#not least because there's a decent chance that by the end of the recitation there would be a new one they didn't know about

[velvetgoldminecherry]

Kakashi Week day 5: Kakashi’s birthday & Free day (Modern au)

The sound of wind

Music filled his ears as he stood in the center of the room and laced up his old slippers. He settled into the starting position and waited patiently. The beats pass delicately like fine silk or running water. Suddenly the solo begins, Kakashi begins to move nimbly and beautifully to Sheherazade's solo. He closes his eyes and lets his limbs guide him. He has danced the same solo so many times that he could do it, even if he forgot his own name.

When the music ends, the young man slowly opens his eyelids. Long, thick silver lashes gently brushing her alabaster skin, some traces of lost childhood still on her features.

Kakashi remains a few more minutes in the center of the room, surrounded by mirrors that multiply his image. He slowly walks to the drawers where he has left his backpack, adjusts the cloth mask on his face again and takes off his worn sneakers, replacing them with his old and torn tennis shoes. He should buy new ones, the soles are coming off and have been mended more times than Pakkun has chased squirrels in the park, but he doesn't have enough money.

The job barely helps him cover his scholarship and pay his room rent. someone with brains probably wouldn't have made the stupid decision to adopt a dog in his situation, but he doesn't mind skipping several meals a week, if he can have his best friend by his side instead.

When things weren't a disaster, ballet had been his life, his greatest passion, his father's greatest pride and the only thing that made him feel special among the thousands of people around him. But after his father's death many things changed and he had to abandon his bright future in ballet.

Kakashi had continued to practice after many years of disassociating himself from ballet. Luckily his high school had a dance hall.

Probably, if the opportunity to dance again hadn't presented itself, she would have ended up cutting her wrists. I felt that the ballet was the only thing that I had a memory of. It was the only thing he had enjoyed so far about his time in high school. The subjects were fine. Decent enough to take his mind off the shit he normally had on his brain, but the rest of high school had just been a lousy experience.

He went from nervous tics to panic attacks that more than once left him in a pitiful and embarrassing situation in front of the entire school. The number of diagnoses and medications for insomnia, anxiety, and depression increased, leaving him in shit. At the place where he worked, a guy arrived who did not stop harassing him and groping him whenever he had a chance, but given the lack of people who wanted to hire a traumatized teenager, he had no choice but to stay there...

But having Pakkun and the ballet had been an outlet, a reminder that at least there was still something worth living and school for.

But above all, the ballet made him feel close to his father. It made him feel like he was still by his side, applauding each new achievement, attending each recital, mending his bag and clothes because I couldn't buy new tights, he remembers him holding his trophies with pride, he remembers him putting bandages and ointments on his aching limbs . Remember what it was like to have a family.

He remembers the bouquet of wild flowers he would receive after each recital and the little vanilla cupcake, the only dessert he would really enjoy.

Kakashi finishes getting dressed, picks up his backpack and looks around the room before heading down the hall. He carefully opens the door and when he confirms that no one is there, he leaves the room and carefully closes the door. He heads out of the school, the rest of the students long since gone.

Today he has taken a day off, so he walks through the streets unhurriedly until he reaches a small pastry shop where he buys a small vanilla cupcake, then he goes to the park and spends half an hour looking for flowers, trying to remember their meanings. and how to braid them to form a beautiful bouquet.

Once he gets a successful result, he walks to the outskirts of the city and arrives at the cemetery when the Sun has started to set on the Horizon. Use the last traces of daylight to find his father's grave. He stares at the rusty tombstone for an indefinite time.

When the moon has risen, he closes his eyes, and invaded by memories, he begins to move his arms to the rhythm of the piece he performed for the first time in his life. The name has escaped his memory, but the footsteps are still there, despite the fact that almost twelve years have passed since then.

The images fill her closed eyelids. Tears start running hard. With each jump, each balance, each turn, he feels the pain ease more and more until it becomes tolerable. He finally falls exhausted to the ground, overwhelmed by so many emotions and memories.

He opens his eyes and contemplates the immense silver moon that bathes the tombs and the cemetery lawn with its mother-of-pearl light. He straightens and gently places the bouquet of flowers on the stone headstone, unwrapping the vanilla muffin and cutting it in half. With tears still rolling down her cheeks, he leaves one half next to the flowers, the other she brings to his mouth and as he chews, Kakashi swears he feels a big, warm hand on his shoulder, as well as a deep, almost imperceptible voice whispered to him by the wind seems to say:

-Happy birthday Kakashi

And as soon as he arrives, his father's voice is lost in the wind, like the last note that fades before the broken hearts of the audience...

@kakashiweek​

#kakashi week #kakashi week 2022 #Kakashi Hakate #sakumo hatake

[alseaton42]

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#panduanblog

[its-me-im-coraline]

Peculiar and Beautiful // Victoria De Angelis

words // 1333

warnings // angsty but also fluffy

pairing // Victoria De Angelis x GN!Reader

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know besties, don't forget the 'sleepover' on sunday (yes i'll be saying it on every fucking post lol) and yeah, that. also, a little complaining moment from me, im currently in sooooo much pain, my tooth hurts, i got neuralgia on a tooth and ljajakjfa so if this seems high to you it means im on meds for that lol unlucky few days anywaaaays enjoy to revive yourselves from the teasers of iwbys video

request // yes, here

summary // Reader finds themself in a emotional rut. A few comments online, the constant youtube recommendations on how to be “perfect” have been making them feel some type of way, hiding away from the one person that can help them; Victoria

It was a consistent thing and that was the issue. The comments about what Victoria did and did not deserve, who she should be with, the constant shipping with Damiano… And then there were the absolutely random videos on youtube, indirectly telling them what and who they should become, at least according to all those people online. It took less than expected to cave into the vicious lies surrounding their daily life. Although they tried to take control over the situation the absence of Victoria did nothing to improve the rut they were in at the moment.

Her presence tends to be a reassuring thing to her lover. Words need not be spoken, all problems can be hidden, but the moment they look each other in the eye everything is resolved. Understandably, Victoria missing from the equation in the moment made matters far worse than Y/N could imagine.

The self depreciation came in waves. At first it was that they looked “off” next to Victoria, as if for some reason they didn’t please the eye aesthetically when together. It was a comment that was shared around a lot. They did not believe it at first until their brain led them into looking through all the couple’s photos… Maybe they are right, they would mumble before closing the phone and continuing their work.

After that stage came the personal attack. Why don’t I look good next to her? Must be my looks. Agh, if I didn’t look like that… Whenever they passed through a mirror or reflective surface they’d stare at themselves to see how they looked, whether they looked bad or decent. Never gave enough credit to themselves, sometimes not even believing Victoria when mentioning the beauty she was lucky enough to hold in her arms. Always something about being independent and not needing anyone to make them feel valuable due to their looks. Simple and plain stubbornness.

Victoria took not too long to notice how something was off with her lover. At first, she gave not too much attention to it, knowing how both missed each other and knowing how tired they were from work. But, as days passed by she could simply not ignore the situation anymore. She first saw something was off when talking to Y/N on the phone, seeing how they did not exactly respond to her jokes and comments as they usually would. Again, she wrote it off as tiredness, missing her, just as she missed them but it was far more than that. After a while they started cancelling some of their facetime call time, saying different things about having bad days at work and, although, she believed them does not mean she was not worried out of her mind. The more that kept happening the more Victoria kept stressing. Not few were the times she’d end up falling onto Damiano’s bed and almost crying with worry.

“Why don’t you tell them to take some time off? Reckon they said their boss owes them some time off work.” And he was right. The answer to the pair’s misery was there all along and she simply had not seen it.

Victoria wasted no time, rushing to get to her phone and arrange everything. Surprisingly enough, dealing with Y/N’s boss turned out to be the easier part of the whole ordeal. The real struggle coming to persuading them about it.

“Oh come one, cucciolo, I know you want to see me-”

“I do want to Victoria, but I can not. I have work.” Lies, lies, lies. They knew they were lying, work wasn’t their trouble in the moment.

“Dealt with! You have a few days of work. Your boss was surprisingly real nice about it.” They could practically hear the smile the beautiful woman wore on her face but they could not keep their response at bay.

“What?! What did you do?!”

“You sound unhappy…”

“I am not, but Victoria why did you do this before talking to me?”

“Because…” she sighed.

“You are tired, I miss you and you are stubborn. Plus, I wanted to surprise you. I thought it’s be a good surprise... Am I wrong?”

“No, no! It’s great. When is the ticket for?” Everyone knows Y/N can never say no to Victoria, even the girl knows of her partner’s weakness, targeting it with her adorableness at times in order to get them to do something like buy her fries or in this case take a break. But Y/N was not worried about Victoria’s influence on them, or rather not that influence. They were out of this world worried about how little time it was going to take Vic to see their insecurities, maybe she’d even agree with them, they thought.

The first night of being by Vic was pretty normal, just as it was back at home, full of cuddles and kisses and all the children shows and movies playing in the background while the bassist recited all her adventures to her lover.

“And Thomas just felt face first onto the pavement! Can you believe it?!” Y/N laughed lightly, eyes fluttering in an attempt to focus on the woman in front of them and head lazily hang on the pillow by the headboard.

“Are you feeling alright, amore?” She asked, voice soft as she caressed the other person’s cheek.

“Yes, love, just a bit tired.”

“It’s alright, let’s sleep. You had a tiring flight, I get it.” Y/N simply mumbled a thank you, kissing the blonde’s forehead before pulling her close in order to sleep.

Unfortunately, the momentary bliss did not last long. After being seen together people started talking and Y/N returned to the previous thought pattern, this time getting deeper into their insecurities. They felt like they were not enough for Victoria so, while trying to not be suspicious they started distancing themselves from her. They would avoid kisses, get away way to soon for both their liking, sleep early, sleep-in… No matter what they stayed away from too much interaction with Victoria, and she was getting sick of it.

Finding them walking down the hallway from the stairs to their hotel room, Victoria rushed to her partner, making sure to get in the room with them quickly, before they had the chance to hide away - again.

“You are ignoring me,” she simply stated, voice stern but never elevated.

“O-of course not, what are you on about?!” Voice was trembling and eyes were looking everywhere but the exasperated blonde.

“Yes -agh- yes you are! You were all over me when you came here, which I’m not complaining about, and then the next day you all but slept in the tab to avoid me! What is going on, Y/N?” The use of their name might have stung just a little bit, enough to make them talk. They always got worried when Victoria went all first name basis rather than cute pet names.

“I-” they hesitated for a second but the strict look on the woman’s face made them continue.

“People talk, Victoria.”

“About what? What does-”

“About us and you and me… It’s always how I am not a good fit and other things like that and maybe they are right.”

“You don’t seriously believe that, do you?”

“Of course I believe that! Look at you, Vic, you are perfect and me? Well, I am me.”

“And that’s exactly why we are together. Because you are you! Y/N, you being who you are is why I fell for you. Your little quirks, those strong characteristics you get insecure about are literally what make you who you are, that individualize you.”

“Really?” They asked with hesitation, fearing the chance of her lying.

“Of course, cucciolo. I love those things that make you different. Reminds me that there is no other one like you and it simply makes me longing for you more,” she praised while leaving kisses all over their neck.

“I simply love you.”

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina

#måneskin #måneskin fanfic #måneskin imagine #maneskin imagine #maneskin fanfiction #victoria de angelis imagine #victoria de angelis

[ssadumba55]

Stress (Bernard the Elf  X Reader)

Request: Could you do a story where Bernard is having a meltdown due to Curtis or something and so stressed out that he Collapses and a female elve gets him to the elfirmary and then he falls in love with her but is really worried about that, because he is her boss and thinks that's inappropriate and would distract him but they work it out and stuff?

A/n: @maybe-im-dark​ I believe this one was for you! I really tried! Um. sorry if it’s not great I am working very hard on these but sometimes they don’t turn out great! Enjoy!

Bernard was almost at his breaking point. For a multitude of reasons.

Santa had ordered him to keep everything running smoothly at the North Pole while he was out visiting Charlie and the Millers. He had promised he could do it but now that he was actually dealing with everything, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

There were toys to get done, elves to keep in line, lists to go over, food to be baked, reindeer to keep groomed…

And to top it all off, he had to deal with Curtis. The smaller elf had been following him everywhere since Santa left. The only times Bernard got some decent peace and quiet was when he was sleeping. Other than that, he had to be in a hundred different places at once with the most annoying elf in the North Pole trailing behind him.

“Curtis. Don’t you have somewhere to be? Something to be doing?” He asked turning on his heel as they made their way into the workshop for the second time that day. Making the rounds was stressful enough without having a little gremlin following him around.

“Nope! I’m the keeper of the handbook. I have to make sure you’re doing your job,” he grinned, pointing his finger in the air authoritatively.

Bernard groaned; this was the single most stressful Christmas he had ever been apart of. And he’d been there during the Great Present Shortage of 1970. That was less stressful than dealing with Curtis.

“I don’t need you to tell me I’m doing my job right, Curtis. I am head elf for a reason, go find somebody else to bother with your useless handbook. I need to focus,” he was at his wit’s end. He started walking again, Curtis hurrying to follow and tell him why he should stick around.

There was a loud ringing in his ears, he was about to turn around to yell at Curtis some more, maybe figure out where that ringing was coming from, when his vision started swimming in front of him.

“Why is the room spinning…” He asked, grabbing for one of the worktables and collapsing on the floor. The next thing he knew, was complete and utter darkness. At least, he thought before he slipped into unconsciousness, I won’t have to hear Curtis’ incessant nonsense anymore.

 You paced the floor outside of the elfirmary, there wasn’t much else you could do but you wanted to make sure he was okay before you headed back to work. You hadn’t been allowed to wait in there with him, but Curtis was in there and he’d promised to relay with you as soon as Bernard woke up from his stress induced rest. There was only so much an elf could handle at once, how he hadn’t cracked before was honestly a real Christmas miracle.

Curtis opened the door to the room, shutting it behind him as he came out. You stopped pacing, turning to face him.

“Is he alright? Should we call Santa back?” You asked, worried. Someone had to run the North Pole, Curtis definitely wasn’t ready to do it all by himself yet. Maybe one day. But not yet.

“I already got a hold of him; he’ll be back soon. Bernard needs bedrest for at least a week. Santa is going to need to take back the duties until then,” Curtis explained, then gestured to the room.

“He wants to see you, by the way. I told him you were the one who helped him here and he really wants to thank you in person. If… you’re okay with that.”

You didn’t even respond. Of course you were okay with that. You pushed the door open, entering it slowly. There he was sitting up in the bed, asking the elves who worked there how long it would be before he could continue his work.

“Santa is counting on me!” There was stress and panic in his voice. You crossed your arms.

“Calm down or you’ll work yourself into passing out again,” you grinned. He looked up at you, his demeanor almost instantly changing. He laughed awkwardly and you told him exactly what Curtis had told you.

Immediately, he was worried about letting Santa down; “He’s never going to trust me again, this was my one big chance to prove myself and I let him down.”

You sat with him for the rest of the day, forgetting about your work and comforted him. Bernard really appreciated you staying with him and spending time with him. If he were any other elf, he would’ve probably accepted that he’d fallen head over heels right then. But he was your boss. He couldn’t fall in love with you. Nor only would it be a gross abuse of his power (and Curtis would feel free to remind him of that every day), he wouldn’t be able to give you the proper care you deserved.

There was just so much work to be done, he didn’t have time to spend lollygagging on dates or cuddling or whatever else couples do.

His solution to this problem was just to become good friends with you, the two of you pretty much became inseparable after the incident. You were constantly making sure that he didn’t get over stressed and in turn, he was always helping you out with anything you needed help with. There was no rule that he couldn’t be close friends with you. So he held onto that as much as he could.

“Hey, Bernard. You want to go grab some cocoa after I’m done here? I just have to add one more ribbon to this doll!” You looked up at him across the table and he looked up as well.

“As in like a friend thing, right?” He asked, looking at your work.

“There’s no rule in the handbook that says I can’t date the Head Elf. I had Curtis recite it all to me the other day,” you met his eyes, smiling slightly. He was surprised at your boldness but also really relieved by what you said.

“I’d love to go for cocoa,” he finally decided.

“As more than friends?”

“Definitely as more than friends.”

#Bernard the Elf #bernard the elf x reader #bernard imagine #The Santa Clause #the santa clause imagine #curtis the elf

[yoonieboonie]

The Substitute Lover (2)

word count: 1.7k

genre: fluff, angst hehe

pairing: myg x reader

summary: Finally meeting the college boy you've been eyeing on for months, everything goes wrong when you realise what you're really getting yourself into.

a/n: this is part 2!!! i cant figure out how to link the first part properly but if you know how pls slide into my dms and teach me hehe you can find part 1 at my tumblr profile. thank you for the love on the first chapter!!! 🥺 i'll do my best!!! NEXT | PREVIOUS

As soon as you're out of the view, Hoseok immediately swung an arm around Yoongi's shoulder. He was delighted for his friend, afterall, it has been a while since he was in a relationship.

Yoongi took what happened to heart. Namjoon noticed, it didn't take a genius to. He warningly eyed Hoseok who pretended not to see him. The mint haired boy shrugged off the hand and faced them.

"It's your fault, Hoba." He sighed, using the nickname they had for their energetic friend. "She's a senior and isn't around the campus much but news here spread like wildfire. I don't want her to think—" he continued but Hoseok cut him off.

"Think what? Listen, Yoongi. It's over between you two, it has been for a long time. I think it's time you quit moping and start giving yourself a chance to be happy again." This made Yoongi snap his head towards him. Hoseok may be chatty but he always knew not to cross that line. Both him and Namjoon did. What happened was considered taboo and was never spoken about, no matter how long ago it was.

"What did that Y/N feed you? Aren't I your friend here?" He challenged. Hoseok was about to answer when Namjoon intervened. He patted both of the men on the shoulder to kill the tension arising.

"Let's head to rehearsals, please. I don't want to be the receiving end of Mrs. Lee's anger today."

The auditorium was crowded, all students that are part of the recital are scattered around. Since the trio are all helping the backstage crew, they immediately went to their place and settled in.

"Where have you guys been?" Mijin whispered. They all shrugged in return, she wouldn't rat them out. Knowing well that she would do anything to cover up for Yoongi. Though she acts nonchalant about it, she has been crushing on him since their freshmen years.

"Just do your job and don't fuck this up. Please." She pleaded. All the trio did was nod.

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

You are now banging your head on the library table, earning looks from the other students who are procrastinating due to the upcoming finals. If the stake wasn't this high, you wouldn't be this stressed about it. You mentally scold yourself for acting so bold that day. For all you know, Yoongi might be a secret genius and that leaves you making a damn fool out of yourself not only in front of Hoseok and Namjoon but the entire campus aswell.

News of your mess spread quickly, the girl who wore thick-glasses and ugly sweaters asking the ace of the Music department out. You try and avoid their stares and focused on your notes. Praying to the heavens that you at least score decent enough if not scoring higher than Yoongi.

At this point, you don't even bother for the date. You just want to do your best. That is until it was time for your Humanities class again. Your hands are clammy as the test paper are handed out. You prepared for the test but somehow, your heart is pounding out of your chest.

You easily navigate through the questions but one left you confused. You try to recall the answer for a good five minutes but eventually gave up. If you don't know it now, you'll probably not know it later. That is until all papers have been passed and it was time to exit the classroom that a lightbulb went off in your head.

"Plato." you whine. The answer was Plato. You rub your fingers to your temple and let out a frustrated groan.

