being a "normal" human and how much he's willing to go through for a chance at protecting the orphanage. The... uh... the orphanage that isn't in this scene, either. Because different timelines.

Ok, I can't tell what the heck happened with the steamer. I'm glad I've seen the anime.

Aww, they're both all beat up. But now that Katie is awake, Vash's expression goes from serious to smiling.

Ohhhh, there's what happened with the steamer.

I like that Neon may not like Vash, but now, at least, he respects him.

I love this wide shot. Like, it may be nothing but barren wasteland, but Katie's pose is determined, and the sun has risen over the horizon. There's a lot of hope in it.

Can't not have music be part of the world in Trigun. It's very important. For real. Goes hand in hand with hope.

Hahahaha, Katie getting all defensive. Don't worry. Vash likes the tune, too.

He looks so flustered....

I love the arc coming full circle here with him once again thinking about Rem and why people keep living in spite of everything.

Of course that would make him tear up. And... of course Katie would misinterpret it an take offense. And Vash probably won't explain, because it's complicated and a permanent raw spot in his heart.

It may have arrived two days late, but it ARRIVED.

Chapter 10: Little Arcadia

Huh, I'd heard that this was originally three volumes instead of two. This must be the original volume break.

Ah, Milly and her giant family. Of which she's the youngest. Of course.

Staying up all night writing? No, I can't relate to that at all, why do you ask...

Awww, I love that her family adores her letters.

Good hell. That packet of letters she has is a BRICK.

LOL, Meryl not knowing what to write aside from, "It's dry." Girl. Your life is CRAZY. Tell them about that. Or just tell them about the mundane things, if you don't want them to worry. You can do it. I believe in you.

Oop, Vash's fangs are showing. Why ya gotta get him all flustered like that?

No wonder he's stressed. I'd be stressed if people were using me as a human shield while hurling insults at a gunman, too.

Don't put your finger on the trigger unless you're gonna shoot. That's Guns 101, Mr. Emo Gunman.

Bwa?! Sudden Insurance Girl Attack! x2!

This guy...

I love how Meryl is shouting technically true stuff about how dangerous Vash is while Vash himself is looking pathetic AF. I'm sure he's LOVING everything she's saying about how dangerous he is, too....

Yes, indeed, Old People. Meryl and Milly are definitely... different.

Poor Vash just hiding and gibbering in the bottom of the panel...

Vash may have soup brain, but Milly has ice cream brain. Which I guess is still a kind of soup if you put enough toppings in it and then let it melt for a bit.

"It's nothing really." Yep. Nothing. It just increases their frequency of getting into life-or-death situations and has them constantly having to do their best to mitigate both their charge (who is VERY good at both trouble and sneaking) and other people who aren't positively inclined toward their charge (understandable, but also it's a misunderstanding). NBD.

I like how, for once, Milly and Meryl are being propositioned for bodyguard work instead of Vash.

Aaaand now they're asking Vash.

That risk prevention policy sounds handy. I bet you can slide a lot of usually-unauthorized behavior under there.

Uhhhh... I feel like I should be extra-concerned about something if Vash is concerned about it.

Trees!

I do hope they find a way to weave this story into Stampede...

Plants (lower-case) belong to the people. PLANTS BELONG TO THE PEOPLE!!! Naturally.

Vash probably is genuinely impressed by all this.

That's it. That's the point of the story. That's what Vash is constantly trying to do. And biblically, something something mustard seed growing from being tiny-tiny to something huge and bountiful.

Ooh, rejecting people looking at the picture of his family. There's a story there. Especially considering that this chapter started with Milly writing letters to her own family.

Oh, gods. More Nebraskas....

#just because i know these stories from '98 doesn't mean i can't throw myself whole-heartedly into my first read of the full manga #trigunbookclub #trigun manga #volume 1 #pancake thoughts

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inklingofinspiration · 2 years

Text

a gradum ad lumen - part 3 .

i’ve been really eager to write this chapter, thomas has always been a personal favourite. again, if any of you have requests for things to happen in the coming chapters, then feel free to dm me!

___

Word count: 3.9k!

Warnings : general TMR TWS; blood, slight gore, disturbing ideas / images, and depicted injuries. mentions of drunken acts and alcohol in this specific chapter.

Pronouns used: they/them – gender-neutral.

Prompt(s) used: “Who knows. Maybe we’ve actually made it out of this hellhole after all.”

Pairing: TMR x GN!Reader.

Parts you may have missed: Part 1, Part 2.

