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angellesword · 3 years

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MAGIC SHOP | JJK (12)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively:

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, pining, slice of life au.

Warnings: none other than JK and OC making out, cursing too????

Chapter’s OST: Nobody Compares by One Direction

Word Count: 3.8k

Series: CHAPTER 11 | CHAPTER 13

Soojin wasn't sure what to do when she saw you standing there, only a few meters away from her and Sin-ae.

You obviously heard the secret she just spilled. This was why she didn't understand why you were keeping a neutral face. It was like the new information didn't shock you at all.

Soojin couldn't help but wonder if this was you being a martyr again. She was not a fool. She was aware how desperate you were to become a part of their family.

How could she not know? Soojin literally exploited this desperation of yours for many years.

She hoped she could still use it today. She hoped you were still the same naïve girl from before.

"Hey, sister..." Soojin tested the waters by calling you sister. It always worked. She saw how your eyes softened and sparkled every time she called you that.

Sometimes she found it endearing, but it pissed her off most of the time. You were such an idiot. She mused.

"Hi." You went near them, greeting them flatly that caused Soojin's heart to drop to her stomach. She didn't see it. This was the first time your eyes didn't light up at the sight of her and her kind smile.

Your face also remained impassive despite Sin-ae's hostility.

"What are you doing here?" Soojin's mother barked, her question was making her look dumb.

You were cradling flowers in your arms while inside a columbarium building. Of course you were here to visit the dead.

"I'm here for my father," and that's exactly what you did; you stated the obvious. Your voice sounded like a robot though. Just like your face, there's no emotion that could be traced. "You know, since I wasn't able to attend the funeral."

Soojin almost flinched at the sudden change of your tone. It's stone cold. She could almost taste your resentment in her tongue.

"Ah..." Your sister let out a breathy laugh. Her heart was in her throat. Soojin was never intimidated by you because she had always felt like she was better than you. In all aspects. You were an illegitimate child. You didn't have a loving mother. Your brothers didn't consider you family. Your father loved her more than he loved you.

The only one you had was Jungkook, but he wasn't yours anymore. He was hers.

"W-We thought you went back to New York." Soojin reasoned out sheepishly. She looked timid, exactly how you used to look when you were around the Kims.

It's uncanny actually. At this very moment, you could see yourself in her. Soojin looked so much like you. Was it because she's your sister? Or was it because just like you, she had done something shameful too?

Wrong.

You were wrong. Your very existence was shameful enough. Soojin had only done something that made her feel guilty. That's different. She's nothing like you. She was better—this was what she believed.

"I did not." You responded because what else could you say? It wouldn't change the fact that you didn't get to see your father for the last time.

They took him away from you.

"Well then we won't disturb you anymore." Soojin faked a smile, grabbing her mother's arm and tucking it into the crook of her elbow.

Sin-ae tried to pull her arm away from her daughter's grasp. Turning to you, she huffed and was about to say mean things when Soojin discreetly squeezed her mother's arm.

You saw how she leaned closer to the older woman to whisper something. Only a fool wouldn't know what that 'something' was. It's obvious she told Sin-ae that there's a big chance you heard about their secret.

It's the only logical explanation why the color drained out of the face of your half sister's mother. It also appeared like Sin-ae suddenly lost her ability to speak.

She couldn't even scorn at you. Truthfully, she was looking at you as if you were a ghost that's been haunting her for ages.

"I-It's getting late, Soojin-ah. Maybe we should go." Sin-ae turned to look at her daughter, smiling warmly at her.

Soojin released a deep breath, thankful that her mother understood the situation immediately.

"We should." Soojin directed her smile at you. "See you soon, sister..."

Her smile dropped when you didn't respond, but instead of pointing it out or getting mad, she just chose to walk away, dragging her mother with her.

You surprised them when you unexpectedly spoke right after they walked past you.

"Yeah." Your grip on the stem of the flowers tightened. "See you at the Board of Directors' Meeting."

"She's bluffing." Sin-ae crossed her arms as she lifted her brows. She looked confident while standing still, her eyes were sharp which Soojin didn't fail to notice.

Her mother's aura gave her an illusion of power. Yeah. Sin-ae was right. You were most likely bluffing when you told them days ago that you would see them at the BOD's meeting.