"Y/N!" a voice you recognise to be Hoseok called out. Honestly, you don't want to face them today. You are embarrassed still, and you're sure if looks could kill, you'd be dead at how Yoongi is shooting glares in your direction.

You adjust your backpack and offered a wave.

"Do you already know where you want to go for the date?" Namjoon teased. Hoseok laughed beside him, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

"Oh," You sigh. "I don't think I'd be able to go on that date."

That made Yoongi look up at you. He should be relieved, he thought. But he was more intrigued as to why you decided against the bet.

"I forgot the answer to Test II, number 5. I left it blank instead, however when I remembered the answer, the papers were already collected." Not that Yoongi cared, but you seemed sad to not be able to go on that date.

"Think positive, Y/N. The deal was to score higher not to have a perfect score." Hoseok encouraged.

"It's okay, what matters was that I tried. I know Yoongi will ace the test. Specially when the stake was a date with me." you shrugged nonchalantly.

You moved towards him and held out a hand. He eyed it skeptically before lifting his arm to shake it.

"Wait! The results are not out yet!" Namjoon whined. If he was initially opposed to this, he no longer was. He was just as invested as Hoseok was. Pushing you to win against Yoongi.

You laughed and took a step back. "Alright then. If I do win, I want to go to Lotte World."

"You haven't been there?" Hoseok asked. You shook your head.

"I came from Daegu. This is my first time in Seoul and I haven't been able to roam around due to our classes. Besides, I don't see the point entirely but if I would go on a date, I would like it to be there."

Yoongi pretended to not pay attention. It made sense that you were not from the metro. The way you dress and your things are certainly not what a typical college student would wear to the campus. To add to that, he now does notice an accent from the way you speak.

"Namjoon!" a voice called over. It was Mijin, if you recall correctly, she was also part of the rehearsals the trio attended. Hoseok introduced the both of you the first time you had lunch with them. Taking that as a cue to leave, you gathered your things and went home.

The week flew by and before you know it, it was time for the exam results. You were dreading to attend class but not wanting to look like a sore loser, you got ready for the day.

Yoongi subconsciously kept track of the days too. Instead of practicing and attending rehearsals, he found himself too caught up with waiting for the results. He tried to convince himself that he just wants to ensure that you two never go on that date but he isn't really sure.

His heart was pounding out of his chest as he lay down his bed. He was one of the few lucky ones who doesn't have a roommate. Hoseok and Namjoon were, on the otherhand. Deciding to take the day off, he doesn't really give a fuck if he wins or loses the bet. With that, he turned and covered his head with a pillow, trying to fall back asleep.

"Pay up." Yoongi groaned as he hears Hoseok's voice inside his dorm. Namjoon chuckled and called out to Yoongi.

"Hey, I put my bet on you! Hoba told me you'd be too chicken to attend class today and I didn't believe him but seeing it for myself," he trailed off. Yoongi blindy threw his pillow at the two boys maniacally laughing to his side.

"Get up and get dressed. We're going to be late." Namjoon ordered.

Yoongi decided to not bother arguing with them. He knows he won't be able to get out of this so might as well get it done and over with.

Walking to class was annoying for Yoongi. With Hoseok waving the money Namjoon paid him with in Yoongi's face and dreading the results of the exam. He was fucking frustrated.

You came into view, trying to insert yourself into the crowd of people. Trying to get a view of the results. You failed, being lanky and small. You huff, to which Yoongi watched in amusement. You were something, he thought.

"Y/N!" Hoseok beamed and Namjoon followed. Yoongi trailed behind.

"Oh, I haven't seen the results. I'm waiting for the crowd to die down." You explained. Hoseok, excited to know the results, held onto you and helped you squeeze into the bodies of students trying to get a glimpse of their grade.

Yoongi's eyes trailed from Hoseok's hand that was holding onto both of your arms from behind. He knew that his friend was just eager to know the results in order to rub it in his face but the contact of skin made him feel as if it's something he shouldn't be seeing. It felt as if his eyes were interrupting something.

You seemed uncomfortable, he noted. Hoseok was one to be physically comfortable around people. With occasional brushes of hands or an arm around shoulders, you can always expect it from him. Yoongi knew this but he was still somehow bothered by it.

"Yoongi." He was snapped out of his daze when you called for him. He saw your tiny figure offer him a hand.

"Congratulations, Yoongi. It was a great bet." You spoke calmly. He wondered what the results were. To confirm, he didn't shake your hands but instead took a look at it for himself.

FINALS RESULT SY 20XX-20XX

1. Kim Namjoon -100/100

2. Min Yoongi and L/N F/N - 99/100

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7. Jung Hoseok -89/100

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His eyes widened. He realised you congratulated him because technically, you didn't score higher than him. You didn't win.

Hoseok and Namjoon was chatting with you, patting your back as you smiled at them in return. Assuring them that it's okay and you'll go to Lotte World another time.

"Don't worry, Y/N. Hoba and I would bring you to Lotte World soon!" Namjoon beamed.

You laughed in glee and thanked both of them.

You were about to walk away when Yoongi did something he didn't expect.

"Meet me at the campus gate, 9:00am tomorrow. Don't be late."

With that, Yoongi turned and left. Leaving you with your mouth hanging open, Hoseok and Namjoon smiling at you as they try to catch up with their friend. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEXT | PREVIOUS

#bts #suga #yoongi #bts suga #myg x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts x you

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Music is so good for the soul, and during these hard times we must all help each other to find moments of joy.

- Dame Vera Lynn (1917-2020)

Dame Vera Lynn, the beloved British singer, died 103 years old on 18 June 2020. Surprise at her death is swiftly replaced by the sad realisation that it marks the end of a chapter in British history. Many of those who grew up with her music have died during the Covid-19 pandemic. How poignant that her death should come on the day that President Macron arrived in the UK to mark the 80th anniversary of General De Gaulle’s rallying cry to the Free French and to give the Légion d’Honneur to London, the city that weathered the blitz in 1940.

From the battlefields of France, the Netherlands, Italy and North Africa to the Far East, whenever soldiers gathered around a radio set or gramophone, the smooth vocal tones of Vera Lynn were sure to be heard.

It is impossible to gauge whether the outcome of the war was swayed by songs like ‘There'll Always Be an England’, ‘We'll Meet Again’, ‘(There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover"‘ and ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’.

But for countless men in uniform, the lyrics and the slim, wholesome young blonde woman who sang them seemed to offer a vision of what they were fighting for.

To modern ears, the words might sound corny but at a time when Britain stood proudly against the Germans, their patriotic appeal was irresistible.

Vera Lynn epitomised an archetypical, essentially decent Britishness, practical and fair-minded - notions which shone through the songs she sang.

Even her version of the German soldiers' favourite song, ‘Lili Marlene,’ managed to sound like a patriotic lament, a far cry from the darker sexual undercurrents implicit in the versions by Marlene Dietrich and Lale Andersen - ironically both of them anti-Nazis who became the German forces' sweethearts.

Vera Lynn's most famous song remains We'll Meet Again, recorded in 1939.

Lynn’s wartime popularity was boosted because of the song.   The song’s appeal to love and stoicism - "Keep smiling through/Just like you always do/ Till the blue skies/Drive the black clouds far away" -- made it the perfect war-time anthem. It proved powerfully uplifting for departing soldiers, and it has endured as the defining song of the British campaign. The song re-entered the UK charts at No 55 amid the 75th anniversary celebrations of VE Day.

As she wrote later in her 1975 memoir, Vocal Refrain: “Ordinary English people don’t, on the whole, find it easy to expose their feelings even to those closest to them.” We’ll Meet Again would go “at least a little way towards doing it for them”.

In later years, the song, with its reminders of home and exhortations of courage, has become an indispensable part of national commemorations. And, with its swooping and strangely haunting melody, it has entered into popular culture. It forms an ironic accompaniment to the explosion of atom bombs in Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964); it is deployed with alienating effect in the Pink Floyd song Vera (The Wall, 1982); and it provides the eerie aural backdrop to the Tower of Terror ride in Walt Disney World, California.

But when Lynn began singing it at the age of 22, she had little idea that she would be singing it for the rest of her life.

Indeed the song found favour again this year when Queen Elizabeth II, in a rare public address to the nation, urged Britons to remain strong during the coronavirus lockdown.

"We should take comfort that while we may have more still to endure, better days will return: we will be with our friends again; we will be with our families again; we will meet again," the monarch said.

Vera Lynn was born in London's East End on March 20, 1917 as Vera Margaret Welch.

She began singing in local clubs at age seven and joined a child dance troupe, Madame Harris' Kracker Cabaret Kids, at 11. By 15, she was a teenage sensation as a vocalist with the Howard Baker Orchestra.

She adopted her grandmother's maiden name Lynn as her stage name, making her first radio broadcast in 1935 with the Joe Loss Orchestra.

She worked with another of the great names of the pre-war period, Ambrose, whose clarinettist and tenor sax player, Harry Lewis, she was to marry. The couple had one child, a daughter.

In war-time, Vera Lynn came into her own, hosting a BBC radio programme, "Sincerely Yours", appearing in a forces stage revue, and making three films.

So what did Vera Lynn have that propelled her to stardom during the war, when she became the “forces’ sweetheart”? Youth primarily. She was in her early 20s when war broke out – Elsie Carlisle, the iconic singer at this time, was in her 40s and recorded very little during the war, while Gracie Fields, who was astonishingly popular in the 1930s, had the temerity to marry an Italian and sat most of the war out in North America.

The country was aching for a new female singing star and Vera Lynn – youthful, toothily wholesome rather than glamorous, and with an innate modesty that suited an austere and dangerous age that had no time for displays of ego – fitted the bill. She had a powerful, bell-like voice – at times she almost recites the words and employs oodles of vibrato to underscore the emotion of her songs – that was perfect for a singalong. It is when the audience joins in with her songs that you get a lump in the throat.

She came to represent so much, especially to the service personnel she entertained tirelessly during the second world war. She visited Burma, Egypt and India to give concerts for troops stationed there, an act of courage that should not be underestimated. These were difficult, dangerous journeys and not for nothing was she later awarded the Burma Star. She symbolised resilience and indefatigability, embodying a strength of character that transcended mere art. Nazism had no chance against this winsome, optimistic, joyful yet tender young woman.

Lynn gave up singing after the war but was persuaded out of retirement in 1947 and began a whole new international career, with appearances in the United States in 1948.

She became the first British artiste to have a US number one with "Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart", her most successful record, in 1952. However Vera Lynn's career foundered in the rock and roll era and she cut back on public appearances.

Artistically, it must have been infuriating to be forever associated with the wartime struggle and she did attempt to move on, recording a few Beatles numbers in the 1960s and even making a country disc in 1977. But nothing could shift the way she was seen by the public: a symbol, quintessentially British, of that unimaginably long, bleak, ultimately triumphant wartime struggle; an icon frozen in time.

She accepted her status as a living museum of wartime music and culture with customary good grace. “I never thought the ‘forces’ sweetheart’ tag would stay with me,” she told the Radio Times in 2014, “but it has, hasn’t it? I thought it would last for the war period, then I’d just be another singer. Of course I’ve never minded that everybody always connects me with that time. It was so important.”

For decades, she was a beloved figure at celebrations to mark the anniversaries of the June 6, 1944, D-Day landings in France or VE Day, the end of the war in Europe on May 8, 1945.

Her last public performance came in 2005, at the 60th anniversary celebrations for VE Day in Trafalgar Square. She performed a snatch of We’ll Meet Again, and told the crowd: “These boys gave their lives and some came home badly injured and for some families life would never be the same. We should always remember, we should never forget and we should teach the children to remember.”

She was awarded an OBE in 1969, and made a dame in 1975, for her charity work. She has given her name to her own breast cancer and child cerebral palsy charities, and has also worked with charities for military servicepeople, including Forces Literary Organisation Worldwide (Flow)

In 2009, at the age of 92, she became the oldest living artist to make it to No 1 on the British album charts, with a greatest hits compilation outselling the Arctic Monkeys.

During the build-up to her 100th birthday in 2017, Dame Vera said she found it "humbling" that people still enjoyed her songs.

The Queen wrote to her: "You cheered and uplifted us all in the war and after the war, and I am sure that this evening the blue birds of Dover will be flying over to wish you a happy anniversary."

Her songs spoke to people caught up in war, trying to respond to its emotional extremes as best they could. They encapsulate fellowship and battling through, not jingoism, for all the flag-waving that accompanied her appearances at commemorative events. “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.” The lyrics could not be more banal, yet her genuine spirit invested them with deep humanity. As HM Queen Elizabeth II herself understood, what keeps us going in times of war and pandemic is the thought that we will be reunited with our loved ones, when the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.

RIP Dame Vera Lynn

We’ll meet again....

#vera lynn #quote #life and death #second world war #music #singer #britain #femme #icon #history #forces sweetheart

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH. 21

After the past few weeks you've had you really just need a day to decompress and recharge, by yourself. Thankfully you hadn't had anything really planned for today. While you did want to go to Saturday Night Dead that was your only real activity planned for the day. There may have been a few chores scattered around to do and a grocery run to make but you could do all that tomorrow. These past two weeks more than guaranteed you a day of rest and laziness.

Today you planned on doing nothing.

Though looking through your bare fridge maybe you really should at least go grocery shopping. But with the wake up call you gave yourself this morning, it took a lot out of you, you really didn't feel like being productive in any shape or form today.

Closing the freezer after securing your breakfast, a vegan burrito – the microwavable ones just taste better – and a pedialyte pop you notice your calendar. It's off date because of your missing two weeks. When you pop the burrito in the microwave you take the time to start marking off the missed days. June's already over with so you flip the page and fuck!

Little Jo's recital is next weekend.

You still need to find something to cover your shoulders. Or a nice simple black blouse, though you really would prefer a cardigan or shawl. You sweat so much you'd hate to stand out in sweat soaked apparel. Just thinking of all the overly southern comments of “like a sinner in church” has you cringing. Sweating through your top really isn't ever ideal and especially not at such a formal recital. Your anxiety is going through the roof at the thought of all those eyes on you.

It's a big reason wearing a suit never even crossed your mind. As dashing as you look in them you sweat way too much and look like you just got dredged up from the lake not fifteen minutes later.

Unfortunately it seems your do nothing day has turned into a thrifting day. Might as well tack on that trip to Leo's while you're at it. The chores however, can wait for another day...maybe even next week altogether.

Calculating your trips you estimate that even with the hour it normally takes you to buy and put away your groceries you should still have enough time to hit up the last four stores you had wanted to hit the other week. You'd done your research on these neighborhoods and they were all either decently wealthy or had a high number of elderly women who were sure to be gifting their well loved vintage items to second hand shops, giving them a second chance at life with a younger generation. There's bound to be a shawl or something at at least one of these shops.

It's decided you'll go right after breakfast and be done by lunch time.

The microwave beeps as you throw away your popsicle wrapper. Great the sooner you start your hunt the sooner it can end and the more time you will have for your well deserved solitude. You really have missed just existing within your own space. And without the constant feeling of dread that whenever you left your room you'd be reminded of how hectic your life has become.

But you're home now, there's a security system in place and you have two Nate free days. Hopes and spirits are high today! Let the Hunt begin!

The hunt has ended. And because you found nothing.

Groaning you slam your head into your steering wheel, narrowly missing the horn. Not that it would matter since you got to the parking lot so early that no one is even around to witness the fit you're throwing. More accurately the breakdown caused by the stress of shopping for clothes that couldn't form to your body.

There hadn't been anything red you could've used. And the plain black blouses you found either had itchy material, a weird cut or didn't fit you at all. That last one always got to you, a deep rooted trauma buried deep in your psyche never letting you forget how weird your body was. And while you can understand that it's because all bodies are weird, you can't help the thoughts that betray you. Making themselves known loud and clear and cause you to cry. Like right now, gross wet globs run down your face as you try to calm your breathing.

It's no use, you just have to have this episode. Everything has built up to this point and the body dismorphia has just rocketed you over the edge you hadn't realized you were balancing on.

A tap at your window startles you, who the fuck came to Saturday Night Dead at...nine-fifteen? Looking up you see Janna, a Hornet who's still quite the delinquent, even after the group's reform a few years back. Hasn't totally cleaned up her act if the graffiti around town had anything to say about it.

You roll down your window and with a hiccuping voice say, “What's up?” as though you aren't having a break down in your little Kia Soul in the middle of a dark parking lot on a Saturday night.

“I should be askin' you honey. Now what on Earth has got you crying out here?” her accent might not be thick but she still has a drawl.

Shaking your head you try and brush it off.

“It's stupid.” you sniff.

“Now don't go...if it were really stupid, 'en you wouldn't be out here all alone cryin' 'bout it. Now would you?”

She had a point...but then again it might just be a big deal to you. Looking into her brown eyes you sigh and explain yourself.

“In the end I'm back at square one and hate having a physical form.”

She lets out a laugh at your huffs, and that causes color to rise to your cheeks. Great this really was just a big deal to you and only you. Now you look like such a baby crying about it.

“Ah sorry, I shouldn't laugh...” she takes a moment to compose herself, “especially cause dismorphia and all that ain't none too funny. But if all you were worried 'bout is a cover up, honey I happen to have one that might just do you.”

Apparently her mother had recently given her a burnt burgundy knitted cardigan that wasn't really within her realm of fashion. Taking in the woman's appearance you wonder just how someone could ever confuse this rough biker chic style for a cozy knitted cardigan vibe.

But you weren't about to question it too much since she was offering to give you the final piece you needed for your outfit.

“Janna are you sure?”

“Uh yea? If I wanted to look like a librarian I would'a applied for the position.” She jokes on about how it really wasn't even her style.

“No I meant are you sure all you want is a batch of cookies for it?”

She shrugs, “Meh, it was a gift. Plus I like your cookies a lot more than some sweater. You get somethin' you need and I don't feel bad 'bout tossing a gift from my ma. Cookies really are just a bonus. So, easy deal yea?” you give her an eager nod in response to the carefree grin decorating her face.

“A'ight good deal! Now let's head up to the Crypt, oh Soapbox.” she laughs as you roll your eyes at the nickname.

You'd forgotten, God you hated the Warrens.

Getting to the Crypt early always meant catching up with the Hornets, or most of them. It wasn't like you hated it or anything but this week it was less about catching up with them and more catching them up. Everyone was more or less worried and checking up on you. Asking how you were doing, or if the police had found anything useful yet? They were practically on pins and needles waiting to hear everything you had to say. A few Hornets did offer to help you run errands if you needed it or swing by the cottage and keep you company, all you had to do was say the word and they'd come right around. The gang of misfits was always so kind, at least to other misfits like yourself.

You had just excused yourself to take your normal seat when you heard a call from the treeline.

“Look who's up and running again!”

Fuck you Brian.

“Ah yup.” Like what the hell were you supposed to say to that?

Trailing not too far behind him were Tim and Toby.

Tim looking nervous and just generally uncomfortable, as though he wanted the Earth to open wide and swallow him whole. It probably had a lot to do with how intensely Toby was watching him. Daggers practically skewered the man in front of God and everyone. It honestly unnerved you and you weren't even on the receiving end of it.

Guess they aren't as good as you had assumed.

Briefly the thought occurs that it might actually be Masky fronting tonight. But looking back at the man, his stance confirms it's just Tim.

Masky, from your minimal encounters, seems to stand with a widened gait, dude exudes big dick energy seemingly effortlessly. Overall he's less...maybe awkward's the right term?

Masky just seems like he's so sure of his presence as if he's always meant to be where ever he is at any given moment. So very much unlike Tim, with his hunched posture and the way he always stands slightly behind his boyfriend.