A/N: i’m trying to make my writing style less choppy, so let me know how i do! I also might go canon divergent on a few minor things throughout the series, so don’t mind anything like that if you happen to notice.

___

At your words of greeting, the Greenie seemed to fall silent, a look of confusion churned by fear and terror passing over his features as he took in the sight of you and your outstretched hand.

“Didn’t realise I looked that bad,” You joked in a weak attempt to make him feel at least a bit better, but you knew how it went. The way that anxiety constantly bolted through each newcomer when they awoke in the Box, trapped and alone, only to be hauled out by a group of people they didn’t know, with no recollection of who they were or supposed to be. It was horrifying. So you quickly amended your statement with a nervous shuffled, “Right, uh. . . look, I know you must be confused, scared, all that, but we’re not here to hurt you, promise.”

Still, no response as he continued to practically gawk at you from where he had fallen on the ground.

By that point, Newt and Alby were already shoving through the crowd to reach you, Newt shouting an order that sent the rest of them scrambling, both of them stepping forward, but you subtly flicked your hand, silently telling them to hold off for a minute. The blonde seemed to understand, turning to Alby and whispering something in his ear before they both stopped and waited expectantly. Just then, a shaky, hoarse voice cut through the temporary silence, dragging your attention back to the Greenie as he finally spoke.

“Who are you people, and why don’t I remember anything?” He spat, seeming to have recovered from his fall and scrambling to his feet, the venom that laced his voice making it sound as though you were responsible for the missing pieces of his past life and identity. You merely offered a sympathetic smile.

“We’re in the same boat as you, Greenie.”

“Stop calling me that, I have a name.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you’d remembered it already,” You said apologetically, beckoning for him to continue. “What is it?”

That’s when he seemed to falter, clearly wracking his brain to try and remember a detail that so many seemed to take for granted; the Creators hadn’t even been decent enough to let you have that off the bat, and the thought of it was enough to make a bitter taste fill your mouth. When he went silent, you offered him the same smile you had a beat earlier,

“That’s alright. It comes back sooner or later; each of us had to wait a few hours or so before it came back to us. But, in the meantime, we’ll tell you ours instead.”

You waved Newt and Alby forward, your apologetic smile breaking into a grin as you gestured to them both, “That’s Newt. He’s Keeper of the Trackhoes – leader of people who play in the dirt and garden, basically, but also second in command. Alby here’s our beloved leader who keeps us from losing it and letting all this go down the drain.”

You swept your arms toward the Bloodhouse, Maze walls, Homestead and everything in between with a certain sense of pride; afterall, you’d been helping out to make the Glade what it was from the very start, give or take a few months.

“And I’m Y/N, but you can call me N/N if you’d like. We’ll show you the ropes in a bit.”

You wrapped up your speech with a punctuated bow, feeling Alby laugh quietly from beside you as you dusted your hands and glanced to Greenie. He had fallen silent once more, whether he was trying to take in everything and process it all or thought you were a nutjob was well past your realm of knowledge as he remained oblivious to the three pairs of eyes that were fixated on him. When his eyes finally circled back to you and the others behind you, he spoke with a specific uncertainty,

“Okay. . . so what’s with the walls?” He queried, mimicking your earlier gesture toward the hulking steel masses that closed in on you on all sides.

You were about to respond when Alby beat you to it, his patience clearly growing thin at all the questions.

“We’ll give you a tour tomorrow first thing, you can ask questions then.”

Newt nodded to back Alby up, offering you a sidelong glance as though he expected you to do the same, but you merely shrugged and continued your conversation with him.

“Can’t have you getting any special treatment,” You joked as you began walking toward the gardens, which stood behind the newbie. As you passed, your voice dropped to a whisper, praying to the gods above that the other two didn’t hear you, “If you have any questions, you can just come to me, Alby can be a bit impatient with the Greenbeans because no one was ever there to answer his questions. Was the first to arrive here and all.”

You watched him nod from your peripheral vision, to which you grinned before pausing a few steps away and turned back to face him and gesture from you to Newt, “Oh yeah, you’ll be workin’ in the gardens with us for the rest of the day, so feel free to tag along.”

—

“Here, you can take over chopping the wood.”

You were more than happy to pass the hatchet over to the unnamed male, only for him to stare blankly down at it as he turned it over in his hands, leaving you to grin sheepishly as you gently took it back into your own grasp.

