#as always you can run into the opposite problem too where your characters are empty vessels

[cctinsleybaxter]

Artists who admit to not knowing small details about their characters and worldbuilding have inadvertently given better advice than any character design post on social media tbh. as fun as it is to come up with what your guys would order from a restaurant or the contents of their backpack or their favorite color I've run into very few people who can leave that stuff in a story (or even leave it offscreen as paratext) without it being distracting and poorly written because it's rarely in service of the narrative. a lot of that is def just down to personal taste, but it feels more like designing characters for a TTRPG

#this goes for books comics screenplays whatever #basically anything except roleplay which demands that kind of fine detail bc maybe you ARE ordering from restaurants #as always you can run into the opposite problem too where your characters are empty vessels #but being online and having tried my own hand at a story as a teenager this feels like the more common roadblock #lighthouse is actually a great example of my ideal balance- the characters are deeply human; it feels like the finer details exist somewher #but they're not text- it's clear no one was thinking about their first memory or favorite dog breed #the focus is on structure and image #you can have it all! #books #films

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8714 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, blood, severe injuries, fear, anxiety, death of a character A/N: This is the FINAL part of a miniseries! You can find the other chapters on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Shane go missing.

Your name: submit What is this?

Two weeks later

“I can actually do it myself,” you insisted, feeling a blush in your cheeks as Daryl pulled your hand over onto his lap and bent over it, luckily oblivious to the pink glow now filling your cheeks.

He huffed at you. “I’m sure ya can,” he drawled, “but it’s definitely easier for someone with two hands, don’t ya think?”

You watched as he methodically and carefully snipped the stitches in your hand and pulled the sutures away, apologizing if they tugged at all. A lot had happened in the last two weeks. Pretty much everyone had come around to the fact that Shane had hurt himself in an attempt to get the group to abandon you. There had been a massive fight between him and Rick and since then Shane had been confined to his tent while he healed. When Hershel found out what had happened, he told Rick that Shane couldn’t stay, but Rick had already decided that he had go. His best friend seemed to be growing more bitter and more unstable by the day.

But Shane was still around temporarily, and because of that Daryl had refused to leave you to sleep unguarded at night. You’d argued that it would be fine and that you didn’t really think Shane would try to pull anything else, but the archer was insistent. Eventually, you caved. Daryl had hauled your cot and bedding to his tent and set them up along the opposite wall from his, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck at the strange nervousness and yet gratitude he felt knowing you’d be so close.

You both fell into an easy routine together. Your physical closeness may have been borne out of necessity but the other growing closeness developed organically. Spending time with Daryl was easy. He didn’t mind when you were quiet for hours on end, lost in your own head as you aimlessly tossed twigs into the fire. He didn’t mind when you wanted to talk about something specific or nothing at all, and you felt the same way about him. The silences didn’t bother you with Daryl and every time he did open his mouth it was either to make you laugh or to say something you were genuinely interested in hearing. He was constantly checking on you over the smallest things. If you shivered in the evening as you spent time around the fire, he’d insist that you moved closer to the flames or he’d go get a blanket from his tent and toss it down on your lap without a word before he took his place again. He’d make sure you were eating and would refill your canteen whenever he thought about it. You did what you could to return the favors but he usually seemed to beat you to it.

“I guess with these out I can finally start hunting again,” you said. “And going out and gathering stuff.”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, his eyes narrowed as he focused on removing the very last stitch. “There.” He straightened up and looked at the slightly raised pink scar down the center of your palm. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he ran a finger lightly down the length of it.

You startled at the unfamiliar sensation, a little strange due to the altered sensation along the length of the scar, but even more so because of the way your heart jumped at the touch of Daryl’s fingers so light on your palm. You involuntarily pulled you hand back and your eyes shot up to meet his.

He gave you a sheepish look. “Sorry. Did that hurt?” He regretted it the moment he’d done it, worried about your reaction.

You shook your head. “No, it just—”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” you finished quietly, chewing on your bottom lip a little anxiously. He quirked an eyebrow at you but simply stood up.

“Alright. Well, couple more days and that asshole will be outta here,” he growled, glancing over in the direction of Shane’s tent. He wasn’t yet allowing himself to acknowledge that he was worried things would go back to the way they were before once Shane was gone. That is, you’d retreat back to your space and back to yourself. He was really liking his time with you and he didn’t want it to end. The archer shook his head and glanced back at you. Your eyes were now on Shane’s tent, too but your expression was fretful. “S’matter?” he prompted you.

You sighed. “I just feel like it’s my fault he has to leave…”

“Nah. Nah, it ain’t. Y/N, if it weren’t you it’d be somethin’ else. He’s been spiralin’ down since Rick showed up alive and took his family back. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with ya, not really.”

You still looked unsure but the worry lines in your forehead eased a little. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

“Listen, I told Carol I’d go help her with that new tent. Ya gonna be alright over here?” he asked.

You nodded. “Mhm. I’ll be right here. Andrea gave me a new book.” You did glance a little longingly over your shoulder at the far tree line and Daryl was always amazed that even after the traumatic incident in those very same woods that you still wanted to be out there almost every minute of the day.

“Hey,” he said, calling your attention back to him. “We’ll go out and hunt tomorrow, alright?”

You nodded. “Tomorrow.” You watched his broad shoulders fade toward the main camp.

Carol was waiting when Daryl arrived. Her old tent had started to leak and Daryl had promised to help her get the new one they’d found set up. She stood up as he strode over, already flustered by the number of pins and ropes and metal poles. “If I’d known I’d be living out of a tent I definitely would have stuck with the Girl Scouts when I was a kid,” she said, giving Daryl a helpless look.

He let out a gruff laugh. “Ya got that the wrong way around,” he said, pointing to the pole she’d already slipped through the tent. She stared at it and sighed. “S’alright. That’s why I’m here right?” he said. “Gimme that,” he said, grabbing the bundle of poles in her hands and setting to work. In no time they had the tent upright and were going about staking it down. Carol handed Daryl another stake and he pounded it into the ground securing down the corner.

“So… what’s going on with you and Y/N exactly?” she asked him.

The archer froze and shot a look at her before returning his eyes to what he was doing, grateful for a task to focus on even as he felt his ears growing red. “What’d ya mean?”

“Well,” Carol continued, “you’re sharing a tent,” she said with a smile.

Daryl scoffed. “So? I shared a tent with T-dog once. Ya gonna ask me if we held hands?”

Carol laughed and smirked at him. “Well, did you?” Daryl rolled his eyes at her and she laughed harder.

“We’re sharin’ a tent cuz there’s a psycho that probably is blamin’ all his problems on her. And I don’t want shit to go sideways.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just sharing a tent for purely practical reasons,” Carol said. Daryl could hear the skepticism in her voice and he straightened up after tying off the knot to the stake.

“The hell are ya on about?” Daryl growled. But even as he tried to act gruff and brush her off, he felt that heat growing in his chest that was becoming familiar when he thought of you.

“You two just seem to get along,” Carol said. “That’s all.”

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed, moving to the next corner of the tent. Something about that response made Carol laugh again.

“You’re so sensitive,” she murmured, eliciting an eyeroll from him. “Daryl, I just like to see you happy. And lately, since you’ve been spending so much time with Y/N, you’ve been happy,” she pointed out.

He couldn’t deny that. She was right. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, his hands still on the last length of cord before he tied it off and pounded in the stake. He stood up and stepped back, taking in the structure. “Alright. All done.”

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, surveying it. She gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze and smiled. “Do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, chewing on the side of his thumbnail, glancing up at her.

“If you really like her,” she paused and shrugged, “tell her. Life is short these days.” She knew that as well as anyone. A husband, abusive asshole or not, and a precious little girl were gone to this world.

Daryl only ducked his head and lazily twirled a piece of grass between his fingers. “I’ll see ya,” he murmured, turning and heading back toward his tent. He was expecting you to be sitting beside the fire where you’d been when he left, but that spot was empty. He approached the tent and stopped outside the door. “Y/N? Ya in there?” When there was no answer, he unzipped it and peeked inside. No sign of you. The book that had been in your hand was on the tent floor and he bent and picked it up, setting it on the upturned box that was serving as a nightstand next to your cot. That’s when he realized your knife was there. He’d been thinking maybe you had to go use the bathroom, but you never left camp without your knife at your hip, whether it was for two minutes or two hours. And it wasn’t like you to leave a book on the ground. You treated the damn things like they were some sacred tomes. He felt panic start to grow in his chest and left the tent in a hurry, his blue eyes scanning the area where everyone else was set up and the tree line. He didn’t see you anywhere.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow and took off running toward the main camp. He found Lori and Carol preparing some food for dinner and stopped beside them. “Hey—have ya’ll seen Y/N anywhere? She come through here at all?” He directed the question at Lori since Carol had been busy with him getting the tent set up.

She stood up and dusted her hands off on her jeans, shaking her head. Her eyes went a little wide with worry as she registered the deep concern on Daryl’s face. “No, I—I haven’t seen her. You can’t find her?”

Daryl didn’t even stay to answer. He just tore off in the direction of the farmhouse and bounded up onto the front porch. Glenn and Maggie both stood up at the expression on his face. “Ya’ll see Y/N? Did she come up here?”

Maggie shook her head. “No,” Glenn answered, immediately worried. “What’s going on?”

Daryl swore under his breath and paced a restless circle, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I—I was gone for maybe an hour helpin’ Carol and now I can’t find her anywhere. She wouldn’ta gone off without her knife or nothin’,” he said. His jaw clenched and Glenn watched the muscle twitch. Daryl’s eyes quickly landed on the tent Shane was confined to and he took off at a full sprint toward it. Glenn was on his heels now.

“Daryl! Daryl, take it easy!” Glenn yelled after him. It drew the attention of the rest of the group and soon Rick and Andrea were standing beside Glenn as Daryl ripped back the entrance to Shane’s tent.

Daryl’s stomach twisted. Shane’s tent was empty. He kicked out at a milk crate that had some of Shane’s things on it and it toppled over. “Shane’s gone and Y/N is missin’!” he roared at Rick.

Rick gulped. A hard pit formed in his stomach. “Daryl—Daryl, just calm down,” Rick said.

That had the opposite effect. “Calm down? Calm down?!” he roared. “This ain’t no coincidence! I told ya he didn’t deserve to stay here to heal up, and now look what’s happened!”

“We’ll find them! We’ll find them. We will. Just—”

“Nah. I’m gonna track that fuckin’ prick and if he’s laid so much as a finger on her, he’s a dead man.” Daryl took off without another word, racing back to the last place he’d seen you, his eyes scanning the ground the whole way, hoping for a track, a trail, something.

“Dale, get the guns,” Rick said. “Lori, you and Carol take Carl up to the house and see if you can wait inside with Hershel and the girls.” Lori nodded and gave Carol’s arm a gentle squeeze. Rick rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face.

Andrea was stunned. “What do we do?”

Rick shut his eyes for a moment and pulled in a breath. “We get our guns and we look. We hope Daryl can pick up a trail and we hope we aren’t too late.”

You had been sitting contentedly by the fire reading when you decided you wanted some tea. You knew there were still some dried spicebush leaves in your pack from your last foraging trip and you went in to get them. You were crouched beside your pack, digging in the pocket when you heard a metallic sound that was easily identifiable. It was the slide of a pistol being drawn back and released, a bullet moving into the chamber. You froze with your hands in your pack and slowly turned. You could see Shane outside the window netting and his gun was aimed right at you.

“Get up. Slowly. Leave all your shit.”

You gulped and did so, replacing your pack against the wall and abandoning your book on the floor.

“Come over here. Zip the tent up and don’t even think about trying anything because I will kill you right here,” Shane growled, and you believed him. “Let’s go. Now.”

Again, you complied. You glanced desperately toward the main camp, hoping with every part of you that Daryl would be headed back or somehow happen to look over and see what was happening, but you knew you didn’t have any options except to comply. Comply and hope for an opening to save yourself.

Shane’s gun was still trained on you as you stepped around the outside of the tent. He was gritting his teeth in anger as you stared back at him. You were determined to remain calm and in control.

He nudged the barrel of his gun in the direction of the tree line. “Move. Let’s go.”

You felt sick, knowing that once you went into those trees the chance that you would ever come back out was low. But what choice did you have? He had a fucking gun on you and you had nothing.

You made your way toward the woods. Shane pressed the muzzle into your back. “Faster. And don’t even think about making a fucking sound. I will shoot you right here. I don’t even care. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about you going all psycho-killer. Wouldn’t have to worry about Lori anymore. Or Carl.”

You bit your tongue to stop a retort.

Soon, you were under the dark canopy of trees, cloaked in shade and moving further in with Shane’s gun at your back. He was nervous, on edge, and understandably so, because you knew if Daryl caught him… he’d be dead in an instant. You decided your best course of action was to try to reason with him. You really did believe that he was just fucked up from being in love with a woman he couldn’t have. This was all misplaced blame and aggression. He really wanted to fuck Rick up, but that loyal part of him, that police partner, wouldn’t let him. Some part of him couldn’t bear to do that to Carl and Lori, even while another part of him was desperate to. You were an easy target, the next best thing to blame for his failed attempts to get back into the place he wanted to be, to regain some control, to prove he knew best and was still The Protector. If he had been able to show everyone that you were really a threat and that he and not Rick had taken care of it, he really thought maybe that would win Lori over. But that had all backfired. Now you were just easy to blame for all his problems.

“Shane, I know this isn’t really what you want,” you said quietly.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he growled back, nudging you sharply with the muzzle of his gun again.

“I don’t want you to have to leave either. I know it isn’t fair,” you continued. “You took care of everyone for a while before Rick showed up.”

“I said shut up!” he spat again through clenched teeth. “Ya know what? Sit the fuck down. Right there, against that tree.” He shoved you hard and you stumbled, barely catching yourself with your hands on the large oak before your face would have collided with it.

You obeyed and sat with your back against the tree, gulping at the dryness in your throat, and turning to stare directly at the gun pointed in your face.

Something about how calm you were being, how steady, was completely freaking Shane the fuck out. He wanted you to snap. He wanted to be able to say that he was right about you and you were a danger to everyone in camp, like you were some unpredictable monster. But you just sat there looking up at him, now completely silent, your eyes flickering between the muzzle of his gun and his face. Shane swore under his breath and paced back in forth in front of you. Your eyes followed his movements. You bided your time, trying to come up with something that would defuse this whole situation.

“How is this going to fix anything?” you asked him. “This is only going to make everything worse.”

He didn’t stop pacing and occasionally shooting a look at you that made your blood run cold. You were starting to think that maybe there was no reasoning with him…

“You can just let me go. I’ll just tell everyone I needed to get out of camp for a bit. You can wander back in like nothing happened,” you said.

He pointed the gun at you again and his lip curled. “There’s no going back from this. No going back from everything that’s already happened. And I know there is something wrong with you. I know it. If I’m not going to be here to keep an eye on you, I need to end this now so you can’t hurt anyone. Because I know you will snap eventually. I saw what you did to those men.” Shane got right into your face, poking you in the shoulder with the muzzle of his gun.

“I was defending myself,” you said quietly, feeling guilty and horrified at yourself even as you tried to justify it to Shane.

“So you say,” he growled, his pistol now aimed at your forehead.

“If I was going to snap like you’re saying, wouldn’t now be a good time?” you said quietly. “Obviously you’re a threat to me. But I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

He scoffed and straightened up again, resuming his pacing. “What—what the hell happened to you, huh? What fucked up thing twisted you to the point where you could do what you did to those men? Do you even remember it? Do you even know how many times you stabbed them?” he pressed. He was trying to agitate you, but it didn’t work.

Your stomach was churning with the foggy memory of being covered in their blood, of seeing their corpses on the ground, but you only stared back at Shane. No way in hell you were divulging what you’d been through to Shane, gunpoint or not.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and you watched as the muscle in his jaw clenched. He charged toward you again. “You know what? I’m done with this,” he growled. He pressed the gun to your forehead, aiming at a downward angle. The metal bit into your skin. You stared up at him briefly, eyes wide but surprisingly calm, and Shane watched in some disbelief as you finally just shut them and seemed to resign yourself to the fact that you were about to die.

That hesitation was all you needed.

You shoved Shane’s arm away and the gun with it and snatched the knife at his hip, ripping it free from its sheath and slashing at him, leaving a good gash on his arm. But a knife wouldn’t be any match for Shane with a gun. He was a firearm instructor and you knew his aim was deadly accurate, so before he could entirely recover from his surprise you ran at him full force and the two of fell to the ground hard. The pistol flew from his hands and landed in the leaf little a few feet away. You began to crawl desperately toward it, trying to put distance between you and Shane as quickly as possible, but you let out a yell as you felt him grab hold of you and pull you back.

The next thing you knew he was over you, trying his hardest to get the knife from your hand. You were slashing at him desperately, catching him on the forearms as you struggled beneath him. You caught him with a particularly strong slash but the next moment he had your hands pinned in his and he wrenched the knife from you. The rush of blood was loud in your ears and now you were on the defensive. You shielded yourself with your arms as best you could and continued to struggle beneath him, but his weight was too much.

Shane suddenly managed to push your arms out of the way and you saw the knife coming toward you as if in slow motion. It was heading straight for the center of your chest. You thrust your left arm out and felt the blade pierce it deeply before ripping clean and lodging in your left shoulder. You let out a scream of pain, but as Shane was now leaning over you, you managed to get your knee up underneath him and thrust it as hard as you could into his groin.

He let out an agonized yell and rolled off you, abandoning the knife that was still lodged deeply in your shoulder. You gritted your teeth and were vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and the fact that you were trembling. But there was no time to stop. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to live. You clutched at the knife in your shoulder, staring briefly with shock at how deeply it was embedded, but didn’t dare to pull it out. Rolling over and holding yourself up on your lacerated forearms, you fixed your eyes on the gun and made a desperate lunge for it. You felt hands on your legs again, dragging you back.

Back toward the edge of the tree line, Daryl had picked up the trail easily and was frantically tracking. Rick and the others were on his heels, glancing around nervously, straining their eyes in the veiled darkness beneath the canopy and their ears in the closeness of the trees. But it wasn’t long that they had to trail behind the archer because soon a strained yell made it to their ears. Daryl felt his blood run cold.

He paused hardly for a moment before he tore off through the trees in the direction he’d heard your voice echo from. “Y/N!” He wanted you to know he was on his way. He needed you to just hang on. He pushed himself to run through the nausea that had risen when that sound, your pained voice, had met his ears. He tore through the foliage, the sound of pounding boots on the soil loud behind him as the others followed.

“Daryl! Daryl, slow down! We can’t just—” Rick paused as he had to bust through some shrubs. “We can’t just barrel in there!” But it was as if the archer hadn’t heard anything. He just continued running, trying to listen over his own gasping breath and pounding pulse but simultaneously afraid of what he would hear.

Crack.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Daryl skidded to a stop, frozen. His face blanched, almost ashen as Rick caught up and glanced over at him. Sweat was pouring down from their foreheads and running down their necks, soaking the thin cotton of their shirts. A small strangled noise escaped Daryl’s lips as he searched the ground frantically again for the trail, needing to know he was running in the right direction. He spotted it. Direction confirmed, he took off at an even madder pace than before. “Y/N!” There was no answer.

But he couldn’t allow himself to think the worst. He couldn’t. That couldn’t happen to you. After everything you’d already been through… how could he have let this happen? Why had he turned his back on you for even a minute with that prick still around? He felt shaky and weak even as he ran.

The group had just pushed through another thick swath of understory when Daryl saw a bundle ahead, lying motionless on the ground. His breath caught in his throat and his boots rooted into the soil for a moment. But he pushed himself to move forward again.

Behind him he was vaguely aware of a gasp from Andrea and some murmur from Glenn.

As he moved closer, he realized there was a second shape ahead and as his eyes refocused, he saw that it was you. You were leaned up against a big oak tree, propped up against the rough bark, your head lolled toward your chest. Some pained gasp or muted scream, catching mostly in his throat, left his lips before he tore off toward you again. As he fell to his knees beside you, he took in the soaked crimson of your shirt. Your arms were cut up and absolutely covered in blood. Then Daryl’s eyes landed on the hilt of the knife still embedded in your left shoulder. His hands shook as he hesitated before lifting your chin, terrified that your skin would be cold and lifeless. You were bruised and battered, bleeding from a swollen and split lip and a gash near your hairline, but there was some semblance of warmth still in your skin, though you were pale. More miraculously yet, when he gently lifted your chin, you started to stir and Daryl watched in desperation as you struggled to open your eyes, eventually succeeding.

“Hey, hey. S’alright. I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya…” He could hear his own voice shake as he spoke.

You gulped, wanting to clear the taste of iron from your mouth. “I had to,” you managed to croak out. “I had to.”

Daryl knew you were referring to Shane’s lifeless body behind him on the ground. “S’ok. It don’t matter. Don’t talk now, alright? Just rest. I’ve got ya.”

Daryl felt someone behind him and turned to see Glenn just behind him. His face was pale as he took in your condition. “Her shoulder... Oh my God,” Glenn gasped.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Daryl said forcefully. He carefully slid his arm behind your back and another underneath your knees. You were fighting to stay awake. “Daryl…” you murmured. You felt so small in his arms as he lifted you. Daryl was vaguely aware of your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it hard before you fell unconscious again, going limp in his arms. He turned and started heading back to the farm, moving as quickly as he dared with you in his arms, conscious of the knife still wedged cruelly into you. The sight of it protruding from you made him sick with rage. Rick was kneeling beside Shane, his face downturned, as Daryl breezed past. Andrea stood just behind him with a hand pressed over her mouth, watching as Daryl carried your bloodied body past her.

As Daryl’s broad shoulders disappeared, Glenn bent and retrieved the pistol lying on the leaf litter among streaks of your blood. It felt like a lead weight in his palm.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl sat slumped in a chair beside your prone form laid out on the bed, covered over in the blankets. He was leaned over forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles shone white.

After days of agonizing waiting, there was a soft noise from you and his eyes shot up urgently to see you stirring a little on the pillow. He rocketed to his feet so fast that the chair he’d been in clattered backward loudly to the floor. “Doc!” he yelled out. Hershel rushed in a moment later.

You dragged your eyelids open with a great amount of effort and the first thing you saw were Daryl’s piercing blue eyes looking down at you with immense concern. You moistened your lips with your tongue and cleared your throat, which felt dry and scratchy, preparing to speak. He watched as your expression melted into a veil of confusion. “I’m not… not dead?”

Daryl felt a painful pang in his chest as he watched you spinning with disbelief.

Hershel leaned over you with a kindly and somewhat sad expression on his face. “You most definitely are not. Though you surprised all of us after what you went through,” he said putting a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder.

Your eyes turned back to Daryl’s. “Shane—” His name seemed to strangle and catch in your throat. “I—”

“I know. Ya had to. S’alright,” Daryl drawled, his brow furrowing low over his eyes.

You mouthed wordlessly for a moment, your eyes brimming with tears. “Is he—did he—?”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod, his expression full of concern. “He’s gone.”

You felt that you already knew the answer but it still made your stomach churn. You laid more heavily into the pillow and shut your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. When your eyes finally fluttered open again they were still a little glassy. Daryl wondered at this display of remorse, of regret you had for a man who had clearly taken you into the woods to kill you.

But what Daryl saw next was you clearly struggling against some flashback. You squeezed your eyes shut and your breathing quickened. Beads of sweat broke out on your hairline and your face tensed.

Daryl’s hand shot out to gently grab yours before he even knew what he was doing. “Hey.” He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Y/N. S’alright. You’re safe,” he drawled.

Your eyes opened and you glanced down at your hand in his. Daryl withdrew, suddenly self-conscious. You nodded and seemed to come back to the present.

You reached across yourself to grip your left shoulder, a wave of pain running through you and a grimace tightening your features. You felt thick gauze beneath your fingers. As you moved you became aware that you had many little rows of stitches on your arms and a few gashes wrapped up in bandages as well. Even your hands were cut up from your attempts to defend yourself. You extended your arm in front of yourself and took in the damage done by Shane’s knife.

“I don’t understand,” you said softly. “I thought for sure I was going to die out there.” The way you said it was so matter-of-fact and Daryl felt a rush of anger overwhelm him for a moment. Shane was lucky he was dead when Daryl had gotten there… He’d gotten off easy with a single round to the chest.

Hershel nodded. “You have a lot of strength in you. Rest. Everything is going to be just fine. You’re going to heal up and be back to normal before you know it, though that shoulder may need a little extra TLC.” The doctor took his leave and your eyes found Daryl’s again. He read worry on your face.

“What is it?” he drawled.

You gulped. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m healed up,” you said, now avoiding his eyes.

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Why the hell would ya do that?”

His tone was forceful again and drew your eyes back to his. “The others—after what happened, I can’t imagine they want me around anymore.”

Daryl sighed heavily and righted his chair again, sinking down in it close at your bedside. “For once yer wrong about somethin’,” he said. “Nobody wants ya to leave. Ya didn’t do anything more than defend yourself, just like ya did with those men before. Anyone can glance at ya for one second and see that.”

You shifted in bed, trying to make your injured shoulder more comfortable, laying your other hand over it absently, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You still looked unsure.

“Y/N, when we found ya you had a damn knife sticking out of your shoulder.” He paused and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck a little anxiously. “I—” his voice seemed to catch in his throat. “I thought we lost ya.”

You peered at him curiously.

He leaned forward. “Listen to me, if anybody even so much as looks at ya like ya shouldn’t be here, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Daryl watched, a little anxiously, as your lips parted softly. “I’m not sure I deserve that from you,” you finally managed quietly. “You’ve already done enough. Daryl, I suspect you saved my life.” You gulped and stared down toward the edge of the blankets. “In more ways than one…”

The archer averted his eyes down toward his boots and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, nervous and wavering between his insecurity and need to reassure you, not allowing himself to really think on what you’d just said. “Hey. Yer a part of this group, even if ya ain’t always felt like it.”

You studied him for a long moment before you spoke again. “So are you,” you said perceptively. His blue eyes shot up to meet yours and you gave him a weak smile. “Can you do me a favor?”

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “’Course.”

“Can—can you help me take a walk outside? I need some air,” you said quietly.

“Are ya sure yer up for that? Ya had surgery on that shoulder. Ya lost a lot of blood. Ya just woke up after bein’ out of it for three days. I don’t think it’s—” Concern creased his forehead.

You nodded. “I’m sure. You won’t let anything bad happen to me. I’ve at least learned that by now.” You felt a bloom of warmth in your chest as you spoke those words, coupled with the realization of their truth almost at the same time as they left your lips. That burst of heat you felt was reflected in a pink hue in the archer’s face and the tips of his ears.

He looked a little bashful but nodded and acquiesced to your request. “Alright. C’mon,” he said, gently taking your hand, avoiding the injuries carefully, and doing his best to ignore how nervous he felt when his fingers closed around it. He helped you out of bed and steadied you as you got to your feet. You glanced up at him, and your expression was so open and earnest he was frankly shocked by it. Could it really be that you were looking that way at him? His fingers were light under your elbow and his other hand was ghosting behind your back, centimeters away from making contact if needed as you started toward the door. “Ya alright?”

You nodded and gulped at the rush of feelings his hand around yours had brought, trying your hardest to ignore it. All you could do was nod. The two of you emerged onto the porch and Glenn and Maggie stood up immediately from their place nearby in the seating area. Both of them were all smiles to see you on your feet.

“You’re up,” Glenn said, looking at you with a bewildered smile. “This is amazing. It’s so good to see you awake!” His expression was nothing but kindness.