“Hey guys.” It's a general greeting. Civil enough to seem like you included Brian without the obligation of engaging in a conversation with just him.

“Hey.” Tim calmly states.

Toby on the other hand stares hard at Tim for a good minute before making his way over to you and holding out a bag of popcorn to you. You blink owlishly at the bag presented before looking back at Toby. He just nudges the bag into your chest making you grab it and then tries to usher you into the Crypt, by gently guiding you by your shoulders.

He hasn't said a word this whole encounter. And as weird as it might be you figure he must still be upset at Brian and Tim.

“Thanks?” you whisper to him.

He flushes slightly and looks off to the side. A funny sense of deja vu washes over you, and like most cases of deja vu you can't place why exactly.

Tim and Brian have made their way over to the two of you and successfully ushered you into the building. The grip Toby has on you tightens a little at their approach.

“So, YN, what movie is it tonight and why should we all be appalled?” Brain has wrapped an arm around Toby's shoulders and it causes both of you to move from his added weight.

“Urm, I dunno, I...I've kinda been out of the loop for a bit.” you're a bit surprised Brian didn't bring your accident up.

It's a little strange he didn't bring it up right? Most people would immediately hone in and offer a small condolence or something.

Wait, no , no Brian's also Autistic. You know better than that, he wouldn't respond like most people. Hell, it could've easily been Toby asked him and Tim not to say anything to you about it. That would make sense since Toby himself hasn't really been pressing you for details aside from the first night in the hospital.

Though to be fair a lot of other things have been popping up and taking priority when you two have gotten the chance to hang out.

Looking over to Toby you catch the same dead look in his eyes that you saw the other week when Nate approached him at the auto shop. It sends a chill through you for some unknown reason.

You trust Toby. Find out he has the capacity for killing didn't really effect how you saw the man. Most people in the world had the same capacity but either didn't react to the urge or were never put in a situation where they would need too. Toby feel into the latter half, he had been put in a position to kill and he had his reasons. That isn't to say you condone his actions but you can understand them.

There's something in that glassy eyed look though that just sets you on edge. You aren't afraid of Toby, that much you're aware. You trust Toby and know he's your friend. But the gnawing dread in your stomach is starting to create a pit.

“Nine-fifty guys! Time to bring it in.” Keith calls out to the lobby, so everyone can go on and fill into the basement.

The four of you pay for your tickets and make your way into the basement. Luckily for Toby Jake and Hollis left an extra space by your spot. Meanwhile Brian and Tim got stuck somewhere towards the back. Being split up didn't seem to bother the trio much, Toby even seemed to relax a little bit after the other two left. So things really aren't all settled between them.

That's fine,you're okay with enjoying Toby's quiet company tonight. Decompress after the tiring day you've had.

Weirdly Kirby doesn't make an announcement about the movie, instead turning the lights off right away and just letting it load by itself.

Why's he letting the trailers play. Is he trying to build up anticipation? The nerd.

Finally the DVD's menu pops up...Venom? That's not a Warren case file.

Toby leans over and whispers in your ear, “Asked Kurly if he could play this tonight. We agreed you needed something....needed a feel good.”

You don't know if it's the proximity or the kind gesture but you have butterflies in your stomach at his words. It's your turn to flush and you have to stop yourself from leaning back into him, as his warmth seems to want to draw you in.

“Kirby.” you open the bag of popcorn and offer it to him. “And thank you.”

Taking a handful he gives a half hearted grin and shakes his head at you. You think he gets people's names wrong on purpose. Rolling your eyes at the thought you can't help but smile as the room settles and the movie begins.

You have no clue why but the opening montage of Eddie's reporter life always makes you giddy. The movie is just fun and you love how Eddie's character gets shown all in the first few minutes. You really hope your swaying isn't bothering Toby. Your knees have been bumping together a bit with your stimming. When Toby shifts you take a glance at him briefly, making sure it was more of a comfort issue than a you issue. You focus back on the movie when his knee falls right back next to yours, still touching like it had been from the start. From the corner of your eye you can see him fidgeting with something in his lap, you ignore it because fidgeting is just something you've come to associate with Toby at this point.

Until something thin and hard starts nudging your knee. Toby's head is still facing forward as he tries to get your attention to his phone?

He isn't a Kepler local so it'd make sense that he had a smart phone before coming her and finding out it was pretty much useless. After all you don't just toss phones away, they weren't cheap.

Sparing another glance his way, Toby made no move to acknowledge you or the phone he was currently trying to pass to you. The dread from earlier bubbles back up. Feeling like something was wrong you take the phone from him as discreetly as you could.

'Hike tomorrow? Need to get away from THEM'

You don't even have to guess who he's talking about to know who he meant. You wonder what's happened in the past twenty-four hours to put Toby back on edge. Yesterday he made it seem like they were on the road to making up. Whatever happened doesn't matter right now, Toby's asking for your help so of course you're going. Toby has been there for you throughout your whole mess and even got your favorite movie playing at Saturday Night Dead even though it isn't a horror. Of course you were going to do this for him, it's just what friends do.

'Sure. What time?'

You slide the phone back his way. It's almost creepy how he took it without even looking from the corner of his eye. Maybe he just has a wider peripheral view than you.

'Early.'

It must be bad. With a muted sigh you type your response, you don't even have to think about it. Unfortunately there's a new voice in your head that sounds oddly like Nate screaming at you as you type though.

'Sleepover tonight?'

There's a pause in response.

'Might as well, they're going to get on my case regardless.'

You want to ask Toby but know if he wants to explain himself he will, prying and pushing doesn't seem like it would work to get him to open up. Since there's nothing else you can say to that you put the phone on the ground to intertwine your hand with Toby's and give his small reassuring squeezes throughout the night. With every squeeze the tension practically flows out of him.

You both were in agreement. Toby would go home with you tonight get some time away from Tim and Brian. Then sometime in the morning you two would go hiking through the Monongahela. Hopefully it'll take some stress off of him, and now without the looming worry of his past hopefully he can get a bit out of this vent session.

...What if his vent session is because of last night? Because you know about his past. Did the other two have similar histories? Maybe they did, you don't really know much about the other two but they are a good few years older than you and Toby. Or maybe it's because you knew and met Masky. And Brian's just a protective boyfriend. Regardless you're sure you'll find out the reason tomorrow. Away from the sets of eyes you can feel burning into you.

Your neck cracks twice to the right, the movement triggers Toby's hands to jolt up. You almost punched him.

#a cure for insomnia #Timothy Wright #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright x brian thomas #Brian Thomas #brian thomas x reader #masky x reader #Masky #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby #ticcitoby #creepypasta fanfic

[mc-critical]

What do you think about the relationship between SS and his father? In all the times it is mentioned, it seems that he still fears him and holds a grudge for trying to kill him, but what happens after Mustafa's execution, it is not clear to me if in his mind he made peace with him

The relationship between Süleiman and Yavuz Selim was clearly very turbulent from the start. When Selim was mentioned and appeared on the horizon, he indeed was always portrayed as this ruthless and even equally paranoid guy who would do anything to keep his power. And this paranoia of his kept on even when SS was the only heir left. We don't know much of his canon characterization outside of what people that knew him have said about him and a few flashbacks, but I do headcanon that he went on campaigns a whole lot and that he cared about the state, his own state much more than any other personal attachments he could've had. That's why he may not have gotten that close to his only son, too (SS spending most of his time in a sanjack could've also contributed to this) and since similarly to SS, his paranoia and self-righteousness hardened him to the point where there was no turning back anymore and that more or less became who you are, you look at yourself as a figure of a ruthless padişah, not so much as a human being, Selim would be capable of the most drastic measures against whoever he felt betray him in some way. It's no wonder Hafsa kept SS as far away from his suspicion as possible, because Selim is characterized by everyone by being ruthless and cruel and that means he can be pretty unpredictable, as well, judging by the situation with the kaftan. He is a guy that his family - his wife (in the show apparently), his daughters and his only son! - is afraid of.

Given the circumstances, it's pretty explainable to me why SS is afraid of him, as well, and is probably the one who is the most afraid of him deep down, but wouldn't admit it so openly, of course, only in self reflection. SS has apparently grown distant to his own father and perhaps they haven't even met so much. The flashback in E55 gave us a glimpse of how their relationship could've been - a pretty familiar sword fight and words about innocence that establish that Selim has also seen the danger in SS from pretty early on. It's as if SS has always been a suspect from day one. However, outside of that flashback, SS defines Selim by two major deeds - the whole ordeal with Selim's own father and the poisoned kaftan. Since again, SS spent most of his time in a sanjack and he didn't have the chance (Hafsa could've talked him out of it) or simply didn't want to let out his anger on his father for this event, deep resentment would overtake SS more and more throughout the years, because it's a vivid, impactful image and a strong, negative emotion one wouldn't forget so easily when your own father is the one who wants your death. This precise event is the one most telling of Selim's cruelty and ruthlessness in the show and that's what SS associates him with - cruelty and ruthlessness. But there the fear comes in, most of all, because of the similar position: one day SS would have to go in his footsteps, one day he would have to take on his role. SS is also a padişah and what if he also becomes like Selim? What if he also sends a poisoned kaftan to his son? (he asked Allah not to let him do that in one episode) What if he becomes as cruel, what if his reign also turns into a bloodshed? This fear of his is so strong and deep-seated that the further SS goes on with his growing Ego and paranoia, the more this fear ends up overtaking him and makes what he has still strived to avoid become part of him he lives by and a mold he would always follow, for he is the padişah and he, just like his father, wouldn't stand betrayal or what he perceives as betrayal, because he has become so used to living with this fear that amplified his Ego and paranoia even more that he writes off his deeds as absolutely necessary when he only screwed up big time.

This fear has turned into SS's ultimate justification, for Yavuz Selim was presented as his Azraeel two episodes before he did one of the wrongest deeds in his life. Here's the place for me to say that SS would have only benefited more as a character and gained much more sympathy from me, if precisely his backstory with his father was more explored beyond what we got. What we got was too scarse to justify his (let's face it) mostly out-of-context event-based paranoia to the point it became like this is used as SS's own justification without him truly realizing it, not a justification the audience got, because the show didn't want to justify neither Ibrahim's (maybe aside from E82 itself), nor Mustafa's execution. We could see the factors, yes, but justify the executions? No, especially when they both were presented as wrong when it came to the state itself through the tragic themes. And that's the thing: SS eventually put his Ego of a padişah and warped beliefs of what has to be done over his own early established principles and the state itself. That's also why SS's motivation rings hollow due to this minimal information and I think that SS not only became like his father, he even exceeded him. The stability of the state still played a part in the only other established event of Yavuz Selim SS eventually leaned on in E97 and shown with an actual flashback in E122 and his intentions didn't seem to have changed, since he was praised for his ruling and conquests. No matter how ruthless he was, we're led to believe he still was a decent ruler. That changes with SS. He begins putting Selim's way of thinking and courses of action in his own ways of thinking and ends up twisting them even further, if only for the deeper exploration and character arc we got with him.

Süleiman gives in to Selim's ways of thinking pretty early actually: he's used to being suspected and he quickly becomes accustomed to his own role to the point his decisions could hurt his family and could be pretty similar to his own father's. The paranoia of betrayal and dethroning appeared much faster than even he could imagine, since once he saw Mustafa grow up more and more, yes, he had very mixed feelings when he saw him again in E46 and he showed pride in him then still, but he also saw the danger more and more and recited the exact same words his father had once said to him himself. It's no wonder that E55's flashback and the aforementioned scene were parallels to each other: it's like Selim had said these words to SS in a fairly early stage of their relationship and here the cycle repeats with Mustafa and the signs of SS becoming like Selim, something he would never principally want to, are already there, not to mention Hafsa's warnings even before that. (because I wouldn't be surprised if she knew Selim better than SS did - she has spent quite some time with him as his wife and she was the one who immediately sensed danger in the kaftan situation, yes, a mother's survival instinct plays here, too, but Hafsa isn't a person who would be suspicious without any reason whatsoever, even at her worst) By then and by E123, SS had already shown the ruthlessness Selim demonstrated and the more we went, the more SS fell into despair for all his actions, the worse he ended up being, ceasing to realize the effects of what he has done. (like his intervention or lack thereof in the culmination of Selim and Bayezid's conflict) For SS it's way beyond a matter of self-righteousness, but a matter of conscience he had stopped listening to, a conscience he previously said that would define his reign. That fear of his father made him go in lengths he wouldn't imagine him going and for all the perceived attempts to avoid it throughout the show (like him not sending a poisoned kaftan to Mustafa and telling him that he wouldn't ever dare such execution), he ended up caving to them more and more and taking his own spin on Selim's mindset. SS took his role as a padişah much more dearly and that allowed him to delve deeper into his paranoia, into what he has to do for the sake of solely continuing to rule. Perhaps that survival instinct present during Selim's reign never left and evolved into something else. (we don't know the full extent of Selim's cruelty, which is honestly merely covered in hints, but we do know the full extent of SS's, which gives us even more of a possibility for SS to have "evolved" past it.)

Did Süleiman make peace with his father? It never became clear in the show, but I doubt that happened, at least not before he died. It's the fear of becoming Selim Yavuz that ruined SS's whole life in one way or another and his conscience always spoke to him left and right, no matter how willing he was to listen or not. I see SS becoming even more resentful of his father's ways when he committed his worst crimes. And even in his last days, he was more adamant to prove to people that he himself was still a capable ruler by going to a campaign, risking his own life and health for the sake of proving a point than thinking about how far has he come when it came to what he did as a padişah and how did that tie into the ways of his father. He certainly became more accepting of his mold over the years, but not in the way that would make peace with him, but rather as something that has to be done for the sake of your role. Until he died, SS probably still heavily disliked his father as a person and the best he could do at that point is not think about him. He would never justify or make peace with Selim Yavuz's deeds, not even in front of himself, despite of him doing the exact same. Süleiman makes a distinction between his thinking and that of his father, despite of even his own self telling him otherwise deep down. He wants to make that distinction, so why would there be a reason for SS to make peace with him back then? There would be no reason in his eyes.

Now, when he died, it's up for interpretation. Maybe he could've made peace with his father or at least convinced himself of that in his afterlife, since in his last monologue he did say that he takes only love and friendship with him and that would mean no negative feeling left, right? But the monologue itself is very up for interpretation, too, because.. what does that mean? How did this sudden turnaround happen? Did SS realize what he had done was wrong? Was he ready to accept that? Was he truly ready to get out of his role he has been used to since forever and live another life that consisted of only love and friendship? Then what about the imagery of this scene that showed him going to another throne instead after all? Yes, maybe the love and friendship were the true throne he went to with the Sultanate coming to an end, but couldn't that be more him only fully coming to terms that he'll come back to where he came from, where every person on the earth came from (that is, the ground)? Because he could start over anyway, but still not forget what happened in his life, paralleled with his first monologue ever in the first episode, where he said that he doesn't forget? There is so much to speculate here.

#magnificent century #muhteşem yüzyıl #muhtesem yuzyil #sultan suleiman #selim yavuz #ask #Isbluesr #i delved deeper into SS's arc overall along with his relationship with his father #but oh well

[unholyobsessions]

And life goes on (though not always in the right direction)

Spencer Reid AU

Description: Spencer Reid has lived a horrible life, and every time he thinks it’s getting better, it somehow gets worse. 

Warnings: Bullying, Self harm, Suicide, Kidnapping/blood, Rape/Sexual assault, Depression, Death, Cussing, Drug use (if there are any others please message me and I will gladly add them. There is no warning too small.)

Word Count: 5.4k

The first time Spencer gets beat up it is his eight birthday. He doesn’t celebrate. His dad gets “stuck at work” (in reality he is out cheating on his wife with his assistant) and his mom forgets. He goes to the park with a book knowing that would be the best way to spend his birthday. A group of neighborhood kids walks up to him and asks him if he wants to hang out. He, of course, says yes.

Oh stupid and naive little boy.

They guide him to the bleachers and push him to the ground. Spencer looks up at them through teary eyes and they laugh. The first punch breaks his glasses and the second breaks his nose. The kicks against his abdomen bruise his ribs and cause him to throw up his breakfast. They all keep laughing. It isn’t until an hour later when they finally get tired and leave. Spencer curls himself into a fetal position and tries not to swallow the blood gushing from his nose. 

He walks alone to the hospital. His mother doesn’t notice he’s gone until the doctor calls her and asks her to pick up her son. His dad shows up with her. Spencer thinks he looks embarrassed. He refuses to meet his eyes. At first he thinks it’s because of his now crooked nose that will certainly need surgery but he later realizes that he is embarrassed of him. He is ashamed of who his son is. That is the first time that he cries himself to sleep. He gets beat up regularly after that. 

. . .

Spencer is ten when his father leaves. He tries to convince him to stay. He keeps reciting statistics about how a divorce could affect a child but all his father does is look at him with disgust and walk out the door. His mother has one of her episodes later that same night. Spencer can’t bring himself to calm her down so he locks his door and picks up his physics text book. Half way through the chapter he feels tears falling down his cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away but it’s no use. He allows himself to cry as he thinks about what his father leaving will inevitably cause. His mother is in no condition to hold down a job and he has no way of making money to pay for food and electricity. He’s glad that their medical insurance takes care of all of his mother’s medication. He eventually settles down and brings his blankets over his body, the distant sounds of his mother practicing for a lecture that will never come lulling him to sleep. 

The next day he goes straight to the local newspaper station and asks if he could have a job delivering the papers to the local neighborhoods. The owner is apprehensive at first until Spencer explains his situation. The man sighs and hands him a bag filled to the brim with the day’s news. Spencer rushes out of the building and jumps on his bike. He delivers newspapers everyday at six in the morning for the next two years.

He becomes used to hunger. He can’t buy books anymore as he is barely scraping together enough money to have a decent meal everyday. He never complains though. He forces the tears away and keeps moving forward. Things will get better. 

. . .

When he’s thirteen when he leaves for university. Cal-Tech. It’s the start of a new life. He enjoys his classes and regularly converses with his professors. Every time he gets the chance he takes the trip down to Las Vegas to check on his mom. She always assures him that she is perfectly fine (even though she isn’t) and he needs to stop worrying so much. 

He gets a job at the library. He puts the books back in their respective shelves and his eidetic memory certainly makes it easier. It isn’t fun, not in the slightest, but it pays better than selling newspapers and he’s in desperate need of money. He stays at the library between shifts and works on his homework. He uses the library’s computer since he can’t afford his own. 

He excels in all of his classes and makes extra money out of tutoring. The older students don’t take offense to a fourteen year old correcting them on their mistakes, for that he is extremely thankful. Still, it doesn’t mean he has friends. Most twenty-year-olds don’t want to spend their free time hanging it out with a know it all pre-teen. 

. . .

He slides a razor blade against his arm for the first time when he is fourteen. He doesn’t know exactly what makes him do it. The stress of college at such a young age or maybe the fact that he is completely alone in California. He considers the fact that it may be from the bruise forming on his lower abdomen, courtesy of a group of Frat guys. Maybe it’s all of the above. 

The only thing he knows for sure is that he relishes in the pain it gives him. It isn’t the same type of pain he feels whenever he gets beat up, no this feels better. He gives himself two cuts before hiding the blade and cleaning himself off. He wraps a bandage over his forearm and goes to class. 

The next day he sits in the bathroom and debates whether he should do it again. He knows he shouldn’t. He is aware that this is not good for him. He thinks about going to the campus therapist but quickly shuts down the idea. He can’t talk about what he is going through. He has no right to feel the way he does. He is going to a prestigious college on a full ride scholarship. He is passing all of his classes, he finds them easy. But he can’t help the way he feels. He looks at himself in the mirror and feels disgusted with what he sees. 

