#and still somehow ended up writing most of it in the middle of the gd night

[cetaceans-pls]

Back To Front

Magic gone awry has made Bruce a much, much younger man.

Jason’s not super jazzed about being the Responsible Adult in this situation

BruJay, T

bruce wayne day 4, for the prompts: brand new at batman, fear of guns

this is VERY soppy. i’m also SO indescribably sleepy that i wrote this with one eye closed, but nevertheless i enjoyed writing this hugely, so please enjoy

-

Jason looks at Bruce, and tries to be Regular about for having to look down to meet him in the eyes, for the first time since, uh, the dawn of time.

“You’re handling this pretty well.”

Bruce, zapped by a stray bolt of magic during a battle royale between Z and the magiced asshole of the week and now a hang-dogged looking young man of 20, just looks at Jason balefully.

God, Jason thinks. Man’s too young to even drink.

“Look, I know the only reason you let me give you a lift back to the Cave is because I got Alfie on the phone to talk to you. You haven’t even met Di-, uh.” Shit. Jason’s not sure what would happen if he spills that kind of information, if maybe this soggy-biscuit version of Bruce will find out he goes from lone ranger to mother hen right quick and decide to not go to the circus one particular night. “Uhm.”

“If this really is time travel and not some type of induced hallucination, don’t tell me anything,” Bruce says in his trademark growl, but it’s a little high and it lacks that electronic overlay that makes his voice spit and threaten like a fork being blasted in a microwave.

He’s so young. Jason’s eyes almost water to look at him, and he cannot comprehend that a year or so further down the line, this Bruce with his lank hair and perpetual turned corners to his mouth will see a child who’s lost everything and go no, not everything.

“I won’t,” Jason says. “I wasn’t gonna,” he says, like he hadn’t had half of Dick’s name out his mouth. He groans, and brushes his hair back in irritation. “I guess it’s going to be code names only, then. I’m Red Hood, and we, uh. Work together.”

It’s one way to describe it. He pulls out his phone, ignores Bruce’s hungry, interested stare at the cutting-edge piece of tech to someone from a time where landlines were king, and texts Alfred.

he doesn’t remember anything can you please take out EVERYTHING in the bedroom?

Of course.

He looks up from his phone, and see Bruce looking at him shrewdly. It’s another departure from normal; regular Bruce, his Bruce, is constantly looking at people shrewdly with zero expression on his face. Bruce can run through 15 vicious assessments of a brand new alien species without a single crease of an aristocratic brow, probably, and it just hammers home how....fresh and new to all of this, Bruce is.

Once a man’s been Batman for a couple of decades there’s something of it that remains in the blood, and Jason had thought he’d gotten awful good at seeing the man underneath it all, but... no. Even at his most vulnerable, even at his most laid bare, the Bruce of his time’s got too much iron in the blood, too much eldritch after seeing all of the horror.

He looks at this Bruce and the first adjective that comes to his mind is soft-bellied. His second thought it Gotham’s gonna ruin you.

It’s a little depressing, like giving a eulogy at a funeral for a man who isn’t dead yet, and maybe Jason’s not as good at keeping a poker face while roiling in emotional turmoil because Bruce looks at him with blatant concern.

“Do we have a bad working relationship?”

“Maybe?” Jason doesn’t even know if he’s lying because of time travel or because he doesn’t actually know how to describe the messy fuzzy business of Batman and Red Hood being simultaneously terribly antagonistic and brutally efficient. “Look, I’m gonna get a migraine if I have to do 6-D chess to figure out if I’m going to collapse space-time every time I answer a question. How about we just sit here quietly in the Cave, you don’t look too hard at any of the tech, and you also don’t ask me why we have magicians on speed-dial.”

Bruce frowns. “You don’t have to keep me company in that case. I’ve survived near-death experiences, I can survive sitting in the Cave by myself until help comes.”

“Great point. Except, see, I can’t leave you alone.” Not for any practical or logistical reasons; few places on Earth were safer, and they can’t even go to Clark’s Fortress because this B is still a few years out from their first meeting. “Don’t ask me why,” Jason rushes to say, when he sees Bruce open his mouth to argue (of course). “Time traveler reasons, all right?”

The hell it is. Jason just cannot leave B alone in this state (soft-bellied). It’s just hitting hard and hitting weird, to see how young B had been when he’d started all of this. Of course Jason’s stint had started much younger and ended much worse, but he’d popped out of Catherine with skin an inch thick, probably.

Left to himself he hadn’t been particularly idealistic, though that trait had blossomed when he got given Robin. It’s just a weird realisation to make, that Bruce is all ass-backwards. Had started out a little delicate and intensely believing in his singular ability to make things better, and so much of that just gotten chipped away. The pillar of support’s mostly gone now, much of what’s left is just stoic rusty rebar.

This before to the after that’s the Bruce he owns is a little sickening to think about, much less face.

Bruce doesn’t pick up on Jason’s obvious cues that he’s feeling a little frazzled and a lot awful, because all he’d heard was Jason brushing him off without good reason. “Listen,” he says, puffing up his chest, and god the armour plating on this early batsuit looks gossamer thin and about as good at gossamer at preventing injury, god. “If you’re that desperate to keep your secrets, it’s fine. Just leave, and send Alfred down here to keep me company. He knows me.”

Jason wants to laugh at that, though he’s feeling a tad too hysterical to let it loose. “I promise you, B, I know you real damn well. Too damn well, even.” It’s 100% why he’s having this crisis of self, seeing what Bruce could’ve been based on what he was.

(Could’ve been someone with emotions he didn’t mind being read on his face).

Bruce doesn’t look convinced, so Jason pulls out his gun and in a smooth move shoots a hole through a target on the other side of the cave. The resounding bang echoes like a ghost through the cavernous walls, but Jason doesn’t even have time to care about the ringing in his ears.

What decades of training have dampened down to little more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth isn’t present here; Bruce has a full-body shudder, then goes a little green, before rallying back and baring his teeth. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“You get better at it, at not reacting to guns,” Jason says simply. “For a long while you got better at it for bad reasons,” and he’s too polite to say you have had some type of deathwish or other for most of your life, “and then you did it for better reasons.”

Bruce just keeps staring at him, even and serious. “Which one are you?” he snaps. “One of the bad reasons or one of the good ones?”

That does manage to pry out a startled laugh from Jason, who wants to grab Bruce round the throat and either punch him or kiss him (no changes there). “Been a major contributor to both, to be honest.”

Bruce steps towards him, posture aggressive but voice strangely earnest. “Which one are you now?”