“Right, sorry, keep forgetting. Uh. . . you can work with Newt to finish picking the tomatoes or start stacking the wood I’ve already cut,” You offered, leaning against the handle of the hatchet after you had stabbed it into the scarred tree trunk once more. Greenie looked from you to the second in command, raven coloured hair practically dancing in the wind that blew through the Glade every ten minutes or so before he began reaching for the first piece of wood that lay a few feet away from the worn soles of your boots without much of a response aside from that. You nodded before brandishing the hatchet and set another block of wood onto the top of the tree stump, giving the tool a subconscious twirl, the trick something you had picked up on when Minho had been chopping wood himself at least three months back.

You almost laughed at the thought, memories of how he’d groaned each time you failed to repeat his deft and fluid movements but continued helping you well past the dinner call until you could finally do it without a second thought. But your thoughts were quick to be interrupted by the same cutting and almost out of place voice that had your head turning in an instant, the hatchet easily splitting the awaiting log as you did so, despite the almost guaranteed danger that came with taking such a risk.

“How long have you been here?” The Greenie asked, hazel eyes fixated on your e/c irises, his figure crouched beside a few split pieces of wood, a hand planted in the soft, feathery grass still damp from yesterday evening’s storm and the other hovering over one of the aforementioned pieces of woods. You paused at the question, however, levelling him with a curious stare but answered without missing a beat.

“About two years or so, give or take a few months. Why?”

“Two years,” He repeated with a certain breathlessness, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, but was quick to shoot a rebound question. “You still haven’t found a way out? Of the Maze, I mean.”

You shook your head, “It’s a work in progress, but the Runners go out each morning and dedicate themselves to tracking the movements of the walls, see if anything new’s appeared.”

“Runners?”

“Yeah, you’ll see them take off tomorrow during your tour, maybe even see them come back tonight during the bonfire if you’re lucky.”

“Do you guys usually have bonfires?”

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you,” You teased, rolling your shoulders back and stifling a yawn before you continued. “We have ‘em once a month, helps keep spirits up around here. You’ll see why when it happens; dinner should be called in an hour or two, so we’ll be lighting the fire sooner or later. You’ll get introduced to everyone there.”

Another nod from him, “Thanks.”

You happily returned the gesture with a dismissive wave of your hand before turning back to the last few pieces of wood, the sun beating down pleasantly on the back of your neck as the afternoon slowly began to melt away into the cool weather of the early evening.

—

“My back feels like it’s about to bloody split in half,” Newt muttered from beside you as you walked with him and the Greenie flanking you, each of you carrying a plate of dinner toward the bonfire pit where Builders had already begun dragging the piles of wood you had chopped and throwing them in a haphazard heap, months of built up ash and char fluttering up visibly through the practically sparking night air as you approached the gathering crowd with your typical grin. You spared a glance over your shoulder at Newt’s comment, the urge to laugh only increasing at the incredulous look he shot you at your expression.

“Oh yeah, I keep forgetting about your chronic back pain, old man,” You teased, hearing him huff from behind you before you finally reached a log that wasn’t swarming with a dozen or so Gladers, your ankle practically bursting in relief at the sight. “You think Minho’ll actually stay awake for this one, or he’ll pass out mid-drink like last time?”

The three of you settled into the grass in front of the log a beat later, watching as someone lit a match with relative ease and tossed it onto the logs wetted with whatever flammable drink Gally had whipped up this time around. You were entranced as your eyes remained fixated at the seemingly alive flames, brilliant autumn golds and oranges flickering and lapping at the air, shadows dancing in their wake and stretching to touch the glowing constellations embedded into the black velvet of the sky, missing Newt’s response under the roar of flames and the ravenette seated beside you finally joining the conversation.

“Who’s Minho?” He asked, looking up momentarily in your and Newt’s direction rather than his dinner of bread and casserole that Frypan had seemed particularly proud of when he’d been dishing it out. Newt gestured for you to explain as someone called out to him, dragging him into a separate conversation – a debate about whether they should wait for the Runners to return before passing out drinks from the looks of it.

“I envy your existence,” You joked, settling your back against the log behind you and momentarily staring off at the fire once more before returning to the conversation with a bemused laugh. “He’s, uh, Keeper of the Runners; you’ll know him when ya’ see him. A bit tall, as egotistical as they come, looks like he uses the world’s supply of hair gel each morning. The entire deal.”

At his confused stare, you elaborated.

“If you’re a Keeper, then you lead a certain group. I can’t tell you too much, otherwise Alby’d skin you and me both, but he’s in charge of the whole running deal.”