He has no one. No one to take care of him. No one to talk to. No one to ask him how his day went. He understands why his father left. He wouldn’t want to have himself as a son either. 

He slides the blade three times. 

Two weeks later he is up to six cuts per day. The scars are ugly but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. He avoids looking in the mirror, it only makes the desire to feel the cold blade on his skin worse. No, he isn’t suicidal, at least he doesn’t think so, but he can’t help but throw his head back as blood gushes down his arm. 

. . .

He is sixteen when his mother dies. He has just finished his first PhD and comes home to visit and celebrate. At one point he goes out to the store and comes back to find his mother on the floor. 

She isn’t breathing. 

He eyes the bottle of pills on the floor and then looks to the counter to see another one. 

They’re both empty.

He cries. He cries for over an hour before he gets up and starts packing his stuff. He takes all of his money as well as some clothes and other necessities. He calls the paramedics on his way out the door. He takes the first bus out of Las Vegas and never looks back. 

He doesn’t return to Cal-Tech. Social Services finding him will be too easy if he does. He’s a minor and his guardian is dead. He has two options. He can either find a way to contact his dad (which social services probably does) and go live with him. He doesn’t dwell on the thought long. Option two is to allow himself to be turned over to the state and be inevitably placed in an overcrowded foster home that only takes children in for money. He dismisses the thought quickly. He ends up choosing option number three. 

He runs away. He ends up in Arizona. He doesn’t remember how many buses it takes him to get there. He stays at a cheap motel and has to resist the urge to walk to the bathroom and open old scars. It’s been months, he tells himself, you have to be strong. He makes a call to the University of Oxford. They had offered him a scholarship when he had originally applied when he was thirteen. He declined their offer, obviously, and decided to stay closer to home. Closer to his mom. Who is dead now. He shakes his head and forces himself to stop thinking about it. He requests to talk to the Dean. He gives his name and he is quickly transferred to his office. 

Yes, they do have a place for him in school. Of course, they would be honored to have him complete his studies there. 

Spencer hangs up the phone and calls the airline. One way ticket to England please. The next day he lugs his belongings all the way to the airport, not having enough money for a cab. He boards the plane and stares out the window officially saying goodbye to his life in the states. 

. . .

Maeve is dead. He is twenty years old and he is tied to a chair staring at his dead fiancée. He sees the blood pooling around her body and his throat feels raw from all the screaming. This isn’t supposed to happen. His life was finally good, stable. The first real glimpse of happiness he’s had since he was ten. Life can’t have gotten this bad. 

They have both been held captive for four days. Spencer being forced to watch as the man who took them repeatedly raped the woman he is in love with. Forced to endure having the shit beat out of him. Having to endure the feeling of the needle piercing his skin and ultimately enjoying the high that came afterward. 

The man smirks at him, the gun still in his hand. 

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” His voice comes out hoarse, not even he can recognize it. The man simply laughs and walks over to him. He holds the gun to his head and Spencer closes his eyes. He’s going to die. He wants to die. He craves the feeling of vast emptiness that came with death. He doesn’t think that he can deal with any more pain. 

The pressure of the gun leaves his head. He looks up and the man smiles at him, but there is no sincerity in his eyes. He hears the man saying something along the lines of “death is too easy” before plunging another needle in his vain. Spencer’s eyes roll back as a feeling of ecstasy overcomes his body. He hears the man walk away before he passes out. He wakes up to see officers untying him. He sees paramedics close the black bag over Maeve’s face. He feels tears fall down his face. 

“No,” he repeats over and over. He hears paramedics ask him his name. Does he remember how he got here? Can he tell them where he lives? Their questions fall on deaf ears. All Spencer can think about is how when he eventually gets out of the hospital he will have to go back to an empty apartment. He will have to pack up Maeve’s stuff. He will have to face her parents and tell them what happened. He will have to tell her dad that he will never get to walk his little girl down the aisle and her mom that she would never take her dress shopping. Spencer would never meet the eyes of the woman he loves as she reaches the altar. He will never get to say ‘I do’ and call her Mrs. Reid. 

He finds a dealer as soon as he gets home. 

. . .

He’s twenty two when he gets his fifth PhD. He has been clean for a little under a year and it is all thanks to his boss. He’s been living with him since he moved out of his apartment. He works at the local police station. He gives profiles on serial criminals. No one is ever going to have to go through what he went through. Not if he can help it. 

He based the past two years of his schooling solely on his new career choice. He gets an internship two months after the incident. 

He’s high most of the time. 

He still passes all of his classes with flying colors but his new boss knows that something is up with him, even if he has only known the kid for a month. The police chief approaches him one day when Spencer is sitting on his desk going over a cold case file. He invites him to dinner at his house and Spencer is both relieved and worried. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go back to his god forsaken apartment for a few more hours and worried because he doesn’t know how bad his craving will get. He has developed a routine. Shoot up, go to school, go to work, come home at five, shoot up again. 

An hour into dinner and his boss asks him the question. Are you okay? It’s a loaded question, they’re both aware but Spencer notes that the man is genuinely concerned for his well being. He breaks down. He tells him everything. He doesn’t know why he is sobbing in front of a man who he has only known for a short while. Why he is telling him all of his problems. Why he rolls up both of his sleeves and shows him the scars that graze his inner elbow, and the ones that have healed over his forearm. 

From a psychological perspective he knows why he is doing it, why he allows himself to be so vulnerable in front of the man. He longs for a father figure. For a man to comfort him and care for him. He wants what his father never gave him as a child, what he never gave him as a teenager, what he never gave him as an adult. 

“I’m sorry sir,” Spencer sniffles. He is being unprofessional.

“You don’t have to call me sir, you know? You can call me Roger.” Spencer nods, not having the strength to speak up again. “You’re staying the night and then tomorrow we’ll go to your apartment to pack up your stuff and you’re moving in. I’m going to help you get clean.” 

Spencer is shocked but can’t bring himself to argue. He is exhausted. The next day they do just what Roger said they would do. It is a long journey. He will stay clean for about three weeks before something happens that makes him fall back to his disgusting habit. Roger will sometimes come home to see Spencer sobbing in the bathroom, a syringe lying next to him. He immediately pulls him close and assures him that it’s okay.  

He beats it though. It will be a year next month since the last time he had any drug in his system. He’s proud of himself. 

Roger walks over to him as he closes his phone. They are in one of their co-worker’s backyard. They all insisted that they needed to celebrate his new achievement. Spencer had rolled his eyes but accepted their kind gesture and is now sipping his drink and making conversation when Roger calls his name. 

Roger takes a second to mull over the progress Spencer made. He’s proud of him. He loves the kid like his own but the future of their father-son relationship will be determined what he is about to say. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Spencer asks casually, pushing a hand through his long hair. 

“I just got a call from Interpol,” he pauses, Spencer freezes. “They have offered me a position.” He waits for Spencer’s reaction. 

“You’re leaving.” Spencer can’t believe this is happening. Not again. He starts to wonder if life will ever allow him to have even a sliver of happiness. 

“I am.” Spencer avoids looking at him. “But I want you to come with me.” That catches his attention. 

“What?”

“I told them that if they want me then they will also have to offer a position to the smartest and most hard working man I know. I made it clear that I am not going to take the position unless they put you on my team. So what do you say? Want to work at Interpol with me?” 

Spencer is shocked to say the least. It’s a great opportunity. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at the man who cares for him like a son. The man who encouraged him to beat his addiction, who makes him feel like he is worth something. He nods his head and hugs him. He hears their co-workers cheering behind them and he lets out a laugh. Maybe life will allow him to be happy. 

. . .

Wrong. Life always likes to give Spencer a nice kick in the ass. He has been working at Interpol with Roger for about a year and a half and at the ripe age of twenty-four he is one of their most valued members. He is seated quietly at his desk, nursing a horrible migraine when a file is dropped in front of him. He looks up at Roger and sees the sympathy in his eyes. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before picking up the file. 

His breath hitches in his throat. 

Couple kidnapped and held for four days. Woman shot execution style with evidence of repeated sexual assault. Male beaten brutally with traces of narcotics in his system. 

He can’t breath. He tries but he can’t seem to make his lungs work. He starts to hyperventilate. He can hear Roger saying his name but he can’t focus enough to respond. He’s back. It’s been four years and there has been no cases with even a similar M.O. He is aware that he is having a panic attack but he can’t bring himself to even try and match Roger’s breathing. His inner elbow itches. 

No.

It would make things easier. No dealing with the pain. 

No. No. No. I won’t do it. Not again.

It’s only once. You want to. You’re weak. 

No. I’ve come so far, I will not give it up. 

Then how about the blade? Just like when you were fourteen. Weak little Spencer Reid. You’re pathetic.  

NO!

He doesn’t remember passing out. 

He wakes up with Roger standing over him. He apologizes and Spencer reassures him that he is fine. He wants to work the case. No, not wants, needs to work the case.  Roger refuses. But he knows the case better than anyone. They argue for a while. In the end Spencer wins (he always wins). 

Roger informs him that a team of profilers from the FBI is coming to help solve the case. The killer wasn’t dormant, he went to the United States and continued killing there. Same M.O. Only last week did he return to the U.K. 

“The FBI has worked this case and they want to continue working it,” Roger explains. 

Spencer nods and walks back to his desk. He starts going over the file and victims. He realizes that his name isn’t listed. The victims start with his first kill in the U.S. He feels relief at the fact. He studies the file for a few more hours before Roger tells him to call it a night. They walk to the car together and head home. 

The next day the FBI team arrives. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer has heard of them, he even studied some of their cases when he first started profiling. They walk in and go straight to Roger, completely ignoring Spencer. He’s not surprised. Strangers never seem to realize that he actually works here. He doesn’t exactly have a sign over his head that reads “I have an IQ of 187 and have five PhDs. I also have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.” 

Roger greets them and introduces them to Spencer. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid, he’s my lead on the case and my second in command. If I’m not available, anything he says goes.” The team all wears various expressions of shock. 

A white male with dark hair, who Spencer assumes is the leader, breaks first and introduces himself and the rest of them. “I’m Agent Hotchner, these are SSAs Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Greenaway, and Prentiss and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” He holds out his hand and Spencer hesitates. 

“Oh uh I don’t shake hands.” Roger snorts fondly while the team all assumes the Dr. to be a pretentious asshole (he isn’t) (most of the time). They were all led to the conference room which Spencer has already set up. There are two maps on the walls, one of England and the other of the U.S. There are tacks placed at the places where all the victims were held. 

The FBI has been here for three weeks and are no closer to catching the killer. Two other couples have been taken. Spencer never goes to the crime scene. He is barely holding it together, the itch on his arm getting stronger as he clutches his sobriety coin, he can’t bear to look at the scene that is almost identical to the one he found himself in four years ago. Of course the team doesn’t know this. They all think that he doesn’t have the guts to do the job. They often find themselves discussing the young man’s incompetence and how if he can’t handle the case then he shouldn’t work it. They always stop the conversation when he walks in though. One day however, they don’t hear his approaching footsteps as they make fun of him. 

“How old is he? 15? The kid is too damn young to be working a job like this.” Morgan pops a peanut in his mouth after speaking. 

“He probably fucked his way into his position,” JJ says. 

“I mean the way he handles the files. He can’t even look at the pictures. He looks like a baby watching a horror movie,” Prentiss laughs. 

“I still don’t understand. Who let him in here? This isn’t a daycare or a kindergarten.” All three agents laugh at JJ’s comment before a voice shuts them up. 

“You don’t know me.” Their heads snap up to see the man in question standing in the doorway. “You have no right to judge me.” The glare he is giving them is scarier than Hotch’s. 

“Kid we-” That draws the line. 

“I’m not a kid Agent Morgan. The only people acting like children in this building are you three. You have no idea what I have been through. I’m sure you wouldn’t even be able to handle a fraction of the shit show that is my life.” His breathing is heavy and his voice is rising along with his temper. 

“We’re sorry it’s just that you’re so young. We didn’t think-” Spencer cuts Prentiss off. 

“Exactly. You didn’t think did you? Well let me enlighten you. I was brutally bullied since I was eight. My father left me and my paranoid schizophrenic mother when I was ten. I had to work to pay the bills and to be able to have a meal at least once a day. Then I went to college and things got better right? Not really since I still had no friends so I decided self harm was the way to go. Oh and my mother died when I was sixteen. The only person who ever gave a shit about me, killed herself. I came home one day and she was lying on the ground with an empty bottle of pills next to her. I packed up and left because I refused to go with my father or go into foster care. Do you think my life got better after that?” He waits to see if they will answer. They don’t. 

“Well for a while it did. I met the love of my life and we were going to get married. And then we were kidnapped. I was tied to a chair and drugged regularly as I watched my fiancée get raped. Then the psychopath put a gun to her head and shot her in front of me. I watched as the blood pooled around her body and I kept wishing that he had killed me as well. I kept doing drugs. Believe it or not, four days of getting shot up with dilaudid made me an addict. It took me a year to be able to get clean. And when I finally thought it was over a file got dropped on my desk. He was back. The reason for my nightmares, the man my therapist keeps trying to make me forget, was back,” he paused and took a deep breath. “So I’m sorry agents if I can’t go and examine the scene. I’m sorry that I get a little jittery when looking at the case files. But don’t you ever accuse me of not being able to do my job. I’m damn well good at what I do, despite my age. Yes I am only twenty-four but you three have made it quite clear that I am much more mature and capable of doing this job than you are.” With that he turns around, only to come face to face with Roger. He nods at him, a sign that he can leave. Spencer walks out of the conference room and toward the elevator. He gets in, waits for the doors to close and bursts into tears. 

Back in the conference room Morgan, Jareau, and Prentiss are faced with an angry Unit Chief and a fuming Director. 

“I want you out of here,” Roger looks at the three agents before turning back to Hotch. “I will not allow you to continue working this case with us unless they leave right now. They should get suspended for the trouble they have caused. Dr. Reid is one of Interpol’s greatest assets and I will not tolerate three strangers who got here three weeks ago to stand here and insult him. So Agent Hotchner unless they are sent home, your team is no longer welcomed here. And I will make sure to report this to your Section Chief and the FBI Director.” Roger walks out of the room and goes after his son. 

Hotch turns back to his team and none of them think they have ever seen him look as angry as he does that very moment. “Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, pack your bags, you're leaving. You’re suspended two weeks without pay, effective immediately. After your suspension is over you’ll have a meeting with the director to discuss your future at the Bureau. If it were up to me the three of you would be fired, but sadly it isn’t. You have shamed and dishonored the reputation of the Bureau and frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if Interpol severed ties with us. Now I am going to apologize to Dr. Reid and Roger and I hope to see you gone by the time I come back. I do not want to hear another word out of you unless it is an apology.” Hotch leaves the room but not before sending them one last glare. Rossi, Elle, and Garcia all look at them and follow after Hotch. To say they are disgusted by their teammates’ behavior is an understatement. 

Spencer is inside his car, sniffling and trying to get himself together. He doesn’t know what came over him inside the conference room but all the stress from the past three weeks took a toll on him and he found the perfect outlet to release it. A knock on his window startles him. Roger smiles before opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat. They sit in silence for a while, neither of them sure how to approach the conversation. 

“You’re not in any trouble,” Roger starts. “If you hadn’t yelled at them son, I was going to and we both know how that would have ended up.” They both chuckle and fall into a comfortable silence. 

“Do you think we’ll catch him?” Spencer speaks up. 

“With you working the case? There is no doubt in my mind.” 

They do catch him. Two weeks later Spencer is standing in an abandoned warehouse in front of the unsub with his revolver raised. The man, Tommy Montgomery, had his gun at the woman’s head, a sick smile on his lips. 

“I remember you,” Montgomery exclaimed. “I killed your fiancée four years ago, didn’t I?” 

Spencer could kill him right now. “Put the gun down. You don’t have to do this. We can help you if you just put the gun down.” Spencer recites the speech that he has said dozens of times to dozens of criminals. 

“Help me?” the man laughed. “You don’t want to help me. You want me to rot in a cell for the rest of my life. We both know there is only one way this can end.” Montgomery raises his gun at Spencer but he isn’t fast enough. 

Spencer unloads three rounds straight to his heart. He lowers his weapon and rushes over to him. He places two fingers above his collarbone--he will never admit that nothing brought him greater joy than realizing that he had no pulse. He goes to untie the male victim as paramedics rush inside. Roger walks over to Spencer once they are outside and pulls him into a hug. 

“It’s over son.” 

Spencer cries and clings onto him as sobs rack his body. He separates himself and takes a few calming breaths. He walks over to the BAU team, which now only consists of three members and their tech analyst. He thanks them profusely and the three of them reassure him that he has nothing to thank them for. Hotch looks at the young genius for a second before making an offer. 

“You know we have three spots open on our team now. If you want to, you are always welcomed at the FBI.” 

“Oh,” he doesn’t know what to think. He hasn’t gone back since he was sixteen. Was he ready? “Thank you really. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to the states at this moment but maybe in a few months or years, if you’ll still have me, I’ll gladly join you.” Spencer holds out his hand and Hotch laughs before taking it and giving it a firm shake. 

“Good luck Dr. Reid.” 

“You too.” 

. . .

Five months later Spencer goes back to Oxford. He’s doing better. His cravings don't come as often and when he looks in the mirror, he isn’t ashamed or disgusted at what he sees. His therapist only requests to see him once a week now and Roger doesn’t hover over him at work.

He stands in the cemetery next to the church he was going to be wed at. He walks across the wet grass, scrunching his face at the squishing noises his shoes make. He faces Maeve’s grave and a shaky breath leaves his lips. He sits down next to the tombstone and starts talking. He tells her about everything that happened in the past months and how he finally avenged her death. He tells her about his progress and how his mental health has improved so much since he last talked to her. He sits there for hours during the day and well into the night until he runs out of things to say. 

“You would be so proud of me sweetheart. But now to what I actually came here to say. I came to say goodbye.” He takes a deep breath as a few tears roll down his cheeks. “I will love you forever and I will keep missing you every single day. But it is time that I move on. I need to find happiness and maybe that happiness isn’t here. I ran away when I was sixteen and I don’t want to run away anymore. So this may be the last time in a while that I come and talk to you. I love you Maeve Reid, to the moon and back.” Spencer stands up and places the ring he was going to wear for the rest of his life on top of the tombstone. He walks away as he takes out his phone and dials a number he never thought he would actually call. It rings for a few seconds before a familiar voice comes through the receiver.

“Hotchner.” 

“Does the offer still stand?”

#tw rape #tw self harm #tw drugs #Spencer reid #aaron hotchner #jenifer jareau #emily prentiss #elle greenaway #derek morgan #penelope garcia #david rossi #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid au #hotch x reader #criminal minds #cm #bau #bau fic #bau x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb #mgg fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds au #criminal minds gen fic

[risingsouls]

Conversations: 8

[Finally had an idea for another one. Cheesy and cliche at the end but you know what, I’m weak for them, alright. All I can say is it’s about damn time.]

Vegeta touched down just outside the area the Gerudo set aside in the middle of the desert for their festival. When Nabooru had extended the invitation to him and promised plenty of sparring, food, and drink, the chosen location confused him as he figured they had plenty of room to hold it in their community’s square. However, once he took flight, he understood; he could see the flames of a sizable bonfire stretching toward the stars from his home miles away. 

The scent of food wafted on the light breeze toward him and made his stomach rumble. He could hear music, chatter, and laughter coming from the flame-illuminated figures milling and dancing around the area, as well as the distinct sounds of battle in the distance. Ki flared in a multicolored spectrum against the black sky, clashing together with planet-quaking force.

