#considered just saying “looks the same as us” but they’ve both had copies of themselves

[nixthelapin]

Ladybug, about Shady and Claw: It is so weird to see someone who looks exactly like us but have a completely different personality, isn’t it?

Chat Noir, who has grown up his whole life with Félix: uh, yeah… so weird…

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous special #shadybug #the tales of shadybug and claw noir #claw noir #toxinelle #ladybug #chat noir #Marinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #considered just saying “looks the same as us” but they’ve both had copies of themselves #copy cat #Sentibug #Felix #Felix fathom #felix graham de vanily

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Forced Love II

John Wick x Reader

Summary: Arranged marriages aren't uncommon in the crime world but John Wick never expected to be forced into one with is boss' daughter.

Chapter Summary: The newlyweds get to know each other on their honeymoon.

Warning: Minimal use of Y/N, canon level violence, alcohol, sparring, jealous!john, misogyny, smut, embarassment, mention of virginity, french people, privilege

Word count: 6.4k

Masterlist

A few days later the newlyweds found themselves in Saint-Tropez for their honeymoon. “You’re on your honeymoon, not working. You should relax and enjoy your vacation,” Y/N told her husband, lounging on a beach chair. “They’ve got it,” she assured, sending glances to the armed guards that scattered the private villa. Despite her protests, both Viggo and John wanted her to be guarded on their honeymoon.

John smiled, “Respectfully, they’re here because I’m supposedly relaxing.”

“So you’re saying that if only you were looking out for me, it’d be the same as the ten of them currently guarding us?” she challenged.

He shrugged, not wanting to come off as too arrogant. “More or less, yeah.”

“Hmm,” she nodded, considering his words. “And what if I said I could handle myself and didn’t need you or anyone else to protect me?”

He couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at that. “No offense, but I watched you struggle with your carry on. You’re gonna need my protection.”

Fortunately she found his honesty funny. “Fair enough,” she chuckled. “Although, not totally my fault. My father refused to let me be trained. No strength training, no combat training, certainly no weapons training.”

John stared at her in bewilderment. “How does he expect you to run things one day if you can’t even shoot? Much less fight?”

That elicited a genuine laugh from her. “You think my father will let me run his empire? He always says ‘Fighting is not a woman’s place.’ He sure as hell won’t put me in charge. I mean, he’s happy to let me be the face of our family when he needs me to but it’s all going to go to my idiot of a brother. Iosef doesn’t know he’ll inherit it yet though. I think my father is using me to try to scare him into getting his shit together.”

“Still, you live in a dangerous world. You should know how to at least defend yourself.”

A smile crept onto her face as she sat up, swinging her legs off of the chair so now she could fully face the assassin. “So teach me,” she challenged. He sat up in return, a little surprised by her boldness. He had to admit, he had always thought of Viggo’s daughter as just a pretty face to do her father’s bidding. This determination to be independent was surprising. “Teach me how to fight. Or at the very least self-defense.”

“Okay,” John nodded. Finally, a vacation he could get behind. He stood up, taking her hand and leading her further onto the soft sand, away from the chairs. “Okay, first thing’s first. If you can run or hide, that’s always going to be your best bet. Chances are, anyone coming after you is going to be a lot bigger, stronger, and better trained.” She gave him an unimpressed look, having been lectured her entire life to run and hide. “Uh, but on to the real things: punches. So stance wide,” he acted as he spoke, showing her what he meant, “arms up. Make sure you don’t tuck your thumbs into your fist, that’s how you break your thumbs.” She nodded, copying his movements. “Now, you’re going to want to pivot on the ball of your back foot, angling your body towards your opponent as you throw the punch. That’ll give you some power.” She tried to follow his directions but it looked honestly pathetic. The fact that she was only wearing a bikini didn’t help that fact either. He couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle at her attempt. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He stepped around her, going behind her. “Get back into your original stance,” he directed. She complied as John stepped closer, his skin brushing against hers as he pressed his chest to her back, slotting their bodies together. He put his foot against her rear foot, his hands clasping her fists. “Okay,” he began, his lips pressed against her ear, eliciting a shiver down his spine. John held in his groan as her ass moved against his crotch, he just prayed he didn’t get hard as he stood so close to her. “Pick up the heel of your rear foot, standing on the ball of your foot.” She complied as John used his own foot to rotate hers, simultaneously moving her arm forward and forcing her body to rotate. Again she rubbed against him, making him realize he’d have to come up with a better way to teach her because he couldn’t be this distracted. “Uh that was good,” he said in a flustered voice, pulling away from her. “You think you got it?”

“Yeah,” she agreed in an equally flustered voice. She couldn’t deny that every time he touched her, it set her skin on fire. He held her hand to help her onto the plane and that was all she could think about for the seven hour flight.

They continued on for hours until the assassin finally agreed to a sparring match. “If you’re sure you wanna do this,” he agreed hesitantly, getting into a fighting position. “I’ll go easy on you though.”

Y/N laughed, getting into a fighting position too. “If you were anyone else I’d tell you not to but I’d like to at least get one punch in.”

He returned her laugh before throwing out a soft punch. She dodged it easily, returning the favor. Although, her punch was for real but she was so inexperienced her body language was obvious. John dodged it, not letting her get in a victory that easily. He threw another, slightly harder punch which she dodged once again, but she took the opportunity to send a kick to his knee. It actually landed, driving John’s knees to the ground but he was up in no time, launching himself at his wife. He pulled her to the ground, making sure to cushion her fall in the process, but she broke free, scrambling to her feet. She threw another punch but rather than dodge it, John grabbed her wrist and spun her around, pulling her body his. As soon as his crotch made contact with her ass—again—he immediately regretted it. She took him secondary shock to throw an elbow into his cheek, freeing herself. John was proud but he was ready to be done, he had some… stuff to take care of. So as she was setting herself up to send another kick at him, the highly trained assassin simply scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

“John!” she shrieked with laugher as he carried her into the water. He laughed as she began to beg for mercy, not wanting to be thrown in the still cool water. Once he waded in to his hips, he threw her off of his shoulder, dumping her into the water with a laugh. “John,” she cried again as soon she resurfaced. He was laughing so hard it gave her the opportunity to grab the neckline of his shirt, dragging his face into the water too. She laughed as he fell but as soon as he resurfaced, she realized her mistake.

John was on her quickly, scooping her up so her chest was pressed against his. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, making him forget the fact that he was planning on throwing her back into the water. Their eyes locked and suddenly there were no guards watching them and they hadn’t been forced into this marriage.

As Y/N stared into her husband’s deep brown eyes, all she wanted was to kiss him. For real. Not a quick peck or the one forced on them on their wedding day, she wanted this one to mean something. But as she was working up the courage to do it, there was a shout from the beach. “Hey!” one of the guards shouted. “There’s a call from your father!”

John groaned, also having hoped to kiss her in that moment. If he had just manned up a second earlier, he could be kissing his wife right now. And he’d have a better idea of where he stood in her life. The woman in question turned back to face her husband, letting out a soft groan too. She hesitantly unwrapped her legs from his hips, standing on her own and reluctantly pulling her arms from around his neck. But John had to suppress a groan of pleasure as her hands still trailed down his chest before falling to her sides.

As they waded to shore, John sent a slight glare to the man holding out the phone. He looked mildly startled but otherwise didn’t react as he handed his charge the phone. She answered in Russian, only saying a few words before hanging up. She handed the phone back to the guard before turning to face her husband. “You want to just order dinner?” she suggested, tired and not wanting to get ready to go out.

“Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll find a place while you get cleaned up.”

After a much needed shower, the newlyweds were sat in the villa’s breakfast nook, eating takeout from a genuine French restaurant. “So, is it true that my father saw you kill three men with a pencil and that’s why he recruited you?”

He shrugged, afraid to scare off his wife. “More or less,” he agreed, taking a sip of bourbon. Before he could say anything else, she was downing her water and grabbing the bottle of bourbon. “You drink bourbon?” he asked skeptically.

She shrugged as she poured. “Don’t know. My dad caught me stealing a bottle of vodka was I was sixteen. He said that if I even tasted a drop of alcohol before I was ‘ready’—who the fuck knows when that is?—then he’d beat the liquor out of me. But we’re in France, he’s not here, and I’m now a married woman,” she said, making a toast towards her husband before taking a sip. John laughed as she made a face of disgust at the first sip. “Ugh, how do you drink this?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” he chuckled. “Let’s start you with something easier.” He called in one of the guards, telling him to get a bottle of champagne from the wine cellar. “So no alcohol until now?”

She confirmed with a nod. “Surprising, I know. Considering that my father is Russian.”

“Well I can believe it based on the fact that he didn’t want you to learn how to fight,” he said as the champagne and two glasses were brought over. The assassin smoothly grabbed the bottle, opening it like it was nothing before pouring each of them a glass. He held up his glass like he was giving a toast. “To new experiences.”

She returned his toast, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid. “This is way better,” she agreed, setting it next to her forgotten bourbon. She slid the shorter glass to the center of the table, leaving the option for John if he wanted it.

“So, what was it like to be raised by Viggo Tarasov?” John asked, trying to get to know his wife. Truthfully, he already knew a lot about her from both observing her at work and based on what the others said but he figured she’d be freaked out if he just started spouting facts off.

“Um actually I can’t really remember my father before the age of twelve. I was mostly raised by maids and tutors since my mom passed when I was young. But I spent my entire life in New York,” she shrugged. “Not much to tell when you’re homeschooled.” John nodded, he honestly had too much to tell but she wasn’t ready to hear about his past just yet. “But not much to complain about when your every want has been met. I hope you don’t think of me as some sort of brat,” she said shyly. She may not know a lot about John’s life but she could tell he’s been through more than his fair share.

“I don’t think you’re a brat,” he assured her. “Your brother however…?”

“Oh don’t even get me started on that idiot. He’s only my half-brother if you didn’t know.” John chuckled at her eagerness to separate herself from him.

About two hours later their plates had been cleared and the drinks were long gone. Y/N had managed to drink over half the bottle of champagne while John had drank nearly the entire bottle of bourbon. “So what are your tattoos?” Y/N finally asked. She had been itching for a clear look ever since she caught a glimpse of them on her wedding night.

“They’re uh… reminders,” John explained. “I can show them to you,” he offered, feeling emboldened by the liquor. His wife only nodded but that was all the confirmation he needed. He stood up, taking her hand before leading her upstairs to the master bedroom. When they had arrived, he insisted on her taking the master bedroom while he took one of the guest rooms.

Upon shutting the door, he took a deep breath before lifting his shirt over his head. He stood tensely, listening for a reaction. He only heard a soft exhale of breath as her footsteps came closer. Her fingers just barely ghosted the inked skin as she took in the top letters. “Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat,” she read. “Fortune favors the bold.” Her fingers then flitted up to the dog on his upper right shoulder. “Got in a little trouble when you were younger?” she guessed.

“A bit,” John chuckled. “How did you know what that meant?”

“I grew up around Russian mercenaries. You pick up on stuff,” she answered dismissively. “More trouble,” she said teasingly as her fingers found the fiery skull. Finally her fingers found the giant cross and praying hands. “Didn’t take you for a man of faith,” she mused.

John shrugged, turning to face his wife. She was taken slightly aback as she was greeted with her husband’s bare chest for the first time. He looked incredible, especially considering his age. “I don’t have faith in the traditional sense,” he answered, catching her attention. She looked up to see him staring at her intently. This was the moment, it was now or never.

She stood up on her toes, reaching John’s lips. He was taken slightly off guard but his arms were eagerly wrapped around her waist in a second. He bent more towards her, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He bit her lower lip softly, encouraging her to open her mouth. She did so, allowing his tongue to slip in gently, eliciting a soft moan from her. Suddenly he wasn’t thinking straight and he was pushing her towards the bed. She eagerly went along with it, tugging on his shirt to bring him down with her as she fell on her back onto her bed. His hands caught him so he didn’t crush her but he wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her up towards the center of the bed so their feet were no longer hanging off.

As they continued to make out, John’s hand slipped up under her top, finding that his wife wasn’t wearing a bra. His fingers immediately began teasing her nipples, causing her to let out soft moans.

When he pulled away to take her top off, she took the opportunity to speak up. “John, wait. You should know something,” she began. He looked concerned and halted his movement, resting his hand on her stomach and placing his weight on his other arm so he could look at her fully. “I wanna do this. I really do,” she assured. She couldn’t possibly convey how much she wanted her husband right then. “But you should know… I’m a virgin,” she admitted almost shamefully.

Shit, was all that ran through John’s mind. He should have put that together given her lack of life experience but he hadn’t been thinking critically in his mildly inebriated state. He pulled further away from his wife, much to her dismay. “We shouldn’t do this right now then.”

“What?” was all she managed to choke out. She was married to him. Who was she supposed to lose her virginity to if not for him?

“I want you, believe me,” he tried to assure her. She couldn’t possibly comprehend how much willpower this was taking. “But you’re drunk—for the first time too,” he added. “You shouldn’t be losing your virginity drunk. I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

She didn’t even argue with him, too embarrassed to say anything. She just pulled her legs into her chest, clearly uncomfortable and feeling vulnerable. He felt bad, but he’d feel worse if she ever had any regrets about their first time together. So he just took his leave, frustrated with himself too.

~

At breakfast John tried to catch his wife’s eye but she refused to even look at him. Every time he spoke she’d either let out a noncommittal hum or outright ignore him. She only stayed in the kitchen long enough to eat her food before retreating upstairs to her room.

John had to admit he was hurt by her reclusion. He had done the right thing last night so why did he feel bad? The only reason he didn’t try to force her to get over last night was because he knew her behavior was a result of shame, not anger. She wasn’t lashing out at him because she didn’t get what she wanted, she was embarrassed. So he decided to give her space to cool off before giving her a fun night out.

Right before dinner time he finally knocked on the master bedroom’s door. After a moment it finally opened, revealing Y/N. She hadn’t even changed out of her pajamas today but as she answered, he could tell she was trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Get dressed,” he told her. “We have dinner reservations.”

“Oh John thank you, but I don’t-”

“No,” he cut her off. “I need to make up for last night. So we’re gonna have a fun night and get over this little rough patch,” he said in a light tone, trying not to come across like he was ordering her around.

“You don’t have to make up for anything,” she assured. “You did the right thing. It’s just a little embarrassing to be rejected by your own husband,” she let out an awkward laugh. “I’ll uh meet you downstairs in 15,” she said before shutting the door.

Before she stepped away to go get changed, she listened for John’s footsteps. Once she was sure he was gone she went to her suitcase, looking for something suitable to wear. She found a white sundress with blue floral patterns that reached mid-thigh. Putting it on, she paired it with sandals and natural makeup. Just before exiting the room she spotted her engagement and wedding rings. John had been wearing his wedding band the entire time they were married but she hadn’t worn hers since the wedding. She didn’t have anything against John or the marriage (really only against her father for forcing so many things on her) but she mostly just didn’t like wearing such a massive diamond. When she had brought up concerns that the ring could break, John just said he’d get her a new one like it was no big deal. So, seeing as it seemed like he wanted her to wear it, she put the rings on before heading downstairs. There, she found John sitting in the foyer wearing a suit.

When he saw her, he stood up, giving a genuine smile. The rings on her finger didn’t escape his notice, giving him hope she wouldn’t try to leave him. He reached out to take her hand but hesitated, remembering that her wounds were still fresh from their encounter last night.

She returned his smile, albeit a bit forced. The movement of his hand didn’t escape her notice either but she ignored it, walking past him towards the door. She opened it, walking out but still held the door open for him.

The pair strolled down the street, tension between them. All was forgiven on both parts but it was still incredibly awkward. To pass the time, Y/N looked around, spotting her guards popping up every once in a while. John was doing the same but rather than looking for guards, he was looking for threats that slipped through their security detail. Technically he wasn’t working. He was supposed to be relaxing on his honeymoon. But he had assumed the role of commander of the detail following him around. He knew about everything that was happening. Every single person that walked by their temporary home and every boat that passed by their private beach. John already found himself incredibly concerned for his wife’s safety. Sure, when he was tasked with watching her in the past he took his job seriously, but now she was more than a job.

“This is it,” John ended the silence as they reached a very busy restaurant. The heiress had honestly mistaken it for a club at first because of the line of people waiting to get in. “C’mon, we have reservations,” he said, answering her unasked question. He extended his hand, more confidently this time, which she took, following him up to the hostess’ stand.

“Hi, do you have a reservation?” she greeted.

“Yes, two for Wick.”

“Okay, I have you right here. Follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Wick,” she smiled. She led them through the crowded restaurant to a secluded table on the balcony, right over the water. “Enjoy,” she bid them as they sat.

“Mrs. Wick, haven’t heard that one yet,” Y/N said once the hostess left. It was a little unnerving hearing it for the first time.

John kept his cool facade but internally was freaking out. Did she not like his last name? Did she not want to be attached to him? Or did she just prefer to keep her own name? That’d be fine with him but they were already in such a delicate position right now and he didn’t want to make her anymore uncomfortable. Fortunately he didn’t have to say anything because the waiter came up to them.

“Bonjour, how are we this evening?” he asked the pair. The waiter honestly looked more like he was from California than France. He had tan skin and sunny blonde hair with beachy waves. As if he had spent every day of his life surfing.

“We’re good,” John answered, not missing the way the waiter’s gaze lingered on his wife’s chest. “We’ll take a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.”

The waiter gave a strained smile. “Of course, sir. I’ll be right back.”

John turned to look back at his wife but she was staring down into the ocean, holding herself tightly. He could see the goosebumps starting to form on her arms from the breeze. “Cold?” he asked.

That seemed to snap her out of whatever daze she was in. “Hm? Oh no I'm fine,” she assured even though she was rubbing her arms. John wordlessly stood up, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around his wife. “Thanks,” she smiled sheepishly, pulling the jacket closer as John retook his seat.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want you freezing to death,” he joked. But honestly, he’d do anything to get more clothes on her and keep her out of that waiter’s gaze. Speaking of…

“Your Cabernet,” the waiter introduced as he set down the wine glasses. As he poured he finally took the chance to introduce himself. “My name is Theo and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you with any appetizers?” he asked, the entire time ignoring John’s presence.

“We’ll just start with Cervelle de Canut,” John answered, forcing the waiter’s attention to him.

Theo gave another forced smile. “Of course,” he agreed, leaving the couple again.

They returned to their slightly awkward silence, Y/N now unconsciously fiddling with her ring on top of the table. “Does it need to be resized?” John asked.

“Oh, no,” she answered, pulling her hands back to her lap. “Just not used to wearing such a big ring. I’m entirely convinced I'm going to lose it,” she said, staring at the 10 carat diamond. “And if that happens my father will murder me.”

“Why? He didn’t buy it.”

Her jaw dropped open at that admission. “John I-” she didn’t know what to say. “You shouldn’t have. This is way too expensive.”

He just waved his hand dismissively, amused by her reaction. “I may not be as rich as your father but that doesn’t mean I can’t afford nice things.”

“I know that. I just… you don’t seem like the type to spend so much on material things. Especially a ring for a girl you barely know.”

“I wanted to,” he assured. “Remember, I already knew a lot about you from when I worked with you.”

“You mean when you were creeping in the shadows watching me?” she teased.

“You make me sound like a creep when you phrase it like that!” That got a genuine laugh from her. John couldn’t help but smile in response. He liked her laugh.

Their night continued smoothly for the most part. The pair was really clicking except for whenever that waiter came over. But John just tried to ignore him. As they were eating dessert, John got a call. He groaned, reluctant to let his date be cut short. But a glance at the caller id told him he had to get it. “Sorry,” he said to his wife as he answered the phone. “This is Wick,” he answered.

“John, we’ve got a minor situation,” Kirill’s voice came over the phone. “This guy tried to break into the house. He won’t say anything but I don’t think he’s associated with anyone dangerous.”

John sighed. “Give me a second,” he called into the phone. Pulling it away from his mouth, he looked at his wife. “This’ll just take a minute,” he assured her, getting up.