He seemed satisfied with your response, nodding once more and falling silent suddenly as his eyes trailed after something past the enrapturing glow of the fire; you followed his gaze only to see the Runners jogging through the East Door as if on cue, Minho at the head of the pack. Newt had just finished settling the argument (if they began passing out drinks that instant, there wouldn’t even be any left for the Runners to begin with, had been the conclusion) when he caught sight of Minho as well.

“There the bloody shank is,” He said after a moment, clearly bemused at the rather irritated look on the Asian’s face as he took in the sight of the bonfire that had started without him. You shouldered Newt playfully, which he easily returned, shaking your head and waving the Keeper over once he got close enough.

Minho’s finch coloured irises flicked to you the instant you raised your hand to him, despite the distance and veered from his path to the Maproom, clearly more than content to take the detour to put off the dreaded process of drawing up the maps of the day for at least a little longer. He almost seemed ethereal as he slowed to walk, the firelight bathing him in a vermillion-tinged gold light that seemed to morph to his figure when he finally halted beside you, his typical smirk instantly taking residence on his features as he observed the three of you.

“Look at you, being all nice and sweet and fetching me dinner,” He teased by way of a proper greeting, reaching over your shoulder and nearly snatching up the untouched plate of food that rested on your lap. As soon as you realised it, though, you swatted at his hand with a scoff.

“You wish, slinthead. You haven’t even introduced yourself to the Greenie.”

Your running partner pinned the aforementioned male with an almost analytical stare that the other had no issue returning, the tension in response to that nearly palpable and crackling. You glanced back to Newt, who only rolled his eyes in an exasperated manner, turning back to his meal as though he thought they’d sort it out without a fist fight. You sighed at his lack of aid, but were quick to handle it yourself, hitting Minho’s side with enough force to tear his attention away from his seemingly new opposer, however begrudgingly he had done so.

“Play nice,” You chided, which made him laugh as he began jogging once more, shooting a final riposte over his shoulder before you were out of earshot.

“In your dreams.”

The Greenie spoke up once more, settling himself back into a more comfortable position as he muttered into his food, “What was his deal.”

It was more of a rhetoric than anything, but you snorted at the comment.

“He’s a bit of an ass sometimes, but he’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“Language,” Newt warned from your opposite side, which made you pass the ravenette a joking eye roll. “Minho’s enough of a hassle in that department, I don’t need you there too.”

—

Minho had joined your pleasant trio half an hour earlier, you, Newt, and him drifting in and out of conversation, you leaning in Thomas’ direction every so often to fill him in on parts of the Glade that were mentioned when his face twisted up into a confused expression. He remained quiet for the most part, the only interaction he seemed to have over that course of time was responding to you and meeting each of Minho’s glares he shot his way. There wasn’t much you could do to stop it, save for the occasional heel of your boot to the Runner’s shin, the agitated look that passed over him enough to save you and Newt a few exasperated eyerolls.

You two had just finished discussing what would be done in the Glade tomorrow, your activities tailored to accommodate your injured ankle and all, when Alby waved Newt over from the other side of the bonfire. The leader was clearly wasted, if not damn near close to; his shouts to the blonde were slurred, his steps more akin to stumbles that nearly sent him tumbling into the fire as he stepped too close, and just the sight was enough to make you laugh and offer Newt a pat on the shoulder.

“Have fun, don’t end up like him,” You teased as he swatted your hand away and stood up, clearly dreaded whatever lay in store for him next before he lifted his hand in farewell, disappearing in the glow of flickering orange-gold soon after.

“So, has Greenie here remembered his name yet, or is he still sulking like a sissy about it?” Minho commented with a certain amount of venom that made you wince. You were about to ask why he was being so short when you took a glance around him and saw the mason jars scattered around him.

Of course he was planning on not remembering anything about the next few hours.

You had never really been a big fan of drinking, whether it be the rancid taste of Gally’s godawful brews or the thought of a pounding headache the day after. So you settled for whatever Fry kept stashed in the back of the fridge for you, and you were more than content to have that instead. But no matter how much you wished you could go, settle down into one of the worn stools that lined the counter of the kitchen and get away from all the chaos, it was more than evident that you couldn’t leave the two alone. Who knew what could happen with Minho’s short temper and the Greenie’s defensive responses.

You elbowed the Keeper harshly in the stomach, your words coming out as more of a hiss than anything, “Slim it, Minho. You were in the same position a few years back.”

He only snorted in response, looking about ready to reach across the log and attempt to strangle the ravenette, bringing the jar in his hand to his lips once more, only for you to snatch it out of his hands before he could take another drink and handed it off to a passing Glader. He was about to protest when you shot him a glare that nearly made him recoil, reduced to mutters as his arms folded across his chest and he settled against the back of the log.