Jason looks down at him, and wants to scream. “Good one,” he says, rendered solemn despite himself. “We both worked real fucking hard to get to that stage, I can tell you that for fucking sure.”

Jason’s forced to rescind his earlier thoughts; even if this Bruce still hasn’t gotten his face under control yet, that brain under all that thick mussed-up hair is still razor sharp (and a bit of a bitch). Bruce’s eyes narrow, than widen in surprise. “We’re involved. Aren’t we? We’re involved, and something about me or you or us together makes working together difficult.”

Jason groans, and shoves Bruce away with a hand to the face. “Nope, not getting into that. I literally am not gonna tell you anything any more, we’re both in time-out right now, fucking hell.”

For no reason that Jason could conceivably come up with, Bruce just looks satisfied. “You want to do a time-out but still sit together with me here, when you could just leave. Could have just left a while ago. That it, isn’t it? Our working relationship is difficult, but our personal relationship is...good.” He looks a little disbelieving. “Good enough that you’re here and you won’t leave me.”

Jason makes a face, and scowls at Bruce. “If this universe collapses around our ears ‘cos you couldn’t not be a detective and leave things the hell alone, I’m not taking responsibility.”

Bruce looks at him like he’s about to argue, but then he cocks his head to one side, frowning. “Did you hear that-”

And then the universe does collapse (just a little bit).

-

When Jason comes to, he’s sitting in one the Cave’s 200 office chairs, and Bruce, his Bruce, is leaning against a table, arms folded around that (magnificent!) broad chest.

Jason feels so much blessed relief it hits a lot like an asthma attack. “Fuck me, you’re the worst human being in the entire goddamn world.”

Bruce shrugs, but he’s smiling faintly. “Don’t think that can be true, since you’re still here with me.”

Jason groans. “Fuck me, do you remember everything? Wait, so that really was you from, like, 1998 or something? We didn’t break the universe.”

Bruce shakes his head ruefully. “I’d been trying out a new type of grappling hook, and the line had snapped. I wake up and I’m concussed to hell and back, and everything’s like a fever dream. Didn’t realise it wasn’t until the Red Hood came to Gotham, but it certainly added an interesting layer to how I felt when I found out that this....,” he gestures vaguely around them, “this was you.”

Jason licks his lips, throat gone dry. “Good kind of layer, or a bad one?’

Bruce pushes away from the table to loom over Jason, this familiar sightline, this beloved bulk. He rests a hand at Jaosn’s jaw, and smiles. “The good kind,” he murmurs, warm and close. “After all, we both worked real fucking hard to get here, didn’t we, Jaybird?”

Un-fucking-believable. Jason wants to beat the crap out of Bruce, and has to make peace with just biting hard on Bruce’s thumb instead. “Asshole. Should’ve stayed as younger-you, he was all innocent and, uh, earnest.”

“Gotham’s taken most of it away,” Bruce says matter-of-factly, but they’re both still whispering like they’re in a church that they built themselves. “Whatever’s left though, I’m happy to let you keep.”

All of it, Jason doesn’t say, because it doesn’t need saying. He’s keeping all of it, because all of it is his, cracked cement and sturdy rebar and a face that’s easy to read and this worn-down man who’s still better than the next thousand you could conjure up.

“C’mon,” Jason says roughly, knocking Bruce’s hand off and climbing to his feet. “Everyone’s been worried as shit about you.”

“They shouldn’t have been,” Bruce says mildly. “You were here with me.”

“Oh my god,” Jason says. “Fuck me, bring back the other guy.”

But then he grabs the hand he’s bitten, and tugs Bruce back to the present.

#brucewayneweek2022 #brujay #bruce wayne #jason todd #whale writing #i don't know how i had an idea for this fic at 8 in the morning #and still somehow ended up writing most of it in the middle of the gd night #in other news today my friend took me out for a coffee #sneakily paid for my drink #and then the barista gave me a Fancy Drink someone ordered but never showed up for #feeling at a weird kinda peace w the world right now hope u are too

[roboromantic]

Episode 17     I know it’s combined with 18 but this is long enough and who knows how much I’m gonna write for the last episode of the season

Do we know who this guy Bee’s wrestling is? He kinda looks like tfp Breakdown but with a faceplate more than anything

Ouoghh this is such a bad idea but they’re So cute

Honestly if this guy hadn’t grumbled “Transformers” after he bumped into her I wouldn’t’ve really thought anything of it. He just looked like someone going about his day who did Not want to deal with kid robot hijinks

Also Twitch may be roughly human sized but most of the other kids are what, like 20 feet tall? Ish? they’re Gonna get bumped into regardless of whether someone

😔 yeah I know that feel Robby

OOOO the red eyes in bot mode…………very nice

maybe not the best way to save someone though

It’s a nice detail that Thrash’s wheel starts spinning, I wouldn’t really have expected the wind to affect the bots all that much lmao

also uh. How much weight can those grids handle?         I mean probably a decent amount but still.

do people actually talk like that in Philly or does this sound just as painfully bad as most tv “””Southern””” accents

OH NO I thought maybe they were gonna see Bee and try to interact w/him before we got the Evil Reveal but nah. Straight to child fighting.                                Does she know the Terrans are kids and if not would that’ve changed things?

🥺🥺🥺 fambly

OH NO rip Hashtag

oh. 😬😬😬

OH the neck gaiter’s cute

Of Course They Have Blue Hair and Pronouns

This is cute and all and I’m Loving it but also. Character with neopronouns When

also maybe one that’s older. and more genderfuck-y. it’ll never happen but gd I wish it would

OH HEY is this the first cartoon where the cassette birds can talk?   …did he talk in any of the earlier episodes and I just missed it?

also speaking of Southern accents,

uh. Geez. are they really saying the defeated bots get murdered and everyone watching is just. Okay with that? If so then that’s darker than I thought the show would go

I’m wondering if perhaps Mandroid is behind this and is using the scrapped bots to rebuild himself but I also don’t know if he’d want to take parts from the weaker defeated bots 🤔

ooohhhh I thought he was here against his will, that’s interesting. I take it he’s still in contact w/Optimus, then

they still haven’t explained what Schloder meant when he said that Bee turned traitor. I’m guessing maybe Optimus knows GHOST is uh. Bad. And had Bee remain a free agent since the beginning? We’ve seen Wheeljack and Arcee – do we know which Autobots GHOST knows about and which they don’t? I don’t actually remember if GHOST knew about them or not. are the others also on secret missions like this??? Most importantly are the Rescue Bots and Burns family out there somewhere???????? blease

okay I have to imagine either Bee has a plan to keep Jawbreaker safe or he is somehow oblivious as to what happens to defeated bots. Didn’t seem that way given his reaction to winning that fight in the beginning, though

I KNEW IT

oh I thought it was implied his next opponent was Grimlock in the opening sequence, was Grimlock just swapping places w/Bee to fight someone else?