She nodded as he walked away, searching for some sense of privacy. Meanwhile, Theo had been watching the pair, waiting for the wife to be alone for a second. As John walked past him, he made a beeline for the secluded table. “Can I help you with anything else, madame?”

“Oh, no I'm alright. Just the cheque please.” But rather than go get the check or simply place it on the table, Theo sat in John’s seat. “Uh…”

“Are you okay?” he asked seriously. “You didn’t exactly look happy when you came in and I couldn’t help but notice that your husband is so much older.”

“Oh, well thank you for your concern but we’re perfectly fine,” she replied, maybe a bit more forceful than necessary.

“Are you sure? Because if you’re in trouble we can help you. There’s an American embassy right down the street.”

“I’m fine, seriously,” she assured. “My husband makes me very happy.”

Theo sat back, seemingly satisfied his customer wasn’t being trafficked but he still had one goal he wanted to accomplish. “I find it hard to believe an old man like him could satisfy such a pretty thing like you,” he flirted smugly. His tone went from genuine concern to arrogant flirting, like he was casually picking up a girl in a bar.

“Uh…” she had no idea what to say in this situation.

“C’mon, you can’t honestly be telling me that you’d rather fuck grandpa over me?”

As Y/N was looking around for help, she finally spotted John approaching and based on the murderous look on his face, he had heard what the waiter said.

“What’d you just call me?” he shouted, catching everyone’s attention and silencing the balcony.

Apparently Theo was stupid because he stood up to face the assassin. “You heard me old man. Although I’m surprised you can hear at all.”

John looked like he wanted to punch the boy but he restrained himself. Instead, he just walked around Theo to where his wife already stood, waiting for him. She took his hand, still wearing his jacket as they headed to the exit.

John angrily stormed out into the street but was stopped by a shout behind them. “Mr. Wick!” a slightly disheveled looking man called.

John looked back at the man who had stopped in the doorway. He turned back to his wife. “Go with Damien,” he nodded over to one of the guards standing on the curb nonchalantly. Sensing that this was about more than just a rude server, she complied, going to stand next to one of the many mercenaries that worked for her father. John walked back over to the owner, another member of the Russian mob who was all too familiar with the reputation of John Wick.

“I’m very sorry for what happened,” he apologized, shaking John’s hand. In it was a gold coin as gratitude for not causing a bigger scene. “I assure you that the boy will be dealt with properly. He didn’t know better.”

John didn’t say anything, just nodded and tucked the gold coin into his pocket as he went back to his wife. She took his hand once again as they headed back towards the villa. “Are you okay?” he asked as he stormed down the sidewalk.

“Yeah, are you?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. She spent her entire life around violent men but had never seen someone get this angry over something so small.

“I’m fine,” he insisted as they reached the house. He continued pulling her behind him, even once they got inside. But once they got inside the foyer, Y/N stopped walking.

“John what is the matter with you?” she asked. “Yeah he was being a dick but he was harmless.”

John took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to admit out loud that he reacted so harshly because he was jealous. Because he is John Wick, The Boogeyman, Baba Yaga, and no one should ever even look twice at what’s his. So instead of admitting his feelings with words, he decided to show her. He marched right over to his wife, grasping her face and pressing a burning kiss to her lips. She immediately melted into his arms, now understanding what was going on.

His hands moved south, under her ass to her upper thighs. He tapped the back of her thighs, urging her to jump. She did, wrapping her legs around his waist so he could carry her upstairs. Upon reaching the master bedroom, their lips only parted so she could remove John’s shirt and tie. As she laid, sprawled out on the bed, looking slightly disheveled, the assassin took the moment to admire her. Her lip gloss was almost all gone, her hair messy, and the neckline of her dress had been pulled way down. He leaned down on the bed to kiss her again, this time much more gentle. As he kissed her sweetly, his hand crept up under her dress until he found her most intimate parts. Through her lace panties, John rubbed his fingers against her core until he found her clit, eliciting a moan from her lips. John only pulled away from her lips enough to say, “You like that, huh?” To which she only let out pathetic whimpers.

After toying with her for a few minutes, his hand moved up to the waistband of her panties, ripping them off her body. But once they were off, John couldn’t wait anymore, he just wanted his wife to feel good. So without warning, he fell to his knees in front of her, throwing her legs over his shoulders and lifting her skirt so he could reach her core. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “And so wet for me.” His face then moved closer to her core, kissing up her thighs as he went. She could already feel the coil in her stomach tightening in anticipation. John started with small licks to her clit and she nearly whined but she suppressed the noises. But when his tongue delved inside of her, she couldn’t take it anymore. She sat up, grasping her husband’s long hair. He let out a soft groan of pleasure as she grasped his hair, beginning to grind herself against his face, anxious for her own undoing. But when he returned his tongue to her clit and brought two fingers inside of her, pumping and curling them, the coil snapped and she came on his face.

“John,” she moaned, desperate.

“Yes?” he asked with a satisfied smirk on his face. She was still breathing heavily from her first orgasm, unable to answer. “You want me to fuck you?” he asked with a knowing smirk. She only nodded desperately. His smirk widened into a smile as he stood up, looming over his wife. She crawled further up the bed, bringing her body from the edge as she laid her head against the pillows. John stood, removing his trousers. His cock immediately springing up, already hard. He pulled a condom out of his pants pocked, putting it on before he then kneeled in between her legs on the bed, her pussy still dripping. He leaned over her body, kissing her, one of his hands finding her still clothed breast, rubbing circles around it, occasionally brushing over it. “Take it off,” he said in a gruff voice, going back to kissing her once he finished speaking. She didn’t have to be told twice, hands reaching down to pull the dress up. John helped her get it over her head, leaving her body bare to him for the first time. Sure, they had been close to each other before, but bare, they their bodies truly fit together like puzzle pieces.

She moaned, letting his mouth muffle the noise. John then moved from her lips, kissing down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, straight down her stomach, before kissing her clit again. He then moved back up, kissing her again so she could taste herself. “Are you ready,” he whispered, lips ghosting over hers. She nodded emphatically, brushing their noses together accidentally. “I need you to say it,” he insisted. He needed a full green light from her before he took her virginity.

“Yes John,” she breathed. “Fuck me, make me yours.” With another kiss John thrust himself inside of her, slow and gentle. He had to restrain himself from jackhammering her into the bed and abusing her pussy. She let out a moan too loud at the intrusion, her husband’s hand quickly clamping over her mouth to silence her. “Wouldn’t want the guards to know what I’m doing to you,” he grunted into her ear.

She just moaned softer, her fingers finding his back. One arm grasped where his neck connected to his shoulder, holding on for dear life. While the other arm was clutching his lower back, careful to avoid his tattoos, nails digging into the skin as she urged him to go faster. Fortunately, he got the message because he began to pick up the pace, soft groans filling her ears. Eventually he pulled away from her, going up on his knees, bringing her hips with him. She nearly screamed as he hit a new spot inside of her but his look kept her quiet. But when the coil snapped again and she came all over his cock, she bit her lip to keep her screams at bay. John continued fucking into her until his hips began to stutter and he came.

Once he finished, he pulled out of her, making her whine at the loss of his fullness. A smile crept on his face as he mode to lay on his side, his head propped on his arm. Meanwhile, she turned onto her side to face him. “God, that was… you were incredible.”

John chuckled, his free hand brushing the hair out of her face and leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead before his hand slid down to rest on her hip. “Not bad for an older guy?” he joked, now able to look back and laugh about the night’s earlier incident.

“You’re not old,” she insisted. “Sorry about your back,” she apologized, remembering how she had dug her nails in.

“Trust me, I’ve been through worse,” he assured, pressing another kiss to her forehead. He couldn’t get enough of her. “C’mon,” he said, getting up, “let’s get you cleaned up.” He led her to the ensuite bathroom, immediately pushing her to sit on the edge of the bathtub. He then wasted no time turning the shower on, letting it warm up quickly. As the water warmed up, John grabbed a washcloth, wetting it before bringing it over. He kneeled in front of his wife once again, gently nudging her legs apart so he could clean all the slick from between her thighs. She shivered as the cool cloth touched her hot skin, and she grasped his shoulder for stability.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Of course,” he returned with a soft smile. That night they just held each other, soaking in one another’s warmth.

Masterlist

#john wick x reader #john wick #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanuverse #keanu reeves #x reader #forced marriage #arranged marriage #marriage #au #mob

[notdoneintentionally-blog]

Atypical friendships: Yaba-Mira

Notes:  I’m perfectly aware they didn’t interact a single time in canon and personally I think that’s a crime so I’m here to fix that. I’m tagging @mira-hearts-queen​ and @mister-sane​ as Mira and Yaba so they can tell me how many I got right!

If you want to see the other parts of ‘atypical friendships’, look under this tag in my blog. 

First, a little context on how they met: 

-Mira had already heard about him from the dealers, about a man always dressed in a suit who managed to solve every hearts game with ease

-She was intrigued and designed one for him. True to his reputation, he cleared it without getting a single blood stain on his shirt.

-Needless to say, Mira was impressed. 

-What caught her eye the most was how despite hearts being clearly his strongest suit, he lacked the affinity for bloodlust she’s seen in other players. Games built around deceit tend to attract people who thrive on betraying and stepping on others to come out on top, but not him. It’s not like he avoids lying and manipulation tactics though, he just does it when he deems it a necessity. 

-Her first thought was ‘I bet I could break him,’ so she decides to approach him to recruit him for the Beach. She wants to see how he’d fare in the ten of hearts she’s planning with Kuzuryuu. 

-However, she makes a mistake. She uses her tactic of appearing gullible and charmed by this tall, handsome man and of course, Yaba is a shark and smells blood in the water. He quickly realises there's more to Mira than meets the eye, and since they're not in a game and he doesn't benefit from lying to her, he tells her.

-Again, Mira is impressed.

-Thus begins a series of chance meetings after games. Some of these are coincidences, most of them are not. 

Now, onto the head canons!

-Yaba ends up showing Mira where he lives (the place is absolutely SPOTLESS) and they spend entire nights talking. It starts off with just game talk, considering different strategies they could've followed or bringing up other games they've been in. They bond over an appreciation of the borderlands’ beauty and an interest in human nature without it being sadistic.

-Then they start speaking about their own lives before the borderlands. Mira's eyes light up when Yaba tells her he's an institutional investor, and asks him if she knows what the Keynesian Beauty Contest is. When he tells her he does, she lets out a giggle but refuses to elaborate further. 

-Yaba is really interested in Mira's job as a psychiatrist. He's spent hours (literal hours) listening to some of her anecdotes with patients. 

-Both Yaba and Mira drink tea, but Mira prefers fruity tea and Yaba likes darjeeling, so Mira ends up leaving some of her own tea at Yaba's place. She also gifts him a teaset, which not coincidentally, is the same one she'll use in the Queen of Hearts. 

-Mira has tried to convince Yaba to sneak into the Beach so he can see what it's like, but he doesn't see the point, so he's never attempted it. Mira tried riling him up by claiming there's a better hearts player there than he is, called Chishiya. It didn't work (and when Yaba actually met Chishiya he had to stifle a scoff because he realised Mira was just messing with him, as Chishiya seems a diamonds player through and through. Better than him? Absolutely not).

-Mira likes giving him small gifts every now and then. One of them is a copy of the DSM-V with hearts drawn on the margins of every single page. The DSM-V has 947 pages. She was really committed to her hearts.  

-Another gift she gives him is a Walkman, after he mentions he missed listening to music. He asks where she got it from and she just says ‘I stole it, but don’t worry about it.’ As she says this, back at the Beach a white-haired executive is planning revenge on Niragi for a crime he didn’t commit. 

- They've made it a tradition that after spades games, they have to play a game themselves at Yaba's place in which they make up the rules, to push themselves beyond physical tiredness. So they might be playing chess and suddenly Mira says 'if we move our rooks we immediately lose'. Then Yaba adds 'knights can now only occupy black squares'. And keep on adding rules until one of them messes up. 

-Yaba has three hairbrushes he’s used to brush Mira’s hair after a game. The repetitive action feels relaxing for the both of them, and it’s the only physical contact they have.

-Whenever Yaba says he wants to rule the borderlands, Mira says he'd make a fine Queen of Hearts. Yaba would reply that if anything, he'd be the King of Hearts, and Mira would laugh and say 'that's not the compliment you think it is. Trust me, the Queen of Hearts is much better'. Eventually, Yaba stopped saying he'd be the King of Hearts and now instead says Queen.

-Yaba does push ups first thing in the morning to wake his body up. Even if Mira's still there, he will do his push ups, there's no two ways about it, she'll have to wait to talk to him. One time Mira got so annoyed by him ignoring her that she sat on Yaba's back to provoke him, and he simply kept on doing push ups without acknowledging her. For anyone wondering, he did a total of eleven with her on his back. 

-They favour style over practicality. While others ask Mira why on Earth she would attempt a game in heels, Yaba makes a comment on how tasteful her Loubutin are. If Yaba almost doesn’t make it to a game because there was a wrinkle in his shirt he couldn’t get rid of, Mira understands it was a risk he had to take. 

- The night the Beach burned down, Yaba saw it in the distance but didn't feel worried in the slightest about Mira. In fact, he thought she might be the reason behind the fire (and was completely right about it). 

- He wasn't surprised either when she announced the beginning of the second stage of the games with her as the Queen of Hearts. He simply thought that if someone were to be the Queen of Hearts other than himself, it'd be her. He felt a mixture of pride and tenderness when he saw every game get cleared one by one until the only one remaining was hers. Of course she'd be the last one standing. Mira Kano was a force to be reckoned with. 

- Once the games had ended and he accepted citizenship, the Joker gave him a small book Mira had left behind for him, titled 'Manual of Survival: Citizenship in the Borderlands'. When he opens it, curious, he realises it's a very detailed guide as to which one of her dresses to wear for each occasion. There's hearts drawn in the margins of every page, a ten-page epilogue on why fruity tea is the superior choice to darjeeling, and a note at the end which says 'you're going to be an amazing Queen of Hearts, darling. Have fun ❤️.'

#mira kano #yaba oki #alice in borderland #atypical friendships #aib season 2 #aib headcanon #aib

[harleyquinnzelz]

Okay so I guess it’s time I’ve said my piece. I know I stayed silent yesterday when the current situations started blowing up my dash. I wasn’t sure what I could say regarding the situation. I wasn’t sure what I was comfortable saying regarding the situation. But after being so vocal regarding the OCFA situation, it feels wrong to stay silent now. 

Whether I decide to share my own experiences regarding the situation or not, I want to stay right from the start that Maddie was someone I considered a friend. A close friend. That, apparently, was not a mutual feeling as I was unceremoniously unfollowed yesterday by Maddie (randomestfandoms) and then unfollowed today but Emily (perfectlyemily). Let me reiterate, these are both individuals that I considered myself close with and while Emily herself has no bearing on the current situation, it still cuts deep.

I will admit, straight up, that I was foolish. I wanted to believe my friend and so there were many situations where I wrote off things that were happening. You never want to think the worst of someone you care about. I wanted to believe that things could be coincidences, and as someone who had multiple times helped Maddie brainstorm new ideas, I know the potential of their creativity. 

Let me be clear, I had friends on both sides of the issue. I defended Maddie multiple times. I didn’t want to outright take sides or potentially invalidate one of my friends who were feeling hurt or upset over potential theft. I say potential here, because at the time I wanted so, so badly to believe that things could be a misunderstanding. I know better now, and if I made anyone feel as if their feelings on the matter were wrong or unimportant then I am so sorry, and that wasn’t my intention. In trying to be a good friend to one person, I fear I may have been a bad friend to others and that was never my intention. 

As I said, I wanted to believe the best in Maddie, I wanted things to be just coincidences, despite having my own experiences and doubts. The important thing was that they were my friend and I cared about them and didn’t want to hurt their feelings. As someone who often worries about my ocs seeming to similar to someone else’s if they so much as have the same face (there have been multiple times I have reached out to other creators to discuss potential character similarities to make sure neither of us were uncomfortable), I know that there are others who have absolutely no problems with this. So I downplayed my own doubts, was willing to drop one oc and changed the fc of another to avoid feeling uncomfortable. I shared my worries with only one person who told me that I wasn’t wrong to feel weird about it, but still I shrugged them off. 

It is another situation entirely to have evidence laid out so plainly. People are sharing their receipts, and there’s no shortage of evidence. I have heard multiple people talk about Maddie downplaying their concerns when they reached out regarding similar ocs. There are accounts of Maddie getting upset when others have used the same fc after them in the same fandom, despite acting cavalier when in a reversed situation where someone would feel like Maddie was copying them by using the same face claim. 

Look, I don’t know what to say here. This whole thing is messy, and it’s hard to turn off that impulse to try to see the best in someone that I thought was my friend. And even as I type this, I worry about how this might make them feel. I know that sounds silly, especially with how quick they were to unfollow me despite my own silence during the situation. They’ve made no defense for themselves and just... innocent people don’t suddenly start unfollowing their friends who have contributed nothing to the conversation. As I said I don’t know yet if I’m going to share my personal experiences, though they have been documented in the interest of transparency. I fear that in trying to be kind I allowed myself to become a doormat in this situation and, even worse, hurt other people by defending Maddie. If that is the case I am so sorry. It’s clear that in light of this evidence and validation of my own experiences that were written off that neutrality isn’t possible in this situation. Please, don’t take this as an excuse to go and attack Maddie, that’s not what this is about. I’m not trying to perpetuate drama here, but as I said it feels wrong to keep my mouth shut now when I’ve been so vocal about other situations in the past. 

#cat talks #feeling just... the most emotional right now man #like i said i don't know if i'm going to share my experiences #i don't know if i'm comfortable with that #but please know that if any of you need to talk about the situation you can always reach out to me #despite my interactions with rude anons in the past #i do strive to be a kind person #so like don't let my interactions with anons intimidate you

[abbynx]

Being Sorlato’s child + Being babysat by La squadra

A/N: Soooo, this is a direct sequel from the one-shot “Encounter” if you haven’t read it yet, feel free to browse it here 

Genre: Fluff, platonic, wholesome headcanons

- After the encounter, the couple found themselves thinking about it all the time, how different they acted to a child at the face of danger, and how afraid they were and how quick they were to act upon instinct and save you. There was certainly something the couple felt in their chest they can’t fathom but somehow liked the pleasant feeling. 

- One time Sorbet was found lounging around the La Squadra headquarters with a pamphlet regarding parenting whilst waiting for the meeting. When asked why he was reading that he nonchalantly replies that the thing was lying around and decided to read it because, “Why not?” One knows not to question him any further, so they let him be. 

- Gelato was found longingly staring at parents with their kids on the playground whilst on a mission and again, no one dared to speak a word of it. He didn’t leave even if the mission was over, until Sorbet was called in and had to physically drag him away. 

- They both knew it was getting out of hand because all they can think of now was wanting to raise a child of their own but they knew their circumstance were the least ideal to put a child in. For crying out loud, they kill people for a living and they didn’t really want to subject a child into this mess of their’s. 

- “God, is this what baby fever feels like?” 

- The couple has discussed about this, over and over than they can recall. When Gelato would suddenly mention, “You know, if we were to have a son I think that you can teach him how to ride a bike. That’d be sweet to watch to be honest.” or Sorbet saying, “If we were to have a daughter, I get to threaten her boyfriend to bring her back home before dinner.” 

- Once again, they were out to go on their once a week date all to their selves and decided to go to the same restaurant they had to stop in to save the child. And on their way their, what are the odds, the aforementioned child coming up to them and greeting them. 

“Ciao signore Sorbet! Signore Gelato!” 

W-was this a sign??? 

 "Ahh, Y/N!" Gelato was practically enthusiastic, he can just pick you up, but of course, he has to bind himself down. 

 "Out in the middle of the night again, I see." Sorbet points out. 

 "Aheh, yes sir..." You sheepishly responded. "But I really have to do everything if I want to graduate elementary with high marks." 