“How are you feelin’?” Maggie asked.

You nodded, glancing back over at Daryl and relaxing some as you saw one corner of his mouth was twitched up. His blue eyes were fixed on your face and he couldn’t look away. Seeing you actually awake and already on your feet was a huge relief after many days of sickening worry. “I feel alright. A little tired,” you admitted. Almost as if one cue you wavered a little on your feet, your knees feeling suddenly weak.

Daryl’s hand landed flush against the small of your back, immediately steadying you. “Easy,” he rumbled. “Ya alright?” You nodded, quite sure your cheeks were pink, and when you glanced back at him and mumbled a small “thanks” you thought maybe his cheeks were pink too. You turned back to Glenn and Maggie and your eyes drifted to all the numerous stitches on your arms. “I’m definitely a little worse for wear. But could have been worse…” you trailed off.

“Definitely,” Glenn said, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re all just so glad you’re okay.”

Just at that moment you heard boots on the stairs and you looked up to see Rick, thumbs slung into his pockets as usual. Your heart rate increased with anxiety and you gulped at the sudden tightness in your throat. You’d killed his best friend. You’d pulled the trigger and killed Shane. “I’m sorry,” you said to the Sheriff.

But Rick was smiling at you with tears in his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “This is my fault,” he said suddenly, a rasp in his voice from emotion and your eyes widened in surprise. “This is my fault and I am so sorry. Daryl told me—and I should have listened. Shane was way more of a threat than I was willing to admit. This should have never happened to you,” he drawled. “And I hope you can forgive me at some point.”

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking in the sun and breathing in the freshness of the outside air. “It’s already forgiven,” you said softly, nodding at him.

Daryl stared at you in awe of how, despite everything you’d been through, you still could extend that forgiveness so easily.

Daryl sensed some shift in you and his brow drew down low over his eyes. “Let’s get ya back to bed. C’mon.”

You allowed him to help you back through the farmhouse and even into bed as you struggled not to put any weight on your left shoulder, wincing as you moved. Daryl watched you settled in and stood a bit awkwardly at your bedside. He nervously ran a hand back through his hair. “Well, I’ll let ya get some sleep,” he drawled, turning to leave.

“Daryl.”

He turned back to glance at you and your expression was a bit hesitant. “Hmm?”

“Would you stay? …please?”

He didn’t need to hear anything else. He planted himself right back down in the chair at the side of the bed and watched as some of the tension on your face eased.

“Thanks,” you said quietly with a sigh. Daryl watched as you closed your eyes and shifted, trying to make your shoulder more comfortable, but a moment later your eyes fluttered open again and met his. “He put the gun to my forehead,” you suddenly said quietly.

Daryl’s stomach plummeted and then swirled with anger. He stared back at you, incredulous with rage easily readable on his face.

“I made my peace with the fact that he was going to pull the trigger.” Your voice was somewhat disconnected, distant. “But then… he hesitated. And I took the chance and I fought.”

Daryl gulped. “Ya made it. Yer alright.”

You nodded and looked at him for a long moment, seemingly on the edge of saying something else, but you finally just sighed and your eyelids, now heavy with exhaustion, closed again. Soon, you were asleep. And Daryl stayed at your bedside and drifted off himself. _ _ _ _ _ _

Some time later You tossed down the game stringer, loaded with squirrels, in front of Daryl. “Ten,” you said, a wide grin spreading across your face. “What’d ya get?”

He looked up at you and affected an unamused expression. “Nine,” he drawled, pointing to his harvest waiting to be cleaned.

“Ha! I win again,” you said, absolutely brimming with joy. “I thought you said you were good at hunting?” you teased him.

He rolled his eyes at you and looked over as you sank down beside him. “Ya beat me by one. Ain’t exactly a landslide, is it?”

“A win is a win,” you announced with satisfaction.

He rolled his eyes again, but his expression quickly turned to concern as he caught you rubbing your shoulder. “Sore?” he asked you, his brow drawing down. “Maybe ya shouldn’t be hunting with that bow again yet.”

Your face softened as you caught his blue eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just a little tired, that’s all. Hershel says I need to build my strength up again.” Daryl’s eyes caught on the scar where the knife had been lodged into your shoulder. It was matched by many smaller ones on your arms, all with the same pink hue due to their newness. He could also see the brand on your arm, 1048, the remnant from your time under The Copperheads. Before, you would wear long sleeves in the height of the Georgian summer just to avoid anyone seeing that mark. Now there were a lot more scars added to it, but you didn’t seem to care. It was like you finally had a weight lifted off your shoulders and you felt free for the first time in a long time, unencumbered by your past.

“We should get ya a crossbow, like mine. Then ya wouldn’t have to hold the draw with that shoulder.”

“I like my old-fashioned recurve bow,” you said, pulling it over onto your lap and looking down at it fondly. “Especially because I can still beat you with it,” you smiled at him.

Daryl seemed suddenly fidgety and you picked up on it immediately. His eyes turned down and his expression was suddenly serious.

“What? What is it?”

He shrugged, still seemingly avoiding your eyes. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Always.”

He flicked his thumb along the sharp edge of his knife. “How—with everything that ya’ve been through, how come ya ain’t just angry? I’m angry just thinkin’ about it. And it didn’t even happen to me.”

“Mmm,” hummed thoughtfully. Your eyes turned out across the verdant pasture, toward the trees you’d spent the day under. “I am angry sometimes. But,” you shrugged, your right hand shielding over the scar on your left shoulder absently, “being angry doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t fix it. It all still happened.”

Your eyes grew a bit far-off, a bit distant. Daryl took several forced, deep inhales and gathered his courage before reaching over and taking your hand in his, pulling it away from your shoulder.

You looked over at him in surprise. Your hand felt small between his. Your gaze was questioning. Daryl’s heart was pounding so hard in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else. He gulped, trying to clear his throat so he could talk. “‘M gonna make sure nothin’ else bad happens to ya. As best I can,” he murmured.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, your eyes still a little wide from the unexpected action of him taking your hand in his. “Only if I can do the same thing for you.”

You saw him gulp nervously before he nudged his nose up in a nod at you. “Yeh, I think—I think that’d be alright,” he said.

You gave him a half-smile that he found incredibly endearing and his nerves finally got the better of him and he released your hand, clearing his throat and awkwardly rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m, uhh, just gonna go grab some more firewood,” he drawled, standing up abruptly and internally cursing at himself as he left you sitting alone by the fire. Fuckin’ coward. Despite all his attempts at denial, Daryl had realized over the last couple weeks that he couldn’t ignore how he felt about you anymore, but now he was stranded in this place between where he was and where he wanted to be with no idea how to bridge the gap. He wandered back with an armload of firewood, internally frustrated and kicking himself, but his frustration vanished almost immediately when he had dumped it next to the fire circle and glanced at you again. You were looking at him with that open expression, this time with a little inquisitive lift in one of your eyebrows.

“Hmm?” he hummed, pulling his bottom lip back in between his teeth and worrying it anxiously.

You tilted your head toward the place he’d previously been sitting and he gulped as he sat down, still feeling your eyes steady on him. He thought that now you looked a little nervous. “Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

The archer nodded, nervous flutters flitting to life in his stomach.

“Umm… is it just me, or have you slept like shit, too, since I moved out of your tent?”

Once you were no longer staying in the house healing up, Daryl had moved your things out of his tent for you since there was no longer any need to worry about Shane. It wasn’t that you had asked him to, or that he’d even wanted to, it just seemed like he should…Afterwards, you’d actually moved your whole campsite closer to his, directly next to it, but you still found yourself tossing and turning on your cot, unable to fall asleep or stay asleep.

Daryl stared back at you for a moment in disbelief. He’d slept like garbage since you’d moved back, and he hadn’t even had the heart to fill the cleared space you’d once occupied with the stuff he previously had kept there. Now the emptiness loomed, drawing his eyes, the physical manifestation of how he felt something was just missing. When you slept on your cot across from him, he’d wake up in the middle of the night and look over at the shadow of your sleeping form. He always felt some swell of relief and maybe something else he couldn’t quite identify… Something about listening to your calm breathing always relaxed him and he found himself able to shut his eyes and drift off again. Maybe he’d gotten used to it. Maybe he shouldn’t have. But since you’d left, he’d been restless and anxious at night, wishing the material of his tent and yours would vanish so he could check on you.

Your nerves were growing with each moment of silence as you anxiously watched him, waiting for him to say something. “No, I—“ he had to clear his throat, nerves making his voice come out strangely strangled, “I’ve—” he let out a scoff of a laugh, almost incredulous he was about to say it to you, “I’ve slept like shit since ya left.”

“…really?”

He nodded, finally meeting your eyes again. “Mhm. Can’t fall asleep, can’t stay asleep, just feels like I lay there all the time w—”

You grabbed him by his lapel and pulled him toward you, pressing your lips softly to his, your eyes shut tightly, overwhelmed with nerves even while you melted into him. Your fingers cupped his face gently, like he was something fragile and Daryl was reeling.

By the time he reached back for you and got over his surprise you were already withdrawing and he blinked, bewildered, as he took in the wide-eyed expression on your face and your partially parted lips.

“Uhh—was that—okay?” you breathed, anxiety ratcheting up with each passing moment of uncertainty.

“Ya,” he drawled. It spilled from him like warm molasses. He watched as your face broke into a relieved smile and your cheeks burned pink.

“Good,” you murmured, unable to look at him any longer.

“Only I—I wasn’t ready,” he murmured. Your eyes flickered up to his again. He gulped nervously and reached out to move a strand of hair out of your eyes before clasping your face. His blue eyes were flickering between yours and then down to your lips. You could tell he was nervous and it brought a small smile to your face. Your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned toward him, only having to wait a second before you felt his lips crashing against yours.

This time the kiss was heated and urgent and he pulled you into him gently with his hand at the nape of your neck. You happily leaned in, smiling against his lips, your hand pressing flush to his strong chest and the other landing lightly on his side, driving him crazy. Daryl’s hand smoothed over your shoulder and down your bare arm, electricity rising in its wake.

When you broke apart this time, you were both all stunned smiles again, though now you couldn’t look away from each other.

“So, uhh—ya wanna stay with me tonight? Sounds like we both need some real sleep, ya know, and I dunno…” Daryl wasn’t used to asking for what he wanted so blatantly, or making himself vulnerable, but somehow you brought it out of him and he was willing to jump off that ledge if it meant he got to kiss you and touch you and hold you all night… things he had thought about plenty when he was lying on his cot, unable to sleep, but never saw as a reality.

You nodded, that same smile you always gave him glowing on your face. He was constantly amazed by the light you exuded; despite everything you’d been through… everything you’d shared with him.

He needed that. He needed the light. He needed you. You gave him hope.

That night you settled in against him, nervous but melting into the safeness of his arms around you. Daryl worried he was too overwhelmed to sleep, but moment by moment he realized how natural having you against him felt, how safe, how perfect, and before either of you spoke another word you both drifted off in blissful silence.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[lovevalley45]

life after retirement

a/n: sometimes you just want to write a cute first date fic then start thinking real hard about your favorite character and go somewhere very different.

For someone who had never really wanted to be a Legend, Astra was taking retirement harder than she thought.

Everyone else more or less had something to go back to. Even Spooner had went back to her mother. But here she was, sitting on the pullout couch in Ava's office and staring at the digital clock on the wall.

It had been nice of Ava and Sara to offer her a place to stay, since Ava still kinda had a place in Washington, DC. Nate had offered her a guestroom at his mom's house, which she had gladly passed on, but maybe it would have been less awkward.

(Gideon had asked if she'd want to be dropped off back at John's manor, too. The longer she thought about it, the more she realized she'd matured out of having to stay under his roof.)

It wasn't just the awkwardness. The other three had lives here. They were known for being Legends; Sara and Nate were superheroes in their own right, while Ava had clocked in six years with some government-sanctioned time travel bureau. They had somewhere to pick up on.

In some way, it felt like she'd gotten nowhere since she first got to Earth. She even had to move in with her teammates. And her newfound magic was great, but rarely were jobs looking for witches. Generally, having a background check that listed that was ten years younger than they actually were made it hard to find some kind of footing.

Even if she could, what would she do? Her future had shown her running for president. Astra had always been climbing up, up, up in Hell, so it'd figure she'd be doing the same on Earth. She missed that power she'd had as the queen of Hell, but there hadn't been much of a choice before. Either she could rise to the top, or just be a tool for everyone to walk over. For her own sake, she’d chosen the former.

She knew she hadn't been the only one disappointed with her future. Zari hadn't exactly seemed thrilled with what Gideon had showed her. Although they'd been dropped off before the Tarazis, she wondered how she was taking it. She couldn't even ring her up, or Behrad, or Spooner.

Fuck it. Maybe Ava still had some good booze around.

There was nothing in the office, so she headed downstairs. Astra hadn’t expected anyone, but Ava was on the couch with a glass of wine and her laptop. The bottle was on the coffee table, already half-empty.

She glanced up as she walked in. “Hey. Need anything, another blanket?” she asked.

“No,” she said. “I need you to share that wine.”

“Go ahead. Glasses are in the cabinet by the sink.”

Once she’d poured herself a glass, she joined her in the living room. The whole place was the opposite of the manor; where John’s place was old and already pretty busted, this place was model home new. She was surprised that the couches hadn’t been covered in plastic to make sure they didn’t stain.

“I thought you’d be celebrating with the missus,” Astra said after she’d taken a sip.

Ava set her laptop down beside her. “We had enough of a party on the ship.” When she saw her expression, she clarified, “The actual party, not having sex.”

“Still, I figured even you would be having more fun than moping with your laptop.”

She sighed. “Me too. But retiring means, well, the opposite of retiring and finding a job. I have to pay the bills somehow.”

“Our problems are so boring now,” Astra remarked.

“Yeah,” Ava said. “Have you thought about the whole president thing?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Is this where you break out my ten-year plan?”

Keeping eye contact, Ava clicked something on her laptop. “No.”

Astra finished off her wine and set the glass down. “You’ve been at this time travel thing for a while, right? Do we really know if all those futures will actually happen?”

She leaned back against the couch. “We’ve seen the effect little things can have on the timeline. I think what Evil Gideon showed us was an approximation, but it doesn’t have to be set in stone.” She tapped her finger against her glass and took another sip. “You know, I never saw myself having a kid.”

“And I never saw myself being president,” she admitted. “Power is nice, but running Hell is a different ballgame than running a country.”

“I’d say Hell seemed pretty functional under your rule, but I only went there the one time,” Ava said, setting her empty glass down.

“I’ll take the compliment anyways.” Astra refilled their glasses. “And in your case, I think running a team is different than taking care of a kid.”

“Even if the Legends could act like a bunch of children?” she asked.

“Pretty sure.”

Ava picked her glass back up. “Yeah, I think kids is what Sara wants.” She took a sip and pointed a finger at her. “But you don’t need to deal with what other people want for you. You have to figure out what you want for yourself. Because, Astra, you’ve come a long way since Hell.”

She knew that well enough - from her growing magic, from her time on the team, even from dealing with Harris fucking Ledes. But it put into context why that wasn’t what she needed. Or really, why it wasn’t about her at all.

“I wanted power in Hell to survive. But being president isn’t about power,” Astra said. “It’s about making things better for other people.”

She couldn’t tell how much Ava had actually drank from the bottle before she got down there, but she heard her mutter, “Man, maybe I should be a therapist.”

“Okay, if you were more sober, I’d ask you to be my campaign manager,” she joked.

Setting the glass down, she said, “Yeah, I’m not trying to celebrate my retirement with a hangover.” She met her eyes again. “I’ll be your campaign manager when you have a campaign to manage.”

“Deal.”

“And if you find that that isn’t what you want to do, then there’s a world full of choices out there and a new future to find.”

“And a new ten-year plan?” she asked.

Ava chuckled. “Okay, I can’t make any promises there, but I can come up with a five-year plan for any wild idea you wanna try, at least.”

“Maybe not every wild idea.” Astra glanced over at her laptop. “Hey, do you know anyone who can hack into personal records? Because if people keep thinking I should be sixteen, I think that ten-year plan is going to go off the rails.”

“Oh, you could probably ask Flannel-Zari when we all meet up in the manor. She’s definitely hacked into some wild shit,” Ava told her.

For a moment, she wondered if dating Behrad could help get her more on her good side. “Mm, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ava shut her laptop. “I think I’m going to head to bed.” She picked up her glass as she got up. “You know, you should join book club.”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

She shrugged. “Just consider it.”

Astra watched her drop off her glass in the kitchen, then go upstairs. She was feeling a little better about retirement - just not good enough to get talked into book club.

#alli writes shit #legends of tomorrow #lot spoilers #astra logue #ava sharpe #how did i go from trying to find someone for astra to ask for clothing advice to THIS

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Joshua: Second Chance (Part Four)

Characters: Joshua x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff, fluffy angst, Josh being a grumpy old man lmao

Word count: 2,042

Summary: After his mate died, Joshua always blamed himself and never wanted to imprint again. However, fate has other ideas when he meets you: a young, energetic werecoyote that’s quite the opposite of him. He insists he doesn’t want a new mate – nobody’s even sure if he’s ready for a new one – but he can’t ignore his instincts.

Previous | Next | Second Chance Masterlist

Because of how exhausted he was, Joshua was in and out of consciousness for a while. He couldn’t even keep track of days because he was sleeping at weird hours -- but it had really only been two days. He never stayed awake for very long -- the longest was always just to eat and go to the bathroom if he had to, and then go back to sleep -- but the first thing his eyes always found when he opened them was you.

You, however, weren’t asleep for nearly as long. You woke up again in the morning to see Joshua was still asleep -- you didn’t know he’d ever woken up. You still had a million questions bouncing around your head about who he was, what happened next, and the like, but you decided to just go with it until you found out. No point in panicking, right?

“You should be all set to go home today,” Minjee reported.

The wolfsbane was cleansed from your system -- mostly thanks to Joshua, otherwise your recovery would’ve been slower since you didn’t heal as quickly as the werewolves -- so all you really had to do was rest until your body fully recovered. But that was the same for Joshua, so it worked out. 

However, Minjee wasn’t sure what was happening when you were discharged. Would you go home with Joshua and his pack mates? Would he turn you away and have you go off on your own? Even Hansol and Kyung said they weren’t sure when Minjee had asked.

But you just nodded, not even having those thoughts cross your mind, “Okay.”

Minjee sat down on the edge of your bed and studied you, “Do you mind if I ask a few questions first?”

“Sure,” you shrugged without hesitation.

“What’s your name?”

“_____ _____.”

“And where are you from, _____?”

“The Capitol.”

Minjee’s eyebrows raised, “So you’re not too far from here, then. We’re in the Capitol -- southeast of the castle.”

Huh. You didn’t know that. That was at least convenient to be close to a familiar place. But the Capitol was huge.

“Do you have a pack or family?” Minjee continued.

You shook your head. You’d been on your own for a few years now.

“You’re alone?” she asked.

In the other room, Kyung and Hansol looked at each other. 

“So then why were you running around the forest at night, _____?” Minjee continued.

You shrugged, “Got bored.”

Minjee definitely thought you were...interesting. You were all by yourself, you were running through the woods in the dark for fun, and you still somehow didn’t seem fazed by any of it. And to top it all off, you still kept glancing over at Joshua and rubbing one thumb over his knuckles like you were already comfortable with him. He was a complete stranger to you, you hadn’t even spoken to him or seen him awake, but you didn’t seem to care. You weren’t even asking her questions like she expected. It was like you didn’t care about anything, you were just rolling with whatever came.

“Hey, Jee?” a girl opened the curtain and popped her head in. She had loose springy curls that were tied into two buns on her head, brown skin, dark freckles dotted over her cheeks and nose, and golden eyes that shifted over to you. Her eyes widened slightly for some reason before returning to Minjee. “Two of our other alphas are here. They want to know what’s happening with Joshua.”

“He’ll be good to go home when he wakes up,” she replied warmly with a nod. “He’ll definitely need the help home, though.”

The foreign girl turned her head, listening to what someone else was saying to her before turning back again, “Jihoon wants to talk to you.”

“Send them right in.”

The girl stepped aside to let two men through the white curtain -- you wondered if it was actually a bedsheet. One was short with light brown hair, and the other was taller with silver hair. The shorter one had an undercut with the rest of his hair looking a little wavy, while the taller one’s hair was fluffier and parted to the side. Like the girl, they both had golden eyes that seemed to study you curiously.

Jihoon and Seungcheol assumed you must’ve been the girl they’d heard about considering your cot was still beside Joshua’s, and your hand was wrapped around his. You didn’t react to their staring, just blinking back at them. But they took note of one physical difference that Soomin either forgot to mention or simply was unaware of: instead of gold eyes, your eyes were an icy blue. 

The taller one’s eyes moved over to the doctor, while the shorter one continued to blatantly stare at you. Of course, you stared back.

“Is he really well enough to come home already?” the taller boy wondered. “It’s only been two days.”

Minjee nodded, “Hansol has medicine he’ll have to take three times a day to help with pain and healing, and Joshua will have medicine to take every twelve hours. ______ will need medicine as well, but... Um, other than that, the two just need a lot of rest -- especially Joshua.”

“What about her?” the shorter one asked, nodding his head toward you.

Before Minjee could say anything, you opened your mouth, “What about me?”

Jihoon’s eyebrows raised in surprise, almost like he didn’t think you could or would talk, “...Sorry.”

“Can you guys keep it down?” a groggy, raspy voice asked beside you.

Your head whipped to the right as you felt Joshua’s fingers squeeze yours. He was rubbing one eye with his free hand and letting out a yawn before he blinked his eyes open and looked between the two alphas.

“He lives,” Seungcheol chuckled. “How do you feel, Shua?”

“Like shit,” he replied, draping his arm over his eyes.

The two alphas noticed Josh was keeping his hand in yours despite being awake. Their eyes flickered from your hands, to each other.

“What’re we talking about?” Josh asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Uh...well…” Seungcheol tried desperately to find the right words to ask what he planned to do about you, but he was too scared to bring you up to Josh. He didn’t want to upset him already.

Thankfully, Minjee spoke up, “I need to know what’s happening with _____.”

Hearing your name, you broke out of your trance of staring at Joshua now that he was finally awake, and looked at the doctor.

Joshua tore his arm away from his eyes and lifted his head slightly to narrow his eyes at Minjee, “Who?”

She gestured to you, “Your mate.”

Hearing the title made him growl lowly in his chest as he slowly turned to look at you. Despite the aggressive noise, you could hear his heartbeat pick up when his eyes landed on you. It was also the first time he was seeing you awake, and deep down, it felt amazing to see you actually alive and well.

However, he still managed to tear his hand away from yours.

“She’s not coming home with us,” he scoffed. “She’s not my problem.”

“Josh--”

“Jihoon, you can’t tell me what to do,” he cut off the alpha. “I’ll do perfectly fine on my own, thank you. I don’t want or need another mate.”

However, everyone was surprised to see that you weren’t speaking up. They looked at you and found that you didn’t even seem bothered by Joshua’s words or actions. You had lifted your now empty hand closer to your face, looking at it as if you’d see traces of Joshua or something. But your expression was neutral before you looked up at Josh and shrugged.

“Alright.”

Seungcheol blinked, “A-- Alright?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged again. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is…” Jihoon said like you were stupid.

Hey, maybe you were. You didn’t know how any of this worked. You didn’t even fully grasp what was going on.

“It’s a good thing you’re braindead, I guess,” Joshua snorted under his breath before laying his head back down. 

“We’ll just...take him home now,” Seungcheol told Minjee awkwardly, bowing his head slightly in a silent apology.

“I’ll go get their medications,” the doctor replied as she stood. “You can get Hansol and Joshua ready to be discharged.”

The curtain was pushed aside so the two patients could now interact. Seungcheol and Kyung were going to have to help support Joshua as he walked at least to the edge of the forest so Seungcheol could properly carry him without getting odd looks. But Hansol was good enough to walk home on his own, and you were, too. So you got out of bed and changed back into the clothes you were in when they found you -- but now they were washed and clean.

“So..._____,” the taller alpha began just to make some sort of conversation in the awkward silence, “where are you going to go now?”

“Uh…” you trailed off before shrugging. “I don’t know, probably back to the cave.”

“Cave?” the girl repeated as the group looked at you with varying looks of surprise. “I thought you were from here?”

“I am,” you nodded, “but I don’t live here.”

“You live in a cave?” the shorter alpha checked.

You shook your head, “Well, no. Recently, I’ve been staying in a cave because I found it. Before it was just...wherever there was some sort of shelter.”

“So you don’t live anywhere?” the wolf you had yet to meet asked. He had shaggy strawberry blonde hair and stayed close to the other girl.

“I guess not.”

You were too busy going back to putting your shirt on that you didn’t notice the way the pack pointedly looked at Joshua.

-

As the pack was leaving and walking down the few steps -- going slowly as to be accommodating for Josh -- you followed behind them. You weren’t really sure what to do with yourself for the rest of the day since you still weren’t feeling 100%. Maybe you could just go find a place to nap or something.

The pack continued onto the path, but Joshua turned his head. He saw you still standing on the middle step, looking this way and that with a thoughtful look on your face as you held a small paper bag with your medication in it. He stopped walking, causing the two who were helping support his weight stop. So the two behind him stopped, as well. They all turned to look where he was looking, which was at you.

Joshua very loudly cleared his throat, catching your attention. He was looking at you in annoyance, and his eyes rolled when you continued to just stand there and stare at him.

“Well come on,” he snapped.

“...Huh?”

“Let’s go,” he said with more force. “I’m tired and wanna go home. If you trail behind and get caught in another net or get attacked by wild animals, that’s not my problem.”

He turned back and continued walking again, the two beside him moving with him despite them continuing to glance back at you.

Was he...inviting you home with them? But didn’t he say you weren’t going with them? So--

“You should probably hurry,” the short one -- you realized his name was Jihoon -- told you, though he had traces of a smile on his face. “He’s pretty irritable.”

“Shut up, Hoon,” Joshua called behind him.

Jihoon chuckled but continued walking.

Hansol, however, stayed back to wait for you. He understood you must’ve been a little confused. You were dying, only to wake up to a mate, members of his pack, and now you were being told one thing and then something completely opposite. So he waved you over.

“C’mon, _____,” he called with a warm smile. “We’re gonna take you home.”

Home. That sounded nice to you. It was a word you hadn’t heard or thought of in a while now. So you bounded down the steps and walked beside Hansol as he began telling you about their pack and the house.

Ahead of you, Joshua was grumbling to himself in annoyance about the whole situation.

#seventeen #joshua #joshua hong #seventeen au #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen oneshot #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #werewolf!seventeen #joshua au #joshua imagine #joshua scenario #joshua oneshot #joshua fanfic #joshua x reader #werewolf!joshua #joshua hong au #joshua hong imagine #joshua hong scenario #joshua hong oneshot #joshua hong fanfic #joshua hong x reader #werewolf!joshua hong

[fuckinfruitybitch]

I knew Akito was gonna be a huge topic of debate, but for some reason I figured Akigure was going to be overlooked. In my opinion, their relationship is the second most important in the series. I know they’re a toxic pairing, but that’s they’re point. Akigure teaches us a few lessons.