??? He OBVIOUSLY saw Grimlock in the beginning, right??? or did he not recognize him bc he was in the shadows or

Anyway real Thor vs. Hulk vibes

ajdflhsljkdghdfjl aw

OOOH LOVE the flamethrower lighting up the throat, very Godzilla

😬 ow

sjkhjkfghdfjds;kjgh;sfjkhgjd

CALLED IT but also that’s. grisly

🥺🥺🥺 them,…………..

hey uh isn’t Bee supposed to be hiding. I know it’s the middle of the night but that’s still a stretch

BEE THEY’RE KIDS!!!!!!!! DON’T DRAG THEM INTO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m assuming that “Let’s go find Grimlock” is basically where 17 ends

#Earthspark spoilers #Chal watches Transformers

[strvwberryblcnde]

👫 teddy/lana

send a 👫 and I’ll write four headcanons i have about our muses’ relationship.

ok so. lana has a habit of sharing food as one of her many love languages i think. she jst likes.... giving ppl things even if it means she’ll have less. she’d let a wolf make a meal out of her n eat every last piece if she loved him n she knew he’d feel full. bt of everyone i feel like teddy hs always been the one she does this w most.... like even when they first met in the cafeteria she gave him spoonfuls of her greek yogurt n honey. whenever she’s eating fruit (which is a lot she’s obsessed w strawberries n peaches n grapes n tangerines n oranges) she’ll ALWAYS give him half whether tht’s segmenting up pieces or dividing bites evenly between them n Without Fail it’ll always b half tht she gives him whereas she might give other ppl like.... a bite or a piece or two bt......... it’s rly specific each time tht she gives teddy half. it isn’t even intentional it’s jst like a subconscious thing bt if we were to slide on spectacles n analyse this in an english class fr it’s Meaning then. looks at u then looks away. i think this represents the way tht teddy hs always felt like another half of her. they’re one in the same. in a lot of ways they’re very similar mayb even................ TOO similar n that’s why it’s been sch a fking.... bastard of trying to work things out ever bc they very much hv the same rampant commitment issues n bad timing n fears of never being gd enough. i feel like in the past a guy she ws dating (noncommittally as lana tended to do these things) wld have even noticed this n it would have bugged him a lot just like... how close she was w teddy in general............. n he would’ve one day brought it up in the middle of a fight he’d picked jst cutting away from what they were talking abt to be like. u only ever give me one bite but u would give teddy all of it if he asked u to. tell me i’m wrong. n she’d scoff out a laugh in disbelief looking around like omg...... all this over a fruit...... what are u even sa-- n he’d cut her off n be like. literally tell me i’m wrong lana. n she wouldn’t even b able to after going quiet n rly realising what it was he was actually Saying. he’d storm out. relationship over. icons of always being a little bit in love w each other n not even noticing it until someone else points it out <3

god. sighs dramatically at the idea i jst had. i cn imagine in la verse lana being rly drunk getting bk from a date one time n inevitably it was just some random loser since she’s back to dating Trash in this era bc she just truly cbas trying after her breakup w dom n............. it would be like a parallel to tht one time they’d fallen out over him sleeping w imogen when she ws upset w him bt crawled into his bed drunk at a party just to lie w him for a little while despite everything...... she wld have gone to his instead of hers on some drunken automatic pilot n somehow got into his room n..... she’d clamber in n flop nxt to him n maybe it wld be funny at first if he woke up n was like lana what the fk...... are u doing here.... so disorientated n confused.......... n she’d just be joking initially bt very clearly drunk like making fun of her date talking abt how he kept complimenting his own hair n calling himself a tesla in a sea of prius’ n checking himself out in every window they passed n then the laughter wld slowly trickle off n she’d go kind of quiet fr a moment n maybe teddy wld assume she ws passing out bc she’d drank sm bt after a short silence she’d perk up with a mumble out of nowhere n, barely conscious of what she’s saying, b like “why didn’t u wait for me like u said u would”. n if he was like.............. huh? she’d have her eyes shut n just b murmuring half awake then open them sleepily to look at him n rly quietly be like........ “u promised”. mayb she’d even reach out to gingerly trace his face bt then her wrist wld go slack bc she was rly tired n she’d just wriggle closer n tuck her head to get comfy n be like “warm” then promptly fall asleep. JSGSFKGHFHGKHGSFKH. literally jst jolting him awake w this rarely serious n genuine conversation then passing out. jst the worst fk teddy’s life bet he lay there staring at the ceiling fr so long after tht one <3 lana wouldn’t remember this in the morning either she’d wake up like why am i here........ did we meet up last night............ teddy jst like >_> u crashed here it was nbd.

i picture the first week they moved to LA lana wldn’t have admitted it bt she wld be feeling rly homesick............ radcliffe was very much like the first place she truly felt was her home n she’d miss all of the ppl there n just the general area A Lot............. one night i can see her jst wanting to spend with teddy to have like a sense of familiarity in an unfamiliar city (even if she’s spent a decent amt of time there over the yrs bc of jameson records hving studios etc bt still) n i’m imagining them like. breaking into an indoor swimming complex that her n her friends in high skl used to break into in the summers when they vacationed yrs ago.... maybe lana still has a key cut tht works from a connection she made bk then idk <3 it doesn’t matter <3 n they’d inevitably be drunk n just messing around n splashing each other n doing handstand competitions n all the typical..... fun frivolous childish antics lana n teddy tend to get into whenever they’re around each other.... truly jst transformed into big kids whenever they’re in the other’s company..... inspired a little by this gifset jst in terms of the playing around underwater vibe. anyway. mayb they mostly dry off bt they end up climbing up onto the rooftop after n it’s a baking summer night anyway so it isn’t like they’ll catch a cold being damp bt they share a big fluffy towel n bottle of rum between them huddled overlooking the lights of the city. n maybe somehow it gets onto lana admitting how much she misses home n how it’s kind of weird being here especially bc she’s further from caleb. she’s never been this far from him since he was away in the army n we all kno hw tht turned out. mayb she’d go a bit quiet after saying this bt then i think she’d take his hand w their fingers laced together n she’d rest her head on his shoulder n be like. at least i’ll always have u. it’s like i took a piece of home w me. we’ve always had each other like that. then she’d perk up n lift her head n be like let’s make a deal. i’ll be ur home if u’ll be mine. ok? n make him pinky promise. i dnt think she’d quite consider the sentimentality in tht bt 😔 she nvr rly does she jst says what feels natural without attention paid to the deeper meaning tht motivated it n.... sighs. looks at u then looks away....

