#and they can hardly even concentrate on coming to terms with their own struggles and suffering

[wyvernquill]

The mental imagine of the other Anastasia endless gathering together for the first time after the overthrowment. Seeing the damage, the new despair, and the moment of comfort in the pain when they all come together…..and the cold realization that of the empty space within them. What were their reactions, when, for their one of their own was beyond their reach?

Thank you for the ask! I'm not going to write this one out fully, I don't think, since the core of the story will be mostly the POVs of Hob, Dream, and Gilbert - so here's a little summary of what the Endless are dealing with at the time!

(Masterpost for the AU is here - and tagging @10moonymhrivertam, @martybaker and @globglobglobglobob!)

At first, the Endless all hope Destiny can provide them with some guidance, but there are only scraps and single pages of his book left, and he seems disorientated, almost helpless, without it.

Even though Death is only the second-oldest, she more or less takes on a head-of-the-family position (in part because Destiny really isn't up to the task at the moment, though the two often sit together and try to piece something together from the scraps of his book). She's the one to call them all together, and tries her best to ensure they don't lose hope/are safe from further attacks.

Desire is absolutely distraught. In this AU, they didn't have a hand in Dream's fishbowling and weren't vortex-plotting, so this came completely out of the blue for them. They might've contemplated a bit of scheming here and there in the past but - they never would've wanted anything like this, and the loss of their realm and powers is hitting them hard. (Though not as hard as the loss of their twin's past aspect, of course...) I did give them a family in Unity as their consort and Rose and Jed as their children, because I thought it would be sweet, so that's something that is keeping them at least a little more stable.

Despair's new form... struggles. Everyone fusses over her, even though, in this situation, she's probably doing better than the rest of them - they're all terribly close to despairing, after all, and though she has the memories of her past self, she has never really known any other state of affairs... Still, an Endless being "reborn" this way isn't an easy process even under the best of circumstances, and hers were the very worst.

Delight was driven to become Delirium by the whole affair (you can tell I'm focusing everything bad that happened to the Endless ever onto this one point in time) and is being fussed over just as much as Despair. Her grasp on reality is tenuous at best, and it frustrates her siblings at times - but just as often it gives them some solace when Delirium talks about something silly and nonsensical, or creates something colourful just because she can.

And then, there's the two missing brothers, of course.

Destruction ran away. He's still in existence and not trapped by humans, they know that much, but he refuses to meet up with the rest of them again. (In part because he blames himself for the destruction wrought upon his siblings, and believes they would be better off without him.) They miss him, but have accepted his choice.

Dream, however... they worry about Dream, and feel his absence keenly. They have no word of him, nothing but rumours and stories among the humans, about one of the Endless bound and turned human, and finally killed in that form. They're horrified by the thought of such a thing happening to one of their own, and only moreso that it could've happened to Dream. Many creatures of the destroyed Dreaming have attempted to contact the Endless for help, for any word of their lord... but there's nothing. With their limited powers, with the danger humanity still poses, the Endless can't very well search for Dream - hence why Death has offered the reward of immortality for his safe return. It's the one thing she could think of doing, and it's half to maintain some sense of hope among her siblings (and for herself), to keep the possibility of Dream still being out there alive...

The first time they all sit together Afterwards is especially horrible. Destiny barely a shade of himself, a new Despair, Delirium in the place of Delight - and two empty seats. "Destruction... isn't coming," Death then says, in answer to an unspoken question among them. "Has anyone heard from Dream?" Silence. Endless eyes glancing back and forth among each other, unease only increasing as nobody is speaking. A realisation dawning, in that silence. The sudden quiet understanding that they've lost even more than previously thought...

(Little bonus info I've already put into a snippet I'm working on: the Endless siblings have also been changed by the loss of their powers in some subtle ways, have become a little human-like in some minor aspects. Some need to eat, others need to thermoregulate, or to sleep. It's distressing, the keen awareness of how low they have been brought, even as they are all relatively certain they will regain their usual powers/realms/domains/abilities eventually. They are Endless, after all. Humanity might have torn them down for now, but they have all the time in the world to recover... Hence why the thought of Dream actually being dead and destroyed entirely frightens them a great deal. The thought that this is something that will remain an empty space among them, something that can never return even remotely to how things once were...)

#WyAnswers #WyWrites #anastasia dreamling au #the sandman #sandman comic spoilers #(not really but close enough to tag it to be sure) #poor Endless siblings they're really going through it #and they can hardly even concentrate on coming to terms with their own struggles and suffering #because there's always someone else to worry about too #a sibling that needs looking after #but at least they have each other #or... most of each other.......

[bellasgreensweater]

✨Why I Think Bella Swan Is On The Autism Spectrum ✨

In this post I’m going to talk about why I personally believe that Bella Swan is autistic. As an autistic person myself, I really relate to Bella and I see a lot of autistic traits in her.

Disclaimer: This is just a headcanon- I don’t think Stephenie Meyer intentionally wrote Bella as autistic, and she or the movie producers never confirmed it, so I’m not saying to everyone that she is CONFIRMED to be autistic and that every one has to see her that way, I’m just saying that I personally think she is, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Autistic people hardly have any representation in the media, and with the representation that we do have, it is almost always stereotypical, inaccurate and offensive. You do not have to agree with me on this, but just please be respectful in the comments and don’t hate :)

Ok let’s go:

1. She always felt different from everyone/she felt like nobody truly understood her and that she never really understood anyone either: this is what basically all autistic people feel, myself included. Feeling like nobody understands the way your brain works and the way you see the world. (And this is true, because autistic people do see the world differently than non- autistic people and autistic peoples brains are wired differently from non- autistic brains). Bella mentions this multiple times in the books and movies, at one point in the first book in the car with Edward, she tells him that she thinks he can’t read her mind because they’re a probably a glitch in her brain and that it’s not like other people’s. There is also this quote from the 1st chapter of twilight which sums up how she feels: “ Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn’t just physically that I’d never fit in. And if I couldn’t find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn’t relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn’t relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain”.

2. Her motor skills: She’s constantly tripping over her own feet, has bad balance, doesn’t realize that she’s walking into things, constantly dropping things ect, a common thing for autistic people is to have poor motor skills and find it hard to navigate their body.

Another disclaimer about autism: not ever autistic person is the exact same, every autistic person expresses their autism in a slightly different way, for example, some autistic people are overly sensitive to sound, and some are under-sensitive to it, these are just the specific things I’ve noticed for Bella in this post, it’s not supposed to be a generalization of autism in any way! :)

3. Social disinterest and difficultly: all throughout her childhood and her time in forks, she wasn’t very interested in making friends or hanging out or going to parties, and she found that she could never make friends with someone easily, she just never fully clicked with someone. She did have some very nice friends in forks, however she never related to them too well or was very attached to them.

4. Dresses for comfort and not fashion: Bella typically dresses in what feels most comfortable for her, not what is the most fashionable thing, this is a common thing with autism. A lot of autistic people like myself are quite sensitive to clothing and fabric and will not tolerate uncomfortable clothing.

5. Limited interests/special interests: Bella doesn’t really have many interests, but the ones she does have, she’s very passionate about. A special interest is an autism-specific term used to describe interests and hobbies that autistic people have that are very important to them. They help regulate emotions, calm people down, provide escapism ect. Autistic people can hyper fixate on these interests for hours and hours and not get bored, they can get so engrossed that they forget to do basic tasks to take care of themselves like drinking or going to the bathroom. These interests can last for years, sometimes a lifetime and they are very important to autistics. Bella swans special interests would be reading, wuthering heights, and vampires. Bella says in midnight sun that she has loved reading all her life and it is one of the few things that bring her intense joy. She said she could read for hours at a time and would try to sneak books into her lessons and read any chance she could get. Bella says that her favorite book is wuthering heights and she has read it so many times that it is beaten up beyond repair and the spine is so cracked that the book lays flat. This would clearly be her special interest. Her other special interest is clearly vampires.

6. Burnouts and meltdowns when Edward leaves: when Edward left in new moon, Bella obviously fell into a huge depression, but I also think she fell into an autistic burnout (if you don’t know what that is pls research or ask me cause this post is already too goddamn long). And in eclipse, when Edward leaves to go home in the afternoon or to go hunting, she can barely focus without him and gets very anxious (this is obviously because she loves him and is literally obsessed with him lol, but I also think it could be a meltdown from separation anxiety and also a change in routine (a lot of autistics get very upset when their usual routine is disrupted or changed))

7. Sensitive to sounds: In the book, often Bella cannot concentrate or fall asleep because of little sounds like the rain, sometimes it takes ages for her to sleep because the rain or tapping is too distracting. (This is a common autistic struggle).

8. Stims & facial twitches & stuttering: in the movie, she is constantly stuttering over her words, and her face and body twitches a lot. She also stims a lot in the book by playing with her hair or sleeves or the zip of her jacket, or her hands or edwards hands. She also covers some of her face with her hair, this could be to do with sensory overload, seeing too much in her field of vision may be overwhelming for her, like a lot of autistics.

9. Trouble expressing feelings/ thoughts: bella struggles a lot sometimes with communication and telling people how she feels. You can see this in her relationship with Charlie. They both love eachother very much but they never say it and when they do it comes out very awkward and sometimes they use the wrong words. You can also see this when she is hesitant to tell Edward in eclipse when she doesn’t want him to leave for the fight, it takes her ages to work up to telling someone how she feels. She also tends to be quite private. This is common for some autistics to feel.

10. Sensory experiences: bella loves the sun and heat, she says that she loves feeling the sun seep into her skin- a lot of autistics feel the sensory world very strongly and love certain sensations and detest others. When Bella moves to forks, she hates the sudden change in weather and gets anxious and upset at the feel of the cold, and the rain against her skin. This links back to my other point where I was talking about how autistics fear sudden changes in routine. Bella is very relieved when there’s a sunny day in forks and goes and sits outside, savouring the weather which reminds her of home.

11. Not too concerned with how she looks: obviously not every autistic person is like this, but quite a few autistics don’t really focus on how they look/present and what they wear. They don’t really know about the social norms and what other people wear so they do what they want. This is something I often see in Bella in the books especially.

12. More quiet/ reserved and socially withdrawn and awkward: this is basically self explanatory. Bella is very well known for this. I touch a bit more on this in point 3.

If you made it this far then thank you so much! This took a long ass time to write and I’ve been thinking of making this post for months. There are more things that make me headcanon her as autistic, but these are just from the top of my head. When I re-read the series (for like the 100th time lol) later this year, I’ll annotate the book so that I can update this post in the future with more supporting this).

Again this is just my opinion and my personal headcanon, it is not factual (but I’d obviously want it to be canon) so please no hate :)

If you have any more things to add on then please do!! I’d love to hear your thoughts!

#twilight #twilight saga #bellaswan #twilightrenaissance #edwardcullen #bellaswanautistic #autism #autismawareness #actuallyautistic #autistic #neurodivergent #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #midnight sun #smeyer

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

SAME OLD LOKI ; PART 6 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k (oops) SUMMARY: You find yourself venturing deeper into finding the Loki variant on the loose with the help of Mobius and Loki while maintaining your temper around the God of mischief and fighting with your own demons. A/N: Downtime apparently lasted for more than a week. I had absolutely no motivation to write but I eventually came around. There’s alot going on in this. Please tell me what you think, what you love, hate and look forward to. Thank you so much for showing so much love to d&m. gif from this gifset by @sersi WARNINGS: Swearing. Imagery relating to death (i think?). You and Loki’s relationship fluctuating like the goddamn economy. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Blue. Your flight suit is blue.

Your eyes sting with worry, ticking to a pair of hands buckling the straps that lay across your chest. A man secures it tightly, forcing your back against the cockpit chair. Your gaze drifts to the concentric steel rings of yellow, red, and white that stretch overhead and around you—being suspended within a 3-axis gimbal sends another churning sensation within your abdomen.

You hear a voice. It courses through the room and vibrates within your ears like fluttering echoes in a tunnel. It’s a man. He calls out your name from below.

“You ready?”

In your periphery, you see him, tall with slicked-back hair, standing with other men that adorn similar flight suits of blue. You nod, inhaling deeply as your hands reach for the controls. Suddenly, a metallic clang echoes through the room and the machine whirrs to life. The rings begin spinning in tandem, tossing your body in all directions. Your grip tightens around the controls, clicking with every push and pull as you struggle to analyze the spin. But, the machine spins faster.

Faster and faster and faster.

The machine continues to whirr. Your hands are still shifting the controls.

Faster and faster and faster.

Your eyes begin to droop, nausea taking hold of your body.

Faster and faster and faster.

You only hear your breaths; every inhale and exhale—they're loud.

Faster and faster and faster.

Too fast.

Stop.

...

Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps. Not the clicks of the controls. You hear them clicking against tile floors from afar. From darkness, your eyes meet the color brown, shiny and polished—it’s wooden. The sound of the vast building’s acoustics hum in tune with the occasional chatter and echoing thump. You recognize the ambiance and it comforts your hasty thoughts as your brain tries to wreck itself in comprehending your current surroundings.

It’s one of those dreams again. The ones that kept you awake at night since the Sakaar incident, as if reliving the memories of another life. It isn’t yours but the realism to it makes it so complex that your brain cannot even comprehend the experiences during these dreams that occur.

To see, touch, hear, smell, and taste. Do dreams exceed the limit of disconnection and logic? Are dreams to be so immersive that it feels more like a memory, an echo of the past?

Through the turmoil of parsing between what’s real and what’s not, a tap on your shoulder hauls you back to reality. You turn to see Mobius, looking ridiculously exhilarated. Behind him lingers an amused Loki, hands tugging into the pockets of his jacket. The analyst says your name with a tone of equal exuberance to his manner.

“I thought I’d find you here. Do you always sleep at the archives?”

You snort, seizing yourself up as you wipe your face with your palm in hopes of feeling slightly more awake and alive than you were before. “No. Sometimes, I sleep at my desk too.”

Exhausted and sarcastic. Typical you.

Mobius rounds the table to sit beside you, gesturing Loki to his previous spot before he got up and ran away from you without any explanation. He shoots you a smile, lips pressed together, almost hesitant to sit across from you. You watch him through narrowed eyes as you address him with folded arms. “And here you are, back here again.”

Loki cannot fight the growing grin upon his lips, knowing all too well that you're referring to how he led you into an unnecessary chase down the corridors of the TVA for the sake of his entertainment. Well, it was not unnecessary. Things were turning out to be a bore and with the sudden thought of a proposition to help with his case, it doesn’t mean he has to drag out the fun of irritating the hell out of everyone else.

And you are not a bore.

-

“Loki! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

You’re outright screaming at him but his long legs only stride faster than yours could handle, slumber still clinging to your face like a thick, waxen mask. He’s so quick, weaving through tangerine hallways, skidding across the tiled floors.

He saunters down the hall with quick feet but doesn’t sprint, clever enough not to draw any attention.

He ought to answer you. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he flashes you a cheeky smile. He swears he saw flames burning in your eyes for a moment.

As you wind another corner, you already see him making one last quick dart through the elevator doors that slide open as it dings unceremoniously. Through your wide-eyed gaze, you signal him with eyes that carry a warning.

“Don’t you dare close that fucking door.” you snarl, voice booming from down the hallway and so does the clicking of the heels of your Oxford shoes as you march towards him like you’re on the hunt for prey.

Loki jams his finger onto the button to close the doors, unable to wipe off his grin. “Don’t you trust me?” is all he says to you, sending you a wink through the closing gap of the elevator doors as he raises his palm to wave you farewell.

-

You decided Loki wasn’t worth the time he has already taken from your assigned paperwork. So, you returned to your desk with a trace of bitterness in your tongue while attempting to suppress the regret for actually feeling sorry for Loki. Only because you know how it is like to be alone.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. He makes you think he is capable of change, capable of compassion. He makes you think he cares from the way he looks at you with those eyes that flicker the spark of hope in you. This Loki is the same old Loki.

Well, maybe the one in Sakaar had a good chance of earning your trust. But that’s gone now.

You shift in your seat, elbows now leaning against the edge of the table. “And to answer your question, no. I do not trust you. And I never will.”

Famous last words of the variant turned analyst.

Nobody trusts you either.

Except for the grey-haired analyst with the obsession for jet skis and you never understood why. Maybe, it’s because you’re the only one who is willing to put up with his ramblings.

Mobius eyes you and Loki’s interaction as the two of you seem to fall into the rhythm of making things even more complex than it appears. It's all part of his grand plan. Mobius knows you well enough to know you are possibly enjoying Loki's company no matter how much he irritates you. And Loki, it's clear how he admires you and how you constantly surprise him every time he crosses paths with you.

“What would I ever do without your trust?” the God sneers, each articulation of every word wrapped in mockery paired with dramatically placing his hand to his heart. Your eye twitches, the spitfire of your personality ready to fire back with a probable nasty insult. Yet, Mobius places his hand on your shoulder, while the other outstretched towards Loki as if trying to keep the two of you apart.

“Okay, okay. No need to get all riled up now. We only just had a breakthrough in the case, and I’m not letting you kill each other just yet.”

Your anger seems to immediately wash away, replaced by curiosity. You blink at your colleague. “Breakthrough?”

“Yes, and it was surprisingly Loki’s theory. Now—”

“Why do I smell...sulfur?”

You cut his sentence short as a strong whiff of a reeked scent began to descend upon you, billowing in the air. You inhale deeply, brows furrowing in concentration and confusion. An overpowering scent of a decaying body, faint but strong enough to seem out of the ordinary. The archives never smell rotten, always floor polish. Mobius and Loki share a look. Mobius is the one to speak up, attempting to distract you from your sudden strong sense of smell. “Sulfur? What, like when there’s a demonic manifestation? I mean, we are in the presence of Loki—”

“You went to Pompeii, didn’t you?”

In all of the time he has spent with Mobius who had a constant laid-back and confident nature to him, he has never seen him so red in the face. As the situation unfolds, he wonders why Mobius has made it a point to hide that information with so much eagerness which now has proved to be useless. You’re not only intelligent but also quick—only in terms of the mind rather than your physical capabilities.

You can hardly run, but your brain outshines everyone else he has met in the TVA.

Mobius is now waiting for the imminent chaos and mayhem you’re about to bring. You’re going to call him insane like every other time he has suggested an out-of-the-ordinary idea. Causing a scene is one of your talents. He has his hand on your shoulder again.

“You hate Pompeii, Mobius. Why the hell would bring him—Wait.” Your eyes are wide and blinking. “You went to Pompeii. Alone. I know that from the look on your faces. Which means no reset charge...No Nexus event.” You pause, pursing your lips. Then, you avert your gaze to Loki who watches you curiously. “Are you suggesting the variant is hiding in apocalypses?”

Mobius’ laugh comes off like a puff of air. He pats you on the back like a proud uncle. “Back on the game, Agent!”

Loki is slightly impressed. Only slightly.

“Okay, you two stay here. I’ll go get the files. Great work, you two.” Mobius gestures to the both of you with an outstretched index finger, grin so wide as he scurries off. Mobius loves a good case, especially when there’s a breakthrough. And with you finally familiarizing yourself with working together with Loki, everything is finally starting to look up.

The two of you end up finding each other’s gaze and for the first time, you smile at him. It’s small but genuine.

“You know you could have told me.”

“I would have, but you don’t trust me, remember?”

You hum, raising a brow. “And running away was supposed to gain my trust?”

Loki chuckles, eyes flicking to the table. “I never said anything about gaining your trust.”

Your smile grows wider, and Loki decides how he prefers you like this—relaxed and amused.

He oddly sees his mother in you. It’s the way you look at him. Like you know him.

Right, you have met him. Once.

“What was I like? The one you met at Sakaar.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his sudden question that hasn’t got to do with insinuating you.

“The same as you—barely tolerable,” you say tightly, heaving a sharp exhale. ”Just…a lot sadder.”

You hadn’t mentioned how he willingly helped escape your execution because a part of you still believes it all to be a lie. The TVA has your complete fidelity but ever since the Sakaar incident, your trust in the way the system works has been swayed. After years of being trapped in your mind, the question of whether your capabilities in logic have been damaged due to loneliness still begs. Judge Renslayer believes in your incompetence but you believe she hides a secret about the Time Keepers.

The three beings, creator of the TVA, personally convicted you as innocent, allowing you to maintain your job. Nothing of this makes sense.

Maybe Judge Renslayer lost all her faith in you, her second-best analyst because your Nexus event relates to Loki. The one variant that has been causing havoc to the Sacred Timeline. And this Loki, the one that seems to be very curious about your place in the TVA and the Time Keepers, is no different than the others.

You find yourself feeling an uncalled sense of sadness that dwells in your chest at the thought of leaving the only friendship you secretly wished to have maintained back at Sakaar. Before you let yourself fall into the abyss of melancholic wishful thinking, you swiftly direct the conversation elsewhere.

"I’m sorry Mobius referred to you as the devil,” you say coyly. “You really aren’t.”

Loki, who seems to catch on with the sarcastic tone of your voice, leans farther into his seat. “Really?”

A smirk returns to your face. “You're worse than the devil." He snorts, noticing the vague hint of crimson growing upon your cheeks and how your eyes seem to crinkle a little more than usual.

He finds himself swallowing under your stare, fiddling his fingers in an attempt to calm his sudden erratic heartbeat. A stutter under your now kind gaze—no one ever stares at him with a smile. "You are not the first to say that."

There’s another pause; Loki’s face is set with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest in remembrance of how you’re not the first to have treated him the way you did. He’s dangerous but, there’s no reason for animosity. Yet, it all boils down to the lives he has willingly taken. It doesn’t differentiate him from the rest of the TVA.

Mysterious variant.

The devil is always in the details.

Strangely, the work of the devil may prove to be useful in times of cul-de-sacs as an idea comes to mind. “I think...I think I know where you’re at right now.” Your voice is light, distracted by your now running thoughts. You’re on your feet, chair squeaking as you push it back. Your pen is in your grasp and you wave it in the air, reflecting the gears that turn at high speed within your brain.

Frankly, you’re not making any sense. Loki furrows his brows, slowly standing. “What do you mean? I’m right here—"

“No. The other one. The variant. And it has to do with gum.”

You’re still not making sense and it’s clear that in your eyes, he is invisible. You’re the only one in that frenzied mind of yours.

“What?”

You don’t answer him, feet quickly bringing you down the passageway along the vast rows of shelves that stretch along with the floor’s pristine balcony of white and the two of you are back to playing chase and run. Only this time, the roles are reversed.

-

Mission Haven Hills: not successful.

Really not successful. Far from successful.