Healthy relationships are built

We are responsible for our relationships

Clean slates do not exist

Fruba is all about examining different relationships between different people. The main couple is Kyoru, and are a shining example of a healthy couple. They listen to and support each other. Throughout the whole series they help each other grow and know they are loved. They don’t fight, they communicate. I love them. But the thing is, of course they are healthy. They are characters we’ve always seen as good. As rocky as they’re friendship was in the beginning, there was no malice. Of course they’d have a healthy romance.

Akigure however is the exact opposite. The two are abusive in different ways to each other and other characters. They began loving and innocent (the garden and flowers) but as of now that’s soured. Looking at it, they should not be together. But having them get together in the end symbolizes the enduring nature of love. I don’t excuse anything they’ve done, which I’ll get to in my next point, but I think they showcase forgiveness. If a relationship is no longer working, it’s time to jump ship, that seems to be a common mindset. But the thing is healthy relationships don’t just happen. Even with Kyo and Tohru those two worked through a lot of damage before getting together. Akito and Shigure have a whole lifetime of damage, some of which they inflicted on each other they need to work through. While it would be easy to just break up, that’s not what they want. Every relationship is hard, and you have to continually work to keep it healthy. Having these two flawed characters in a flawed relationship working to become better shows us that we can become better too. Everyone deserves a healthy relationship, but they’ll only get it if they work for it. It won’t be handed to you and you won’t have the perfect match, you make that. These two are so far from being healthy, but admitting their problems is the entrance to a new relationship that can be healthy. Shigure didn’t want to love Akito because she was a god, he wanted to love her because she was Akito. So he needed her to realize that, and if she wouldn’t be herself, he made it so she would never see his true self. This beginning isn’t just in their relationship, it’s a new life where neither one is playing a part, they’ve come to the garden, uninhibited and honest.

Now, a lot of people think Akito should have been single to rebuild herself. I can’t say I disagree completely, I wouldn’t have minded this. BUT considering her fears of abandonment I think this is just bad. She’s already dealing with the loss of the rest of the zodiac and the identity she’s held since birth. She needs someone in her corner. While Tohru is there, I don’t think that would be fair to Tohru, and Akito still holds Tohru in a very high regard. I think akito would always compare herself to her, and that isn’t good for mental health. Shigure, she trusts him. And I get she’s afraid of him and resentful, but I still think she trusts him more than anybody, I mean the guy even knew about that empty box. So she needs someone to help her regain her footing and not fall back into bad habits, because while Shigure did let her run wild, he didn’t like what she was doing. Another thing is, if we jsut removed her from Shigure and away from the Sohmas, it’s like saying she is a result of her environment. While I believe that’s a factor, it assuages her from responsibility. Akito is the only person responsible for how she treated others. Most of the Sohmas are kind people, despite the damage, but Akito was cruel and abusive. While there is possibility of forgiveness, she is wholeheartedly responsible for every horrible action. She needs to learn how to be good even in a problematic environment, even around people she hasn’t been good to, so she can never blame her actions on the environment. Being able to become better with someone else who isn’t exactly a gold star showcases that anyone can become better.

And the final point, Akigure represents clean slates are impossible. The two do symbolically begin again, but the history is still there. The memory is there, and they have to work with all of that. Akito has to work with the Sohma clan. Shigure has to see Ren and remember what he’s done. And while I don’t think trauma should be glamorized, sometimes you need to deal with the bad to end up with the good. Akito is learning how to be a good person from the guilt and pain of her past. While she can grant future generations a better slate, it will always be a bit tainted. Her relationship with Shigure will always have a bad past, but that doesn’t mean they have to continue that. And going back to the second point, realistically, no once can ever jsut get a brand new life. Traces of the past will always seep in. So Akigure is a relationship that shows how you can still find happiness in a tainted place. The slate will never be pristine, but you can try your best to wash it. I guess that’s the point. These two can be happy and love each other, and it won’t erase anything that’s happened, but it’ll provide us hope. If there’s not hope for a better tomorrow or love, these things can’t come to fruition.

#I’m sorry it doesn’t make sense i tried #akito sohma #akigure #fruits basket #fruits basket 2019 #shigure sohma #frubana

[yesokaythatsfine69]

Saving Grace

Description: Levi faces off against the female Titan but because of another recruit he is hurt. You must find him.

Characters: y/n, Levi, Hange, Jean, Eren, Mikasa

Warning(s): cursing, fluff

A/n: Hey guys, I've been on a binge of aot. Also there's a lot of x readers abt the reader getting hurt and Levi saving them, (I've written one) so I did the reverse of that. Also b sure to check out my HC's from my last post.

Word count:

Song: willow, by Taylor swift.

*none of the gifs used are mine, all credit goes to the maker.

You gripped the reins of your horse, your eyes flickering to the trees around you. Hange spoke beside you, roughly pulling the reigns of her house just to keep up with you. "Levi said he would meet us there, y/n." Yes, you remembered that. You also remembered vividly how he hadn't told you goodbye.

"y/n take the others to rendezvous with Hange's squad." Levi had been riding alongside you, much like Hange was now. He liked to keep close, usually never leaving your side. At his words you turned, eyes wide.

"Are you sure? We're-" He gave you a stern look, as if to remind you that he wasn't just 'levi' or 'captain frowny-face' he was 'Captain Levi.' you gripped your reins tighter and nodded, turning away from him. This wasn't apart of the plan, but captain asshole had heard something from behind you.

You were traveling with Eren, who was at the time unconscious, and several other cadets. Levi had been on edge, which made sense, neither of you were with your usual squad. And your greatest weapon was currently lying in an exhausted heap. "Victor, you're with me."

You gritted your teeth in shock and frustration. Why didn't he ask you to go with him? Victor was a new cadet. Shy. Tall. Fifteen years old, and awkward. He wasn't you. He also wasn't Levi's girlfriend, though.

You kept forward, even as you heard both Levi and Victor zip away. Bitterness made you focused. Neither of you said goodbye, as if you hadn't known and cared for each other deeply.

Now, you were riding back into the woods, facing the opposite direction. This exact situation reminded you of the time Levi and Mikasa had chased down the female Titan to rescue Eren. He came back with a broken ankle. That had been bad enough.

Levi missed the checkpoint. You waited long enough, and made to leave. Hange stopped you and invited herself along. You didn't ask why.

"I don't understand where the hell he could be." You said finally, stopping your horse. "Usually you can hear odm gear if the woods are quite enough." Hange stopped beside you. The woods were quite enough, yes. A few bird calls here and there. But there was no hissing of odm gear or thuds of titans.

Again you gritted you teeth. "Levi!"

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

When Levi woke up, or woke up enough to take in his surroundings, he wasn't in pain or in fear. He was leaning against a tree, on his knees. The air was light, and quiet. Sunshine beamed through the leaves of trees, and a bit of warmth hit his face.

He blinked and leaned his head back. He was tired, and if everything were as peaceful as it was right now, he didn't see any problem in drifting off once more.

The warmth on his face seemed to caress him, like the fingers of a lover. The tweets of a nearby bird lured him into darkness, and he relaxed.

"Levi!"

His eyes popped open. He didn't hear what was said, but nonetheless the sound was enough to shatter the peaceful state he was in. Disoriented, he lifted up his head from against the tree and looked side to side. His brow furrowed when he saw nothing around him. Just the glow of green, the warmth of sun.

There was no one around him. The sound or call began to drift from his conscious as if he'd never heard it to begin with. Again he lied his head against the tree.

And again his eyes fluttered shut. Levi couldn't remember ever being this tired, or maybe he was just always this tired. He couldn't remember. He guessed though, now it didn't really matter.

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

"He went this way, so they can't be far." You were still on your horse, and Hange was riding close behind you. "Y/n, the sun's going down. If we don't hurry it'll be dark before long." You nodded, and turned to your friend. "I'm going to check just a bit further, then we can leave."

You rode further, and the more you seemed to go deeper, the more eerie the words became. You'd always hated the forest, it creeped the fuck out of you. It wasn't even the fact that titans roamed the area. They were just the icing on the cake.

You got off your horse, gently leading the animal. "Where the hell is that-" Then you smelt it. Blood. You dropped the reins of your horse. "Levi."

Running forward, you followed the smell. Then...you found it's source. Victor's body was on the ground, his head missing. The ground was stained with his blood, and mere inches away was what was left of a Titan.

The picture was hellish. But something has to have killed that Titan. You doubted it had been victor. You went forward, walking past the bodies and the carnage.

At first you found nothing. No wires or odm gear, no body or movement.

Then you turned and light caught your eye. "Levi!" You gasped, your eyes meeting his body. He was leaning against a tree, on his knees. His arms were at his side, blood soaked.

Yet, despite all of this Levi looked scarily peaceful, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes closed. He never looked his height, really. Levi Ackerman seemed to tower among men in life, but now, now he had never appeared smaller to you.

The scene was horrifying.

You slide to where you were on your knees before him. You gripped his shoulders and shook them. "Levi!" You didn't remember crying but tears had begun to pour from your eyes in spades. He breathed, something like a gasp- and his eyes fluttered open.

"y/n?" You gasped out a laugh when he spoke, and pushed him into you. "Levi..." You pulled away, and gently pushed a stray hair from his face. His eyes were half lidded and you could tell he was out of it.

He felt like he was under water, and his movements were slow and hazy. You could see his disorientation in his eyes.

"why are you being so loud, y/n?" You moved to his right side, gently wrapping an arm in-between his knees. "I was trying to sleep." You hummed an apology as you pulled your other arm around his neck. "you can sleep on me, okay?" "Tch." Was his only verbal response, but he gently laid his head on your chest.

You lifted him up, thankful for his small frame and lean build. You carried him past the carnage, reminding yourself of where Victor's body was so it could be picked up later. "It's peaceful, isn't it, y/n?" Your eyes widened and you glanced down at Levi.

His eyes were closed and his head was still leaning against you. You swallowed. When you got to your horse, you put him up first, leaning his body against the neck of the animal. Then you slide in behind him, gently grabbing his hips and pulling him to lean on you instead. He turned his head, and opened his eyes, watching as you grabbed the reigns and began to leave.

His breathe tickled your neck, and his eyes heated your cheeks. Frustrated with his focus on you, you quipped, "As per the service fee for saving you, you have to make sweet love to me now."

Levi groaned, but leaned into you more, putting his head under your chin.

You met back up with Hange, (who would've made some comment about Levi's current position on your horse had he not looked so rough.) And began your ride back. His breath was even throughout the ride, but he seemed to remain in and out of consciousness, which disturbed you.

When you returned, medics helped you lift him from your horse.

"Don't worry y/n, we'll take care of him." A nurse assured you. "Humanity's strongest will be just fine."

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

Levi was swinging through trees, searching. Blood pumped in his ears, his heart thumping a mile a minute. An abnormal had attacked them, grabbing onto victor and disappearing, carrying the screaming fifteen year old with him. Hooking up his odm gear, Levi sprung after the Titan.

Finally, the ugly bastard stopped and turned to him, smiling as he bit off the head of the screaming boy, silencing him forever and spraying the entire area with his blood.

Then the Titan turned on him. Levi was able to take it down, but as he swung into the air, his gas emptied and he landed head first into a tree.

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

Levi gasped, raising off the bed he was on, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "What? What's wrong?" You stood up from your chair, having been half asleep yourself. Levi's eyes were wide until they adjusted to the room. It was dark, and he was on a bed.

In a moment he realized he in his own room. He rubbed his eye before he took everything in. He didn't have a shirt on, and he lifted the blanket to check underneath. You noticed his blush, even in the darkness of the room. "I figured you wanted to sleep in clean garments."

Levi ignored that and instead asked, "Victor?" You were silent for a second, thinking how to respond. It was too long for levi apparently and he pulled back his covers and moved to get up. "What-What are you doing?"

"I shouldn't be here- I-" You grabbed onto his arm and pushed him back. "There's no where else you should be, Levi." He gritted his teeth. "Captain."

Immediately you let him go, your eyes wide. Then they narrowed. Without thinking you slapped him, and the man flinched. Hair flying to cover his eyes.

You two were silent for several moments, and the room was tense.

"Why do...why are you so..." You groaned. "Fuck you." Levi said nothing, his face still down. Why'd you have to go by yourself? Why didn't you take me with you? These thought pulsed in your mind, causing your head to ache. Why couldn't he see that he was more than just your captain?

"I..." But most importantly why couldn't you just say this. "I know, y/n." You blinked. "I know...and I'm sorry." His shoulders shook. "I'm sorry." You immediately softened and within seconds you had wrapped up in your arms and pressed against your body.

You shushed him gently, until you lifted his face up to meet your own. Then you met his lips, softly connectings yours with his. He sighed into your mouth, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't want you to die, Levi."

Tears trailed down your face, and your grip tightened. "I don't just want to be another cadet to you."

He flinched, and wrapped his hands around your face. His raven orbs pierced your own, and gently laid his head against yours. "I just wanted to protect you...you don't know how many times, I've failed to protect...the people I love...I can't lose you, too."

You kissed his nose, "You can't just look out for me, you dolt." Levi frowned. "You gotta look out for humanity's strongest too, ya know." Levi nodded, and you smiled. Then you kissed him, twisting your head, and moving your lips against his.

It was salty but sweet as could be, you tugged against his bottom lip and he moved into you. However, you pulled away and gently placed your hands around Levi's face. You kissed his nose, each cheek, his forehead, every bit of him.

"tch, y/n," he tried to chase your lips but you doged, kissing his ear. "Y/n." He tried again, and this time you kissed his chin. "Please, just-" again, he tried and failed. He sighed, and relented, allowing you to kiss his entire face, head, and neck.

When you were done you pulled back away from him and squished together his cheeks. "Are you still up for some sweet love making?"

"I think I have a concussion."

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

Thanks for reading! Requests are open!

#levi x reader #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #aot imagines #aot x y/n #aot x you #aot x reader #x reader #imagines

[9worldstales]

MCU “Thor”: Who’s to blame for Thor’s banishment?

So I’ve seen around people blaming Loki for Thor’s banishment and…

… I can’t help but wonder if they realize that, by saying so they aren’t just pinning the blame on the wrong person but they’re doing a HUGE, GIANT SIZE disservice to Thor.

But let's list sources used for this first.

SOURCES MENTIONED:

Movies: “Thor” (2011), “Thor – The Dark World” (2013)

Comics: None mentioned

Direct-to-video animated film: None mentioned

Motion comics: None mentioned

Books: None mentioned

Novels: “Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One: Thor” by Alex Irvine (2015)

Webs: None mentioned

Others: “Thor” old movie script, Interview “Director Kenneth Branagh and Kevin Feige Interview THOR”, interview “EXCLUSIVE: Screenwriter Don Payne Talks Thor!”, Interview “SDCC 2010: Chris Hemsworth Interview THOR”, Video “Thor (2011) Chris Hemsworth Kill Count”

Although “Thor” is meant to be an origin story for both Thor and Loki…

Kevin Feige: The movie, very much, is an origin of Loki, almost as much as it is an origin of Thor. We had to ride that balance. There were drafts where Thor took over too much, and there were certainly drafts where Loki became too prominent, and I think we found a nice balance that is clearly the origin of both of those characters. [Director Kenneth Branagh and Kevin Feige Interview THOR]

…the focus was mostly on Thor and his journey to learn humility.

I mean, this is not MY interpretation of the story, it’s basically what everyone involved in the production says the story is about. Thor is unworthy, the banishment is just, from it he learns humility and becomes worthy again.

Don Payne: Whereas we’ve got an extra-dimensional being once worshipped as a god by the ancient Norse who’s banished to earth and stripped of his powers to learn humility, all set amidst the Shakespearean intrigue of a dysfunctional royal family. You just have to find the things that make Thor timeless and relatable as a character. It certainly helps that he’s charismatic and likeable, albeit flawed. He’s banished for good reason, but I think people will want to go on the journey with him and root for him to find redemption — particularly with Chris Hemsworth’s performance. [EXCLUSIVE: Screenwriter Don Payne Talks Thor!]

Kenneth Branagh: That story arc of the flawed hero who must earn the right to be king is in our piece, but what’s key is the stakes. There, it’s Europe and England, and here, it’s the universe. When that family has problems, everybody else is affected. If Thor throws a fit and is yelling at his father and is banished, suddenly the worlds are unstable. [Director Kenneth Branagh and Kevin Feige Interview THOR]

Chris Hemsworth: At the beginning of this film, he’s certainly a brash, cocky warrior who’s about to inherit the keys to the kingdom, and his father thinks that he’s not ready. It’s the journey of him learning some humility through the film. I think he’s one of those people who has his heart in the right place. He’s doing what he’s doing for his family and to protect the kingdom, and he thinks it’s the right way to do it. It just happens to be a very aggressive way of doing it, which probably isn’t the right way. It’s about tempering that raw emotion that he drives off most of the time, into the right direction. [SDCC 2010: Chris Hemsworth Interview THOR]

And in fact Thor makes a 180° turn from how he started.

The boy then man who insisted he wanted first to kill all the Jotun then give them a lesson is the one who sacrifices his chance to meet Jane again to save them.

Young Thor: When I’m king, I’ll hunt the monsters down and slay them all! Just as you did, Father.

and...

Thor: March into Jotunheim as you once did. Teach them a lesson. Break their spirits so they’ll never dare try to cross our borders again.

versus

Thor: You can’t kill an entire race!

The man who said his father was an old man and a fool, becomes the one who says there will never be a wiser king than Odin.

Thor: And you are an old man and a fool!

versus

Thor: There will never be a wiser king than you. Or a better father. I have much to learn. I know that now. Someday, perhaps, I shall make you proud.

The man who returning from Jotunheim was too busy to care for how Fandral got hurt so that it was Odin who had to say to get him to the healing room, is the one who, once back to Midgard, first worry about having his friends getting Heimdall on the healing room and then about what he’ll do with his brother.

Odin: You cannot even protect your friends! How can you hope to protect a kingdom? Get him to the healing room! Now!

versus

Thor: Get him to the healing room! Leave my brother to me.

The man who thought his father’s lessons were wrong, then admits his father was right.

Thor: While you wait and be patient, the Nine Realms laugh at us. The old ways are done. You’d stand giving speeches while Asgard falls.

versus

Thor: Neither did I. My father was trying to teach me something, but I was too stupid to see it.

The man who first was told by Loki going to Jotunheim was madness and did it anyway then tells Loki how destroying Jotunheim is madness.

Loki: Thor, it’s madness.

versus

Thor: Loki, this is madness.

The man who would start a fight just because he was called ‘princess’ versus the man who kept on refusing to start a fight with Loki even after the other hit him four times and only does so when Loki threatens Jane.

And then there are the comparisons that got lost because some scenes got cut. For start an even better comparison, in which another man calls Thor "Princess" and Thor this time refuses to fight.

Jotun: Run back home, little princess. [Thor stops in his tracks. Loki goes white. He knows what's coming.] Loki: Damn. [In one quick move, Thor pulls Mjolnir, swings it, and KNOCKS the Jotun clear across the plaza. The Asgardians reluctantly draw their weapons, gather into a circle around Thor. Volstagg looks around at the angry Jotuns approaching them.]

versus

Drunk townie: You were in the diner with that hot girl. [Thor doesn't like where this is going.] Drunk townie: I wouldn't mind her doing a little research on me. [He laughs. Thor is annoyed.] Thor: I have no quarrel with you. But she's a lady. You should be more respectful. Drunk townie: And you should shut the hell up, princess. [Selvig looks to Thor, concerned that he's going to lose it. But, to his surprise, Thor remains unaffected by the Townie's baiting.] Thor: I will not fight him. Drunk townie: Then it'll be easy to kick your ass.

Or like the deleted one in which Frigga said that Thor believed to be ready… when in the end Thor will realize he’s not.

Odin: Do you think he’s ready? Frigga: He thinks he is. He has his father’s confidence.

versus

Thor: There will never be a wiser king than you. Or a better father. I have much to learn. I know that now. Someday, perhaps, I shall make you proud.

You might remember Thor smashing a cup because he wanted another drink… well there’s a deleted scene in which, just before the Warriors Three and Sif reach Midgard, he brings a cup to Izzy in payback for the one he broke.

Thor: This drink, I like it. Darcy: I know. It’s great, right? [Thor hurls the empty mug at the ground, SHATTERING it.] Thor: (CALLS OUT) Another! [ISABELA ALVAREZ (60), the diner’s proprietor, glares at Thor from behind the counter.] Jane: Sorry, Izzy. Little accident. What was that? [He doesn’t understand. The other patrons stare at him.] Thor: It was delicious. I want another. Jane: Well, you could have just said so. Thor: I just did. Jane: No, I mean, ask nicely. Thor: I meant no disrespect. Jane: All right. Well, no more smashing. Deal? Thor: You have my word. Jane: Good.

Versus

As the group finishes breakfast, Thor looks at the mug in his hand, gets an idea. Thor: [About a cup] May I have this? Darcy: Sure. Thor: Thank you. Please, excuse me. [Thor leaves. In front of her diner, Isabela prepares to open for the day. Isabela sweeps the front porch. She looks up to see Thor approaching. She eyes him suspiciously. He offers her a MUG.] Excuse me, Isabela. Isabela: Oh my gosh. Thor: To replace the one I broke. Please, forgive me for my behavior. Isabela: Okay, thank you. Thor: if I may, I’d like to come back here for more of yours splendid "coffee". Isabela: Any time.

And then you might remember how Fandral was hurt in Jotunheim and it was Loki and Volstagg who helped him, while in a deleted scene we’ve Selvig being hurt and Thor helping him.

And so on and on and on.

Thor started one way, this caused his banishment and the banishment changed him.

If we go and say Thor didn’t deserve to be banished, that it was all Loki’s ploy, we ignore how Thor before was an unworthy person and after he became a worthy person. We turn Thor into a person who’s ALWAYS worthy, regardless of him acting one way or its exact opposite but for some reason was misjudged and punished unfairly and never really had to change because he was perfect as he was.

We turn Odin into a fool who punished a worthy son for crimes he didn’t do and then took the punishment back not because Thor changed, but because he realized he made a mess.

The idea Thor’s banishment is Loki’s fault is against the authors’ intentions, damages Thor by stripping him of his growth and, ultimately, it’s totally false, so trying to pin the blame on Loki so as to make him look bad is simply wrong.

Although Loki did some things that triggered Thor’s reactions, Thor wasn’t completely and utterly brainwashed. It was Thor’s decisions who ended up bringing those consequences and Loki had no idea Odin would go as far as banishing Thor.

In a deleted bit Loki says Odin normally ALWAYS forgive Thor.

Fandral: Well, if he doesn’t show up soon, he shouldn’t bother. Odin looks like he’s ready to feed him to his ravens. Loki: I wouldn’t worry. Father will forgive him. He always does.

From Thor’s reaction to his banishment it’s clear it’s the first time he got such a punishment and that he assumed all he had to do to be forgiven is to retrieve Mjolnir.

The novelization is not shy to say that:

Odin had always favoured Thor because Thor was a warrior, just like him… [“Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One: Thor”]

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif clearly follow Thor because they don’t think it’ll end up in Thor being banished for disobeying Odin’s orders even though they know he shouldn’t have done it.

This proves it was the first time Odin reacted as such to Thor’s disobedience.

But let’s dig more into the story.

Loki yes, caused the coronation to be delayed by having three Frost Giants sneak into the vault and attempt to steal the Casket.

His purpose was:

Loki: That was just a bit of fun, really. To ruin my brother’s big day. And to protect the realm from his idiotic rule for a while longer.

Loki has no reasons to lie to Laufey about this. The ‘a while longer’ clearly imply he didn’t expect it was permanent. If he had said ‘to have him banished forever’, it would have affected Laufey just the same, he wouldn’t have judged him worse.

Thor’s reaction to the invasion is entirely Thor’s.

Thor: The Jotuns must pay for what they’ve done! Odin: They have paid, with their lives. The Destroyer did its work, the Casket is safe, and all is well. Thor: All is Well? They broke into the weapons vault! If the Frost Giants had stolen even one of these relics... Odin: They didn’t. Thor: Well, I want to know why! Odin: I have a truce with Laufey, King of the Jotuns. Thor: He just broke your truce! They know you are vulnerable! Odin: What action would you take? Thor: March into Jotunheim as you once did. Teach them a lesson. Break their spirits so they’ll never dare try to cross our borders again. Odin: You’re thinking only as a warrior. Thor: This was an act of war! Odin: It was the act of but a few, doomed to fail. Thor: Look how far they got! Odin: We will find the breach in our defenses and it will be sealed. Thor: As King of Asgard.... Odin: But you’re not king! Not yet.

Loki doesn’t even talk here. Thor, despite Odin thinking the opposite, insists they should just attack Jotunheim until Odin reminds him he’s no king.

This is relevant because if the coronation has concluded and the Jotuns had found on their own the way to get into the Vault, Thor would have waged war against them. This is what he wants to do and discussing things with Odin doesn’t change his mind, Odin merely forces him to shut up with his ‘I’m the king’ card.

Originally he would leave slamming the door behind himself, a sign he was still upset. We don’t see this, but we see him he’s still upset enough he turns a table upside down.

Then he has a discussion with Loki.

Thor: It’s unwise to be in my company right now, Brother. This was to be my day of triumph. Loki: It’ll come. In time. Thor: What’s this? Loki: If it’s any consolation, I think you’re right. About the Frost Giants, about Laufey, about everything. If they found a way to penetrate Asgard’s defenses once, who’s to say they won’t try again? Next time with an army. Thor: Exactly. Loki: There’s nothing you can do without defying Father. No, no, no. I know that look. Thor: That’s the only way to ensure the safety of our borders. Loki: Thor, it’s madness.

It’s true, if Loki had revealed he had been who orchestrated the break of the Frost Giants instead than telling him he also thought they were a threat, Thor might have calmed down. But this is not excuse enough for how Thor disobeyed Odin’s order, and only proves Thor wasn’t fit to be king right there because he insisted on going to Jotunheim even though Loki also reminded him this means defying Odin.

This is a serious matter but the key of it is that Thor wanted doing it before and still wants to do it now. He just can’t control his own wish to fight the Jotuns even if his father told him no. He’s not thinking. He’s not a common warrior, he’s the man who’s meant to be king.

If it takes him so little to wage war, then he’s unworthy of being king.

And does Loki really want for him to go to Jotunheim?

Not in the slightest, he knows it’s madness, in fact, believing Thor can’t be stopped, he tries to have him tattled out to his father.

Fandral: Well, at least he’s only banished, not dead. Which is what we’d all be if that guard hadn’t told Odin where we’d gone. Volstagg: How did the guard even know? Loki: I told him. Fandral: What? Loki: I told him to go to Odin after we’d left. He should be flogged for taking so long. We should never have reached Jotunheim. Volstagg: You told the guard? Loki: I saved our lives. And Thor’s. I had no idea Father would banish him for what he did.

In a deleted scene we see that as the group is about to ride toward the Bifrost Loki leaves them for a moment to talk with a guard. He’s not lying when he says he warned the guard.

The novelization digs a lot in how Loki didn’t want them to reach Jotunheim and in how Odin KNEW Thor would just do something, so it’s entirely possible Thor would have acted even if Loki had disagreed with him or had told him nothing.