this is inspired by tht scene in don’t trust the b in apartment 23 where she’s like “look. that video of me getting rawed by my best friend means the world to me.” KJGFGJKSFHKGHKSFGHKFSHKGSHGK god. inevitably in lana n teddy’s prime when they were literally hooking up 24/7 in earlier college yrs they made.............. a few videos. i mean it’s jst realistic. it’s jst common sense. probably even a feature length film at one point. n i had this idea where bc teddy’s trying to get into acting etc mayb if he gets an agent his agent is like.... do u have any dirt u need to take care of? loose ends to tie up? incriminating files to delete? sex tapes? n if he was like... ya..... mayb his agent wld have asked him to delete them if he still had them on his computer or w.e i mean i kno lana wld n wouldn’t have deleted them she wld have been proud of their work of art...... bt maybe he told lana abt this just laughing abt it n the atmosphere ws lighthearted at first bc she’d find it rly funny too like ommmmggggggg i’m a skeleton in ur closet tht is so fun if u get famous i cld be blasted all over perez hilton that’s kind of sexy..... bt............... mayb she’d as a joke be like. mayb we shld watch it one last time before u delete it. kind of like a funeral service. a goodbye party. sailing out the flaming viking raft n paying our respects u know??? n they were joking bk n forth bt then she’d be like. seriously tho mayb we should? growing more accustomed to the idea actually being a genuine one even tho tht is fking. the WORST idea i have EVER heard in the world like i do NOT know how lana wld think she has the self control to do that bt in her head she’s like. teddy n i are jst best friends now... it’s fine........... we’re open w each other it’s just a bit of fun.......... n then i can imagine if he went along w this it’s like a game of chicken they’re playing w each other where they’re both like fking hell shd we do this.... dnt wna seem like I’M the one tht thinks i can’t handle it........ n it’s some back n forth like nick n jess in new girl where they’re daring each other to have the threeway w the landlord. bt then like not even.... a minute into watching it as they’re both silently holding their breath n crunching popcorn they mde for the occasion (insisting on acting like it ws just a normal movie night) lana wld literally have to be like. slams laptop shut. UMMMM i forgot.... i....... have a very important meeting......... n teddy’s just like. meeting? u don’t have a job... what are u ta-- n she’s like A MEETING A VERY IMPORTANT MEETING...... very blatantly squirming around as she slowly gets up n tries to head fr the door... n teddy’s like.... taking the excuse without much question too like... ya i have to run lines actually i jst remembered gt an audition coming up..... n they’re both like ya haha... maybe some other time.... or maybe just delete it it’s whatever.... anyway we gtg haha... bye.... ttyl...... lana wld literally hv to SPRINT out of there to go home n. deal w how flustered this made her i won’t lie. she bumps into parker n is all flushed in the face n is just like CAN’T TALK BYE n takes off sprinting again like some kind of freak. it’d b a train wreck. i jst think that’d b rly funny tho n dare i say it? it’s canon. 

#lana jameson | teddy lawrence #meme #excvlsior

[lowdenfordays]

Settle Down With Me, Part One

Y’alright folks? Long time no see, how’re you getting on? Excited for Christmas (if you celebrate it)? 

So I received a request to write an imagine based on the song ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran, and was hit by a wave of inspiration, so wrote this. It’s going to be a mini series, with probably four parts (if you saw my earlier post that said three, I changed my mind). So thanks to the anon for the request, and I hope you all like it!

Part Two

You stopped, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. The sounds rang harsh and hollow, and an eternity of silence seemed to follow it.

“Come in!” came a familiar voice from the other side, muffled but cheerful.

You opened the door to a conference room with a large table in the middle, stretching across the room, and a hive of people sat around it, with only a few empty seats scattered about. Some were chatting in hushed voices, some looked up at you as you entered, others scribbled absentmindedly on their notepads. You searched for your godfather’s face amidst the crowd, and quickly located him at the head of the table. Emma was sat to his right, and she smiled warmly at you as you met her eyes. She wasn’t technically your godmother, but you knew it wasn’t Chris who remembered to buy you a birthday card every year. You hurried towards them as Chris beckoned you over. You went to him first, acutely aware of all the eyes fixed on you. When you reached him you stood awkwardly, unsure how to greet him. You would usually go in for a hug, but this was a professional setting. You didn’t know if you were allowed to tell people that the director of the project they were all here for, one of the most renowned and talented film directors of your time, was your godfather, and he’d got you a job on the film – or even if you wanted people to know.

But he took the decision out of your hands when he stood and wrapped you in a big hug, like he had been doing since you could remember.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, “Today is just about getting to know each other and setting out our vision for the film. It’ll be really casual.”

You nodded, a little shaky, before moving into Emma’s open embrace. She didn’t say anything, but held onto your hands as she pulled away and gave them a squeeze, rendering words redundant. You gave a small smile, then left to take your seat further down the table.

The producers sat closest to Chris on the one side of the table, and actors on the other, with the various departmental directors filling in further down. In your best attempt at a purposeful walk, you made you way down the room, trying not to stare at the famous faces along the way. Kenneth Branagh, Tom Hardy, Cillian Murphy, Harry bloody Styles…

You found two empty seats together and sat in the further one, hoping no one would sit next to you. The last few people filtered in and you sighed in relief as the seat remained empty.

Chris broke the relative silence by standing and announcing, “Well, we’re still waiting for Jack but I think we’d best get started without him.”

Nods of approval and the shuffling of papers signified general agreement, but just as Chris made to start the meeting, the door burst open.

 In the doorway stood a tall, slightly dishevelled-looking blonde. He wore a dark grey, woollen jacket, unbuttoned to reveal a navy-blue sweater, with a dark green tartan scarf hung loosely around his neck. He was undoubtedly stylish, but far more striking was his face. Despite his angular features, he looked soft and boyish. His hair was already fairly long, but you could see that it would go curly if it grew a little longer. He smiled sheepishly through light panting, exposing deep dimples in each cheek, and his vibrant blues eyes darted around the room. He was easily the most handsome man you had ever seen, even against the wealth of good looks that sat around that very table.

You swallowed a gasp.

“Mornin’ all, how ye daein? Sorry I’m late, the traffic this morn’ was summin’ fierce.”