 - After a brief chat, weather, school and whatnot, once again you went on with your merry little way. After that, it was back for longing and yearning for the couple. 

 - The rest of La Squadra noticed this, but didn't knew how to help; until Melone picked up on the signs the couple were exuding: Sorbet reading the parenting pamphlet, Gelato longingly gazing towards parents bonding with their children, the two of them talking away about 'If we were to have a child...'— why, Melone's diagnosis: Baby fever. 

 - Melone somehow came up with an elaborate scheme involving an orphanage, did a couple of research. Due to some... Fortunate moment, somehow, someway, the figure running the same orphanage you resided in has made quite the list of enemies all his years. 

 "Melone you know that you can just tell them it's okay for them to adopt the child, right???" Risotto looks up from the detailed, complex document sent in by Babyface's user. 

 - Yes, it was stupidly complicated and a lot of work compared to just simply signing papers and adopting the child. The paperwork would be, again, stupidly complicated, but at least it doesn't involve bloodshed. It's not like the couple shied away from shedding blood but that wasn't the point. 

 - Capo Risotto had to consider their circumstances to adopt a child. Like I said, the dilemma was killing them and simply can't act out of selfishness and adopt a child just because they wanted to, it wasn't the same as a adopting a pet.

 - Cue the four hour meeting with the couple, discussing about what they can do and what they cannot do. Risotto was most certainly happy for the two of them to be adopting a child of their own, taking care of them and along of those lines but again, the fact they are a part of a crime syndicate and there were a lot of things they discussed about. 

 - After that, everything was settled and got started with the process of adopting the child. They didn't have to chose, they already had their eyes set on a specific kid; Y/N L/N, age eleven, abandoned by their parents when they were born, who adores reading and loves (insert food) and— what? They've done their research!

 - The couple was just beyond elated!

 - Through the process of adopting you they learned you were six 

 - Now that fact was uncovered, they were now more concerned and pissed why the orphanage would neglect a first grader and let them return from school at eight in the evening. And the fact that they met you under the circumstance of danger, pretending to be the couple's kid in desperation. 

 - Needless to say, a lot of things are going to change in your life, especially at the aspect of your security. They are a part of those people you should fear at night, admittedly gelato has almost pulled a gun on you that fateful night out of sheer jealousy, and didn't even register the fact you were barely half Sorbet's height.

 - First and foremost, you won't be staying in school longer than six thirty, as the couple takes turn on picking you up. They understand and adore the fact you're a hardworking kid thriving to have a scholarship in college despite being a literal first grader, but being a little kid walking alone in the middle of an evening is frightfully concerning. And in those times wherein either sorbet or Gelato picks you up, they'd buy you treats you want but not enough to spoil your appetite for dinner. 

- You did not hesitate to address them the way you addressed them that one fateful night when they tucked you in your new room for the very first time.. Gelato cried after that and Sorbet had to hold him to his chest to clam him down. Ugh, you were so effortless at making the two of them so soft. 

 - They're underpaid, not broke, so the couple spoils you in an overwhelming rate, the entirety of La Squadra were beginning to get concerned. Proscuitto scolded the two that they might spoil you rotten, but they reassured them you weren't. 

 - Speaking of La Squadra, the couple considered them as their family. Sorbet and Gelato did not hesitate to introduce you to them not as La Squadra, but as your uncles.

 - All of them were touched that Sorbet and Gelato want them to be a part of their child's life, that one of them would often volunteer to watch over you if the two were away. The couple were not going to introduce you to them as assassins and took advantage of your gullible nature as a young child. they don't intend to hide it as a secret from you. Perhaps someday they'll tell you their line of career, but six was not the right age to do so. 

 - Which brings us to their circumstances, the fact that they're assassins and how it is not an ideal career for people who has an attachment outside of their jobs. They were extremely careful in terms of that, wanting to protect and prevent others from using you against the couple. Well, now there's now a fate worse than death if ever that happens. 

 - With new responsibilities, Risotto understood them and gave them less jobs in order to take care and watch over you. But there were times where the two were both absent, prompting one of La Squadra to babysit you.

- Melone, Formaggio and Proscuitto are top picks for babysitting duties! but, of course, there are disadvantages. Melone is... Melone. Formaggio can and will act as a kid rather than an adult. And Proscuitto, well, he can be a bit too domineering. So yes, they are A-tier babysitters, nonetheless. 

 - B-tier babysitters would be Illuso, Pesci, and Ghiaccio. Illuso can be a bit too dismissive, Pesci will be too anxious and overprotective-- like in an extreme rate, and Ghiaccio... Hide your copy of Merchant of Venice, and you'll live another day. 

 - S-tier would be Risotto, except the fact that he is always busy. He is good with kids and he can guarantee their safety, I mean, need I say more?

 - Under no circumstances, are they allowed to swear around you. The couple already had restricted their foul language around you, and they expect the others to do so as well. Ghiaccio is highkey sweating when you started saying bullshit whenever you're frustrated. He profusely begged you not to day that again in exchange for ice cream. 

“Bullshit!” Ghiaccio’s heart skipped a beat after hearing your small voice whisper-shout on the dinner table as you attempted to solve a rather difficult math problem. 

 - Your relationship with them was well. They were protective of you, love you and support you. They're very affectionate, but not in an overwhelming amount... Well, at least they try to hold back but all they want to do is to spend time with their baby and love them unconditionally, as they should. 

 - Padre Gelato is more of a fun dad, very playful and energetic. He likes lifting you up to his hip before gently nuzzling his nose against yours. Dad jokes subconsciously slips from his mouth, be careful. He does a lot of cool tricks with his butterfly knife, twirling the sharp blade around while you stare in awe, whilst Papa Sorbet was more concerned that he'll accidentally cut himself, or that you might try the trick unsupervised. Needless to say, Padre was responsible enough to keep his knife in his pocket at all times to prevent that. 

“When will you teach me how to do that, Papa?” 

“When your old enough, N/N.” 

 - Papa Sorbet is a bit more reserved, but certainly not distant. He will not hesitate to kill someone who tries to hurt you. So he's the perfect person to serve as your teacher, as he helps you with school work and help you learn other practical things: cooking, baking, doing laundry by hand (which product is more effective to get blood off clothes), self-defense, etc. 

“So if there’s a stranger following you, what do you do?”

“Cling to the nearest person I see and pretend that I know them?”

 - They both tuck you into bed after reading you a bed time story, though it only lasted until you were nine because you insisted you were already grown up (cue, Gelato hiding his face on Sorbet's chest because his baby is all grown up--), but some things don't change because by bed time, they just check up on you even if they won't tuck you in to sleep.

 - Extremely supportive and encouraging. Like, they're basically the gasoline you pour on fire to intensify the fire of your passion. Like, they'll cheer you on sport games and competitions, tries their best to attend recitals, etc, etc. Though sometimes one is missing due to missions, sometimes both, but in the end of the day, you were confident that they would have loved it. 

 - Unbeknownst to you, at the end of the competition, a certain figure will come behind you and lock you on a headlock before harshly rubbing their knuckle atop your head. Uncle Formaggio can be a mean sometimes. So yes, if ever the couple is absent from your competitions, one of your uncles would volunteer to go. 

“‘Sup, little sport?” 

“Uncle Formaggio, my hair--!”

 - The first time you celebrated your birthday with your new parents was your seventh. They wanted to throw a goshdarn ball, but you insisted to keep the party amongst yourself. Just you, your papa and padre, and your  seven weird uncles. You were already a big family, and you were happy with that.

#la squadra x reader #sorbet and gelato #gelato and sorbet #gelato x reader #sorbet x reader #platonic #familial #fluff #jjba part 5 #jojo vento aureo #headcanons #wholesome

[trini-trin-trin]

Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

#andre aciman #CMBYK Book #call me by your name #cmbyn #elio x oliver

[imjustwritingg]

no doubt in my mind

Happy Valentine’s Day babes! Here’s a fun and sorta fluffy one shot with our favorite couple to celebrate the day. Based loosely on the song “Make You Feel My Love” by Adele. Enjoy and let me know what you think! 

Also here: AO3 and FanFic.Net

It’s been a month of them and their new thing, and as much as things had changed between Hailey and Jay, things had also remained just the same. Their dynamic in the field hadn’t faltered once since the first night they’d gotten together. If anything, their partnership had only grown stronger. The lingering looks, the way they could communicate with one silent glance, a simple placement of a hand on a shoulder to let the other know they were there.

They were sure no one had noticed a change in their relationship. So sure up until the point the door to their Sergeant’s office opens suddenly one afternoon and he stands in the doorway with a vacant, unreadable look on his face.  

“Upton, Halstead. My office for a sec.”

The pair share a quick glance before they stand from their desks and follow after their boss into his office. He nods at the door and Jay closes it behind them. Hank sits back down behind his desk while the partners stand on the other side of him, both of their arms crossed in front of them and waiting. They watch as Hank reaches into his desk, pulls out some paper, and then leans forward and hands them to Hailey and Jay. They glance down at the sheets as soon as they have them in their hands. It’s hard to miss the words printed in bold at the top of each sheet.

Chicago Police Department: Workplace Relationship Disclosure & Declaration

Hailey and Jay lock eyes again, both inhaling a deep breath, and then Jay looks back at the man behind his desk.

“Sarge, we - “

Hank holds up a hand and Jay goes silent. He’s been in this position before, he and Hailey both have, and he’s not so sure of how this will play out given the unreadable look on their boss’ face. To say it makes him nervous would be the biggest possible understatement.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” Hank starts, looking between the couple in front of him who nod once at their boss and wait for him to continue.

“You both might just be two of the best detectives I’ve ever worked with, the leading officers on our team aside from me. The job comes first and you don’t jeopardize this unit. Do you understand?”

Jay and Hailey share another look, but nod their heads regardless. Neither quite exactly sure as to what is happening or how it could be this easy.

“That’s it?” Hailey finds herself asking the older man a second later.

Voight sighs then, looking between the two again. There’s a fleeting smile that appears at the corners of the man’s face. He looks almost nostalgic for a moment before he speaks again.

“After everything this team has been through over the last few years, after everything we’ve lost,” Hank sighs again as he looks between the two.

“Look, anything outside of Intelligence and the job, relationships or whatever you guys do on your own time. I gotta tell ya, I just don’t care anymore. Fill these out. Give ‘em to Platt for the Ivory Tower. That’s it,” he tells them.

Hailey and Jay glance at each other again, both of them breathing a silent sigh of relief. This certainly was not what they’d expected happening when this conversation started. They turn and head for the door, but just as Jay is about to pull it open he turns back around to face his boss. He just can’t help himself.

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve got eyes Jay,” is all their Sergeant says.

Jay nods once, glances at Hailey, who just offers a small smile, but doesn’t say anything, and then he looks back at Voight.

“Thank you,” Jay tells him and Hailey nods her head, a silent thanks of her own.

It’s not lost on either of the three of them the weight those two simple words carry.

Thank you for not splitting us up. Thank you for not kicking one of us or both of us out. Thank you for understanding.

Hank leans back in his chair, a smirk on his face now, as he looks at his two detectives.

“Believe me, it’s not lost on me the number of partnerships that have crossed lines in this unit. I shoulda been a matchmaker instead of a cop. And send the other two lovebirds in on your way out, will ya?”

“Copy you,” Hailey tells him, and then her and Jay turn head for the door. Jay shakes his head in near disbelief at the outcome of the conversation as they re-enter the bullpen.

“Voight wants to see you two,” Jay calls out, nodding in Adam and Kim’s direction as he stands in the aisle next to his and Hailey’s desks.

The other couple shares a similar look of concern, but head for Voight’s office, closing the door behind them. The disturbance makes Kevin stand from his desk and walk up to Jay, noticing the sheet of paper in his hand.

“What’s that about bro? Y’all good?” He asks. He glances down at the paper in Jay’s hand and catches the words “workplace relationship” before Jay puts it away inside his desk.

Jay nods quickly. “Yeah, all good.”

The officer glances between Jay and Hailey, noticing the same sheet of paper on the blonde detective’s desk before she drops it in her drawer and closes it. He looks back at Jay.

“You and Upton? Like, you and Upton?” Kevin asks, his eyes widening.

Jay looks over at Hailey, notices her flushed cheeks and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. The two lock eyes and the look doesn’t go unnoticed by Kevin, who shakes his head in disbelief, not thinking his suspicions of the pair over the last few weeks were in fact true.

“Well, alright then,” is all Kevin says. He picks up his coffee mug from his desk and makes his way to the break room, leaving the partners to themselves.

“That was not as bad as I thought it would be. Definitely expected worse,” Jay says a moment later as he sits on the edge of Hailey’s desk.

“Yeah,” she says as she exhaled a long breath. She’s still a bit caught off guard and the words of their Sergeant are playing on a loop in her head.

“Molly’s tonight?” Jay asks her a moment later, noticing her deep in thought.

Hailey’s being just a little too quiet for his liking, considering the confrontation they’ve just experienced, and that nervousness from Voight’s office is beginning to creep up on him again. He can’t help wondering if she’s starting to second guess this new thing between them. That maybe she’s having regrets and it scares him. He can’t lose another partner. He can’t lose her. Not now.

Hailey turns her head to look up at him, grateful for the distraction and momentary cease of Kevin’s gaze and the eyes of Voight, but soon scrunches her face in realization.

“You know what today is right? That place is gonna be a mad house tonight,” she tells him.

He does in fact know what today is; it’s Valentine’s Day, their first together, and potentially their last given the look on her face and the uneasy feeling he has rising in his chest.

Jay just shrugs, trying to play it off, with a smirk peeking out over his face. “It could be fun and the others are going.”

“Never would have pegged you for the type to wanna celebrate Valentine’s Day,” she tells him.

“Well, if it makes any difference, they’re doing half price pints and they even got a food truck catering from Offset BBQ tonight.”

“What about Offset BBQ?” Kevin asks as he walks out of the break room with a fresh mug of coffee.

“Food truck at Molly’s,” Jay says before standing from Hailey’s desk to sit back down at his own.

“Ah yes, and half price drinks. You can’t pass up half price drinks at Molly’s. Can’t pass up the opportunity to see Herrmann go off the rails over it either,” Kevin tells them as he returns to his desk.

Hailey smiles at Kevin, knowing he’s right, and feeling relieved over the fact that the man doesn’t look at her differently or ask any questions about her and Jay.

She turns around in her chair to look back at her partner. “Fine, but if it gets too crowded I’m bailing.”

Jay just smiles at her and nods his head, and they go back to their jobs and the seemingly never-ending piles of paperwork they have to do. He can’t seem to shake the uneasy feeling still bubbling inside of him at the way the woman across from him remains quiet and doesn’t look up at him again for the remainder of the afternoon.

By the time their shift is over and the last of the paperwork has been done for the day, Jay and Hailey are the last ones in the bullpen. The others had left a short while earlier, even Voight had already called it a night.

“You ready, Hails?” Jay calls out to her as she returns to the bullpen from the locker room.

“Yeah, just had to grab my bag,” she tells him, a duffel slung over her shoulder.

The pair shut down their computers and put on their coats, and then head down the stairs. They don’t say a word to each other as they make their way out to the parking lot to his truck. It’s just as quiet on the short drive over to Molly’s and by the time he finds a parking spot down the street from the bar, he can’t take the silence anymore.

“We gonna talk about it?” He asks her as soon as the truck is in park. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns his head to look at the blonde, but she just quirks an eyebrow up at him.

“The conversation with Voight,” he answers her unspoken question.

“Do we need to?” She asks a moment later.

That’s not exactly the response he was expecting and it surely doesn’t help calm the nerves he’s been feeling all day.

“I just wanna make sure we’re on the same page. We’ve been doing our thing the last month or so and it’s been really great. At least I think it’s been really great, but we haven’t talked about what exactly that thing is either.”

“So you wanna put a label on it?” She asks, trying to hold back a smirk and failing to do so.

“I just don’t wanna assume anything,” Jay tells her, a shy smile appearing on his face.

“What exactly are you assuming?” She presses.

Jay can tell she’s pushing him by the look in her eyes and he’s nervous again. He knows there hasn’t been anyone else for her since that night in the bar when he first kissed her. There hasn’t been anyone else for him either. The fact that they’ve spent every night together at either of their apartments since that first night solidifies that for him. He’s also sure that what they have, this new thing between them, isn’t just some fling between co-workers out of convenience or opportunity. There’s no doubt in his mind about that.

Jay wants to believe it’s the real deal between them, that Hailey is it for him, despite her quiet behavior and the nerves he’s been feeling all day. He takes a deep breath and then he takes the plunge to hopefully solidify what they’ve been doing and make it official.

“You being my girlfriend,” Jay tells her. His eyes are on hers and his heart is pounding so loud in his chest that he’s sure she can hear it.

“Jay,” Hailey says, her voice soft and quiet and he suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. Maybe he had been wrong.

“I already filled out that form,” she tells him a second later.

“What?”

“When you and Kev took those boxes of CI files back down to the file room,” she explains as a smirk forms on Jay’s face.

“And what exactly did you write on the form?” He asks her.

“That you’re my boyfriend,” she says with a shrug as if her answer should be obvious.

Jay raises his eyebrows at her response and she gives him a playful roll of her eyes. She unbuckles her seatbelt and leans just slightly over the console between them. She grabs his arm to pull him towards her and they meet in the middle.

“I know I’ve been acting weird since we talked to Voight, but not for the reasons you think. I like you Jay, I really like being with you, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way, and it seems pretty clear to me what we’re doing, so yeah. I declared you as my boyfriend on that form. Is that okay with you?”

Jay grins at her just before he closes the remaining space between them and captures her lips with his own. He brings his hand up to hold the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek for a moment before he slides his hand to the back of her neck. He quickly deepens the kiss, earning a moan from his partner, and then feels her hands on the front of his jacket. She pulls him as close to her as she can considering the middle console that is wedged between them now.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Hailey whispers against his lips a second later.

“You can take that as a hell yes,” he tells her before kissing her again.

When they separate again, they’re grinning, both of their dimples out on display.

“Gotta say, I was a little nervous there for a second,” he admits then.

She reaches a hand up to the back of his neck, the tips of her fingers brushing through his hair, as she looks him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t because of you or because I was rethinking us. After we talked to Voight, all I could really think about was a conversation I had with Platt actually,” she tells him a small smile.

His eyebrows raise at that. “What conversation with Platt?”

He feels her fingers slip away from the back of his head and she leans back just slightly before taking a deep breath.

“It was a while ago, back when Adam and I were doing whatever we were doing. Platt said that if he was the one that we’d have to make it work. And that if we wanted to be together, one of us would have to leave Intelligence,” she tells him. He nods slowly at her in understanding and then she continues.

“And after what Voight said, I guess I just got lost in my own thoughts and feelings. I know I wouldn’t have given up Intelligence or the job for Adam, but for you? It wouldn’t have been a very hard decision for me and I was ready to make it today in Voight’s office. And I guess it kinda just scared the crap out of me.”

He’s smiling at her now. A wide grin taking over his face as he looks at her with so much admiration and happiness and love. She had chosen him over the FBI. She would have chosen him over her career today. She’s chosen his side countless times before.

“I love you,” he whispers to her then.

He says it so easily, like it’s not the first time he’s uttering those special words to her, and the look she wears on her face after he says them makes him smile like an idiot. He doesn’t care that they’ve only been together a month. He doesn’t care that to others he may be rushing things. He knows it’s been much longer than four weeks that he’s been feeling this way, and not just for himself, but for her too.

He leans towards her again, hanging back just enough to still look her in the eyes, and he brings a hand back up to the side of her face. She’s got tears in her eyes, but they’re shining bright blue, and she smiles back at him just the same.

“I love you too,” she whispers back before closing the space between them again and kissing him hard on the mouth.

When they separate moments later with shallow breaths, they’re still grinning at one another and his hand is still holding her head just centimeters away from his.

“Really wish we didn’t have to leave this truck right now,” he tells her remembering where they are. His voice is so deep and gruff that it sends a heatwave through her almost instantly. She nods in silent agreement before giving him another quick kiss, and then leans back into her seat.