“Why did he always seem to get into trouble because of his older brother? Wasn’t he supposed to be the wiser one? Odin has expressly forbidden that they enter Jotunheim. Yet it wasn’t the first time Thor had done something reckless. And it wouldn’t be the first time Loki was powerless to stop him.” [“Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One: Thor”]

Loki had made a decision. True, he could not dictate his brother’s actions, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t continue to make plans of his own. As the others checked and double-checked that they had everything they would need for the journey to Jotunheim, Loki slipped away. When Loki rejoined the others, they were on their way to the Observatory. Hogun gave him a curious glance, but he ignored it. What he had done was none of their business. [“Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One: Thor”]

They were on their way to Jotunheim. And what would happen once they got there was not in the hands of fate, but in the hands of his impulsive brother and his warrior friends. Loki would not be able to manipulate events there. He had to trust that the arrangements he had made would be enough for them all to survive. [“Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One: Thor”]

Odin spent an uneasy night and felt no better in the morning. He had not seen Thor since their argument in the Vault. There had been shouting in the banquet hall as Thor told his friends what had happened, but Odin had heard nothing since. Frigga had tried to reassure him that Thor’s temper would ease and this would blow over, but Odin knew better. His son felt himself to be king already, whether the ceremony had been completed or not. He would take action. It was his nature. Odin hoped only that the action would not cause more problems than it solved. Just then, a guard rushed to him, and Odin’s misgivings were proved correct. Thor had taken his friends and journeyed into Jotunheim. Odin felt a deep well of fury rise up within him. Thor has deliberately disobeyed his orders. So, too, had Heimdall, who should not have let anyone pass on the Bisfrost – especially not a war party going to Jotunheim. “Tell the barn master to have Sleipnir and my battle gear to be readied immediately,” he ordered the guard. [“Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One: Thor”]

Once in Jotunheim Laufey notices Thor wants to be there to wage war. He even warns him that if he keeps this up he would unleash something terrible… and it’s not Thor but Loki who accepts Laufey’s offer for them to leave, Thor doesn’t accept it even if they’re outnumbered and risk being all killed because, as Laufey said, he craved for battle.

Laufey: Your father is a murderer and a thief! And why have you come here? To make peace? You long for battle. You crave it. You’re nothing but a boy trying to prove himself a man. Thor: Well, this "boy" has grown tired of your mockery. Loki: Thor, stop and think. Look around you, we’re outnumbered. Thor: Know your place, Brother. Laufey: You know not what your actions would unleash. I do. Go now, while I still allow it. Loki: We will accept your most gracious offer. Come on, Brother.

Ultimately, even if Laufey and Loki had almost persuaded Thor to leave, all it takes is a small provocation and Thor starts attacking Frost Giants.

Jotun: Run back home, little princess. [Thor stops in his tracks. Loki goes white. He knows what’s coming.] Loki: Damn. [In one quick move, Thor pulls Mjolnir, swings it, and KNOCKS the Jotun clear across the plaza. The Asgardians reluctantly draw their weapons, gather into a circle around Thor.]

Loki is clearly not happy with his brother’s actions, he didn’t want this. It’s Thor who decided to do this anyway and, during the battle, we see that Thor is in a great spirit as he destroys a Frost Giant after another for a total of 145 Frost Giants (you can see the dead count in the Youtube video “Thor (2011) Chris Hemsworth Kill Count”).

Through the battle first Sif and then Loki TWICE will urge Thor to leave, they’re outnumbered they’ll end up getting killed if they remain there and it gets no better when Fandral gets wounded.

When Odin shows up Thor is all for continuing the battle.

Thor: Father! We’ll finish them together!

This is not Loki dictating his moves. This is all Thor and ultimately it’s Thor who argues with his father once they’re back, which is the last straw for Odin.

If Thor had kept quiet or had acted sorry Odin might have still forgiven him. He does not.

Thor: Why did you bring us back? Odin: Do you realize what you’ve done? What you’ve started? Thor: I was protecting my home. Odin: You cannot even protect your friends! How can you hope to protect a kingdom? Get him to the healing room! Now! Thor: There won’t be a kingdom to protect if you’re afraid to act. The Jotuns must learn to fear me, just as they once feared you. Odin: That’s pride and vanity talking, not leadership. You’ve forgotten everything I taught you about a warrior’s patience. Thor: While you wait and be patient, the Nine Realms laugh at us. The old ways are done. You’d stand giving speeches while Asgard falls. Odin: You are a vain, greedy, cruel boy! Thor: And you are an old man and a fool! Odin: Yes. I was a fool to think you were ready.

This is no Loki needling Thor, this is all Thor, this discussing matching the one he had in the Vault with Odin previously.

And, credits when it’s due, at this point Loki tried to interject.

Loki: FATHER-- [Odin turns with a growl and gives Loki a look which stops him in his tracks.]

Only at this point Thor will be banished and while yes, the way Loki chose to interrupt the coronation clearly had upset Thor and his words didn’t manage to calm him down, it’s also clear that not only Loki didn’t want for them to go to Jotunheim and almost get killed but that it’s Thor’s reaction to the situation that causes his banishment and that situation could have happened regardless of Loki having a hand in it or not.

Invasions happens.

The difference between “Thor” and “Thor: The Dark World” in which another invasion takes place, is that although Thor is always trying to disobey to his father in both movies, in the first he did it because he wanted to go at war with the Jotuns, in the second he did it because he hoped to spare Asgard from a war.

In the deleted scene for “Thor: The Dark World” even Odin acknowledges Thor was right.

Odin: I thought you’d been blinded by passion but in truth you were the only one who could see and you... did what needed to be done

His motive for disobeying his father in “Thor: The Dark World” is the exact opposite than it was in “Thor”, but if he’d been the old Thor he would have had no qualms to drag all Asgard into a war.

So yes, Loki set up the situation, but if Thor ended up being banished it was solely for his own reaction to the situation, a situation that could have happened in other circumstances.

Would Loki coming clear with Odin lift Thor’s banishment?

No, of course not, because none of Loki’s actions are what moves Odin to decide for Thor’s banishment. What pushes him to decide for such a punishment are Thor’s reactions to the situation. If Loki had confessed the most this could cause was for him too to also be banished.

And, to Thor’s credits, he grew in his banishment and became a better person. This is important, it doesn’t deserve to be underscored.

Also, as said before, Loki couldn’t predict the punishment would have been banishment and he didn’t control Odin either.

Not only Loki actually tried to stop Odin, but even Frigga in a deleted scene begged Odin to reconsider and he refused.

So yes, Thor’s banishment ultimately turned out to be convenient for Loki, but he didn’t deliberately orchestrated it, he didn’t plan that far.

So really, let’s just Thor have his moment of personal growth in which he becomes a better person in his own movie, let Odin have his own agency in deciding if to punish his sons or not and just accept the whole trip to Jotunheim wasn’t something Loki wanted nor Thor’s banishment something he could predict.

In short simply accept the story as its authors wanted it to be.

I get not everyone might be aware of interviews and deleted scenes but really, I would say the movie made the whole thing obvious enough to be understood just by watching it.

#thor #loki #thor odinson #loki odinson #odin borson #kevin feige #kenneth branagh #don payne #mcu thor #mcu thor the dark world #laufey #jane foster #jotunheim #asgard #midgard #fandral #volstagg #frigga #9 worlds study

[oikadori]

A/N: I really liked this request!! I love Yamaguchi but I’m really insecure about writing for him?? so that’s why he isn’t on my characters list, but after this I might write for him too! Sorry for deleting the last one and then posting this again but I get really anxious when like, i have a plan and then it doesn’t go as I wanted so here it is...again BUT at 10pm east hour 😌

Sorry for the long wait ANON but here it is. Hope you like it!

Yamaguchi Tadashi x f!Reader

Summary: he is very subtle with his feelings but it’s really hard to hide them when his crush is Karasuno’s sweetheart, in the other hand, you are not familiar with the butterflies in your stomach

Genre: fluff, a little angst but mostly fluff

WC~2,3K

“Karasuno’s heartbreaker” that’s how they called you. You really didn’t want to sound mean to them, but the boys’ insistence bothered every fiber of your body. So, when you noticed that third-year walking in your direction, holding a cute bento-box, you ran.

“Oh, I’m so sorry”, the boy with freckles and a little aerial on his hair says as his cheeks tint red when he notices you. You, the sweetheart of Karasuno just bumped into his chest “Are you– “

Your tongue sticks out catching your breath as you look at the tall boy you just crashed against.

“It doesn’t matter–“ ,  you hear multiple steps turning around the corner and your eyes fanatically search for a spot to hide, noticing just now his black jacket, “Freckles! You are from the volleyball club, right?”

“Y-Yes”

“Let me hide in the gym. PLEASE. Only for ten minutes”

“I–Only people from the club can enter”

“Just five minutes, okay?” the way your eyes become big and puffy kills any resistance he had left. He nods nervously before walking to the gym’s door, followed closely by your figure.

You scan him curiously. ‘Is he a first year?’ He’s really tall for that, but you don’t remember seeing him in any of your classes. ‘Maybe he is in advanced classes?’

The moment you cross the doors, all stares are over you. Two second-years freeze in the spot while a tall blonde looks at you with confusion as his eyes slightly widen. You recognize two first years, Kageyama and Hinata, who turn bright red as they see you standing in the entrance with an embarrassed little smile.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just–

“IS THAT Y/N-san??”

“I think she is Ryu!! This is our lucky day!!”

“Yamguchi, since when are you friends with her?” the blonde says, not crossing eyes with you

“I’m not, but–“

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave as soon as I can”

“W-We can teach you play Y/N-san!”, Hinata comes at you, bouncing, making you take a few steps back, “Stay, Please!–”

Your feet slip in the steps and you lose your balance only for a fraction of second, but Yamaguchi’s hand is quick grabbing your forearm. His hold on you is gently and the moment he notices it, he releases you just as quick.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to t-touch you like that” you move away a little, still shocked by the loudness of the situation, shaking slightly your head.

“Thank you actually. I just need some sp–”

Before anyone else can approach you, a third-year girl moves in front of you, extending her arms protectively.

“Stay back, you’re scaring her”, just when you were about to thank her, you see behind your shoulder multiple boys approaching the gym, and without exchanging a word, she  pushes you further into the gym, and closes the door with a loud thud.

“Thank you so much…”

“Shimizu”

“I–sorry for coming in like that” you whisper, “Can I stay here until they leave, please?”, you gaze at the third-years, pleading.

“Please, please let her stay Daichi-san”

“Please! It’s Y/N L/N-san!”

They share a brief smile before welcoming you. So, in an attempt of making yourself useful, you start helping Kiyoko with her duties. Your eyes casually drift to the court and the moment you see them playing, your mouth opens wide.

“Amazing right?”

“I’ve never seen an actual match before…It’s– really impressive”, Kiyoko smiles at you before speaking again

“Have you joined any club activity?”

///

The cold air of the night shakes your hair as you close the gyms doors, wearing the volleyball club’s jacket. You wrap your arms around yourself at the coldness as you turn down Noya and Tanaka’s offer to carry your bags to walk you home.

“Thank you, but you both live, like, in the opposite side of the town”

As the boys leave with puppy eyes, you catch the sight of a little brown aerial turning around the corner.

“Freckles, are you going home?”

“Oh. Hi, Y/N”, he stops instantly and turns to you, “No, sorry. I’m gonna practice some more serves. You live in the house, crossing the street, right?

He turns red, replaying the words in his head as his eyes go blank.

“I-I’ve seen you walking to school a few times. Not that I watch you constantly–Sorry!”, you bit your lip holding back a chuckle, his shyness making your eyes soften.

“Can I go with you? I could go alone honestly but my parents would kill me if they saw me arriving home at this hour without company”

“ I’m gonna practice for at least one more hour, are you okay with that?” ‘An extra hour besides his regular training??!!’

“I kinda don’t have a choice, so yes”, he frowns as you reach for your back, placing it across your shoulder before zipping your jacket and giving a light nod to begin your walk.

He doesn’t ask you to let him carry your bag, he have seen how that question had bothered you at least 20 time before. So, he just walks beside you, in silence.

“Hey that’s not the street we were supposed to take” you stop, pointing at the opposite side, “That’s the one to Shimada’s-san store!”

“I know, I’m walking you home first”, you blink and a strange lump settles on your throat, “I can practice later”, a closed-eye smile crosses his face, it is amazing the way your face burns at the effortless cuteness of the first-year.

“But it’s really late already–“

“Oh, I stay until much later! It’s no problem really” ‘Why is he so damn sweet???’

“Fine. Whatever” your mumbles make Yamaguchi’s lips curve up, he looks at you dreamily, you are absolutely gorgeous. That silly nickname doesn’t equal everything you are, and it makes his heart drop to the ground.

Suddenly, you quicken your pace making him take long steps to match yours.

“Come on, Yamaguchi, I don’t want you to blame me for falling asleep in class tomorrow!”

Good thing you’re walking a few steps ahead of him, otherwise you would have seen clear as day his flushed cheeks shining under the moon.

///

That was the very only walk you had alone with Yamaguchi, but even though he was always around Tsuki, you promised yourself you would cope with the middle blocker, so you didn’t have to walk alone. From being just teammates, you started calling them friends.

The sun is falling on the horizon, a mix of orange and red painting the sky as Karasuno’s volleyball club left the gym where they just had a long practice match.

“Oi! The pretty manager! Wait!”

Your foot just landed on the step of the bus, when three boys from the other team come at you. Yamaguchi is behind you, waiting for you to step in when you turn back, sighing.

“Hey. I’m about to leave so I’m sorry–

“Aww, sweetheart, don’t be like this”, the boy eyes you from to toe to head, making Yamaguchi frown at him but then, when he looks at your face, your sweet smile turning into a dangerous grin, he just backs away, “I only want your phone number”

There is a little pause and Yamaguchi can feel his features relaxing, understanding you are in total control. He had watched you closely, not with obsessive stares but with subtle glances here and there, picking up your gestures and actions. Not noticing, how strong his crush on you was getting.

“Oh, but why on earth would I do that?”, you look so cute but there is nothing cute in the words you spit at them, it makes Yamaguchi gulp harshly. ‘Maybe you learnt too well from Tsuki’.

Noya and Tanaka were already running his sleeves up getting off the bus when they heard you, becoming statues.

“I mean, you don’t seem like the kind of guy I’ll date so- No. I’m tired and I want to go home” you say, swaying your hips as you enter the bus, “Are you coming Yamaguchi?”

“Y-Yeah!”

You drop your weight on an empty seat as Yamaguchi searches for another spot without luck. He looks at the seat next to you with nervousness, not wanting to bother you.

“You can sit here, you know? You can’t stay up the whole ride, can you?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable”

“Why would you?” you quirk an eyebrow at him, smiling as you see the soft redness spreading on his cheeks, “I’m messing with you, Tadashi! Just sit”

And as a soldier listening to a command, he sits.

He watches you as you take out your earbuds and plug them in, scrolling down your playlists.

“Did the album you were waiting come out?”, he points shyly his finger at your phone, making you blink as you turn to him

“I-Yes! How do you know I was waiting for it?”

“Uhm–I remember you said that last week”, you fight vigorously the red that threatens your cheeks with fake coughs, “I-I didn’t mean to overhear you, I swear!

“No-no. It’s not that. It’s just–guys don’t usually listen to me, not really anyways. It’s nice knowing someone does”

A comfortable silence settles in as you brush the butterflies in your stomach away before turning to him, eyes glistening with a little mishief.

“That guy was SO annoying!!”, you sigh, “I’m sure Noya and Tanaka would have eaten him alive” you giggle a little before staring at him expectantly for his reaction.

“I–“, his eyes run away from yours before mumbling softly, “I don’t think you needed someone to protect you, your presence itself is…overwhelming–In the best way possible!”

Tsuki turns his head to where you both are siting, sighing, when he sees two blushing messes sinking in the seats.

“I mean if he kept insisting, of course I would do–something!” you feel again that weird knot in the pit of your stomach and without thinking you unplug one of your earbuds.

“Want to listen with me?”

“yes”, Yamaguchi just feel as if he is the luckiest guy in the world and he wants to enjoy every minute of it, but playing five practice sets was tiring

His eyelids grow heavier and his head staggers from right to left as the ride continues, accidentally landing on your shoulder.

“Sorry! I didn’t meant to–“

“D-Don’t worry, I want to sleep too so–“

‘Are you asking to–?’

“You can rest on my shoulder–If you want” you nod shyly causing Yamaguchi to stare at you shocked, he had never seen you this timid.

His brain freezes as he feels the weight of your head falling on his right shoulder, breath almost stoping when you snuggle a little more to find the best position to finally sleep.

“Thank you, Tadashi”, the loudness of his heartbeat nearly doesn’t let him hear your soft whisper.

Finally, he lets his head cautiously fall on top of yours as if he was scared to mess a single strand of your hair but not before he had taken the sight of you. Your face looked almost angelical as the sunlight poured throght the window onto your features, your breath slowing down continuously.

Yamaguchi truly never had felt this lucky.

///

Since then, you realized you did have feelings for the pinch server and even though he showed a little smile and a light blush now and then, you didn’t know if he felt the same. It was unknown to you that his chest brimmed with nervousness and excitement every time he was in your presence.  

You’ve never felt this anxious before, and watching the cute, blushing exchanges between Yamaguchi and Yachi only made it worst. This time, Yachi almost passed away when a volleyball landed right next to her, Yamaguchi was quick getting the first-aid kit and sitting next to her. A bright red in both of their faces as he touched her hand, searching her pulse, making your eyes roll.

You hated going alone to the storage room, but you hated much more the ongoing scene in the gym.

Dust gets in your lungs, causing you to cough violently as you search for an old net in one of the shelves.

“Why nobody cleans this??”

“Y/N, do you need help?”

The moment you hear Yamaguchi’s voice you huff.

“No. I’m fine”

“But you can fall, Y/N. Let me reach that for you”

“Just let me do it!” you turn way too quickly to face him, losing your balance on the chair, falling forward.

Yamaguchi is fast grabbing your waist, but gravity had already pull you down by the time his hands secure you. Your chest crashes with his as your eyes close, his back landing with a loud thump over the wooden floor.

When you open your eyes again, your lips are on top of his. Yamaguchi’s eyes are still tightly shut, and you take the moment to feel his lips

‘Incredibly soft’.

You drift your stare from his lips to his face, his freckles almost disappearing for the shade of red that tints his cheeks. He is just so pretty!

“SORRY, Y/N!!” he moves his head away not giving you time to react, detaching his lips form yours.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I–Of course I did”

“Then why did you pull back–

“Y/N–

“No! Really, Tadashi, tell me. Just tell me you like Yachi, already!”, he blinks in confusion, his heartbeat hammers his ears as he feels numb by the words you’re about to say, “I like you Tadashi”

“But you’re out of my reach. I like you so much, but why would you–“, you grab his face with both of your hands, the urge to feel him, overwhelming you as you gaze at him overflowed by confidence

“Shut up and kiss me, Yamaguchi” you’re still on top of him and his hands find its way to your waist as you press him against you. The kiss is filled with your eagerness and soon is follow by Yamaguchi’s softness and tenderness, a little moan escapes his lips, making you smile.

The door opens for a second only to show Tsuki with disgust all over his face before he disappears again, causing you to break the kiss. His shy eyes look at you and pepper his beautiful freckles with kisses for reassurance.

“Don’t ever put yourself down in front of me Tadashi, ever”

A/N: I promise, now I’m gonna work in the event :3 Hopefully I can publish some of them in the next week, I have more math presentations xd

❀ Please reblog if you like it! ❀

♡Thanks for reading ♡

@kouffee-ink

↳ ∴ Master List ∴

#yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi x y/n #yamaguchi x you #yamaguchi scenario #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq fic #haikyuu fic #haikyuu scenarios #hq scenarios #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #fluff #yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu tadashi #tadashi yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi fluff #haikyuu!! #haikyuu yamaguchi #cutiekawa writing #hq requests #haikyuu requests

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I don’t get you, CJ. Why are you so quick to throw around the term “bad writing” when you don’t agree with something? Why not simply chalk it up to having different likes or dislikes than other people and move on?

Instead of deconstructing characters you don’t like, why not use your platform to empower other voices and highlight others with different tastes or opinions than you? Different people notice different things about the games. That’s one of the nice things about fandom.

You clearly love writing and analysis, but when you post answers to asks that hold different opinions than you’re own, you often go “you’re valid, but…” and launch into paragraphs upon paragraphs of your opposite opinion rather than truly exploring theirs.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I think your blog and analyses would be stronger if rather than dismissing plot points or characters as “bad writing” you step outside yourself and ask others what they see in that writing since it’s not connecting with you.

To be fair, anon, I don't get me either.

But I hear you, so if you'll allow me to do the thing where I launch into paragraphs upon paragraphs, let's talk about this.

I assume this might've come about because of the recent Violet talk here? Or maybe it's from older posts, I dunno, you didn't specify so I can only speculate and use the Violet posts as the main example here.

So here's the thing... deconstructing characters and storylines is something I enjoy doing. Hell, it's one of my favorite things to do. It doesn't matter if I like or dislike the character, or if I agree with plot directions, or if I think it's "good" or "bad" writing. That's how I work things out for myself, how I try to understand why I'm feeling the way I am about certain characters and story elements. I break apart the different aspects of these things and analyze them so that I can improve the content I create and try to avoid the same mistakes I've come across that I wanted to be better.

When it comes to me tossing around "bad writing", or just implying it, I'm not trying to say that "bad writing = trash, garbage, unenjoyable, anyone who likes this is a dingus, how could you?" it's more "I see flaws here and I want it to be better, I know it can be better and it frustrates me that I can't fix it," y'know?

And I'm fully aware that other people might not see it that way. With that basketball Violet post, I know that a lot of the Violet crowd are gonna read that and be like "no, I love the bell tower scene! It fits well with her character! What are you talking about?" and that's fine, I expect that. That post was me writing something that's been on my mind that I wanted to share, it wasn't me trying to scold anyone for liking it or trying to dismiss their feelings about it.

When it comes to differing opinions, especially on Violet, I've come to the conclusion that we just gotta agree to disagree. I've tried for years at this point to understand the appeal of Violet and gone looking for answers about her in hopes of being enlightened, and I have asked around.

In the past, I have made posts inquiring about what people see in Violet [Minerva, too] and why they prefer Violentine, and I got little to nothing in response. So I totally get where you're coming from when you say I should ask others what they see in the writing that I don't, but there's only so much I can do when no one is willing to answer me. So, I have to look around myself.

I've searched through several threads on reddit and none of them have been insightful, unsurprisingly.

That's what sparked my mini-rant about Louis before. On reddit, a lot of the answers on why people like Violet are either "she sided with Clementine, she's just really sweet deep down, she has more trauma, and lesbian," or "I like Violet more because Louis is a traitor," and what the hell am I supposed to get out of that, y'know? They're not really telling me anything, they're just looking to argue among themselves and I've had to throw in the towel on that one.

I've had better luck here, having read some truly insightful posts about Violet, her arc, and her relationship with Clementine. The conclusion I've reached it that the things people find appealing about her are things that I don't.

If you need an example, we'll use the aftermath of Marlon's murder when Violet turns on the group to defend AJ. Every post from the Violet crowd I've read that talks about that scene praises her for turning against her friends/family to defend AJ when they were gonna attack him, it shows what she's willing to do for them, that's something that drew them to her. Then there's me, who sees that as adding unnecessary aggression to the situation when none of them were going to attack AJ, they weren't looking at AJ, and none of this is helping. Neither of these interpretations are wrong.

Guess what I'm trying to get at is I'm one person, and having discussions takes more than one willing person.

Moving on, "when you post answers to asks that hold different opinions than you’re own, you often go “you’re valid, but…” and launch into paragraphs upon paragraphs of your opposite opinion rather than truly exploring theirs."

I've thought about this for a while, and maybe I do actually do this but don't realize it. I like to think that I'm engaging with the ideas that people send me, but I dunno, maybe I can be dismissive of things because I have a hard time being objective. That's something I've always struggled with, and I'm sorry if I ever came across as dismissive or didn't fully explore ideas, that's something I can definitely get better at.

As for "why not use your platform to empower other voices and highlight others with different tastes or opinions than you? Different people notice different things about the games. That’s one of the nice things about fandom."

I've done character nights, ship nights, season nights, etc. for about two years, give or take. That's what those nights were about. Usually, I'd put up a poll and we'd all vote on what we wanted to discuss, and then the floor was open for anyone to give their input, and we'd discuss.

I stopped doing them a little while ago because I was burnt out on themed nights. Remembering to make new polls, setting aside part of my weekends to spend hours answering asks the best I could, usually dealing with other projects on top of it all.... it may not seem like it, but god, those nights took a lot out of me. I loved doing it! Having those discussions were some of the best parts of running this blog, but now my new job has me working 40+ hours a week, four days with ten hour shifts and occasionally some overtime on the weekends, I just don't have it in me anymore to do it every single weekend. Not with how tired I am and with all the other projects I'm working on.

That's why I've started testing the waters with these shorter posts of me throwing out ideas or going on mini-rants. They're something simple I can do with no pressure, just me with an empty document getting whatever's on my mind out... and it helps that it feels like my last fuck has just flown away to the heavens to weave itself into the boat god's beard like as he sails among the clouds and stars..... so now I'm gonna talk about whatever I want and the fact that it's my opinion is implied.

I'm sorry if I'm coming off as a little defensive with this part, I tend to get that way whenever people tell me what I should or shouldn't do with my blog, even if they're just trying to be helpful and I don't believe you have any ill intent with your message. I've had this blog for three years now, and I've always had people telling me I shouldn't do character analyses, I should stay in my lane, just write fanfics and do character nights. I should answer more asks otherwise people will think I don't care. I shouldn't write headcanon posts, that's what other blogs do and I'll be taking content away from them. I shouldn't write that one au I've always wanted to because I should be working on [with you]. I shouldn't write anything but [with you.] I shouldn't talk about Violet because I'm a Louis blog.

And that's dumb. All of that is dumb! No one owns the concept of headcanon posts or character analyses! Just like how I don't own the concept of character nights!

Again, my last fuck is lost in Kenny's beard, I don't have it anymore. I'm going to write and analyze whatever I want, when I want, and the best I can do is promise to be better. My inbox is open, I'll try to answer and engage with you guys when I can, I'll keep doing these posts where I ramble about whatever topic is on my mind, and I shouldn't have to put a disclaimer of "This is all my opinion and it's okay if you disagree, I'm not trying to invalidate you" because that's implied.

Before I close out this long response, I do wanna add a thank you for the ask, I do appreciate the constructive criticism. Usually anons that have any problem with me after I talk about Violet will just call me a piece of shit and tell me to delete my blog. Maybe this helped you, maybe it didn't, either way thanks :)

#asks #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg violet

[phantomnostalgist]

An Interview with Peter Karrie

From “POTO: The Phantom of the Opera Magazine”, Millennium Edition (2000), published by Carrie Hernandez. (This btw is the greatest Phantom fan publication ever made, and if you ever see it on eBay you should snap it up. I don’t even have my copy because it’s with Paul, who conducted this interview with Peter in 1994.)

Enormous thanks to @panto-of-the-opera for typing this interview up for me!

Peter Karrie, interviewed by Paul Day Clemens: 

Since falling under the spell of “POTO” (the day the Original London Cast album (OLC) became available in the U.S.) I’ve seen many fine –  and a few brilliant – Eriks but only two performers have ever made me feel I was in the actual presence of the Phantom himself. One was Michael Crawford – yes, he really was that special  (and you can forget the OLC which is but the palest shadow of what he was like on stage!) – and the other is Peter Karrie.

Commanding, dangerous, elegant, chivalrous and heart rending with an unparalleled physicality and wealth of detail, Peter not only made the role his own, completely, but by some rare and strange alchemy, somehow managed to make me forget I was watching a performance at all.