Good God, he’s Scottish.

The smile in his voice rang around the room and vibrated in your chest.

This is not good. This is very not good.

“Not to worry, Jack, we’re only just starting,” Chris replied and indicated for him to sit.

You watched, fixated, as he scanned the room for a seat. He caught your gaze and grinned, prompting you to snatch your eyes away and fight the blush that threatened to creep up your neck, with questionable success. You kept your eyes trained on the pad of paper on the table in front of you, but listened as he walked around the table and sat down in the empty seat next to you. You risked a glance at him, only to find he was already looking at you. The curiosity painted on his features morphed into a smirk, and he winked at you.

Bollocks.

 You spent the meeting doing your best to concentrate on what Chris was saying, ignore the man beside you, and supress the groans of frustration that rumbled in your throat at his every movement. The vaguely sweaty musk carried across the inches between you, which was hopelessly distracting. Why does he smell so good? He fidgeted often, scratching his arm or chin, shifting in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs, and every time he did your mind wandered to him and his perfectly chiselled face. In the end, you had to focus so hard on concentrating that you basically wrote down every word of Chris’ brief. You had never been more relieved than when a break was announced and you could get up and get some refreshments.

 You pushed your chair out to head towards a table laid out at the back, and as you stood you saw that his scarf had fallen off the back of his chair. You picked it up, and as you straightened found yourself face to face with the blonde bombshell that you had been trying so hard not to fall in love-at-first-sight with.

“Um, this is yours, I think,” you mumbled, extending it towards him in an attempt to put something between you. He really was standing very close.

“Oh thanks very much. I should really be more careful with it,” he chuckled, “It’s new.”

“It’s very nice,” you said, trying to be polite and friendly.

“Ye know what it’s made of?”

“Boyfriend material?”

As soon as the words left your lips you were horrified. It was a just instinct, as was the heavily sarcastic tone it came dripped in, but he was sure to think you were being far too forward.

“Nay,” he said, inclining his head and fully laughing now, “Cashmere, I thought it was fancy.”

You bit your lip to hide your embarrassment. “Sorry, I guess I’ve heard that line one too many times.”

 You made your way to the refreshments table together, in silence, and each made yourself a cup of tea. You felt him watching as you poured in the milk, and had to force your hand not to shake. You didn’t know why, but he made you far more nervous than the whole experience did.

“Ye make a good brew,” he said over your shoulder, “Ye cannae trust someone who can’ make a good brew.”

You smiled, “Thanks. I’d usually make it in a teapot, but needs must.”

“Oh, she’s classy.”

You inclined your head a little smugly, but internally gasped. Where had that sudden burst of confidence come from? Your voice was steady and you somehow managed to appear sophisticated and nonchalant. In an attempt to quit while you were ahead, you shuffled to a relatively quiet corner and cradled your drink, but were surprised to see that he had followed you over.

“I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Y/N”, you replied and took his outstretched hand.

With a knowing look he asked, “Is this yer first time workin’ on a film?”

You nodded, “How did you guess?” with a mix of sarcasm and curiosity.

“Ye wrote down Chris’ every word. I get it though, got massive respect for the guy but he’s a wee bit intimidating. I feel like I have te learn everything I can from ‘im.”

Little he knew, you couldn’t be further from intimidated by Chris, and it was his own charisma that had you furiously scribbling. For some reason, however, you felt disinclined to tell him about your relationship with Chris, and only nodded.

“So what’s yer role on the film then?”

“I’m a sort of assisting assistant director, I guess. I’m pretty sure my official title is ‘General Dogsbody’. You can call me GD for short.”

That made him laugh richly, causing a warm, joyful tingling to rush over your body in a way that you had never experienced before.

“It’s a foot in the industry though, once ye’ve go’ that, as long as ye work hard, ye’re set.”

“Well, that’s the idea anyway.”

“How’d ye manage te get the job?”

Internally cursing, you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish, trying to come up with a way to sidestep the question without outright lying.

“Umm…”

Thankfully, you were saved by a dark, curly-haired man whom you recognised as one of the actors, rushing up to Jack and crushing him in a hug.

“Jack, mate, how’ve you been?”

You stood awkwardly as they caught up briefly, clearly friends beforehand. But after a moment Jack looked over to you and smiled, “Aneurin, this is Y/N, she’s a GD. Oh sorry, an AD.”

You giggled, and marvelled that you had known his man for an hour but already had an inside joke with him.

“Okay everyone, that’s great. I think we can call it a day.”

You sighed in relief, all but dead on your feet. You’d just finished a busy day, filming on the beach in the morning with Fionn, Harry and Ni, then doing some spitfire stuff with Jack in the afternoon. You technically didn’t need to be there for the afternoon, but you liked seeing Jack in his uniform. Anyway, you were there to learn, so that’s what you were doing whenever you had the chance. It was still very early days in the shoot but you were already knackered. This film-making business was hard work. Chris had given you the role of organising the lads, to keep them in check and on schedule, as well as being a runner on set. He’d even consulted you on a shot once or twice, but you reckoned that was probably just to make you feel a bit important.

“How’re you doing petal?” Chris cooed, pulling the monitor off from round his neck and wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a sideways embrace.

“I’m good, just tired. These early mornings are killer. How about you though? Your job is much harder than mine!”

He smiled, “I’m doing what I love, it’s never a chore.”

As Jack was clambering out of the spitfire, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that he was watching your exchange with some curiosity. When he caught your eye, he shot you a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised and brow furrowed. You looked away, ashamed that you still hadn’t told him that Chris was your godfather, and focused on the ground as Chris placed an affectionate kiss on your head.

You scuttled off to your hotel room faster than usual to avoid Jack’s inevitable questions.

 That evening, after you’d had a warm shower and some food, you were sat cross-legged on your bed, enjoying some well-earned me time. Much to your displeasure, however, it was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Y/N!” Harry sing-songed through the door; of course it was Harry.

You unfolded your limbs and got up to open the door.

“What do you want?” you huffed.

“Don’t be mardy, come hang out. We’re all in Glynn-Carney’s room.”

“I’m in my comfies.”

“Comfies?” Harry smirked.

You rolled your eyes and pointed at your sweats and baggy jumper – sweater paws and all.

“Oh who cares. Look, doesn’t a bottle of wine and some good company sound better than sitting here on your own?”

“The company is questionable at best, but the wine is tempting.”

 Harry led you down the corridor and the door was opened to reveal a group of already giddy twenty-something year olds and more than a few bottles.

“There’s a little more than a bottle of wine here I see. Who started on the whiskey?”