He had doubted Nabooru’s description of their festival, assuming she exaggerated or supplied him with a palatable description to lure him there. Yet another knee-jerk expectation due to his past dealings with others, even though she had yet to lead him astray in such an underhanded manner just to get him to attend some function or another.

No sooner had he stepped into the halo of firelight was he accosted by three Gerudo in their upper teens if not barely out of them. The triplets. Nabooru had mentioned them and he had spotted them once or twice at her tournament helping out with this or that. Though children when they migrated to Earth, she said they had been the best in the tribe with a bow, and their deadly accuracy followed into their ki training. 

"I told you he'd come," one of them bragged, hands on her hips. "I bet he wanted to see how strong the rest of us are since only Nabooru, Valis, and Avira got to enter the Warrior Games."

"Or he really does have a thing for Nabooru," the middle one chimed in, ogling him with that slack smile and gleam in her eyes of a hopeless romantic. "Everyone can see they--"

Vegeta felt his cheeks burn, and a growl rumbled in his throat, impatience beginning to get the better of him. "How about the two of you stop blathering on like he's not standing right there?" The third shot her sisters a glare, obviously noticing the Saiyan's agitation. "Sorry about them."

"At least one of you isn't hopeless," he said, folding his arms. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood. What do you want? Make it quick before that changes."

"We were hoping you would spar with us," the third answered. Vadya, maybe. That or Nadya or Zadya. This was the first time he had met them for more than a passing moment; he was surprised he remembered their names even if he couldn't attach them to the proper Gerudo. "As the eldest, I was thinking I could go first but--"

"No way, Vadya! I beat you earlier fair and square! I'm going first!"

The fire in the two sisters' eyes when they squared off to face each other, their obstinate expressions, Vadya opening her mouth to prepare another retort...Vegeta could see the annoying route this conversation was headed. He was not about to listen to a trio of Gerudo siblings bicker over who got the honor of fighting him first.

"All three of you. At once." Three pairs of yellow eyes snapped to him, mild surprise etched in their expression. "Nabooru says you fight best together. I don't need you wasting my time three times over."

They exchanged glances and slow smiles lit their features one by one. The first pumped her fists in the air and whooped, feet leaving the sand to levitate a foot above it. "I knew you were cool! Vadya, Nadya, let's go!" The other two joined their sister. "Catch us if you can!"

The prince watched them take off into the night, a triad of white-pink auras darting toward a space between the other battling Gerudo. He waited a few seconds more before speeding off after them. 

--------

Nabooru returned to the festival with a grin on her painted lips, basking in her victory over Avira, whom she left to lick her wounds before she, too, would rejoin the festivities. No sooner had Valis read off the last name of the Gerudo who had fallen when Hyrule ambushed them, the Soldier's Bane had challenged her to a spar, wasting no time. Nabooru was simply grateful this and other requests were made for the betterment of their skills rather than to unseat her as leader of the Gerudo and question her ability to lead them. She could enjoy them far better without the weight of either hers or her fellow Gerudo's impending death hanging over her. And Avira's own skill and growth always impressed the former leader...she just typically kept it to herself to keep it from going to the other's head.

Aveil found her and shoved a drink in her hand. "Welcome back. That was longer than expected."

"I fought on her level longer than usual. You know, let her think she had me beat a few times, enjoyed the work out." She took a sip of the citrus cocktail, it's strength hidden behind the sweet flavor and sunny coloration. "She wasn't quite as mad about me toying with her. Had she been drinking while Valis recited?"

Aveil snorted. "Couldn't say. I was nodding off."

"Disrespectful."

"I spent all day setting this up. You do that and try to stay awake while someone reads a bunch of names.” Aveil took a generous gulp of her own drinks. “Some of us didn’t spend the better part of the day cavorting with our boyfriend.”

Nabooru rolled her eyes. Her former second in command had always teased her about her arrangement with the Saiyan prince since their sparring began. While it used to be once in a while, she had dug her heels in on the insistence on their relationship status. “I was training with Vegeta who isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Mm, you know I won’t argue with you. The guy lived with you and you didn’t even make a move. Have you even kissed him? Held his hand? Touched knees sitting next to him?”

“Ever think that I don’t want to do any of those things?”

“No, because you’re the one that lies to herself. Everyone knows you at least want to sleep with him. And you should just do it because it will do you both a world of good.”

Nabooru drained her drink and circled around Aveil for another. She snatched it off the table and took a sip. If she knew Aveil was going to grill her all night, she would have chugged down several drinks instead of sparring with Avira. “Okay, say you were right about me. Whose to say he wants to sleep with me?”

“Seriously?” Aveil laughed and bent over double. When she stood again, she wiped fake tears from her eyes. “I can maybe believe that you don’t but I’ve never seen anyone check you out as much as he does. I can’t count how many times I’ve caught him staring at your chest.”

“That’s because they’re at eye level for him and...you know what? I’m done with this conversation,” huffed Nabooru, considering challenging Aveil to a spar just to get some semblance of revenge. She turned her attention to the distance, pinpointing Vegeta’s energy among the triplets’. “He would take on all three of them.”

“They bombarded him as soon as he got here. I’m surprised he agreed since they’re not you. Guess they wanted a chance before he spotted you and you both disappeared somewhere.” Aveil grinned in the face of Nabooru’s withering glance. The three energies in question lowered to near nothing before heading back toward the festival. 

The triplets veered off toward another group of Gerudo that included Zana she noted with some humor and Vegeta landed in front of the pair of them. Aveil greeted him with a waggle of her fingers. “Hey, Vegeta. We were just talking about you.” She patted Nabooru’s shoulder with her free hand and winked. “I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

Nabooru watched her leave, glad she spared them both any more of her perverted goading. “How was your spar with the triplets?” Grabbing a bottle of liquor, she poured it into the glass and handed it over, knowing the sweet cocktails wouldn’t suit his tastes. “I’m a little disappointed they couldn’t even get you to break a sweat.”

“It was a decent warm up.” He took the drink from her and used the moment to observe the change in her clothing choice. Like the others, she swapped out the Earth style of clothing she typically donned for her people’s traditional wear. The same outfit she wore to her tournament only this time fully adorned with the jewelry he noticed she had paired with it on the mannequin in her closet. Overly showy, but he could not deny the regal effect the outfit offered her. He had opted on the simple dark blue outfit he had also worn at her tournament, but he idly wondered if he should have gone with his armor instead. “Who got you to break one? Avira?”

“Only because I wanted it to last longer than a few minutes.” She headed toward the outskirts of the boundary the rest of the Gerudo had set around the bonfire at the center, knowing Vegeta would follow. Selecting a spot still within range of the fire’s heat, she sat down, one knee bent toward the sky. 

He took a seat next to her. "I guess we're both guilty of toying with our opponents tonight." For good reason; he wanted to see what his opponents could do rather than thrash them immediately as he could have. He watched as a group of Gerudo struck up a dance of sorts. Another pair sparred without ki or weapons. He found Aveil chatting with the triplets as Zana checked their injuries, minor as they were. "Is there a special reason for all this?"

"Hm?" She had zoned out in the silence, a sideways glance locked on the male beside her. The sharp angles and lines that formed his face, the calm that worked its way into his constant resting scowl. The way the fire’s light and shadow played over it. The musculature of his bare arms and toned legs, still apparent in his usual skin tight pants. Damn Aveil putting thoughts in her head…

"You mean the festival?" Nabooru chuckled. "Guess it depends who you ask at this point. We try to hold this one at least once a year to honor those that fell back on Hyrule and celebrate their lives. Someone more religious like Valis would tell you it was also to honor our goddesses. Then Aveil would tell you it's just an excuse to drink, dance, and fight." She conveniently left off the additional answer her former second would give; her mind was already out to betray her.

"If all your festivals are this way, the fighting already makes them better than what Earthlings define as a party, a real reason for it or not." He lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. "From what I remember, what few celebrations we were still allowed when I was a child were similar. Nappa said they were toned down because Frieza found them barbaric, so they compromised with the ones the bastard didn't completely outlaw."

"Sounds like Frieza didn't know how to have fun. But I'm sure he had decided everything Saiyans did was barbaric. At least from what you've told me." She leaned back on one arm. "Hyrule was about the same. They didn't like that we worshipped differently, that our entire culture was different than theirs. They probably feared our potential influence, especially on their women, but they couldn't do much about it besides hiss and bemoan our sinful and 'backwards' ways."

Vegeta grunted. "You wouldn't be wrong. He didn't even like Saiyans letting their tails loose." He remembered the teachings from his childhood, the warnings to always keep it tucked tightly around one's waist. They framed it as protecting the typically sensitive appendage from opponents, since if pulled or squeezed hard enough, it could paralyze a soldier. A fair enough explanation. But by the time his tutors taught him this particularly strange rule of decorum, only fools didn't train their tails to not be a weakness for them. His mother had been the one to tell him the truth of the matter before a visit from Frieza to the palace. He remembered her warnings about being on his best behavior and making doubly sure his tail remained around his waist. The young prince had belligerently asked her why, the effort of maintaining it in one place and the mental discipline it took at that age an annoyance, astutely pointing out that he wouldn't be fighting and his tail posed no threat to him. She had responded bluntly: it offended our overlord to see them freed. He preferred them tucked away and passing for a fuzzy belt.

He relayed this story to Nabooru. "Of course, I had to test her warning. While my father, Nappa, and Frieza were discussing the most recent successes and failures of the army, I used my tail to grab a fruit from the bowl on the table and ate it." He chuckled. "Frieza stopped mid sentence and cleared his throat, nodding toward me. The disgusted look on his face was priceless and worth the lecture afterward.”

“Who knew little baby Vegeta was such a rebel,” said Nabooru, laughing. 

The hint of a smirk curled his lips. “It was reckless. Frieza killed for less and he didn’t discriminate based on age. But it sounded so ridiculous to me I had to know for sure.”

“Either way, I like it. Sounds like something I would have done as a kid. Maybe even now.” She stretched her other leg out to join the other. “That’s the first time you’ve really talked about your mother, though. Do you remember her?”

“Bits and pieces of memories like that one.” He swirled the alcohol in his glass. "She served as a general in the army with Nappa before she married my father. From what I understand, she maintained those duties while serving as queen. Demanded it because she refused to be just a figurehead, according to Nappa. She even refused my father's proposal unless he bested her in combat. I remember watching her fight on a few occasions--spectacularly I might add--and she oversaw a few of my training sessions when she could. She taught me about our history and legends, and the beginnings of war strategy."

"She sounds incredible," Nabooru mused, silently wishing she could have met her. She sounded like the kind of woman and warrior she would respect and look up to, followed by the juvenile, guilty wish that her mother had been similar. A consideration she despised herself for now more than ever. 

“You’ve never talked about your mother, either. Or your father.”

Nabooru could feel Vegeta watching her, but she avoided his gaze to hide her remorse, her sadness. Her thumb traced patterns in the condensation of her glass. “I never knew my father. All I know is he was a merchant, possibly from another country. I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t so proud of my mother for a long time for mostly petty reasons,” she said at last. “She was the tribe’s master seamstress and incredibly talented in her craft. Lanu was actually her apprentice. She raised me the first few years of my life until I was old enough to begin my training and education. She was still a part of my life, but my people took a more ‘it takes a village’ approach to child rearing. For too long, I wished that some other Gerudo was my mother, a warrior like I wanted to be. She could fight, of course, combat training was required of all Gerudo, but she had chosen a different path when she was allowed. It didn’t help that we didn’t see eye to eye on my decisions in life: the dangers of being a warrior in our army, the stress of joining the Elite, my decisions concerning having children of my own. It wasn’t until the last few years before we left Hyrule that I really started trying to fix our relationship.”

Efforts that no longer mattered outside of a temporary alleviation of regret when she dwelled on her mother and her fate for too long. “The last time I saw her was during the attack. We had been forced back into the fortress, the labyrinthine nature of it all that bought us time. She was actually the one to come up with the idea that saved us.” Nabooru nodded to the other Gerudo. Laughing. Dancing. Sparring. Happy, or so she hoped. “She volunteered to lead a group of mostly elder Gerudo toward the enemies encroaching on the room we had holed up in. I tried to argue, but she and a few others pointed out that a smaller group would have a better chance at escaping to the desert, and if anyone should survive, it should be the younger women. They would stage a final assault to give us a chance to escape out the room’s other exit since the Hylians knew the last of us had hidden away together. While a risk, it banked on their perceived victory blinding them to the rest of us escaping. It worked.”

At the cost of her mother and many great Gerudo women, all of which she knew personally in some regard or another. She bit her lip hard and swallowed to keep her tears at bay as their faces surged to the forefront of her memory. For years she wondered how many of their attackers they took down with them before succumbing to their overwhelming numbers. What her mother’s last moments looked like, her last thoughts. Had her daughter made her as proud as Nabooru was of her and a courage she didn’t know the seamstress possessed?

Vegeta allowed the silence between them to stretch onward, both to respect the woman’s old wounds and to consider if he had anything verbal or otherwise to offer her. He struggled to process and maintain his own grief, and simply witnessing others’ despair if not directly caused by him was a new avenue for him entirely. Hers at least felt familiar, relatable to him.

“That’s something the two of you share,” he said at last. Her questioning gaze met his, one eyebrow lifted. “You both are passionate about your people and would sacrifice everything to keep them alive. Perhaps you’re not as different from her as you thought.”

The fact that Vegeta spoke at all surprised her. She had shared the tale with him because he asked and perhaps to simply verbalize it for the first time since it happened and her own benefit. The response was insightful over sympathy she didn’t want from him, one she could appreciate and a consideration that did make her feel better and coaxed the easy smile back to her painted lips.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Her smile widened to a cheeky grin. “Who knew you could be so thoughtful. Guess you are a really good listener.”

“Oh, shut up. I was pointing out the obvious,” he groused, though he could not deny the warmth in his chest upon seeing her face light up once more, the fire in her eyes and her smile returning. A novelty of emotion for him, but he reveled in the pride of the fact that he revived them. 

He finished his liquor in a single gulp and rose to his feet. “Let’s go. I was promised fighting, and a single spar isn’t going to cut it.” He tossed the glass in the air and blasted it, the dust sparkling in the firelight on its descent to the sand. “Or did you think you were off the hook because we already trained together today?”

Nabooru followed his lead and dusted the sand from the seat of her pants. “I was just waiting for you to ask me like a proper gentleman.” Another swig of her own drink emptied the glass, and she disposed of it in similar fashion. “Lead the way, your highness.”

With a roll of his eyes, Vegeta took to the sky once more and flew away from the festivities. He chose a spot far enough away from the bonfire and revelers as well as the other fights to allow them plenty of space. He descended and landed, Nabooru touching down feet from him. “Are you ready? Or do I need to wait for you to warm up or something?”

“I just need to do one thing.” Once more, she was at a loss on who or what to blame for her actions. Alcohol. Aveil. The Saiyan standing before her. The urge had hit her before they took to the sky with more potency, more determination, than before as a mere passing thought. Out here they had privacy, something she assumed he would appreciate (and that she might, too, if the gesture took a wrong turn). A risk she had considered, and one she finally decided she was ready to take. Waiting for him to make the first move had become too agonizing, so against her nature.

Nabooru rested a hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder, noting only a habitual tense of muscles over a full drawing back from her touch. Bolstered by the lack of spurning and the notion she had come too far not to see it through, she dipped down and pressed her lips to his, her hand on his shoulder gliding to the back of his neck. It was hard, near painful, to hold back once the connection was made. To maintain the slight space between their bodies and keep her fingers from threading into his hair. To not let her passion consume her and convince her to deepen the kiss beyond one meant to test the boundaries and risk pushing him away rather than drawing him closer. 

Such care in mind, she pulled away after a few moments, her reluctance displayed in how her lips lingered a breath away from his, biting her lower lip. Through half-lidded eyes, she observed his face, heart racing in her chest in an anxiety she hadn’t felt in decades. However, the corner of her mouth twitched up in a slight smirk at the sight of his reddened cheeks and hooded eyes, the expression caught between surprise and desire.

Just as she shifted to straighten back up, Vegeta growled and his expression flashed to a frustrated glower. Gloved hand shot out and seized the oversized ruby resting against her chest, and he yanked her back down to his level, crashing their lips back together. He cupped her face with one hand while the other gripped her hip, felt her arms drape over his shoulders and her hands cling to his shoulder blades. He greedily relished her taste, the sweetness of her drink that still clung to her lips and her natural flavor. Her warmth. The delighted moan that caught in her throat when he forced their bodies closer. 

He had never cared much for kissing. A formality at best or a natural occupation for the lips during sex. But when they were forced to separate, to breathe, he found for the first time (as far as he could remember) he hadn’t wanted that one to end.

If her mind hadn’t clouded over in bliss and muddled her thoughts, she would have come up with a clever quip about their height difference or a teasing remark about how desperately he pulled her back to him or an inquiry about how long he had been waiting to do that. But all she could focus on in that moment was his touch at her hip and how his thumb traced the boundary between flesh and fabric. How he tasted and the delightful tingle left behind on her lips from the force of the kiss. The places where their bodies connected. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her shifted hand and the feel of the hard muscle beneath. Maybe she shouldn’t have put this off so long…

Finally, Nabooru stepped back, fingers trailing over his arms for that last bit of contact. “I think I’m ready now.”

Vegeta shifted into a fighting stance, a smirk on his lips. “Very well. Come at me, then.”

#// vegeta ♅ #:: nabooru ☀ #tadaaaaaaaaaaaa #god it's about damn time #idec that it's cheesy

[a-closet-emo]

Phic Phight 2k20

Team Ghost

Title: Heralds of Harassment

Prompt: Danny ISNT the ghost king.

Prompt By: @imperfection-at-itsfinest

Word Count: 2049

Genre: Comedy/Gen

Summary: The Ghost Zone sends Heralds to Danny, telling him he is their rightful King.

A/N: Wow, so this is my first time joining the phight! I’m really excited!! So this one got a bit wobbly towards the end, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Danny sat up in bed and stretched, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as his phone continued to blare his wake up call on the nightstand next to his bed.

He can’t remember the last time he’s had a fairly decent sleep like that. He sighed contentedly, lazily opening his eyes...only to meet the glowing eyes of the ghost at the foot of his bed. The halfa froze, not entirely sure what to do. The ghost seemed to be wearing some sort of medieval get-up, holding a scroll in one hand and a trumpet in the other. The specter stared at Danny with unblinking eyes. Then suddenly the ghost came to life, addressing Danny with a genuine smile and an accented voice, “A good morrow to you, young sir!”

“Uh… yeah. Good...morrow to you, too, dude.”

“It is. Oh yes, it is indeed a fine morning, mighty one”, he said, still smiling and staring at Danny. The boy waited for the ghost to continue, but he seemed to be content just hovering there, watching him.

Slightly unnerved, he carefully moved to get out of bed, not wanting to start a fight this early in the morning. Then the ghost spoke again, a bit louder this time, but still smiling.

“I am a Herald, sent all the way from the Council of Observants to deliver a declaration to your Ghostliness.”

“....ok. Go ahead.”

The ghost seemed pleased to be given such permission, unrolled his scroll and took a deep breath. To say it was long would be an understatement, seeing as the unrolled paper now stretched down to the floor.

“By decree of the Everlasting Council of Observants and in accordance with Ancient Laws, Daniel Fenton, the halfa known also as Phantom, as vanquisher of despot Pariah Dark and savior to both Ghosts and Humans alike, shall be brought before Ghost Zone’s spectral inhabitants and crowned the new Ghost King. Once crowned, the King of Ghosts shall be charged with defending his kingdom and his people. He must settle disputes and preside over ceremonies. He must also attend many meetings with the Observants, establishing new laws....”