Thrilled, hypnotized and deeply moved, it was not until visiting with Peter after the show that the full impact of his transformation hit me. How could this warm, funny, soft-spoken, down-to-earth guy possibly be the same man I was watching on stage not an hour before hand?

Therein lies the difference between craft – albeit of a rare excellence – and true inspiration. Dare I even say greatness?

Yeah, I dare. For Mr. Karrie’s Phantom is simply one of the greatest portrayals by an actor in the musical theatre that I’ve ever had the privilege of experiencing.

I had the great pleasure of interviewing Peter at length in December 1994 in Toronto as he was getting ready for the Far East tour of “POTO” and what follows here are never before published excerpts from the interview. – Paul Clemens

Paul Clemens: Do you find that the role of the Phantom makes enormous demands on your voice, in terms of the wear and tear of doing at night after night? If you had a sore throat, for instance, would you be able to get through the show?

Peter Karrie: Yeah.  You learn I guess. All professional singers in theatre have to cope with colds and sore throats. Otherwise you’ll be forever off ‘cause it’s a breeding ground of germs. And you develop your voice for stamina over a period of time where you’re doing eight shows a week. You have to. You have to survive it.... So, basically, yeah.

You take the angel [scene] for instance where [the Phantom is] absolutely broken. I’ve had very, very bad laryngitis and I’ve sung that and it sounded great! Simply because you’re breaking down in your voice is all kinds of scuffed up and cracky, you can enact it. But the show takes horrendous wear and tear on the body. It really does. You end up playing mind games with the role.

PC: That’s interesting. How so?

PK: Well, it’s such a powerfully written piece for the actual Phantom. You have to portray a person who’s schizoid, psychotic... and it all sounds very grand and technical. But the actual emotion of it can cut only come from the inside. And so you continue fighting with it.

 [Note from Christine posting this in 2021 - Erik isn’t actually schizoid or psychotic (not that either are “bad” things). I know this is pedantic of me to point out, but I pointed it out at the end of Ethan Freeman’s interview from the mid 90s so I’ll point it out here too.]

PC: I imagine you found a core within the character of identification, something you had an understanding of and could feel a great deal of sympathy toward.

PK: Yes. You have to put yourself through the gambit of it. You have to be the Phantom emotionally for that time, and then it comes out quite naturally. You don’t have to think about it.

PC: Do you find, after all the times you played the role – first in London and now in Toronto – that the emotions are still immediate for you?

PK: Oh, yeah. But as I say, there’s wear and tear. When the mind gets tired then you find you get into problems.

PC: How do you keep the role fresh?

PK: There are all types of hand holds all the way along, from the time you start ‘til the time you finish. I guess the majority of it is set in the rehearsal room where you rehearse at a certain level into a certain standard, and it becomes automatic. But each show will always be different because you have a different audience, different weather conditions, you have different musicians playing in the pit, you have different people you’re playing opposite. So you will always get a variation on the theme. And so that, coupled up with what you’ve put together in rehearsal so you get a fairly high standard of performance every night, merges together. And so you do get a different show every night. But, as I say, it’s a very wearing role. More so than Jean Valjean, where you’re virtually on stage for three and a half hours. But I find the Phantom far more draining.

PC: I can imagine. Whenever you’re on stage you’re at peak intensity and you run the emotional gamut. So that, combined with the vocal demands, must make for one walloping experience.

PK: Exactly.... That, coupled with the exposure. You’re so exposed on stage. Whenever the Phantom does appear, it’s either him on his own, or it’s him with Christine, and something powerful and moving is happening. He doesn’t appear with the chorus – barring the “Masquerade.”

PC: For that reason, a number of the actors who have played the role have complained about a sense of loneliness and isolation. I wondered if you felt that way about it?

 PK: No, I haven’t felt that. But I’ve always mingled with the rest of the cast and crew. I can’t abide all this keeping the door shut. So we open the door and play rock and roll music.

PC: Do you ever feel hampered by all the makeup involved?

PK: You get used to it. Totally. In fact, there are times when you forgotten you’ve got the mask on in the wig lady has to ask you for it. And you think ‘What? I’ve already given it to you!’

PC: That’s right – you wouldn’t be able to feel it, would you? Because it’s actually touching the appliances rather than your face.

PK: You feel it slightly. You know, if you first put it on you’d know it’s there. But after a while... But the wire band ‘round the head lets you know it’s there! And the edge of it catches you sometimes. But no – it becomes part of you. And as for the lip which is built up top and bottom ‘round your mouth, you get used to that as well.

PC: Has it ever come loose during a performance?

PK: Oh, God yeah! We’ve had some great moments where it’s been hanging off. That’s a bit gross. And the bald cap’s come loose in the back, so you do the Second Lair with one hand ‘rounds the back of your head holding your bald cap in place? [laughs] Yeah, you’ve got some good moments.

PC: How did you find the voice which is so distinctive?

PK: Well, that, once again came from the feeling inside. It was like once you had all that stuff on, and I discovered the walk, and kind of latched onto his intention, the voice just followed.

PC: Your interpretation of the line “You try my patience“ is unforgettable. So chilling. I was wondering how that evolved.

PK: Well, I felt that was the climax of the man. That, literally, for me, is where he turns ‘round and he’s at the actual peak of his hate, his frustration. I knew I had to find something which made that moment special. It was set to be special by the music and the way it was directed. That was the key to the man.

PC: It’s as if your voice came from some deep well – as if it bubbled up from some deep, dark place.

PK: That’s right! That’s exactly how I felt it. And then when Christine kisses him it’s like he can’t believe it. “I’ve won!” That euphoric feeling... “She can suffer this face! I think I’ve got her! I think, yes, she does love me!” And then, as he reaches out to touch her... a moment.... He’s taken in the scene of Raoul hanging as he went back to her... and then, all of a sudden, it struck a chord.... “Hang on....” And then the realization hits him: “She’s just doing it for him. She’s literally giving me her self to save him. She loves him... She can never love me the same as she loves him.” And it’s all a kind of mental game there. And you’ve only got split seconds to get the audience in on it, so he has to be kind of demonstrative in his actions.

PC: After the kiss, there was a moment where you sort of winced, pulling away from her twice like a wounded animal, your right arm almost becoming spastic... there were so many levels, all going simultaneously.

PK: He’s coming to terms. All these thoughts are rushing through his head and he’s off balance. Everything has shaken him and he’s lost his façade of “everything-under-control.”

PC: And the body is breaking down.

PK: That’s right. He’s been stripped of everything just by having to face himself – and face the truth. That one clear moment where he realizes this is wrong – this is all wrong – this is not how it should be.

PC: And when the phantom cries “GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!” – you built each word into a series of escalating crescendos which was tremendously effective, I thought. Very powerful.

PK: It’s all the process of him actually coming to terms with himself. It’s as you say – one after another, one after the other – then finally she’s gone and he’s left.... This is after she’s given him the ring and she’s gone... And he looks... and he sees the empty throne. And he knows that’s all his life is.

PC: That’s very moving. Do you ever find that the final words – “It’s over now the Music of the Night” – are difficult to get out with all the emotion you’re experiencing?

PK: I did at the beginning, yeah. Sometimes I used to get caught up in it, which is a dreadfully dangerous thing, ‘cause then everything tightens up and you get the proverbial lump in your throat.

PC: It’s sort of walking a bit of a tight rope, isn’t it?

PK: Yeah! [laughs] That’s right. And then there’s a moment where I can get space to subdue all that and concentrate on doing the last bit. That’s where he’s got the veil in his hand and she’s in the boat comin’ across the back singing with Raoul and I say “Christine I love you” very, very quietly, and very broken, and then I can take some breaths which calm it all down and get myself kind of poised for the last bit. ‘Cause that’s gotta be kind of the statement: “You alone can make my song take flight.” That is the statement of release. It’s like a rhetorical statement – you will always be the music of my life. And therefore I can’t change it.” It’s that feeling he’s got in his body. He bends over backwards. And then the final moment is where he turns around and wipes it clean. And he does it in a far stronger attitude than anything else he does... “It’s over now the Music of the Night.”

PC: I’ve read that you feel he’s starting a new life at that point.

PK: Yes! Yes... When I’m walking to the chair, I let the veil just drop behind, and I think to myself “It’s over. Now what else is there? There must be something else... It’s over.” And you do it with such a final flourish – the cape and everything – you’re back in control of yourself. You’ve had the osmosis. You’ve come out of the one period of your life which actually threatened to ruin you, and you’re now standing on the threshold of another one.

PC: Oh yes. It’s wonderful to hear what’s going through your mind as you’re doing the scene. And the impact of that final scene is tremendous. Do you have a favourite scene in the show?

PK: That would be it.  ‘Cause it’s only six minutes long, that Second Lair. And in that six minutes you literally travel from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. It’s a whole journey.

  MORE BELOW... Keep reading, it’s a long interview, with plenty more thoughts and content about Phantom, including some really funny classic mishaps.

PC: The show obviously touches a universal cord in many of its audience members, sometimes to the extent that a bracket (sizable) number of people see the show again and again. Men and women openly moved to tears by the play are common sight in Phantom’s audiences. And yet, paradoxically, a substantial number of critics have charged the show with having no heart.

PK: I think they’re being very unkind. There are some Phantoms – just as there are leading men and women in any show – who do not commit themselves quite as much as they should do.

PC: I’ve seen that it does make a difference in the overall impact of the show.

PK: It makes a big difference, yeah. ‘Cause eight times a week to commit yourself to it to it as it should be done is hard work. But once you get used to it and once you get into it you can’t do it any other way. At least I can’t. They said to me many times, like when you’re feeling rough or whatever, “Can you mark it a little bit? You know just take it easy. You don’t have to give one hundred percent.” But you see, it’s not a question of giving that. That’s just the way I do it. If I start altering that, I am altering a lot more than just singing a lift show. You’re altering a thought process which I can’t control. I wish I could mark it. It would be a lot bloody easier! But you can’t. You have to do it as you do it when you do it, and that’s it.

PC: I believe you hold the record for the most injuries sustained by any actor playing the role.

PK: Touch wood it’s never been completely death-defying! [laughs]

PC: Is it true that you asked if you could actually ride the chandelier down to the stage at the end of Act One?

PK: Yes. But I’m afraid the insurance people did not exactly share my enthusiasm for the idea.

PC: The stories about technical mishaps are legion. Can you relate some of the more memorable moments along those lines that you can recall?

PK: Well... there’s been so many of them now. There’re many, many boat stories. And the same thing happen to Colm, has happened to Michael, has happened to ‘em all. The boat has a life of its own. The monkey also has a life of its own. That can be very temperamental... I’ve had some excitement in the Angel, where people have tripped over wires and tipped it up while you’re inside it, and you’re hangin’ on for grim death... I fallen off the proscenium, yeah...

PC: [laughs] you say that so cavalierly.

 PK: [laughing] Cracked a couple of legs and so forth. And the Star-Trap, the same thing. I’ve fallen down that the wrong way... In London one day, the Star-Trap didn’t open at all. So you did the “Your chains are still mine – you will sing for me,” and threw the cape – I always threw the Cape up to make a trail as you go down the Star-Trap. So the trail came down and I hadn’t gone anywhere. In the cloak – they had a bigger cloak for the Masquerade then – and it just piles on top of me. And I couldn’t get it off because you’ve got the mask on. So it ended up with the two managers having to lead me off! [laughing] I mean, here you’ve got this dreadful creature saying [puts on a creepy voice] “Your chains are still mine – you will sing for me!” And then, all of a sudden, the managers are saying [whispers] “Come on! This way, this way!”

PC: [laughs] In one of the U.S. Touring Company performances, the Punjab lasso failed to work, and so Raoul just fell to the floor and lay there writhing as if he were in the grip of some supernatural force.

 PK: [laughs] many times things go wrong with a bloody lasso! One time I was over here in Toronto, Byron Nease [Raoul] all of a sudden acted like an invisible hand had gripped him ‘round the throat – the noose was nowhere, it was on the floor many miles away from him – but he’s going [Karrie makes some strangling sounds] and it was as though he was being thrown—forced backwards! And he got to the grill and his hands came outstretched and he was like held there by and invisible force...

PC: Yes – the “magnetic grill!“

PK: Yeah! And I just looked at him and I started laughing. it was like a three act play to get him to the back of this grill...! But I think the funniest thing is words. The things people say. Quite innovative and inventive. I remember when I was in the wings doing the “seal my fate tonight...” and sometimes your mind wanders. It’s that mind-game I mentioned about concentration. You have to keep focused all the time – blah blah blah. And so I’m saying “seal my fate tonight... I hate to have to cut the prisoner short...” Prisoner short? Prisoner short? And I thought, no, that can’t be right. And I’m thinking that while I continue singing... And the words have gone ‘cause I’m singing “but the ducks warring in...” And I said “ducks warring in??? – By now I’ve turned away from the monitor ‘cause I’m singing on an off-stage mike – and  I’m lookin’ at my dressers. And I’m waving to them as if to say “Tell me the words! What are the words??”  And now I’m singing “Let my destiny ride, ‘cause my music’s afire!” And I sang it as though I’d been singing those words all my life! Loud... And of course I’m falling around. And the conductor – I can see on the monitor – he’s laughing and waving! The baton had gone to hell!!

 PC: [laughing] That’s marvelous!

 PK: But what was the funniest thing what the poor people on stage! ‘Cause you had the managers and everybody else all walking ‘round in this trance – like, floaty, floaty choreography. And all of a sudden, as soon as I got to “ducks warring in” – by all accounts – they as if on cue, turned up stage; all of their backs to the audience! And they all walked to the back of the stage! And they’re all laughing and laughing, ‘cause it got it worse and worse. The more I was singin’ the wrong words the more they were laughing! ...And when I came on for my bows that night, all the course we’re going “Quack, quack!” ...So the next night I got changed I did my sound-check, and all of a sudden there’s a call over the tannoy for a meeting in the greenroom. And I went there, and I thought, well, somebody must be coming down to see us. And all of a sudden, over the gentle hubbub in the greenroom, I could hear on the tannoy my voice doing this “cut the prisoner short, but the ducks warring in...” and everybody started laughing. And then all of a sudden, the company manager showed up and presented me with a cassette – they record every show, you see – and the company had the words printed up and framed, and they presented it to me with the cassette. And that’s how I know the words so well!

PC: I’d love to hear that sometime!

PK: I learned from a very early age that if you’re gonna sing the wrong words, sing them as loud and convincingly as possible. And everyone in the building will think you’re right and everybody else is wrong.

PC: Of course. Because that if they haven’t seen the show before, they’re not going to know.

PK: That’s right. It’s so true, because I had people in that night for that magic moment, and they didn’t know anything was wrong at all.

 PC: [laughs] Be honest with me – are you tired of the music after all this time? For example if you’re in an elevator and you hear a song from Phantom do you just want to scream?

PK: No. I get out of the elevator. You do try to escape from it after doing eight shows a week... A number of times we’ll go into a restaurant ,] my wife Jane and myself, and we’ll sit there. And all of a sudden you’ll hear the music come on – Phantom. And you think, oh God! You don’t want to be reminded of it when you’re out enjoying yourself. But I’m not tired of the music when I’m performing it.

PC: You’re about to take Phantom to Singapore and Hong Kong. I understand that their audiences tend to be rather formal. I believe it is considered disrespectful to make too big a display of appreciation. That will be quite a change for you. How do you think you’re going to handle it?

PK: I did a satellite link up the other day with about forty reporters from the Far East, and the same questions came up then – “How are you going to cope with the way Singaporean and Hong Kong audiences show their appreciation?” And I told him as long as they enjoy the show, I don’t care... It’s quite funny actually, because when I started off working in Britain, I used to do clubs in the Northeast which is the hardest area prefer performer to work in. [laughs] The miners – it’s a big mining area – and they didn’t used to applaud. They threw ashtrays onto the stage.

PC: [laughing] Ashtrays?!

PK: That’s right. You do a Sunday lunchtime and they’d all be sitting reading the Sunday newspapers. You walk onto the stage and there’d just be a sea of newspapers. And at the end of the number, if they liked you they drop one hand onto the table, pick up the ashtray and throw it onto the stage as a mark of respect. Or are they’d just bang the table with one hand two or three times. But still, never, never, did they come out from behind the newspaper. Not unless the performer was of the female variety.

PC: [laughs] Your rock band – Peter and the Wolves – how long did that last?

PK: About four years, I think.

PC: Are there any records available?

PK: I doubt it. What records were made have probably long since been turned into ashtrays!

PC: To be thrown on stage by miners, no doubt! ...Well ,a final question: in Phantom, when you’re up in the Angel, do you ever feel a mad desire to plunge headfirst into the audience?

PK: No. Quite the opposite.

PC: Not a serious question, but I appreciate the answer nonetheless.

PK: The desire to jump off is never further from my mind.

PC: Sometimes I wonder the way you move around up there!

PK: [laughs] It does get a bit hairy up there sometimes! But it depends on which way it swings. If it swings left to right, you’re okay, but if it swings front to back then ya’ got trouble!

PC: This has been a delightful interview, Peter. Thank you.

PK: My pleasure.

-  Paul Clemens

#peter karrie #poto #phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #classic phantoms #phantom legends #musicals #musical theater fandom #musical theatre

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Broken Ribs- Prompt Fill

What if the Hunters broke Jon's ribs in America? In other words, Jon does not have fun on an airplane.

cws: nausea, injury, disassociation, hospital mention, fainting

I am still accepting bingo prompts, send me a prompt, a character, and let me know if you want a fic or a drawing (crossed out prompts are filled, starred ones are ones I have asks for)! Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​! Enjoy!

The air of the airport is oppressive.  Close and loud with the pain lancing through Jon’s chest.   Bustling people, ridiculously wide expanses of space all somehow abandoned and bustling at the same time.  

It’s hot.  He’s too hot.  

Shoulder straps of his bag digging into his back, bracing against the weight, crushing ribs that crunch sickeningly as he jogs on hole ridden legs, shoes with worn down soles skidding, only grasping purchase with the help of his cane.  

He can’t miss his next plane.  He can’t.  He needs to get back home… or rather the Institute.  He doesn’t really have a home anymore, does he?  Not his flat, certainly, and not with Georgie.  

Just one more flight.  A long one, but at least there will be no more running to catch planes, inconveniently at opposite ends of massive American airports.  

Airports are already weird, empty spaces where everything is big and loud and expensive and sleepy all at once.  Places where time has no meaning at all, and everyone is in both business dress and pajamas, sometimes at the same time.  But adding the whole American thing to it… is odd.  It’s not that it makes that much of a difference, every airport is actually very similar, but there is still something about the tang of ‘Rugged American Individualism’ that makes his skin crawl.  

Or maybe that’s the lack of sleep, and the lack of a proper shower in… too long.  He hates this.  He hates this.  He can’t stand the feeling of grit on his skin…. not since Prentiss, not since the circus.  Between traveling and being followed and kidnaped again and now traveling some more… he’s sweaty and grimy and he wants to tear his skin off, or at the very least scrub it raw.  Cut his nails to the quick, wash his hair a dozen times, scrub himself  again for an hour under as hot water as he can stand for as long as his useless legs will hold him up.  

He gets to his gate as the plane is boarding.  Barely in time.  

They take his cane at the front and he wants to cry.  Limping to his seat in the very back, vision getting spotty with pain.  He Really should have someone look at his ribs, they haven’t been right since the kidnapping.  Just the universe’s punching bag, isn’t he?   Kicked in the ribs by hunters.  He hadn't even Done anything.  (Well... he has now, but he hadn't at that point!

He just about collapses in his seat.  

Middle seat.  Shit.  

Christ he's dizzy.  Wouldn't be surprised if he's running a fever from the pain.  His body sending all sorts of signals of distress: thirsty, nauseous, tired, shaky, panicked that he needs something or he'll pass out or cry, or.... or... or.... he doesn't know.  

There is a tap on his shoulder.  Window seat passenger wants to get through.  Jon carefully eases himself to his feet.  Trying very hard not to wince, or puke, or pass out.  He limps his way up just far enough that Window Seat can get through.  Just.  

His ribs crunch as he sits again.  He tries to covertly wipe the thin sheet of sweat from his forehead.  A poor effort to detract from the attention his pallor and limp are surely getting him.  

He sits absolutely still.  His nose itches, but no... moving to scratch it would hurt too much.  He just... won't move.  The whole flight, ideally.  But surely his bladder and bad leg will have other ideas about that.  Jon sighs as shallowly as possible.  Breathing hurts.  

He drifts out of consciousness for a while.  Isle Seat arrives at some point.  The plane starts taxiing.  Jon doesn't remember the pieces, but they occur.  

He does notice the plane taking off.  The acceleration of the plane.  The stomach dropping climb.  And all Jon can think of is falling.  Aching chest tighter with panic.  

The smell of tea made too dark and with too much lemon.  What would have been a pleasant and soothing voice if he hadn't been plummeting with the acceleration of -9.81 meters per second per second without even the comfort of air resistance.  Oxygen moving by too fast to snag a breath.  He could have been falling for seconds, minutes, days, weeks, years, and it would have made no difference.  Hitting the ground would have even been a comfort at that point.  

He's gasping.  Chest crunching under the strain of his breathing through the vice grip of terror.  

He orders himself to take a very shallow, very measured breath.  The plane is leveling out, and he doesn't want to attract any more attention.  

Luckily he has always been good about deflecting attention.  Had a panic attack in the middle of a maths class in secondary school, and not a soul noticed.  Window Seat is staring out the window in fascination as the houses get ever smaller and are eaten up by the cloud cover.  Isle Seat is napping.  

Jon is very very very glad that he hasn't run out of dramamine yet or ...he would be a lot more not okay than he already is.  He is out of pain meds.  Unfortunately.  

Should have bought some in America.  You can get big bottles there.  Big bottles.  And God knows he needs them.  

He clasps his hands tightly and try to pull his breathing into a careful and shallow rhythm.  

He is drifting again when Window Seat lowers their armrest.  It strikes him on the way down.  Brushes him, really.  He bites down a yelp.  He curls protectively around his ribs, which causes them to crunch again.  That Really isn't healthy sounding.  Spots dance across his vision again.  

He isn't sure how much time passes before Window Seat makes to get up.  He almost doesn't have the energy to stand.  

He's seeing spots again, and he doesn't know how he will manage to let Window Seat back in.  

The seat in front of him has lowered their seat.  Jon, in the back row can't tilt his back.  Christ it hurts.  It all hurts.  The turbulence, the standing and sitting for Window Seat, the drinks cart making far too many rounds.  He doesn't get anything.  Can't stomach the snacks or the provided dinner, barely manages a couple sips from his own water bottle.  He knows his leg would thank him if he got up and moved around, but the thought of standing is too much.  The movie that he tried to watch was too grating and it just added to how Loud the plane is.  Almost as loud as his hammering heart and the aching of his chest.  He can't do it.  He can't do it.  He can't do it.  

He bites back a scream when Window Seat orders another drink.  The flight attendant jostling his ribs again, passing over the beverage.  This has to be the third or forth time.  How many drinks can one passenger need?  How many more before Window Seat will need the loo again, dragging Jon to his aching feet again?  

Jon bites back tears.  He was awoken by Window Seat again.  He'd apparently fallen asleep on Isle Seat.  ...Or maybe passed out.  Jon doesn't know.  He's too dizzy.  He doesn't look at Isle Seat.  He wants to apologize, but the thought of speaking sounds too painful.  He clings to control of his breathing.  Shallow breaths.  Slow, shallow breaths.  Don't make the ribs worse, don't make the pain worse.  

Jon doesn't remember letting Window Seat back in.  He possibly remembers standing?  Possibly remembers black spots eating through his vision?  And then he's face down on his grimy tray table.  A face full of the novel he picked up in the airport on his trip Before getting his ribs busted.  He's pretty sure he passed out and hand't fallen asleep, but he can't be certain.  

The flight attendant is shaking him awake, and Jon tries to hide the tears of pain that causes.  Yes, yes, he knows.  Tray tables needs to be folded away before they land.  

Getting off the plane is hard.  Window Seat is anxiously out of their seat and getting their luggage, meaning that Jon has to decide if he would rather sit back down, only to have to stand again when the way was finally clear, or he'd have to stand without his cane , bent at an awkward angle.  All after digging under his seat for his bag.  He thinks keeping it under his seat is easier on his ribs than getting it into and out of the overhead compartment... but he doesn't know.  He is fighting unconsciousness again.  

The plane is too hot.  Too loud.  His head hurts.  His ribs hurt.  Sick with pain, and shaky with hungry and dehydration.  He isn't sure that food wouldn't make him feel worse, however.  He skipped provided breakfast as well.  

At least he can't remember much of the flight.  Probably a blessing.  

He finally limps to the front of the plane.  He almost cries with relief when he is handed back his cane.  He's so tired.  So tired.  

At least he doesn't need to get any luggage.  All he has is is backpack and cane.  And a text from Elias saying Daisy is already there to pick him up.  

Right.  

Best not to keep her waiting.  

He doesn't think he can survive any more aggression.  Not for a while.  

He's too tired to even panic about being alone with her.  

She shakes him roughly when she spots him.  Demands to know why it took him so long, why he didn't text. All but shoves him into the car.  That's more than he can take.  He passes out.  Cane clattering to the pavement, head striking the wheel with the force of his momentum.  

When he comes to, he is being carried.   He hurts too badly to move, feels too sick to think.  He moans into the chest of whoever is carrying him.  Doesn't even have it in him to start in fear when he realizes the only one with biceps that big and fair is Daisy.  

They are going down a flight of stairs.  He wonders vaguely if she's going to kill him... but then realizes he might take that as a mercy right about now.  

Except she doesn't kill him.  She's taken him to the Archives.  He can hear Martin.  

"Daisy!  Jon!  Daisy, what did you do!  What did you do to him?"

Him... Jon?  He tries to ask what the fuss is about, but only manages another moan.  

"I didn't break him.  Your problem now."  She grunts that out, and plops Jon into Martin's lap.  At least he thinks... after he possibly blacks out again.  

Martin is patting his face.  Martin is patting his face.  "Hey, Jon?  Can you open your eyes for me?"  Jon tries.  And fails.  Eyelids too heavy.  "Jon, what's wrong?"

"Hurts," he whispers.  

"Hurts where?"  Martin is cupping his face.  Jon starts crying.  

He can't respond.  

"Jon can I take you to hospital?  Please?”

“Ribs..."

"Jon, please?"

Jon doesn't want to go to the hospital, he just wants to sleep.  Possibly just sleep right there and never move again.  Martin is warm and soft and smells nice and is quiet.  But he doesn't have energy to argue.  He makes a noncommittal sound.  "Stay?"

"Yeah, of course.  I'll call us a cab, yeah?  Get you checked out, then... you could come to mine, if you like?"  

Jon really doesn't have the energy to respond, so he just... gives it up and closes his eyes.  Letting himself drift and not worry about getting carried.  Maybe if he's lucky he'll either sleep or disassociate long enough that he doesn't have to actually think about the hospital.  Maybe he'll come back to himself on Martin's couch.  He even lets himself hope that maybe someone will take the initiative and clean him up first.  The idea of other hands on him would ordinarily be horrifying, but he's just too tired to care.  For now... he'll just sleep.  

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #fanficiton #cw nausea #cw fainting #cw hospital #cw injury #cw broken ribs #cane user jon #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #my writing #my words #fic #my art #whump

[kindness-ricochets]

ur thoughts on wylan and kaz? as characters or ur general hc's for them together after soc or anything else. just ur general thoughts on these characters in tandem.