Everyone instantly pointed to Jack, who shamelessly raised his hand.

“Dumb question,” you muttered.

You sat down, and took the glass of wine offered to you.

 “So, Miss Y/N, you’re in charge of us, right?” Tom said with a twinkle in his eye, “What shall we do?”

“I don’t know,” you scoffed, “Watch a film or something?”

“We were thinkin’ summin’ more along the lines o’ a drinking game” Barry chuckled.

“We have work tomorrow. I don’t think Chris would be too pleased if we all show up hungover.”

“Best make it something enlightening and/or educational then,” Aneurin grinned.

“Enlightening and/or educational,” you huffed in disbelief. “You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face Ni,” you laughed, somehow expelling the disgruntled attitude from you. “We’ll play truths. Someone asks you an uncomfortable question, you answer or you drink. It’s a bonding exercise, so we can get to know each other better.”

 They seemed to like your idea, and began asking each other questions, which were mostly, unsurprisingly, sex-orientated. When it was Jack’s turn to ask you a question, he rounded on you and asked, without hesitation, “What is the nature of your relationship with Christopher Nolan?”

Harry gasped and exclaimed, “Is Y/N screwing the director! You sly fox!”

“Ew, no mate, he’s her godfather,” Fionn corrected, hitting him on the arm.

You shrugged, indicating that it was true, and looked a little sheepishly at Jack. You watched as the realisation dawned on his face. “Wait, Fionn, how did you know?” he questioned, once he had fully processed the information.

“Viv told me.” Vivienne, the head make-up artists, was a notorious gossip and somehow knew everything about everyone. You all nodded in understanding.

“Well, now you know,” you said with a little uneasiness, “Let the piss-taking commence, I suppose.”

“Us lot? Take the piss? Never. Anyway, it’s not like you’re only person on the film that’s not here purely on merit… oh wait.” Harry grinned.

“Purely on merit, Styles? I thought you were just here to bring in the teenage girl demographic,” you retorted, followed by a chorus of ‘ooohh’s.

Thinking you’d got off the hook with your question, you tried to move on, but before you could, Barry proclaimed, “Y/N needs a new question, she didn’t even answer tha’ one.”

“What’s your sexual fantasy?” Tom piped up.

You groaned, as your eyes skipped to Jack’s for just a second. You were unwilling to share, as in recent weeks your sexual fantasy had involved one blonde-haired, blue-eyed Scottish arsehole, so instead took a big gulp of your drink.

Part Two

#jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden fanfic #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden series #dunkirk #Dunkirk movie #dunkirk cast #Fionn Whitehead #Harry Styles #Aneurin Barnard #barry keoghan #tom glynn carney #imagine request #imagine series

[redinkofshame]

FOR U HAVE TO FIX WAT U DID: “Stop asking me to put out the inferno that you lit inside of me.”

Alright, so, some context on this for everyone: last night, as I’m in bed, @tel-abelas-mofo here messages me to ask if I’m going to bed soon. I ignore the fact that I’m already in bed, because I’m having a hard time sleeping anyway, though I do tell her she should be in bed. She says she wants someone to be irresponsible with, though.Well, I’m glad to oblige! I share the story I was just telling myself in my head as I tried to sleep, because I have so many AUs I know I can’t possibly write them all, so who cares about spoilers, right?

Edit: This is a 1950s AU.But, normally, I’m a happy ending girl. This fic? It’s an exception. A painful, painful exception. And it takes me until 3am to freaking tell it, bc mobile, so we’re both just crying in the middle of the gd night when we could have been sleeping and happy instead.. So this prompt is a fix-it fic for the fic that hurt us. The one that doesn’t exist outside my head and only two people know about. A fix-it fic for my own damn unwritten fic.Enjoy. @dadrunkwriting

He clung to her in thedoorway, desperate, pleading. His hands framed her face, an inch in front ofhis own. Her eyes were bright, shining with tears that feel freely in a facelined with exhaustion and grief; he knew he looked just the same. Her handsgripped his wrists, holding on but holding back. He swears he can feel herwedding band digging into him. The matching band is worn by another.

“Please,” he wasbegging her. “There must be something I can say, some promise I can make, tohave you choose me over him. I will do anything for you, ma vhenan, I swear it.”

But she shakes herhead, again and again. Her voice is thick, raspy, broken. “I chose him before Iever met you, my love. You were thechoice I should never have made.”

It is unfair. He neverhad a chance; if he had known her back then…

“Please, don’t do this, if only—” he begins, but she denies himagain.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.In another world—”

“Why not this one?” heinsists.

Her only answer was tokiss him. It is their final kiss, and it is an awful thing, sloppy and shakyand breathless and wet with tears.

“I’ll never forgetyou,” she promises.

He can’t let her go,he won’t, but she pulls his hands slowlyoff of her and darts out the door. He watches, numb, as she pulls her collar upagainst the chill for the walk home, as she sobs into a handkerchief, and soonshe is around the bend, out of sight, out of his life. He imagines he can stillhear the click of her heels over the sound of the rain, the sound of his worldbeing lost, of his heart being ripped away from him.

“Allergies, again, Mr. Solas?”

Wynne’s kind voice broke him out of his memories, and henodded to the librarian working under him.

“It hardly seems to matter what time of year it is,” he liedeasily. He sniffed as he pulled out his handkerchief, and it is only half forshow. He dabbed at his running eyes by rote, and old familiar habit by now.

Everything he does is by rote, it seems. The last severalyears he has lived only out of habit. He goes through the paces, vaguelypursuing ambitions he could recall having when he was a younger man. When hehad heart. Now, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care where his life ledhim.

“Oh, is that the latest ‘In Another World’?” Wynne asked.

A proud smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, despitehimself. “Yes,” he answered, running a thumb over her name on the cover: JANEA. LAVELLAN

She’d done it, had finally pursued publication on her own.Soon after they’d parted, it seemed. She’d been prolific ever since, publishingtwo or more novels a year, and gaining a very large readership.

He couldn’t help but notice that she published under hermaiden name.

“Did you read the acknowledgments at the end?” Wynne asked.

His brows knit together. “No, I’ve only just finished thefinal chapter.” It was what set off his remembrance. “Why?”

Not that he needed reason to read the notes that Jane leftat the end of her novels—her About the Author section was sacrosanct, holdingshared glimpses of her life, stories of her twins entering high school or her family’sstruggles with their new dog. Teasing hints of what it would be like to stillknow her.

“I haven’t read it yet, I’m still several book behind in theseries” Wynne was explaining, “but I hear it’s quite scandalous in this one.”