“Let’s go. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can leave,” she says with a wink and he just smirks at her.

They exit the truck and make their way up the sidewalk side by side and shoulders brushing. When they reach the door to the bar, Jay holds the door open for her, placing his hand on her lower back over her coat and guiding her inside.  

When they enter the bar, they’re not all that surprised to see a slight crowd inside just as expected. The twinkling string lights shine bright from the ceiling, and familiar faces from the district and firehouse scatter the bar and tables.

Jay uses his height to his advantage given the crowd and quickly spots the rest of their team at the back of the place. He drops his hand from Hailey’s back and reaches for her hand hanging at her side. He gives her fingers a quick squeeze to get her attention, letting go of them when she looks up at him. He nods off in the direction of their friends and Hailey follows him to the back wall.

“Tell me one of those is for me,” Hailey says in greeting when her and Jay arrive at the table.

They’re met with hello’s and smiles from Kim, Adam, and then Kevin, who grins back at the blonde. He nods down to two pint glasses full of beer and foaming at the top.

“Of course, help yourselves,” Kevin tells the pair.

Hailey and Jay each take a glass, and then take a seat next to one another on the remaining stools at the table. The group begins making small talk and when Adam starts in about the case they just wrapped, Kevin raises a hand to stop him mid-sentence.

“Hold up, the only shoptalk I wanna hear about is those lovely little forms y’all got from Voight today,” Kevin says as he brings his glass to his lips.

Hailey and Kim both shake their heads, amused smiles on their faces, while Jay nearly chokes on his beer as he’s mid-sip and Adam throws his head back and groans.

“Man, come on,” Adam says.

“You two? I get. Lot of history there,” Kevin starts pointing between Kim and Adam.

And then he turns and looks between Hailey and Jay. “But you two. Y’all have been in sneaky stealth mode and I don’t like it. I thought we were all friends here. I mean, I had suspicions, but how long has this been going on for exactly? Inquiring minds need to know.”

Jay just shakes his head, an amused smile on his face, and Hailey laughs.

“You really wanna know about our love life?” Jay asks before he takes another sip from his glass.

Hailey’s eyes dart to Jay at the mention of the word, thinking back to their exchange from minutes before outside. She moves her free hand from her lap to his knee, not caring about PDA – it’s not as if anyone can see the gesture anyway. Jay glances over at her at the contact and she just smiles at him before turning her attention back to the group.

“Ya know, Kev has a good point. I’d like to know that as well. I mean, Kim and I assumed, but we didn’t know for sure until today,” Adam chimes in while Kim just nods in agreement with a smirk on her face.

“The three of you are relentless,” Jay says before glancing at his partner.

“Yeah, there’s nothing really to tell,” Hailey says with another casual shrug hoping they’d back off, but knowing they won’t.

“No, no, no. There’s definitely something to tell. Come on, it’s us,” Adam pushes with a boyish grin.

“Exactly,” Jay teases, pointing in the officer’s direction.

“At least tell us who made the first move because my money is totally on Hails,” Kim says.

“Well, you’d be right about that,” Hailey tells her with a grin.

“Yes! Ladies for the win!” Kim yells out and the two share a high five across the table.

Adam shakes his head in mock disappointment and Kevin runs his hand over his face before looking back at Jay.

“Bro, you didn’t make the first move? What’s the matter with you?”

“Well, she’s my partner for one,” Jay says as if it’s obvious. All he gets in return are eye rolls and a shake of heads from all of them except Hailey, who just smiles at him and squeezes his knee under the table.

“Semantics,” Adam chimes with a wave of his hand.

“Ok, so I was a chicken. Happy now?” Jay says as he takes another drink from his glass.

“In his defense, he did kiss me first. I just had to give him a little push in the right direction,” Hailey tells them, bumping her shoulder against his and smiling coyly at the memory of that night in the bar.

“Alright, so hold up. I gotta ask, am I the only one here that hasn’t slept with their partner? Is that like some Intelligence initiation thing? Because if it is, I’m pretty sure I missed that in the employee handbook,” Kevin says glancing between the two couples who break out laughing.

Jay shakes his head, a grin still on his face. “Shut up, Kev.”

“I’m just saying. I’m the only one here not getting any. And it’s Valentine’s Day. That’s just a damn shame,” Kevin says as he surveys the bar. “Ya know what, y’all enjoy the rest of your evenings. I’m gonna go and find me a lady friend of my own.”

Kevin shoots them all a wink and a bright smile, and they say a quick goodbye before he stands up and heads off into the crowd.

“I’m assuming you guys got the same speech we did from Voight then,” Adam says a moment later looking over at Hailey and Jay. The pair glance at one another briefly before nodding.

“Man, the way things have changed. Voight’s getting soft on us,” Adam tells them, bringing his drink to his lips.

Jay shakes his head, his hand moving over top Hailey’s under the table and giving her fingers a squeeze. “Not sure if that’s it exactly. I think the unit, us, is all he has left. We’ve lost a lot over the years. I think he just doesn’t want us to lose anything else.”

Adam nods and Kim smiles back at him, and he feels Hailey’s fingers tighten against his.

“I’ll drink to that,” Adam says then, raising his glass. The other three nod and raise their own drinks. They clink their glasses together and then drink, and dive in about hockey and work and swap stories about their friends – their family that are no longer with them.

After another round, Kim and Adam make their way to the bar and get distracted with talking to some of the firefighters from 51. The crowd has only grown larger and the volume of chatter around them makes Hailey turn and lean into Jay so she’s leaning over his shoulder.

“Wanna get out of here?” She asks against his ear.

He gives her a nod and the pair stand from the table. They weave their way through the crowd and say a quick goodbye to their friends, and then head for the door.

As soon as they’re outside, Hailey leans into Jay as they head for the truck. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, holding her against him as her arm snakes around his waist.

“Ya know what I just realized?” He asks her as they walk down the sidewalk.

“Who knows,” she teases. He slides his hand down her arm just enough to poke his fingers into her side, tickling her ribs, and she squirms against him.

“What did you realize?” She asks him, giving his side a squeeze.

“We’re one of those cheesy cliché couples that say I love you and make things official on Valentine’s Day,” he tells her, a smirk spreading over his face as he looks down at her. Her eyes go wide and then she laughs, knowing he’s right.

“At least neither of us will ever forget our anniversary now,” Hailey tells him a moment later with a smirk of her own as they reach the truck.

Jay smiles at her again, taking a step towards her and pressing her against the passenger side door. His hands find her waist and his lips are on hers a second later and she’s kissing him back instantly.

It still feels like a dream to her that she can be like this with him. Kissing him, touching him, loving him. Like it’s not still some new thing for them despite the familiarity and the fact that they’ve been doing their thing for a month already. Kissing her partner, her boyfriend, has become one of her favorite things.

Sure, they’ve slept together. And while those times spent in bed with one another have been nothing short of amazing, it’s these moments where he’s pressed against her with his hands holding onto her, and his lips moving over hers that she’s come to enjoy the most. Because it’s all she’s wanted since falling for her best friend. It’s these little moments that she’s wanted and thought about and it’s what causes her to smile against his lips as he kisses her once more before pulling away to look her in the eyes.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jay whispers to her.

Hailey nods, leaning back into him, and smirks up at him. “Might just be my new favorite holiday.”

And then she kisses him again just because she can.

#chicago pd #upstead #upstead fic #hailey upton #jay halstead #happy valentine’s day

[omniscientoranges]

Advanced Reader Copy

Dean gives Cas a book to read. Or, well, a passage from a book.

(basically, Cas reads a part of Lost and Found)

1.5k

read on ao3

"Hey, Cas, can I talk to you?" 

Cas stops in place at Dean's voice, a few feet in front him. They're standing in the middle of the library, where Cas had just been trying to stealthy avoid Dean noticing him walking by. 

It's been a little over a week since Dean (with some help from their friends) had pulled Cas out of the Empty. Since then, they've been not-so-obviously/obviously avoiding each other. 

The reason being that, basically, they haven't talked about what Cas said. Yet. Maybe they wouldn't ever talk about it. Honestly, Cas would be absolutely fine with that, if it meant he got to keep Dean as a friend. That would be absolutely fine and not at all painfully heartbreaking in any way. Not at all. 

Cas nods. "Of course, Dean. What is it?" 

Dean shifts on his feet. "It's, well, it's kinda important." 

"Okay," Cas says, smiling slightly even though his heart has started to beat erratically in his chest. 

"Look, I- shit. This is-" Dean stops himself, and shakes his head as his eyes dart back and forth across the concrete floor. Then he pauses, eyes fallen on one of the shelves, and looks back up at Cas. 

"Just gimme a minute, I'll be right back." 

Cas squints, "Alright, I'll just-" he starts to say, but Dean's already ran off to some far-flung corner of the bunker — taking whatever he wanted to say and whatever idea he's suddenly had with him. 

Cas stares after him, but stays rooted to the spot. 

Time passes. It is — possibly — the longest string of minutes Castiel, former Angel of the Lord and current Angel of Absolutely No One (Except, Maybe, the Winchesters), has ever experienced. 

After an eternity passes in 10 minutes, Dean walks back into the library. He's carrying a beat-up cardboard box, with a single book resting on top of where the box has been folded closed. 

Dean drops the box onto a nearby table, and the old wood creaks under the new weight. Before Cas can see it, Dean quickly grabs the single book off the top and holds it tight to his chest. It's angled in a way that Cas can only make out that it is, in fact, a book; but not anything else about it. 

"What are these?" Cas asks, moving the cardboard flaps out of the way to peer into the box. 

"Books." Dean answers. 

Cas rolls his eyes, "I know they're books, Dean, I mean what-" and Cas finally catches sight of one of the covers. 

Carver Edlund.

"Oh," Cas says. "They're, um. Our books, I suppose." 

Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess, uh, I guess Chuck kept writing. Sammy found them when he went to check out Chuck's old place a few weeks back. Looks like the rest of his books never made it into circulation though. I think he just mojo-ed up some printed copies for himself when he finished with 'em, pompous bastard." 

Dean's mouth forms a thin line at the thought of Chuck, but wipes it away as quickly as it came. "But anyways, here," Dean holds out the book he was carrying between them. "Take it." 

Cas reaches out apprehensively, and pulls the book from Dean's grasp. 

"I promise it'll all make sense," Dean insists. "Just, um, flip to the page I have marked." 

Cas takes a moment to look over the book before opening it. The paperback is a stark black, contrasted by a stylized funeral pyre adorning the front, which is set at a distance so the majority is taken up but a long trail of smoke curling up until it disappears beyond the edge of the cover. 3 figures are silhouetted by the flames, and they stand apart from each other. Separate. The title reads Lost and Found by Carver Edlund.

Cas opens to where Dean has dog-eared the book only a handful of pages before the end, and reads. 

Dean held the lighter close to his chest, almost like he was holding a candle at a vigil. In a way, he was. 

Dean had been to a lot of funerals, built a lot of funeral pyres, but something about this one had broken him in a way he wasn't expecting. It broke him in a way he had spent years — decades, really — fighting against. 

You see, Dean wasn't the kind of guy. He was a red-blooded, beer-drinking, pool-hustling, bacon-cheeseburger-eating, classic-car-driving, skin-mag-reading American male. Guys like that don't have game-changing feelings for other guys. They just don't. 

At least, that's what Dean always told himself. 

But standing in front of that pyre, watching the smoke rise, he told himself something different for once. Dean told himself it was all a bunch of bullshit, because he was still all those things he was before, and he wouldn't ever stop being those things no matter what. He was just something else extra, too. 

Because Dean would have traded anything in that moment to get Cass back. Would have traded all the cheeseburgers and beer in the world. Would have traded his life. Hell, he would have traded his car if it meant he'd get another chance at this. Another chance with Cass. Just one chance to finally tell him what he'd been too scared all these years to say. Because Cass had always been around, even when he didn't need to be — he was there. But now he wasn't. And Dean wanted more than anything else in the world for him to be there so he could finally say— 

"Dean," Cas says, voice wavering. The paragraph cuts off mid-sentence; if he wants to read the rest of it, he'll have to flip to the next page to see. "What is this?" 

"Your funeral, after Lucifer killed you." 

Cas shakes his head, not quite believing Dean's words, or Chuck's for that matter. Surely this couldn't be, he couldn't really mean—

Dean interrupts Cas' swirling thoughts. "It's Chuck's words, but it's- it's all me. He writes it more flowery than it really was, ya know, up here," Dean taps two fingers to the side of his head, "but it's the truth." He laughs to break the tension, but there's an edge of nerves there. Cas can almost hear his heartbeat across the room. "Don't tell Baby this, but I really would've given her up if it meant getting you back." 

Cas shakes his head harder, tears springing loose and dropping onto the page, smudging the ink. 

"Dean-" 

"Turn the page." 

"What's on the next page, Dean?" 

"You know what." 

"I-" 

"Cas, just turn the page." 

Cas turns the page with an unsteady hand. It's blank, likely formatted that way for dramatic effect, save for 3 words in the top left corner. 

I love you.

Cas makes a choked sound and breathes out in disbelief, in sheer amazement. He runs his fingertips over the letters, traces the shape of them, feels their weight and knows it's heavier in his hands than any cheap paperback ever could be. It feels too much all of a sudden. Like something so remarkable shouldn't be confined to print — like 3 typeset and faded little words shouldn't be enough to shift the core of him so intensely that it makes his whole body ache. 

Then, the feeling of hands brushing over his pulls him out of his own head, and he looks up to see Dean (Dean, of course it's Dean, who else would it be? Who else could it ever be but Dean). Dean shifts one hand over Cas' around the spine of the book, and uses the other to push Cas' fingers away from where they rest on the page. He gently pulls the book out of his grip, and sets it on the table next to them. They both stare at it for a long moment, and then Dean is moving his hands back onto Cas, bringing both of them up to cup his face. 

Dean looks at him, eyes shining. "I meant it, I mean it. I know I'm not the best at showing it all the time, and I know I should've told you a million times before this, but I really do mean it." 

"I know you do." Cas wraps one hand loosely around Dean's wrist, and lets the other dig into his hip; anchoring both of them in place. "I- I mean it too." 

"Yeah?" 

"Of course." 

They smile at each other and rest their foreheads together, just standing there breathing the same air like it's the first time they've let themselves breathe for months. 

When they kiss, it's not a storybook. It's not bargain bin horror fiction. It's not a bestseller. It's not scripted, or planned out, or lighted particularly well. It's a kiss. It's a little awkward, a little unpracticed, a little gross through the tears. 

What it is, is the promise of another. And another after, and after that, and after and after and after. As many as they want for as long as they want. 

Their life isn't a story anymore, not in the way that they're used to. And it's no longer getting written down to be conveniently handed to each other to read whenever they have a hard time expressing their feelings. But, for a time, it was a story. It was their story. 

And it was a hell of a story, all things considered.

#its been like. over 2 months since i finished something lmao #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #spn #gina.spn #gina.writing #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #&fic

[george-mackay-macfine]

Dear Diary Prt. 13

A/N: We're back Baby

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

December 22nd, 2011

Dear Diary,

It’s six o'clock in the morning, a ludicrous time to be awake really, but we’ve got a long day ahead of us. We’re driving home with George and Jordan today.

Now, We’ve been doing this for a couple of months, and it’s been working out well. Starting everything off with ‘Dear Diary’ (something I was critical off, but now is so natural) and then me verbally purging my innermost, and most inappropriate thoughts onto the painfully white pages - We’ve done well, we’ve faced a lot but now we’re going up against the most painful thing we’ve ever faced since we started this journey.

Christmas with my family

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family but they drive me insane with their constant nagging about my love life - now at least I’ll have something to brag about - and my career choices.

Will I work in the family practice? Go on to a surgery discipline?

Drives me mental.

I’ll write more soon, I have to get my parka into my bag,

Love, Y/N.

December 22nd, 2011 - One o'clock

Jordan, George and I are finally in the car, we left after Jordan and George practically had to pull me from why bedroom as I was running around picking up anything I might need on the week-long visit.

“Y/N,” George yelled from the couch. “You nearly done?"

"Yeah.” I puffed out. “Just tryna….” Breathing raggedly from trying to shove my parka into the bag.

“What?"

"Parka,” I grunted. The material for this thing was too damn puffy, and not nearly malleable enough. “Just trying to fit it,"

"Just carry it Y/N,” Jordan called, “We’ve gotta get on the road, or we’ll not be there until tonight and I don’t know about your mum,” He appeared at the door, eyes watching me as I tried to fold the material, “But mine’s already threatened to cut off my balls if I’m late for tea, and I quiet like my balls, useful for things,”

"He’s right,” George called.

“I know he is,” I groaned pulling the coat out of the overstuffed bag. “That’s why it’s so annoying.” I zipped the duffle up and pulled the coat over my body, looking to Jordan who was giving me a toothy grin. I still can’t believe this is the same Jordan who tried hitting on me the first night I’d met him, and subsequently every night out up until a couple weeks ago,

“Y/N?” Jordan snapped his fingers, “You in there?”

“What?” I shook my head, “Yeah, I’m here.” I picked up the bag and looked around. “Okay,“ I looked around checking for anything I may have forgotten to shove into the bag, "I’m ready,"

"Finally,” Jordan clapped. “Let’s go, I’ll carry it,” He reached for the duffle. I passed it over to him, closing my bedroom door behind us as we walked into the living room.

“Where are your bags?” I looked around for George and Jordan’s luggage.

“We put it in the car before we came to get you,” George pulled open the front door and stepped into the hallway, holding it open for us.

“Such a gentlemen,” Jordan teased as he passed George. I quickly looked around making sure everything was locked. “Harry checked it all before he and Dean left,”

“Oh,” I walked out the door and waited for the pair. “Ready?”

“Only a couple hours till we all get to eat a home-cooked meal,” Jordan cheered.

“Only a couple hours until my mother and father, and the rest of my family ask me unending questions about my first semester, you mean.” I altered.

“Tell em about the time you got drunk,” Jordan suggested as I shut the door behind us,

“Which time,” George cackled to himself as we began our way down the hallway,

“I think the nacho time was probably the best one,” Jordan smirked,

“Oh, you mean the dinner we weren’t invited too?” George looked over to Jordan, a smile bubbling on his face.

“That’s the one I mean George,” Jordan pushed open the door to the stairwell.

“It was supposed to be a study session,” I defended myself, “Dean turned it into something more, not me.”

“Don’t blame Dean just because you didn’t want us there,” George tutted.

“Yeah Y/N,”

“But don’t worry Y/N, we have five hours to discuss why you didn’t invite us to dinner,” I could hear the smirk in George’s voice as we stepped down another flight.

“Seems like it’ll be more like five hours with two bullies in the car,"

"Don’t be silly Y/N,” Jordan threw his arm around my shoulder. “Doncaster is only 3 hours away,"

"Lucky me,”

“You love it Y/N, admit it.” George chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to make this drive with anyone else,”

He’s got you there Y/N, five hours sitting next to George… I need to sit in the front seat.

“Yeah sure,” I quickly moved down the stairs. Beat Jordan, Beat Jordan. Beat Jordan, Beat Jordan.

“So, now your in a rush Y/N?” Jordan laughed.

“No,” I called over my shoulder back towards the idle walking men, “Just wanted shotgun,” I screamed as I pushed open the final door and began running towards George’s car.

“No, you don’t Y/N,” Jordan screamed at me, the sound of his feet hitting the concrete stairs in the stairwell echoing as he ran after me. “I’m gonna get ya,"

"Stop it Jordan,” I squealed over my shoulder. “George, tell him to stop it,"

"Y/N?"

"Tom?” I stopped, Tom was standing in front of me, his hands in his pocket a look of confusion covering his face.

“What are you doin?” He laughed,

“Run Y/N!” George yelled from behind me as he emerged from the stairwell.

“Go!“ Tom pushed my shoulder gently sending me back into a full sprint towards the car. “Run Y/N,”

Jordan and I were neck and neck as we reached the car.