In writing my response, I rambled for a bit and may and may not have actually answered your question... so while I hope this interests you and is what you meant, feel free to drop a line if I completely missed the mark!

They’re perfect opposites—by which I mean entirely different in all the ways they’re the same.

Wylan and Kaz share an almost absolute emptiness of coherent thought regarding themselves, Wylan emotionally and Kaz physically. Kaz always pushes himself too hard, he never sleeps, he’s basically made of coffee and spite. Wylan can overlook any level of mistreatment because he is so thoroughly conditioned to it, except that he genuinely believes this can be a form of love.

As a result, both deal with grievous personal wrongs using a loved one as a proxy.

Kaz has every reason to hate Pekka Rollins as the architect of his trauma and sometimes he does acknowledge this. He’ll have lines about Pekka taking everything from him. That he “had a lot of things”. It’s about Jordie, always. Avenging Jordie’s death is a perfectly valid motivator, but Kaz takes it to an extreme degree. (This is an interesting contrast between him and Inej, too. Inej recognizes that what was done to her was wrong; though deeply traumatized by it, she is able to recognize that she was mistreated, that she can seek revenge for herself and others like her.)

Wylan has every reason to hate his father. But he doesn’t. Not only doesn’t he, he blames himself every time. Jan wanted a real son, a proper heir, it’s Wylan’s fault; who else would love him enough to be honest with him? It’s only when he learns about Marya that Wylan can begin to process what his father truly is. Eight years of abuse culminating in attempted murder and public humiliation is one thing… not at all intended to downplay the horror of Marya’s situation, not at all! Just that it’s the only way Wylan is able to begin to process his feelings toward his father.

Maybe as an aspect of this, maybe as a coincidence to it, both are very conscious of the people are them—it’s just that Kaz’s consciousness is ruthlessly pragmatic while Wylan’s is sweet. Kaz is always aware of every player, how to use them, and how to manipulate them. Wylan is concerned—about Jesper losing his guns, about Nina catching cold in her skimpy outfit, about Alys who was sweet and silly and meant no harm to anyone. A perfect example is their conversation about Jesper.

[“]Who knows? Jesper may even win his revolvers back.” “I hope so,” said Wylan as they hopped onto a browboat crowded with tourists and headed south down the Stave. “You would.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Someone like Jesper wins two hands and starts to call it a streak. Eventually he loses, and that just leaves him hungrier for the next run of good luck. The house relies on it.” Then why make him walk into a gambling den?

Both have a personal connection to Jesper; Kaz does his closest approximation to loving him as a brother, while Wylan’s little crush is starting to feel like maybe something more. And they have opposite approaches to his addiction. Kaz uses it. Ruthlessly. (Granted, this is Kaz at his lowest, but it’s not especially different from how he treated Jesper in the beginning of Six of Crows.) Wylan wants to acknowledge his problem and help him avoid his addiction. He doesn’t want Jesper to have to suffer the loss of something important to him. This also shows in how Wylan and Kaz think about each other. Near the end of Six of Crows, Kaz essentially thinks that he doesn’t care about Wylan’s dyslexia because Wylan has other talents, other uses. Wylan thinks near the middle of Crooked Kingdom that he knows Kaz had other motives, but he still helped Wylan a lot, and is a friend. Kaz’s evaluations are weighed by use, Wylan’s by emotional impact.

Now I’m going to get nerdy. Even more so. When I did developmental psychology, my favorite was always Erikson, who essentially broke human development into stages of crisis and resolution. The 4th is “industry vs. inferiority”—basically, competence. And they resolve to extreme opposite ends of the spectrum. Kaz is industrious, competent and capable, determined from the moment he was reborn in that canal. He doesn’t stop. He makes plans and acts on them. Wylan feels inferior, and often struggles—even with things he knows how to do, he needs to be told to do them, or can’t quite put two and two together about the situation around him. (The fact that Wylan’s crisis comes to a more positive resolution, that he begins to develop competence, throughout Crooked Kingdom is… frankly, wonderful. Wylan wasn’t inherently bad at things. He just didn’t have support to grow.)

These opposite resolutions also relate to where they fall on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Kaz is left without the most basic things, physiological and safety needs, things like food, water, and shelter. He has to adapt and he has to adapt fast—because he’s alone. And if he’s going to survive, if he’s going to see Jordie given justice, he needs to get to work. Wylan has those needs met, placing him at the point of psychological needs—belongingness, love, esteem. Jan took care of Wylan’s basic needs, but dealt him blow after blow toward his psychological needs through isolation and emotional abuse. This highlights another difference: Kaz’s damage wasn’t dealt by someone who hated him. Pekka was just indifferent. The Barrel was full of lost children who would take a mouthful of bread from a weaker boy because they needed it to survive. It was indifference, for Kaz. But for Wylan, it was at best disdain, at worst hatred.

This sets them apart from the other Crows. Inej was 14 when she was taken by slavers. Jesper was around 16 when he was sent to Ketterdam for university. Nina was 16 or 17 when the Fjerdans took her captive. Matthias was I think 11 when he lost his family, which places him just on the cusp of two of Erikson’s stages, but the relevant resolution is to the fifth stage of identity vs. confusion—basically, “Who am I, and who can I become?” Those four developed competence in a more or less healthy way (purely in terms of competence since two were basically child soldiers, but still). Whereas Kaz overcompensates with relentlessness and Wylan freezes up. Both have this sort of jagged place inside them at exactly that point, that the others simply don’t have.

To me, this explains why Kaz and Wylan have the weakest balance between personal and professional lives. Kaz is always plotting, scheming. He has to learn to take a break from the monster and be the man. Wylan is locked up in his own mind. In his first narrated chapter, his first narrated page, he tells us that he feels out of place and doesn’t even know where to put his hands to look normal. Kaz is ready to take over the world while Wylan just wants to exist in his own little corner of it.

#six of crows #kaz brekker #wylan van eck

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 24) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±9400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 24: John’s presence at the horse show flips Dean’s world upside down, sending him a tailspin that could have serious consequences. Will Y/N and his friends be able to get through to him? Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: How Do You Get ‘Em Back - David Ramirez. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74​​​​, and @winchest09​​​​ for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​​​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand. Guys, this is going to be a heavy one. 9.3K of angst. If you are invested in this story, I suggest you’ll have the tissues ready before you start reading. Godspeed.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “Hello, son.”

     Only two words, but it’s more than Dean has heard his father say in a long while. The simple greeting lingers between them, like smog polluting the air, stealing his breath. A force of habit the cowboy assumed was long forgotten has him square his shoulders. After all, if there’s anything John taught him it's that men can’t be weak.

     What does he call him? Dad? Sir? The cowboy isn’t even sure and so he decides to keep his mouth closed. Instead, he measures the man before him. He is but a ghost of the parent Dean remembers - or at least idolized for so long. His boots are dusty and worn, the leather tearing at the creases. His clothes are dirty, stains on the white t-shirt he’s wearing under a camel jacket. He grew a beard, the tough hairs grey now. A black cowboy hat hides most of his slick hair, but they don’t conceal the dark circles under his father’s eyes, nor the tale of pain and sorrow that are still apparent. Nothing has changed, really. He just got older.

     Dean can feel his knees weaken as his breaths come out shaky, but he is able to stand his ground. He sets his jaw, gritting away the frustration that continues to build, his fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. But it’s more than just aggravation that courses through him; it’s joined with an overwhelming sense of panic and fear. He wants to run, far away from confrontations and the dull blade that is tearing open old wounds. What he would give to go back in time, just an hour or so, to prevent this moment. What he would give to be able to live the life he naively pictured, with his family, with Y/N. 

     Meanwhile, John watches him, eyes glossed over and wearing a small smile. “It’s good to see you.”      Still, Dean can’t speak. He just stares at his father. Even the gentle words falling from John’s chapped lips don’t lift the tension. Where Dean was thankful that the stables were empty just a few minutes ago, he now wishes it was swarming with people, because being cut out from the public eye is not a position the cowboy wants his girlfriend to be in. When John steps closer hesitatingly, Dean moves in front of her, one hand back to make sure she stays behind him. It’s instinct, a reaction that is fed by years of doing the same for Sammy. He did everything possible to protect his brother then, and now he has to do the same for her. Dean has to get her out of here. Now.

     The cowboy turns his head slightly, addressing Y/N without letting his old man out of his sight. “You should get Joplin warmed up. I’ll be right there.”      “Dean? Are you s--”      “Go,” he insists, wincing at the strict tone of his own voice. 

     John has halted and watches the exchange, his gaze following the cowgirl who moves to the box on her right and takes off the halter of a black horse inside the stable. Without a word but with concern and confusion evident in her eyes - which flick to his before she averts them quickly - she takes the Quarter by the reins and guides the mare out of the stable. When she’s out of earshot, Dean’s father returns his focus to his son.      “That your girlfriend?” he wonders.      “No,” the wrangler claims, wanting to keep her out of this at all costs. John doesn’t have to know about his relationships with her or with his friends. It will make them vulnerable to his influence. “She’s just an intern,” he adds.

     Believing the statement to be true, he dips his chin, nodding slightly, and Dean is able to exhale. At least he got Y/N out of harm’s way, now he just needs to somehow prepare himself to take the fire. It’s been a long time coming, but it’s time to face the faults of the past. He  allowed the family to fall apart on that dreadful night when the bond between the Winchesters was shattered to pieces. Dean destroyed it all.

     Carefully, his old man moves closer once more, and involuntarily the young cowboy steps back. He doesn’t want to. He intends to stand tall and hold position, but trepidation has him back up before he can stop himself. Apparently aware of the effect he has on Dean, John ceases his attempt to close the unbreachable gap between father and son. 

     Leaving a safe distance between them, he speaks again. “You’ve grown up to be quite the man, Dean. Your aunt and uncle must have taken good care of you.”      More than you’ve ever done, Dean thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say it out loud, too apprehensive for the reaction it might trigger. “They have.”     “Well, I’m glad,” John smiles at the ground. “I’m glad you landed on your feet. Do you know if Sammy did too?”

     Dean’s eyes fill to the brim before he can blink. He doesn’t know. The big brother who was supposed to look out for him, who was supposed to give everything to provide his younger sibling the safety and care that he deserved, doesn’t know. The question is a punch in the gut, a verification of the fact that he has failed Sam like he has failed so many others.      “I don’t,” he admits, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t seen him since.”

     John sighs, sniffles slightly and glances up, as if he’s mad for a prayer that has been left unanswered. The news does a number on the old guy, and suddenly Dean feels sorry for the man standing before him. His father was already lost when their mother died, and it only got worse when Sam disappeared. The agony it triggered has never left him, just like it never left his son. That loss will always remain, a piece of their heart cut away violently, leaving a hole that bleeds to this day. They both had to settle for a life without Mary and the youngest Winchester in it. As much as Dean wants to hate his father, he simply can’t. He wouldn’t want to wish that kind of torture upon anyone, let alone his dad. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes he has made.

     “I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped that maybe…” John pauses, shaking his head slightly. “I hoped you boys at least found your way back to each other.” 

     Dean swallows with difficulty, his bottom lashes barely clinging to the tears that threaten to roll down his face, but he manages to keep it together. He wishes the same, because life without his sibling feels incomplete. God, he misses Sam. And all that guilt, the sorrow, and the uncertainty of his well-being come rushing back to him in a magnitude that he can’t cope with.

     John watches his son again, a grown man now, yet still his boy. “I was wondering if maybe we could sit down someday. Have a drink or something, y’know? Try and put this all behind us?”

     Astonished, Dean stares at him. A part of him wants to mend this broken relationship, but John must be aware that rekindling the father-son bond will never undo all the trauma their family endured. There’s no going back to how things were, there is no returning to the time the Winchesters were happy. Mom died, and her death set them on a course of total ruination. And yet, Dean can’t answer. He can’t tell his father ‘no’.

     “John Winchester!”      Hasty footsteps echo between the stable walls, and when the conflicted cowboy glances past his father, he notices Bobby, moving closer with determined strides. A shuddering sigh of relief escapes Dean, and he’s glad the man opposite of him turns around to face his former brother-in-law so that he doesn’t witness the sign of weakness. With his uncle here, he instantly feels safer, knowing that even if this conversation develops into an argument, he has back-up now. 

     The elder man holds a fury in his eyes that is visible even in the shadows of the worn ball cap he always wears. “You better walk away,” he warns.      “We were just talkin’,” John assures, calmly.      “I don’t care if you are holding a family reunion,” Bobby sneers. “If you don’t leave right now, I will get my gun and blast your sorry ass so full of buckshot that you will never sit in a saddle again without scratching the leather.”

     Dean’s gaze bounces between his father and his uncle, weary of the clash that is about to kick off, as the two older men keep their eyes locked on each other, tension rising by the second. But then, against his expectations, John gives in to Bobby’s request and steps aside. He glances back at his son one last time, giving him a sad smile, before he breaks away and strolls off, shoulders slumped and defeat obvious.

     Collecting himself by taking a breath and blowing it out as slowly as he can, the younger cowboy makes eye contact with his uncle, who approaches him until he’s in arm’s reach. He puts his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, gently encouraging the troubled young man to look at him, hoping the touch will ground his nephew.      “You alright?” Bobby asks, the lines in his forehead deepening as he frowns.      Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and nods, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He can’t speak and has to break away from his uncle’s observant gaze. Bobby’s grip loosens; he’s aware that Dean isn’t ready to expose his true feelings about this unfortunate run-in.      “I’m gonna make sure he leaves the premises,” he assures.      With those words, the man - who once again has provided him safety - turns away to follow John, committed to matching action with his words if the guy doesn’t take his threat seriously. 

     Finally alone, the unsettled cowboy tries to inhale again, but his diaphragm seems to have risen to chest height. He can feel anxiety like he has never experienced before in his adult life get a grip on him, and whatever he tries, he can’t stop it. Afraid that his legs might give way, he takes a step to the side and holds on to one of the stable bars, but he still can’t breathe. Unable to hold the frontline in the battle he’s fighting with the overwhelming sense of distress, the tears break through his defense, spilling down his cheeks. Suddenly, he feels sick. He needs to get out, he needs fresh air.

��    Feeling the bile creeping up from deep inside him as he stumbles outside, he quickly turns the corner behind the tent before he heaves this morning’s partly digested breakfast into the grass. He throws up everything he has been holding, hoping the anguish will leave his body as well, but it doesn’t. When his stomach is empty, he is still left with the same misery.      “Fuck,” he chokes out, steadying himself against the steel corner pillar of the stable.      He wipes at his runny nose and his tears, sniffling. Get a hold of yourself, Dean, he lectures, you need to keep it together now. He straightens his back, looking down at the mess he made, closing his eyes for a second as he pulls in a careful breath. 

     “Dean?”      Recognizing his friend’s voice, the cowboy turns around. Benny stands behind him, worry in his clear blue eyes. Manning up and finding his footing again, Dean walks up to meet him. The Southerner hands him a bottle of water, and even though the receiver is thankful for having something to rinse his mouth with, he wishes it to be something a whole lot stronger.

     Taking a swig, he lets it wash away the sour taste before he spits it onto the ground. After another attempt he realizes that it’s no use and takes a careful sip this time, swallowing it down to put out the fire inside his chest. He glances at Benny, giving him a nod.      “I - I’m good,” he says, not just trying to convince his companion. “I’m good.”

     Knowing him well, his best friend doesn’t contradict him, even though it’s clear as day the statement is far from the truth. Dean’s eyes are bloodshot, his hand trembling when he moves the bottle to his mouth.      “You might wanna get to the warm-up,” Benny reminds him, handing him the headset.      The wrangler grimaces. “Shit, yeah. What time is it?”      “Two-thirty. Her starting time is in twenty-five minutes,” the Southerner says.      “I gotta get goin’,” Dean realizes after cursing again, moving past him to make his way to the arena. He holds up the water bottle as he jogs away. “Thanks.”

     Hoping his friend will understand that he’s thanking him for a lot more than just the drink, he hastens away. Right now, he has someone else who needs his support. Y/N has left the stables well over fifteen minutes ago, so he hopes she’s not nervous because of his late arrival. When he finally reaches the fence, he spots her amongst the other riders, warming up Joplin. He can tell she’s focused, or is she upset with him for not being on time? Finding it hard to read her from a distance, he sums it up to a mixture of both. Without disturbing the other competitors, he bends down to duck under the barrier, approaching her and her horse. But when she ignores him completely and continues to work the Quarter on a small circle, he hesitates. 

     “Y/N?” he calls out, not sure if she saw him from inside her bubble.      “What?” she snaps.      Taken aback by her reaction, he watches how she keeps circling, slowing down to a walk, but still not stopping to take the headset or even grant him a look.      “C’mon, let me help you,” he ushers, holding up the device for her.      But when she looks him in the eye, the coldness they behold frightens him. “Why do you even care?” she wonders. “I’m ‘just an intern’ anyway.”

     Like she just slapped him across the face, Dean stares at the cowgirl, the daggers she’s shooting at him with her powerful gaze stabbing him right in the heart. No no no, he thinks to himself as he closes his eyes. She wasn’t supposed to hear him say that to his father. He labeled her as an intern only to make sure John wouldn’t be able to get to Dean through his girlfriend. Of course he didn’t mean a word of it! He has to make her understand.      “Yankee, I’m sorry. I--”      “Forget it, Dean. I can handle myself,” she snarls. “Leave me alone.”

     With that, she moves away from her boyfriend, riding Joplin to the other side of the warm-up ring, as far from him as possible. Regretful, her trainer saunters back towards the fence, making his way out of the ring. When he straightens himself, he is met by Jo, who has her arms crossed in front of her chest as she narrows her eyes at her cousin. It’s clear as day that she’s about to rip him a new one as well.      “What did you do?” she demands to know, sternly.

     Dean looks at her, opening his mouth to answer, but unable to even utter a word. I fucked up, that’s what I did, he realizes. Like he has fucked up everything else that was ever good in his life. He doesn’t reply, though, and instead shakes his head, admitting his loss.      “Here.” Dean hands her the small device with a microphone attached to it, his fingers still trembling. “Help her if she needs assistance, alright?”      Perplexed, she watches him walk off. She at least expected a counter with a claim that he didn’t do anything wrong.      “You’re not gonna even watch her ride?” she asks before he’s too far gone.      “I’ll watch from the bleachers. I don’t wanna distract her,” he returns, sadly looking into her eyes before he carries on.

     Observing her cousin, an uneasy feeling settles in her stomach. The guilt is oozing from him in great amounts as he disappears in the crowd, his head hanging, the usual upbeat attitude nowhere to be found. What has gotten into him? Something must have happened, something bad. She can’t recall the last time she has seen him this troubled, not since… Jo’s eyes grow a little larger, her brows that were knitted together a moment ago now rising. Suddenly it dawns on her; she hasn’t seen him so thrown into disarray since he arrived at the ranch at fourteen years of age. She might have been only eight at the time, but those memories lingered. The sight of a kid so scared, so depressed, and so broken left an impression. Even as a little girl she knew he had been through hell, and by the looks of her cousin now, it seems like those dark days are catching up with him.

     Jo wants to go after the poor guy, but she knows she can’t abandon her best friend. When the steward calls out Y/N’s name, announcing she’s up next, she focuses on the rider again. Right now she is her main priority, because whatever happened between the intern and the wrangler, Jo knows she’s Dean’s priority too.

     “Ready?” she checks while quickly drying Joplin with a towel before they head towards the gate.      “Yeah, I am,” Y/N assures, pushing Dean from her thoughts.      “Remember that it’s fine to pick your first cow from the side of the herd, okay? Don’t set the bar too high. It’s your first time,” the blonde cowgirl offers.      “I know,” she assures, even though she’s not planning on playing it safe.

     The frustration has morphed into determination, a strong will to prove that she can manage just fine and that Bobby has every reason to dote on her. She much rather feels aggravated than insecure, so she allows the anger to flood the worry, shutting out her usual insecurity. She’s not going to let anyone down, especially not herself. 

     Concentrated, she goes to the gate, eye for the prize. Joplin already has her ears perked towards the cattle, knowing it’s game time. The clock starts to tick, and with confidence, she guides Joplin through the group of heifers, picking one dead in the middle to single out.

     She doesn’t know Dean is watching from the sidelines, and intense sadness filling his soul. She doesn’t know how proud he is when she makes two amazing cuts and she scores 73 points, outclassing him. She doesn’t know that he’s very much aware that his girl doesn’t need him anymore.

     Swift strokes brush the dirt out of Joplin’s dark coat. Dust particles dance in the air, illuminated by the orange rays of the setting sun that fall through the window of the stable. The mare allows the pampering, on hindleg resting on its toe, her head hanging low. Big, brown eyes are half closed, falling shut every once in a while. Sleep almost taking the normally feisty horse, the grooming having a relaxing effect on her. It’s almost as if she realizes she’s about to go on a new adventure, and she’s taking this moment to recharge after her run.

     Jody has matched Joplin with a great family. A sixteen-year-old girl will be riding her. The teenager and her parents came to meet her new horse right after the great performance, absolutely beaming, knowing this wonderful animal was now theirs. In about fifteen minutes, Joplin’s new owners will be here to take her to their farm in Alamo, New Mexico. The family promised to give the Quarter a forever home, and they showed Y/N pictures of the beautiful barn where the little dark horse is going to live. She’s going to a good place, but the farewell remains bittersweet.

     Once the Joplin is thoroughly cleaned, her rider takes her by the halter, raking her fingers through her mane. Y/N has never been good at saying goodbye, but it’s time now.      “Be good, okay?” she whispers, letting her hands gently run down the horse’s neck. “And don’t pin your ears back too much. People are gonna think you’re mean, but I know you’re a softy.”

     Joplin breathes out a sigh through her nose as if answering the person who has been her companion for the past month. It’s peculiar how fast a bond between human and animal can form. There has been a connection between them since the first time Y/N saddled her up for a trail. The thought of buying the beautiful Quarter herself has crossed the cowgirl’s mind ever since she learned Bobby planned to sell her, but no matter how difficult, this is also an aspect of the business that she needs to get used to. When she will finally have her own stables in a year's time, horses will come and go. She can’t keep every one of them, and so she needs to set Joplin free.

     Judging by the hollow sounds under the tent’s roof, the new owners are on their way. She can distinguish Jody’s voice, and Bobby’s too. A girl with long, brown hair and bright eyes peers over the stable door, already glancing at the beautiful horse lovingly.      “I bought her new transport boots,” she announces enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t want her to get hurt on the trailer. I also got a rug for when it gets a little colder during the night. Do you think she will like that?”      The teenager holds up a red, woolen rug, which matches the leg protection perfectly. Y/N chuckles at the sight. Joplin is going to get so spoiled.      “Those look amazing.” She reaches for one of the boots. “Here, let me help.”

     They strap on the protective wear together while Bobby, Jody, and the parents close the deal on the other side of the alleyway. After the money is counted, the ranch owner hands over the horse’s passport together with a certificate of ownership, shaking their hands once more. Y/N waits for her boss to look her way, wondering if he - as owner - should give Joplin away, but the old man gives her a friendly nod, telling her without words that she will have the honor.

     “Well, I guess this is it,” she says, fumbling with the leadrope. “She’s yours now.”      “Thank you,” the young cowgirl returns. “We will take good care of her. Promise.”      Not trusting her voice, the Y/N smiles warmly, but there isn’t a doubt in her mind that the family will. She doesn’t want to get emotional, it wouldn’t be professional after all. And so she does her very best to blink the mist from her eyes when she offers the leadrope, handing over Joplin to her new owner.

     The family who just gained an additional member exits the stables, heading to the trailers to start their journey home. The rider, the trader, and the rancher watch them leave, all with smiles on their faces. Everyone involved in this sale wins. Y/N can’t help it, though, and has to wipe a lonely tear from her cheek. Jody, who notices, wraps an arm around her shoulder, sheltering and comforting.      “Sorry,” the cowgirl excuses, a little embarrassed.      “Don’t be sorry, honey,” she dismisses sweetly. “Caring matters, especially when money comes into play. Someone who cares has far better judgment than someone who’s greedy. Remember that.”      Y/N smiles at the wise words, storing that piece of advice with all the others she has picked up along the way. 

     “Pretty good ride,” Bobby compliments his intern, in his own way trying to cheer her up. “Especially at your first cutting class.”      Jody glances aside at the ranch owner, not impressed with his choice of words, before pulling the cowgirl closer into a side hug. “Pretty good? Are you kidding me? You absolutely slayed it! If you’re not giving that girl a rider’s fee, I will.”      “Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Y/N objects.      “No, you deserve it,” he insists while leafing through the hundred dollar bills in a large envelope.      “Bobby, it’s okay. I am already super grateful for everything I’m learning and the experiences that I’m gaining. You have already given me a room and a stable, not to mention Ellen’s cooking. You really don’t have to pay me.” 

     Y/N shortly places her hand on her boss’s to seize his actions, wanting him to stop counting. The Gold Canyon Ranch might have made good money over the past three days, yet that doesn’t mean a financial disaster is avoided. She doesn’t want a share.      The old man holds her gaze and she can tell he’s wondering if either Dean or Jo have spilled a little too much information. Maybe it is because of that assumption that he settles and lets it go.     “At least lemme buy you a drink, huh?” he offers before he turns to his business partner. “I just have to round a few things up with Jody here.”      “Alright, see you in a bit,” Y/N returns.

     As the two business partners walk off to look for a private place where Bobby can give the woman who has made the sale possible her commissioner’s fee, the cowgirl slips into the tack room. She decides to start packing, since the crew presumingly will leave in a couple of hours. She has to keep busy, but Dean breaks into thoughts straight away. Sighing deeply, the cowgirl tries to wrap her head around her boyfriend’s reasoning. His words, which had her freeze to the ground for a second as she left him with his father, still ring in her ears. She’s just an intern. Why would he say such a thing? Why hadn’t he expressed that she is his girlfriend? Why did he never mention his father to her? And if he isn’t even able to talk to her about his family, what else is he hiding?

     Her train of thought is interrupted by Jo, who hastily rushes around the corner, her restless eyes searching the tack room before she checks the stables.      “Have you seen Dean?” she asks, concerned.      “No,” Y/N bitterly answers.      “Okay, enough.” Jo places her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg. “What the hell is going on with you two?”      “You tell me,” her friend responds coldly. “I was under the impression we were doing just fine until Dean wasn’t even able to introduce me. Clearly, I value our relationship more than he does.”

     “What are you talking about? He’s crazy about you,” the blonde cowgirl reminds her.      “Is he?” Y/N spins on her heels, finally looking her in the eye. “Because for someone who claims to care about me, he sure keeps an awful lot of secrets.”      Jo sighs. “Look, I know Dean isn’t the guy who’s very chatty about those kinds of things, but what makes you say that he doesn’t care?”      “Because he couldn’t even tell his family - who he failed to tell me about, by the way - that I’m his girlfriend! He told his father that I am just an int--”      “Whoa whoa, wait. His father?” Her best friend stares at her bug-eyed, needing a moment to process the information. “His father is here?!”      “Yeah, he showed up in the stables earlier to visit him, before I got on Joplin,” she confirms, somewhat confused by her shocked expression.      Jo steps towards the intern, grabbing both her shoulders and looking at her intensely. “Are you absolutely sure?”      Y/N shrugs a little, not understanding the earnesty. “He looked a lot like Dean, and he called him his son, so I’m assuming.”