Distracted, Solas made some automatic response, a nod, maybea smile. He disappeared into the back room of the library, his office, to readin private.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As many of you know, Ilike to express my gratitude for those who help me turn my silly ideas intopaper and ink. From my editor at Tethras Publishers, to the research librarianswho spend hours explaining why I’m wrong, to my readers who make it allworthwhile: Thank you. Your dedication makes this happen.

But there is onereader in particular whom I’ve neglected. At least, I dearly hope he is one ofmy readers.

Because, you see,every book I finished has been for him. He is my Muse; every love story I’ve writtenhas been with the hope that someday he might read the words, and he would knowhow I wished our story had ended.

The memory of himfuels me, as though adding logs to an endless bonfire. I write, hoping eachsentence will help to douse the flames, that I might get some rest andreprieve. I am tired, yet I write, breathing the emotions his memory still fansinto me into my characters in turn.

I think that,somewhere out there, he must wish for my happiness. His memory haunts me, tellsme to accept the bed that I have made, to move on.

To his ghost, I say:Stop asking me to put out the inferno that you lit inside me. This is no bed inwhich I lay, but a pyre, and it will surely consume me.

That ours was not ahappy end was my doing. I alone made the choice to break both our hearts.

But oh, my Muse, I waswrong. I allowed my head to make a choice that belonged to my heart.

I know not whetherthis plea will ever reach you, or only ashes. Are you out there? Have youforgiven me?

Most likely I willhear nothing in response to this call. Perhaps you will reply with a kindletter, and a photograph of your happy family. Would I be strong enough to behappy for you, I wonder?

I’ve looked for youand found only cinders, and I cannot bear it a moment more, because if there iseven the smallest flicker of a chance that I would not have to wait for anotherworld to see you again…  I would tell younow what I should have told you so many years before:

Youare my choice.

~~~~~

Solas was beside himself, frantic, terrified of the painfulhope the burned in his chest until he choked. It couldn’t be real, not afterall this time. Is it possible she meant another, one who came after him?

His fears tormented him as he called the switchboard operator,the publisher, and every second on hold was a torture.

Finally his call connected, and he explained inelegantly thathe was calling about the note in Lavellan’s latest novel, that he needed tocontact her. The man, Varric, asked for his name to make sure it was actuallyhim and not a hoax. Solas gave it feely, but he was scared of the man’sresponse. What if that somehow wasn’t the name they were looking for?

“You’re Solas? No shit?” Solas winced as the man laughedloudly into the receiver. “You’ve made me a wealthy man, Solas! I have a lot ofbets to call in; I knew it was a long shot, but I just couldn’t bet against ourgirl Jane.

“Now, some day you’ll have to tell me how you got anadvanced copy of that book—it’s not set to hit the shelves for a few days yet—butfirst answer me this: What are you intentions with Jane?”

“I… Excuse me?”

Varric’s voice became serious, almost threatening. “Look,the woman has been through a lot. I told her that I’d help you contact her nomatter what, but—well, that was a lie. You see, I consider the woman to be afriend of mine, and she doesn’t need any more hardship. So if you’re alreadymarried, or planning to hurt her, or looking for a woman to mooch off of—”

“No! I assure you, I…”

“You what?”

What could he say? This was unexpected, sudden, he had noway of knowing what Jane truly wanted from him.

“I chose her long ago. I would give her only what she wouldhave of me.”

Varric chuckled.  “Ican work with that. Are you ready? Grab a pen. I can’t give you her address–security reasons you understand–but I can tell you what her phone number is.”He told Solas the information to reach Jane’s phone, but then added, “Though,you won’t be able to reach her this time of day.”

“Oh, alright. Do you know what time—”

“Yep, this time of day she’s busy working. She has a dayjob, after all.”

“Right, I—”

“She’s a librarian. In fact, I think you know the place, don’tyou? I believe you used to work there. Together. At the library. And, since youcan’t call…”

A breath escaped Solas, a small, broken laugh. “Yes, I thinkI understand you, Mr. Tethras. It’s a long drive… Will you tell her?”

“Now, where’s the fun in that? It’s a much better story thisway. Good luck, Chuckles.”

“I thank you, Mr. Tethras.”

~~~~~

Solas had been right—it was a long drive. Plenty long enoughto think and re-think, to worry, to wonder. This was foolish, he should havecalled. This all seemed so surreal; he’d gone mad, surely, this couldn’t betrue. Oh, but to see her again was worth the risk…

It had been early morning when he left his own library in arush, but he managed to get to hers before closing, every mile closer to hertown, to familiar sights, weighing heavy and anxious in his gut. The parkinglot was empty. He got out of his car, and only then thought to worry about howhe must look.

Hopefully not haggard, after spending the day speeding downthe highway. Older than when she’d seen him last, of course. His suit was in some disrepair; he’d let many things go unheeded in his time alone.

None of that mattered. He entered Skyhold Library. Herlibrary, once his, once where they worked together.

His eyes were drawn to her shape immediately. She wastowards the back, picking up a stack of books.

She looked up, saw him standing, but he couldn’t tell if sheknew him. He slowly removed his hat, out of habit.

She set the books back down.

“Solas?” Her voice was timid, but the library was empty,silent, and he heard her perfectly. His feet suddenly remembered their purpose,rushing forward with large steps as she said, “Oh damn that Varric, he couldhave warned me. I…”

Her voice choked up as tears formed in her eyes, herbeautiful eyes, and she took a few tentative steps towards him, but he wasalready to her. He was uncertain where to stop, but she reached for him, restingher hand along his face as if to check that he was really there.

He tried to say her name, but no noise came from him. Hecovered her hand with his, gripping her tight, and she felt real, so real.Their faces only a tense breath apart, he ran his thumb over her knuckles, andcouldn’t help but notice that she wore no ring. They stared at each other, eachquestioning silently, as his other hand skimmed her wet cheek. He wondered, onlyvaguely, when he had dropped his hat.

To the Void with words.

His hand wrapped behind her neck as he kissed her, hisheart, his lost love. She melted into him instantly, wrapping her arm aroundhim as he tried not to devour her, but he couldn’t help but be intense, ragged,as she easily bent backwards over his arm.

When, breathless, he allowed them space to breath, tried toremember that he was a gentlemen, her hands still pulled him to her. “Oh, mymuse… You saw it, then. My letter. Do you forgive me? You would allow me tochange my mind?”

“Ma vhenan… My heart made its choice long ago. It has beenyou, always you, every day that we were together, every day that we’ve beenapart.” He smiled, shakily. “I have had no choice in the matter. It is not asubject for debate.”