You witnessed the doom of bombing the Sacred Timeline, firsthand. Employees scramble at the controls as you watch the screen that looms over the control room. What was once a single line, running along with time has now grown like a tree with fruits of chaos, caused by Nexus events scattered across time and places.

You wished the dust would settle and this was all simply a dream but you realize this was his plan all along.

Bomb the timeline. Distract the TVA.

There is one thing you know about Loki. He is moved by revenge and resentment.

As if you possess some sort of telepsychic powers, a part of you feels that danger itself is within the vicinity of the TVA. The variant is here, you just know it.

You hope Mobius is okay.

Scurrying down the winding hallways, past the hurried time hunters, and past the time theaters, you find yourself heading towards the golden doors of the Time Keepers’ chambers. In a time of uncertainty, your gut is your only source of guidance.

At the end of the hallway, you see bodies on the ground, nearly lifeless—time hunters, either unarmed or batons missing. You plucked one of the sizzling batons from the ground as you cautiously stepped around the laying bodies. You clutch it tightly to calm the blood rushing to your head, pounding along with your heartbeat as you take on the venture into the foyer of the grand chambers with secrets not wanting to be unveiled.

You round the corner, following the wooden panels for walls laid along the entrance. The glowing end of the baton within your grasp reflects off the black porcelain tiles beneath your careful feet. You hear voices, grunts, and shouting as if in combat.

Then, you see them. Loki in his variant jacket and a woman with locks of blonde and streaks of black. She adorns a headpiece of golden horns—one broken off.

Isn't Loki supposed to be at Haven Hills?

Recognizing the presence of another, the two turn to you, daggers still held to each other's throats. Loki eyes you with wide eyes, a silent plea whether to help or stand down, you’re unsure. Your gaze shifts to the woman once more who watches you with an equal resemblance to the other.

Then, it hits you. You recognize the dark emerald cloak she wears. You know exactly who she is. You just never thought it would be a she.

“You!” Your exclamation is bitter, and it’s directed towards the woman who seems to be strangely expectant of your remark as if she already knows who you are. She is L1190, a Loki variant. The one who slashed you with the TVA’s baton, scaring your left cheek. The one who hauled you through the time door and left you stranded in Sakaar for thousands of years.

You know exactly what she has done. She knows what she has done.

“You did this to me!” you gesture to the scar on your left cheek, eyes fixated solely on her, nearing the two with caution. You’re angry. Very angry. All pent-up rage begging to be set free.

Before Loki could even perceive the current situation he landed in between two women who very much want him dead, you’re already swinging the baton to her face with full force but she blocks it with her sword but slightly staggers in her step. You glare at her. She seems a little surprised. In an instant, you take a step back and go for another strike to her rib, but she blocks you again, sliding away and dodging your hit by a mere second. You growl out of frustration, seething through your teeth, and without hesitation, you strike again. The fight goes on—strike, block, strike, dodge. And with every blow, your intensity escalates, each a little harder than the one before. Loki stands there, watching, speechless and frozen.

You strike again, the baton crackling less than an inch away from her face but she dodges just in time, swinging her sword across your face. It grazes your cheek, now a gash of crimson on top of your scar, and with the sudden blow of searing pain, you lose your balance.

The variant spins into a kick that sweeps your legs out from under, knocking you hard onto the ground. The baton rolls out from your grip. Your hand flies to the gash, trickling with blood.

“Hey!”

The brawl comes to a halt. You seize yourself up from the ground, back and head aching, turning to see Judge Renslayer accompanied by two hunters, batons held up in defense position. You were about to reach for your own that was a stretch away when suddenly, you felt a hand grip you by the collar, hauling you to your knees. Her sword held to your neck.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“Go for it.”

Your eyes are wide in shock, all anger towards the variant now turning into this churning feeling of betrayal that resides within your abdomen. Judge Renslayer doesn’t look at you, focus fixated on the two variants—it’s like you’re not even there.

The three start to charge towards you and you involuntarily shut your eyes. Then, as quick as a rattlesnake, Loki grabs the tempad hung at her waist and sends the three of you falling through the ground.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. Now, with your back landing hard on top of him, all you could think about is wanting to strangle him to death.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #loki series #loki spoilers #sylvie #mobius #ravonna renslayer

[awritingtree]

Burnout

Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Y/N has been pushing herself past the limit with school work. When Fred notices her unusual behaviour, he decides to intervene. But what happens when Y/N snaps and says some things that could possibly destroy their relationship and friendship?

Words: ~2.5k

Warnings: angst, fluff?, mentions of anxiety attacks, lack of self-care

A/N: “What is this crap?” you ask. I don’t know myself 😂 this started off as one thing and ended up being something different. It really is not my best work. I don't know what I've written myself. I’m confused. Might delete it later, idk. But I hope you enjoy it xx

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“Good morning love,” Fred Weasley greeted his girlfriend with a kiss to her cheek as she sat down at the Gryffindor table on a Friday morning at the Great Hall.

“Hi,” Y/N Y/L/N mumbled quietly without looking at him. She reached out to grab a piece of warm toast and spread some butter on it before taking a bite. She poured herself a glass of milk, gulping it down as she munched on her piece of toast as quick as she could.

Fred frowned at Y/N’s unusual behaviour. She’d usually greet him back with an enthusiastic ‘good morning’ hugging him tightly, proceeding to make a joke which would make his laughter echo through the Great Hall on a quiet morning. He shrugged off her behaviour, reckoning she must be stressed about the Transfiguration test that afternoon.

Y/N continued to gobble up her food at a speed that was not healthy.

“Slow down, Y/N. We don’t need you choking early in the morning,” joked Lee Jordan, eliciting a chuckle from the twins.

“Shove off, Jordan,” Y/N clipped back. She shoved down the remaining bits of the toast before getting up and stringing her bag over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Fred asked.

“I need to go talk to Professor Flitwick about the assignment he gave the other day. I’ll see you guys later,” she said, leaving in a hurry.

This made Fred concerned, wondering what was going on with his girlfriend. She left without giving him a kiss goodbye; that never happened. Before he could ponder more on the topic, George pulled his attention back to a prank they’d been discussing throughout the week.

And the topic was forgotten. For now.

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Y/N sat close to the Black Lake in the company of Fred, George and Lee. Sitting cross-legged, she leaned her elbows on her knees, fingers tangled in her hair, pulling at it in frustration. Her eyes scanned the open books strewn around her, searching for something to write on the blank piece of parchment perched on her lap.

“You’re coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow, right Y/N?” asked the younger twin.

Y/N looked up, a confused look on her face. “Huh?”

“You’re coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow?” questioned George once again, dragging his words out slowly.

“Oh. Um no,” she said, her attention already back to the books in front of her.

Fred’s grin dropped into a frown, his eyebrows scrunching together. “What? You promised you’d come this time. You’ve missed out on every single Hogsmeade trip this year.”

“I have a lot of work to do,” Y/N replied, barely paying attention to the conversation she was a part of.

“You’ve been working since the beginning of the year. You need a break, love.”

“I can’t afford to take a break, Fred,” huffed Y/N, her eyes moving to look at the ginger beside her. The dark circles under her eyes looked more prominent in the evening light. The exhaustion and lack of sleep clear on her face.

“You’re being unreasonable. You can take one day off.”

“No I can’t,” snapped Y/N aggravated, “Just because you don’t care about graduating and your future, doesn’t mean everyone else doesn’t either.”

Fred’s face contorted in anger, her words hitting straight home. He got up and stormed away without another word.

George and Lee looked at Y/N disappointed before leaving too, chasing after Fred. Y/N sighed before looking down at the blank parchment on her. She pulled at her hair as she let out a small scream of frustration. Tears that had started to gather in eyes began to flow down her cheeks. She tore the parchment into pieces, throwing it away. Y/N had begun to tremble as she pushed the books around her, attempting to throw them away from her. When there were no more books in close proximity, she curled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, resting her forehead against her knees as she continued to cry.

Y/N’s fingers and toes beginning to freeze but her armpits and palms were sweating, feeling as if the temperature had been turned up a few notches. The world around her blurred out; no longer comprehending her surroundings. The only sound she could hear were her sobs as she gasped for breath. She could feel her heart thumping in her ears, the sound so loud that it almost drowned out the sound of her sobbing gasps. Her chest ached from the lack of oxygen. She could taste the salty tears streaming down her face onto her lips, feel the cold tears travelling to her jaw and down her neck. Any attempt to wipe her face clean was carried out in vain; the tears she wiped were replaced with double the amount.

“Y/N?” she heard a voice call out in the distance.

“Merlin! Y/N breathe with me okay?” the voice sounded nearer, however as if underwater, “Look at me. Y/N, look at me.”

A warm, soft hand rested on Y/N’s cheek guided her face to turn and face the voice’s owner. Y/N’s eyes focused onto the brown eyes of Ginny Weasley.

“You’re okay, Y/N. I’m here. Breathe. You can do that for me right?” she questioned softly, her voice still sounding underwater.

Y/N managed to get a small nod through her panic.

“Breathe in… 1 2 3... Breathe out… 1 2 3... Breathe in… 1 2 3... Breathe out… 1 2 3...” instructed Ginny, “Yes, just like that. Breathe… 1 2 3...” Y/N concentrated on listening to Ginny’s counts, attempting to breathe along with them. Soon enough, Ginny’s voice started to sound clear; Y/N feeling that her head was finally surfacing from the water she was drowning under. After a while, her breathing had started to regulate. A few gulps of air later, Y/N turned her attention to Ginny.

“Thank you,” Y/N muttered, quietly. She glanced away from the ginger-haired girl, not being able to hold eye contact due to the situation she had been caught in.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m just glad I walked by at this time,” said Ginny with a soft smile. Y/N returned a small smile of her own.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you sure? Can I do anything?” Ginny asked, concerned for her brother’s girlfriend; someone whom she saw as her own sister.

“Yes. I’m fine now. I- I think I just need to go and rest for a while. Thank you, Ginny. I’ll see you later,” she said, gathering up her books hastily and leaving.

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Things had not gotten better the past few days. If anything, they had become much worse.

Fred and Y/N had not talked, only sparing glances at each other when the other wasn't looking. Though she had not mentioned what she had witnessed that day to anyone, Ginny was worried about Y/N; even more when she noticed her and Fred were currently not on speaking terms. George was concerned for both his twin and best friend; Fred was in a constant bad mood and Y/N looked worse for wear. The bags under her eyes looked darker, her skin beginning to turn sallow, her hair unkempt. George hardly saw her eating when she turned up to the Great Hall during any meal, sneaking a few bites in before leaving in a hurry. To say he was worried about her would be quite the understatement.

Y/N felt awful. She could barely get out of bed in the mornings. She was constantly tired, barely paying attention in classes. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, constantly wanting to do nothing but go back to bed. She continued to cry herself to sleep every night, like she had been for the past few weeks; the reason as to why she did not know. Her body ached all over, her head being the worst. She felt lethargic, not having any energy to even pick up a glass of water. She was falling behind on her work, her grades were slipping - they had been for quite a while.

Y/N knew she needed a break. But instead she continued to push herself, the thought of taking a break and falling even more behind or the idea that her grades would worsen not allowing her to have a moment of peace.

The fact that she was fighting with Fred, not having talked to him for a few days, was not helping. She knows she was in the wrong, she should apologize and tell him what’s going on. But for some reason, she didn’t want to admit that she was struggling. Not because she was egoistic, but because she felt she constantly had something to prove. Education was the only thing she excelled in, if she lost that she felt she would be nothing. She was embarrassed to ask for help; she did not want to appear to be a burden to him, to anyone.

“That’s enough!” said George one morning to his older brother. “You both can’t keep going on like this. You need to talk to each other, you’re both miserable.”

Fred sighed, looking away from his breakfast. “I know.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for!? She’s right there,” George said gesturing towards Y/N, sitting at the end of the table with Angelina and Alicia.

He knew he had to talk to her. Fred had noticed something was wrong for weeks now. He knew she was stressed out due to school, crumbling under the pressure and expectations she placed upon herself. But he didn’t want to force himself on her, so he’d decided to wait for her to approach him first. What she’d said had hurt him, no doubt about it, but he knew that she didn’t mean it. It was the outcome of a moment of anger. He had seen her the past few days around the castle too, struggling to carry on with her day. But he was afraid to walk up to her; afraid that she would lash out at him again. Afraid that the angry words that would follow, from both their sides, would worsen the situation.

Taking a deep breath, he walked down the table towards where she sat. Angelina sent him a small smile noticing him walk up to their small group. Fred paused for a moment, gathering up the courage to speak.

Y/N jumped at the unexpected sound of someone clearing their throat loudly behind her. She turned to see her boyfriend standing there, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked the same, a bit more troubled than she’d ever seen. He’d developed dark circles under his eyes; an indication he hadn’t been sleeping well, not that she had been either. Other than that, he still looked the same - the same boy that she’d fallen in love with.

“Can we- can we talk?” he asked nervously.

Y/N stared at him for a second before nodding. They both walked out of the Hall and through the corridor before entering an unused classroom. Fred shut the door behind him. The both of them did not speak a word, fidgeting as they gazed around the room, gazing everywhere except each other. Fred decided to take the initiative and start the conversation that was long due. But it seemed Y/N had made the same decision.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. They both chuckled, the tension in the air disappearing.

Fred moved closer to Y/N, using the few seconds to come up with what to say.

“I’m sorry. I- I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was completely out of line and I didn’t mean it. I could never mean something like that. You- you know I didn’t mean it right? I was just frustrated, and I know that still doesn’t excuse what I said but I’m sorry. I am so so so sorry,” said Y/N, tears brimming her eyes. She took a shaky breath trying to calm herself down.

Fred closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean what you said. I understand, love. It’s okay. Don’t cry, please,” he said softly, his thumbs drawing circles on the soft skin of her cheeks.

“I really am so-” Fred leaned down, cutting her off with a kiss. Y/N’s hand moved to hold Fred’s forearms before slowly moving up his arms to rest on his shoulders. Fred broke the kiss after a while, resting his forehead against hers as his hands moved down to her hips.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I know you’ve been stressed over school; I should’ve been more supportive.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, you-” Fred cut her off with another kiss.

“How about we both stop apologizing and just agree it was no one’s fault, purely circumstantial?” he said.

Y/N hesitated before sighing and nodding knowing she would not win. “Brilliant,” said Fred, pulling her close to wrap her up in a hug. They stood there for a while, basking in the feeling of being in each other’s arms - their favourite place to be in the world - after days.

“You know you can come to me for anything, right? No matter how small or stupid you think it is, you have nothing to be embarrassed about with me. And no, you will not be burdening me. I’d be more than happy to help you,” Fred said, pulling away from the hug but still keeping Y/N at a close distance in his arms.

Fred smiled endearingly at the look of surprise that crossed Y/N’s face as she looked up at him. She really thought she’d done a better job at hiding how she felt but it seemed like Fred had seen through everything, just like he always did.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? I care about you, Y/N,” Fred said, his hand tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear gently. His hand remained there, cradling her face, “I notice every miniscule thing about you, whether you want me to or not.”

Y/N averted her eyes, ashamed of herself. How could she ever think Fred would ever judge her badly? The boy whose eyes shined with love and adoration whenever his gaze fell upon her. The boy whose face lit up with the thought or mention of her. The boy who would be ready to give up anything and everything for her, including his dream of owning a joke shop.

“Just promise me you’ll take one day off,” Fred implored. “We can do whatever you want, wherever you want. You need to take one day to relax, love. You can’t keep overworking yourself like this.”

Y/N looked up and nodded with a smile. Fred smiled back, delighted with her compliance, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her skin.

“I love you.”

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If you enjoyed reading this fic, please like/comment/reblog! Your opinion/feedback is welcome, appreciated, and motivating :)

General taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @pregnant-piggy @approved-by-dentists @kashishwrites @remmyswritings @angelinathebook @idont-knowrn @coffee--writes @kinkyduuh @ickle-ronniekins @the-mighty-bookworm @chaoticgirl04 @malfoyspogue @dracofeltonmalfoy

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#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #weasley twins #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #George weasley #lee jordan #angelina johnson #alicia spinnet #gryffindor #professor flitwick #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #golden trio era #harry potter fanfic #hp #hp imagine #hp fic #hp fanfic #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley headcanon #fred and george

[thecreedsgambit]

Sam Dalton, CEO

author's note: i’m not entirely sure what it is that draws me to sam, but i actually enjoy the nanny affair. despite my uppity claims that i would turn my nose up at the plot (which i, in fact, do) and that i would deny choices the satisfaction of spending endless amounts of diamonds on smutty, indecent scenes with a completely fictional man (which i, in fact, do not do), i cannot ignore my attraction toward sam dalton. it has little to do with his personality and intent. quite frankly, i blame it on the soundtrack. there’s a particular track that’s smooth - almost sexily playful - like a steamy but timid caress that throws a casual smirk at potential and possibility. i’ve grown fond of it, and, of course, it’s the very track that plays when sam freshly enters any scene. so, yes, i completely blame the soundtrack. it’s possible i’ve somehow drawn a loose connection between it and sam. whatever it is, i will continue to read tna and roll my eyes at choices seemingly unobstructed ability to rope me into whatever they present me with (much like sam dalton, i suppose).

"for you, i'll risk it all." - unknown

00. At a Glance.

affiliate: the nanny affair

pairing: m!sam x reader

word count: 1972 (fairly short, i know. but this was poking my imagination after today's chapter. i couldn't deny myself the freedom of writing it down.)

summary: you and sam continue to make eye contact during the regatta, despite your pr plan to lie low and ‘meet-cute,’ if that’s what an outsider might refer to it as.

You had long since forgotten the races. In fact, your eyes weren’t trained on the glistening yachts before you. Instead, your gaze latched onto the picturesque waterfront. The sun’s rays bore into the blue depths beyond where you sat, casting a faint reflection that rippled with every rise and fall of the tide. Slowly, methodically, as if your eyes might blink shut at any moment, you let your gaze lazily trace the waves as they lapped against the dock and collapsed against one another, like a playful fight between two warring siblings.

As if on cue, Mason and Mickey billowed past you with a giggling Jovi in their wake. Jordan scrambled after them, sending you an apologetic smile over his shoulder, before calling - rather, begging - for them to slow down. A short chuckle escaped your lips as you returned your sights to the race before you. Your head tilted, just slightly, as the sun cradled your cheek and warmed your skin with the softest touch.

It was nice. A brief moment to rest from the pressure to look and be impressive. For once, being impressed made a rush of tension leave your already heavy shoulders. The majestic waters and stunning views were enough to draw awe and calm the seemingly desperate need to feel warranted and respected.

Your dignity, poise, and grace sloped, only slightly, as you let your shoulders drop and your hands take refuge on your wrist as you fiddled with one of your bracelets.

For just a moment, you were you. And that was enough.

“No, please. Go on, Will.” Marisol’s voice nearly wrenched you from your stupor. You straightened and resumed your position as a subtle reflection of your new peers you’d almost forgotten sat on your right. Marisol gave you an amused smirk, as if hinting for you to join her harmless teasing. “Perhaps your ramblings about the history of yachting might help me place a few bets.”

Marisol took a small sip of her wine, hiding a whimsical smile behind the tip of her glass. Will only huffed and reluctantly turned his attention back to the race. You bit your lip in an attempt to conceal the grin threatening to lace your earnest expression. You feigned a swat on Marisol’s arm before speaking.

“Oh, Will. Marisol’s only joking. I would love to hear the rest.”

With a quick turn back toward the table, Will grinned triumphantly, clearly elated. “I knew it. At least someone appreciates my genius.”

“I’m sure,” Marisol mumbled, taking another quick sip of her drink to avoid bursting into a fit of laughter.

You dared to throw a sly smirk in her direction before giving in and facing Will directly. He’d already dove into several backstories regarding yachting, each going unfinished as he hurried into the next with enough excitement for the three of you combined. A genuine smile graced your lips as you, momentarily, reveled in his enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, much like your attention on the race, your attentiveness was short-lived. As was your politeness.

For a moment, your gaze slipped once more toward the luminescent waters. You had every intention of returning to the conversation at hand and concentrating on whatever quips Marisol was currently, and once again, uttering toward Will, but your eyes regarded the crowd, instead. Briefly, ever so quickly, you made eye contact with him - with Sam.

He had long since fixed his own sights on you. Normally, your heart would flutter and your stomach would lurch at the slightest glance. Reflexively, you’d wander toward him like a moth drawn to a fiery flame, waiting to be engulfed by his very presence. Even under these circumstances, you wanted to. You wanted to make your way toward him and let your fingers get lost in his hair; public images be damned.

But everything you worked toward thus far hung over your head and your shoulders - a load almost too burdensome to carry.

Your eyes widened with alarm, quickly flitting toward Will and Marisol. Not here.

Sam stood in a semicircle with three other men, who seemed to be lost in a conversation Sam took no interest in. His arms rested at his sides, and his fingers swirled a small glass of whiskey, as he continued his ruthless - almost challenging - stare. It didn’t take long for your demeanor to falter and a restless smile dared to break your masked facade. You tried desperately not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze, so you looked away, forcing yourself to come to terms with the ever-enchanting thrills of yacht history.

Except that topic was long gone, and Marisol was waving her hand at a dismayed Will. “You say that every year. Placing a higher bet on Estate Sail hardly makes things any more interesting.”

“What would you propose, then?”

You couldn’t help but to lose focus almost as quickly as you'd gained it; your entire form now rigid under Sam’s steely gaze. Sparing a quick glance in his direction, you noticed he’d done little to disguise his observation of you. Slowly, painfully so, he brought his whiskey glass to his lips and took a slow drink. His eyes never once left yours.

It was intoxicating. Entirely too heavy. Your chest nearly felt hollow as your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and heat rushed to your cheeks.

Your own stare fell to his chest, sweeping over his broad frame as you consumed every aspect of his person. The purple button-down he wore was quickly becoming your favorite as your eyes traced his taunt muscles under the fabric. His exposed chest seemed to catch the sprawling daylight as the sun chased his neckline and washed over his tan skin with every regard to the glow of his complexion.

Daringly, your eyes fell lower until you cautiously eyed his brown belt. You wondered just how quickly your fingers could trail over each and every loop and how any such movement might elicit a delicious sound from Sam’s lips. You even ventured to imagine one of his hands working the belt off in one, swift motion -

Your eyes snapped back to his. He arched one eyebrow, subtly, as a knowing smirk crossed his seemingly neutral expression. You wavered, feeling absolutely powerless under his scrutiny. Biting your lip, you pointedly angled away from him and desperately made every attempt to heed Will’s words.

Oh just how timely that was.