     Her best friend just gapes at her, her cousin’s demeanor by the warm-up ring suddenly making much more sense. If he had an encounter with his father, his entire world just got turned upside down. Judging by how messed up he was when his only living parent left him to rot when he was still a child, she can only imagine what his return after all that time has set in motion.

     “We need to find Dean, now,” she says, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling her out of the tack room. “I’ll explain along the way.”      Unsettled, Y/N fastens her pace to jog next to the ranch owner’s daughter. “Jo, what’s going on?”      “Dean didn’t lie to you when he said that he hadn’t seen his family in a while. In fact, the two haven’t been in contact for fifteen years,” she explains as they exit the stables.

     Stunned by the revelation, the cowgirl next to her tries to make sense of it all. Fifteen years? Why would he have cut all ties with his dad for fifteen years? She can’t possibly imagine doing such a thing. Something horrible must have happened, something beyond comprehension.      “That still doesn’t explain why he described me as anything else but his girlfriend,” Y/N  brings up.      “Listen, you don’t know John. He is a manipulative son of a bitch who has played dirty mind games before. If Dean let on that you were just someone working at the ranch, he was trying to protect you.”      Y/N stops dead in her tracks, her hand which is still entwined with Jo’s causing her friend to spin around. “He w - what?” 

     “You need to talk to him,” her friend insists, dragging her into motion again. “My guess is that he found a place to be alone or he’s liquoring up. Either way, your man is spiraling out of control and he's gonna need his girl in order to get out of that vicious circle.”      “He - he won’t talk to me,” she stammers. “Not after how I was with him before my run. God, I can’t believe I was so self-absorbed. I thought he didn’t want me there because he was embarrassed of me, and you’re telling me he was making sure I was safe?”

     Jo wishes her companion wouldn’t put herself down like that, because the blonde cowgirl honestly gets why she reacted the way she did, being unaware of the family drama. She never thought the day would come, but here she is, defending her cousin’s honor.

     “Like I said; he’s crazy about you, Sis. He has never been like this with somebody else, so if there’s anyone who can through to him it’s you. He might try to--”      “- push me away, I know. That’s kind of his thing. I won’t let him,” Y/N promises.      Jo nods at that, glad she was able to convince her. “Good, now we just have to find him.”

     They arrive at the square where all the shops are situated, most of the stand holders packing their unsold products into cars and onto trailers. The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, the skies painted with red. There are a few people around, music coming from the tent further up where the after-party is in full swing. They meet Benny at the crossing, though, who is looking for his friend as well.      “Have you seen him?” Y/N asks the farrier, who has the same worried frown on his face as the girls.      “I tried the trailers, but no luck,” Benny says. “Stables?”      But she shakes her head. “We were just there.”

     The three glance aside when a group of young guys stumbles out of the tent, alternated colored beams in their wake, coming from the disco lights inside. The concern that has Jo’s intestines in knots worsens, because if Dean has hit the bar, reasoning with him is going to be problematic. 

     Y/N enters the tent, backed up by the other two members of the Gold Canyon Ranch. The band plays a happy, upbeat country song that contradicts the alarming anxiety and dread that is riding her nerves like a racetrack. Frantically, she looks around, trying to identify her boyfriend amongst the crowd. She doesn’t see him in the booths on her right, nor around the dancefloor which she and Dean owned two nights prior. Once she convinces him that she understands why he said those things and that he did nothing wrong, she can wrap her arms around him again, comfort him with a kiss and ask him for another dance. He can continue to be the wonderful, supportive boyfriend, making her laugh and making her smile, lifting her up and making her feel appreciated. They can go back to how things were.

     Trying to convince herself that everything is going to be fine, she moves through the mass of people towards the beer taps, when she stops suddenly, the wind being knocked from her lungs by the sight in front of her. At the end of the bar, she finds Dean. Not nursing a beer, sad and alone like she expected to find him, but in company of the same girl who was all over him on Friday night as well; Jamie. The cowboy, already intoxicated, leaning into her when the blonde whispers something in his ear, touching his arm as she does. A blind man would be able to see the chemistry, their conversation easy and carefree. The beautiful girl seated on the stool next to her boyfriend doesn’t show a sign of insecurity, her cheerful and confident personality matching Dean’s perfectly. She is everything Y/N isn’t.

     Unable to move, she watches the film play out before her, a story of fun and romance that will push her story with Dean to a tragic end. Tears begin to fill her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. A part of her hopes that he will turn around and see the devastation that his actions are causing, but he doesn’t, occupied by the gorgeous old flame which seems to have ignited something new. He doesn’t even see me, she realizes. He doesn’t see her, because once again it has been made perfectly clear she’s not worth holding on to. That has always been the case whenever it came to love, hasn’t it? So why on earth did she think that with Dean it was going to be any different? And just like that, she’s back to being invisible again. 

     Abruptly, Y/N turns around, desperately needing to get out of the buzzing atmosphere, but she collides with Jo the second she does.      “Woah! Where are you--” Jo steadies her friend when she almost falls over, holding her by her arms. Stunned, she stares into her eyes, noticing how they are glazed over with absolute heartbreak. “What’s going on?”

     But Y/N just shakes her head, moving past her hastily; she can’t stay here a second longer. The upset girl struggles towards the exit and ignores Benny, who watches her departure, perplexed. When he straightens himself again, he glances at Jo, as much confusion on his features as on hers. But when his focus locks on his buddy at the bar, his face falls.      “That son of a bitch,” he mutters, his remark triggering the blonde cowgirl before him to turn around as well.

     Jo’s jaw falls slack, observing as the two order another round of shots. She can’t believe what she’s seeing. She can’t believe she’s witnessing the man who she thought had made a change for the better, now making a turn for the worse. Frustration boils inside of the petite yet feisty woman, who is biting down hard on her bottom lip when she faces Benny again.      “You talk some sense into him before he really crosses the line,” she directs. “I’m gonna go after Y/N and see if I can repair the damage.”

     The broad-shouldered wrangler nods and watches Jo take off before he goes in the other direction. He pushes through the mass of people who are enjoying the last party of the event, all oblivious to the dramatic scene they are all a part of. He senses that the drama might become a whole lot worse if he doesn’t manage to pull Dean’s head off his ass.

     “What do you think you’re doin’, brother?” Benny claps his hand on his friend’s shoulder, interrupting him before he downs the shot waiting for him on the bar.      He scoffs. “What does it look like?”      “Seems to me you’re about to get a lil’ too friendly with a gal that ain’t yours,” the farrier says with a lowered voice, hoping it will enlighten him.      “We’re just having a drink,” Dean counters, annoyed, reaching for the glass in front of him, but Benny pushes it out of reach.      “Do you think that’s what Y/N saw too when she was here just now?”      Now he does get the cowboy’s attention, common sense finally pushing to the forefront. “She was here?” he questions, dumbfounded.      “Yep, and you’ve got somethin’ to fix. Let’s go,” Benny suggests, his large hand flat on his companion’s back calmly pushing him off the chair and onto his feet, both men giving Jamie a short nod before they leave the party.

     The fresh air slaps Dean in the face when he exits the tent, sobering him up enough to realize how bad he screwed up. He knew it was a horrible idea to do the one thing his dad always did when the pain got too much to bear; hit the alcohol and drown his sorrow. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? No matter how hard he fights, no matter how different he aspires to be, he will always be just like his father. The same ego-centric, selfish and spineless dick that breaks everything he touches. 

     When the two men stop in the middle of the square, Benny looks around, trying to find the girls. He doesn’t spot them sitting at any of the outside tables, nor by the restrooms.      “It don’t matter, I already fucked it up anyway,” Dean mutters when his friend glances between the market shops.      The farrier pauses his search and gazes at him superciliously through half-lidded eyes. “No disrespect, Chief, but what the hell is wrong with you?”      “You really want me to get started on that list? Because if so, we’re gonna be here for a while,” the wrangler returns snarky, avoiding his friend’s blue eyes, taking a few steps away with his hands on his hips.      “John showing up here is not y—”      “Don’t!” Dean interrupts with venom in his voice, spinning around and pointing a firm finger at Benny. “Don’t you dare bring up my father.”

     He’s trembling, the anger that ran in John’s blood for years now raging through his veins. Fire sets alight his insides, flames dancing in his pupils that glare at his comrade warningly. The Southerner takes a tentative step towards him, realizing he needs to get through to Dean, but has to handle the subject as carefully as possible.      “You are not him. I know this,” he speaks slow. “I know you love Y/N, too.”

     But Dean scoffs and shakes his head, not just denying that he does, but refusing to allow himself that kind of fulfillment. He was stupid to even think that he ever had a chance with her. It was just a matter of time before it all would come crashing down on him, ruining everything that he never deserved in the first place. He can’t love her, because if he does, she will fall victim to him, just like he did to his dad.

     “Listen, brother. You’re not seein’ straight right now, but you can still make this right,” Benny continues. “You care too much about her to just throw in the towel. Remember when she first came to the ranch? You were smitten the second she walked through those doors. You called dibs on her for a reason.”

     The cowboy’s shoulders rise as he inhales deeply and fall again when he blows out a breath. Of course he remembers. He remembers the first time he laid eyes on her over his poker cards, how she responded to him from across the saloon. He remembers how she gave him a run for his money when he came on too strong. He remembers how he panicked when she didn’t seem interested and the idea of her being with someone else had him strike an agreement with his best mate. He remembers the rides, their first kiss, the moment i--      “You called dibs on me?”

     Stunned by the unexpected voice, both men turn to where it came from. Benny gulps thickly when he notices Y/N stepping from under the awning of one of the food trucks, Jo in her shadow. Even in the dim glow from the overhanging strings of lightbulbs, he can see her eyes shimmer with despair.      “Y/N, it ain’t as bad as it s--”      But the cowgirl cuts him off immediately, shooting Benny a glare. “You can stop with the Southern smooth talk. I need to talk to Dean alone.”

     After exchanging looks over the course of several uncomfortable seconds, both Benny and Jo step aside, sauntering away from the couple. Once their friends have disappeared behind one of the trailers, Y/N returns her focus to her boyfriend again, her judgemental stare boring into his soul.      “I asked you a question,” she repeats, managing to prevent her voice from trembling. “Did you make some kind of pact with your buddies?”

     Dean doesn’t answer, but he sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. He lifts his eyes from the ground for a moment, glancing over before he averts them again. The woman standing a few feet away from him chuckles cynically; she knows enough.

     “So what, women are like cattle to you? This is a funny bet?”      The cowboy frustratingly shakes his head once. “You know it’s not.”      “Do I?!” Y/N returns, her tone sharper and higher than anticipated. “Because if this isn’t just a game, then why did you shove me aside for some blonde broad--”      “For fuck’s sake, we were just having a drink! We had this argument already!” Dean snaps, throwing his arms to the side.

     Taken aback by the hostility, Y/N stares at him. She has seen this anger before, but just a glimpse of it. It was when Ash lost his job and blamed them, in particular Dean, who took the acquisitions hard. That evening it was mostly guilt that triggered the cowboy to lash out to her and the second he realized he had upset her, he apologized. But now an apology doesn’t even seem to cross his mind that is clouded by darkness far greater. At this point, she’s not sure if she would be able to accept it anyway.

     “Well, it didn’t make much of a difference, now did it?” she returns after using the dreadful silence to recover.      “Apparently not,” Dean scoffs, shifting his unfocused gaze aside.      Mulling over the chain of events that have led to this moment, he swallows with difficulty, indignation taking off the heat for a bit, stopping it from boiling over. The calm gives Y/N enough courage to step closer.      “Dean, I know today was a whirlwind. I know - I’m aware that what happened in the stables earlier has sent you into a tailspin,” she sympathizes, careful not to mention his father after witnessing his outburst with Benny when he did, “but this isn’t you.”

     The disheartened guy before her huffs again, sardonic and hopeless. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Because it’s exactly who he is. This is who he was always destined to be. It’s how he was raised, it’s in his DNA. For two months he allowed himself to hope that maybe he could change, that maybe he could be better than the poor excuse of a man his father was. Y/N gave him that pipe dream, and even though it’s unreasonable to be upset with her for seeing the good in him, it’s amongst one of the many frustrations he’s experiencing. 

     “It is. This -” Dean points at himself, his upper lip twitching with disgust. “- this is who I am.”      She shakes her head, not ready to give up. “It’s not. You are kind, loving, your heart is--”      “You don’t know me!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair and trapping the light-brown locks between his fingers before he gestures wildly. “You think you do, but you don’t have a fucking clue! I haven’t told you anything about my life--”      “Then talk to me!” Y/N yells back as he turns away from her.      “I CAN’T!!” 

     Dean is facing her again, vexation flaring in his emerald green eyes. His heart beats so vigorously that it has his entire body pulsating. He takes her in, the beautiful young woman who he fell for, and he can see that her hope is fading. It pains him to hurt her, but he’s left with no choice. Being angry with him will make things easier, though. It will help her move on. If she is going to feel sorry for him, the pity would only prompt the caring girl to hold on and try to piece the shattered shards back together, and he can’t let that happen, simply because it’s useless. He refuses to take her down with him, to burden her with the same demons that he has to live with. He can’t do that to her, not to the one he loves. She’s way too good for him, so pure, so selfless and gentle. She’s everything he shouldn’t have, everything he isn’t worthy of. It’s better this way, it’s better to end it now. 

     “I can’t. Who you think I am, it’s not me. I’ve been lying to you, pretending. I can’t be the person you need me to be,” he claims, calmer now that he knows what he has to do.

     Y/N’s breathing picks up slightly, the air leaving her with a shudder each time. His words seem so definite already, but he can’t possibly believe that they are not right for each other, can he? All those moments they shared, all the affection he offered; that was real. That was him. Why can’t he see he’s exactly the man she needs?      “And what person is that?” she questions, hoping that whatever argument he fires back, she can turn around.

     Dean is quiet for a few seconds, thinking about a fitting answer. The profound fondness he feels for her begins to resurface and it’s tearing him apart. She needs to understand that the fairytale they have been living is a facade he can’t continue to maintain. Dreams never last forever, this is where they wake up.      “You need a guy who is honest, who you can trust. Look at us; I can’t even bring myself to tell you about my family, my past, or anything for that matter,” he reminds her.      “I knew what I was in for, Dean. I don’t expect you to spill every dark secret you think you have. You don’t have to spell out everything to be with me. We can work it out!” she argues desperately.      But the cowboy shakes his head, feeling the sorrow brim in his eyes. He wants her to be right so bad, but he knows he can’t live a lie.      “You don’t get it, okay? I’m a fucking mess. I did things that are unforgivable. I don’t have my shit together, but you do,” he says, a sad smile barely pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You know exactly where you wanna go in life, what you want to achieve.”      She steps closer, praying that if he lets her, she can eventually bridge the space between them.      “We can do that together,” she pleads with all the hope she has left.      “We can’t,” he returns, having gathered every bit of strength to look at her before he pronounces the words who he knows are the truth. “This isn’t gonna work.” 

     The tears that have gathered become too much even for a dam to withhold roll down her cheeks now. An already unbearable ache gets worse, her heart physically hurting and taking up so much space that Y/N feels like she can’t breathe. He can’t be doing this. He can’t pull the plug, not after all the epic moments they shared. Every warm look, every gentle touch, every loving kiss; every blissful memory. How can he possibly let go of that?      Refusal has her reach out to him, one last attempt to repair what is already broken. “Dean, stop… Why are you hurting me like this?” she cries.

     The cowboy drops his gaze while fighting the tears and the grief for what he’s losing. He wants to reach out too, take her hand in his, but he can’t cave now, he can’t be selfish. He has to do this for her.      “Because if I don’t, if I allow this to go any further, it’s gonna hurt a lot more.”      Dean fixates on anything but Y/N, no longer able to endure the sight of her falling apart in front of him. It’s dreadfully quiet as if the world stopped turning, and in a way, for the two individuals in the middle of the square, it just did.      “So - so what? This is it?” she stammers, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re breaking up with me?”      Biting his lip now, he focuses on what this decision will offer the woman at arm’s reach. An uncomplicated life in which she can pursue her dreams without having to worry about someone dragging her down. She can be free to do whatever she wishes and that’s all he can ask for. But in order to provide her with that opportunity, he has to let her go.      “Yeah. We’re over.”

     Like a bullet fired from a gun, the defining words rip through her chest and pierce her heart. The silence after the shot is deafening, canceling out the sounds of their surroundings. The streaming pathways of desolation gather at the end of her chin and drip down on the dry soil, enough to darken the dust. Her eyes are glued on him, though, but he doesn’t return her gaze. The conclusion of their relationship sinks in with every passing second, leaving her soul in ruins. It’s over. They are over. And there is nothing she can do to change the course of history.

     Unable to be in his presence, she forces her feet to move, turning away from the man she is no longer with. Dean can’t watch her leave, fixed on the dark earth where her tears fell just moments ago. From his peripheral vision, he notices Jo rushing by to go after her friend. Good, he thinks to himself, she’ll have someone to lean on. 

     After standing there for what feels like an hour, he takes a few hesitant steps towards one of the trailers, placing both hands flat on the metal, searching for something to ground him while he closes his eyes and lets his head hang. He can’t find it, though, not in the cold steel, not in his reasoning behind this brutal decision. The resentment builds again, and Dean pulls his right hand back, balls his fist, and almost puts a dent into the barrier before him. The action only confirms what he deep down knew to be true all along. All that rage, the self-hatred; he can’t bottle it up forever, so it’s for the best that Y/N will no longer be there to witness it. 

     Dean bends his elbows, his forearms now pressed against the iron and his forehead resting between his clenching fists, as he struggles to pull in a shaky breath. He feels like he’s imploding, the outer frame of his structure caving in on itself. His mouth falls open, his bottom lip trembling, then he allows the tears to cascade down his face. 

     He can sense Benny by his side, but Dean is too wrapped up in his own destruction to really acknowledge him. The comforting hand on his shoulder is a touch he barely registers, his body is already rebuilding its emotional walls, caging away his ability to feel and casting it in a permanent shadow. That’s where it will remain, encapsulated in darkness, cut out from the light that his girl had to give. Benny stays by his side, though, letting him know that he is there for his friend, as much as Jo is there for hers. 

     “Sis, wait,” the ranch owner’s daughter tries desperately, following the woman who just had her heart broken into the stables.      Her request remains unanswered, Y/N only stopping when she has reached Meadow’s box, her hands shaking while she tries to unlock the door. When she’s unable to, Jo quickly steps in and opens the gate, holding it for her companion. The bay horse has lifted her head, alerted by the commotion in the alley, but clearly recognizes the person stepping inside. She seems confused by her owner’s frail state of mind, though, pricked ears and concerned eyes taking in the situation. 

     The cowgirl folds an arm around Meadow’s neck while she buries her face in the Quarter’s brown coat, then she breaks. She breaks into a million segments, lost in the mixture of wood shavings and straw underneath their feet. The air is too thin to breathe and sobs wreck her entire form. 

     Never in her life has she felt so unwanted, purposeless, and vulnerable as she’s feeling now. Dean let her in and she trusted him to handle her with grace, yet the second she was comfortable with this new way of being, he pushed her out. She thought she knew the man she felt such a strong connection with. Yes, she realized very early on that it was going to be difficult to get through to him. The soldier with thick armor had stacked the barricades high, but that never intimidated her. After all, she had climbed mountains before. 

     She gave Dean her all, but in the end, it turns out it was useless. Y/N isn’t even sure what’s real and what’s not, if the cowboy has been wearing a mask all along, or just now turned into someone that he isn’t. It doesn’t matter, though. He has made himself perfectly clear; she is not the girl he wants to be with.

     The only one stopping her from collapsing is Meadow, who holds still like a statue, aware that if she moves, her owner will fall to the ground and might never be able to get up again. The horse senses exactly how to handle Y/N, the usually so spirited mare now timid and calm, picking up on the despairing energy. 

     Jo, who had silently slipped into the tack box to get a bottle of water and some tissues, comes back into the stable, tearing up at the sight of the two who have such a strong bond. The thousand-pound animal has curved her neck around her human, resting her large head on the cowgirl’s shoulder. As if trying to comfort her, Meadow twitches her lips, gently rubbing them against her owner’s back, her way of showing affection. People can be cruel sometimes, to others, to horses. Jo has witnessed it, and she knows Dean has too, which has ultimately led to his dreadful decision to cut Y/N loose, and by doing so he has hurt her in terrible ways himself. But at least the girl has her horse.

     Meadow, who is oblivious to the reason behind her owner’s sorrow, offers solace nonetheless. Quietly, she waits until the cries die down and the tears begin to dry, and even then she stays close to her person, having a better sense of direction than most humans do. Y/N’s four-legged friend is honest, treats her with kindness, and loves her unconditionally. It’s a special connection no man can ever steal away, yet many can learn from. This incredible being is her soul horse, a term Dean has taught her, the one who she thought was going to be her partner in life until he decided otherwise. He is right, though; it is over between them. She has lost Dean’s heart, but at the end of the day, no matter what happens, she will always have Meadow.

That’s that then. They are over...

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-five here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Dean angst #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean x Y/N #Dean x you #Cowboy!Dean #cowboy!dean au #Cowboy Dean x reader #Cowboy Dean AU #Cowboy Dean series #Cowboy!Dean series #Dean fluff #dean winchester angst #Supernatural AU #Supernatural reader insert #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Kate Huntington

[flclarchives]

Amusing Himself to Death, an Akadot.com interview with Kazuya Tsurumaki (director of FLCL and assistant director of Evangelion) from around December 2001. In the article, Tsurumaki explains a few things about Evangelion, his mentality behind FLCL as a whole, and the meaning of the name ‘FLCL’.

Full article text is under the cut, or read the article in its original form [here].

Kazuya Tsurumaki was a relatively little-known animator when Hideki Anno selected him to work as the assistant director on Neon Genesis Evangelion. For the TV series, which became a smash hit in Japan and one of the touchstones of the current surge of interest in anime in the US, Tsuramaki served as the main storyboard artist as well as assistant director, and when Studio Gainax began production on a trio of Evangelion films Tsurumaki got his first directorial assignment.

As he tells the story, Anno came to him after Eva and announced that he was out of ideas and that it was up to Tsurumaki to dream up the next project because, "you are next." Tsurumaki let his imagination run wild, but by the time he had written a script, Anno - despite his declaration that he had no stories left to tell - was already several steps ahead of Tsurumaki and in pre-production for his next series, Kareshi Kanojo no Jijo, leaving Tsurumaki a chance to have complete and unsupervised creative control of his own series FLCL.

FLCL, referred to as "Fooly Cooly" (or "Furikuri" by its American fans), is unlike any anime series to come before it. Wild, maniacally fast-paced physical comedy; exaggerated, exuberant animation alternately pushing towards surrealist- as when mecha exuviate from a bump on young Naota's head - and deconstructionist - as when the animation literally stops and the story is told by a camera bouncing across a page of black and white manga art panels; and obsessively, often irrelevantly, referential to obscure Tokyo-pop bands and anime insider trivia; FLCL was hyperkinetic and disorienting, yet mesmerizing, almost transgressive, and undeniably original. It inspired enthusiastic admiration for Tsurumaki as a creator, even amongst the perhaps 90% of the series' fans who were absolutely baffled by much of it. One is tempted to refer to it as announcing the arrival of full blown post-modernism in animation, or perhaps as the Exploding Plastic Inevitable of the anime industry.

When Tsurumaki visited Baltimore to speak to American fans at the recent Otokon Convention, predictably, many of the questions were along the lines of, "Hi, I really loved FLCL [or Evangelion], but could you please explain this part of it to me?"

Tsurumaki answered all questions genially with a self-deprecating and often mischievous sense of humor. For example:

Why does Haruko hit Naota over the head with her guitar?

Kazuya Tsurumaki: Naota is trying to be a normal adult and she belts him to make him rethink his decision.

Why does Evangelion end violently, and somewhat unhappily?

KT: People are accustomed to sweet, contrived, happy endings. We wanted to broaden the genre, and show people an ugly, unhappy ending.

Why is the character of Shinji portrayed as he is?

KT: Shinji was modeled on director Hideki Anno. Shinji was summoned by his father to ride a robot, Anno was summoned by Gainax to direct an animation. Working on Nadia [Nadia: Secret of the Blue Water, one of Anno and Tsurumaki's earlier projects] he wondered if he still wanted to work like this. He thought that working on Eva could help him to change.

Is there any particular reason why so many Gainax series feature very anxious, unhappy young male protagonists with no parents?

KT: Yes, the directors at Gainax are all basically weak, insecure, bitter, young men. So are many anime fans. Many Japanese families, including my own, have workaholic fathers whose kids never get to see them. That may influence the shows I create.

Could you explain the mecha bursting from Naota's head in FLCL?

KT: I use a giant robot being created from the brain to represent FLCL coming from my brain. The robot ravages the town around him, and the more intensely I worked on FLCL the more I destroyed the peaceful atmosphere of Gainax.

Why doesn't FLCL follow one story?

KT: In the third episode Ninamori was almost a main character, a kid who, like Naota, has to act like an adult.  After episode three her problem was solved so we wrote her out.  She has many fans in Japan and we got plenty of letters about that decision.  For FLCL I wanted to portray the entire history of Gainax, and each episode has symbols of what happened behind the scenes on each of Gainax's shows.   Episode one has many elements of Karekano; episode two, a lot of Evangelion references, etc.

Where does the title FLCL come from?

KT: I got the idea from a CD in a music magazine with the title Fooly-Cooly.  I like the idea of titles that are shortened long English words. Pokémon for "Pocket-Monsters" for instance, and an old J-pop band called Brilliant Green that was known as "Brilly-Grilly."

Is there any reason why the extra scenes added to Eva for the video release were cut in the first place?  Did you think the story would mean something different with them intact?

KT: The scenes that were added to Eva for its video release aren't that important.  We added them as an apology for taking so long to get the video out.  Maybe they'll help people understand things, because the episodes were done under tough deadlines the first time around.

Can you explain the symbolism of the cross in Evangelion?

KT: There are a lot of giant robot shows in Japan, and we did want our story to have a religious theme to help distinguish us.   Because Christianity is an uncommon religion in Japan we thought it would be mysterious.  None of the staff who worked on Eva are Christians.  There is no actual Christian meaning to the show, we just thought the visual symbols of Christianity look cool.  If we had known the show would get distributed in the US and Europe we might have rethought that choice.

After the panel, Mr. Tsurumaki sat down to speak with Akadot.

Do you enjoy confusing people?

KT: I have a twisted sense of humor.  I'm an Omanu Jacku, a contrarian.  [Writer's note- Omanu Jacku is a folk character a bit like Puck, a mischief maker]

What do you see differently now that you're working as a director rather than only as a visual artist?

KT: As an animator I have only the art; as a director story is really big.  I still feel as an animator and I often have trouble putting the needs of the story first.

Did you intend from the start for FLCL to be as bizarre as it wound up?

KT: From the very start I wanted a different flavor.  To achieve this I had to re-train the animators to be as stylized as I wanted them to be because I wasn't drawing it.  I knew that not everyone would get it.  I deliberately selected very obscure J-pop culture and anime sub-culture jokes and references.  Because Eva was so somber I always intended to make FLCL outrageous and wacky.

Why the choice to break out of conventional animation and use manga pages? Was it at all a response to how many anime are using computers to achieve smoother and more realistic visuals?  Were you trying to go the opposite direction?