"Mine,” We screamed together, hands reaching out.

“I got it,” Jordan cheered his palm flat against the metal.

“Fuck,” I groaned, hands dropping to my knees as my lungs tried to kill themselves. “Jesus,"

"You really aren’t fit are you?"

"No,” I shook my head wildly, “Not at all,"

"After Christmas,” He patted my shoulder.

“Great,” I panted, hands still resting on my knees. “Can’t wait,"

"You alright Y/N?” George strolled towards me, Tom by his side. “You lost by the way,”

"Yes, I know.” I groaned. “Hi Tom,” I stood up a little straighter, ignoring the burning of my lungs, a smile coming to my lips as I took him in. “Won’t be a second George, I’ll meet you both in the car?"

"Yeah,” George held his hand out to Tom, “Happy Christmas,"

"See you in the New Year?” George nodded, “Mates throwing a party for New Years, you’re all welcome,"

"We’ll be there,” George winked cheekily at me as he passed. Tom walked over to me, pulling me to his chest,

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you for a week,” He mumbled into my hair, “I’ve grown used to seeing

you."

"At least it’s only a week,” I looked up at him. “I better go,” He nodded and leant down placing a chaste kiss on my lips. “Seven days,"

"Seven days,” He let go of me. His hand wrapped in mine as he walked with me to the car. He opened the door and waited for me to sit in the backseat behind Jordan, “Keep her safe MacKay,"

"Always,” George laughed as he started the ignition.

“Message me when you get there,"

"I will,” Tom closed the door and stepped back onto the footpath,

“Ready Y/N,” Jordan turned around in his seat looking back at me.

“Ready,”

So far the trip has been fine, Jordan, from the front seat, has been trying to get George and I to play I-spy with him, nearly the whole way, somehow he’s not figured out yet that if he stops picking things and looking at them for three minutes before he speaks we won’t guess so quickly what he’s chosen.

I’ll write more when I’m home diary, I’ll let you know how dinner with the family went.

Love Y/N,

December 22nd, 2011 - Seven o'clock

Dear Diary,

I just need to quickly write down what just happened for prosperity, then I have to run down and have dinner with the family. So it began when George had pulled up out the front of my house.

“Here we are,” George pulled the car into the curb bringing it to a still. I looked out the window and up at the house I’d grown up in. “You’re not going in?"

"Just want one more minute of silence before I run in and get bombarded with all the questions,"

"It won’t be that bad Y/N,” I looked from the house to him, He was leaning back on his headrest looking at me already.

“You don’t know my family,” I copied his form. “They’re mental, I’m surprised my mum hasn’t popped her head through the window yet,” I groaned. “And then it’ll be onto their constant nagging about my love life,”

“Least you have Tom now,"

"I wish it ended there, it’ll then go to my career choices. Will I work in the family practice? Go on to a surgery discipline maybe?” I let my head fall. “Every year, since I was fifteen they’ve been asking the same questions,"

"I’ll make you a deal, you go in there and face the hordes, and if it gets too much, send me a text saying Christmas tree and I’ll come to save you, we’ll run away together,"

"Christmas tree?” I laughed, George nodded his head,

“Christmas tree,"

"Okay,"

"Okay,” He reached across and pushed my fallen hair behind my ear, “You can do this, you’re Y/N Y/L/N,"

"Sounds so much bigger than it is when you say it,” I laughed picking up my duffle bag from my feet. I opened the door and went to step out, stopping to turn back to George, “Christmas Tree,” He nodded his head.

“I’ll be here, with bells on,"

“You’d look cute with bells on,”

“You’re cute when you’re flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” I watched him as he turned away and looked up at the sky once more.

“I wish you had been. Tom better now how bloody lucky he is,”

So that happened. George happened. But he always happens when I don’t expect it…

Now it’s time for Christmas dinner with the family, I’ll write more if anything other than the nagging happens,

Love Y/N

December 23rd, 2011

Dear Diary,

I’ve survived two days (Basically two days), only just. I’m already starting to pull my hair out. The constant invasive questions from my family… It’s unbearable… The worst one though had to, by far come from my Aunt Mildred, who at dinner the night I’d arrived asked if I’d lost my virginity yet, or if that had happened a while ago. She then went into excruciating detail about how she lost her virginity.

I’ll never be the same.

I’ve considered messaging George, but I don’t want to ruin his time with his family.

Five more days Diary, five more days

December 24th, 2011

Dear Diary,

I’m ready to kill my family. As if Aunt Mildred’s descriptive, beyond detailed story about how she lost her virginity wasn’t enough. Now, my mum has sat me down, tonight, the night of the birth of Jesus mind you, and tried to have a safe sex talk with me… Like I haven’t known about sex, let alone sex for the last few years, since grade seven actually, and then she had the audacity to act surprised when I cut her off mid-sentence telling her I knew about the birds and the bees as she so aptly put it.

Now she thinks I’m lying about being a virgin.

Great. Just, great.

I had gotten through nearly three days before I’d sent a message to George, I needed some normalcy or my new sense of normalcy. He replied pretty quickly, saying he’d be out to pick me up, true to his word, Ten minutes later he was beeping out the front of my house.

“I’m going out,” I called as I trudged down the stairs.

“You can’t Y/N, it’s Christmas,” Mum cried from the kitchen as I passed by.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Ma.” I groaned. “I’m just going to see some old friends, and I’ll be home before tea,"

"Let her go,” Mildred called from her seat on the settee. “She’s only young once,” For once Aunt Mildred wasn’t speaking utter crap.

“I’ll be home soon,” I back out towards the front door when my mother didn’t protest to Mildred. “Before you know it,” I called finally as I shut the door behind me. I’d have to fight this battle later, but at least for now, I’d have a couple of hours without being driven up the wall.

“Your chariot, M'lady,” George called from inside his car, his head hanging out the window, I jogged over and slipped into the passenger side. “Your mum’s watching us,” I followed his line of sight to the window where my mum and Mildred had gathered to spy on us.

“And my Aunt Mildred.” George snorted turning the key in the ignition. “Where are we going?"

"No idea,"

"Want to play twenty questions?”

“Sure."

"You go first,” I moved in the seat so I was looking more directly at him. Watching as his lips pursed, before he smirked.

“Have you ever checked me out when I’ve walked away from you.” My cheeks burned a bright red. “And remember friend’s don’t lie to each other.” I leaned over the console a little.

“I am not answering that,” I gawked.

“Don’t worry, You just did,"

"My turn…. What’s your favourite eye colour,"

"Yours.” My heart melted as he looked over and smiled sending me a cheeky wink. “I like the colour of yours, What’s more important? Truth or Happiness?"

"Truth. We make our own happiness…” George nodded his head a smile pulling on his lips. “Have you ever been arrested?"

"Once.” He nodded his head, his jaw clenched a little as he spoke. “I was seventeen… Young and stupid."

"What happened?” I listened carefully to George. I’d seen many sides to him since our first night together on Ben Daniel’s roof, but this was new. A softer side, a more fragile side.

“This was when I was dating Laura Francis, you remember, her and Mason and Taylor?” He gave me a quick sideways glance, waiting for an indication I’d remembered his friends.

“Yeah,"

"We were out one night in Cambridge before we were eighteen mind you,” He cleared his throat as he thought about this next words, “We’d all been drinking with Mason’s older brother and his friends, so we were smashed, and we went to this club,” He cleared his throat again, His eyes narrowed as he watched the road, “I started a fight and a lot of stuff got broken, we all got arrested."

"Why’d you start a fight?"

"Laura was hooking up with another guy,"

"And you punched him.” I filled in the blanks. “And that’s how you got arrested."

"Yeah,"

"Well,” I cleared my own throat, “Laura was kind of a bitch in school, so it’s really not a big loss,” George’s lips move as laughter bubbled through.

“Only you can make me laugh over that, Y/N,” He shook his head. “What are your favourite hobbies?” I ran a hand through my hair, using the minute to digest the story George had told me,

“I like photography and writing.”

“I do always see you writing in your diary?” He looked across at me as we pulled to a stop. “What are you writing about?”

“Things,"

"Am I one of them?"

"What a thing?"

"Something you write about?"

"You’re in my life aren’t you?"

"Yes,"

"So yes, you are"

"Will you show me one day?"

"Maybe one day.” I nodded my head, I had no intent to show him, Diary.

“How about some food?” He pulled into the car park of the McDonalds we’d wasted hours in the night we’d met. “Is that?” His eyes narrowed as he leant forward on the steering wheel, squinting out into the sun. “No fucking way,” I followed his eyes to where he was looking. Standing beside a shitty old maroon car was Julian and Sarah.

“Julian,"

"And stalker Sarah,” George quipped. “They’ve seen us,” Julian had stood up straighter, nodding his head towards George’s car.

“Yup,” I nodded.

“Alright,” George cleared his throat and turned, his hand went to the back of my headrest, as I turned to face him. “We’re doing this,” He nodded. "We're doing this." He repeated without a second thought, he leaned in, his lips touching mine. His other hand ran up and grabbed my face, holding me in place. His tongue traced my bottom lip urging mine to open when I did our tongues touched. He pulled away lips going to my neck. “Y/N.” I grabbed onto his face and pulled him back up, reattaching our lips again. My hands left his face and went to his shirt, lifting it up as he pulled me over the console and onto his lap. I grabbed his shirt and lifted it up and over his head throwing it in the back seat. My lips went to his neck as he grabbed onto the handle for the seat, letting it fall backwards so we had more room. “Y/N, we need to stop.” George grabbed my face holding it gently. “Believe me, I’m a guy, and I don’t want to, but if we don't…” I nodded my head, opening the door and slipping out. I straightened my clothes and watched as George got out and pulled a shirt on.

“Y/N,” Her voice called across the car park, “Is that you?” I looked at George as Sarah called out to us, “Y/N Y/L/N,"

"George,” I groaned, “Can’t we do a drive-through order?"

"Not after than show,” He chuckled, fixing his shirt. “C'mon, we’ll just ignore her.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the doors. Sarah and Julian watched us as we neared them.

“So you two are a thing, huh?” Julian’s voice called as we passed. “Enjoy the slutty sloppy seconds MacKay,” My feet stilled, George’s hand squeezed mine.

“No, You know what,” I growled turning around. I stalked up to Julian and slapped him across the face, “How dare you,” I screamed. “You fucked this up Julian, you cheated on me with her,” I hissed at Sarah who’d slunk back. “So don’t think you can go around, accusing me of being a slut,” My eyes turned to slits. “You didn’t fuck me, and I’m sure if you did I wouldn’t have been able to feel it,"

"Fuck,” I heard George whisper under his breath.

“So next time you try and accuse me of being a slut because I’ve moved on, have a look back and think why that’s happened, you small cock fuck,” I turned on my heel and walked back to George,

“Y/N Y/L/N, I may just be in love with you,"

#Dear Diary #george mackay #George MacKay Imagine #dean charles chapman #Harry Styles #Harry Styles imagine

[kitkatopinions]

I feel the need to hear your opinion on this since this is something I've been thinking about recently, and it's how crwby handles complex relationships/abuse in their show... It's infuriating.

I can't tell if they genuinely think they are writing this in a good way or if they know they're half asss-ing it and don't care since the fandom will eat it up anyways. Two big examples that come to mind for me in the last volume are emerald & cinder and whitley & jacques. In both instances the the victim never gets a moment of closure or a moment of breaking away from their abuser, nor are either victims allowed to show any sort of 'hesitance' (for a lack of a better term) related to their abuse.

Emerald (despite being all over cinder before Midnight), just conveniently forgets about her for the finale. Same for whitley. He just completely forgets about jacques (the man who manipulated him from birth) the moment weiss hugs him. On a shallow level, watching a victim pay no mind to their abuser is satisfying, but it being so immediate is just unrealistic and takes away from the pain that we are supposed to think these characters have suffered.

One of the worst things about suffering from abuse is how is affects the victims even when they have left the abusive relationship, but crwby seems to want to erase that completely from characters who should experience that for plot convenience.

It seems like the lesson learned from this is "if you were abused, just get over it and be convenient to our heroes or else!" And it's pretty gross imo.

Thoughts?

I thought that I would put these two asks together and take this opportunity to talk about the abuse victims in RWBY and how they're handled. I've tried to think long and hard about what to say about this, because this is an important topic to me and something that's personal for me. I'm an abuse survivor, but I have a complicated relationship with that part of myself and I'm never really comfortable talking about it much. But despite the fact that I've experienced abuse, I recognize that I'm not a professional sensitivity editor, not a therapist, and not someone who's studied the effects of abuse.

I'm simply writing this based on my own feelings and what I've picked up witnessing other abuse victims discuss their own feelings about abused character. There will be RWBY criticism below the keep reading. Please keep in mind that I'm not speaking for all abuse survivors and am only trying to articulate my own feelings in regards to this issue.

The first thing to note is that there isn't one, correct, right way to write an abuse victim in my opinion. Lots of people have different reactions and responses to abuse, the way they were abused is often also different, causing different reactions.

In the first anon, it's noted that Emerald and Whitley both seem to move on from their abuse quickly and with very little effect on them or their stories. Many abuse victims put their experiences on the back burner or 'in a box' to deal with later, or mask and pretend that they're alright or that their abuse just didn't happen. Some of them let their feelings or their anger simmer over time. There are also abuse victims who do just... Move on with relative ease. I'd imagine that's very rare though. (again, I'm not not an expert or any sort of psychologist.)

In the same way, an abuse victim becoming an abuser in their own interactions is something that one hundred percent happens. Cinder, Salem, Adam, and even Blake and Winter have all acted in abusive ways towards the people around them (though obviously Blake and Winter acted much less abusive than any of the villains mentioned.) It might be very hard for abuse victims to not fall back into those patterns of abuse that they've suffered, especially if they go through it at an early age. I'm not very comfortable talking about my own experiences, but myself and my siblings have all had to fight down toxic, hurtful traits that we picked up either through emulating or through survival. And it's hard to do that. Portraying characters who have been abused that lost that fight and might have abusive tendencies or slip themselves is - to me at least - sometimes even helpful in working through my own feelings.

And there are definitely one hundred percent abuse victims who feel like the way they were treated is deserved, that they 'earned' it, that they must 'make up for it.' Oz is in this category. There's nothing wrong with the concept of a character who feels responsible for their abuser or the hurt their abuser has caused to others, there’s nothing wrong with a character who tends to act as though everything is their fault and who thinks very poorly of themselves.

In theory. But the problem is that in application, there are a lot of pitfalls and struggles that come with writing for abuse victims. Understanding, thoughtfulness, and care are not the RWBY writers’ strength, and any time you portray real life issues that strongly impact the real life people involved in them, you have to be aware and careful with the messages you’re sending. This is obviously very important when someone writes for any minority or oppressed group or the issues that they face, but it’s also important to remember when you write for abuse victims, because they do have stigmas around them and deal with stereotypes and harmful portrayals as well. Let’s look at what I consider some harmful or hurtful pitfalls when it comes to abused characters.

Are the abused characters treated as the victims they are? If the abuse a character faces is treated as comical, treated as unimportant, or treated as deserved, that’s an obvious major flaw. Sad to say, but RWBY does not pass this. On two separate occasions, a character is hit by someone close to them in a way that clearly causes them some pain, with Blake hitting Sun across the face for following her, and Winter hitting Weiss for answering a question incorrectly and again for failing in her training (I tend to be more sympathetic towards Blake’s situation, as it is more gray with her clearly thinking Sun had stalked her which is a clear trigger from her own abuse, but this is an explanation, not an excuse and the fact that it was framed as funny rather than something Blake shouldn’t have done and should apologize for is the problem.) They also do not treat Ozpin like the victim when Qrow punches him in the face, having no one call Qrow out for it and having him never express guilt or try to apologize for it. Yes, I know Ozpin had retreated, but they never showed Qrow even make an effort to get Ozpin to come back so he could apologize. . They also ‘redeem’ Hazel and give him a ‘partially right’ storyline despite his openly beating Ozpin, unfairly blaming him for the death of his sister, and insisting that Ozpin deserved to be tortured. On top of this, despite having been horribly abused by the SDC, Adam isn’t treated with even an ounce of sympathy or understanding and Jacques Schnee and the SDC is treated like a more comical-ish nuisance in season seven and eight. This is greatly flawed. Hitting someone because they lied to you or kept secrets from you is not okay, hitting someone because they said something you don’t like is not okay. This should not be treated as funny and it shouldn’t be treated as the fault of the person who was hit for not being a good enough friend.

Are the abused characters mostly villains, when the heroes have never faced it? The reason for this is obvious, although it’s valid to have a villain be an abuse victim, it’s never alright to villainize abuse victims. Making the majority of your bad guys abuse victims and your good guys have positive relationships is in my opinion, harmful. Point for RWBY, this is not the case for their show. Mercury, Salem, and Cinder on the bad side are all abuse victims with Raven being a possible, but unconfirmed abuse victim as well. While Weiss, Blake, Ozpin, and Whitley are also abuse victims, with Qrow and May both being possible, but unconfirmed abuse victims, and Winter and Emerald are both abuse victims who were on the side of a villain and then turned good.

Is the abuse more severe in the ‘bad’ characters and lighter in the ‘good’ characters? If the abuse that the good guys faced is mostly lighter things and the abuse that the villains suffered is worse and more severe, that might send some bad messages that people who suffer more are automatically worse people, or ‘unsalvageable’ or ‘too broken,’ as opposed to the people that ‘there’s still hope for.’ Unfortunately, I think RWBY is almost a tie? We’ve never seen Weiss or Emerald suffer more than a hit, we don’t know for sure that Whitley or Winter were ever victims of physical abuse. Ozpin and Blake’s abuse is worse, however, as they are hunted down by their abusers who attempt to murder them, make them suffer, and hurt their loved ones. They also were heavily emotionally manipulated and victim blamed by their abusers. And on the villain side, Mercury was beat by his father who hated him and stole his semblance (an extension of your soul, I believe, in canon,) and the abuse led to the loss of his limbs. Cinder was forced to work hard labor by her abusive employer and the ‘stepsisters’ treated her badly, and she was physically electrocuted. We see her abuse extend to Salem using her Grimm arm to hurt her, copying the effects of the necklace. Adam was also a child laborer who worked in terrible conditions who got his face branded by his employer, in the SDC, which had to have been anti-faunus charged due to his bull horns. We don’t see Salem ever physically abused, but know that she was mistreated, isolated, and neglected by her ‘cruel’ father. So it’s not quite a tie, there are more severely abused characters amongst the villains than the heroes, but this is close enough that I don’t consider this much of a strike against them.

In the villains, is the abuse they faced given as ‘reason’ for their villainy? As I said before, villainizing abuse victims isn’t the way to go. A good way to avoid this - I think - is not have abuse be the sole reason for someone’s fall into a life of crime or cruelty. This is something that RWBY... Fails at imo. When showing us Mercury’s backstory, we’re introduced to him through seeing that he had just killed his abuser who cost him his legs, and then gets recruited by Cinder who at the very least likely emotionally and physically abused him the same way she did with Emerald, leading to the conclusion that the only reason he’s there at all is due to abuse. However, he’s just a teen and it’s possible that (like Emerald) he’ll be redeemed. A much more condemning story to talk about is Cinder’s. After people had been clambering for a Cinder backstory since volume three, RWBY finally showed us one. But it doesn’t include Cinder meeting Salem, why she joined her, her proving herself, none of that. Instead, Cinder’s backstory was entirely focused on her abusive situation as a child, entirely focused on her suffering. Cinder killing her abusers and then killing the teacher who decided to arrest her for getting herself out of her abusive situation was portrayed as the only needed backstory, the explanation to why she’s a power hungry, abusive, cruel, selfish, and just plain evil person. ‘She was abused’ is the explanation for why Cinder is where she is and why she is who she is in RWBY. That’s highly problematic to me.