“I don’t know about that. I’m sure Steffi will take an interest eventually. What about you, (y/n)?” Will’s easy smile made you relax despite how quickly your startled heart raced. You struggled to remember the last thing you heard as Will shrugged. “I know I can be a bit long-winded, but I hope you’re enjoying the races.”

“Yes, you fit right in with us now.” Marisol gave you a genuine smile of her own. “Despite what some people may think, aren’t you glad you decided to join us today?”

You maintained a steady smile as you pushed pesky thoughts of Lana out of your head. “I am. Where else will I hear the harrowing history of yachting or place a wager on anything other than Estate Sail?”

“Hey,” Will warned good-naturedly, laughing despite himself.

Marisol noticed Jovi running after a makeshift sail the twins had tied to a string and shook her head with a warm smile. She and Will turned back to discussing their children and Sterling Academy as you chanced another glimpse of the crowd. Sam still stood firmly in his spot. The men surrounding him were pointing at the yachts in the distance and making idle conversation as Sam’s attention remained on you and only you.

He offered his counterparts around him a brief nod and a clink of his glass, but it was passive. Half-hearted. His eyes bore into you with enough passion to ignite the already kindling fire within your being. You were desperate. Completely at his mercy.

And utterly annoyed by how quickly you’d succumbed to his will. You wanted to prove your ability to do the same - toying with the inevitable long enough to make him flush with desire and writhe under all that you could offer.

You could do it from here; same as him.

Suddenly, shamelessly, your previously obstructed air bent to your change in attitude as you shifted to address his gaze. You arched an eyebrow as you matched his seemingly indifferent composure. You could tell he found your sudden roused behavior amusing, but his jaw quickly feathered as your eyes now held a challenge of your own: Two can play at this game, and I usually win.

Your sudden burst in confidence swelled your chest with enough boldness to dart out your tongue, wetting your bottom lip before pulling it between your teeth.

Some part of you wanted to make the conscious effort to tune into Will and Marisol’s conversation, but their distant chattering proved what you already knew. They weren’t paying either of you any attention.

Sam’s stare grew more intense; his eyes squinting ever so slightly as he watched your every move. With a coy smirk, you moved to pick up your wine glass at a leisurely pace that you were sure would seem like a lifetime to him. Even as the tip of the glass connected with your lips, you were sure to exaggerate every motion. One quick sip left a few drops of wine chasing the curve of your mouth. Using your finger, you wiped away the remnants and brought them to your lips. Your tongue flicked against your fingertip, closing your lips around it entirely, lapping up what was left of the wine.

All the while maintaining eye contact.

Finally, with a barely concealed chuckle, Sam dropped his gaze and shook his head. Every rapid rise of his chest and tense of his shoulders proved he was thoroughly distracted. Satisfied, you turned back to Will and Marisol. Both were watching the next race with an almost unexpected eagerness.

“I told you Estate Sail would win again,” Will stated happily.

Marisol only smiled. “The race isn’t over yet.”

Feeling superior still, you wanted nothing more than to continue your game with Sam, but, when you glanced back at his previous spot, he was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t help but to frown until Will’s eyes caught on someone behind you and called out:

“Ah, Sam. Care to join us?”

“Actually, yes.” You tried to quiet your usual disposition, avoiding any instinct to turn and gratefully accept his presence with unadulterated mirth. It wasn’t a hard thing to do. In fact, you had to shake yourself from your frozen, shocked posture long enough to glance over your shoulder. Sam stood close enough behind your seat that you could nearly feel the heat emanating from his being, rivaling even the sun’s warmth. “Do you mind -?”

You shook your head, not fully trusting your own voice but not fully committed to throwing away the careful and meticulous planning for your public appearance together either. You waved, feigning carelessness, toward the empty seat across from you. “No, not at all.”

Before he sat, Sam made it a point to glance at Marisol and Will before settling on you. “Does anyone need a refill on drinks? Perhaps another round before the next race?”

The two of you shared a soft, lingering look - one filled with knowing desire and bridled actions. You weren’t sure how you were able to retrain your urge to surge forward and grab him by his shirt collar or loop your fingers through his belt loop, or, even, how you had the strength to manage the rest of the Regatta with a practiced smile. But, then, a minute smile spread across Sam’s features.

Another coy smirk traced your lips as you shook your head. “I’m fine, thank you. Everything I need is right here.”

#sam dalton #the nanny affair 2 #sam dalton x reader #playchoices #pixelberry #choices the stories you play #choices the nanny affair

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Six | Dogbass (Part 2 of 2 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

They stand up like an undead from their grave, almost stumbling to get back to their feet and taking up all the strength they have left to stare at the man with a somber gaze. One look at their face tells they're about to either blow up or faint, the latter Sans assumes more of them based on what he knew about them so far. He stays closer by as a result and tries not to intervene yet, finding himself watching by the sidelines as he always seemed to do even before his life here on the Surface.

"I'm aware I can't just trust these people easily, but that doesn't mean they aren't worthy of being heard." They take a breath far too shaky and followed by a pause far too lasting. "I… I may not be the best (mother/father) out there, but I do care. And I'll show that by making sure I'm aware of the monsters' actions while still allowing my child to keep being friends with them." The skeleton takes his gaze elsewhere when he notices a camera flash from nearby. The owners behind those devices, most recording and some taking snaps of the scene, are either snickering or left with their mouths agape as they continue to engrave the scene both in their phones and minds. "I'll accept whatever decision CPS makes in terms of Frisk's safety, but for now, I…" The human interrupts their own sentence when they stumble, cutting his idea of dealing with those nosy people short. "I…"

They take a slow step back, huff out an exhausted breath, and -- without missing a beat -- stumble again and fall back. The skeleton takes a leap and stands behind them, nulling their fall with his own body. The last words to leave them are incoherent mumbles, and their half-lidded eyes close shut as they press their face against his chest for support.

The man continues with his rant regardless, pricking some annoyance into Sans's mind as he attempts to tune out the noise and concentrate more on the human in his arms.

"Hey," he calls out, louder the second time when it goes unheard. "Can you stay quiet for a sec? They're sick."

"Oh, they're sick alri-"

"He said shut up."

A familiar voice helps him deal with the man, though he doesn't care over who the person is right now. Instead, he drags the fainted human with him back to an empty seat and thanks another when she offers hers. As more people spread out, he's provided with more space to spread their body across the seats left out for them, taking up three in total. 

"(Y/N)?"

His call is responded to by another mumble, much weaker and quieter than the last. He sighs and takes their face with one hand, using the other to keep their body from falling off. "Can you open your eyes for me, please? I need you to look at me."

Sans reminds himself of their satchel and turns his gaze around to see the man he'd given up his seat to's thought the same way as him. He gives it to him and helps keep (Y/N) in place while he takes a look inside, retrieving a first aid kit from its contents. The monster whispers a blessing under his breath and turns back around, nodding for the man to step back to his seat while he returns to tending to the fainted human. "Thank you."

The man nods back and receives help from the earlier woman as he limps back to his seat. Hushed fighting noises can be heard between the man who started the fight and the man quelling it, though once more, the skeleton can care less about the owner of that voice as he tries to focus more on the situation at hand. "(Y/N)," he calls out, louder this time. "Do somethin' if you can still hear me."

Another quiet mumble leaves their mouth as they furrow their gaze, likely troubled by a pointed headache -- or what could be a migraine at this point. He stops crouching and kneels next to them instead, taking a few more items from their belongings after he's settled himself next to them. A soft but sudden swerve from the bus sends them too close to the edge, though he manages to gather some Karma from the earlier event, strong enough for him to create a barrier and keep them from following off the makeshift hospital bed. His hands are shaking, though he doesn't acknowledge it. Be it from the agreement's terms looming over him or the human in his hands far too weak for them to last another hour -- or a mixture of both -- he's not initially sure of, but another look at their scrunched up face and how their expression's furrow turns far more harsh and denoting of their ill state makes him dismiss the consequences of the agreement and concentrate more on the health of the human he was barely just getting to know well enough as a potential friend. 

He sits down on another of the few empty chairs left out for him and suspends his body over theirs, struggling to meet with their face due to the difference in height despite how little it is compared to most of the people he knew. The human was no taller than his brother, but even then they were still tall enough to make him out to be the shortest when compared with them. His hand reaches out for their face again, and he comes across a cold, cold temperature, sufficient for his soul to jolt in response to it. People around seem to notice what's going on -- be it for his expression or not he isn't paying attention to now though -- and tell the bus driver to hurry, heightening the possibility of a bumpier ride, but leveling out the risks of the human dying on the spot.

While the bus continues to move, the monster continues to find more ways for helping with the situation. He starts by performing CPR on them, but carries on with his original plan when the human doesn't respond to the treatment. He goes off to prepare some alcohol swabs by dousing a few cotton balls and pads with the substance and pressing one after another against their nose, until they manage to cough and open their eyes, even if just a little and even if they end up closing these again.

The monster breathes out a sigh as he realizes it's not lack of oxygen but rather weakness overall, weighing down on their body hard enough to make their breathing scarce and their body and mind equally unresponsive. A shiver crosses with his spine when he imagines the state they could've ended up in had Frisk gone missing for longer than they had. If almost two months of their absence had caused this much of a change in (Y/N)'s health, another one more could've likely been enough to end their life, be it accidentally or -- harder to think about -- purposefully. 

"Please, do somethin' again if you can still hear me," he says, setting those thoughts aside.

A hand reaches for his own when he says that, landing just the right amount of gentle for it to pass off as a winter breeze or a ghost's touch. 

It doesn't squeeze at his nor does it move from that spot, but that action alone of having their hand move that much helps him relax some more while he waits to arrive at a hospital.

• • •

"What's your relationship with (miss/mister) (L/N)?" the nurse asks.

"I'm an acquaintance," he replies, obtaining a cautious look from the man.

It's made clear that, with how quick he is to bring that question up hardly seconds after seeing the mentioned person be taken away for emergency care, he's eager to set things straight -- and fast.

The monster stretches when the nurse leaves, in dire need of that after carrying the human all the way from the bus stop to the hospital's entrance. The nurse, on the other hand, prepares all the necessary documents for their stay at the front desk, leaving him alone to observe the hospital's indoors from where he's told to wait at, from the white interior to the distinctive smell of sterility. Even the few people who'd helped the monster with the situation at the train stay close by, some sitting by the waiting room with him and others standing near the doorway, but without obstructing any other potential emergency or those going in and out. 

When the nurse returns with the papers, Sans takes out the agreement letter and shows it to him. He receives an almost immediate answer as to what the nurse thinks about his relationship with the patient just by the apologetic look on his face, directed at the letter as he reads through it. His face scrunches up, and he offers that look at the monster before giving the letter back to him. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait nearby while a family member or a partner gets here. Have you contacted anyone yet?"

"Yeah." He nods, hands slipping into his pockets as per custom, though now's more of a nervous tick rather than how it tended to be: relaxed and unbothered. "Their aunt should be here soon."

"How soon, sir?"

"Uh, like…" He checks his phone. "Like four hours. It'd take longer, but one of my friends is gonna pick up their kid later to help her get 'ere quicker."

The nurse crosses his arms, sighs, and gives a knowing yet heartfelt look at him. "What can you do to prove you're trustworthy, then? I need someone we can trust to test something on the patient." His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the skeleton's face and overall attire. "You're a scientist, right?"

"Used to be."

"Good enough for the occasion. Could you come here with me for a second? There's something we think could help your friend out, but we need the approval of someone knowledgeable from the Underground -- someone who knows better about this kind of stuff than we do." He lets his arms go and eases his expression with a smile. "If you do that, you can check on the patient soon -- with a nurse's close supervision, of course."

Not really giving too much thought to the situation, Sans shrugs and agrees with an 'alright'. "What's your doubt?" he asks.

"I need to show it to you," the nurse replies. "It's about a strange substance discovered in some humans after they fall to the Underground."

Sans accompanies the man to his desk, who takes a small set of keys from his back pocket, unlocks the bottom drawer, and motions for him to stand close by. "It has a rather… risky medical history, so we wanted to ask someone with more knowledge before doing anything too rash." From there, he takes out a thin but tall, unlabeled glass bottle and leaves an empty syringe behind. Just from the neon red colour of the substance and its viscosity, both qualities able to be seen thanks to the material it's contained in, Sans already has his answer: no.

Determination was far from safe when injected on rather than when it naturally came to be. Even humans could feel the aftereffects of such a strong substance in their veins, and for most monsters, it was either lethal, fatal, or dangerous enough to deform them for life. He hesitates at the thought of it being used for malicious reasons, but eases up a bit when taking into account how the nurse is practically showing his discovery to him without any need for secrets or lies. He assumes that -- if the man were to have any bad intentions -- he wouldn't simply be flaunting the substance around or acting that nonchalant about its existence.

"It's not safe," is the first thing he says, words almost rushing from his teeth. "Injecting that to a human -- or anyone, actually -- is taking a huge risk. That substance should come naturally, and not by injecting it into the subject's body."

The nurse frowns, but relents. He sets the bottle back where it was, closes the drawer, and locks it back down. Then, he turns back to the monster and adds, "So considering those risks, you agree the treatment's off the question for this patient?"

"Definitely. It's better to do some more research before getting in on anythin', even if some of our past scientists did experiment with that substance at the Underground."

Nodding, he steps aside from the desk and gestures for the skeleton to follow him off to the hallway, far from the entrance and the waiting rooms. As they both walk, the man stays quiet and appears lost in thought, though that changes when he stops meeting the floor during his daze and asks, "Could you at least give me more details on this substance later, then?"

Sans agrees with a quiet hum, not in uncertainty, but due to being lost in thought himself. "As long as it ain't used on anybody for testin', then sure. We can work on that."

The man stops walking and lights up with a smile. "Excellent!" he exclaims, almost beaming in response. "Follow me to the patient's room. I'll have another one of our nurses watch over you while I'm gone."

He smiles back, though a bit late due to the topic still occupying his mind. "Thank you."

• • •

The room's North Pole cold, bleak, and dimly lit, though the latter's fixed when the nurse meant to watch over him passes through the hallway. She turns a few more lights on and stands in front the open door, greeting him with a stern gaze. A notepad rests in her arms, written on to such an extent that there's more ink rather than paper.

In enters the woman, brown skinned and brunette compared to the pale and ginger haired man from earlier ago. Wrinkles can be seen on her face, revealing her to be older compared to the seemingly novice nurse who attended him before. A few grey hairs stick out this way and that, though her professionally tidy bun masks most of it away with a scrunchie. 

"Stay in that chair, sir, and don't get near the patient," she demands, staring down at him. "And please hand over the agreement letter. We require a copy of it to have proof of your acquaintanceship with the patient."

He does as told, both in terms of keeping his distance from (Y/N) and in giving her the letter. "Why the distance, though?" he asks. "Is it somethin' contagious?"

"No." Her forbidding look deepens and almost turns to a glare. "We simply do not want you touching the patient unless it is absolutely necessary."

It takes him a second to process the sentence, though he nods after that's done with. "I understand." He walks to where she points at, though stays standing as he continues to talk with her. "Could I know what's their condition, then? It... kinda looked like a panic attack, but then they also told me they didn't eat or sleep well for the past two months."

Appearing surprised for just a moment, the woman returns to her sedate expression as she checks her notepad again. "Well…" She huffs. "You're not too far off. Both of their symptoms combined and worsened each other out, which resulted in them becoming that weak." She then takes out a cellphone from her pocket and unlocks it, tapping on the screen a few times before having a sound play, likely from a recent, viral video based on what's spoken throughout it. "Would you care to look at this recording for a minute? One of the witnesses present during the incident caught you acting rather… strangely with the patient." The nurse gives the phone over, though she hesitates when her hand brushes with his, an act of hesitation masked by a stern visage.

The first thing he sees when replaying the video is nothing out of the ordinary given the situation displayed: him giving CPR to someone in need of that treatment. It's not until he remembers how touchy such a subject can be considering the factors of who he is and his reputation on the Surface -- and even more so when taken out of context -- that he understands why she's made that comment. "I was giving 'em CPR. Be a bit weird if it'd be doing anythin' else considerin' the situation, don't ya think?" He looks up from the video of him placing pressure on their chest and giving them mouth-to-mouth (or at least, his technically was one, taking into account that thing he could do with his skull whenever he ate or drank something; it was a thing most of the comments on Phrasebook talked about rather than over what's happening to the human in need: the strange malleability of the monster's skull, with some others questioning over how he could even be performing CPR despite not having any lungs) as he tries to bring air back into their system, and holds back the urge to point out how obvious that situation is. "What's wrong with that?"

"Couldn't have someone else done it? There were plenty of people present."

"I'd say that's a bit of an insensitive question to ask after what they've been through."

"Answer my question, sir."

Sans sighs and hands the phone back to her. "It was a moment of high tension. I couldn't help what happened back there, and if I did wait 'til someone else showed up, that would heighten the chances of me losing 'em before they could get 'ere."

"Maybe so, but that first treatment gave no results. They remained in a coma until you rubbed alcohol on their nose. If you knew that would work, then why did you not do that in the first place?"

"Same reason why I didn't wait 'til someone else came to give 'em CPR. It was a moment of rush n' panic."

"But you were still-"

"...Sans?"

For what has to be the first time since meeting the human, the monster feels relieved at hearing them call him by his casual name. It's a faint and strained attempt, revealing they've used all their strength just to call out for him. Never he would've imagined feeling so pleased at hearing a still-to-be friend's voice, nor does he allow himself to let his other type of imagination run wild, one related to the warmth he feels in his soul when turning to their side and seeing them awake -- weak and confused, but still there.

"What happened?" they ask, frowning. "Are… Are you okay?"

He tries to approach them, though he soon receives a warning from the nurse not to. "I'm, uh… I'm alright," he says, replying from the distance of the chair he's been told to sit on. "Don't really think it's helpful to ask this, but… What about you?"

They chuckle and a smile keeps itself on their face. "Everything hurts, but I feel way better than I did back at the bus."

He grins. "This's probably a wild guess, but has it gotta do with having no one screamin' at you?"

They nod and let their smile grow, albeit at the cost of triggering a sudden and visibly acute headache. "Definitely," they reply.

"And having nobody else gossipin' about it?"

"That, too." Their smile fades as they say that. "Could you... come over here for a moment?"

Sans spares a glance at the nurse, only to receive a quick nod in approval and a hint of a smile. Though left unsure as to what's caused such a sudden change in her temperament, he takes up the opportunity without protest and stands next to (Y/N), waiting for them. "What's up?" he asks.

The human makes an effort to stand up, but fails soon after. To make up for that, they reach out for his hand and squeeze it, smile making its comeback as they reply with, "Thank you." A pause follows as they let go of his hand, tucking theirs under the sheets. "You've acted far sweeter than that dog we met at the park today."

"Settin' some high standards here, huh?"

They let out a laugh. "It… hurts when I do this." So instead, they grin. "Never thought being happy would be so painful."

The skeleton grins back at them and quirks an iris, estranged by their feelings and their choice of words alike. "Even after what you've been through today?"

They nod. "Even after all that, I'm... I'm happy now."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Hope y'all have a decent New Year's Eve! This's the last update of this year, so here's to wishing 2021 is a little bit better for all of us. It's unrealistic to say things will be back to normal at the drop of a hat, but there's no harm in staying hopeful for a better future.

Take care, and stay safe! ❤️

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to it!)

@the-simp-express​

@nektotersh

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

[puddygeeks]

𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝑶𝒇 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 - 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒅 𝒙 𝑶𝑪 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 9: 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒔

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Status: Ongoing

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 & 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈'𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘. 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒����𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.

Eᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ: Pʀᴇ Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ 1

Chapter Nine

My office felt colder than usual when I returned from my trip, but I suspected that it was mostly due to the lack of the warm BAU team’s presence. It was difficult for me to concentrate on anything whilst Hotch’s offer repeated in my mind and I found myself mentally making a pros and cons list as I worked. There were so many factors to consider. In order to avoid any external influence I was careful to ensure that I made the decision alone, hesitating from discussing it with anyone after Ricky.

Following my brief break away from Interpol, it seemed as if I was even more swamped with work than when I left. It wasn’t long before I was feeling the stress of being spread too thinly between numerous teams. Requests for assistance from each of them mounted up around me and it became a struggle to suitably prioritise them.

As I busied myself with organising a list, a new task flashed up on my screen that made my blood chill. Etienne Vidal had submitted a request for my individual support with researching a suspect list, insisting in the notes that having my undivided attention would have a substantial benefit to this case.

Much to my disdain, I knew that it was only a matter of time before Shepard approved this with the perspective of improving our working relationship. I pushed my hair out of my face to massage my temples. Mentally, I was attempting to convince myself that I could manage another encounter with Vidal.

Before I’d even realised what I was doing, I found myself striding out of my office clutching a few files to my chest and decided to take myself to get a cup of herbal tea from a nearby café.

I felt immediately clearer the moment that I stepped out of the Interpol headquarters. The fresh air flowed through my loose hair, rejuvenating my worn down spirit. The tightly packed streets of Lyon were a welcome sight and I was thankful to at least be blessed with living in such a beautiful, historical city.

Opening up the files to flick through the information inside as I walked, I hoped that my picturesque surroundings might give me a fresh perspective. Even once I had settled within the charming café, I lingered for a while as I waited to feel ready to return to my desk.

Eventually, I mustered up the courage to begin strolling back in the direction of the office. I had decided not to overstay my welcome, leaving with my lovingly made hot drink in a takeaway cup and lost myself in documents to distract from the rising feeling of anxiety in my chest. I was completely enthralled in the files as I walked the halls of the building on autopilot, causing me not to notice the voice calling my name in a thick French accent until it was too late.

“My, my, Alice. I hope that you’re not trying to avoid me.”

The absence of formalities caused my stomach to lurch with recognition and I paused on the spot in horror as Vidal blocked my path. When I finally pulled my nose from the papers, I realised that I had been unfortunate enough to be caught in one of the least used hallways in the office.

The only rooms here were disused offices which had been utilised as storage for cold cases, decreasing it’s foot traffic to practically nothing. I had grown accustomed to taking this longer route back to my own space in order to avoid the rest of my team. However, today this plan had backfired, instead meaning that we would be highly unlikely to be interrupted.

“Oh. my apologies, Vidal. I was lost in work.” I answered with a forced smile,

Unwilling to engage in any further conversation I moved to pass him, but he immediately shifted himself to block me from leaving.

“You are so dedicated, ma poupée. It is admirable, but certainly too much for you.” He drawled, making no effort to hide the way that his gaze explored my entire body and his smile afterward made my skin crawl.

“I fear that you may have missed my request on your break, but Shepard has agreed for me to borrow your skills. It will allow you to relax for a while with only one case, and with me.” He explained confidently.