Danny tuned out the specter’s speech as it hit him.

Me? The King of Ghosts?.... No way.

He opened his mouth, a response on his lips, when he checked himself. No. No, of course not. He couldn’t deal with this right now.

So, he ignored the still-talking ghost and got ready for the day.

As he opened the door to leave his room, he realized his companion was going to follow him downstairs, still reciting the speech.

“....provided that he is of sound core and form. He may never go against the Everlasting Council, doing so will result in immediate—“

As Danny capped the thermos that now held one Ghost Herald, he said, “Sorry dude, but that’s gonna be a big ‘no for now’ from me.” Okay, a bit harsh, but he didn’t see another way to quickly shut up the Herald.

He stuck the thermos at the bottom of his bag, hoping this wouldn’t turn out to be a problem.

——

At breakfast, Danny had been trying to enjoy a bowl of cereal when a familiar chill passed through his body and another ghost in medieval garb phased through the wall behind his parents, unrolling a long scroll. Luckily, Jazz came to Danny’s rescue, screaming at her parents and telling them that she had seen a ghost upstairs. After the pair of ghost hunters barreled up the staircase, Danny turned to the specter with arms crossed.

“Now, what do you want?”

The second Herald faced his audience of two and began his speech, which Danny noted was exactly the same as the spiel he had heard earlier. Jazz on the other hand, had been ready to help her brother in a fight, but now simply sat there listening to the monologue, more than a little confused. Meanwhile, Danny ducked his head into his backpack, fumbling around for his thermos.

“...shall be brought before Ghost Zone’s spectral inhabitants and crowned the new Ghost King. Once crowned, the King of Ghosts shall be charged with defendi—-!”

And with that, Herald number two was silenced.

“I’m not the Ghost King,” he mumbled to the thermos.

A beat passed.

Jazz looked skeptically between Danny and the thermos that now held two Heralds.

“No?” she asked.

“No way…. at least, not yet.”

She hmm’d noncommittally, narrowing her eyes.

“So, Mr. Ghost King,” she said, ignoring Danny’s

protests to the title, “Is this going to be a problem?”

He rolled his eyes at her, shaking his head. “No, ok? Everything will be just fine. This isn’t a problem.”

She raised her eyebrows and went back to her coffee as their parents disappointedly came down the stairs, ghostless.

“Alright,” his sister said, “If you say so.”

——

It was a problem.

Not that Danny acknowledged it as such.

The next morning he opened his locker only to be greeted formally by a ghost holding a scroll and trumped. In a knee-jerk reaction, he slammed the door shut and skidded backwards, earning him a few curious looks. Smiling nervously and rubbing the back of his neck at the crowd milling about him, he stepped in front of his locker and sighed, opening the door a crack.

“Greetings, Phantom!” the Herald boomed, only to be frantically shushed by the halfa.

“Shut up dude! Are you trying to give me away?”

“Apologies, your Grace,” the ghost replied in a thankfully softer tone, “not to worry, you shall not be discovered. Why, I am so well hidden, none shall know of your secret!”

Danny cringed at the increase in volume. He looked around, hoping no one noticed. The hallway was packed with students and staff making their way to morning classes, but no one seemed to have picked up on the kid talking to his locker.

“Now with your permission, I shall recite to you the decree written by the Observants themselves!”

The Herald took Danny’s tired look as a green light and the halfa pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to the Observants’ decree. Again.

“By decree of the Everlasting Council of Observants and in accordance with Ancient Laws, Daniel Fenton, the halfa known also as Phantom, as vanquisher of despot Pariah Dark and savior to both Ghosts and Humans alike, shall be brought before Ghost Zone’s spectral inhabitants and crowned the new Ghost King. Once crowned, the King of Ghosts shall be charged with defending his kingdom and his people. He must settle disputes and preside over ceremonies. He must also attend many meetings with the Observants, establishing new laws. All ghosts will henceforth be subject to his Highness and his allies…”

“Whoa,” said a voice to Danny’s left, “that is a lot of speech.” Tucker moved in closer, picking up the end of the scroll that reached the floor, while Sam looked over Danny’s shoulder at the ghost currently phased halfway through his Chem textbook. To his relief, he noticed that they were also blocking the view of passerby into the locker.

“Ah, you must be the great allies of his Highness Phantom. Shall I repeat the decree for your benefit?”

His two best friends shared an amused look at the term ‘Highness’. Before they could say anything to make the situation worse, however, Danny powered up his thermos.

“I’m gonna have to stop you there. It’s nothing personal.”

A flash of light, and the Herald was gone.

Danny grabbed his books and turned to his friends, who now had their eyebrows raised very high.

“What?”

“Oh nothing, nothing, your Ghostliness” Sam said, emphasizing the last bit with a purposefully bad British accent, taking a few steps away from the lockers. “I just think that was a bit harsh of you.”

“Yeah, I feel bad for the guy,” Tucker sighed, shaking his head, “I mean, what’s a dude gotta do in this world to get appreciated?”

Sam nodded, adding, “Don’t shoot the messenger?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck as they started walking to class. “I know it’s kinda mean, but I’m still processing? I think? This was the fifth time I’ve heard that decree since yesterday, but I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.”

“Ah, so avoiding responsibility! How unbecoming of my lord!” Tucker’s phony accent was worse than Sam’s.

“It’s not avoiding responsibility,” Danny replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s more ‘I have been offered Kingship of an entire dimension and I don’t really know what to think of that yet.’”

“So, stalling?” Sam asked.

He nodded. “Stalling.”

Their conversation came to a halt as they reached the classroom door.

“Whatever you say, your Majesty,” Tucker said in a reprisal of his bad British accent, bowing low. Sam followed suit, dropping into a low curtsy as the two of them made exaggerated motions beckoning him to enter the classroom first.

Danny rolled his eyes, stepping past his friends.

If they could joke about it, then this really wasn’t a problem.

——

The next few days were a testament to Danny’s stubbornness.

And the stubbornness of the Observants and their Heralds.

At first, Team Phantom would joke about it, calling Danny ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Grace’ whenever they got the chance. But they all quickly got tired of it, and simply watched as Danny declined offer after offer. Meanwhile, Jack and Maddie were very confused and concerned by the recent spike in their ghost-detecting gadgets’ readings.

But Danny didn’t acknowledge the events over the next few days as a problem. Nope. Not a problem at all.

Not when Heralds popped up in the strangest places during class, not when they phased their heads through his meals, not even when a Herald appeared right in front of him while he was in the shower. He was glad they didn’t interfere in fights, because, yes, they have appeared during fights but they never got in the way.

No, Danny finally came to terms with this issue on a random occasion. That occasion being when he turned the corner on his way to English the and almost plowed through yet another Herald.

“Sir Phantom, please hearken to the words of the mighty Observants as I read them aloud!”

At this point, he was starting to lose count of how many Heralds had gone after him. He tuned out the babbling ghost in front of him and looked around the hallways, scanning for any witnesses. Not a soul in sight…. besides the one in front of him.

The halfa pulled out a thermos from his backpack, the Herald made a noise of protest at the sight of the gadget, and in a matter of seconds the hallway was empty once more.

He was really pushing his luck. He could’ve gotten caught if he hadn’t been late for class.

Oh, crud. He was late for class.

——

Now, admitting he had a problem brought Danny one step closer to dealing with it. At least, that’s what Jazz had said to him. He knew the constant stream of Heralds interrupting their days were getting on his friends’ and sister’s nerves. Heck, they were starting to get on his.

The next step was actually doing something about the acknowledged issue. Which wasn’t hard, all things considered.

The next time a Herald popped up, Danny was in an empty alley, about to transform back into a human. He took his chance, waited for what felt like eternity for the ghost to finish reciting the decree, and accepted the offer. On the condition that he would be the one to decide when to be crowned and who were to be his guests. The delighted specter bowed low several times, and happily agreed to the terms. Danny had never seen someone so relieved. After giving Danny directions to the coronation’s venue, he disappeared with a small ‘pop!’.

After the ghost had left, he transformed, his black jumpsuit being replaced by a t-shirt and jeans. Sitting down, he sighed, leaning back on his palms and looking up at the night sky. He couldn’t see a lot of stars here. Not with all the light pollution Amity gave off. But he could see a few, and they were beautiful.

Danny wasn’t the Ghost King.

...not yet.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020 #my writing #phanphic #team ghost

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 13

Previous: Codename The Mochi of it All 

Pairing: Lee Euna X Min Yoongi, Lee Euna X Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook X OFC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2.2k 

Warnings: Swearing 

Summary: Lee Euna returns to identify a mystery man and put another name on the list. 

Justifying Jimin 

Present Day

          The light is a speckled mess as it attempts to stream through the stained-glass windows arched above the rattling glass below. The warping wood welcomes the reprieve from winter, early spring seeping in through the pollen in the air. I’ve been working with Lee Euna since around Christmas and she continues to pay far more than is necessary. I’m not complaining, upgraded computer, new camera, better security, I can now afford HBO Max and Hulu and Netflix at once. It’s wonderful, no scraping by. My savings account has even been growing, something I didn’t think would happen until I at least solved my first murder. Catching cheating spouses is lucrative, but not enough that I can afford rent in two places.

         The point being, bless Lee Euna and her money. I sleep just fine with it in my bank account. Though I’ve yet to determine if I’m sleeping fine because Jungkook’s holding me, pulling me into his orbit, securely protecting me from my deepest fears, or because I’m no longer stressed about making ends meet. Having him around… it’s stupid. It’s, I’m trying to work on valuing my feelings, all of them, and while I find romance stupid, it’s so comforting sleeping next to someone you care about. The way his lips slightly part, the soft curl of his breath, his hair cascading over his cheek, an arm always wrapped around me, or his hand holding mine.

         I don’t know what I thought it would be like, having someone consistently in my bed, looking out for me, caring when I let the cucumber turn to mush inside my refrigerator, asking if I’ve drunk all my water for a day or encouraging me to go to bed before 11PM. It’s an odd thing, falling in love with someone. I am, falling, I think, not that I’ve said as much. There’s a certain amount of pride, in keeping your growing feelings of adoration to yourself, of sorting them before sharing them, nurturing them in silence. I do hate how integral he’s become in my life… It hasn’t been long, but in the pit of my stomach, all I can feel is a growing blossom of hope, waiting to bloom.

         It’s an odd thing, knowing Jungkook is lying to me about something, and not being able to confront him about it. Sitting in my office, patiently waiting for Lee Euna, I’m staring at a list of facts I’ve written down.

         Taehyung and the mystery man know Jungkook, now I don’t know how they know him, or why, or if they’re old school friends or poker acquaintances. Jungkook doesn’t play poker, so maybe basketball buddies. Or lost friends from childhood, bonding over their heritage and shared experiences of hating their 4th grade teacher. The important fact is that they recognized him by name. The look they exchanged, the way their bodies shifted, it would be wild to have behaved that way and not know of Jungkook. There’s no possible way they could’ve been thinking of a different Jeon Jungkook.

         All these ‘facts’, lead me to a central question that I don’t know how I feel about, or what I’m going to do about, but it still remains: who is Jungkook?

         “Ms. Y/N, good afternoon,” Euna says walking through the door of my office. I glance at her and smile.

         “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?”

         “Mm, do you still have that water I like?” She sits down, crossing her ankle behind the other and waits.

         “Yes, I do, Pellegrino, lemon or regular?” I offer.

         “Lemon please,” She responds, she only ever drinks lemon.

         “Here,” I hand her the bottle and watch as she patiently opens it, letting the few bubbles escape before placing her lips to the top. “I have good news, and bad news.”

         “Oh? Let’s start with the bad,” She’s curious, her brow lightly furrowing, concern in her eyes as they move across my desk looking for a sign of what’s to come.

         “I’ve found a few men who seems to know Taehyung. The problem, is that I don’t know who they are.” I tell her plainly.

         “Oh, that is a problem,” She sits back in her chair, brows creasing deeper.

         “I have photos and am trying to run it through the system,” I tell her, “But,          I don’t know if I’ll find anything. It was almost impossible to track down Seokjin, and I had to call in a favor just to get any intel.”

         “Can I see them?” Euna sets her drink down on the end table and leans forward. “Maybe it’s someone I know? That will make less work for you, right?”  

         “Well, that leads me to my next bit of news,” I inform her.

         “The good news?” She isn’t hopeful, I can tell from her tone. She should be hopeful, I mean, I’ve done a decent job in not a lot of time.

         “Yes, I found Seokjin and Taehyung,” I turn on the extra monitor and the photos appear for her to look at, hoping she can make sense of the mystery men. I prefer to use digital photos instead of the standard print, less chance of blackmail on the part of the perpetrator. It also provides additional income when someone comes back a year, or a few months later to get prints for their lawyers.

         In this moment, however, Euna isn’t nodding in contentment at my amazing photography skills, she’s in shock, mouth open, eyes wide.

         “Jimin,” She whispers.

         “Yeah! Is he the Jimin on your list?” I ask, confused.

         “He’s my brother’s fiancé,” She whispers, eyes scanning the photos of Taehyung and Jimin.

         “Is or was?” I push.

         “How do they know each other?” She asks instead.

         “I don’t know,” I tell her, lying in this business gets you nowhere, fast.

         Picking up another photo to compare, “How much will it cost to find out?”

         “I don’t know, it’ll take more time for sure, maybe another month or two. I’m still putting out feelers for Min Yoongi,” I inform her. “Then there’s the question of how all of them are connected, if they are. I have a slight lead on Jung Hoseok, he’s been out with Taehyung once or twice, and I guess, until today, not much on Park Jimin. There’s one other man that Taehyung goes to dinner with, but I don’t know who he is.”

         “Yoongi will be easy to find, though, right?” She asks me.

         “I would assume so, but I had to call in a favor to find Seokjin,” I reiterate.

         “Jimin was with Tae?”

         “What happened between your brother and Jimin?” I redirect.

         “He, they, fuck,” She swears, slamming her hand on her the table before turning her back to me and pacing the width of my office. “They were engaged and on the night of their engagement party, Jimin disappeared. No note, no call, nothing. Changed his cell number too. Wiped his social media. Jun-Seo couldn’t find him at his job, couldn’t locate him through his parents. Their friends didn’t know where he was.” Euna sits, taking a long swig from her Pellegrino. “It was as if he never really existed, Seo felt like he’d been in some dream that he’d magically woken up from to realize his life was a nightmare. He didn’t sleep for weeks, went on benders, became Dae’s henchman.”

         “Wasn’t he already?” I question.

         “Yes, but he was at his beck and call, for, what, six months or something? He’s started returning to his old self, but he’s never going to get over Jimin.” Euna takes another sip, hiccupping gently before screwing the cap back on.

         “Does Seo want revenge?” I ask.

         “Is it your job to know?” Euna snaps.

         “No, I guess not,” I shrug.

         “Jimin’s in town? For good?” She’s calculating, pupils contracting, irises moving from picture to picture.

         Tilting my head, I tell her, “I don’t know about that.”  

         She glances up at me, looking me dead on, “Will you find out?”

         “Sure, but it’ll cost. Your list keeps growing,” I pull out the handwritten list she’d made me for our first meeting.

         “Who’s on it again?”

         “Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung,” I recite, pretty names for prettier men.

         “And that other guy Taehyung hangs out with, I want him too,” Euna absentmindedly flings her hand in the general direction of her original list.

         “Okay,” I say, moving the note to jot a few words down on another piece of paper.

         “I’ll add an extra, what, two grand to your weekly? Can that move this along?” She’s refitting her sunglasses over her eyes, but I catch the glimmer of tears coating them.

         “Yes, it can. I’m going to have to work my –

         “Do whatever you have to,” Euna stands, grabbing her purse and pauses to look at the photos again. “When someone breaks your heart, destroys your world, well, wouldn’t you want revenge too?”

           Lee Euna leaves, a comment about her returning in two weeks for an update that I acknowledge with an “okay!” to hide how overwhelmed I am. The list is supposed to be getting shorter, not longer, and yet I’m sitting here, a few months in, with more people to find. Granted She just added more money to my fee, real money, tangible, squirrel away for when I’m back to hunting cheaters and abusers, money. But how am I going to find men who clearly and aggressively don’t want to be found? Not to mention the notes in my car, the connection to Jungkook and the very real chance that Euna’s revenge could very well be dangerous.

           I pick up my phone and dial the third number I have memorized, though Jungkook’s is slowly becoming #4.

           “You’ve ran out of favors, Y/N,” C says, tutting her teeth.

           “I’m not calling about a favor, I’m calling because I need advice.” I correct her.

           “What?” She’s curious, I can hear it in the lilt she uses for emphasis. Sisterhood allows you to notice those things, a life lived together means she can tell how frustrated I am.

           “It’s taking forever to run these pictures through the system. I’ve searched social media, I’ve combed local yearbooks and university graduation lists, and I cannot find these men. Either they’re –

           “Either they’re hiding and have scrubbed their existence from the web, or they are using fake names.” C answers, she hates when I call on her lunch break to talk shop, but she always answers.

           “How would I know?” I let out a frustrated growl that she chuckles at.

           “Isn’t that part of your job?” She snorts.

           “No, I know. I ran their names against Lee Enterprises rosters, and a few came back with different last names. Enterprises doesn’t post company photos so all I have to match them with are the names and photos Euna has given me. Which is minimally helpful. Seokjin wasn’t lying, his name was the same, but Taehyung’s isn’t Kim Taehyung at the library, but it’s him,” I explain.

           “Someone’s lying, either the men or Euna,” C deduces.

           “Could this be bigger than what Euna is asking for?” I ask the question that’s been stuck in my mind for days.

           “As in a larger group?”

           “Yes, as in a larger play in the works, a government agency, Interpol, Mafia, someone who’s out of my jurisdiction,” I clarify.

           “Lol, Interpol is the British Mafia. That’s funny. Truly, it could be, but how would you know?” She inquires.

           “We’ve had this conversation before,” I remind her.

           “True, but you process best when you speak through your problems,”

           “Also true.”

           “You’re on the right track, trust yourself, Y/N. Did you figure out if that Jimin was the same-

           “It is,” I interrupt.

         “What’s his deal?” C inquires.

         “Broke her brother’s heart,” I confirm.

           “Dae-Seong is gay?” She’s shocked, I roll my eyes.

           “Other brother,” I correct her.

           She hums. “Oh, he seems fluid? Is that the correct phrasing?”

           I snort, “Yeah, we’re all fluid technically,”

           “Mmm, speaking of-

           “Speaking of, if this was part of something larger, and you knew, would you tell me?” My voice is soft, C doesn’t know about the notes in my car, and she doesn’t need to.

           “If I could, if I had any information or anything, I would,” She promises.

           “Thank you. Love you, mean it,” I say.

           “Love you, mean it,” She answers.

           Finding Jimin was just a fluke, a one off, a bit of luck. He was with Taehyung in a genuine friendly engagement. They weren’t expecting me, I wasn’t expecting them. But the rest of these men? Jung Hoseok shows up here and there, nothing recent, no phone number or Facebook page with activity after 2015. Min Yoongi, well, Park Yoongi, shows up on the database, but when I look at the one photo of him, he is not the same man that Euna swears he is. The cherry on top of that is the last man to appear occasionally with Taehyung.

           Altogether, that’s six men. I’ve found three, which I guess should make me a glass half full kind of optimist. However, one was pure luck. The other was secrets from my sister and dumb luck, and the third? Child’s play. So, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, and Mystery Man, who are you, and what have you done to Lee Euna?