KT: I like manga, not only to read, but the visuals.  The pen drawings, the frame breakdowns and layouts . . . This is the first time I have used digital animation, and those bouncing manga shots wouldn't have been possible with cel animation.   Personally I'm not interested at all in using computers for realistic animation.  I'm impressed by it sometimes, but I'm interested in using computers to do what was once impossible, not to do smoother versions of what has already been done.  I want to be less realistic.

Has using digital animation techniques changed the way you work, or the way you feel about your work when you see it?  Does it still feel like it's yours if a computer did much of it?

KT: Before I got into digital animation I saw other shows that were using it and I felt that there was no feeling, it was empty.   As an animator, there's a sense of release when you draw a cel.  There's something there.  Working on FLCL, though, I learned that computers can do more, and, most of all, that they allow room for trial and error and revising, more freedom to experiment.  That is why I now feel that cel art cannot win against computers.  For actual animation everything is still drawn on paper.  That work hasn't changed.  It's the other stuff, the touchups, and coloring.  If we didn't use paper, maybe the feeling would change.

Earlier today you said that you were trying to broaden the genre by giving Eva a sad ending.  Does the sameness of much of today's anime bore you?

KT: First of all we didn't use a sad ending to annoy fans.  When they're upset, that really bothers us.  Personally, I think a happy ending is fine, but not if it is achieved too easily.  That's no good.

For all the fans that are confused at all, if you had to define in one sentence what FLCL is about, what would you say?

KT: FLCL is the story of boy meets girl.  For me it is also about how it's ok to feel stupid.  With Evangelion there was this feeling that you had better be smart to understand it, or even just to work on it. With FLCL I want to say that it's okay to feel stupid.

Even though it may be strange to us, do you have in your head a logic behind it?  Are you trying to portray a story that follows the logic of dreams, or is it supposed to make sense symbolically?

KT: I'd like you to think of FLCL as imagination being made physical and tangible, just as it is for me when I take whatever is in my head and draw it.

So what are you working on next?

KT: Right now Gainax has told me that they'll support anything I choose to create, but I'm having trouble coming up with any ideas.

Why is that?

KT: Releasing titles for market, I know I have to make something to please fans, but I'm not a mature enough person to accept that fact.  If I'm not amusing myself I can't do it.  I feel bad that fans have to put up with such behavior from me.  I apologize. 

#FLCL #Evangelion #archive.org #Kazuya Tsurumaki #also i can upload the text as a PDF if anyone would like it! #things like these articles make me realize the people who say FLCL is too confusing aren't artists. because as an artist this is cathartic- #-to read. i'd kill to be able to make something as high-strung stylized and full of weird references as FLCL. #and with GAINAX too? holy shit #interview #article

[moral-turpitudes]

Silver Linings: Part 3

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts 

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Swearing.

Word Count: 1,931

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Adopted Daughter!Reader + Michael Gray x Alfie’s Adopted Daughter!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | *Part 4* | Part 5

As Y/N put the last of her furniture in the living room, she heard the new phone ring. Running over and picking it up with an exhausted hello.

“I know we got off on a bad foot love, but I’m gonna need you to be careful. That blinder Michael, ya know the one I’ve been meeting for the last month? He’s been shot.” Alfie said, nonchalantly.

“No....” She said, tears welling up in her eyes as she sniffled lightly. The feeling of a lump forming in her throat as she tried to swallow the news.

“Are you crying? You don’t know the lad anyways right? He’s in surgery that’s all I know. Got shot by that damn mafia who’s been causing us problems.” He said.

“I do know him....Where is he? Where’s the rest of Mr. Shelby’s men?” She asked, frantically wiping the tears away.

“Fuck. Y/N is he the one? Is he the one you’ve been with? You could’ve been killed!” He said angrily.

“I know dad, please just tell me where he is....I-I know you’re upset and I know the blinders will be too. I should’ve never came out from the back when they stopped by but god damn it I was trying to do my job and trying to live for myself for once. If you had a shred of decency you’d understand that...now where is he?!” She yelled back, her voice echoing through her rather empty apartment.

“At that hospital in London. I’ll take ya.” He said, she could hear the commotion in the background of his shop as he spoke.

“Okay. Please don’t make this worse than it is. You have a way of doing that.” She said harshly, hanging up the phone and grabbing another bottle of rum she’d stolen from work.

She took a long swig and sat in one of the chairs she’d bought, thinking about the man she just started seeing, hoping he’d be alright. The thoughts of all the worst-case scenarios running through her mind as she downed another sip, the large clock on the wall near her reading nearly 5pm. Her nerves were frazzled from all the moving and the waiting. Her eyes flickering from the phone to the clock every 5 minutes. Yet a loud honking noise soon ripped her from her thoughts as she saw it was her father. She knew he’d find her address eventually. Not knowing he’d find it that quick, unless he threatened her poor driver.

Despite their arguing, Alfie still opened the door for her to get in, silently driving them through the busy streets as she gazed out the window. Tears slowly falling down her cheeks as she watched the sky grow darker as they drove on.

“Look, I don’t know what will happen after they meet ya but make sure you have your gun on ya. You have it don’t you?” He asked after a long silence, his words the opposite of comforting.

“Always, dad.” She said, wiping her tears away.

“If they don’t decide to kill us for hiding ya all these years, they’ll probably try to because you were a risk to that Michael fellow. Beautiful girl such as yourself is always a risk.” He said.

“That why I don’t have a mum? You’re too scared of taking risks?” She remarked, not really caring anymore if the blinders knew of her or not.

“Nah, I think you know well enough that I’ve got a mean mug no one would take two glances at. Besides, me last love got killed. But life goes on I suppose.” He said, looking on as his lit cigar slowly burnt away.

“You’ll find someone. Maybe it’ll be a blinder lady.” She said with a smirk, finally feeling like they were back to their normal banter for a moment.

“If I do ever fall for one of them, do me a favor and dig my hole will ya?” He asked, chuckling.

“Sure will.” She said, her smile slowly fading as they neared the hospital.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want it to make you angry...and didn’t want you to fight them.” She said.

“Love, we fight no matter the situation. If there’s ever a day I’m not yelling at Thomas fucking Shelby then assume that’s the day the world is ending.” He said, getting out of the car with his cane in hand.

As they walked in, they heard Esme crying and running out of the morgue, the blood still fresh on her hands as she ran out past them.

Thomas came out with a lit cigarette in his mouth, an angry-yet saddened look to his eyes.

“Alfie...why are you here aye? Just lost John. Now I’m waiting to hear if I lost Michael.” He said, not taking much notice to the younger girl near her large-framed father.

“I came here to check on the lad. Actually, she came here to check on him.” He said, motioning towards her.

Y/N nervously looked at the man, his blue eyes piercing hers as he examined her like a wolf stalking it’s prey.

“Aye well who are you Ms.? Some whore he fucked?” He asked bluntly.

“Well, actually mate...that’s my fucking daughter. Her names Y/N. Now...she’s actually a lovely woman and she wanted to be here for him cuz they’ve been dating for uh how long?” He asked turning to her.

“About a month so far.” She said crossing her arms and staring the rude gang leader down.

“As she said, about a month. They’ve been dating right under both our fucking noses now what do you think of that aye? Young love never ceases to amaze me I tell ya.” He said, a slightly crazed look in his eye as he towered over Thomas.

“How long have you had a daughter Alfie? You weren’t going to tell me aye?” He asked.

“My brain’s not what is used to be since ya shot me in the face, but uh I’d say ‘round 5 years now. Adopted her from that orphanage near Camden Town. What...you don’t think I’m good at hiding stuff? I’ve had her working in the shops and all that for years and ya never fucking knew.” He said, adjusting his tallit which was draped over his shoulders.

“And bruva, I never fucking told you because I knew one day she’d get hurt if she ever knew ya. And here we are.” He said, flicking his cigar on the ground and stomping it out. Thomas clenched his jaw and looked away, his eyes focusing back on the girl.

“How’d you meet Michael? It surely wasn’t when any of us were around.” Thomas asked, gesturing vaguely. Y/N took a deep breath before speaking, trying to think of the best response to the rude gang leader.

“It was when everyone was around. None of you had the sense to see it though. When you first came in I saw him as I snuck through the shop. We exchanged names, ya know, like what normal people do. And now we’re here of all fucking places.” She said, looking down the hall at the operating room.

“Did you know they were after him? Did he act suspicious?” He asked.

“Jesus christ, why am I being interrogated? You do business with my father not me.” She said.

“Anyone who knows my family is of my concern. That now includes you. He’s been seeing you whenever he’s not with us. What has he told you?” He asked.

“Nothing. He hasn’t really talked about anything. I just know he’s with you lot and that’s it. I swear.” She said, giving him an annoyed look. She wanted to run off, not liking the man within a few seconds of meeting him.

“Mr. Shelby?” A nurse asked from the hall, cutting the tension that filled the room.

“Yeah?” He asked, turning around to face the nurse.

“He’s out of surgery, you...and your guests can see him now.” She said, walking back to her desk.

“We’re your guests? It’s a fucking honor mate. Let’s go shall we?” Alfie asked, never ceasing to pull Thomas’ leg.

All three of them walked in, Michael lying there with his chest bandaged along with his arm where another bullet hit. His face pale and tired as he sat up.

“You made it another day Michael....would you like to tell me what exactly happened?” Thomas asked, his cousins eyes slowly resting on his.

“I did as you asked, warned John and Esme...then his mafia men pulled up in hay covered cars. I shoved Esme inside and John got his shotgun ready...” He said, wincing through breaths.

“Then they shot through him with machine guns. The bullets that hit him, hit me, and a few others flew by. That’s all I remember.” He said, not noticing Y/N in the room nor her father in the corner as his grogginess wore off.

“Alright, well I’ll leave you two be. Alfie let’s have a talk shall we?” He said, going outside to the waiting area. Alfie sighed and followed him, closing the door in the process.

“Y/N...?” He said, rubbing his eyes to see more clearly, thinking he was dreaming.

“Hey...” She said, sitting next to him and holding his hand which was cut up from hitting the ground so hard.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” He said, wincing.

“Well, my dad and I kind of got in an argument earlier. He offered to take me to see you. I couldn’t sit in my new place thinking you were gone.” She said.

“Thank you for seeing me. I didn’t think I’d make it. I uh....I wanted to see you once more. Just to tell you things.” He said.

“What did you want to tell me? Now that you’ve made it I think there couldn’t be a better time.” She said smiling.

“I uh....” He started to say before he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I probably shouldn’t talk much right now but I can show you.” He said. A pained smile forming on his face.

“What are talking about-“ She began, feeling his hand caressing her cheek as he pulled her closer to him. Their lips softly connecting in a long kiss. Y/N’s heart beating rapidly as she deepened the kiss, being mindful of his injuries.

As they broke away, Michael smiled weakly as she felt her face heat up.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that I wanted to go out...officially. If you’d want to. This just sort of got in the way though aye?” He said gesturing to the bandages.

She nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek as she clutched his hand once more.

“Yeah, I uhm...I would like that. Once you’re better though alright?” She said, her eyes serious despite the tears still falling. He reached up and wiped them away, her leaning her cheek into his palm as he did so.

“Speaking of that though, I had to tell my father and Thomas about us. I’m hoping they haven’t killed each other though.” She said, nervously looking towards the door.

“They can deal with that then, that’s not our concern. They can’t ruin everything.” He said, a slight smirk on his face.

“You sure? I mean can you see where we bloody are right now? If my father can cause your family so much stress I can only imagine what that deviled cousin of yours is planning for us.” She said, not knowing the extent the two hard-headed gang leaders would go to protect their families, even if it meant hurting the ones they loved.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #michael gray x female!reader #michael gray x reader #michael gray x y/n #michael gray #alfie solomons #katiesfics #alfie solomons x adopted daughter!reader

[mxndoscyarika]

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 1

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink mention

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: I’m so excited for you all to read this story! Special thanks go to Lynn (@mindless--ramblings​​) for always being so supportive and helping me stay inspired! Ever since I found out Pedro now has two characters named Marcus, I’ve wondered about ways I could connect them in one piece of writing. And this? This is that piece of writing. Moreno won’t be making an appearance in this one, but I hope Pike will make up for that 😉 Enjoy!

Ground floor.

First floor.

Second.

Erin He took a deep breath, thankful that the elevator was empty. She straightened the collar of her shirt as the fourth floor approached. At her side was her government-issued laptop, which she’d picked up from the front desk. Her fingers gripped its edges tightly. This was it. She made it.

The elevator let out a soft ding and opened its doors, revealing a floor of cubicles and conference rooms. Austin sunlight filtered through large windows, illuminating the space alongside the bright fluorescent lights.

She stepped out, searching for the art theft department’s main office. As much as she understood the need for technology specialists across all the FBI’s branches, she never quite grasped why she was placed in the art theft department, of all places. She always thought she’d be in the operational technologies department, developing and maintaining tools for others to use. Though she couldn’t blame them; intellectual property was highly valued and often stolen.

The email said to report to the department supervisor’s office for a quick onboarding, but they didn’t exactly mention what it would be. It could’ve been anything from a quick handshake to being told to shadow a coworker. Hopefully the former.

Part of her begged to the gods of computer science that she wouldn’t be assigned to yet another condescending old white man. Her last welcome at a company had been less than mediocre, and lukewarm at best.

The other part of her nagged that she’d signed up for exactly that.

“Ah, there you are. Welcome to your first day, Special Agent He,” the department supervisor–Harold Strauss–greeted as she entered his office. He gestured to the man standing in front of his desk. “This is Agent Marcus Pike. He will be showing you the ropes today.”

Agent Pike looked at her over his shoulder, the corners of his lips curling in a friendly smile. He couldn’t have been much older than her, with his faint smile lines and soft brown hair. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned around to face her.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. She shook his hand and then extended her hand to Pike. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking time out of your day to show me around.”

“Likewise,” he replied, shaking her hand. His brown eyes sparkled as he proposed, “Should we start? I have a meeting in about half an hour, and I’m sure you’ll want to meet some of our operational techs and digital forensics team. They’re the backbone of everything we do here.”

They acknowledged their supervisor once more and then left to begin the tour.

As her personal guide gave her the rundown of the floor’s organization and workflow, Erin couldn’t help but sneak a couple more glances at him.

He was taller than her by a few inches, but not in such a way that she felt like shrinking into herself. And he always stayed at her side, never walking ahead or lagging behind. His strong jaw led her gaze to a pair of soft lips, which seemed to be in a perpetual smile as he talked about the breakthroughs the department had in the past days.

“Do you know where your desk is?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, they told me the other day,” she answered, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ears. They walked over to her assigned desk, which was barren save for a standard computer, box of pens, and notepad. “If you’re going to ask if I need help with setup, I think I should be alright for now. Nothing a few installations and linux commands can’t fix.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “You’re living up to your title, Agent He. If I’m being honest, I don’t think I could’ve been much help even if I offered. Have you done work similar to this before?”

She shrugged. “I worked in cybersecurity and software development,” Erin replied, setting down her bag and laptop on her desk. Slipping off her black blazer, she continued, “But I figured I should do something more than just build products for tech companies. Use my skills to aid in investigations.”

He nodded in understanding. “I see what you mean. Actually, I was originally studying to be an art history professor. But then I found this job and figured I could use my knowledge to help find and preserve artworks.”

Hm, noble.

“Sounds like we aren’t so different,” she observed, following him across the officespace. “Let’s hope that I can be of help around here.”

He chuckled softly, the dimple in his cheek showing as he smiled. “I think you’ll fit right in.”

---

The words on the screen blurred into the white background of the screen, as if they were mocking her. Each line of test slowly lost its meaning, turning into mind-numbing strings.

Erin pushed her computer away and rubbed her eyes defeatedly, sighing. The department was launching an investigation regarding a museum that was broken into and wiped clean. What little data was left on the computers, from what she gathered after hours of poring over them, was largely useless. Hopefully, one of the other agents would find something helpful in the other remnants. Perhaps an address, or some sort of signature that could be traced to a group. Her, on the other hand? She just wasted hours of work.

A steaming cup of coffee was set down onto her desk, along with some sugar and tiny cups of cream.

She looked up to find Marcus–Pike, she reminded herself–standing at her side, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Find anything?”

“Nope,” she sighed. It turned out that Pike was one of the best agents in the department, and that meant he spent most of his time leading and organizing investigations. What that meant for Erin, then, was that she had to answer to him. Thankfully, he was never weird about it. Quite the opposite, actually. Tapping the side of the cup, she asked, “Is this for me?”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah! Sorry; I would’ve fixed it, but I wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee.”

“Well it’s nothing complex, if that’s what you’re nervous about,” she teased. Two sugars and a drizzle of cream turned the pitch black liquid into a deep brown. She took a sip, the placebo of caffeine already kicking in. “When you’re in STEM, you learn to appreciate caffeine in any form. But I like it like this.”

“Noted,” he said, his voice a soft timbre amongst the flutter of papers and clacking of keys. Hands resting on his hips he asked, “How long do you think it’ll be before you find anything?”

“Anywhere from an hour to another three...or five,” she sighed, lazily scrolling down the file. Basking in the steam from her cup, she continued, “I’m gonna need a lot more of this coffee. There has to be something useful in this file, I just need to find it. I might need to cross-reference with some of the other evidence to notice anything.”

A headache was already descending upon her, and she was only six hours in. Weak–she’d stared at a computer much longer without any problem many times before. Why, of all times, did it have to happen when she was talking to her coworker?

“Well, I’ll be here pretty late tonight, so if you need anything, just let me know,” he replied, patting her shoulder. The crease between his brows deepened as he squinted down at the screen. “Maybe you need a fresh set of eyes on it. Take a break, Erin.” At her responding pout, he reasoned, “It’s been almost a month and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you rest.”

Of course he noticed her breaks, or lack thereof. She rolled her eyes, hiding a bashful smile in her cup. “I work best in sprints.”

He hummed amusedly. “But even sprinters need breaks, don’t they?” Then, his eyes lit up. “Actually, why don’t you take a break now?”

Erin raised a brow. “Am I not taking a break right now?”

His laugh was warm. “I mean a real break. Let’s get lunch; my treat.”

“Are you really going to make me choose between food and digital forensics, Agent Pike?”

Nodding definitively, he replied, “Yes, Agent He.”

Unable to resist the prospect of free lunch, she gave in and followed him out to his car. The work would still be there when she returned. For the moment, she could just enjoy Marcus’s companionship.

He drove out to a local diner about ten minutes away, his turns confident as if he’d gone there hundreds of times before. Judging by the way his eyes had sparked with joy at her agreement, he probably had.

They let their shoulders relax in the serenity of the car, shedding the formalities and passing time as if they were close friends.

The diner was small and cozy, booths worn with age and serving breakfast all day. Erin’s lips curled up in a little smile as the hostess recognized Marcus. So he was a regular, after all.

They sat down across from each other in a booth. Erin shrugged off her navy blue blazer and smoothed her dark hair back into a thick ponytail.

As she fixed her hair, Marcus gave her his recommendations, leaning in with the menu so she could follow along with her eyes. He seemed particularly fond of the pancakes, so she decided on those. Surely he wouldn’t lead her astray.

And with the way his voice rasped just slightly, she could listen to him speak for a whole day.

“Honey? Did you hear anything I said?” he asked, tilting his head slightly with a little smirk.

Erin snapped out of her reverie, cheeks burning. “Oh, um. Yeah. Sorry, I spaced out for a bit.”

“No worries, it happens to all of us,” he reassured, laying the menu flat on the table. “What were you thinking about?”

Less than an hour had passed before they were back in the office, stepping out of the elevator with full bellies. The familiar clicking from computers and buzz of conversations filled the air, and they were officially agents again.

Erin turned to him and nudged his arm. “Hey, thanks for the break.”

“Anytime,” he replied, walking with her along the perimeter of the room. They stopped at the hallway leading to the conference rooms and offices. His large hand moved to rest on her arm, his thumb rubbing gently. “I guess this is my stop. You know where to find me.”

“And you know where I’ll be.”

The next day, Marcus was greeted in his office by tupperwares containing homemade fried rice, some cut up fruit, and a sticky note.

Thanks for sticking with me yesterday. -E

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he tried to refrain from grinning like a maniac, though he was sure anyone who happened to pass by would’ve thought he looked like a schoolgirl with a crush. Erin’s handwriting was soft and curved, so similar to calligraphy but simple in a way that made the note feel that much more intimate.

She had an interesting way of showing her care for others, he found. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the work she dedicated her life to; she seemed to always be one step ahead, ready to pull out small details that others would dismiss. He wondered what she might know of him.

There were a few things she clearly knew; things that surprised him every day. Just as he’d learned her usual coffee order, she’d learned his. When he’d walk in every morning, her head of dark hair would tilt to peek over her cubicle, as if she could sense his presence. And when their eyes would meet, her smile was better than the best espresso in the world.

Marcus shook his head to himself as his heart fluttered. Years of failed relationships and a divorce later, he still couldn’t keep his feelings in check. His mother always said he had a soft heart, one that would be his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. But Erin was anything but a weakness.

She wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. A constant in his life, making each day feel just a little more special. He didn’t need a relationship to be happy, but….he wouldn’t be opposed to one either.

Yet, as he spotted Ian Malarkey standing a bit too close to her, he forced himself to backtrack. What if she didn’t want him? What if they were meant to be just as they were: just friends?

Maybe it was time for him to move on.

After a few months, their friendship had grown well past a workplace acquaintance. It wasn’t as if she was trying to get attached to him; it just...happened. And it was only a little surprising to her; she tried to stay as professional as she could in the office, but outside? Outside, she could just be Erin, not FBI Special Agent He. Outside, she could shed her jacket and swap the button-down shirt for a ribbed sweater and some jeans. Outside, she and Marcus could sit as close together as they wanted without drawing unwanted attention.

She knew it was silly to fantasize. After all, Marcus was a coworker, if not a superior. And with the way he fussed over her water intake and made sure that she wore her glasses at the right times, he could easily see her as a little sister. As nothing more than a new agent who happened to be friendly.

But if that were true, why would he go through the effort of bringing her lunch on Thursdays? Why did he call her little names like “honeydew” and “sweetheart,” and why did it feel so natural coming from his mouth?

The commotion coming from the direction of the conference rooms told her that the team was back from the investigation. Maybe Marcus was there; she knew he’d gone, but he hadn’t texted since morning. It wouldn’t hurt to pop in to check on him; he did that often enough with her.

When she entered the break room, her heart sank. Sitting off to the side, by the wall, was Marcus asking Teresa Lisbon out on a date. She wasn’t sure why she felt defeated;  it wasn’t like she had any plans on asking him out.

But then why did it hurt her to the core to see him giving those puppy eyes and little smiles to Lisbon? The woman didn’t even look interested in him; if anything, she looked confused and hesitant.

Ian caught her eye as she surveyed the room once more, his lips pulling into a tight-lipped smile. He knew about her feelings for Marcus, having spent hours going over evidence and making small talk. In fact, he’d even encouraged her to tell Marcus her feelings, out of fear that she might never get the chance.

Perhaps her chance had passed after all. Turning on her heel, Erin decided that, for once, it was time to go home. Marcus would come to her when he was less busy.

The thing was, though, she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to go over and say hello, and check to make sure he wasn’t injured in the scuffle. Moreover, she didn’t want to be a fill-in for Lisbon’s absence. She didn’t want to be his second choice. And she knew it wasn’t her fault, nor Lisbon’s, that Marcus didn’t choose her. But it still stung.

She watched as their shared lunches became less frequent, the senior agent replacing her space by Marcus’s side. When the elevator would ding at 7AM and she’d glance up to see if it was him, she found him searching the room for Lisbon. They never drifted over to her desk. That fact always made her grip her pen just a little tighter.

On the days when he did grace her with his presence, she felt like a tornado of emotions.

Happy, because she had missed her best friend.

Sad, because she knew the next time she’d spend time with him was in a few weeks rather than a few days.

Grateful, because she knew how hard it was to socialize after a work week of at least 50 hours.

Envious, because of the stories he told.

Relieved, because he still cared.

Plastering a halfhearted smile on her face, Erin listened to Marcus practically worship his girlfriend. His summer breeze of a smile and sparkling eyes made the pain that came with listening worth it. The only other time she’d heard him talk that passionately was when they’d visited an art museum.

At least one of them was happy.

She thought of trying to date again; it had been over a year since she’d been in a relationship. But she couldn’t do it. More than once, she’d put on some simple makeup and casual clothes, ready to head out to the bar, but no. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the apartment. The apartment was where she and Marcus watched movies, where she would cut up fruit and bring them to him on a plate while he pored over reports in the warm lights of the kitchen. It was where he’d navigate her cupboards and fridge to make her a mug of his special hot chocolate. It was her safe space, the one place in her life where she could just be Erin, and he could just be Marcus.

The knife cleaved the melon in half with ease, revealing its pale green interior.

Marcus leaned up against the counter next to her, hair tousled and necktie loosened against his chest. He absentmindedly started rolling up his sleeves, undoing the cuffs of his shirt and folding them up.

She tried not to stare too long at the way his forearms tensed with the movement.

He broke the silence first. “I got the job in DC,” he said, voice soft like velvet.

“That’s great.” A simple response, though Erin cringed internally. Was that any way to react to her best friend’s job promotion? Surely not, but a part of her–a selfish part of her–knew that it meant he was leaving. Leaving not just his position, but her. Texas. The apartment.

It would’ve been disingenuous for her to say anything more.

Then, he added, almost sheepishly, “I also asked Teresa to marry me. And move to DC so we can be together.”

The blade of her knife hit the cutting board a little harder than normal. “Oh. That’s nice.” Cutting away the tough outer skin, she forced herself to ask, “What did she say?”

He sighed and crossed his arms, biting his lip as if to contain a smile. “She said she’d think about it. But I think she’ll come around. I kind of, uh, sprung it onto her the other night.”

And yet there he was, standing next to a woman who would’ve been ready to say yes. But even so, she said, “I’m sure things will work out between you two. You’ve already given so much to your relationship; it would be a shame for her to not see how great you are.”

She slid him a bowl of perfectly cubed melon.

Smiling softly, he took the bowl into his hands. “You’re the best, honeydew.”

The best, but not the one.

“You’re just trying to get on my good side before you leave for DC, brown eyes,” she jested, nudging him with her elbow. Her chest filled with warmth at his laugh. She tried her best to hang onto that feeling, to that sound. “When are you two leaving?”

“I’m already about halfway packed,” he mused, chewing on a cube of honeydew thoughtfully. “So maybe within the week? I hope that’s enough time for Teresa to make a decision.”

There was less time than she thought. She hummed softly. “Are you sure that’s what she wants? That it’s what you want?”

He nodded confidently. “Yes, I...I know that I don’t have the best track record with relationships, but something about her feels right.” The bowl was set into the sink and filled with water. “I’m happy, honey. You don’t have to worry.”

Erin’s eyes burned as she quietly replied, “Okay.”

< previous chapter | next chapter >

TAGLISTS: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

PERMANENT: @cinewhore​ @randomness501​ @theghostwiththemost-babe​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @catfishingmorales​ @halfwaythereroyal​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @talesfromtheguild​ @tortles​ @ladamari68​ @theokatcov @snivellusim​ @starryluce​ @inked-poet​ @browneyes-djarin​ @shedobewritingalittle​ @chews-erotically​ @thefandomimagines​ @emesispo​ @mindless--ramblings​ @phoenixhalliwell​

HONEYDEW: @leemorrigan @houseofthirst​ @littlevodika​ @engineeredfiction​ @inkyzinky​

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #Agent Pike x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #we can be herores #the mentalist #the mentalist x we can be heroes #my writing #honeydew