Even with all of the experience of his arrogance, I remained shocked by how genuinely he seemed to believe that he was doing me a favour by trapping me into working alongside him.

“Ah, I hadn’t seen it yet.” I admitted, attempting to contain my disappointment at this revelation so that I didn’t anger him. “Let me just finish the task that I’m on and I’ll find you when I’m done.” I instructed as I strained to keep the nerves from my smile, but it was obvious that he had no intention of allowing me to move yet.

“Come on, Alice. You don’t need to pretend to worry about the others. I should be your only priority.” He insisted, stepping closer to me again and in my efforts to regain some personal space, I ended up trapped between him and the wall. “I know that you have been spending more time with your FBI team recently, but you wouldn’t ever forget about me, would you ma chérie?” He asked, his voice slipping lower whilst his expression grew painfully serious.

Out of an overpowering feeling of intimidation, I shook my head vigorously in response. Vidal only seemed encouraged by his effect on me, smirking arrogantly as his face neared mine and I felt my hands begin to shake with nerves. I prayed for anyone to notice us, as I felt too paralysed with fear to do anything to stop him, but the hallway remained silently empty.

“Well, I do worry. You seem to be working with them more and more frequently. I would imagine that you’re getting to know each other very well. You were rudely defensive of that one young man during our consultation call.” He suggested, thinning his eyes at me suspiciously.

The reminder of my outburst in front of the BAU team caused me to cringe. His words were alarmingly accusatory and I couldn’t deny the feeling that he saw himself as entitled to the details of my life, specifically my love life.

A loud sound caused me to whimper as he pounded his hand against the wall behind me to frighten me, shifting to lean his weight on the surface so that he could confine me in position beneath him.

“There wouldn’t be anything going on between you and this Dr Reid that I should know about. Would there, Alice?” He questioned, the subtlety of his temper failing to escape my notice and I could hardly breathe from the intensity of his stare. “You know how I detest dishonesty.”

“No.” I whispered hurriedly, my voice shaking from stress as any sense of control rapidly dissolved into anxiety.

From my years of study I understood the effect that past trauma had on our natural fight or flight instincts, but experiencing it first hand gave me a level of insight that was frankly horrifying. I willed myself to confront him, to strike him out of my space with the power that my aunt had always encouraged me to own, or even to simply run away, but I had no control against my natural reaction, which was to freeze.

“That’s a good girl.” He breathed, a wicked smile filling his lips as he revelled in my obedience. Much to my terror, he leaned his face suffocatingly close to me and I felt like a caged animal under his gaze. “I don’t know what I would do if you betrayed me like that. You’re too special to belong to anyone else.” He soothed, so deep in his delusion that he was flattering me that it made him completely oblivious to my disgust.

My entire stomach felt as if it might literally drop out of my body as he reached out to push my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering against my cheek nauseatingly. He bit his lip in a way that he must have believed to be seductive and I realised with a new level of panic that he was inching closer, as if he intended to kiss me. My mind spun with a million thoughts as I urged myself to escape, but I couldn’t break out of the survival instinct that held me in place.

“Vidal! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Someone called out at the last possible moment before his lips touched mine and my breath caught in my throat. He seemed incredibly aggravated by the intrusion, taking a moment to compose himself before he finally stepped out of my space. His posture was still as he turned around to address the source of the voice.

“Prentiss. My apologies. I’m afraid that I am rather caught up with assisting Alice at the moment.” He drawled with a polite smile, clearly not even slightly flustered by being caught in the act.

The absolute control in his demeanour was especially chilling. It was an ability that I had seen frequently in the types of people that I assisted in catching for a living, allowing me to understand precisely how dangerous he was capable of being. I could barely think straight as I stared over at Emily who was standing at the far end of the hall.

“Yes. I can see that.” She answered curtly.

It was clear that she had no intention of allowing him to brush this encounter off as she strolled closer to get a better view of the situation. I jumped as I felt one of Vidal’s hands squeeze my arm painfully tight, silently warning me to play along with his ruse.

“Can this wait until later, Madame?” He enquired, the air of calm that he had previously possessed already slipping as he spoke and whilst his gaze was distracted by her, I risked meeting her eyes to communicate a desperate plea for her help.

“No. Actually, it can’t.” Emily insisted, maintaining an authoritative tone as she thinned her eyes at him and I could have burst from the relief of confirming that she had noticed my distress.

“You have an urgent call waiting and I’m afraid that I need Agent Hawthorne’s assistance for myself.” She added, turning her attention to me with concern that was subtle enough to escape Vidal’s notice.

Without any concern for him noticing her actions, she ushered me to come to her. I wasted no time in removing myself from his grip, rushing over to meet her with my eyes glued to the floor nervously. Even so, I could feel her fixing him with a stern glare, before she fell into step with me.

We walked in silence with her positioned at my side in a manner that would prevent anyone else from reaching me and she remained this way every single step back to my office.

As I stepped inside, she hesitated in the doorway to give me the chance to regain some personal space. Whilst I did this she continued to protect me, aligning herself so that entry to the room would be impossible for anyone else.

“I actually don’t have anything that I need you for. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay. If there’s anything that I could do to-“

“I’m fine.” I answered abruptly, keen for this situation to be over as quickly as possible and Emily studied me sympathetically. “Thank you for checking on me, but I can handle it from here.” I added, subtly reassuring her that I would take action to protect myself if it was needed.

“I know that you can. If you change your mind, my phone is always on me.” She suggested with a caring smile.

After a few moments of silence, she reluctantly left the room. The moment that she departed, I closed the door behind her and moved furniture in front of it to prevent it from being easily opened again.

Tears of shock rolled down my cheeks as I felt my entire body shaking and I had to wrap my arms around myself to calm my anxiety. It was a method that I had been taught to use in triggering situations, but even knowing that I was barricaded in this room, I couldn’t convince myself to feel safe.

In the depths of my despair, I became aware of the only logical next step for my life. I opened my emails and began drafting a letter of acceptance to Hotch that ended with a simple question.

When can I start?

--⥈--

Emerging from my flight at the Virginia airport felt completely different this time. Despite getting to know it well from the numerous recent visits that I’d made over the past six weeks to get things organised, I was still excited to see it again. It was surreal to inform security that I was actually emigrating instead of visiting and I strolled out into the bright open space of arrivals with a sense of wonder.

Everything felt larger and grander, as if being seen through new eyes. I suspected that viewing it as a new start had a significant effect on my perception. There was even a relaxing scent in the air, something that lured me toward the exit with a feeling of hope and it was as if the strain of the past was melting away with every step that I took.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I noticed that instead of just Penelope waiting for me as we’d agreed, there was an embarrassingly large welcome sign covered in glitter, pom poms and complete with tiny flashing lights. It was being waved by her, Morgan, JJ and a bashful looking Spencer.

“Penelope! You are the absolute worst at no fuss!” I groaned as I reached her and she threw the part of the banner that she had been holding at Morgan so that she could embrace me tightly.

“I don’t care! I wanted to make sure that your new life here starts on the right foot.” She excused as she squeezed the life out of me and the others busied themselves with packing away the banner as I blushed furiously at them over her shoulder. “I can’t believe the day is finally here. I’m so excited! Oh, guys, we almost forgot.” She enthused as she released me to turn back to the group and I glanced nervously at them as she made some insistent gestures.

“Welcome to America!”

The other three were completely out of sync in their half hearted cheer, with Penelope contributing the loudest and most dramatic voice, whilst I smiled at them with burning cheeks.

“You’re all very sweet. Thank you.” I muttered gratefully, wishing that Penelope had at least given me enough of a heads up to wear something less tattered than my moving clothes, which weren’t what I would have chosen for spending time in anyone else’s company than hers.

Thanks to all of my planning visits, which allowed me to leave cases in storage at Ricky’s new place, combined with the fact that he had graciously accepted the boxes of possessions that I shipped to him in advance, I had hardly anything with me. There was no clothing in my flight bag, leaving me with only the white, off the shoulder blouse and ripped denim shorts that I was wearing and the few personal items that I’d needed to take care of myself for the last couple of weeks in France.

Penelope looped her arm through mine as we all moved toward the exit and I had the sensation that the surprises weren’t over just yet.

“So, we’ll start by collecting your stuff and then help you to get settled at the new place.” She announced, already wrapped up in the joy of the day, oblivious to how questioning my gaze was.

“When you say we, you still mean the two of us as we planned, right?” I enquired suspiciously, but the way that she chewed her lip as she considered how to explain herself gave her away.

“Please tell me that she hasn’t already roped all of you into this? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your days off than carrying my stuff around.” I gasped, glancing between the three other members of our group in horror, only to be met with amused smiles at my outrage.

“You got a moving truck booked?” Morgan interrogated, crossing his arms at me as if he was already prepared for my protests, but I could only shake my head cluelessly. “Well, it just so happens that I have one on loan from a friend for the day. You already know that I’m not about to let my baby girl spend her day doing a hundred trips in the car, when I can get this done in one. Just let it go, Poppins.” He asserted, glancing over at Penelope with a conspiratorial smile and I looked to JJ and Spencer in a silent plea for help.

“What kind of team would allow their newest member to struggle?” JJ asked, her kind nature seeping into her words. “You’ve got enough to worry about with a move this big. Let us help you to do this at least.” She added, smiling at me warmly and Spencer cleared his throat to gain my attention.

“You’d also be wrong in the assumption that we have anything better to do.” He shrugged comically, causing Morgan to frown at him in blatant disapproval.

“Hey. Speak for yourself, kid!” He remarked, knocking Spencer’s arm slightly in the kind of manner that an older brother would to annoy their younger sibling. “I see you people enough at work. I definitely have other things to do than follow you around on my weekends, too. I’m just here to help out a friend.”

“Wait. Does that include me?” Penelope stopped in her tracks, causing a collision amongst all of us as she faced down Morgan with a heavy expression of offence.

“You already know that it doesn’t, Sweetness. I can never see enough of you.” He crooned, earning a pleased smile from her before he turned back to me. “So, where’s our first stop, new girl?”

“Well, my cousin is working today, but he’s arranged for his housemate to let me in to collect my things. Here’s the address.”

--⥈--

“Ally. Please tell me that’s not a ladder up to your bed?” Penelope questioned with a blatant disbelief and I chuckled as I followed her into my new studio, carrying a case full of clothing up the stairs.

“I thought you’d like that. It’s quirky.” I remarked as I dragged the case inside behind her, catching her glancing around at my home.

The place was remarkably small, almost feeling full with just the two of us inside. I had to shift awkwardly as I tried to get past her. This had been the main reason for my reluctance about the team assisting us with the move, as I knew that we would be likely to be tripping over each other, rather than benefiting from their help. Judging from Penelope’s reaction, I was already dreading the others coming up from the van.

“It certainly is. It’s just so small.” She commented, looking over at me with concern and I shrugged in response. “I know that you’ll be the only one living here, but I’m worried that you’ll get claustrophobic. I mean, this place is like a bunk bed that grew up to identify as a studio.” She clarified, wanting to ensure that she wasn’t coming across as judgmental, but she didn’t need to worry as I chuckled in agreement.

“You could always stay with me until you find somewhere. I’ll even help you look for a place. It’ll be like a constant sleepover party!” She added enthusiastically, already seeming to get lost in the excitement of this concept.

“As much fun as that sounds, you don’t need to worry. It’s only temporary.” I admitted, causing her to furrow her brows in concern. It was obvious that she was worrying I had some secret plans to leave her again soon.

“I don’t have a long term contract for this place. Ricky recommended the owner as someone that he usually rents holiday homes like this from. I’ve got this place until the end of the month to give me a chance to get to know the area better, figure out what kind of place I’m really looking for.” I presented my plan, allowing Penelope to drop her shoulders in relief.

It was difficult to differentiate whether she was more appreciative of the revelation that I wouldn’t be leaving her, or that I wasn’t planning to live here for long. Either way, my explanation seemed to have put her mind at ease.

“Well, that’s a good thing. Because this place is not up to standard for a proper tenancy.” Morgan announced as he carried the heaviest box inside and though I scurried to get out of his way, Penelope seemed quite content to allow him to squeeze past her. “I’m gonna give your locks a proper check before I leave. They’re looking a little too old for my liking.” He added as he dropped the box, turning to examine the door with a sceptical expression, even from across the room.

“Hey. As the person with the most experience busting them open, I’ll trust your opinion on locks.” I teased, earning a cheeky smile before Morgan headed back out to grab some more stuff, taking Penelope with him.

After their comments, I took another look at the place and couldn’t understand their concern. It was already substantially nicer than the miserable flat that I’d rented in France, even if it was smaller. Sure, it was a tight squeeze to navigate, but it had all of the essentials. Unfortunately, most of them were contained within the same four walls, but I just thought of it as cosy.

The kitchen was simply a couple of cupboards along the side of the room where the dimensions more closely resembled those of a hallway than a living space. There was a sofa pushed up against the end of the cabinets to almost create a lounge and above it was a platform with a mattress which I felt gave the whole place a treehouse vibe. Lastly, there was a separate small bathroom and some stairs at the back of the studio that led to a rooftop that could almost be described as a balcony. It certainly wasn’t glamorous by any stretch of the imagination, but it would give me a place to stay.

JJ entered the room struggling with a large box and I rushed over to take it from her before she hurt herself.

“This has got to be the third box labelled books so far, Alice. I’m seriously getting worried about you.” She chuckled playfully, looking around the place with interest during the time that I found a surface to dump the box. “Seriously. How many books do you need?” She asked with a warm sparkle in her eyes and before I could think of an excuse for my addiction, Spencer made his way inside.

“Comparatively, Alice's collection isn’t especially unreasonable. In the middle ages, the purchasing of multiple books was considered to be a hobby that was suitable exclusively for wealthy individuals.” He launched into defending me without a second thought and I was glad to have his support to push aside the embarrassment that I was feeling. “In the present day, the largest collection of books belongs to the Library of Congress, which houses more than 170 million items.”

“Wow. The dream.” I breathed, for a moment losing myself in the fantasy of being able to own a library of my own, until I was distracted by JJ looking between Spencer and I with a suspicious smile, leaving us to geek out without having to pretend that she was interested. “I’m sure that still wouldn’t keep you busy for long, though.” I teased as I turned to face Spencer and he smiled shyly at me.

“Will you be alright here?” He asked as he began to assess the space.

I had to admit that his concern had caught me off guard. The others were often open with their emotions, but Spencer was quieter, almost as if he was still deciding whether he could be himself around me. Although I hoped that in time he would relax, I had no intention of pushing him. For now, I was simply pleasantly surprised to find that he was just as protective of me as the rest of the team.

“Oh, sure. It’s kinda bare right now, but once I get some books on display and add a bunch of plants, it’ll be great.” I defended, hoping that he wouldn’t sense the nerves that I still held for this move. “Maybe I’ll even get some fairy lights for the edge of that loft bit.” I added thoughtfully as I pointed toward my bed, causing him to peek over at me with confusion, but before I could question it Morgan charged back inside the apartment with a heavy case containing a large majority of my clothing.

“She means string lights, pretty boy. It’s a Britishism.” He explained, causing Spencer to smile at me as if endeared by the idea and I shrugged, unaware that this was a term that was uncommon here. “That’s everything from the van. I don’t think we’re all gonna fit in your place, so how about grabbing some lunch out? I know a joint nearby.”

“Sure. My treat for all your help.” I offered as Spencer and I began to make our way to the door, only for Morgan to snatch my keys from my hand to test the locks protectively.

Once he was satisfied that the apartment was safe, we regrouped with the others and followed his lead to a small bar a couple of blocks away. Even in the distance, it was clear that it was a lively venue. On closer examination, I noticed a couple of decorative choices that indicated that it was probably a sports bar.

Everyone chatted happily as Morgan arranged a table outside in the sun, seeming as if he knew the owners and we took our seats whilst he caught up with them. The waiter provided us with menus whilst gesturing to Morgan, who joined us with a bright smile.

“Now. I know that you’re used to all of your food being boiled and beige, but you’re not living in the war anymore. It’s time to get modern. This here is some real American food that’s gonna blow your mind.” He announced, flashing me a cheeky wink but I simply rolled my eyes at him.

“Ah, yes. I’m in America now, the land of heart attack burgers and copious amounts of salt on absolutely everything. I’ll need bigger clothes in no time.” I retorted, causing laughter to pass around the table and Morgan shook his head at me.

“Alright. You just reserve your judgement for now. You’re gonna eat your words.” He argued, throwing a menu at me insistently.

Flipping through the pages of the menu, I was overwhelmed by choices. Though I’d experienced a few months of living in the States as a teenager and had actually spent the first four years of my life here, I considered myself proudly British at heart. I knew that the lifestyle was going to be the hardest adaptation for me to make.

With little other options that felt familiar, I ordered a grilled sandwich with fries and an ice tea, with Morgan raising a brow at me judgmentally for somehow slipping tea into my meal.

“So, Alice. Do you know anyone here other than us?” JJ asked, moving the conversation away from the British vs American war that Morgan and I had begun. “I heard that you’ve got family in the area?”

“Well, I’ve got Ricky, as you know. He is starting his second year at the University of Virginia, so he’s really local. Then I have two aunts in Florida and my grandma in New York. Plus, my dad who is on the West Coast somewhere, I think?” I listed openly, realising as I got to the end that I wasn't exactly sure where my flaky father was living at the moment.

“You’re not in touch with your dad?” Morgan investigated, studying me with an obvious curiosity and I shuffled awkwardly in my seat.

“Is it that obvious?” I chuckled under my breath, attempting to make light of it and I noticed Penelope out of the corner of my eye gesturing at him to drop his line of questioning. “He has a habit of moving from one fancy apartment to another in various superficial cities along the coast. He’s still out there chasing his Hugh Hefner, playboy dream.” I clarified, attempting not to cause them all to feel that I was shutting them out from the details of my life so soon, but Penelope dove in to change the topic.

“I actually made you something to help you to get situated.” She announced, dropping a large binder onto the table that caused me to stare back at her in confusion. “This bad boy has all of the details for local laundromats, gyms, take outs and everything else that you could possibly need, all based on our personal recommendations. I know that it can be hard to get into the swing of things in a new place, let alone a new country, so hopefully this makes that process a little less daunting for you.” She smiled and as I scanned the faces of the team around the table, I could tell that they had each contributed to this.

“That is so considerate!” I breathed, taking a quick flick through the pages with amazement and it was easy to tell how much work had gone into creating it. “Thank you so much. I honestly can’t even tell you how much this is going to help.”

“We’re here for you, Alice. We’re a team.” Spencer emphasised, meeting my eyes with a kind smile and my heart felt full at the sight of it.

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[thevividgreenmoss]

Let us now turn to some contradictions and ironies inherent in postmodern thought.

The first irony that strikes me is its great popularity in countries like India and China. All the fundamental presuppositions of postmodern social and economic analyses refer to the structures of advanced capitalism. Looking at things from India, it seems implausible that postmodernist analyses could apply to societies that are not modern even by the standards of 19th century Britain or France or Germany. Nor is it possible to be postindustrial in predominantly agrarian societies.

Definitive decline of the industrial working class is a central tenet of postmodernism. This too does not apply. Given the demographic size of China and its rapid industrialization in recent years, there has been greater expansion of the industrial proletariat there in mere three decades than perhaps in all of Europe during its industrial revolutions. A small number of countries - East and South East Asian countries, plus India, Brazil and Argentina, let us say - has experienced a demographically much larger process of proletarianisation than the West did in all its history, and this has happened precisely during the half century which has witnessed the ascendancy of postmodern ideas in the higher echelons of university education.

As for the great prosperity and generalised ownership of housing and consumer durables that capitalism is said to have delivered, the fact is that (a) the vast majority of people outside the Euro-American zones never experienced anything of the kind, and (b) that kind of prosperity, including homeownership for the working classes, is precisely what is getting dissolved by the current offensives of the capitalist class across Europe and North America. And if the credit system was the great motor for the making of the ‘consumer society’, ‘affluent society’ etc, it is precisely the scale of private and state debts that is bringing that whole phase of American prosperity to a close under our very eyes.

We shall ignore here the absurd idea of the disappearance of the capitalist class in the United States. But something needs to be said about the opposite thesis, regarding the working class. I have already pointed out the actual and historically unprecedented expansion of the proletariat in numerous Third World countries over the past half century. Moreover, the dramatic decline of the industrial working class in the US is an index of the general decline of manufacture in US economy as such, and this decline is proving to be not a sign of prosperity but the key cause of the decline of American economic power as such. That is certainly not the case in the most powerful European economy, namely Germany, where industrial working class continues to have far greater social weight. In another frame, as early as the 1970s, when ideas of the death of the working class were swirling around on both sides of the Atlantic, Harry Braverman, in his brilliant book Labour and Monopoly Capital, had demonstrated that some 90% of the US population owned no income-generating property and relied exclusively on an economy of salaries and wages. A sectoral breakdown of jobs and incomes then showed a very high degree of proletarianisation.

Meanwhile, since at least the advent of Lenin, communists have never believed that the industrial working class will necessarily become the majority of the population or the exclusive agent of revolutionary change; nor has it been postulated that the industrial working class is the only kind of working class we have. The proletariat has always been conceived of as the leading nucleus of a revolutionary movement which will, however, necessarily rely on mobilization of and joint action with other oppressed classes, such as the peasantry, the rural proletariat and the mass of workers in branches other than manufacture, not to speak of numerous other social strata. The postmodernist idea that communism has somehow become irrelevant because the industrial proletariat constitutes only a minority of the population - and even of the proletarianised masses - thus has no bearing on how the role of the industrial proletariat is actually conceived in communist thought.

We can thus say that so far as the social and economic analyses of postmodernism are concerned, we can treat this part of the ideology essentially as a reflection of a particular phase of western, especially US, prosperity, with the assumption that this particular kind of prosperity will now be permanent. Moreover, the ideology is quite an accurate reflection of the class location of the new and prosperous middle class which itself a product of the type of capitalism that arose in the imperialist core of contemporary capitalism during the ‘Golden Age of Capitalism’ between 1945 and 1973. This class has actually continued to gain during the whole period of the Bubble Economy that speculative capital was able to sustain even after the recessionary trends set in after 1973. Moreover, key producers of such ideologies tend to be concentrated, even when they come from Third World origins, in institutions of higher learning and cultural management in those countries. This highly Westocentric ideology was presented, moreover, as a universalism, i.e., as if conditions prevailing in the West were somehow global conditions and ideas produced in specific circumstances had universal validity.

[...]