In the heroes, are they “the Perfect, Sanitized Abuse Victims?” As I said before, there is no one type of abuse victim, but if someone has several abuse victims and they’re all either submissive, sad, and self-doubting, but gentle and caring and soft or dropped their abuser like a hotcake and never looked back, never seem affected, never really talk about it after they left... That’s bothersome to me personally. Measuring how RWBY is in this particular subject is... A little harder than I thought it would be. Let’s start by looking at the most prevalent abuse victim, Blake. She’s one of the reasons why this is hard to gauge, because for the first five seasons, Blake was deeply flawed and clearly affected by her abuse in ways that made her ‘unappealing.’ Blake was cynical, stubborn, cold, hard to get to know, she didn’t trust easily, she lashed out at her friends regularly, ran from her problems, made choices for her friends, and had a very negative self image. This didn’t stop her from being a good character and friend with a lot of good sides, too, and she had real, important friendships. This was - to me - a really great portrayal of someone clearly affected by their trauma, with lots to work on, who was still a good person. Some of her faults and problems started to get resolved in a natural way through her journey with Sun in volumes four and five, but when season six came around, many of Blake’s other traits suddenly vanished. No longer stubborn, independent, or cynical, and no longer standing up for herself, or really displaying her temper or hardheadedness or her struggles with getting to know people... Blake became more submissive, sad, self-doubting, but gentle, caring, and soft. Sigh. As the first ask mentioned, Whitley and Emerald both seemed to drop their abusers quickly the second they were removed from their lives again. it’s also worth noting that Whitley was treated with nothing but coldness and contempt by Weiss until he ‘proved himself’ by doing something selfless. Weiss did more or less drop Jacques the moment she left her house in V4, only mentioning him or her experiences when she’s using it to talk about Blake, and when she confronted him again in V7, she did so as someone who is proving she no longer cares. Ozpin seems to be the only one still unable to move on from his abuse and the ‘unappealing’ abuse victim. The first anon is right, there’s something satisfying with seeing an abuse victim move on like their abuser didn’t matter. But when almost all your abuse victims do, and one of the only other ones is turned into a submissive and soft support based / romance based character, and the only really ‘unappealing’ abuse victim is someone we’re supposed to see as ‘gray’... There’s something off there, in my opinion.

Were the abuse victims treated respectfully and thoughtfully by their friends, and if not, were they portrayed as wrong? This probably isn’t something that really even needs an explanation. Abuse victims should be able to set their own boundaries and tell their stories only when they want, when they feel comfortable, Their friends should be understanding of this and not force anything from them. In the case of Blake and Weiss, this is handled really well! Their friends let them talk about their experiences in their own time, and they’re understanding and validate their feelings when it comes up (much more common with Blake than with Weiss, who like I said, seemed to move on from her dad quickly after she left.) However, when it comes to Oz... This is all wrecked. Although unintentional (no one knew how deeply tied up with Salem Ozpin was or how intimate the memories they were going to watch were,) our main characters still forced Ozpin’s deepest and most personal secrets out of him in a fit of upset while he was tearfully begging them not to. He was forced to relive his most traumatic experiences in hi-def with other people watching with him, all his secrets and all his abuse wrenched away from him in what was clearly a very painful way. And then no one showed Ozpin even the slightest bit of sympathy or understanding for what he’d gone through, and no one ever apologized for what they had forced him to relive. In fact, Team RWBY were clearly displayed as in the right, and Oz was displayed as completely wrong for not trusting them implicitly. He had to apologize to them, which they acted begrudgingly accepting of as if they hadn’t shouted at an abuse victim after forcing him to relive all his worst experiences.

Are some abuse victims portrayed as bad for things that other abuse victims aren’t portrayed as bad for? Like the second ask says, in RWBY, Cinder and Mercury are treated as villains for having killed their abusers and Cinder is almost arrested for it, it’s considered a step in the direction of their villainy. But Blake is (rightfully) treated as the victim who was forced, who had no choice, who just wanted the abuse to stop. This is hypocritical and fundamentally flawed. I think this is a reflection of the fact that Cinder and Mercury are meant to be ‘bad’ abuse victim, who had violent tendencies and anger issues, and were already featured as bad guys before their backstory’s dropped, whereas Blake was meant to be a better abuse victim who (by season six) was starting to get written as a soft girl who just wanted to help her friends.

All in all, although there’s some things that I think that RWBY did well enough, I definitely think that I would consider their portrayal of abuse victims to be lacking. This is just my opinion and the way I feel about the writing, but there are a lot of ways to look at it. I think overall, I just really wish that the RWBY writers had been a little more sensitive and spent a little longer focusing on the character arcs involved in abuse recovery. (There’s still a chance for Whitley, Weiss, and Emerald to get more focus in volume ten, though, so long as the writers don’t timeskip!)

#rwde #rwby criticism #rwby critical #rwby hate #rwby bashing #tw; abuse #trigger warning; abuse

[heliads]

Pretty Cool

Peter Maximoff is more than a little impressed with the new girl at Xavier’s School.

masterlist

Peter’s listlessly leaning up against a wall outside the classroom. One downside of being faster than everyone is that he has to wait so much longer for his friends to show up. Class won’t start for another five minutes anyway, but he had nothing to do and so he showed up early. Finally, Jean turns a corner and walks towards him. 

“Took you long enough.” Peter grumbles, and Jean rolls her eyes. “Sorry we can’t all have the ability to go the speed of light. By the way, Scott’s not coming because he has to help the Professor with something, so it’s just us for today.” Peter groans. “Oh, come on. The highlight of my day is making fun of Scott, what else am I going to do?” Jean stifles a laugh as she walks inside the room with Peter. 

“Actually, you can check out the new girl in the back. Xavier says she arrived just this morning.” She points to the other side of the training room, where Peter can see the silhouette of a girl. She’s separate from the others, probably because no one knows who she is, but Peter is instantly taken by her. “She’s really pretty.” He blurts it out before he realizes, and Jean laughs. “Perfect. Now I have some entertainment of my own- you drooling over this girl before you even know her name.” Peter sticks out his tongue at her, then quickly speeds away to Xavier’s office. Before Jean can even blink, he’s back.

“Okay, so I did a little research and it turns out her name is Y/N L/N. She’s from some place not too far from here, and she’s really good-looking.” Jean groans. “If you’re going to go snooping in the Professor’s files, could you at least find something more interesting to talk about? How about her powers? Or literally anything else other than her name and her appearance?” Peter waves a hand at her. “I couldn’t get too far before Xavier started to sense my presence in his office. Whatever, I think we’ll find out soon enough- here comes Logan now.” It’s true- the newly appointed professor is walking briskly towards the group of students arrayed in the vast space of the training room. It’s still weird to Peter that Logan’s their teacher, but whatever. He’s the one with the most experience actually fighting people, therefore he has been chosen to train all the students.

“Alright, listen up class. Today, you’ll be taking part in another simulation.” He squints at a screen in front of him and presses some buttons, causing the room to dissolve into the simulation. As the training room creates the scenario, Logan continues speaking. “You’ll have to cross a bridge that’s guarded by two giant automatons.” He gestures at the newly formed bridge. Two massive iron robots stand in the middle of it, each easily the size of a building. Thanks to Xavier’s technology in the training room, the simulations can be any size and have anything in them. This leads to some pretty interesting lessons. “Alright, line up. You’ll go through one at a time.”

As the students shuffle into a group at the back, Jean takes her place at the start of the bridge. Jean always goes first, mainly because everyone else is too afraid to get in front of her, but she says she wants to go first just to make sure she doesn’t copy anyone else’s techniques. The consequences of being a mind-reader are that Jean is always worried that her own ideas aren’t actually hers, and just someone else’s thoughts that she read by mistake.

Jean stares down at the iron giants for a moment, considering her attack. Without warning, she shoots a beam of energy at the first one, causing a fiery explosion to erupt in its chest. She takes to the air, soaring high above it so she can envelop it in even more of her magic. The robot doesn’t stand a chance, and it collapses in a heap of rubble. The other automaton suffers a similar fate, and Jean gently glides to the ground, lightly dusting off her hands.

“Alright, good job to Jean. Who’s next?” Logan’s voice booms across the room as the simulation resets itself for the next student. Peter strolls up the bridge, whispering “Showoff” to a smirking Jean as he passes her. He stretches for a moment, readying his arms and legs for the upcoming attack, then pulls down his goggles and starts to run as fast as he can. Like usual, the world around him slows down, and he races up one of the robots, tearing as many of the exposed wires and computing parts as he can. He jumps easily from one machine to the next, destroying everything he can get his hands on. By the time he finally allows himself to slow down, the automatons are short-circuiting and falling apart behind him. To his classmates, everything happened in just a moment.

“Good, Peter. Uh, can’t really tell what you did, but you did it fast, so good for you.” Logan’s commentary makes Peter grin, and he makes his way to the other side of the room next to Jean. Peter usually tunes out the rest of the class after he finishes with his run of the simulations, but when he sees who’s stepping up to the bridge next, he can’t help but turn back around and stare out of curiosity.

The thing about simulations in Xavier’s school is that everyone goes in a very specific order. Peter’s not sure exactly when this unspoken rule came to be, but it’s a tradition that has never been broken for as long as he’s been at the school. Everyone does the simulation in order of how powerful their mutation is.  Jean goes first, as per usual, then Peter. Both of them have gone on missions with Xavier, so they are automatically the first ones to go. The rest of the students go after them, with the most powerful next and the least powerful last. That’s just the way things are. For this class, the next student to go should be a loud, slightly arrogant boy with the ability to control fire. Admittedly, controlling fire is a bit of an overstatement, as all he seems to be able to do is sporadically shoot out columns of flame that reach a maximum height of two or three feet, but it’s power over fire nonetheless. He always goes next, and that’s just what happens.

This is why Peter is more than a little surprised to see the new girl striding up the bridge instead, walking in front of fire boy to the front of the line. Behind her, the class dissolves into quiet whispers, the same confused look on everyone’s face. New students will go last, that’s just what they do. What is she doing, going third?

To her credit, the new girl seems to be utterly unfazed by the whispering behind her. She eyes the automatons for a moment or two, then suddenly slams her hands down to the ground. Instantly, a wave of ice erupts from the place where her hands touch the ground and spreads rapidly across the bridge. The ice climbs up the robot’s feet, spiraling up its body until the entire automaton is covered from head to toe in ice in a matter of moments. Y/N eyes the robot, then flicks her hand at it. Suddenly, the iron giant shatters in a storm of ice crystals, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of motor oil.

The new girl turns her attention to the other robot, which has realized her presence and started to charge her. The echo of its massive footsteps echo around the training room, but the girl doesn’t even flinch. She flings her arms forward, sending out shards of ice that are several feet long and sharper than a blade. The automaton slumps to a halt, impaled by the swords of ice coming out of it. As it shuts down from injury, it silently dissolves into just a few pixels that rearrange themselves into the open air of the simulation. Y/N studies the ice she’s left coating the bridge, but at a small movement of her fingers, it rises up and is summoned to her, disappearing into nothingness once it reaches her hand. 

The girl calmly walks off the bridge, leaving the entire class in stunned silence. Logan clears his throat, trying to keep the astonishment from his voice. “Uh, good job, Y/N. By the way, class, this is Y/N. Our new student.” Y/N walks over to where Jean and Peter are standing, and watches as another student steps up to the bridge. Peter, doing his best to sound cool, smiles at her and introduces himself. “I’m Peter.” Y/N smiles back. “I’m Y/N, but I guess you already knew that.” Relaxing, Peter can’t help but keep talking to her. 

“How’s your first day so far?” She leans back against the wall, taking in the class around her. “It’s pretty good. I think I confused people by going third, but I didn’t really know order was such a big deal.” Peter shakes his head to dismiss her fears. “Don’t worry, I think people won’t have any problems with you going third from now on. What you did was pretty cool- uh, pun intended.” She laughs at that, and the happy gleam in her eyes when she smiles is enough to make Peter want to tell a hundred more jokes. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to cause too much drama on my first day.” 

They keep talking until the end of class, and Peter is more than a little disappointed to hear the bell ring to dismiss them. “Do you need any help getting to class? I can show you around.” Y/N beams at him. “I’d love that, Peter.” They walk off together, talking happily together like they’ve known each other for years, and Peter can’t help but hope that she’s in more of his classes so he can spend even more time with the prettiest girl he’s ever met.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagines #peter maximoff oneshot #quicksilver #quicksilver imagine #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver imagines #quicksilver oneshot #xmen #xmen imagines

[dipperdogrpg]

Cloud and Aerith theories/facts and not canon pairing essay

Ended up writing way more then intended lol and thought to share what’s  happening in the FF7 story between Cloud and Aerith. This is a response text I did on my youtube channel where I do commentary as a Cloti supporter. Instead I decided to move it here.

................................................................................................................................

Wahh lol I got carried away! I enjoyed but also felt bad for Cloud having to dance at the Honey Bee thanks to Aerith and her plans. Gosh darn it though Cloud dancing was great and I squealed along with Aerith, but a tinge of guilt hits when I see his troubled face haha. The thing people confuses here is that Cloud pushes himself to do it for Tifa because he was ready to walk away. Instead of busting through the mansion he sucked it up to ensure Tifa’s safety and chose to sneak inside as a woman.

Yes, I’m also very curious how Sephiroth's schemes will develop and how Aerith will try to stop him in Remake. She's much more focused on Sephiroth and stopping him compared in OG. In the other game Aerith originally joined to understand her Cetra abilities, but it feels pretty evident she has new mysterious powers as a Cetra in Remake and her relationship with Sephiroth is more personal. Also, I think Sephiroth and Aerith’s ancestry will have a bigger role and focus on Jenova and the Cetra's relationship/History. I plan to do an Aerith Theory and a character analysis in the future because she is, as the developers describe her, mysterious. 

It's obvious Sephiroth is harassing Cloud mentally then later physically through his clones. He is scheming something big and I look forward how Aerith will try to counter it because she is probably the only one capable to do it as a Cetra. One of the big schemes was removing the Arbiters of fate, but I think they both wanted that. Both Sephiroth and Aerith want to change something that doesn’t fit with the planet’s “destined” agenda.

In Max's commentary he mentioned Sephiroth was intentional with stalling Cloud running into Aerith, which caused a butterfly effect to ruin the events the planet has planned. While it tries to fix itself, the party are becoming aware of the Arbiters of Fate existence and sees it as a problem. At the end the team removes it when Sephiroth had some control in manipulating it. Its been mentioned the three figures you fight are a representation of the three sephiroth remnants from AC, Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo. So maybe we are getting hints of Sephiroth's abilities with the clones and the lifestream which could lead to some complicated trouble. We also get evidence Aerith is already more powerful than her Og counterpart by creating the portal to fight the Arbitors. When the heck did she learn that? 

My theory about removing the arbitors of fate are so the creators can have wiggle room for slight variation in scenes they've considered fixing in the past to improve a more consistent story and of course a new way for Sephiroth to exercise his goal along with Aerith because definitely getting hints those two know more then they should. My theory, they are from the future and traveled to the past using the Life stream and I’m using the OTWTS Novel as evidence when Aerith and Sephiroth talk about their time in the Life Stream. In there they gained new powers. Evidence- Sephiroth talks about it at the temple of ancients and that he gained new knowledge from there, so why not Aerith too. Either way the party will stop him at the end with Aerith's help because her role in the story is to save the world while Tifa's role is to save Cloud. That is a canon statement by one of the developers btw. Aerith and Tifa have their roles to play in FF7 that lead to its success.

Fun fact, but Cloud is not himself with Aerith. The developers did say Cloud truly is himself with Tifa. Why? because love. Now, the cool thing in Remake we are witnessing is Cloud learning how to make friends. A poor social skill set that may have contributed with his insecurity when he was a child. Wanting to join tifa and her friends but instead stayed away. To make himself feel better he makes up a story that he chose not to play with the other kids because he is special. In FF7 we get to witness Cloud learning these relationship skills, which helps develop his character to grow up until we get to the Lifestream sequence. It's after that he can stop pretending to be what he think is the ideal cool grown up version of himself and instead work on his real self with the new bonds of friendship he made who stuck around Cloud regardless of him pretending to act as someone else during their adventure. Cloud is still Cloud. Even with the messed up memories he had. He is not Zack. He is like a little boy picking up traits he likes from other people and mimic them. Very confused why people think he is Zack. He’s not. He is Cloud trying to be cool and does it poorly. That’s a canon thing.

Soldier Cloud is a facade, an illusion of himself he truly believed in until he sorted out his memories and realized "oh I'm not being myself and just mimicking what would Zack do. A friend I look up to"  It's been pointed out Cloud isn't actually grown up mentally and is still a child with insecurity about himself along with 5 years of trauma thanks to Hojo. Poor BABY! This whole copy/mimic theme gets reflected with the kids in sector 8 that mimic Cloud in remake over time during the side quests. Cloud is doing the same thing with Zack. Even Biggs hints that Cloud and the kids have a lot in common. I'm not crazy about Sector 8 but it shows best what Biggs told Cloud before the plate falls. And one more thing I want to add lol. When Cloud gets his red drink from Tifa there's a pause of him looking up and down at the drink and Tifa, before he says beautiful. That moment of pause he thinks to himself what he should do here and then came up with what he believes a confident person/Zack would do. Zack doesn't hesitate when giving a compliment. Confident people don't normally hesitate when they talk. It's why we get moments of Cloud saying some awkward lines when he doesn't give himself time to think and its one of the best moments to watch lol cuz I think that's when real cloud slips out trying to act cool or is at a lost for words. It's canon by the developers that Cloud isn't cool but tries to act it.

Another Fun fact. Most party members and NPCs in Remake mention and hint in game they see past the facade Cloud puts up. Tifa, Barret, Wedge, Biggs, Marle, Jessie and Aerith are some of the characters that see past it and either go along with it, poke fun at his attempt or tell him to his face they know he's pretending to be someone he's not. Basically seeing past the character he pretends to be and can see he has a good heart over the course they spend time with him. Even though Cloud tries to convince others and himself he could care less about them and is only in it for the money.

Now OG is really awkward with the romance honestly from my playthroughs so far. (Follow me on Youtube Dipperdog15 if you want to catch my FF7 commentary when I go live playing OG and Intergrade.) But with Remake it's very clear they are building up Aerith's love story with Zack so we can cry hard later. All of Zack scenes so far is related to Aerith. In Remake and OG Aerith display some of Zack's mannerisms too because people copy/mimic what they do to feel closer to them when in love. She continues to wear the bow Zack gave her and the pink dress in memory of Zack. She's said "gotta move forward not back" in remake and/or that Zack probably moved on with another girl in Og but what if what she said is a lie. We have Cloud as the unreliable narrator so why can't it also happen with Aerith who is likely lying to convince herself to move on to protect her heart. In fact a lot of characters in FF7 lie to themselves and we get character development when they stop and face the truth. It's one of the many themes in FF7 which I think I’ll deep dive into on my podcast channel in the future.

Another thing to keep in mind is that Zack is risking it all to make it to Midgar to see Aerith while risking Cloud's life on this mission, because he promised her. Promise is a big important theme in FF7. Cloud and Tifa are the canon couple and Zack and Aerith are the canon couple in FF7 because these pairings promised each other. I won't disagree about Cloud not caring about Aerith, but he cares for all his friends as said in AC. Also why make it possible the idea to bring Zack back? To create a love square? No. It’s have us the players focus instead the reunion of Aerith and Zack. That’s more attention grabbing because we never got to see it before and I’ll cry when they cry finally getting to be together. If they don’t I’ll cry some more. The developers are pushing for Zerith and their development in Remake/Intergrade. 

Another thing to notice, there are a lot of similarities between Jessie and Aerith's relationship when they are around Cloud. This directive choice, I believe, isn't a coincidence in order to water down scenes that are suppose to be special. It is instead not a “one of kind’ scene. They both get carried bridal style. They both tell cloud My Hero. They both invited Cloud over for dinner. They both ask about who Tifa is. They both got a pikachu face from Cloud when jessie optionally kissed Cloud on the cheek and Aerith wearing the optional red dress. They both have strong personalities that overwhelms Cloud and that is a developer canon statement. They both worked hard to befriend Cloud so he can open up and be nicer to them. Cloud treats them both the same.