Next: Codename Love Reimagined 

#codename cupid #code name cupid #BTS #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #park jimin #jeon jungkook #Jeon Jungkook fanfic #min yoongi #kim taehyung #original female character #original male character #Jeon Jungkook x you #Jeon Jungkook x reader #secret agent au #government agent au #BTS agent #love #relationship #cupid #valentines day #thebtswritersclub #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bangtanarmynet

[the-other-totally-normal-account]

Lobotomyhammer 40k: The Most Dangerous Enemies The Average “Clerk” Will Face

> OPEN FILE; ARTICLE 378-B OF THE CLERK REGIMENTAL STANDARD?

> [YES]       [NO]

...

... ...

Greetings, Clerk Omega-45978888402. Today, you will learn about two of the most common, and most dangerous foes you will face against. But do not fret or fear, Carmen Protects.

Here, we do not believe in sugar coating or downplaying threats, as that is likely to waste important resources, such as you.

SWEEPERS

They are named due to their tendency to "sweep" entire planets of all life; And to level with you, entire Regiments of Fixers and Clerks (Clerks just like you, mind you) have been reported to vanish without a trace besides a few distressed radio transmissions. They are often one of the most threatening entities one can encounter in the cold vastness of space, next to only Aleph class (and above, though those are rare) Abnormalities.

Their strength is that of their numbers, which is Legion. They are one of the more numerous threats you will have to face, though, thankfully, they do not often attack. When they do, however, it is devastating.

It is unknown exactly what they are, but they appear to be composed of a techno-organic shell, containing liquefied biomass inside. They need to regularly replenish this disgusting material in order to continue living; Like how we eat to survive, yet more dire.

Sometimes, citizens among those areas they "sweep" are reported by survivors as not having been liquefied for consumption. It is unknown where they are taken or what exactly happens to them, but theories and rumors are in abundance. It is best not to dwell on their fates, quite frankly.

Next up are the agents of the Great Enemy, Abnormalities.

ABNORMALITIES

Abnormalities are, as you have likely been informed during training, abominations that often must be purged from existence at all cost. One of the main threats they pose is that they have the tendency to corrupt those that encounter them, if they don't outright kill, so cleansing and oftentimes the "firing" of Clerks that encounter them often take place post conflicts.

Thankfully, "firing" is rarely done unless one is corrupted beyond repair, which often does not happen with the more common abnormalities, so you may rest easy after most engagements with Abnormalities.You will find a list below, however, of more dangerous Abnormalities, dangerous enough to have been cataloged by survivors and submitted to our archives. Some accounts may be obscured by personal hatred of the abnormalities mentioned on account of the experiences the aforementioned survivors had with them. Also, unlike other enemies you may encounter, they are far more diverse and varied than most. Thusly, it’s best to approach them if encountered as a unique entity instead of a greater part of a whole, despite that being exactly what they are.

ARCHIVED INFORMATION ON NOTABLE ABNORMALITIES

[The Blue Shepherd and his Infernal Hound. Threat Level: WAW] (Note: Especially cruel. Do not be taken alive if encountered. Recite prayer number 987 if encountered. It helped.)

[The Great Devourer. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: Remember that battlefields don’t have pretty glowing flowers sticking out of the ground. That’s this thing about to devour you if you’re tricked by it.)

[Infectious, Burning Love. Threat Level: Aleph] (Note by Veteran Clerk Alpha-118: That [EXPLETIVE OMITTED] turned half of my entire Regiment into mounds of bone and melted flesh. They were still moving and vocalizing and shrieking. If encountered, apply bullet to your skull.)

[The Greedy King. Threat Level: WAW] (Note: Stay behind It at all times. It's one of the dumber ones I've encountered.)

[The Ashen Child. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: If you're marked, you'll immediately be able to tell. You'll smell burning wood, and sometimes flesh. For the good of your comrades, die before it reaches you, or tactically retreat.) [Eurydice. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: Do not interact. Under any circumstance do not interact. Do not listen. Do not look. Walk away slowly. Don't look.) [The Mechanical War Machine. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: It's an oddly common one to encounter, and for that reason, a lot of information has been compiled on it by various regiments, but one of the most important parts is, perhaps, its origin. First appearance was during the Heresy, during a raid on a Sector that allied with The Sons of The Well. Unlike most Abnormalities, it seems like this one was made. It's unknown how this is even possible. It also seems to collect hearts. It's best to keep your distance from it and call in artillery support. Just don't let anyone die due to it, or, well, you don't want to see what happens. Also, it has a massive axe with a pretty decent reach on it. Don't get within range, though that goes without saying.) [The Brainless Scarecrow. Threat Level: HE] (Note: Tricky, vile [EXPLETIVE OMITTED]. If you're above the minimum education- why are you even a Clerk in that case- needed for getting a job at a Conglomerate Factory, keep your distance and set up a firing line. If you have a flamer, even better. It's a bit of a weakling if you've got enough manpower. On your own, pray for your life and run.) [The Living(?) Apple Threat Level: WAW] (Note: Burn it before the vines get you. I doubt you've ever seen a man be impaled [EXPLETIVE OMITTED] to mouth by a vine before but you're going to if you encounter this thing. Only thing you can do is prevent as many needless deaths as you can, really. Good luck.] [The Beautiful Beast. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: Do not interact. Do not under any [EXPLETIVE OMITTED] circumstance even remotely think about attacking this thing. You really, really don't want to know what happens to the person who manages to kill it in a futile attempt to send it back to where it came from) [The Patchwork Abomination. Threat Level: HE] (Note: PULSATING EYES. EMPTY. STITCHES. DEATH OF INNOCENCE. WRITHING ORGANS.) [Alriune The Crumbling. Threat Level: WAW] (Note by Veteran Clerk Alpha-118: Destroy it as fast as possible, before it relocates and causes an entire squad or something to lose their minds violently. Also, tip, if you notice those floating petals, take the thing out before there's a large amount of them. It's an odd sort of timer, I've found.) [The Queen Bee and Her Hive. Threat Level: WAW] (Note: Do not inhale the spores. If your regiment has helmets that use filters, consider yourself one of the luckiest people alive- hopefully, at least.  If you don't have helmets like that, you probably have melta charges. If you inhale the spores, I hope you know how to use one and are willing to give your life to Her and Her corporation.) [The Shard of The Galaxy. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: Plug your ears with something. Anything. If you don't have anything to do that with, consider deafening yourself. You can always get implants later.) [The Jittering Doll. Threat Level: HE] (Note: If she tries to give you a present, punt that little [EXPLETIVE OMITTED] across the battlefield. It's fairly stupid and mindless so you can probably pick it up and use it as a meatshield or sandbag if the need be. It has the annoying tendency to survive a ridiculous amount of punishment, though.] [The Butterfly's Burial. Threat Level: HE] (Note: Utilizes ranged attacks heavily. Engage in glorious melee combat from behind or pelt with grenades. Either way tends to work) [The Black Swan's Nightmare. Threat Level: WAW] (Note: Take great care when it comes to the lookalikes. If you do something they don't like or harm them, be prepared for a difficult fight with a massive mutated bird-like abomination and brace for casualties. To be honest, I'm not even sure what a swan is but if that's even remotely similar to what one looks like, I don't want to know.) [The Sleeping Carcharodon. Threat Level: WAW] (Note: Back off and don't provoke it. You do not want to be ran through by a drug addled... fish thing(?) going at ridiculous speeds, I'm sure. I've seen all of my squadmates die from that, and only managed to survive because I was taking a piss in the corner in the shell of a bombed out building.) [The Burrowing Tree. Threat Level: WAW] (Note: If you have servitors, order them to watch it. If you don't, I highly advise you to either end yourself before it gets an opportunity to turn you into a really messed up Carmenmas tree, or if you're confident enough try your luck and keep eye contact.) [The Mountain of Wailing Corpses. Threat Level: Aleph] (Note by Veteran Clerk Alpha-118: I sincerely feel bad for you if you have the misfortune to encounter this abomination. Melta and Flamer weaponry do wonders against it, but not all regiments have that kind of equipment. If you do, start burning corpses once it's spotted. Good luck.) [The Observer. Threat Level: HE] (Note: Look away if you don't enjoy being split in two by massive buzzsaws. Also, Abnormalities apparently are manifestations of human concepts, feelings, stories, traumas, and things we experience; But for the life of me I can't figure out what this thing even is supposed to be. It's just... awful. Anyway, call an artillery strike on the thing before it's too late if you encounter it.) [The Dimensional Refraction. Threat Level: WAW] (Note: [EXPLETIVE OMITTED]  [EXPLETIVE OMITTED]  [EXPLETIVE OMITTED]  [EXPLETIVE OMITTED]  [EXPLETIVE OMITTED]. This thing, this [EXPLETIVE OMITTED] thing. Newly emerged Abnormality, I'm a survivor of perhaps the first encounter with it. Almost the entirety of my regiment was wiped out by this abomination. 1,000 lights snuffed out in a blink, suffocated and pulled apart violently. We couldn't fight it. We couldn't see it. By sheer chance it was discovered that it could be viewed with Thermal and even then we couldn't deal meaningful damage to it. The vessel we were on was blown to bits as a handful of us managed to escape. Carmen protect you all.) [The Event Horizon. Threat Level: Aleph] (Note: I've seen the end of all things, the ultimate, finality of everything that ever was and will ever be. And it was heart shaped. I'm probably going to be "fired" shortly. Remember that there's no hope if you see the Blue Star.] [The Shy One. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: This one is very finicky. Best to leave it alone. It's harmless unless you catch it in a bad mood or take a peak behind the curtain.) [The Dreaming Void. Threat Level: Teth] (Note: I hope you have Recaff on hand and enough people who are insomniacs to wake everyone else when this thing shows up. If you don't, chances are you're going to fall asleep and never wake up. Also, don't attack it, even if people are dying due to it. It will raise your chances of death from "possible" to "completely screwed".) [CENSORED] (NOTE: CENSORED FOR YOUR SAFETY) [He's Not There. Threat Level: Aleph] (Note: Don't trust anyone around you if there's even the slightest chance this thing's around. It's gotten really good at acting since it was first encountered ages ago. You will die painfully, horribly, and you will be used as a skin suit by this abomination. And, if one of your squadmates suddenly says that they love you, put them down without hesitation. Whether it was genuine, or whether it was this thing wearing them, it doesn't matter; You may have just prevented a disaster. Don't express sorrow for the loss of a possible happy future if you were mistaken, it was for the good of all mankind. ...And, got to admit, it sucks that these things always come back, never truly dying.)

#pretty long post ngl #but i've been working on this for awhile #abnormalities #dark humor at some points #graphic death tw #often grimdark #[expletives omitted] #I was actually working on another codex but got bored #body horror tw #Lobotomyhammer #Lobotomyhammer40k

[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 39)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 3091

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JJ knelt beside him too, across from you.

"What happened?" she wondered, no accusation in her voice. 

"I don't know," you admitted. "I was only gone an hour or two. He was perfectly fine when I left." You stared at his body in horror, wondering what went wrong. Wondering if it was your fault. 

Soon, an ambulance, police, and firefighters arrived. 

You rode with Spencer to the hospital and JJ said she'd let the team know and be behind you. You were trying to keep your crying back, but it was hard as the EMTs worked on him. 

Finally, you got to the hospital where Garcia and JJ met you. The doctors asked you questions and you focused long enough to answer them quickly and directly. Then they wheeled him away to the CCU. JJ and Garcia said they were being called in, so you nodded, telling them to go, that the team needed them. 

With trembling hands, you called Diana, Spencer’s mom. In a little under an hour, Diana arrived and Spencer was out of the CCu, but he wasn’t doing much better. The doctor informed you of the options. 

“The conservative approach would be surgery. It may reduce the swelling around his brain faster. There is risk, it could cause seizures and even more bleeding.”

You nodded and asked them to give you a moment. You spoke with Diana and as you were weighing your options, he began to seize again, causing monitors to go off everywhere. You went around the side of the bed and hugged Diana, trying to comfort her and not focus on your own pain. 

Your husband was dying and you had no idea if he even loved you anymore.  

When they finally got him calmed down, and the seizing stopped, someone appeared in the doorway of Spencer’s hospital room. You turned your head, and it was Max. 

A million emotions slammed into you at once, but the main one was confusion. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. Diana turned to see the newcomer. 

“Who’s this?” she asked. 

“A friend of Spencer’s,” you answered absentmindedly. Max looked like a lost puppy. Maybe she didn’t realize you’d be here. “Diana, I’ll be right back.” You stood up and walked towards Maxine. “Do you wanna go grab some coffee?” you offered. You weren’t about to sit in the same room with her as your dying husband. You wanted her far away from him. 

“Sure,” she said, looking a little afraid. 

You two walked to the cafeteria and got coffee, sitting down. 

“So, what are you doing here? Who told you he was here?” 

“JJ.”

“Ah, I should’ve figured that out.” 

“I’m uh, sorry for showing up like this--”

“Why did you show up, knowing now that he’s a married man?” you took a deep breath and remembered what Dexter had taught you. “How do you and JJ know each other?” you figured this would  be a good start to finding out more.

“After the thing with Cat, we talked for a bit. Your team had briefed me about what might have happened and then afterwards, she said she was close to Spencer and gave me her number in case I had any more questions about what had happened. Then, I got the text about him being in the hospital. She said I might want to know.” 

This fueled the fire within you about JJ. she had no reason to tell her about what was going on with your husband. “So….how did you and my husband meet?” This was the most awkward situation you were in and you just wanted this to get over with. “It seems you’ve become the center of his attention and that’s not something I'm okay with.”

She twiddled her fingers, toying with her coffee cup. “Yeah, I’m probably not your favorite person. Um, we met at the park. My nephew was talking to him, then he started to have a panic attack and Spencer came over and did a magic trick to distract him. It really impressed me, that a guy could take time out of his day to make a boy he didn't know happy and feel better.”

“Spencer’s always had a soft spot for kids, he’s a great uncle.” You smiled fondly hearing that he had helped a child in need. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy he was able to help but how does that in turn end up with you and him constantly being together?” You took a sip of your coffee. “Wasn’t there a point where you asked if he was seeing anyone or if he was married?” You couldn’t see how that would never cross a person’s mind

“It did, but we were having such a good time, I didn’t want to think anything was wrong. He never talked about you, and I never thought to bring it up. He seemed so sweet and decent, I didn't think there was any way he could do something like that.” 

“You never thought to ask if he was single or taken?” That sounded incredulous to you. “Did he ever ask you?” At that point you were starting to believe that the man you loved really didn’t love you and this was just a confirmation. “I’m going to be frank with you. He and I are going through a tough situation and JJ was the cause of it and then you showed up and things got worse, I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me what exactly it was that you two did so much that he couldn’t bat an eye at me.” You moved your hands under the table to hide their trembling.

She took a breath. “Okay, well, first of all, I didn’t mean to make anything worse. I’ve never intended to cause issues in a marriage. But, all we did was go to lunch, dinner… We went to a few museums and shops. He gave me a couple of things.” 

“Were there ever moments where you two got to be closer than friends?” You massaged one temple trying to think things through like Dex had told you to. “I’m just trying to figure all this out and I’d like to know everything, if you could tell where you guys went and what you did I would really appreciate that.” You were being sincere as much as it pained you, this needed to be done there was so much you were unsure of and Max was the key to knowing the truth. “ Do you have pictures by any chance?”

“I have a few. Yeah.” She pulled her phone out and began to show you pictures. “This was us at the science museum. This was us at the park.” She glanced at you, making a face of worry. “I know this is probably really weird, but as you can see we’re never kissing or holding hands.” She put her phone away, sighing before trying to list everywhere they went. “We talked about books, movies, a little bit about his work, but that was only for a few minutes. He gave me some of his favorite books to read, and showed me a few poems. He told me places I should go visit.”

Hearing all of this was hurting you far worse than you thought it would. He gave her the books that you had given to him, the places they went to were some of the few places that only you and him had ever gone to.the same poems he showed to her were the ones he would recite to you when he felt that they were meant for you. Your shoulders sag and you wanted to hate her but you couldn’t she did know he was married he chose to keep that from her. He chose to keep you hidden from his life to someone else and that, that's what broke your heart.  “Did he ever hint at wanting more than what you two had?” you hoped this would give you the answer to the question that's still gnawing at you.

“Not really, no. He made it clear he liked being around me but…” She bit her lip. “I was falling for him. I was going to tell him I loved him, soon. Probably the next time we met. That was before I found out he was married though. But I still can’t turn off those feelings, that's why I came to the hospital, I think…. Because I love him, and if he died…” 

“If he died what? He died knowing that you fell in love with him?!” you winced hearing your voice rise. “I’m sorry but knowing that he’s married you shouldn’t have even thought of that, it’s bad enough I had to deal with JJ doing the same shit while I was away for work but I don’t need someone else doing that and especially not now when he’s like this.”

“I know. I shouldn’t be here but… I had to be true to myself. I love Spencer, and I wanted to tell him that, but… I won’t get in the way of your marriage. I’d still like to be his friend and I won’t let us go anywhere past that.”

“I don’t really know much about you so it’s hard for me to even trust you’ll keep that promise and that you won't try later on.” you finished your coffee cup “But I do appreciate you telling me everything that’s happened.”

She nodded. “Of course. If I was married, I’d want the same courtesy. Besides, you’re really intimidating.” She nervously laughed. 

“You smiled a little at that. “I don’t do it on purpose, it's just part of the job.”  you make a move to leave. “I should probably get back. I need to check on Spencer.”

“Right, yeah, of course. I’m just gonna go. I’m so sorry to have come, but… now at least you know the truth. I hope whatever damage I caused, you two can fix it.” 

“I’ll let him know you stopped by to say hello, and I hope we can fix this too.” You nod your head and head back to the room. 

You headed back, and Diana had a hold of his hand. A few hours later, he opened his eyes and he was fully awake. After they ran some more tests, they cleared him. His bleeding had stopped and he was going to be okay. Diana said she was tired and she went back to the live-in home, wishing you both a good night. 

Now that Spencer was finally lucid, you were sitting beside his bed, holding his hand. 

“Hey,” you softly said. “I thought I lost you there for a while. I came home from the hotel and found you on the floor. I’ve never been more scared in my life.” 

Spencer smiled at you.

“I wondered if the last thoughts in your head were about Max,” you admitted with a bit of an embarrassed laugh. 

He shook his head. “No. They weren’t about Max. I was thinking about the case. Everett Lynch is still alive.”

“We know, sweetie,” you assured. “The team is tracking him, we’ll find him.” You bit your lip to look down for a second. “Spencer, I talked to Dexter, and actually Max stopped by too.”

“Oh? What did they have to say?”

You noticed he didn’t ask about why Max was here. “I had talked to Dexter and he made me realize that I was overreacting and I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself and try to see your side of this.” You looked away from him, not being able to meet his eyes about Max.

“Well, that’s good. He won’t hurt any more women… Y/N… I’m so sorry that you were put in the position to even think I was thinking of another woman before I collapsed… I never should’ve done that to you. You’re right. I was completely in the wrong for keeping you a secret from each other. I just… It was nice to talk to someone who had nothing to do with work, or Miami, any of it. It was a breath of fresh air. But I made you feel second best, and you’ve never done that to me. Ever… I should’ve paid you the same respect.” 

“Thank you, Spence…” You really didn’t know what to say. Things were happening left and right and you didn’t know what to believe. “I just wish you’d thought of giving me that respect before all of this happened.” You still couldn’t look at him. “We spoke… Maxine and I.”