She laughed, and he wipes away the tears that spilled fromher eyes. “I’m yours, Solas. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it much, much sooner.”

“That would have been preferable, I admit.”

She laughed, pushing against him playfully. He made up forthe jest by kissing her again, softly this time, treasuring the feel of her.

When her eyes flickered open again, she said, “We have a lotof catching up to do.”

#this is so long #this is all i've done today #i woke up still sad #and sat to write #but writing is hard #and this long damn thing represents my entire day #uuhh what to name this #solas #solavellan #jane a lavellan #apparently #she's named after jane austen #because i needed a name #another 50s au #prompted #dwc #tel-abelas-mofo

[feedit]

SorryNotSorry

It’s just past the middle of the summer: About six weeks down, five to go. We’ve had a lot of fun but my boys are growing tired of each other, as brothers do, and they find unique and clever ways to annoy each other every day. And when they do, I make them do a Forced Apology, also the Forced Apology Acceptance.

You know what I’m referring to: One kid trespasses against another in some form (a toy is swiped, a kick is rendered, a name is called). Grownups intervene, survey the situation and Request An Apology. So Apologizing Child is placed before The Child Who Has Been Hurt and told to say they are sorry.

Not fighting for a moment. 

“Sorry,” says AC, looking down, clearly not sorry.

TCWHBH is told to say it’s OK. 

“It’s OK,” says the other child, clearly not OK and clearly understanding that AC isn’t really sorry.

Then they go back to whatever they were doing before the intervention, only now they are aware that they are being watched more closely, at least for a few minutes. You can see that the Apologizer is usually fine right away, but the recipient is often less enthusiastic than before, and who can blame them. Because we are a society that is really big on the public apology, no matter how insincere. True forgiveness is much, much tougher.

I don’t know how to deal with conflict between kids, mine or others. I know my boys love each other in the brotherly-beat-you-up-and-then-hug-you sort of way, so do I make them do this dance when I know it’s not sincere? How do I help the offended party move on?

I have found that in my adult life, it’s easy to be hurt and to carry that hurt around like a scab can pick at whenever you have a moment to think about it. To dissect how you could have done something different to avoid that hurt and how much you dislike the person/people who wounded you. Then you pick it some more until it’s more of an aching scar than a minor wound. Sometimes these go deep.

In reality, the person who hurt you probably isn’t thinking about you. In most cases, they are definitely not. Even if they’ve dashed off a ‘sorry,’ in your direction which is rare.

A few weeks ago, my Mom and I took my boys to a water park. We got there just before it opened, and there was a line to get in. We queued up and waited in the sun with our fellow bathers, with our bags of snacks and coolers and sweaty, impatient kids dancing in circles with excitement.

A man arrived at the back of the line with his family. He surveyed the scene and walked to the front of the line, where he waited for the gates to open. I looked around. All synapses of my rule-following mind were going crazy. “HEY!” my brain was screaming. “THAT DUDE JUST WENT TO THE FRONT!?!? WHAT IS HAPPENING!?!? THERE IS A LINE! SOMEONE TELL HIM TO GET TO THE BACK!”

I may have mentioned, slightly loudly, that the line applied to everyone. Even entitled douchebags and their entitled families. Not that he took any notice. It was not my proudest moment.

But I got myself together, the park opened, we waited and paid and shuffled in to find our seats and spread out on the towels and had a terrific day in the sun. Later that night, hours after getting home and washing the pungent chlorine out of everything and eating dinner and putting the boys to bed, thoughts of that jerk came back to me. What an entitled ass, I ruminated. What could I have done? Gone up and told him, in front of his stupid family, that there was a line and he could wait too? Somehow this was a white privilege thing, I decided. That GD Trump and his ilk make every entitled shit think that rules no longer apply to them…

I lay in bed and flipped and flopped in sweaty frustration. And then I stopped. I realized that I was literally losing sleep over someone I didn’t know, who didn’t know me, and whom I would never encounter again. He was certainly not losing sleep over offending me and 20 other water park visitors.

I tortured myself and set myself up for a tired and crabby day tomorrow, where I would probably torture my family, too, due to my sleeplessness. Carrying around this anger in the night, this frustration for this random man was as pointless as being mad at a doorknob.

Years ago, a dear friend gave me a book when I was going through a difficult personal time. I was so angry. I was angry at a soon-to-be-ex spouse for wasting years of my life. I was angry at everyone I saw who seemed happy. I was mostly angry at myself. I told her all of these things and she smiled. She had been through her share of life’s challenges, and yet she was still smiling. How, I asked her, are you not angry?

“I was,” she admitted. “But I was wasting my life being mad.”

The book she recommended was Forgive for Good, by Dr. Fred Luskin. In it, Dr. Luskin writes that most of us are trying to ‘enforce the unenforceable’ rules we each subscribe to. For example, someone cuts us off in traffic. Someone has 16 items in the 10 item or less aisle. Small infractions day-to-day that are infuriating. Clearly others are not sorry, but the scars remain. The only way to get past the past is to forgive them. Then you are able to heal. Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, one you richly deserve.

I turned over and breathed a sigh of forgiveness. I would let it go. I had more important things to do. Like for now, sleep. Which I also needed and deserved.

Recently one of the most heartbreaking victims of public shame was in the news again, this time for his ability to forgive. A young man had his life thrown into chaos due to an unlucky bounce of a baseball at Wrigley Field years ago. Through it all he’s refused to capitalize on this fluke that caused him to need police protection and turned his name into a punch line. This week the Chicago Cubs organization sent him a World Series ring of his own, and with this act of contrition and generosity, punctuated a very public statement of apology. The man accepted the ring, and his statement of forgiveness was brief and moving.

In part, he wrote: “I humbly receive the ring not only as a symbol of one of the most historic achievements in sports, but as an important reminder for how we should treat each other in today’s society.” (italics mine)

Despite the terrible, terrible way he was treated, this young man has maintained his dignity and grace. He is forgiven, he has forgiven. And in the end, he wins. I bet he sleeps well, at least I hope so. I wish him the peace he deserves. That we all deserve. If he can forgive on a scale so colossal it’s almost impossible to comprehend, then maybe we can all be a little kinder to ourselves. And others.

So people will push and shove and kick you on the playground of life. They will say they are sorry and not mean it one bit. But hopefully you can move past it without wasting your time being mad at the doorknob.

I’m still working on it.

#forgiveness #chicagocubs #sorrynotsorry #worldserieschamps #forgiveforgood #momlife