About Foucault I shall be brief. He is more a philosophical historian and little concerned with active politics. He was as opposed to the fundamentals of Marxist thought as Lyotard but had absolutely no truck with neoliberalism. His opposition to Marxism can be illustrated with a brief but paradigmatic formulation of his difference from Marxism: ‘no narrative of history can be assembled from the twin sites of political economy and the state.’ What does this mean? First, classes are not the fundamental units of society; economic power is just one kind among many kinds of power; the state is just one social actor among many other kinds of actors; to abolish one kind of state (e.g., the capitalist state) and replacing it with some other kind of state (e.g., the proletarian state) amounts to no more than replacing one kind of power over the people with another kind of power. Second, society is composed of countless complexes and organisms of power: the family, the prison complex, the schooling complex, the medical complex, the technologies for management of sexuality, and so on and on and on. Each has to be addressed in its own terms, not in the overall framework of class struggle.

Such ideas then lead to a very restricted notion of what forms of politics might be permissible. One of Foucault’s key political ideas is that no one can really represent any one else without a coercive relationship with those who are represented. All you can do in the social domain is try to help enhance the power of people to represent themselves. For this you need what Foucault calls ‘micro-politics,’ local, issue-based, time-bound. You help others if you can but you make sure that you don’t try to represent them, since self-representation is the only authentic form of representation.

Foucault’s idea of ‘micro-politics’, local and issue-based, and especially the rhetoric of ‘empowering’ without organizing politically, does authorize the kind of politics that has come to be practised now on such a vast scale by the NGOs and the so-called social movements. His proposition that (a) every society is composed of countless centres of power and great many institutions, and therefore (b) what is required is not a unified political party but a whole plethora of agents addressing those multiple centres of power resonates well with the very structure of the postmodern politics that have arisen in our times, especially in the form of identity politics. And, for all its radical claims, this kind of politics is perfectly acceptable to Anglo-Saxon liberal statecraft which has always understood that capitalist state power is safest when it can fragment the opposition into diverse claimants competing for a share in the national revenue - atomisation of politics, so to speak - and most vulnerable when it has to face a united opposition to its rule. In immigrant societies such as the United States, where the population itself is composed of diverse social groups-distinguished by countries of origin, religious affiliation, racial divides etc--this atomisation of politics in the shape of ‘identity politics’ has always been the principal weapon against class politics, as Marxist historians such as Mike Davis have shown with extensive documentation. By the end of 1960s, this politics of ethnic identity became state policy not only in the US but also in Canada as ‘multiculturalism’ and in Britain as ‘race relations’--increasingly with the high philosophical rhetoric borrowed from French postmodernism. This Anglo-Saxon manoeuvre was then imported into India, often with postmodernist authority; even the word ‘ethnicity’ was a gift to Indian social science from the Ford Foundation and its funded scholars, institutes, publications and seminars. Until the 1970s, hardly any Indian social scientist used this word.

[...]

Let us recall some of the features of American and French postmodernisms we discussed earlier. First, there is a revolt against Enlightenment ideas of Rationality, Universality and Progress. Second, in political theory, there is widespread rejection of the state and political organizations - parties, trade unions etc - as mere bureaucratic machines for mass coercion. Politics, then, can only be local, community-based and issue-based. The Nazi death camps and technologically produced weapons of mass destruction are cited again and again to debunk the idea that Science can be an instrument of human emancipation. Most of the postmodernists equate communism and fascism as ‘totalitarian’ ideologies and systems, borrowing this equation from the Far Right. Rejection of Modernity then often leads to a certain romanticization of thepremodern - the traditional, the primordial - as something authentic (Foucault, for instance, not only debunked communism as ‘totalitarian’ but also wrote essays praising the clerical revolution in Iran). Versions of all this re-appear in various shades of Indian postmodernism - as we shall see below.

The postmodern political forms in India typically take the shape of ‘social movements’, ‘civil society organizations’ and the funded NGOs. It is important to understand these terms. ‘Social movement’ is contrasted to ‘political movements’. Politics addresses the issue of state power, but if state is dismissed as realm of corruption and bureaucratic manipulation then political parties--even workers’ parties which participate in the political field and fight for state power--are also seen as part of that corruption, as yet other kinds of bureaucratic machines. Logically, then, the political is replaced by ‘the social’; the objective now is not to work toward a different kind of state power but to bypass the issue of political power altogether, and to work, in stead, for ‘empowerment’ of individuals, local communities and social groups where they exist, in relation to the specific issues that concern them in their daily lives. The same applies to the concept of ‘civil society organizations’. ‘Civil society’ is equated with ‘the people’ and is differentiated from ‘the state.’ Another term for the same is ‘people’s movements’. All of these typically take the form of the NGO. Much is made of NOT taking state funds, which is said to guarantee independence from the state. This is an interesting claim considering that great many of the most successful NGOs do take money from the Scandinavian governments, German foundations, various institutions of the United Nations, or such entities as Action Aid which is itself an arm of the British government - and for some years, increasingly, the World Bank, Ford Foundation etc. More recently, a number of Indian corporate houses have also moved into this field of patronage for NGOs. In practice, then, the national Indian state is the one that is treated as particularly unworthy, while funding from virtually anywhere else is considered clean.

Now, local work, among particular communities and on specific issues, is as old as 19th century reform movements, and most political parties which have any kind of ideological claims do have such programmes. But all such works was historically done with the idea of building larger and larger unities and organization for emancipation of the nation as a whole, of the peasantry and the working classes as entire social units, or of women on the national scale. What was new with NGOs etc was an exclusive emphasis on local work and the small group, with great contempt for electoral politics and with deliberate refusal to work in terms of classes, national liberation, or even trade union work. The phenomenon of the NGOs--many of whom starting calling themselves ‘social movements’ etc - arose in India as a major, distinct phenomenon when European social democratic parties - with their governments and foundations - began funding such organisations, essentially to compete with communist organizational efforts among the peasantry, the working classes, women and artisanal groups. On the global scale, those social democratic parties were already closely aligned with US imperialism since the beginning of the Cold War but much of the broad left in India which was opposed to the communist parties came to see those very social democratic parties as a progressive, democratic alternative to communism. There is reason to believe that CIA money was also funnelled through those European parties but the anticommunist projects of those parties themselves were now just as extreme as those of US imperialism. They funded anti-communist NGOs not only in India but across Asia and, especially, Africa.

Once that breach was in place, other funders could also move in. This phenomenon remained relatively restricted during the period when ideologies of anti-imperialism, economic nationalism and independent Indian development were strong and, rhetorically at least, the state itself paid lip service to such ideologies. As neoliberalism took hold and those ideologies receded, inhibition about getting funding from foreign agencies and domestic corporates also fell off. Then, as the state started withdrawing from direct involvement in providing social entitlements, it also began farming out some of its own work to NGOs, as had previously been done in weaker states such as Bangladesh. Over time, these ‘social movements’, armed with the rhetoric of ‘micro-politics’ borrowed from French postmodernism have come to occupy more and more of the political space in the name of ‘civil society’ and ‘the social’. This atomization of politics, which undercuts the politics of organized unity against the ruling class and its state, is greatly favoured by global capital itself.

[...]

In an article published in 1993, Dipesh Chakrabarty ascribed this great change in the very nature of the original subalternist project to, in his words, ‘the interest that Gayatri Spivak and, following her, Edward Said took in the project.’ Having thus identified the main influences behind the mutation, he also identifies the precise nature of the shift: from the project to ‘write ‘better’ Marxist histories,’ free of ‘economistic class reductionism’ to an understanding that ‘a critique of this nature could hardly afford to ignore the problem of universalism/Eurocentrism that was inherent in Marxist thought itself.’ This is a significant formulation, since it suggests that subalternism rejected the fundamentals of Marxism not once but twice. In the original project itself, Chakrabarty says, Subalternism rejected what he calls ‘economistic class reductionism’ - in other words, it rejected the idea that (1) that economy was the backbone of any society, (2) that the classes that are fundamental to the working of a capitalist system are the fundamental social forces of that society, (3) the idea that class struggle is the motivating force of history around which other kinds of struggles are shaped, and (4) the idea of the proletarian revolution itself. These are the ideas that are here described as ‘economistic class reductionism,’ which, Chakrabarty says, subalternism rejected at the very beginning. In the second phase, after American postmodernism - represented in this case by Said and Spivak - blessed the project, subalternism also rejected Marxist thought for its ‘universalism.’ Here, ‘universalism’ is again a code word for a number of ideas that are sought to be rejected, such as the idea (1) that there is a common humanity, beyond race or ethnicity or even nationality, which is exploited under capitalism, (2) that the proletariat cannot really emancipate itself without emancipating society as a whole and thus emerging (in Marx’s words) as ‘a universal class,’ (3) that what we have so far had is capitalist universality (my term for what the bourgeoisie calls ‘globalization’) and it cannot be overturned with anything less than a socialist revolution which itself will have to be, eventually, universal (global), and (4) that identities and ethnicities, important as they undoubtedly are, involve, in each instance, only a small part of humanity, whereas exploitation is what is ‘universal’ for the vast majority of humanity, beyond identity etc.

In short, then, rejection of what subalternists, in their code language, call ‘class reductionism’ and ‘universalism’ amounts in fact to rejection of Marxism as a whole, regardless of how often they invoke Gramsci or Mao or whoever.

This rejection of Marxism, coupled with growing identification with postmodernist ideas, and especially with postmodern antirationalism, then leads the subalterns to adopt positions on the issue of secularism and communalism, for instance, which are clearly rightwing even though they cannot be identified with Hindutva politics as such.

Aijaz Ahmad, On Postmodernism

#* #aijaz ahmad #essays

[narcissasdaffodil]

Flufftober 2020

Day 2: First Meeting

This is another AU fic. I wanted to do something a little different instead of taking from my fic, so this is another coffee shop AU, so enjoy this!

Alecto’s thoughts disappear from her head as she hears the sound of footsteps approaching her. She was aware she would likely need to give up some space,deciding to check through one of Abby’s essays in a coffee shop was a good idea when she first thought of it, but now the heavens have opened outside, she’s slightly regretting her decision as the coffee shop fills up with people sheltering from the rain, along with the noise that accompanied them.

Wow! She’s gorgeous.

When footsteps stop beside her table, she looks up to see a pretty girl standing there. She had long loose ombre hair and glasses and was likely not much taller than her. She found herself staring, mesmerised by the beauty standing there. The noise of the rest of the coffee shop fell away, leaving only the two of them in silence. It feels different to usual, the silence warm and inviting. She hears the other girl clear her throat, and her cheeks flush as she realised she entirely missed what the other girl said, lost in her own fantasies.

“S...sorry. Could you repeat, please? It’s slightly loud in here so I didn’t catch that.” Her voice is soft as she looks up at the other girl, she hopes she’s loud enough to be heard. She does frequently miss stuff, her hearing isn’t the best and she does have to focus a lot to hear people sometimes.

“Could I sit here? This is the only free seat. I’ve got stuff to do anyway, so I won’t bother you.” Alecto nodded at the other girl, her words appeared to have entirely dried up in her throat. She took a sip of the drink in front of her.

She heard the chair slide out in response, the other girl sitting down. She tried to focus on the essay before her, but kept losing track mid sentence. Abby was amazing and all, but her essays were so in-depth that she regularly lost track. Why does Abby even ask you to read her stuff, anyway? You’re doing medicine, not criminology like her, and she’s so talented that she doesn’t technically need a second opinion.

The pretty girl sitting across from her definitely wasn’t helping her focus in the slightest. She hoped this wasn’t just another ‘Alecto crush’ as Abby termed them. A crush would easily consume her and she never would act on it, but Abby was hardly any better herself, she definitely had some variety of the weird crush thing. She had had a crush on her best friend for 3 and something years now, and was too scared to ruin what she had with Abby. They had met during sixth form, and the friendship only grew. She had needed another person there after the disastrous events of the years before that, and being trapped in a very toxic friendship group.

“I’m...I’m Alecto by the way. I know this is a weird ask, but would you mind reading over something for me? My best friend asked me to read an essay for her so she could have a second opinion and I’m struggling to process it, mainly as it’s not my speciality. It’s okay if the answer’s no, I’ll figure it out eventually, I think.” She asked, looking over her laptop at the girl across from her. Why do you keep stuttering? That’s supposed to have been in the past years ago! Alecto fiddled with her hair, curling a chunk of it around her fingers.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Marisol. I’d be fine with checking over it for you, that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I was only planning to read a book, anyway, so there’s nothing urgent for me to complete.” Marisol smiled at her, resting her hand on the table. How lucky! Yay. That’s such a pretty name.

She scrolled back up to the top of the essay then handed her laptop over to Marisol.

“That’s such a pretty name! I hope you have more luck with it than I did, maybe as I’m doing medicine myself, Abby’s essays are more difficult for me to get my head around as I’m not as familiar with the course content as she is. I’m not sure why she doesn’t just get her course mates to check through it for her, but I don’t mind that much.” She explained. You’re talking so much! Wow. What’s gotten into you?

Marisol nodded, and tapped her chin with a finger as she scanned the essay. Alecto retrieved a book from her bag to pass the time, but she kept spacing out as she was reading. Uh oh. This is definitely another ‘Alecto crush’. Yet this one is more difficult to explain, how has it happened this quickly? It did do that with Abby too, but that’s only twice in a realm of crushes.

She was finding it difficult to keep her hands still, she caught hold of her bracelet and started gently spinning it. She didn’t want to be irritating, so it was important to keep herself from fiddling or doing anything that made too much noise. Using her phone did cross her mind, but she didn’t want to appear rude.

“I think I got it. It’s exploring some of the different ways that the criminal justice system needs improvement and suggestions on how to do that. The writing itself isn’t overly accessible to people who aren’t studying something related to the criminal justice system though. I’m studying law myself, which definitely helped in understanding it, there’s definitely specific terminology which probably comes across like code to those unfamiliar with it. It’s a good essay though, people familiar with criminology or law would definitely find it accessible.” Marisol explained. “You’d think she might have helped you out a little terminology wise or at least sent you over some notes of hers. Are all of her essays slightly difficult for you to access?” In her focus, her brow was furrowed, and she was looking over her glasses at Alecto. She had a notebook open next to her with a series of neat and organised notes about the essay.

“Yes, you’re right there. It’s always confused me slightly how she asks me to read over stuff for her instead of her course mates or something, but I don’t mind that much. It does give me a good puzzle. I’ve always struggled more with feedback for her, but she’s always good with testing me if I need it, so I do it as a favour to her.” She explained. It gives you an excuse to spend time with her too. She’s your best friend, after all. Even if you’re doing completely different courses and aren’t even living in the same halls. You’re scared of losing her as you do care about her a lot.

“I also wrote a set of notes on it for you to go from in terms of feedback. You can rewrite them if you like, but I wanted to give you an extra hand. You’re a good person, though, it’s nice of you to do that for your friend. I don’t mind helping you further in the future, either.” She handed the laptop back to Alecto, placing her notebook next to it. Alecto scanned the notes, opening a separate document and typing them up. Wait. She wants to spend more time with you? But why? You’re not the most interesting person.

“R...really? You want to help me more? Thank you, though. You...you actually want to spend more time with me? I’m not used to people saying that, usually I do scare people off, not deliberately either.” She was more than a little bit flustered, feeling herself blush again. She wasn’t usually this much of a mess, but crushes caused her to lose all usual sensibilities. She didn’t make eye contact with Marisol, hoping desperately the other girl wasn’t playing a prank on her.

“I mean it. I’ve seen you a couple of times around campus and for some reason I feel drawn to you. That, and I want to learn how to take good photos and Abby told me you’re very talented. She gushes about you all the time. We’re on the same floor in halls, so we became quite close. I appear to have ended up with a group of flatmates from my worst nightmares, apart from Abby, so we’ve just bonded through that.” Marisol explained. To Alecto’s surprise, she seemed serious, and was actually blushing. How can being around you of all people make someone blush? She knows Abby, so that’s something positive, Abby doesn’t tend to be friends with just anyone.

Marisol reached over the table and took Alecto’s hand in hers, rubbing the back of her hand in a circle. She felt herself relax, aware that she was likely blushing even more. She felt a warm feeling that was more than a little bit unfamiliar to her.

“Okay. I’ll teach you then. We probably need to exchange numbers or something, maybe social media?” She retrieved her phone from her bag, feeling Marisol let go of her other hand. She clicked onto her Instagram account, handing her phone over to Marisol. When she was done, she took her phone back, feeling it buzz with a message. She checked it, finding herself unable to concentrate fully and having to reread it multiple times. Her mind was consumed by a strange warm feeling that was unfamiliar to her.

#litg #litg marisol #litg fanfic #love island the game #litgs2 #flufftober 2020 #bubblelaureno

[marshmallow-phd]

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

**

Witches are born with a wide variety of powers. Some are common, gifted to each witch born with the blood, like healing and the ability to cast incantations. Others are given sparingly by Great Mother, envied by the ones who don’t possess them. Those gifts, however, can be a curse.

You were hidden away within the trees, next to the stream not too far from your home. If you squinted enough, you could make out the faded yellow walls and old terra cotta shingles that made up the small cottage you grew up in. No one would find you here. No one cared to venture this far into the woods. It wasn’t as dangerous for witches as it was for humans, but one couldn’t be too careful. At least, that’s what Mother Willow constantly said. It never stopped you, though.

All was quiet for the most part. Sure, birds were chirping and water was running over the rocks it’d long ago smoothed into a slick surface, but the soundtrack of the forest was the only sound that could be heard around you. That was good. That was what you needed.

Taking one last peek around you to be completely certain that you were alone, you scooted closer to the edge of the river and held out your hand.

At first nothing happened. In the past, it had been accidents, not involving your concentration. But you knew you could do it. On the rare occasions you’d been able to practice on your own, you’d been successful once or twice. So, you pictured it over and over in your head, the water rising up, swirling together to create a little sphere. It seemed simple enough, however, you were struggling. The water was barely coming up out of the river. You could lift it, but you couldn’t make it take form.  

Frustration built up inside of you. If you’d been allowed to train properly, this wouldn’t be so difficult. You’d be able to do much more than this. Why couldn’t they just-

“(y/n)?”

You gasped, swirling around in your spot. But you weren’t the only thing that moved. The water you’d been manipulating shot through the air, hitting Soomi in the face, drenching her.

“Oh, crap!” You jumped to your feet, searching for anything that might help her dry off. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Its okay, (y/n),” Soomi sighed as she rung out her hair. The drops of water splattered against the dried fallen leaves before dispersing in even tinier particles. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was, um, I was just-” Caught. That’s what you were. You were caught red handed doing the one thing you were ordered not to do. Well, maybe ordered was a little strong. It was simply “highly suggested” that you didn’t try to “overextend your gifts”. A.k.a., don’t use them at all.

You couldn’t entirely blame the mothers for being wary of what you could do. Sometimes, when they acted on their own, your powers scared even you.

Centuries had gone by since the last recorded incident of a witch born with elemental abilities. No one quite knew what to do with you once your “gifts” had been discovered and several of the elder witches didn’t exactly hide how they felt. While they weren’t advocating for you to be locked in a dungeon for the rest of your life, you had heard whispers of binding spells. It wasn’t your fault that the last witch had gone crazy and killed almost an entire village before she died as well. You weren’t her, so why were they treating you’d risen from her grave?

Soomi was kinder towards you from the beginning, like an older sister you’d never asked for, but turned out you needed anyway.  

The older witch released another sigh. The look of sympathy on her face made you want to scowl, but you held it back. You knew it came from a good place. Didn’t mean you had to like it, though.

“Let’s go,” Soomi simply suggested. “It’s time for your lesson.”

You rolled eyes. That you couldn’t hold back. “You make me sound like Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”

At least Soomi laughed. “You used to like that show.”

“That’s because I thought once I reached high school, I’d be getting into whacky hijinks with my friends while trying to keep the ‘big secret’. Turns out I was just homeschooled.”

“Homeschooled”. That was the official termed used so the school district wouldn’t get hissy that you weren’t showing up for their classes. Really, you spent your days out in the fields learning magic from the different mothers with the other young witches in the coven, not geometry or chemistry. On days where it was too cold to be outside, you were all stuffed into the house of whichever mother was leading lessons that day. There were times that you missed those days. The days when you were still like everyone else.

“Let’s just go inside,” Soomi urged. “Before Mother Willow gets suspicious.”

“I bet she already is,” you grumbled. While the old woman swore up and down that she wasn’t telepathic, you didn’t believe her. She somehow always knew when you were doing something that you shouldn’t have.

Soomi laughed at your comment before turning to head back to the cottage. You took a step to follow, but that familiar nauseated feeling bubbled in your stomach.

No, no, no, not another one.

The world around you began to spin and you fell to your knees, barely keeping yourself up by the palms of your hands.

“(y/n)!” Soomi ran to you, sliding down her knees as well as she grasped your shoulders. But you were no longer in the present.

The scene that took over your vision was as fuzzy and in coherent as ever. Everything was shifting and static, like an old VHS tape that had been played too many times. But new clues were finally given to you in this latest vision.

Moss covered trees surrounded you and it was night, however there was still plenty of light to see by. Light given by the harsh red moon hanging in the sky. A woman stood facing away from you, platinum hair that looked like starlight cascading down her back. She seemed to be speaking to you, but you couldn’t make out any of the words. Her shoulders began to move. She was starting to face you. Before you could fully see her face, however, the vision came to an abrupt end.

“(y/n)! (y/n), can you hear me?” Soomi’s frantic voice came back loud and clear in your ears. You were back.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” you reassured her in a croaked voice. You hated the powerlessness and lack of control you had over the visions. They would come at any time, no warning or preparation beyond the sickened feeling in your stomach. But even that was hardly enough to make you ready for whatever was being forced through your head.

“Did you see anything new?” she whispered.

You wanted scoff. Even though you knew your health was really her first priority when these waves hit and consumed you, but the small part of her couldn’t help be concerned for the wolves these visions revolved around. You’d hoped that someday she’d get passed whatever infatuation she had with that Junmyeon guy. Sure, he was smart and attractively cute, but he had a mate. And there were plenty of guys scrambling to get in line for a date with her.

You’d thought that she was getting over it. The visions you’d received in the beginning hadn’t been clear or involved the wolves at all. They just gave you a feeling that something powerful was coming. Soomi had been the one who insisted on warning the pack that lived near here as she felt they too would be in danger. She’d received quite the scolding for that. Until you had that vision.

It was the only that hadn’t made you feel like you were going to throw up. It had been somewhat peaceful just before it came on that you thought maybe you’d simply fallen asleep or started daydreaming aimlessly. This one had come in clearer than the others, also adding to your confusion. Only the dizziness told you that it wasn’t something your mind had come up with. 