He made a look of uncertainty and worry. “Really? How did that go? She came by? What did she have to say? Why was she here?”

“She… She came to see you and well we got to talking and she confessed that she’s in love with you and that if you died she wanted to do right to herself and tell you.” you moved yourself away from him a bit. “She told me about everything Spencer. The places you guys went to, the books you gave her” you looked away trying to calm your emotions. “Why Spencer? What happened to those places being just for us, I gave you those books.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing. And everything. I know the case in Miami is done but that doesn’t mean my head or my heart were in the right place. I was in profiler mode the whole time we were down there. Working the case, protecting you. Then we got back here,and reality hit me of everything that had happened. And I just wanted the taste of a normal life for a little bit with someone that wasn’t on the team or even you. It wasn’t a romantic choice. It could’ve been anyone. It just happened to be her. I’m sorry that she told you she loves me… That.. that was never my intention. I just wanted a friend, a close friend, a good friend like you and Dexter. I needed to digest everything that happens, and at the same time, be away from it all with someone who could just be my friend, not a profiler or a killer. But I don't love her… at all. I love you, and only you. It’s always only been you, I swear.” 

“Spence, it's hard for me to believe that, all of the things she told me you did were the exact same thing we did when we first got together, how do you expect me not to feel like i’ve been pushed aside for someone new,” There was no stopping the tears. “Like you said she’s outside of all of this I wouldn’t put it past you to move on from me.”

He reached over, taking your hand and sitting up on his elbow. “The last thing I will ever want or do is move on from you. I didn’t spend the last several months using every waking moment trying to protect you and your freedom because I don’t love you more than anyone in this world. I made a mistake. I distanced myself from you, but to be fair, you did it too.” He held up his hand to stop you from protesting. “I’m not faulting you. I know why you did it. I’m keenly aware as to why you did what you did. But the fact remains that when both of us are afraid of hurting the other person, we distance ourselves. The only problem with that logic is, the distancing ourselves does hurt. I did this all wrong. I know I did. But Max is just a friend. I was caught up with feeling.. No longer bogged down by our work, or the Miami business. For that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel second best. I’m sorry for not making you a priority. I’m sorry for making you feel anything but all the love I have for you. I'm sorry for not handling my emotions better and coming to you when I had a problem. I can’t fix what I did, or correct my mistakes, but I’m here now, telling you that none of it matters to me anymore. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is you.” 

“You mean it? You're not just saying this to get me to not overthink? It’s been hell, Spence. Every time I wanted to be with you, it’s like you didn’t think twice to run to meet with Max.” You looked up at him. “I was honestly waiting for you to tell me that you were leaving, that you never wanted to see me again, I wanted to blame you for this but I blame myself because if it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t have had to find confidence and search for someone else to find some semblance of normalcy.” You wiped the tears away, not wanting to get too emotional.

He leaned all the way up and put his hand on the side of your face. It was some of the first physical contact you’d had in forever since this whole Maxine thing began. “No,” he cooed. “No, none of this is your fault, don’t even think that. I’m an adult. I should've handled it better. It’s just… well you already know I’m envious of you and Dexter. Between JJ, and Miami, and Dexter, and Maxine and our jobs in general. So much has been so messy with us lately, I didn’t even know how to begin talking to you about it. That’s my fault. Not yours. It’s a reflection of me, not you. I got caught up in distancing myself so far away from work, that I distanced you too, and I never meant to do that. I just… I want us to find our way back to each other. That’s all.” 

“I would really like that too, just please no more lies?” you asked of him as you leaned into his touch realizing you’d been very deprived of his touch. “What do you say when we go back I cook you up some of your favorite foods to make you feel better?” you hoped that this would be a good start to getting back to what you two had before everything went wrong. 

“Yes, please. No more lies. I swear. I’m done with Maxine. It’ll just be about us, from now on.” He promised, leaning forward to kiss you and it felt like you could finally breathe again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#inside the criminal mind #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dexter #dexter fic #dexter morgan #dexter morgan fic

[theguineapig3]

Goodness and Love Colloyd Week 2020, (Late) Day 6: “Goodness and love will always win.” Words: 1778 Genre: Childhood Fluff

The moment Lloyd first fell in love with Colette was when he realized that she embodied the Dwarven Vows more perfectly than anyone he knew… and she didn’t even have to memorize them.

When Dirk had first insisted that Lloyd go to school, he resisted. Normally Lloyd only went into town only when the two of them needed supplies- he didn’t like being away from Noishe, but at least he had his dad with him. But at ten years old, Dirk decided that Lloyd was old enough to go back and forth to Iselia on his own and insisted that he enroll in the local school. “There’re things in this world ya need to know that I cannae teach ya,” he’d said, and while Lloyd was initially excited to interact with the other kids, that excitement faded quickly.

Lloyd was an outsider, unable to break into the already-established friend groups. He hadn’t had the same schooling they’d had, so he was behind in all of the lessons. And the teacher, an old man with a penchant for slapping hands with his wooden ruler, had no sympathy for those who fell behind. So, when after two long years, the teacher announced his retirement, Lloyd was the first one to wish him well. The young elf woman who replaced him was just as strict, but in Lloyd’s eyes, she was fair with her strictness. She tailored lessons and assignments to her students’ abilities and recognized their potential, and when she was strict with Lloyd, it was because she wanted him to succeed. She made coming to school so much easier.  

It wasn’t the new teacher that improved things the most, however. It was the little elf boy who was now sitting in the first row. Lloyd hadn’t been the only loner, of course- the quiet, clumsy blonde girl who sat near the front was always looked at by her classmates with more reverence than friendship. But she was the Chosen, the one who would one day defeat the Desians and regenerate the world, and if the Iselian students weren’t worthy to speak to her, the Dwarven country boy shouldn’t even consider it. After one lunch period, Lloyd and the loudmouthed pipsqueak that the Professor had brought with her became fast friends. It made Lloyd feel bad for the lonely looking girl who shared her lunch with the local dogs instead of other kids.

Show-and-tell was one of Lloyd’s favorite school activities, where students had a chance to show off items from home. He’d already shown some of his craft projects in previous weeks, things like wood carving and carpentry that he’d learned from his dad. This time, to show off in front of the new teacher, he’d recited the first one-hundred and fifty Dwarven Vows. ...of course, he only got through one-hundred and twelve before Professor Raine cut him off for time, but he was proud of himself nonetheless. Genis, who’d assured Lloyd the day before that his show-and-tell would blow Lloyd’s out of the water, had given a pretty basic display of kendama tricks. Sure, the kendama was difficult to handle, but Lloyd felt certain he’d won.

Lloyd never got the chance to brag, though.

About halfway through the afternoon, one of the students in the middle of the classroom got caught playing with the slide puzzle he’d brought to show off. Raine was quick to confiscate it from him and scold him for not paying attention. He wasn’t going to take it lightly, though, and shot back a rebuttal.

“That’s not fair!” the boy protested, pointing to the front of the class at Genis. “You let him play with the kendama!”

Raine shook her head. “Genis’ kendama helps him focus. You, on the other hand, are being distracted. I’ll give you this back after class if you focus on the rest of the lesson.”

“....mmmhmmm…” 

The boy sunk back into his chair, and Lloyd assumed that was the end of it. But after class, when Lloyd exited the schoolhouse, he saw the boy and a few of his pals standing over Genis. His blood boiled as he watched them push Genis to the ground.

“-think you’re so special just ‘cause you’re the teacher’s brother? Helps you focus, my ass!”

Genis was shielding his head, trembling as he tried to articulate a response. He had spirit for a seven-year-old, but even so, he was still too small to put up a decent fight without resorting to the magical spells his sister had forbidden him to use in the village. “I-it does! I-! I can’t-! I can’t pay attention without-!”

“Shut up!” Another of the boys started kicking. “When our parents hear about this favoritism, it’s over for you and your sister-”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Lloyd had been puzzling over what to do, and he was ashamed of his hesitation. It came from his dad’s repeated warnings not to get into a fight in the village- Dirk always said there was a reason “let’s all work together for a peaceful world” was the first Dwarven vow. However, another Dwarven vow, way up in the hundreds somewhere that Lloyd hadn’t memorized yet, said that “the first fault lies with he who commits and the second with he who permits.” If Lloyd did nothing, it would be just as bad as if he’d bullied Genis himself. And he could never do that to anyone, least of all his dear friend.

Lloyd grabbed the kicking boy and pulled him backward. The boy struggled against his grip, yelling something along the lines of “let go, you idiot hick Dwarf!” but Lloyd kept his grip firm. He waited for the original bully to come at him, but… he didn’t. Instead, there was a soft voice beside them that drew everyone’s attention.

“You guys… is everything okay?”

The surprise caused Lloyd to let go of the boy he was holding, and it gave Genis a chance to rise to his knees. “Colette!” the original bully gasped, taking a step back from Genis. “It’s not fair that this kid gets to play with toys in the classroom while nobody else does, right? You agree, right?”

Lloyd wasn’t used to hearing Colette’s voice, so he had no idea what he expected her to say. He was still surprised, though, when she completely dodged the question.

“You got new glasses, right? They look good.”

The bully appeared just as surprised, but his cheeks flushed and he smiled. “Yeah. My dad sent them from Palmacosta. They’re special order.”

“Can I see?” Colette held out her hands, and Lloyd fought back the urge to speak up. While she was distracting the others, Genis had taken the opportunity to flee back into the schoolhouse. Lloyd wanted to go comfort him, but he knew Genis’ sister could probably do a better job of both patching him up and comforting him, and his curiosity as to what Colette was trying to do was too strong. 

The bully had handed his glasses over for Colette to examine, and she delightedly put them on, taking a moment to examine her surroundings. Her smile disappeared the longer she looked, however, and she let out a gasp.

“Whoa! These are… they’re not working right! I can’t see anything!” Colette removed the glasses again, looking them over. “Everything was so blurry. I couldn’t see people’s faces or read any of the signs. How can you even do schoolwork with these? I’m worried you could hurt yourself!”

The bully stepped toward her, holding out a hand. “No, see, they don’t work for everyone. They’re a special order for my eyes-”

“You need to get your dad to send them back! Tell him they made a mistake!” Colette held the glasses close to her chest. “I could do it. Maybe they’ll listen to me if I-”

The bully reached over, still vying for the glasses but trying not to touch her. “Everyone’s eyes are different. Glasses that work for my eyes might not work for someone else’s. My glasses are fine, okay?”

Colette’s smile returned in full force, with a look that gave Lloyd an odd, fluttery feeling in his stomach. She handed the glasses back with a nod.

“I get it. Everyone’s body is different. You have special glasses that help your eyes see, and the new kid has a toy that helps his brain focus. Thanks for teaching me about that- I can’t wait to tell the priests at the temple all about it!”

The bully’s face turned pale, as did those of his friends. They sent each other a look and then retreated.

“R-right…” The bully nodded and shot a glare toward Lloyd before running off. “...see ya tomorrow!”

There was a moment of quiet, the sounds of village life filling the space between them. Lloyd could feel his face heating up as he stared at the girl across from him, but she was distracted.

“-where did Genis go? Is he okay? I hope he’s not hurt too bad.”

“...that was really cool,” Lloyd finally spoke, though he processed what she’d said just a moment later. “I mean-! Genis went back into the school building. I’m sure the Professor is probably patching him up.”

“That’s a relief.” Colette sighed. “I still want to check on him, though. He’s so tiny, those guys could’ve really hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Lloyd replied, crossing his arms. “Picking on someone who can’t defend themselves is something only cowards do.”

“Is that a Dwarven Vow? You didn’t say it today in class.”

“No, it’s-” Lloyd stopped. “-wait, you were actually listening to those?”

“Of course!” Colette chimed. “They were all such good sayings. I loved all the ones about dogs.” 

“There’s another one I didn’t get to. Dwarven Vow 132, feed a dog for three days and it’ll be grateful for three years.”

“Aw, that’s a good one!” The absolute joy in Colette’s voice made Lloyd briefly forget his concern for Genis, and he had to remind himself of the situation. 

“Why don’t you come back into the school building? I want Genis and Professor Raine to know what you did for him.”

Colette twirled around toward the school. “I didn’t do anything special. It was you who stepped in. I was just thinking about your vows earlier. My favorite was the one toward the beginning… what was it… goodness and love will always win?”

“That one?! But it’s so cheesy-!”

His protest made Colette giggle, and the sound of her laughter sent another pang of emotion through Lloyd’s chest. He didn’t recognize it, but it felt good. No one had taken an interest in the Dwarven vows like that before, not even Genis. And, Colette may not know them all, but from what Lloyd could see, she embodied the heart of them.

He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

#tales of symphonia #colloydweek2020 #fanfiction #colloyd #theguineapig3

[mobius-prime]

277. Sonic Universe #8

Mobius: 30 Years Later (Part 4 of 4): The Freedom Fighters of the Future

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

So things are bad. Tikhaos is wrecking the castle and is already looking to move on to the rest of Portal, and no one really knows how they'll stop her. Sonic doesn't even know what he's looking at, and is baffled when Lara-Su mentions the monster's name, leading to the mention of a couple more noodle incidents.

I will say it seems a little trite to rehash the whole Perfect Chaos thing once again in a new setting, akin to how Star Wars just rehashed the Death Star twice after the original movie, but then again, the whole point of this arc is to show history repeating itself in both negative and positive ways. I actually do like the concept of the Future Freedom Fighters, the children of the original Freedom Fighters, carrying on the fight against renewed threats to the world - in m opinion it's one of the only things this arc actually gets right. The team wonders how Tikhaos was released and how she got all this Chaos energy in her in the first place, but decide they have to focus on the most present threat first.

This is one of the only actual character moments King Shadow gets at all in this arc, and honestly, I don't buy it. I suppose this is meant to be sort of a "bad future" Shadow, in which he never truly got the chance to fully comprehend Maria's ultimate wish and ended up horribly misinterpreting it, trying to bring peace to the world by conquering it and enforcing that "peace" through his brutal regime. But it falls incredibly flat without any kind of attempt at explaining how he ended up like this. Literally all we know about the past of this particular timeline is that Sonic disappeared shortly after Eggman was finally defeated for good - details that were covered in Penders' version of the future, such as Knuckles going green once more and "remaking the world as he saw fit" or whatever aren't confirmed to have happened or not happened, making everything about what led up to this moment entirely uncertain. Thus, there's no explanation whatsoever about what could have happened to Shadow that led to him becoming so brutal and tyrannical - literally, the backstory provided in SU#5 just makes it seem like he showed up one day and started taking over for no reason. Given his relatively tame character progression in the comics compared to in the games (where he undergoes significantly more trauma and is actually directly exposed to the temptation to violently take over the world), I find him developing in this direction extremely hard to believe. Like, I know I've gone on about how he's my favorite and all, but even if he wasn't, him becoming evil like this just makes no logical sense.

Anyway, Sonic orders Lara-Su to organize the rest of her band of new Freedom Fighters to stall Tikhaos while he rescues his family from the panic room, and orders Argyle to contact the Echidna Security Team to evacuate the city. Lara-Su is nervous about being totally in charge, but takes to it like a natural, ordering the others to distract and halt Tikhaos' advance so people have a chance to get away. Meanwhile, Sonic finds the half-destroyed panic room… with Sally still sitting pretty inside it, a vapid smile on her face. Seriously, normally Ian is good at writing his female characters, so I don't know what the hell happened here with Sally. I get she's close to fifty years old at this point and she was never a frontline combatant in the first place, but the Sally I know wouldn't exactly be content to just sit around while the castle literally fell apart around her, she'd be getting everyone on their feet and looking for an escape route, goddammit.

Once again I have to point out that Silver's motivations don't seem to make sense here. In every other appearance he makes in the comic, he's fully convinced that a traitor within the ranks of the Freedom Fighters is what caused his future to come to ruin, and yet here it's pretty clearly a result of Tikhaos' rage, which was obviously not caused by any Freedom Fighter at all. As Sonic carries Sally and encourages his kids to follow him to safety outside of the castle, Argyle reports that the evacuation of the city is going smoothly, with no reported casualties so far. The new Freedom Fighters are doing a decent job of holding back Tikhaos, but they're nowhere near strong enough to actually take her down, and are due to wear down eventually. Most importantly, the Dark Presence has actually fully renounced Shadow, and are helping to evacuate the civilians and have also freed Tails and Mina. Seems like a pretty quick turnaround for a terrorist organization, but whatever. There's also no further elaboration on the whole Shadow thing, by the way. You'd think everyone would freak out at the knowledge that Shadow has escaped containment and is clearly behind this disaster, but he's never mentioned again in the issue. This would have been the perfect opportunity to actually explain what the hell happened to him to cause such a drastic change in personality, and to have him show some actual regret and character growth from it all, but nah, he apparently just vanishes into the aether never to be seen again or face any consequences for his actions here. Great writing, Ian! Lara-Su decides that the fight is becoming a little too dicey, and decides to try appealing to Tikhaos' emotional side.

Hey, Tails! As he joins in the fight, Mina rushes in to grab their two kids and carry them to safety, much to Melody's annoyance. She protests that she and Skye are Freedom Fighters now, to which Skye emphatically agrees despite his timid nature, and this softens Mina's heart a little, no doubt remembering her own past with the original team. Meanwhile, Jacques and Belle are almost crushed by one of Tikhaos' tentacles, when Silver jumps into the fight.

While he helps stall Tikhaos, Sonic and Lara-Su discuss what needs to be done to actually stop her entirely. Manik and Sonia chime in at this point, reminding Sonic of his victory over Perfect Chaos when he was young and how he targeted its brain, and though he's not too pleased with being reminded that he's not young anymore, he decides they have a point. He calls on everyone on the field to clear a path for him as he rushes the beast, but he's not as fast as he used to be, and it turns to face him…

Look, I know Mobians like to start 'em young, but have we forgotten Sonic's kids are literally four years old?! I mean, kudos to them and all, but that's incredibly dangerous! Still, I can only imagine how popular one might be growing up if they were not only the offspring of a great war hero, but could also boast they took down a deadly monster at the age of four. With Tikhaos weakened, Lara-Su approaches while reciting Tikal's prayer, and this calms her down until she's reverted back to her ordinary Tikal-shaped spirit form, sleeping on the ground. Sonic congratulates everyone on working together effectively to save the day, and cracks a few obligatory jokes about his back hurting because, you know, he's old now.

"Chronos Control," huh? I actually like that quite a bit, nice twist on the ol' familiar Chaos Control. Sally congratulates Sonic on helping save the day, still relegated to being the useless cheerleader on the sidelines instead of doing literally anything proactive like her present-timeline self would definitely have been doing, and everyone poses for a nice final shot, excited to have formed the new Freedom Fighters. Despite the many, many (many) criticisms I have of this entire arc, it is a nice ending at least, fit to stand with the other triumphant finales in the comic at least. Still, overall, I feel like it was shallow, nonsensical, and full of bad characterizations of all the familiar characters. Individuals like Tails and Sally don't feel like themselves at all, but blank slates with the same names as their present-day counterparts, and others such as Shadow are entirely unrecognizable. Luckily for my sanity, this is the last foray we make into the Light Mobius timeline in the comic, and any future issues that deal with the future are set… a bit further into the future, if you catch my drift.

Like the last SU arc, this one ends with a teaser epilogue for the next arc, featuring none other than Finitevus coming out of a warp ring somewhere in a desert in Downunda, speaking to an unknown shadowy figure about how Angel Island is almost overhead and how he's "dying" to meet Knuckles again… Dun dun duuunnn!

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #su 8 #writer: ian flynn #pencils: tracy yardley #colors: jason jensen