Aerith’s relationship with Cloud in Remake is directing us to friendship. In the novel it mentioned she loves Cloud, in what way we don’t know. But we can say for a fact Cloud was living a lie in OG and his real self loves Tifa. In fact his other self loved Tifa too, you just have to catch the moment. Example, Barret teasing Cloud if he is eager to see his baby when you first see Tifa in OG. It happens when you run to the bar, but only if you catch Tifa on the porch before she goes inside. That’s means in both remake and OG, Barret knew something was up with those two. Another moment is the interest Cloud has with what Tifa almost said in the gondola. It was obviously sounding like some kind of confession from Tifa at Gold Saucer. When you get this date the story is more fluid when you arrive at the northern crater and Cloud says “only your opinion matters” to Tifa. Huge RED FLAG Cloud considers Tifa important to him. Meanwhile Aerith and Cloud’s relationship was open for interpretation that it may have been love in OG, but the scenes that helped implied it were removed in Remake. The point system was just for fun because it was a popular thing in the 90s. Plus the points for Tifa, Aerith, Barret and Yuffie’s are their feelings for Cloud not Cloud’s feelings towards them. Then you get rewarded learning a little about the character, but that’s it. FF7 remake/intergrade is not an otome game. Cloud ends with Tifa no matter what. Even if Aerith was to stay alive the Life Stream sequence will always be Cloud and Tifa’s moment to learn about their feelings for each other. The developers have said it is one of their favorite scenes, so they won’t change it. ok now back to Remake. 

Aerith in her resolution tells him not to love her and it’s not real. A deliberate choice of words I think she picked to shoo away the thought they could be a thing for both their sakes and us the players lol. Doing that made it weird now because Cloud doesn’t want to ruin what ever progress he has with Tifa in Remake. Plus Cloud only known her for a few days and if his actions are making her think there’s this growing romance between them he’s not going to encourage it. Those lines raised his awareness to watch himself I bet, so Tifa doesn’t get the wrong idea and you can see the distance he put between himself and Aerith later in game. Meanwhile in Intermission we see Cloud continues to make quick glances at Tifa whenever he can. We get it Cloud. You can’t keep your eyes off her. Ok getting off track. So Cloud and Aerith are instead just friends. Doing this allows Tifa to pick up the role to be there for Aerith. Which will help develop their friendship to be stronger as the two girls encourage each other. because I didn’t pick up on the two being best friends in OG but in Remake it’s very clear. He already looked uncomfortable when Aerith grabbed his arm back at the ghost station in front of Tifa. To include Cloud with this idea of him falling in love with another woman in front of Tifa would leave a poor taste in our mouths after spending several hours watching him develop several intimate moments with Tifa. That freaking hug scene and train roll you guys screamed sexual tension and love. Cloud is not that kind of guy who easily falls in love. His whole hero’s journey is because of Tifa and he makes sure to be nice to her while trying to get her attention. With anyone else he is quite hostile with new people and slowly learns to tolerate them before liking them.  Cloud treats Tifa differently in a special way. He’s been pinning for Tifa since they were kids and even imagined scenarios of Tifa noticing him. That’s right, not all of Cloud’s visions may be accurate. We may see more scenes of kid Cloud imagining moments with Tifa to confuse our perspective they are childhood friends. Again, Cloud is the unreliable narrator thanks to Jenova and 5 years of trauma.  Now back to Aerith. Their relationship definitely felt different when Cloud, Tifa and Barret rescued Aerith. In fact Aerith’s relationship with everyone is different in a better way. The relationship between Tifa and Barret are better fleshed out compared to OG Aerith and I’m for it. Very happy they removed the jail scene. It was upsetting watching Aerith flirt with Cloud while Tifa was stuck in the cell forced to listen and Aerith owing Cloud a date. Which changed also in Remake. Taking Aerith home and spending time her was the date as mentioned in game by Aerith herself. 

When I play through Chapter 8 and 9 I get this feeling Meta Aerith looks uncomfortable sticking to the OG lines of herself but does it anyways so the Arbiters of fate won’t come for her because she wants to hold on to her memories. Something she believes can help her friends I’m guessing. This is if my theory is right lol. What we have now is an Aerith that’s more mysterious than she was in OG. If this is OG Aerith making a return in Remake then I believe she was acting a lot, but then we see hiccups of her mentioning Cloud being a mercenary when he never mentioned it or acting like she knows Tifa for like forever before she actually met her in Remake. And then there was her knowing the plate would fall in sector 7. I’m betting the burden of knowing it was so hard to hide that Tifa picked up that she might be hiding something. 

We are near the end! 

Aerith’s resolution explored further. The resolution helps proves my theory this is OG Aerith that travel back to the past using the Lifestream to help her comrades in the fight against Sephiroth in Remake who also returned to the past. What’s also interesting about her resolution are the things she said are something you want to tell someone before you disappear. It was so sudden in OG that it sounds like Aerith wants to make up for it and also doesn’t want Cloud to suffer in guilt as he did in AC. Cherish the moment. Every one dies. 

Aerith knows the truth with Cloud and Tifa’s relationship hence her stopping herself interfering. Now maybe Aerith did fall in love with Cloud, and maybe while Cloud pretended to be someone else was loving the idea, which is a stretch cuz there are plenty debunking the idea which I can go over later. They both may have been using each other to fill the hurt in their heart not having their true loves instead. Zack and Tifa. In her resolution, Aerith has declared she will not pursue Cloud as she did in OG and we have evidence of that when they rescue her. there were so many opportunities for Cloud to be Aerith’s hero. Instead those moments were replaced with Tifa consoling her and rescuing her.

The Arbitors of Fate are gone, so I believe Aerith’s normal clips of her flirting with Cloud will get removed or changed as many have already. This allows the directors to remove lines that painted Aerith poorly some moments and better her relationship with the team too. Aerith will still have flaws like everyone does. No one is perfect and I’m perfectly fine with that.

Crap if I keep going this will turn into a podcast in writing I think lol. Anywho, yes the arbiters of fate were eliminated, who knows if it's permanent, but as the developers have repeated, FF7 story will remain the same at heart. Iconic moments will remain. If it is not then that's a risky move to say to fans. Aerith will die to protect her loved ones and the planet and will reunite at the church in spirit with Zack perhaps. She can’t escape her role as the last living Cetra. That is her truth which she denied when she was little as shown in a flashback with kid Aerith. The other theme in FF7 is trying to move forward after a loss. Which extends to Advent Children which some of the team members has to deal with survival guilt. Some fans are getting their hopes up that Aerith will live. The developers are using Biggs and Jessie’s possible surviving scenes to prove lives lost can live in Remake. I think they may die later though if that is their fate, but we never actually saw them die in OG either. It was just implied. This is a set up so Aerith’s death scene can be impactful again in Remake, so we can cry again.

This was a lot and little bit everywhere, but I hope you enjoyed it. You can follow me on youtube in the link below where I invite other FF7 fans to talk about the story and Cloud and Tifa’s relationship Or me doing my own Cloud and Tifa commentary and Remake talk while I play the game. Thanks for reading! Hope you check out my channel and sub to check out my videos when convenient for you. Thank you!

https://www.youtube.com/c/Dipperdog15/featured

#cloti #FF7 Remake #ff7 #cloud strife #final fantasy vii #Final Fantasy 7

[thyon-nero]

So. How do you feel about the litjoy crate strange the dreamer collection? The art with the setting and places is beautiful, and I love the miracle for breakfast art. On the other... the characters just look... a bit white? All the godspawn has a POC parent... no way they all look Eurocentric. Idk. I feel like I will regret not collecting it, but I already have the books and it seems kinda a waste...

Hi! Thanks for sending this in—I didn’t know that litjoy was making a Strange the Dreamer collection so thank you for bringing it to my attention. And sorry for taking so long to respond! I had quite a bit to say and wanted to make sure that my thoughts were at least a little coherent. Since tumblr doesn’t like links in posts, I’ll be dropping the litjoy link in the replies for people to see what we’re talking about. Also, to the anon who sent this in, I’ll be using the generic pronoun “you” to talk to everyone reading this, so don’t feel like I’m calling you out specifically!

Your ask brings up several good points for discussion that I’m going to try and apply to a broader conversation. Namely, the whitewashing in art and consumerism in the book community. I’m only one perspective so please feel free to continue this conversation in a respectful way: if there’s one thing that Strange the Dreamer should have taught us, it’s that only through communication and understanding can we resolve conflict.

First of all: the Eurocentrism in the art. I’m not sure what policies are for reposting the art on a separate site, so I’d encourage everyone to look on the litjoy website to see it for themselves.

Is the art beautiful? Yes. Does it depict characters canonically described as brown with Eurocentric features? Also yes.

Although Weep is a fictional place, we can still fairly easily draw some parallels between the people of Weep and real world people and cultures. Off the top of my head, @readingbooksinisrael made a post (linked in replies) noticing how the words at the beginning of each chapters sounded Semitic, @inkwingart created incredible artwork of Sarai (linked in replies) without the Eurocentric features of the official art, rightfully calling out the differences between how the characters are described and how some artists choose to depict them, and I’m sure that others have spoken on this as well.

Despite the written portrayal of the people of Weep and godspawn as non-white, it’s easy for artists to avoid depicting them with non-Eurocentric features and only use blue skin as a defining feature.

Within the broader art community, I’ve seen conversations on how to depict characters of different racial and ethnic backgrounds without just changing the skin color and keeping all of the other features identical. Some art styles (typically more cartoony and stylized) definitely do draw all characters with the same face and rely on clothing, hair, and other distinctive characteristics to tell them apart. But this isn’t really enough. When artists provide enough detail to show Eurocentric features but consider using a different shade of brown (or in this case, blue) to be “enough” in terms of drawing diversely, they aren’t hitting the mark.

Ultimately there is no “right” way to visually depict these characters. However, I would encourage artists to think deeper about their designs and question why they chose certain features for certain characters, and if these features are consistent with the source material. I’d like to give the artists involved with the litjoy crate the benefit of the doubt and assume that they weren’t thinking about the implications of their art erasing the godspawn’s brown heritage, but unless any of them have made a statement, I think it’s up to everyone to decide for themselves whether these portrayals are worth supporting.

(That being said, I do adore the landscapes! It’s incredible to see these magical places brought to life. Highly, highly recommend looking at the art just for that!)

I also want to talk a bit about consumerism within the book community and whether this set is worth it, especially if you already own the books. Please keep in mind that I don’t intend this as a callout for anyone or a be-all-end-all for this discussion. My thoughts are my own and do not affect how you spend your money!

Personally, I’m not the sort of person who buys more than one copy of a book. With my current living situation, I don’t have infinite room for books and I (tragically) don’t have the money to buy every beautiful book I see! Although I only own Strange the Dreamer and not Muse of Nightmares, I still won’t be buying this collection because I know that the second copy of Strange the Dreamer will just be collecting dust on my bookshelf and taking up space from other books that I don’t already own copies of.

As of writing this (March 14, 2021) preorders haven’t opened yet so I don’t know how expensive this set is, but if you don’t already have the books and want them, this looks like a great set that’s definitely worth looking in to! However, and here’s where I circle back to your point about regretting not collecting it, I personally don’t think it’s worth buying just for the sake of collecting everything to do with this series.

If owning these editions will make you happy in the long term and you have the resources to purchase them, go for it. I think it’s important to remember though that regardless of which editions you own or whether you’ve read the books through your public library, you still have the story. This world and these characters will always exist in your mind! That being said, I think a lot of people within the book community look to special editions, different cover art, and other merch as a way to become closer to the stories that we love. Even though these may offer new visuals or (in some cases) deleted scenes and extra written material, they don’t change the fundamental story. The experience of reading these stories doesn’t depend on owning special editions. Ultimately, if you’re buying multiple copies of a book, you’re pretty much only paying for the experience of having a pretty cover on your shelves. There’s nothing wrong with that (I know I’ve been guilty of paying extra for a slightly prettier cover!) but that’s the only thing you’re missing out on when you don’t buy these editions.

Especially with the rise of BookTube and Bookstagram as ways of seeing what other readers’ shelves look like, I’ve noticed people putting more stock into what others own as opposed to what they’ve read. Although not perpetrated by everyone in the community, there is some pressure to own all of your favorite books and have the fanciest editions to show just how much of a fan you are, when ultimately that doesn’t mean anything. The person who owns every special edition and the person who checked out their library’s copy can both love the story just as much. We as readers shouldn’t have to “prove” our loyalty to different stories or authors to enjoy them. It’s perfectly alright to not own your favorite books or everything by your favorite author! It’s the experience of reading these stories that brings us together as a community, not the experience of buying everything relating to these stories.

All that being said, it’s still a personal decision whether you want to buy these editions or not. Do what brings you joy! And if that’s owning these books, more power to you. If anyone wants to chime in with more thoughts on the artwork or whether these copies are worth buying, I’d love to discuss it further and have an open discussion. We all have different perspectives and can learn so much from each other through respectful conversation.

#strange the dreamer #laini taylor #muse of nightmares #litjoycrate #ya fantasy #ya literature #asks

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

poly quarantine with the lost boys? please?

God, this is such a vibe anon. Writing this while I'm bored at work so here you go!!

Poly!Lost Boys x Quarantining with S/O

The boys have dealt with outbreaks and diseases like this before. They've been around since the the late 1800s, so they witnessed the Spanish flu. They knew that they couldn't get sick, so, whether you were already living with them or not, they insisted you quarantine with them. That way there was absolute no possiblity of you getting sick.

You were worried about the boys not having enough to eat for the first few weeks, but they assured you that there would still be plenty of people for them to pick off. To your surprise, there was. Apparently, not everyone was obeying quarantine, and the boys were far too satisfied with their kills. Still, if the pickings were light one night, you'd let them take a few sips from you. They kept a rotation, and they kept their feedings off you light. They didn't want to end up making you faint and they made sure that you drank plenty of fluids.

To curb their boredom, each boy threw themselves into something different. After being alive for so many years, they each had their own way of keeping themselves entertained.

Paul proceeded to get stoned out of his mind and practice his guitar for hours. (Luckily, the second he heard the whispers of going into quarantine, Paul stocked up on herbal refreshment to last all of you for a good while) He even tried to teach you how to play, but he kept pausing to giggle at how cute you looked with his guitar in your hands. And when you played something right? He got so excited. Will clap excitedly and then yank you in for a victory kiss. But be careful, because Paul will definitely try to start his other favorite way of keeping boredom at bay (wink wink)

Marko is the reason there's so much graffiti all over the walls, and he basically went out to buy a whole new set of paints, spray cans, and drawing materials right before quarantine started. He completely paints over one half of the cave so he can have a "blank canvas" and starts making a mural that will literally take him weeks to complete. He has you help him outline the bottom part of the cave while he floats above you outlining the top. When he's not working on his mural, he's sketching you. He claims that he needs "posing practice" and sets you up in a different pose each day (some of them a little bit more sexual than others). Paul will complain that Marko is hogging you, especially since you're not even doing anything. When the mural is finished, he gives the other boys, and you, free reign to add their own little details to make it "all of yours"

Dwayne decided to use this time to read all the books he's been meaning to read. Half of the books he has stacked up in the cave are unread and on "queue". He'll lend you his copies and the two of you will curl up on the couch or in your nest just each reading your own books. One of you is playing with the others hair while you read, those are just the facts. You two have conversations about the books you're reading, and take breaks to have a small makeout session here or there. If you're willing to learn, Dwayne will teach you how to skateboard as well. He'll hold your waist as he helps you balance on the board, and he'll help you do circles around the fountain. When you start getting good, he'll get you your own board

David is the king of movie marathons. He plans one each week, and they're usually horror so- He usually has a theme, and, while the movie marathons are mainly just for you two, the others are welcome to join. But he's the one you're gonna cuddle with. No exceptions. He has you sit in his lap with your head on his chest. The two of you will binge watch your favorite TV shows well into the morning, and the only thing that will force you to stop is the sunlight creeping into the cave. But if you guys put the TV in your nest? That's a dangerous game. The two of you won't come out for days, and you're both mumbling incoherently about a season finale that none of the others have seen.

The boys go food shopping for you. Sorry, but you're not allowed to leave the house (at least for the first few months). They can't have you getting sick, so if you ever need anything one of the boys will get it for you. It sucks when stores start closing earlier at night, but David will definitely try to use it as an excuse to get you to turn

Paul always forgets his mask. Deadass the type to ride out of the cave without it and get all the way to the store before he realizes he forgot it. Drives back angrily mumbling about "stupid fucking masks" before putting it on and driving back out to get whatever you asked for. Will complain in public that they don't need masks, but it's literally because the boys don't need them. Will say "I can't breathe in them" just for Dwayne to remind him that he doesn't need to breathe

Marko stays strapped with masks. He never forgets and he always has extras. He's the one to use cloth masks and he makes his own. Not only does it give him something to do, but it's also just a reason for him to break out his sewing skills. He uses cool patterns to make them "fashion", because that boy is all about diy and self expression. Will make you a mask, and considers selling them for some extra cash. Is very happy whenever someone compliments him on his mask

Dwayne is a strickler for masks. While technically none of the boys need to wear one, you do. Because of that, he will be the type to glare at people that don't wear masks in public. Keeps you very close and cannot stand people that don't obey the six feet rule. He doesn't like to start drama, but they're endangering your health so he will say something if someone is getting a little too close. God help whoever scoffs at the two of you for wearing masks because they're a "scam". They will get eaten. Reminds you before you go anywhere about whether or not you have your mask. Will carry hand sanitizer for you

David is chaotic about masks. He makes sure that you wear them, but then won't wear one himself when you're just walking around/out and about. The only way to get him to wear one is when Marko made him a black cloth one. Throws around the idea of getting a gas mask just to be extra. Likes to make life for others harder so he's definitely the type to not wear the mask over his nose. But if you try to do the same? He will fix it. It's actually low-key kinda cute whenever he reaches over to adjust your mask for you. The boy already wears gloves so he may invest in getting you a pair as well

The boys use quarantine as an excuse to have semi-constant sex. Would you expect anything different? You get told a lot of, "Well, I mean, if you're bored we could..."

When restaurants start opening up again the boys are esctatic. Even if they usually only get takeout, they'll take you out to eat just to get you (and Paul) out of the house for a bit

The boys place bets on how many people will come to the beach and you're flabbergasted when you find out that their guesses weren't actually that high. They're hesitant to take you to the boardwalk with them, and they keep a close eye on you when they do. Will form a protective circle around you and no one is allowed to touch you (it was already like that before but now they have a reason)

If you show any symptoms? You bet your ass you're either being confined to your nest for two weeks or you're drinking out of the wine bottle, it's your choice

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #the lost boys paul #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #paul the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines

[leahseclipse]

The Reichenbach Fall: Aftermath - Chapter One: Happy Death Anniversary, Detective.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x GN!Reader (With some Fem mentions)

Warnings: S2 FINALE SHERLOCK SPOILERS, Major character death; death topic, mourning, suicide mentions, depression mentions... (lemme know if I missed stuff.)

Summary: Two years after the death of Sherlock, what could be next?

Word Count: 4.0K

A/N: Hey there! I've finally found the motivation to post my Sherlock fic here. If you prefer AO3, click here :)

++

Sherlock used to call at midnight, he never cared whether you were trying to sleep, or if you were actually sleeping- he’d just call.

Sometimes to complain that technology was futile given the multitude of defaults it contained (his phone, for example)- or to talk about an article in a newspaper, thinking we’d be interested in it.

It’s been two years since the last call. No one could bring themselves to delete his number since; and I understand the reason for it. We all had some hope inside us, it was small given all the time that went by, but it was there.