A white wolf was limping towards you, blood matting in the fur on its front left leg, hiding the source wound. Amber eyes that seemed almost human shined at you. The animal was too big to be a normal, wild creature of the forest. It was a werewolf.

When he was right in front of you, he collapse, his muzzle landing softly in your lap as you sat on your knees. You reached out to comfort him, but the vision was over before you could confirm that the snow fur was as soft as it seemed. 

Soomi was the first one you told and she confirmed that it had to be another premonition. Immediately, she called Junmyeon to tell him, but you were confused as you overheard the conversation. She didn’t go into detail, simply saying that you had now seen an injured wolf and this “coming evil” would affect everyone after all.

“Yeah,” you finally answered her with a nod. “Yeah, I did.”

“Come on.” Sommi helped you to your feet and started walking you towards the house. “You can tell Mother Willow and then we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

You didn’t reply, just letting her lead you through the trees until the little house came back into view. She helped you through the back door and sat you down at the kitchen table before going to fetch Mother Willow. The wood surface was covered in specs of dried herbs, drops of oil, and different stone bowls used for mixing the ingredients to whatever concoction the old lady was inventing next. It was the main reason you never ate at the table. You wished that she’d make something that would stop the visions or at least make them a bit more bearable to handle, but she said it was simply “meant to be”.

“Tell me what you saw, dear.”

You jumped just as the two older witches came back into the kitchen.

Mother Willow, with her wild gray hair just as chaotic as ever, sat across from you, sliding a cup of tea over to your side of the table. You breathed in the steam given off from the caramel colored liquid and instantly felt more energized and recovered. Herbal magic. Her specialty. And soon to be yours.

“What did you see, child?” she asked after you’d taken a sip.

Pulling your face into a frown, you closed your eyes and thought back to what you’d seen. “I was in the forest. It was dark. Nighttime. The blood moon was high in the sky. There was a woman with white hair. I couldn’t see her face. But she was just standing there, staring at the moon.”

“That was all?” Mother Willow asked when you became silent. You nodded, opening your eyes. Exhaling, she turned to Soomi. “The blood moon is only a month away. Whoever this woman is, she must be behind whatever is coming. I’m sure of it. She is not to be underestimated.”

“Do you know who she might be?” you asked cautiously. Mother Willow was like an old leather-bound history book hidden in the forbidden part of the great library; full of secrets and long forgotten tales. How she came across the things she knew, you weren’t sure. You were always too afraid to ask.

Mother Willow shook her head. “There are dozens of possibilities, each more worrisome than the last.”

Concern and fear decorated Soomi’s features. “What should we do, Mother?”  

“Go to the boys,” was her answer. “They should be prepared to help fight whatever this is. According to (y/n)’s visions, they’ll be involved one way or another. It’s best they have every detail that we have as soon as (y/n) has another vision. And maybe they’ll have knowledge that we don’t possess.”

“What could they possibly know that we don’t?” you questioned. They were simply wolves that went on with their lives. The only time they ever got involved was when they were directly threatened, like when the small coven that lived within the city limits had tried to kill one of their mates. Idiots.

“They have their own histories they carry with them,” Mother Willow explained. “They have enemies that we might not know about.”

“If they haven’t thought of it by now, I hardly doubt it’s suddenly going to dawn on them,” you argued.

It’d been over two years since you first started getting the visions. At first, you would go months without receiving another one. Lately, though, they were hitting you more often. Mostly just the same blurred trees, indistinguishable babble, and occasional appearance by the white wolf, save for today’s adventure. Maybe you were still just a little bitter about that. Bitter that you were the one who had to deal with this. Why couldn’t it have been one of the wolves that got the visions instead?

Oh, right. They weren’t that special.

Mother Willow looked up to her ceiling, exasperating by your constant fight back. “Your visions involve them. It is only right that we include them. I can’t see the future, but they will be the back bone of the fight. I can feel it.”

“I’ll let Junmyeon know we’re coming.” Soomi left the kitchen, disappearing through the living room and down the hall, where your bedrooms were housed. You still felt guilty whenever you thought about how Soomi had given up her travels to come back here and train you. Now she was stuck here, making sure that you stayed out of trouble and made it through your lessons. Not to mention being the constant connection between the coven and the wolf pack. 

“You were using your powers again, weren’t you?” Mother Willow inquired after a minute or so of silence.

You tried to keep your face composed. “Why do say that?”

Like she’d ever fall for that. “Soomi’s hair was dry when she went to go look for you.”

You cringed. “That was an accident.”

“It always is,” she mused. Standing up, Mother Willow walked over to you and patted your head. “You know you have to be careful. If you dive too deeply, you might never make it back to the surface.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you mumbled, looking away from her as you crossed your arms over your chest. If you were given these powers, why couldn’t you use them?

“Most days, no it wouldn’t be, but you know what it can do. What it’s done.”

“Fine!” You jumped up from the chair. “I’ll just tie my hands behind my back for the rest of life and be done with it!”

“(y/n)-”

“I can’t talk,” you snapped. “I have to pack.” You stormed down the hall towards your room. Just before you slammed your door, you made brief eye contact with Soomi from her room across the way. She was still on the phone, so you cut off the connection and shut your door, hard and loud before collapsing on your bed.

Why did it always have to be you?

**

“Has anyone seen my statistics textbook?”

“Oh, man, who ate the last of the waffles?”

“Okay, who took my black shirt?”

“I’m leaving now, if anyone doesn’t want to drive themselves, you better come now!”

“Don’t leave without me!”

“You can’t leave without telling Mei bye! Do you want to make her cry?”

Sehun smiled to himself as he stared up at the ceiling, hands behind his head for an extra pillow. While the rest of the house was up and getting ready for the day, he’d stayed back in his room, just listening to the chaos that was a daily occurrence around here.

Unlike the others, Sehun didn’t have anywhere to be. After graduation, he wasn’t sure what to do. A few days a week he helped Kris out at the shop, but for the rest of the time, he mostly just hung around the farmhouse or wandered around town.

Gone were the days where he could count on his brothers to keep him company or to cure his boredom. All of them had mates that needed attention and love and he was still the odd man out. Not that he resented any of the mates; it wasn’t their fault, they didn’t choose it. Mostly. No, he wasn’t resentful. Just… bored. But he was content with that boredom. He’d rather be in this overcrowded, chaotic house than anywhere else.

Deciding it was time to venture downstairs, Sehun peeled himself out of his sheets and shuffled over to the closet. 

Some of Tao’s clothes were shoved over to Sehun’s side of the small space. The evil idea of wearing one of Tao’s precious shirts crossed his mind, but decided the whining the older wolf would give wasn’t worth it. Especially since Lottie was able to smother the fits fairly quickly. It just wasn’t as entertaining as it used to be.

Pulling one of his own shirt off the hanger, Sehun juggled pulling it over his head as he left the room. He made a quick stop by the bathroom, brushing his teeth and waking himself up with a splash of water to the face. In the mirror, he could see his dark roots peeking of from the sandy blonde ends. Running his fingers through the messy hair, he mused over the idea of a change. He smirked to himself. What a nice way to shock everyone around here. It was an easy decision to make, but not today. He’d give it a bit before really deciding on what to do.

Things had quieted down significantly as he descended the stairs after leaving the bathroom. Only a few mates and their wolves were scattered around the kitchen. Everyone else had already headed into town.

“Good morning, Sehun,” Evie waved from the breakfast booth as she sat next to Mei, watching to make sure the little rascal didn’t make too much of a mess since she liked doing it on her own now.

“Morning,” he mumbled back as he made his way to the fridge. Not really hungry, he snatched a yogurt from the top shelf and let the door close itself shut.

“Any plans today?” Jongdae asked as he stood from the kitchen table.

Sehun shrugged. “No, not really.” He was about to ask Jongdae if he wanted to find something to do with him, but then he remembered it was Wednesday. Jongdae and Jiyoung had a standing date at the old Orpheum theatre every Wednesday to see whatever old flick was being played that day. Although, Sehun wasn’t sure a lot of “watching” was being done. “I’ll find something, though. Maybe bug Junmyeon during his office hours.”

Jongdae laughed. “That’s right. Poor guy needs some company with Kita out on that internship dig.”

“She comes back next week, doesn’t she?” Lanie asked.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t stop Junmyeon from panicking every five seconds,” Chanyeol chuckled as he threw an arm around Lanie’s shoulders.

His mate rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t be doing the same thing.”

Sehun snickered, but kept his mouth shut. He liked having the girls around. They were quick witted and could sometimes come up with better jokes and comebacks than he was able to.

Finishing off the yogurt, Sehun threw it in the trash and headed for the back door.

“Where are you going?” Evie asked.

Sehun shrugged. “For a run, I guess.”

He was out the door before anyone could respond. Because while he liked having everyone around he was sick of the stare. The “I wish he wasn’t alone” stare. The sympathetic stare. He wished they would stop, but he knew they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t get that he really didn’t care. He wasn’t pining for this mystery mate that had eluded him. If she showed up, great. If she didn’t, he wouldn’t care. He was purely neutral on the whole idea. Besides, he kind of liked things the way they were. Why did they need to change now?

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #sehun x reader #oh sehun #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo series #exo supernatural au #Midnight Hours #Untamed Wolf Universe

[talldarkandroguesome]

4th of Sun’s Dawn, Turdas

Nabine knows me altogether too well.

Unlike Avon, who tries to keep festivities for my name day to a discreet location and reigned in, Nabine has little care for such notions. In fact, she hired out a great number of the workers of The Den to give me a start into celebrations starting at sun down and going into the night.

There was a nostalgia in knowing that we loved one another and understood the power and enjoyment of group escapades. We indulged in a few bets and some competition over who could bed particular sorts.

It is not as though only the hired Den workers were in attendance. Nabine also invited a few of her friends and acquaintances. She had additional toys and furnishings to set the mood for different scenarios. There were themes that took place at different points in the evening.

As a special treat, which I know Nabine always used to reserve for special occasions such as this, she told me to use my birthgift on her and others as part of the fun. She made sure to inform everyone invited as to what it was I would be doing. Everyone had given her verbal permission, which was echoed again before we started each activity, with some safeties in place should someone change their mind throughout.

I know how hard it is for someone like Nabine who prefers to be in a dominant role to let another be in control. I think that is part of why she likes me to use my birthgift during activities where she wishes to play a more submissive role; she has a tendency to slip back into that role regardless, just out of reflex.

Or perhaps some part of her does like the idea of letting someone else take control from her, though it is hardly something she seems comfortable with in the long-term. 

There was feasting and dancing and music and room after room of oiled bodies intertwined. At times it was hard to tell exactly how many people were making use of each part of your body or who exactly you were engaged in what with.

I could almost hear Avon’s voice asking me if it was safe to simply let yourself be part of the mass of people seeking pleasure from whatever source it came from. I could have laughed. He has never understood, being that he takes so long to form physical attraction to other people and has such a diminished libido.

Not that I would see this as a negative. It is exactly what is best for him. Though I could hardly live the same way.

So long as the body is not in too uncomfortable a position for too long, there is a sort of sensation that can only come from such activities. It is almost as if you are not a person in a crowd so much as you are one part of something bigger. A group that has become one, a single goal, a single purpose. Everyone working towards that great, building sensation. Everyone working hard, not only for their own pleasure, but for those around them as well. And when one is satisfied, they often continue on, as eager to bring others pleasure as to receive it. People of all races coming together with a shared vision.

Those who do not experience such attraction or who have not participated might find difficulty understanding that uniquely spiritual feeling that happens in such large groups. And, as I often found myself in the middle again and again, I got to feel myself being pulled and pushed, the group of our bodies moving as if a single organism. Several times I was suspended above floor or furniture by the ministrations of the other celebrants. Perhaps that is the same feeling as levitation, though I think I had far more fun that a mage levitating around.

As dawn arrived, Nabine had me find a place to sleep off the alcohol and told me she had more prepared for when the full day had arrived.

I kissed her in a way I have not kissed in since she left me for the cult. I was so grateful for her being back in my life, back in my arms.

She laughed and told me that I better not use this as an excuse to skip my mage training or she would be cross. I laughed and followed her instructions.

I was not quite sober when I arrived to class. It made things easier, I could relax, concentrating primarily on the spell and less on the judgement of those around me. With a few bit of advise from the instructor, and half as many tries as the day before, I managed to complete my lessons. The teacher said I was clearly working hard. That  although I was slower and getting the spells to work, I had such a deep pool of magicka that once I learned the basics, I would probably excel at a more rapid pace than my peers. It was encouraging to hear.

I almost ran back to The Den. I was excited to see what my beloved Nabine had in store for me.

On my arrival, she tossed me a pack and told me that we were going on a hunting trip.

Now, I was worried about how foolish I would look shooting a bow besides a master bowmer like Nabine. But I knew she likely put in a great deal of effort to make this happen, so I followed without either complaint or question.

We took roads through the treetops. Unused to such travel, having done it only the once, and then we were taking major roads rather than the side passages that Nabine moved through, I often had to teleport to keep up. It was tiring, but she is so fast and she did not wait for me to catch up.

Finally, after several hours moving southeast, Nabine stopped. I looked around and then down. There was a small cart besides the firepit of a camp: two Altmer and a Bosmer, sitting around the fire were talking, the two Altmer loudly complaining, their Bosmer companion trying to placate them.

Nabine turned to me and asked me if I was ready for a fun performance. I smiled and asked her what type of hunt was this going to be,

She grinned and licked her pointed teeth. Leaning in she told me that I was to pretend to be a good Dunmeri slave boy and to put on the clothing in the pack.

I opened it up and found a silk veil for my face and even less for around the rest of me. Mostly it was jewelry designed to attach chains to. Nice mammoth leather collar and cuffs with big bone loops.

When I was dressed, Nabine took some makeup from her bag and painted me up appropriately and then sewed in more hair so that I had a long ponytail atop my head. Then we made our way down.

As we approached, the Bosmer in the camp turned and then back to her companions, informing them that their wait was finally over and the entertainment had arrived. 

The Altmer grumbled and asked what their money had been spent on exactly.

The Bosmer said that she had secured a rare Dunmer slave, raised as a performer, but forced to fight for the Pact, but after seeing the rages of war, turned coward and ran, only to be caught by a lieutenant who had the eye to recognize what was before him.

The two Altmer came round to inspect me. I made sure to keep my eyes lowered and my posture submissive. Then pawed at me, checked me over for health and unsightly marks. I wanted so bad to slit their throats. I would have been a mount or beast checked before being sent to the slaughter. The irony of knowing what fate was to bring.

When the Altmer had given their approval, the Bosmer finished their arrangements, collected coin and told them to enjoy me as long as they would like before dawn. That my handler was there to make sure that her property was not going to be damaged beyond healing.

I was asked to dance. So I began to do so, the careful precision of the Deif Indkhes dance.

As I made sure to exaggerate each movement, they shouted at me for song. Some kind of music. That is when I knew I had them.

There is a sort of siren-like song that accompanies the dance. And as I began to sing, they pulled off the clothing I wore so that I was bared before them, using both my my body to entice them and my voice to call them. It took little to work, I could see the lust grow in their eyes. I was an object, a curiosity they wished to possess. It was just what I had hoped for.

My song continued, I willed for them to come close, to join me, to use me. All that was in return was to offer me that which I no long had, but which they possessed. And they responded by eagerly following my instructions.

As I began to service them both, I glanced over to Nabine. She was watching the situation hungrily. In all meanings of the word.

She gave me the signal that meant she was ready to go on my queue.

Just as the Altmer reached their height of pleasure and began to climax, I took the one in front of me and reached up as though to steady my hands upon their shoulders. Only, in each hand was a small needle. I made sure to hit veins on both sides, so that the poison would travel that much faster.

As the Altmer in front of me began to struggle, the one behind me seemed to wonder what their friend was doing.

They had little time to contemplate, for I heard the familiar sound of an arrow forcing air out of a body. I pulled the veil from my face and wrapped it around the mouth of the Altmer in front of me, pulling them back where they struggled. Then they tried to scream, but I pulled hard, keeping them from doing so.

When that Altmer was dead, I turned to see Nabine already field dressing the other. She scolded me for poisoning the other one, preventing her from being able to do anything with the other.

Then we stages a scene to look like bandits and Nabine pushed me down on the ground, her body still covered in the Altmer’s blood. She looked so beautiful. 

We made love right there in the camp,

And when we had finished and repacked, we headed back to her home where we could bathe and get the children ready for bed.

I must say, it has been a while since I have so thoroughly enjoyed my name day. I just wonder what else Nabine has in store for me over the next few days.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

[itsthemoofacewriting]

Don’t look back, just keep your eyes on me

Summary: They were going to need each other if they wanted to survive education. A-level/School AU. LuNami

Rating: K- No warnings, just wholesome goodness. 

So, this is kind of a rewrite of my other story School Days on FFN. I wrote School Days a reaaaaally long time ago, I think I was 15? And that’s probably being a bit generous, I was probably younger. Now at 24, I think I can give it a better crack. I’ll still leave the original up for people, but I won’t be adding to that story, it’ll go here.

I’m also making everyone the same age; they’ll be anywhere from 16-18 (depending on where we are in the story) and completing their A-levels. I can’t stand separating the Straw hats, they’re a team, guys!

The schooling system is based on the UK. Over here you have primary school (age 5-11), secondary school (11-16), then between the ages of 16-18 you can either go to a college to learn a trade (mechanics, plumbing, hair dressing etc) or a college to do a-levels, which get you ready for university.

Hopefully that’ll explain it but I’m more than happy to answer any other questions people may have.

You can also find this story on FFN and AO3

The new girl

Nami was in a daze. It was her first day. She was alone and lost already. Her and her family had to wait for the previous people to move out before they could travel down. The earliest they could move was two weeks after term had started. That meant that if people at school didn’t know each other, they did now. Friendship groups would have already been made and everyone would be comfortable. She’d be enduring her first day completely alone.

To make matters worse, the school was huge, and the office had given her a tiny map to get around. She’d missed the induction days, which definitely would have helped. There was no winning in this situation. So she would suck it up, square her shoulders and get on with the tiny map, her only companion. Now, if only she could figure out where room L540 was from here.

“You know, if you stand there like that for a few more minutes, you’ll be trampled to death by a stampede of students once the bell rings.”

Nami turned to gape at the morbid, but oddly softly spoken, comment made behind her. The dark-haired girl in front of her giggled and Nami could only presume it was because of the face she was making. Nami then took notice of the guy beside her, with a long nose, making what she presumed was the same face as her. A look of pure horror.

“Robin! Don’t say such morbid things! Especially to someone who is clearly new!”

Nami’s shoulders sagged with defeat, so it was obvious that she was new.

The girl named Robin didn’t look the least bit remorseful and instead wore an innocent smile, as if she had been discussing the weather. “From the look of panic and map, you’re new? Do you need help?”

Okay, this was good. Nami could deal with this. This was her opening to make friends. This Robin girl was a bit dark but seemed nice enough. She was about to reply that she would love some help but was interrupted by a loud voice screaming.

“Usooooooooooooopp,” and before she could even blink, a black blur hurtled passed her and into the long-nosed boy, “you said you’d meet me upstairs at my locker five minutes ago. What’s taking so long? We have classes soon. I wanted to show you something cool. Usoooopp, come ooooon,” the boy whined.

However, the long-nosed boy could hardly reply, as he was currently eating dirt from the floor and trapped underneath the weight of the black-haired boy.

Nami was stunned and trying to comprehend what was going on. Was this normal? Should she help? They clearly knew each other and from the unfazed look that Robin had, this was a regular occurrence.

“Uhhh, are you okay?” Nami tentatively asked, wondering whether she should really be caught up in this. It was only her first day.

It seemed then that the black-haired boy had finally noticed it wasn’t just the two of them. As he looked up at Nami, it was like he was seeing a shiny new toy. “Who are you? I don’t know you, do I? No, I think I would remember you. You have cool hair.” The boy was suddenly up and in Nami’s face. “Oh, and yeah I’m good, why wouldn’t I be? Are you okay? Do you want to see something cool? Usopp is clearly too busy.” He then promptly shoved his finger in his nose, completely unaware that Nami wasn’t asking him but the struggling boy underneath.

Nami started to laugh at the peculiar boy in front of her. He clearly had no respect for the uniform with a ratty straw hat on a string around his neck, tie loose and shirt untucked, trousers rolled up past his ankles and flip flops adorning his feet. He knew it was September, right?

He seemed to brighten as she laughed, not understanding that it was actually directed at him, before he was suddenly beaten to the floor.

“Oi. What the hell Luffy? I wasn’t meant to meet you at your locker for another five minutes. Have some patience! And I’m not suddenly too busy, you were on top of me.” Usopp growled, now on his feet behind the black-haired boy, with his freshly raised fist, after hitting him on the head.

As the boy named Luffy hopped to his feet, he started to squabble with the long-nosed boy.

“I don’t think we’re making the best first impression. My name is Robin, the boy with the straw hat is Luffy and the long-nosed boy is Usopp.” Usopp stopped arguing, seeming to take offense to his description, before being pulled back in by Luffy.

“What room are you in? Perhaps one of us can walk you in that direction?”

Nami could feel relief flood through her body at Robin’s words. Normally she had good directional skills but having a helping hand would be great, as she was slowly running out of time to get to class.

“I’m going to room L540, I have geography. Is there any chance you or these guys are in that class too?”

Robin shook her head in sympathy but before she could reply someone else was shouting down to them.

“Oi, Luffy, if you don’t move your ass, I’m leaving you behind!” A green haired student shouted down from the second floor. The fist bell rang just after, signifying they had to get a move on and make their way towards lessons.

Luffy seemed to remember himself, stopping his childish argument with Usopp and turned to Nami. “L540, right? Cool, that’s the way me and Zoro are going, you can walk with us.”

Nami beamed, turning to say thanks and that hopefully she’d see Robin later but stopped at the girl’s face. She had an odd look on her face, did Robin want to walk with her instead? Just as Nami was about to ask what was wrong, Luffy had grabbed her wrist and took off charging up the stairs.

“Zoro isn’t joking, he really will leave us.”

“I can walk by myself, don’t drag me around like that!”

.

.

.

Nami now understood why Robin had that odd expression before. She wasn’t upset about not being able to walk with her but instead knew she would have a massive headache with these two morons.

The school was huge. There were three buildings and two smaller ones, but somehow it still didn’t seem big enough considering all the students moving in every direction possible to make it to their classes on time. The hallways were packed and whilst Nami was side stepping and stopping for people, Luffy and Zoro moved with such fluidity and ease. It was obvious they’d been here for two weeks longer than her.