“He’ll. . . warm up to you eventually,” you offered wryly, almost laughing at the Greenie’s unsure expression when a shout rang across the bonfire. You didn’t even have to turn around to know what was coming next, especially not with the cheering that erupted not a moment after Gally called out to him, footsteps audible as they disturbed the grass underfoot.

“Hey, Greenie, how about I give you a preview of what you’ll be seein’ a whole lot of in the future, huh? As a Slopper, y’know,” He remarked once within appropriate earshot, stopping just a few feet from where your legs were stretched out. And as though he read your mind, he spared you a glance before settling his attention fully on you, “Unless you wanna go first.”

You scoffed at that, rolling your shoulders back experimentally and narrowing your eyes as you met his gaze without missing a beat, “Yeah? You want a repeat of last time?”

“This could be different. But if you chicken out, I get that.”

The taunt did nothing to infuriate you, something you dismissed with a disparaging wave of your hand before offering the Greenie a sidelong glance and sighing. The moment you wordlessly climbed to your feet, sending a nod to Thomas and a warning glare Minho’s way, the boys that had followed after Gally erupted into cheers, the aforementioned Builder gesturing for you to lead the way to the hastily drawn circle that they called the ‘fighting ring’. It seemed childish, the idea of essentially cat-fighting with a bunch of drunken teenagers, but you could put on a show if that’s what they wanted.

“We’ll let good old Clint give us the countdown, since you already know the rules,” Gally supplied, nodding off to the Med-jack, who shot him a thumbs up as the Keeper began stretching out his arms, making more of a show out of it than anything. A meagre eye roll was elicited on your end, taking up a spot on the opposite side of the circle from Gally, shuffling back and to the side a few paces to position yourself a bit more to your convenience; your arms hung loosely at your sides with your legs staggered just behind one another, allowing for a flexible but firm stance in preparation of the hopefully quick fight.

It was known that you were more than knowledgeable in combat techniques, something that was a bit hard to not be after having been in the Glade for as long as you had been. And perhaps your regular fights with Minho played a small part in it as well, but you were practically the crowned ruler in that aspect among the Gladers. Gally just seemed to have the constant and compulsive urge to continuously one up and belittle your every move, so you were sure to humour it every once in a while.

As the Med-jack’s voice rang clear through the otherwise silent air, you felt yourself stiffen slightly, adrenaline already beginning to course through you at the sound,

“Three,”

“Two,

“One!”

Clint couldn’t even properly finish before Gally leapt up and sprang directly for you, determination limning his every move as he raced toward you; he was frighteningly fast for his size, you seemed to note every time you were faced against him. But you didn’t allow it to deter you much, steeling yourself against the ebbing anxiety that crackled within your chest, pivoting on your heel and practically dancing just out of his reach as he attempted to swing a hook for your jaw. Your boots stirred up dust in your wake, movements light and swift, calculated as you leapt back once more, the Keeper seeming to grow frustrated as each of his blows failed to connect.

Finally, you caught sight of an opening when he drew back his fist and aimed for your stomach, allowing you ample time to parry his blow by meeting it with your forearm and shoving it away from you before grabbing his wrist and yanking him forward. The unexpected contact left him stunned for a moment, which you took advantage of mercilessly, quick to sidestep behind him and pin that same arm behind his back, twisting hard and fast until you heard him grunt in pain.

He practically flowed at your mercy as you shoved him to the ground stomach first, releasing your hold on him a second later as Clint announced you the winner at Gally’s struggling state to recover.

Once more, cheers erupted from all around you, and you couldn’t help the exasperated eye roll and grin that overtook your features, waving with a laugh as you stepped out of the ring before Gally could challenge you any further, a few of the Gladers managing to slap you on the back in encouragement as you passed. Through the parting sea of bodies, you made your way back toward your original spot between Minho and Thomas, the two clearly doing their best to ignore the other’s presence, but both perking up as they caught sight of you.

“Well? Did you win?” Minho slurred, somehow in an even more drunken state than he had been in to begin with, which only made you roll your eyes for the nth time that night, nodding nevertheless. You turned your attention to Thomas, holding your breath as you questioned him with an almost irritated tone,

“You bloody drunk too?”

He shook his head.

“Wonderful,” You clasped a hand over his shoulder, gesturing for him to follow you as you both climbed to your feet and began walking away from the roar of the ongoing bonfire, ignoring Minho’s protests for you to stay all the while, “Let’s get you settled then, hm?”

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