We all wondered if he wasn’t alive. Movies aren’t real, so the whole fake-death scenario couldn’t have been real but we all thought “why not?”, it could happen. That was over a year ago, but I still believed it, I wasn’t quite planning on giving up; and when my phone rang a bit after midnight, I still had a glimpse of hope, each time.

That glimpse was cut short when I read the caller ID. It was John. I did like him, he just wasn’t who I expected to see, but I picked up the phone, just to not be rude. Voicemail is awful. “John? What’s going on?”

"I...I don’t really know, actually. Guess I...needed to feel less alone. I don’t even know."

“Hold on.” I glanced at my bedside as I put the phone on speaker before sitting on the bed. "...so, you couldn’t sleep?"

"Yeah, I’ve been trying for an hour, certainly because of..." He stopped, hesitating with his words.

Who else other than Sherlock would it be, honestly. The man’s always been in our thoughts, and now that he’s gone, we have to be reminded that he’s stuck in our minds. The only way to hear him is through memories, and probably some of us are afraid to forget what he sounds like through time. He wasn’t the guy to make documentaries on him, film himself- hell, he rejected every interview he was offered. The only thing we have is pictures, which isn’t enough.

"It’s him, isn't it?" I presumed.

"Yeah, Sherlock." He confirmed. “It’s the anniversary of his death, in two weeks.”

See, that was the kind of thing I didn’t want to recall as it made me think of what I didn’t want to accept, but at the same time, if I stopped thinking about that, might as well forget Sherlock completely.

"It kept me awake too." I admitted.”I can’t believe it.”

No one really does, to be honest. We all wish that it could be fake, that’s what we would need, even if it’d hurt to see him while we mourned all this time.

"It still feels a bit weird without him, even after basically two years."

“It didn’t seem right without him, at first."

"It took us a bit to get used to it, and still...I think I didn’t get used to it fully to this day."

"Neither am I, John. I don't think I ever will. Time will make the pain less...painful, but it’ll never erase him, he'll be in our thoughts from the moment we wake up."

"I wish it was all a dream. I hate to wake up and not see him. He annoyed me sometimes but...he was my friend."

"He was annoying but a good friend, yeah.” I said, “It’s just...not right. Nothing is right. I feel like everything has gone cold. I swear that I haven't seen a single ray of sunshine."

"It's probably time fooling around, I don't know." He said.

"It could but, when he was there, there would be some sunny-ish days. I haven't seen one since. He left, and it's like he took the sun with him, John. The whole world is falling apart.”

"I felt that too, for a moment. But, I don't really trust whatever I think about these days. I don't pay much attention to whatever I do."

"You should be careful though, I don't need you to die because you didn't pay attention out there. And before you say anything, there's no joke in there. I mean it, Watson.”

"I wasn't going to say that, trust me."

"You better. I need you there."

"Same goes for me. You've been of great help since…"

"Yeah. Since." I paused. "It sucks."

"It does.” He agreed. “Well I...I’m gonna go back to sleep, I don’t want to bother you all night.”

“You didn’t bother me, don’t worry. It helped to talk. I could even stay a bit more, if you’re not planning on going back now.”

“Alright, then.”

++

It’s like the weather watched me plan the day, rain is on time. It couldn’t be more depressing on top of me dressed in black, but I just didn’t feel like coming in rainbow clothes would be appropriate, even if he wouldn’t care how I dressed anyway, even if he’s dead, yeah.

It feels weird to go, I always expected this was all a dream, or that it’d just...never happen. He’s the kind of person that outlives everyone, and Sherlock was this kind of person, he’s always been that person. He even used to say he’ll always be there, that he’d never leave, and now I guess we’ve both made mistakes, he’s not here anymore.

I never thought that would happen, I can’t tell how bad I prayed to whatever god to wake up, but that did nothing but make me a fool, nothing changed.

His apartment remained empty, as ours, he’d consider each house he could sleep at, his. I remember that he stayed at John’s for a week, before having to go back as John was “not entertaining” enough because he slept too much- As if we got to sleep all day.

He used to think everyone was like him, barely sleeping, barely tired, because I don’t think I’ve had the opportunity of seeing him elsewhere other than a room full of piles of papers.

He did sleep, but not at night, it was kind of like a cat, throughout the day, when possible. I always laughed about it along with John, and he never minded, he’d either pretend to not care, or join the conversation, and I already miss this kind of talks.

They’d either be incredibly short, or extremely long, you really had to clear your schedule for an hour or two when he’d talk. It’s not that it bothered me, it was more the others, those who didn’t know him. They’ve always found an amount of weirdness in him, which I had when I was like them, a stranger.

I never thought we’d get close, I didn’t even think anyone was close with him, he seemed quite the lonely guy, very private. Even after getting to know him, he remained quite private, as I thought, he wouldn’t share much, even with John and Mycroft; but, it didn’t matter that much, we still managed to have a great friendship, and I’ll always miss it.

Not any person will be like him, he was one of a kind. Not anyone could copy him without being seen as a fool. Sherlock Holmes was unique, he didn’t copy anyone to rise up, didn’t take anyone as a model, he did it all himself, he was a model himself.

He didn’t wish to be like anyone, it was the contrary, everyone wanted to be at his level, have the recognition he had, the fame, all the things that made him known, that made Sherlock be him. Even I won’t find a mentor like him, not any of them will be better, they’ll all seem ridiculous to me, even if they have more experience than him.

Nothing will be the same. This world won’t be the same without him being here, he’s gone now.

He took a big piece of whatever thing, when he left, and whatever thing he took was a big one, because it left us all empty. The kind of empty feeling that won’t quite go away, we’ve all been so used to having him around so much that it was a habit.

And now that he’s gone, nothing feels right, even living doesn’t feel right. It won’t ever feel right without him.

I almost feel guilty for being alive, I’m not as smart as him, I won’t contribute to anything. He was the smart one, we really lost an important person and I don’t think it wouldn’t have changed much if I had died instead, people would just be sad, I think.

It wouldn’t be that bad.

His death is bad to the point that the world he left behind can’t function as well as when he was alive. The whole puzzle is missing, hell, the whole world, if I go out of the metaphor.

...Sherlock would have been the corners of it, the foundations of it, what made it whole, what gave a start to get the rest of the puzzle.

He would have corrected me with hundreds of better metaphors if he could hear me, I really suck at this. He never did, though.

In fact, most of his talking contained metaphors, it was his signature, his day couldn’t feel right if he wouldn’t tell at least one.Now the whole ‘no day without a metaphor is a bad day’ is falling on us, and nothing or no one will make that feeling go away.

It’s strange, and funny that he managed to create all of those special feelings, memories, that we only felt with him. Sherlock’s had quite the special part in our lives. He changed our lives in such a spectacular way, and to be honest, life felt less depressing, even if our job is full of dead people and mysteries that make our sleep schedule non-existent, quite rare.

He made us forget all of that shit, whenever he could. That’s why I looked up to him, and thought about him so much. Whenever I had a problem, I’d call him first. Of course, I did call John, and Mycroft, but Sherlock was like my emergency contact, he’d always pick up, if possible.

Somehow, he always knew the answers to everything, and when he was clueless (which only happened twice, in five years)- he'd attempt to find something close to it, and even if his explanations didn’t solve anything, I didn’t care.

It probably made him sort of happy to explain it, share his big knowledge, so as long as he enjoyed himself, that was enough. I did hope he did enjoy himself, I never thought about asking and now that I think about it, I probably should have, it’s too late now.

If he can hear me, a sign would be great, probably. A good thing if he enjoyed talking, and a bad one if I annoyed him? It’d be nice to know even if he probably won’t answer, he must still be working; I know it.

He would be bored if he didn’t have his face in newspapers and whatever case. I always said Sherlock not to overwork, but he never listened. I hope he’s not doing it right now, that man was a total workaholic, right to his last breath, he never stopped.

I just hope he’s okay, wherever he is.

He deserves peace, enough things happened to him, he almost died a couple times, almost lost us if we hadn’t survived all of the wounds and things that happened, almost lost himself because of depression- all of these could have killed him.

He would have stayed alive, but he would have died inside, I just know it even if he didn’t show it much. But he did feel, he did have feelings.

I know he liked us a lot, even though he didn’t show it much; he did enjoy living even with all of the problems he had so, let’s hope he’s not in pain, stressing, suffering, whatever feeling that makes him feel bad.

You can take it easy now, we’re taking care of what you couldn’t finish for you, we’re taking care of the legacy you couldn’t pursue for you, we’ve got your back, Holmes. John, Mycroft, myself, and whatever person you know will tell you everything that happens so you don’t miss anything. You’ll be able to debate about the events, you won’t miss a single thing of what’s happening.

Even if I have my pride, and don’t want to admit I’m depressed about you being dead, I’ll tell you everything, I know you’d be here to tell me how to deal with the death of a person, the whole five stages of grief. You said them to me so much that I always have them in my head.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.

I’d say that I’m at the last phase, but a lot of anger comes in it. I still wish it had been me, sometimes. It’s not fair it happened to Sherlock. I just hope he’s not too mad. If it had been someone else, he’d probably try to talk some sense into me, get me to tell more logical things.

If ghosts were real, I know he’d tell me to stop putting the blame on myself, even if I don’t even know why I blame myself, we don’t even know what caused him to jump from a damn building. And even if someone explains it, we won’t know if it’s real no matter how much they’ll prove it’s the truth.

The only person that can tell us that is gone.

So, unless we don’t find...a diary, or a note, proving it all, we won’t know.

The last thing we’ve heard from him was an apology, the ‘note’ he left behind was the call John received, which means the presumed note I mentioned doesn’t exist, only the call does.

After leaving his note, he fell from the roof and he died on impact, his pulse was long gone when he reached the floor, and it didn’t come back. I didn’t believe all of it happened, even when I heard John telling it, none of it seemed true...until I saw the death certificate.

The whole world stopped, and it still is frozen now. I wish the grave I’m standing in front of wasn’t real, I wish that my eyes were betraying me.

If only.

“Turns out you lied, Sherlock. You left.”

I hate you for what you did.

“You could have explained all of this a bit more. Even if I would have preferred not to, I would have prevented you from dying if you gave me a note...before.”

I wish I had known, I should have known. He didn’t have to die, he wasn’t supposed to die, certainly not like that.

Not now, that wasn’t his time. He was supposed to die of old age because of natural reasons, after all of us. Outlive us all.

Damn Sherlock Holmes wasn’t supposed to die at 35 years old. It's too young, too soon, Too much to bear.

“What am I supposed to do now, I mean- what are we all supposed to do? None of us can replace you, we’ll take twice the amount of time you barely took to resolve cases on our own, you left us in a really bad situation, you know that? It’s not going to be the same if you’re not here with us.”

And I miss you like a little kid.

“You could have made us take classes to become a close version of you, at least. I’m saying ‘close’ because no one will ever be like you. Not even that detective that had 30 years of experience, he wasn’t even close, really. I’d say he looked like a newbie, next to you.”

I even started to lose the habit of calling him when he’s not directly on the field and I hate this. I’ve only known him for a couple of years, and yet, he’s going to be ironed in my mind for a lifetime.

That man, I swear.

He didn’t think that sticking so close to us, getting to know us, sharing things about him would affect us so badly now that he’s gone. Real gone.

It hurts to say that, I wish I could just pretend he wasn’t gone, but that’s not really...healthy? It’s not really healthy in the way that if I pretend he’s still there- while he’s six feet under ground would drive me crazy, it’d completely destroy the whole ‘acceptance phase’ I’ve been working on. He’s dead, and there’s nothing we can do to bring him back.

That’s what my brain has to acknowledge, pretending he’s alive wouldn’t do any good.

Sometimes life gets to an end, and we have to accept that. I know that Sherlock, his brother and even John wouldn’t want to see me like this- ignoring reality, building a fake world to protect me from the real one.

Hurting sucks. Getting reminded that I won’t be seeing him anymore sucks, but everything sucks in life, and that’s what happens when you live. You can’t have a perfect happy life with all the shitty problems, that doesn’t exist.

But even if this sucks, I also get to remember all of the great things Sherlock has accomplished, the hundreds of memories we’ve made all together, whatever makes me happy- but there’s still a lot of hurt to go through before being able to think about them without crying because I miss them.

I wish that could be happening right now, I must have filled an entire bottle of water with all my tears. It’s even worse when that happens at 2am after you wake up from a dream about them.

Speaking of dreams, I don’t think I’ve ever had so many dreams with him compared to when he was alive. It’s as if he's haunting me, and even if I like him, I’d wish he wouldn’t do that so often, a little peace and quiet would be nice, even if I don’t want that to stop.

I’m afraid I’ll forget Sherlock if I stop thinking about him, block the memories to prevent me from the hurt that comes with it. I don’t want that to happen, he doesn’t deserve to have his legacy ignored because of my stupid feelings that hurt, he deserves to have his legacy remembered, discussed about, shared, not to have it trapped in newspapers, or in a corner of my head.

I like to imagine him being proud when I do that, even if I wouldn’t have known he was. He wasn’t the expressive kind, but he liked to show he was proud of you through a facial expression, a word, whatever could be ‘decrypted’. He wasn’t as cold as people saw him, he was extremely kind, even if he was broken in millions of pieces inside.

But yet, he overcame everything and came back even stronger. Every single time. He was amazing in so many ways, and that’s why I wish I could be like him.

So much.

I sighed, adjusting the grip I had on my umbrella, as I squatted down in front of his grave. “Did you know we went through your closet yesterday? There’s really not a lot, your clothes are so...similar. We can easily buy the same to be ‘like you’. But I don’t want to touch them, they’re kind of like precious pieces you can find in a museum.”

I hope he doesn’t think I’m crazy because of that.

“And...yeah, we went through your place because we can’t bring ourselves to sell it, I don’t want someone else to live in there and ruin it with their own belongings. But at the same time, living in it would be weird, I don’t know. I can’t find an explanation, just that it’s weird, living in the apartment of a dead person. Kinda creepy.” I explained, looking up from my umbrella as I realized the rain had gone down, letting a few rays of a ‘somehow’ sun. “Look, the sun listened to me. It’s coming up so I can give my emotional speech full of hope.” I sighed. “I don’t...I don’t even know what to say anymore. Kind of ironic as I always have something to say.”

I actually kind of know, but I don’t want to say it.

He’s gone. No miracle will bring him back, but I’ve kept hearing John saying it, I heard him last time we came; and even though I can’t bring myself to say that, I want to so badly. That’s all I’ve been wanting to happen since you died, I don’t want anything else and I don’t care about love anymore even if you always wanted me to be happy.

You’re what made me happy, you were the definition of love. Maybe what I’ve been feeling was that but I never brought myself to admit it.

I have loved you since the first day, but you always said that whoever fell in love with you should find better as you considered yourself a forever loner, unable to feel and give love, but I know you were capable of it, if you had tried, I believed you could have done it.

“Look at me, in front of your grave, exposing the feelings I’ll never have the answer to, I don’t even know if you liked me back. You really took all your secrets to your grave, huh? What a selfish prick, you could’ve shared that, at least.” I complained.

I don’t think I’ve ever known someone that hid so much stuff, he really was a whole mystery to himself, that man.

We can’t even solve what caused you to commit suicide, we’ll probably never solve it. You were the only one that knew why, and yet he can’t just pull a miracle and live again for a few minutes as a zombie to explain. That would be of great help, even if I’d prefer he’d live again.

That’d be an awesome miracle, even better than what happens at Christmas.

“Can you do that for me, though?”

Just that, I won’t ask for anything else.

“Just one more miracle, Sherlock, for us.” I said, putting my hand on the polished surface. “...don't be dead.”

It’s too easy, you can’t be dead, Nothing can kill you. I know John, and a shit ton of people saw you fall, but...let me believe all of that isn’t true.

Just a fake accident, Do that for us. Please. We need you more than you can ever imagine, you were so important to us, you were family.

A reason to fight for, to live for.

“Don’t be, please.” I pleaded, as I got up from the ground. “I uh...I’ll be back whenever I can, okay? Work’s been crazy since you’re gone, it’s incredible. I don’t know if it’s because we don’t have your help, or because it’s always been like that.”

Probably a mix of the two, I don’t really know, it’s been complicated to think properly these days. Sherlock would be the one to help with that, usually.

“I’ll have to ask someone else, I guess.”

I still haven’t found this ‘someone else’, by the way, It’s been two years, I know. But I still haven’t found someone that can help me the way he used to.

He still remains unique after all this time.

“I’ll be on my way, then. You’re awfully quiet today, guess you’re not in the mood, so I’ll go.”

I wish I still didn’t have to say goodbye, but this is the only thing I can say when I leave.

The weather had even gotten better, as if it only rained to have a full dramatic effect, there was only wind, which didn’t seem to announce a storm, for now. The sound of the leaves being crushed by my feet as I walked was to be heard, as no other sounds were around, it was very quiet today.

The silence did feel weird, I never liked it.

Not when it caused me to think of…

“Got time to spare for me?”

...him.

“Sherlock.”

++

|Chapter Two|

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock #lexies sherlock #sherlock holmes fanfiction

[blazehedgehog]

Is it really an issue of development time for Sonic Team? Sega releases Yakuza almost yearly, and those games are at least good most of the time. I honestly believe Sonic Team is simply incompetent.

I think it’s a matter of expectations. I’ve used varying examples of this over the last few months, but you have to see things from how the publisher business operates on a corporate level:

A game developer comes to you with a game they’ve “finished.” It’s passed your internal certification process and it’s even passed the platform certification process. It’s ready to release. The game is a technical disaster. You’re baffled it passed cert, but there was a lot of letter-of-the-law hemming and hawing that got it through.

In your personal opinion, the game is trash, but you can’t change the deadline. You’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on a marketing campaign and a team of analysts have given you an optimal window of release for this product. If you miss that window, you will be doubling the amount you’ve already spent finding a new release date, on top of having to deal with the fallout of public opinion and how it reflects on your company. The game has to come out now.

You talk to the director of the game, and he tells a long story of awful development trouble. They effectively had to reboot the entire project 18 months before release, and it was a mad dash to get it ready for the manufacturing deadline. Obviously, that explains why the game is a dumpster fire.

You cannot pull the brakes at this point in time. It is what it is. You simply have to take the hit and move on.

The game comes out. Critics savage it. You expected that. You’d savage it, too, if it was up to you. There are even quite a lot of very vocal long time fans that are voicing their displeasure. This isn’t the game they hoped it would be. Over where you are, you feel relatively the same way.

But here’s the deal: the game still sells two million copies. It triples both its development and marketing budget. You’ve made a lot of money on it. Those vocal, long time fans turn out to be a minority, and swarms of parents and children buy the game in droves, because they are fans of the franchise, and don’t have much in the way of expectations.

It comes time to greenlight a sequel. Looking at the metrics, you now have statistical proof that the development team can create an extremely successful product with extremely limited time and resources. The fact that they consider the product a failure didn’t matter, because the sales figures say it was a huge success. Whatever they did, they need to do it again. And again. And again. If the people buying these products like fast, sloppy work, you’ll give them all the fast and sloppy work they can handle.

It doesn’t matter that you didn’t like it, it doesn’t matter that the development team didn’t like it, because the people buying it loved it.

This is how a publisher loses touch with reality. At that point, what do you greenlight? What do you reject? What needs to be delayed? You’ll never really know. Your only option is to cross your fingers and hope the anomaly continues.

And this example doesn’t just apply to Sega. It doesn’t even apply only to video games. This is how anyone in the entertainment industry, period, can find themselves dug in to some very deep holes. When something is successful, you have to follow it up with more success, and when your success comes from objective failure, it’s hard to understand what that even means anymore.

Nothing I’m saying here is to imply this is the correct path to follow, or that this is an excuse as to why this is okay, or anything like that. Make no mistake: even though I assume and have some anecdotal information to suggest this is the way things go, it is short-sighted and strictly profit-focused. Profit above all else. Profit above employee health. Which is, sadly, not a new concept for the game industry.

If Sonic Team was simply incompetent, this would be an easier problem to solve.

#questions #sonic the hedgehog #sega #sonic team #entertainment #Anonymous