It was almost like a blur, as they moved from the ground floor, up to the second, through the whole second floor, only to go back down a smaller staircase at the other end of the floor. Nami began getting suspicious when they went through the same hallway again but maybe that was her imagination? They’d been there two weeks, and the school was huge. Everything looked the same. It was probably her mistake.

After looping round the second time, it suddenly clicked into place. They were idiots. Robin’s expression flashed in her mind again and Nami had to remind herself, that it was one of sympathy.

Time to take charge, she thought to herself, sighing.  

Nami and Zoro were locked in a heated argument, with Luffy walking behind them laughing with his hands behind his head, not a care in the world. Luffy hadn’t even blinked when she’d stepped forward to question them, but it seemed to rub a sore spot for Zoro. He adamantly denied and carried onwards, through the second floor for a third time, refusing to use the tiny map. He looked at it as if it were Satan itself.

“I’m new, this is my first day, and yet I have a better understanding of how to get around this school when you’ve been here for two weeks?”

“Oi, new girl, I need to concentrate. You’re yapping and Luffy’s laughing is throwing me off.” Zoro glared behind them. “I said shut up Luffy. You clearly don’t know where you’re going either.”

“Oh, so you admit that you are lost?” Nami smugly looked up at the green haired boy.

The second bell rang, warning them they only had five minutes before lesson started. Any more teasing she had lined up flew out the window, she needed to sort these idiots out and quickly.

As she looked down at her map and up at the numbers on the door, she realised with dread that Zoro had been leading this whole time. Why did she trust these people? Surely the first impressions should have been a big enough hint.

“Zoro… we’re in the completely wrong building.”

He at least had the decency to flush and avert his gaze after that comment. She took the lead following that.

From his viewpoint behind, Luffy was pleased that the new girl was bonding with his best friend. She seemed like a nice person. Yup, she was staying, he’d made his mind up, he thought to himself.

With seconds to spare, Nami was in front of L540 and was giving instructions to Luffy about how to get himself and Zoro to their own classroom. She wasn’t about to be late for them and she definitely had more hope in Luffy, than Zoro, to deliver them to the correct classroom.

“Luffy, look at me and pay attention. Straight and then turn right. The third classroom on the right will be yours. Now hurry up.”

As she turned to go in, she gave them one last look. Why was there only Luffy walking up the hallway? Zoro had told her they both had the same class. Nami could only sigh and, with utter defeat, turned to look in the opposite direction.

“For god sake Zoro! I just gave you the directions. The other way! Follow Luffy, you directionless moron!”

The last sounds she heard before the door closed were Luffy laughing and Zoro stomping past her as she entered.

.

.

.

As first period ended, Nami sighed in relief. Geography wasn’t too bad, but she was so far behind from missing those two weeks. The teacher had been kind enough to set everyone else up with work and sat with her to get her up to date on what she needed to know and the materials she’d need to catch up. It definitely settled her to know the teacher was on her side.

Nami had her head down as she left, trying to orientate herself with where she needed to go next. In one hand was her tiny map and the other her timetable with her next class. From what she could make out, her next class was on the other side of campus. Who put together the timetables? Why couldn’t they see she’d basically have to run or know shortcuts to get there on time. Honestly.

She was brought out of her inner monologue when a hand touched her shoulder.

It was Luffy. Had he waited for her?

“I waited for you! Thanks for helping us find our room, without that we would have been late. Zoro’s useless,” his bright voice spoke, grin splitting across his face.

“Luffy, you didn’t know the way either,” She deadpanned. “Where is he, by the way? Did he get lost already?” She expected no less after their previous experience finding this building.

He laughed, completely ignoring her first comment. “Nope! He fell asleep in our class and the teacher wanted to speak to him after,” he said as he haphazardly swung the doors open to the outer building, oblivious that other students were dodging out of the way to avoid being hit, he was just looking at Nami. “Do you need help with finding your next class?”

Nami smiled, her first impression was correct. He was an idiot, but he seemed kind. He didn’t have to help her and yet here he was risking being late to his next lesson or missing out on some of his free period, all for someone he barely knew. “I appreciate the offer, but I get the impression you need more help than I do. What do you have next? Perhaps I can point you the right way?” They continued walking towards the main building

Suddenly Luffy was in her personal space and looking down at her timetable, completely ignoring whatever she had said, “Accountancy? Didn’t you just have geography? They’re not even related; do you not know what you want to do with your life?”

Okay. So, an idiot, kind and blunt. Although the bluntness might be because of the idiot part.

“I know what I want to do with my life!” She huffed at him. “I want to be a cartographer; I want to make maps of the world. Hence the geography a-levels but the college insisted on four options. I had to fill it with something else and I’m pretty good with money. By the way, I don’t think I’ve properly introduced myself, I’m Nami.”

As she finished, she turned to look at Luffy, expecting him to look bored but he was looking all around her face as if she were the most interesting person to exist. Well, that was certainly nice.

However, he didn’t respond to a thing she had said, a second later he realised that she was staring at him, waiting for a response. Panicking, he blurted out, “Usopp is going that way. You can meet him again properly, when he’s not rolling around the floor.”

Nami could only imagine Usopp would not agree with Luffy’s explanation about him rolling around on the floor but she let it go, perhaps it was best to pick her battles with him. At least she could get to know Usopp better, he seemed the sanest out of this odd bunch so far.

“- and when I turned the corner on my way to the I.T building, they were arguing about someone being a cheat, I think it may have been him, and looked like they were about to fight. Naturally I stepped in like a hero and diffused the situation.” Usopp finished with pride, chest puffed.

She had no idea who Usopp was talking about, but he had some great gossip. Although it was clear he was a bit of a liar. At least he made it easy to pick apart what was gossip and what was a lie. Hm, the irony of his long nose wasn’t lost on her when paired with his lying behaviour.

However, compared on what she had come up against today, he was easily the most normal and incredibly friendly. He hadn’t even blinked when Luffy had come bounding up to him with Nami, especially when she had pinched Luffy’s cheek and lectured him for dragging her around again. Instead Usopp had beamed at her and filled her in on some great gossip that had been going on in the two weeks she had missed as they both walked up to the third floor.

.

.

.

The day had flown by as Luffy hung out with Nami and introduced her to his friends. When he had first seen her, he’d had a gut instinct that she was cool, and it turns out she is. She seemed super smart too and said some really funny things. She had the nicest smile too. He got the impression she liked him and his friends.

He’d walked with her to her fourth lesson and said he’d meet her after so she could sit with them at lunch. Nami could meet everyone else this way too! He was sure she’d fit right into the group.

As Luffy and Nami walked towards the cafeteria on the first floor, he was telling her about this cool move a guy did with his sword during the video he had watched in is history class the other day. He was about to continue but stopped as they arrived into the cafeteria.

It was already packed as Luffy was craning his head trying to see whether his friends had beaten him here and snagged a table. Just then he caught a flash of blue and took Nami’s hand as he ran through the cafeteria towards the rest of his friends. He was completely unaware that he was pushing people or using Nami as a weapon behind him to further push people as she tried to keep up or risk being completely dragged.

“GUUUUUUUYS!” He shouted as he drew closer.

He came to an immediate stop in front of them all, as Nami bumped into the back of him. When she stepped next to him, she had an almost evil look on her face, and he was keenly aware of her saying that she hated being dragged. Instead of saying anything, he moved on quickly in hopes of distracting her.

“Guys, this is… uuuuh…” Okay, think, think. He was pretty sure she had told him her name earlier, but he’d been distracted. Her hair was so cool, it was almost like fire and then he’d thought about how much Ace would probably like it too. Then she’d been so excited as she explained something, her face lighting up, it was very distracting for him. What had she been saying?

The people at the table could only sigh, the girl next to him looked irked and Luffy continuing to think was only adding to her irritation. She had clearly told him based on her look and he’d not listened.

“Oh, oh! It’s Nazi!” He yelped when he came face to face with Nami as she pulled on his cheeks.

“Who on earth would be called Nazi, huh? You take history, that’s an awful name! I told you earlier and you clearly didn’t listen. Nami. N-A-M-I,” and let go of his cheeks with a huff.

Before anyone could speak, a smooth voice started to speak, “Oh, delicate flower, how cruel life is that it has kept us apart up until now. Fate has now brought you to me and your beautiful presence can bring light upon my dark existence.” The blonde boy before her looked close to tears as he finished, going down on one knee, as one of his hands held hers.

“What a dork.”

The table started to snicker at that comment and Sanji was up on his feet in a flash, in front of Zoro and pulling at his collar as an argument broke out between them both.

Things seemed to somewhat calm down after that comment. Luffy watched as Nami introduced herself, properly this time, to the rest of those she hadn’t met and started comparing timetables with whole group.

Luffy realised he didn’t have any classes with Nami but did have a couple of spare periods that they could spend together. Nami and Usopp squealed over the fact they have business together but that seemed to be it for the group. They were all taking very different topics after all. It’s not like it mattered anyway, Luffy only shared some of his classes with Zoro and Robin and he still saw everyone else in-between.

.

.

.

Nami was tired. She’d had a good day, much better than what she’d expected, but the classes had been full on and with the knowledge of how much she still had to do, it weighed heavily on her.

What her previous teachers had said was true, A-levels really were a step up.

She didn’t have any more time to think about that, as Luffy barrelled into her locker, all smiles. “Let’s walk home together.”

At lunch, they’d been discussing how far away from the college they were. It turned out they all lived fairly close to each other, Luffy being the closest. He was only around the corner. She was surprised that he’d been listening at first, he’d looked far too busy shovelling food.

“Uh, yeah sure.” She tried to push that bad feeling down after their expedition around the school earlier but then, Zoro wouldn’t be with them, so it shouldn’t be too bad, right?

She screamed as the car barely missed them, car horn blaring and lights flashing in anger at their recklessness.

This was even worse than being lost with Zoro. Luffy was cackling away, having the time of his life.

It had started calmly enough, Nami had been telling Luffy about her day and how much work she had to do to catch up on. They’d crossed the first road safely but then his face had flashed mischievously, and he took off, grabbing her wrist. The rain definitely hadn’t helped, if anything it egged him on and Nami was trying not to faint. When she’d dropped her bag, Luffy was there in a heartbeat, picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder before a car got to it.

“Do you have a death wish?!” She panted, trying to catch her breath now they were stood in front of her house and not dodging cars. “Who taught you to cross the road?”

Luffy wasn’t fazed at all. “It was fun! Even you laughed when we dodged that puddle.”

She rolled her eyes but knew he had a point. In a crazy way, it had been fun and had taken her mind off of her stressful day. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just try to make it home in one piece.”

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning! We can walk together again.” He was now walking backwards, waving his hands above his head and saying goodbye.

“Yeah, 8am sharp! See you- wait, Luffy, you have my bag!”

“You can have it back tomorrow! Bye!”

“No, Luffy I need it tonight.” She started to walk towards him, but it just caused him to walk away quicker.

“Byeeeee!” He cheered loudly.

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

What had she gotten herself into? There went her night of schoolwork.

Anyone who’s read School Days on FFN will recognise the last scene. How could I not include it? I love chaotic Luffy.

There’s not really going to be a huge plot or an end goal (Although I do have an ending in mind!). I remember reading a fic in a different fandom and theirs were all out of order, varying length, so I might do something like that. Gives me a bit more freedom and sound like fun.

Hope you enjoyed, until next time.

#LuNami #LuffyxNami #LuNa #Nami #Luffy #OPFanfic #one piece #fanfic

[jenny-kirk]

Blackwater

((Some headcanons that kinda turned into a drabble of the Blackwater ferry job -Jenny x Micah- see tags for TWs))

The Blackwater camp had a perfect view of the town, of its beautiful dockyard and grand buildings among its dusty cobbled paths.

Their location on a grassy clifftop allowed for undisturbed peace, out of the way while overlooking busying businesses on one side and a quiet river on the other. It really was beautiful.

It was only the second official camp Miss Kirk had inhabited since joining the Van Der Linde Gang, her new family. She’d been trapesing around with them for just over a year, her 20th birthday looming overhead making the upcoming heist and its rewards all the more exciting.

The lack of any recent large-scale jobs only added to this air of anticipation, it was all the girl was talking about, as if anticipating her presents on Christmas Eve. At least it took her mind off other matters.

Whenever Micah or Dutch discussed the job she eagerly listened with bated breath, observing plans efficiently form and change. 

Hosea and Arthur’s plan to make enough money to move west did seem an awful lot safer. At least the ferry had enough goods to make the risks worthwhile!

Jenny fully believed that the Blackwater job would be easier than Hosea feared. No doubt they’d be moving camps directly after, the plan being to head west as she helped pack the wagons while others prepared for the job.

Micah asking her if she wanted to sit this one job out on account of the news she had shared with him only a day or so prior only made Jenny crook her eye and laugh, leaving a peck on his cheek while no one was watching as she left to help prepare the guns.

“It’s just a job y’old fool. Everyone will be fine!”

She could handle herself and so could the others. It was just a job like any other.

Unfortunately for Jenny, she had faith that Micah wouldn’t deliberately put anyone of the gang in direct danger during such a heist as this. Especially her. Perhaps once again searching for a good that wasn't there.

It was this level of naive thinking and trust that would ultimately be her downfall. No doubt reminding Micah that dependency, trust and attachments was always dangerous.

As planned there appeared a serious lack of local police, although a suspect number of men in dark suits, a sea of black and red. Odd.

One by one the crew snuck through the dockyard, saddlebags heaved across each others shoulders. Their entrance to the vessel smooth and quiet, the ship’s crew were hardly to be seen...

Once on board the gang began to separate, each in search of gold.

A single glance told Jenny she’d stick with Micah, their grins feeding off of one another like a true Bonnie and Clyde duo. The thrill of the job surging through their bodies as they snuck and ducked around corners, making their way deep into the vessel.

Jenny’s mind was only focused on the possibilities her share of the Blackwater money would bring. She’d be able to leave the gang should she choose, pursue her dreams and goals in life. To travel, to make something of herself, if nothing else then a successful criminal perhaps on her own terms. And once such excitements in life grew tiresome, with money filled pockets she’d be able to have a family of her own...

Such daydreams were wiped clean away when the shooting began above them. Micah and Jenny not frightened, but even more determined.

It rang out from the other side of the ferry. One shot followed swiftly by a mass of shouting and flood of suit and ties. Badges glistening in the pale moonlight. No wonder there were no sheriff's around, they had the goddamn Pinkertons after them!

With saddlebags full, and cases of goods located and set aside, Dutch began shouting orders. Grab what you can and leave!

From below decks the commotion told Jenny and Micah all they needed to know as they stuffed each pocket and bag full, silent throughout their concentration until Micah spun around firing a shot directly into the Pinkerton running up behind them.

“Goddamn Pinkertons?! How long these bastards been on our tail now?!”

“We need to get outta here, c’mon woman” Jenny stated the obvious in all seriousness despite her apparent sarcasm, drawing her own revolver to her side as the pair began to clamber their way back through the winding trails of the ferry. 

They had the money and were in the chase, it was exhillerating! But something didn't feel right, in fact, Jenny felt dread sitting within the pit of  her stomach. Thing’s had turned sour far too fast.

Firing lead at every turn while shouting obsentities at their attackers, the couple exchanged crooked gleams, mockingly complementing one another in the process, taking turns to save one another unnecessarily.

A game they often played during conflict to boast on how they saved the other’s life.

The gunfire was slowly died down, as the gang searched for an escape. Dutch’s shouts could still be heard from overhead. Despite the imminent danger the two found the corridor, flooded by bodies and blood empty. Quiet. 

“See,” Jenny pushed some hair that had fallen into her face back behind her ear, “getting better with those hands ain’t you.” 

Her tease not uncommon, Micah snarled a chuckle while catching his breath. “Hmmh, almost as good as you’re gettin’ with that mouth o’ yours, sugar.” 

Pulling the shorter woman close, adrenaline fuelled the two, foolishly letting their guard down where danger lurked despite knowing better.

That one shot echoed across the metal borders surrounding them. It rang out as Jenny shifted back, out of Micah’s grasp. Eyes wide. Her side burning.

It all happened so quickly, turning with a raised revolver to meet the gaze of the pompous Pinkerton standing where the echo emerged, multiple shots rang out. 

Micah’s revolvers hot and smoking as the Pinkerton fell to the ground.

One, Two, Three sharp snaps were fired next to her ears, ringing, aching. Four. 

One hadn't belonged to Micah. 

Stumbling, Jenny hardly noticed her gun had fallen from her grip. A grip she no longer had as her soaked hand found its way to the source of pain. An  emerging red splodge, a second one, this time in her abdomen.

It was bad, that was obvious as the colour drained from her complexion. 

The shot to her side was merely a graze. This one however, this wasn’t something you walk away from. They’d been in enough scrapes to know that.

Micah caught the brunette before her fall, keeping her moving he muttered incoherent complaints. About the heist, about her.

All he could do was stand and watch on. Killing the Pinkerton but too late. Anger and irritation raging within him, they shouldn't have stopped, she shouldn’t have come with them, the stupid thing, they needed to get out of here.

It was an occupational hazard, but the girl was so full of spark it was near unimaginable something so dumb could occour to someone so well equipped to such situations.

No words between the two were spoken as Jenny became used to the sensation of feeling hot and cold in an instant, of seeing her white shirt change colour as moving people became merely blurred shapes all while Micah helped her move throughout the ferry and up the winding stairs.

The things she wished to say were too tired to be heard. Instead, Jenny could only look at Micah with half-closed lids, lips dry, purple and parted.

The top deck of the ferry was no different than below, covered with unfortunate fools. Micah looked across, Javier ran by closely followed by Lenny. Thank God he didn’t look over.

And there was Dutch. Walking towards the exit of the vessel where their horses stood firm, some poor innocent woman lying on the floor nearby. 

“Dutch!” Micah called between grunts of trying to bring Jenny with him, knowing what was in store. Their saddlebags having been lost among the struggle, only a measly take residing within their pockets.

It was only as the camp regrouped with the wagons, ready to move out  when Dutch announced the need to move up north perhaps east until things settled down.

It set in just how badly things had gone. Mac and Sean were nowhere to be seen and Davey too had been injured substantially.

Being quickly loaded into a wagon as they set off, Grimshaw and Mary-Beth left in charge of watching over Miss Kirk, Micah was left to ride ahead, avoiding questions as best he could. Trying to remain as disconnected and emotionless as was humanly possible despite feeling sick to his stomach. God he was actually feeling. Responsibility? Guilt?

Heading towards the Grizzlies, the place where Jenny had first been found by the gang. Micah rode near enough to the wagon with Lenny up ahead nearer Dutch. The blonde reflected on the day’s events, on the result of a bad call he made for his own benefit.

Reassurances to Lenny only furthered Micah’s anger and resentment. That kid was only ever sweet on Jenny whereas Micah had an ‘arrangement’ or so they called it.

But no one could know...he’d promised. And while he was not above breaking such promises, Micah only then realised that Miss Kirk had left an impression on him. One he would hold dearly for the rest of his miserable and bitter life.

“Hows about I go on ahead? Look for some shelter?”

“Good idea Micah- here, take Arthur with you”

They’d hardly reached Ambarino when Mary-Beth peered from the wagon, the hushed words muttered to their driver, Dutch, was expected as the coughing from within the wagon ceased.

“Davey didn't make it. Nor little Jenny.”

“...Thats a real shame...”

#tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: death #Blackwater #Story time with jenny #Micah x Jenny #Jenny Kirk #Micah Bell

[fortunatelylori]

People are not what they seem – Thoughts on episode 7

This episode was a bit of a mixed bag for me. There were moments I loved but overall it left me more than a little frustrated.

Sparks joy

Arthur Parker

Arthur has always sparked joy for me. His pineapple takedown was one of the most iconic moments of this show and he does not disappoint in episode 7. A lot of people were surprised to see him make the salient points to both Sidney and Georgiana. But I would argue that’s because they haven’t paid attention to Mr. Heywood’s warning back in episode 1.

People are not what they seem in Sanditon and you shouldn’t let what other characters think about one person or another influence your opinion of them. Arthur might be a hypochondriac but, by and large, he has been considerably less trouble to anyone than the likes of Georgiana or Tom. He has also always been, in his own way, incredibly wise and brave. He asked Georgiana to dance when everyone was staring at her in a state of shock and he taught Lady Denham a lesson when even Sidney remained silent.

So it’s no small wonder that the task of reminding Sidney that Eliza Champion might not be the most trustworthy person in the world falls onto him.

It could hardly fall onto Tom … Listen I’ve tried my best to be as understanding with Tom Parker as I could be, making excuses for him left and right. But no more! In this episode alone, he tries to pass off his passive aggressive bullshit onto Mary when she rightly makes him see that hanging around Lady Denham’s drawing room like a carrion crow makes him no better than the likes of Edward Denham. He fallows that up by trying to push his younger brother into a quickie wedding to a woman that abandoned him in favor of a richer husband and sent him on a self-destructive path that almost killed him. What a bozo!!!

At the very least, as his older brother, it was up to Tom to advise Sidney to be a little careful in restarting his relationship with Eliza. But no, that task falls unto Arthur because Tom can’t be trusted with anything more challenging than miniature house building.

Esther and Lord Babington

Speaking of people not being what they seem, these two are by far the biggest surprises Sanditon has to offer. Esther started off as a combination of Mary Crawford and Caroline Bingley and she’s turned into freaking Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight over here!

Don’t ever let anyone tell you Sanditon is just a shallow bodice ripper because the way it went about effortlessly depicting a woman struggling through an emotionally abusive relationship with a narcissist is masterful! And her setting herself free of Edward in this episode was glorious!

As was Lord Babington proving to be a better Darcy than Darcy himself. His deep empathy for her, his complete rejection of Edward’s bitter gossip mongering and his unconditional support was truly moving. Bless him and his orange handkerchief!

PS: Give this man a first name, Davies! He’s earned it!

The Heraclitus of it all

Again, I firmly believe that the people who are dismissing this show as just a spot of shallow entertainment, aren’t really paying attention because the whole scene of Charlotte’s assumed humiliation is so carefully and masterfully built it’s delightful to watch

Charlotte takes Sidney’s “I’m certain Charlotte would prefer to be reading Heraclitus” line as an insult that depicts her a country bumpkin who is not fit for the fashionable London crowd.

But should she? We already know that Sidney reads Heraclituss himself. They were just bonding over that on their little boat ride. And look where his line comes into play:

Eliza: There must be a boy in your village that’s caught your eye.

Lady Susan: Why should Charlotte be limited to her village?

Eliza: I always think it helps to share a common background, that’s all. Miss Heywood is hardly likely to find a kindred spirit in this company.

Lady Susan: Why not?

Eliza: I just imagine she must find our London talk unspeakably tedious. Wouldn’t you agree, Sidney?

Sidney: I have no doubt Charlotte would rather be sat somewhere, quietly reading Heraclitus.

What Sidney is actually saying is that there is someone there who is a kindred spirit to Charlotte: HIM! He isn’t insulting her or laughing at her. He’s making a call back to their London ball scene where they both felt out of place but found solace in each other. What he’s telling her is that he doesn’t belong amongst Eliza’s crowd either.

This kind of subtle, clever writing is actually a lot rarer than you might think and, for me, drives to the core of why Andrew Davies is such a fantastic writer. He not only understands how to present a period drama to a modern audience in a way that is fresh and interesting but also how to create these moments of brilliant writing complexity almost effortlessly.

Georgiana Lambe

Georgiana, the character, isn’t really sparking joy for me as she’s behaving like an utter brat but the writing for her character is. She’s been terribly hurt for the first time in her life so she’s lashing out anyway she can. Also this line is brilliant:

Sidney: I am all too aware that I have fallen short as your guardian. But please believe that I am sincere in my desire to make amends.

Georgiana: Men like you cannot change.

Why is that brilliant? Well because Georgiana is engaging in one of the oldest and most popular forms of toxic anger: transference. What she’s really saying is that Otis will never change enough for them to be together. But Otis isn’t there, Sidney is so he gets to be the punching bag du jour.

The reason why depicting her grief in this way is so compelling is because it’s so natural to her story. She was already feeling like an outcast in England, not loved or wanted by anyone. Otis let her concentrate all of her self-worth entirely on him (one of the worst things he did and not the only one but that’s a subject for another meta) and then failed to live up to his inherent promises. Georgiana feels that no one cares for her and so she pushes the people who are trying to help her away so she can have her very own self-fulfilling prophecy.

And while her interaction with Sidney might be somewhat understandable considering his cold attitude towards her in the beginning and also the fact that whether or not Georgiana likes it, he’s the closest she has to an actual parental figure, her attitude towards Arthur absolutely is not.

Her insults, thankfully, fall on deaf ears because Arthur knows he is a precious lily of the field and we are all very happy he’s here!

Does not spark joy

Sidney and Eliza

From what I see in the tags, no one is really all that fond of Eliza … I wonder why … lol …

But protectiveness over my ship isn’t really why this storyline didn’t spark joy for me. It’s actually because it failed to live up to its potential. The writers chose to make Sidney and Eliza’s reunion all about how that affects Charlotte and dedicated very little time to the Sidney/Eliza dynamic.

And it started so well too. I had high hopes when Sidney said this:

Sidney: A man cannot step into the same river twice.

What Sidney is talking about in very poetic terms if what in my country we call “reheated soup”. That’s what Eliza is … a chance to reheat the soup. Except that the saying goes: reheated soup never tastes the same which is absolutely true when it comes to relationships. Tempting as it might be to rekindle something, it very rarely works out because the reasons why you broke up in the first place will eventually rear their ugly heads again. Which they do in their case as well, when Eliza needlessly attacks Charlotte, proving herself petty and superficial.

But because we never stay with Sidney enough to figure out what his attraction to her might have been once upon a time, because we don’t get to see how reuniting with her is stirring not only his feelings of long lost longing but also of the trauma she caused and because we don’t even get to watch their last conversation together, it all fails to make the impact that it could have made. Which is a shame …

IMDB has Ruth Kearney listed for episode 8 as well and a part of me hopes Eliza will be back next week and we can have a bit of a do over.

Lady Susan

I know everyone likes her and the actress is delightful. However as much as I might enjoy her in isolation, within the context of the story she remains a poorly introduced character who is only on screen to push Charlotte and Sidney together (we never find out why she’s so invested in this) and to act as a deus ex machine for the regatta.

The “half agony, half hope” that is …

Charlotte

I really hate to do this because I love her but most of my frustration this episode came down to Charlotte.

Her behavior was confusing, dissatisfying and at times quite thoughtlessly cruel. Most of that was directed at poor James Stringer.

As you know, I am a Charlotte/Sidney shipper so I don’t have a problem with Charlotte not returning James’ affection. In fact I’ve made the point in the past that the whole Tem Stringer vs. Team Sidney promotion was silly because it was clear there was no rivalry there.

However, Charlotte behaves very poorly to him in this episode. It’s the second time now (the first was in episode 4) where she’s used James as a stand-in for Sidney. Every time she’s talking to this boy, her mind is miles away and she ends up missing all the signs that she’s stringing him along (no pun intended but the clue is in the name, I suppose).

What Charlotte really wants is for Sidney to give her the same undivided adoring validation Stringer gives her and because he isn’t, she ends up engaging with James in a way that is less than ideal. That’s not so say she necessarily realizes she’s doing this but her thoughtlessness is starting to be frustrating.

Which brings me to … her behavior towards Sidney. The way unrequited love seems to work for Charlotte is that it makes her less than generous and she looks for any opportunity to cut Sidney loose, so to speak.

She doesn’t attempt to put up a fight for him at any level, despite this being the girl that fights for everything that matters to her. And it all comes crushing down during the conversation with Eliza, when she takes the smallest opportunity to completely shut him out.

It’s also kind of hypocritical of her to still be angry at this comment at the end of the episode, when she did far worse. I mean if you want to talk about someone being someone else’s “source of amusement” look no further than:

Charlotte (imitating Sidney): You see, Georgiana, this is exactly why I locked you away in Mrs. Griffths’ dungeon. To keep you out of mischief, while I, Sidney Parker, gallivant around London with my high society, dandy friends.

So while deciding that Sidney was an ass to her is tempting, I’d like to point out that, as I’ve shown earlier, there is nothing mean spirited or negative in his comment at all. So is it fair to say that Sidney hurt her when the most obvious explanation is that Charlotte is insecure? She has been since the moment she met Sidney and Eliza instinctively preyed on that insecurity. And Charlotte not only let’s Eliza hurt her but she also transfers her insecurity firmly onto Sidney’s shoulders, instead of owning it or resolving it.

The reason why this is in the half agony, half hope category is because I’m not sure if the above is the writers’ intention or if I’m trying to make this more interesting than it actually is. If their intention is to paint Charlotte as completely right about everything, while Sidney is the fool who needs to repent and Stringer is the guy who got ahead of himself, I’m going to be pretty disappointed.

For the moment, we’ll have to wait and see, I guess.

#sanditon #sanditon 2019 #my meta #charlotte heywood #sidney parker #young stringer #arthur paker #georgiana lambe #eliza champion #charlotte x sidney #sidney x charlotte

[theatrelove3000]

The Next Right Thing

Hi! I honestly don’t know why I post these anymore XD just bored, I suppose. Oh well, doesn’t matter. ANYWAY! This is a song fic. I know that not many people like them but they relate in terms of how things progress. These fics can stand alone but also work together to form a story. This one is Next Right Thing from Frozen II (sorry not sorry, I do what I want.) I do not own Frozen or it’s music. If I did, I would be way better off than I currently am, haha!

Summary: Noelle is going through the motions after her mother’s death. She has slipped into a numbness that even Loki has trouble getting through. She has a song stuck in her head and she keeps humming it absentmindedly. Eventually, Thor asks her to sing it out loud.

Warnings: Depression mostly. I’m bad at warnings. Sorry!

The Next Right Thing

Loki POV:

"What can we do to help her?"

"I have never seen her behave this way."

"Will she be alright?"

I listen to my friends speak of Noelle, asking each other how to make her feel better and questioning me on how to treat her in the state she is in.

"You all must give her a bit of space, but let her know that you are there for her. She needs time." I tell them, running my hand over my face. She has even begun to pull away from me. Not enough for me to worry about our relationship but in a way that makes it clear that if she needs me, she will tell me.

That is until this week, when it finally hit her that her mother was not here anymore. She was talking to Lady Sif, Thor, The Warriors Three, and I at supper and mentioned something about being excited to go to Midgard for Christmas, only to stop in her tracks and go silent. She has become a shell of herself since; barely speaking, hardly sleeping, refusing food. It was painful to watch. I got her to eat a few times but that was mostly when I snuck into her room at night.

"We cannot just sit around and watch her starve herself! She needs help." Lady Sif says, raising her voice and stops her pacing. Thor puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"What do you think I am trying to do? Do you think it not painful for me to watch? She is the love of my life and I cannot help her!" My voice cracks at the end, "I know the feeling of losing your mother. Thor does as well. You need to trust that she will get through this on her own."

Fandral, who is standing next to the window, looking out, chuckles darkly. "At least she has a way to get her anger out."

The others and I go to see what he means. We are met with the sight of Noelle is the training yard, throwing her daggers at one dummy and conjuring magic to fend off the other 6. She was doing very well. At least, until she her concentration waivers for just a split second and the dummy to her right broke from her spell, hitting her in the knee with his sword.

She falls to the ground and covers herself with a protection spell. I do not think of what I am doing. I teleport myself to the training yard to help her, only to see her swing her dirk at the mannequin's legs. She knocks it to the ground and casts a spell to knock the others out as well. When they stop moving, she is breathing heavily, resting her weight onto her left leg. I watch her start to walk away and stumble before catching herself, but only barely.

I jog toward her and she looks up to see who approaches. She sees me and puts a hand up, letting herself onto the bench that she caught her fall on. I stop a few feet from her, cleaning the dummies up with my magic. I let her catch her breath and kneel in front of her, taking her hands in my own. I move my thumbs in circles over her newly formed callouses, truly wishing in could take her pain from her.

"I wouldn't let you take it even if you could." She whispers, pressing her hand to my cheek. I turn my face and press a kiss to her palm, not caring who sees anymore.

"May I offer you a drink, Milady?" We turn and see Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three coming toward us. It was Hogun who had spoken. She smiles at our friends, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and stands. She struggles a bit but I hold my arm out to stabilize her. She takes my arm and we all make our way to the dining hall.

We get there as the lunch feast is ending and get a table to ourselves. We all start piling our plates high with fruit and cheese and bread, and by we, I mean Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and I. Noelle picks off my plate.

Under less touchy circumstances, I would laugh and tell her to get her own while pushing her hands away from my food. Under less touchy circumstances, she would smile sweetly at me and keep eye contact as she steals more food from my plate.

But this was not under less touchy circumstances.

In this extremely fragile situation, I'm just thrilled that she's eating.

After about an hour of all of us together in a group, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three left to go train the new guards. That left my brother, Noelle, and I alone in the dining hall. A few minutes later, a guard comes running in and tells me I am needed in the library. I dismiss him and turn to look back at my Noelle, who must have seen the urgency in the guard's eyes, and nods to me.

"I've got this, brother. We will be here upon your return!" Thor stands up and sits back down next to Noelle, draping his arm across her shoulders and pulls her into his side. I look at Noelle again for a moment before speeding off.

Noelle POV:

I watch Loki run from the room, leaving me with huge, cuddly, well-meaning Thor. I love Thor like a brother, truly, but it's hard to be around him sometimes. I expect this to be one of those times but what he says next surprises me.

"Noelle... it is alright to be sad. You are allowed to feel what you feel. It is okay to be a little messed up for a while." I turn my head away, trying to hide the tears forming in my eyes. He sees them and pulls me into a big bear hug. I let him hold onto me, embracing the warmth of his skin of his arms against the cool temperature my skin has been recently. I blink the tears away, but a few stray ones fall down my cheeks. I let them.

I've seen dark before; But not like this; This is cold; This is empty; This is numb.

I release Thor and we sit on the floor against the wall, goblets of wine in hand. I stare blankly into mine.

The life I knew is over; The lights are out; Hello, darkness; I'm ready to succumb.

I take a long drink of my wine and lean my head against the wall, humming to the song in my head absentmindedly.

Thor looks at me, "What are you singing?"

"A Midgardian song that's been in my head recently."

"Sing the words. Loki tells me you have a lovely voice. I would like to hear it." He nudges me with his elbow. I agree to his request, not having the strength to deal with pleading, and sing the words out loud.

“I follow you around; I always have; But you've gone to a place I cannot find.; This grief has a gravity; It pulls me down; But a tiny voice whispers in my mind; 'You are lost, hope is gone; But you must go on; And do the next right thing.”

"This is a sad song."

I nod and continue, looking at him as though I was speaking the first line to him, “Can there be a day beyond this night?;” I look into my wine, away from Thor. “I don't know anymore what is true; I can't find my direction, I feel alone; The only star that guided me was you.” I stare down at my drink for a moment before downing it, then I look up at the table next to us. I start to stand, placing the cup in my hand on the table as I lift myself shakily to my feet.

“How to rise from the floor; When it's not you I'm rising for?; Just do the next right thing.” I start to walk to the bench at the table, “Take a step, step again; It is all that I ken to do; The next right thing.”

I stop for a moment, sensing that Loki was approaching. Thor puts his hand on my shoulder, urging me to complete the song.

“I won't look too far ahead; It's too much for me to take; But break it down to this next breath; This next step; This next choice is one that I can make.” I hear Loki's footsteps stop in the doorway, listening to me. I turn towards him and start to walk towards him, limping slightly from my injured leg.

“So I'll walk through this night; Stumbling blindly toward the light; And do the next right thing; And with the dawn, what comes then.”

I start to cry when I am halfway through the verse and my path to Loki.

“When it's clear that everything will never be the same again?!” I crumble, my knees hit the ground and I hear both princes start to walk towards me but I hold my hands up, stopping them both in their tracks.

“Then I'll make the choice;” I rise by myself, starting my walk to the doors. “To hear that voice; And do the next right thing.”

I finish the song and walk past Loki, into the hall on my way to my bed chambers. I know he follows me but I don't reach for him as I normally would if I knew he was there. I just keep walking. I could not be seen showing emotion like this in public.

I make it into my room and leave the door open as I sit on my bed. Loki comes in after me, shuts the door, and crosses my room in three long strides. Not 7 seconds of being in each other's company, we are lying on my bed: my face in his shoulder, his arms around me tightly with my own arms around his neck.

I'm sobbing.

"Shhh. I know, my dear. I know. It's alright. I'm here with you now. So please, dry those lovely eyes. It wounds me to see you in such pain."

I take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears but they keep coming. "Please don't leave me." I whisper.

"I promise. I promise I'm not letting go until I make you forget everything that troubles you."

I smile at him, "This isn't something I will forget, Loki."

"I know, darling. But if I can for just a moment, the way you did for me after Mother... I just want you to have a moment of serenity."

"I miss her so much."

"I completely understand." He holds me close until the tears stop, then pulls the blanket over us both. "Sleep, my sweet Noelle. I will fight the nightmares off if they come for you."

"With what?" I ask, amused.

"My bare hands, obviously!" He squeezes my waist and I laugh, a real laugh, before letting my body fall into a deep sleep.

Loki POV:

I made her laugh. I got her to stop crying and made her laugh.

That is a true accomplishment in this moment of darkness for my darling Noelle.

#loki x oc #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki cuddles #Avengers #loki angst #angsty #asgard #loki of asgard

[the-based-brit]

I don't believe that you had the life of reilly. Tell us about your abuse, your feelings are valid

*WARNING! LONG AND VERY DEPRESSING POST INCOMING!*

My biological mother smoked and drank while she was pregnant with me, and I was born with two very severe and debilitating disabilities because of her - Dyspraxia and physical difficulties. The former significantly affects my ability to communicate, makes my brain to slow to process information, and it’s a lot like autism in that it makes me struggle to understand certain social cues and hold a conversation with other people etc.. My short-term memory is...well, very short. I forget things. I can remember stuff that happened years ago, but sometimes I forget whatever it was I did five minutes ago. My brain is broken.

The latter affects my motor skills. My hands are not very strong, and I don’t have a very good grip. Sometimes, I struggle to do things that require a strong pair of hands, such as opening a jar, and I have to get my dad and my stepmother to do it for me. I also can’t bend my right thumb properly, and my handwriting is very childlike and scruffy because I have difficulty holding a pen or pencil properly and it takes a while for me to write things down by hand. I’m much better with a laptop or smart device than a pen and paper. And I’m a writer. Or at least I hope to be some day. My right foot also flicks out and my left foot is actually stronger even though I’m right-handed.

My biological mother never bothered to quit drinking or smoking while she was pregnant with me because she was a selfish bitch with a heart made of stone. Instead of nurturing me and raising me right like she was supposed to, she emotionally abused and neglected me for many years. My dad divorced her when I was three years old because she was horrible to him, and more importantly, to me. He left her for my stepmother and never looked back.

When I got a few years older, she told me he cheated on her with my stepmother, but that was a big fat LIE. Nothing could be further from the truth. My dad was never a cheater and never even thought about having an affair. My so-called “mother” was just butthurt because he left her and thus, could no longer control him.

But she still had me, her boy, who was only three years old and, being so young and impressionable, I was easy to manipulate. So she used me to get back at them. The so-called “affair” was not the only lie she told me. She raised me to believe that my dad and stepmother were the ones who were abusing me and they were trying to take me away from her. I suppose that wasn’t a complete lie because my dad and stepmother did fight for custody over me, but that was only because they wanted to save me from my abuser.

But I was just a kid. I was young and dumb and naive and because she was my mother, I believed her. And every Monday afternoon (I lived with my dad and stepmother during the week and my biological mother had me every weekend), I came home from school, with an attitude problem because she told me horrible things about them. And I accused them of those horrible things and needless to say, they got SUPER angry with me and they would defend themselves, and afterwards, I’d feel bad for what I said, I would cry and I would apologise to them profusely.

And I would be left feeling confused, upset, angry and very stressed out. Until the end of the week, I would come home to her and I would tell her what they told me and she would lie to me again. And again. And again. I felt like I was in the middle of a battlefield. In fact, that pretty much sums up my life at home when I was a kid. Now it’s a lot more peaceful, but the damages that were done to me still never fully healed even to this day.

This happened every single fucking week because of her, and it took a massive toll on me. I was very stressed out, exhausted, frightened, traumatised, confused, anxious and depressed and it literally made me feel physically ill, as well as mentally. I could barely eat or sleep. I would often run to the toilet and throw up in it after eating even just a little bit of food because I was so stressed and anxious, I could not hold it down. And because of that I’m very skinny and underweight and even now, I still have problems eating, though I’ve gotten a bit better at it since then. I also suffered terribly from insomnia and that made sleeping just as difficult.

And this made it hard for me to do well in school. Because of all the shit that was going on at home, and because of my disabilities, I struggled to keep up with the other students. I could barely concentrate, I almost always needed help and I could barely get any work done. My grades are mediocre, at best and nobody could understand why and no one cared to. My parents and teachers just nagged me to work harder, and my special helpers in school insisted on doing more or less all my work for me.

Homework was a bitch, too. It took me, like, three hours at the LEAST to get it done because of my problems. To be fair, I was a pretty lazy kid who deliberately put it off because I didn’t wanna do it and I was young and stupid enough to think it would eventually make me not have to. I HATED my maths homework the most. In fact, maths was basically my WORST subject and I preferred English and IT and History, which I was better at. Science and Religious Education were also pretty cool imo. But I digress.

My learning disorder wasn’t the only thing that broke my brain. My biological mother emotionally manipulated me for years, and that broke me even more. Mentally, physically and emotionally, I was a mess. So many attacks on my mind. My body was left in pretty bad shape, too.

And I think the worst part about all of it was that there was basically jack shit I could do about it. I couldn’t defend myself physically because I was too young, too small and too weak. I couldn’t defend myself verbally because I was far too tired, too over-emotional, too terrible at verbal communication and couldn’t articulate myself well enough. And I was too emotionally abused and bullied, both at home AND at school to even TALK about it. That’s the thing about abusers, they don’t want their victims talking to anyone about their abuse.

And on the rare occassions I did talk about it, no one gave two shits and a fuck. Most people didn’t know about it. Some did, but most of them didn’t give a damn, at least not enough to do anything about it, like get me some help or get me away from my abuser. Because I grew up in a shithole of a town, where there are some good people but there’s a lot more BAD people.

Plus, my abuser was a woman and I’m male. And no one gives two shits about male abuse survivors like myself. I was often told to “man up”, “grow up” and “stop being a pussy” just for trying to open up about my feelings instead of bottling them up inside.

She was a feminist, too, my abuser. I had a biological half-sister who was nine years younger than me and she was treated like a princess while I was treated like dogshit. She never admitted to being one of those crazy man-hating feminist types, not in front of me, but looking back, I realised her actions spoke louder than her words. She was in part the reason I stopped calling myself a feminist years ago.

My dad and stepmother were fairly well-off. Not rich, but not broke, either. Definitely not. I come from a family of teachers. My dad was a teacher, my stepmother is, or was a teacher, and so is my older brother. I could have been a teacher myself if I wasn’t born disabled and abused and neglected for so many years. My dad works in a school full of kids with learning difficulties similar to mine, and he gets paid a lot of money to teach them. And they’re very materialistic and money-oriented people who vote for the UK Labour Party every year, but only because they tax you less. And they think they’re such good parents because they have money and they can buy me nice things, but in my experience, you need more than just money to be a good parent. You have to support your children physically, emotionally and mentally as well.

As George Carlin once said: 

It’s good that they had more than enough money to put food on the table, clothes on my back, a roof over my head...plus entertainment and any luxury item I wanted, but if they had just provided me with equal amounts of love and emotional support, if not more than equal, I would have been mostly ok. But I’m not. I’m broken. I’m aloof. I’m mentally scarred. I’m traumatised. I’m anxious and depressed. I’m very mentally ill, tired and damaged beyond repair.

Because truth be told, they weren’t much better than my so-called mother. Especially my stepmother. I guess she was not as manipulative, but she was very emotionally and verbally abusive. She would often yell at me over little things, and bully me constantly. Just like my abuser, and the other kids at school who harassed me every. single. schoolday. She was horrible to me. Far as I’m concerned, they are both as bad as each other. She’s calmed down quite a bit and she’s not so abrasive anymore, but she still has her moments, and the damage she’s done to me, emotionally, mentally, psychologically, had a permanent effect.

I never had a REAL mother. The kind who nurtures her children and loves them unconditionally. My family hates my guts because they think I’m a spoiled, entitled little brat and a very spiteful, vindictive, hateful little shit (I was a very angry kid. And for good reason) who always cries and complains when he doesn’t get his own way. I never had any real friends, either. I hardly ever speak to anyone in real life because I’ve tried so many times and it seldom ended well. That, and I’m crippled by a horrible social anxiety, which is not as bad as it used to be, but it’s still there.

I’ve never had a girlfriend, either. Or a boyfriend. I’m a virgin, and a loner. Fuck my life.