Who cared if you knew about their secret? You didn't have evidence. As stated, Soojin destroyed it all. She also paid those employees who knew about the truth. They wouldn't dare spill.

That's the power of money. It could buy the silence of people.

Apart from this, no one would ever believe an illegitimate child like you. The board wouldn't even consider you as a prospective chairperson. You had the biggest share in the company but you weren't an architect in the firm. Only those who were working at Castle as an architect could be the next chairperson. Besides, why would they want an irresponsible person who suddenly quit her job? This was what you did when you abruptly decided to go to New York two years ago. You left Castle almost immediately, not caring that you still had commitments.

Jungkook, being your best friend, took over all your pending projects just so you could be free. He thought you simply wanted to leave the company. But regret washed over him upon realizing that you quit your job so you could go abroad.

Jungkook often wondered what would have happened if he didn't take over your pending projects. Would you still leave Seoul? Would you still leave him?

Probably.

You never stayed.

You left before.

You left him now too.

The last time Jungkook saw you was when he dropped you off at Castle so you could be present when Taemin's executor read the will. After that, he never saw you again.

Jungkook tried to go back to the motel but you weren't there anymore. He panicked, thinking that you went back to New York already.

But when he called your phone and you answered, he instantly felt relief engulfing his body.

"I'm still in Seoul." You informed him over the phone. You also told him you couldn't go back to his apartment anymore.

"At least tell me where you're staying..." He was begging you again. Jungkook didn't care if you thought he was pathetic. His main concern was your safety.

"I can't. But I'm safe. Promise." You assured him. He wanted to argue but then he was reminded by what you told him two years ago. You didn't want to be fixed. Maybe it's time he put his trust in you.

He should trust your words.

"Okay." He said, his heart was heavy.

You hummed.

"See you soon, Kook." And then you hung up.

You didn't lie though. Jungkook saw you after a few days. He got to know what happened through Soojin. Your sister was pissed because you inherited more than half of Taemin's assets. Jungkook also came to know that you wanted to be the next chairperson of Castle.

Soojin was trying to calm her nerves; however, everything was making her worry. She didn't only have to worry about you. Jungkook was also a threat to her position. The board probably wanted him to be the next chairperson.

Sin-ae assured her daughter there's nothing to worry about.

"Didn't I tell you I can handle Jungkook? He'll marry you so you don't need to worry if the board chooses him as your father's successor. Chin up. We got this. Like I said, the bastard is bluffing. She won't be at the meeting." Sin-ae reminded her daughter for the second time.

Soojin nodded. Her mother's words didn't give her the illusion of power. The confidence she felt right now was already real.

"Alright." Your sister held her head high as she heaved a deep sigh. "Let's go. This day is perfect. I'll either be the new chairperson or Jungkook's wife. I win regardless..."

"Yes." Sin-ae's lips twitched. "That's right. Now let's go and claim what belongs to you."

Sin-ae was wrong. You weren't bluffing. You're determined to be the next chairperson of Castle Architectural Firm.

You wouldn't let Soojin taint the name of your father. She had to pay for her sins, not just for the sake of Taemin but also because she owed it to the family of those workers who had died because of the accident.

Soojin failed as an architect. The least thing she could do was to become a decent human being and face the consequences of her mistake.

You knew you could only make her pay if you had the power, but how were you supposed to be in power when you felt like everyone in this building hated you?

You couldn't get rid of the ugly feeling twisting in your gut. You were certain you weren't imagining the nasty stares everyone was giving you.

You also saw some of the employees whispering to one another while looking at you.

You inhaled sharply and went straight to the comfort room. You couldn't bear it. All your life, the people you loved looked at you like that.

It was happening again. This time, it was so much worse. Even those who knew nothing about your life were judging you. You had a feeling that they were already aware that you were an illegitimate child.

It was kind of a big deal here, especially now that you had inherited the assets bound for the legitimates. People probably saw you and your mother the same way: a leech.

But you just shook your head at this. Who cares about what people think? What's important was that you didn't lose yourself despite hearing rumors about you.

It was just a rumor. You knew the truth. The people who loved you knew the truth. Jungkook knew the truth.

"Tiger." And he loved you.

"Jungkook?" You flinched when you heard your best friend's voice. You saw his reflection in the mirror. He was leaning against the bathroom door.

"Why are you here?" Your eyes widened, jaw clenching. This was a woman's restroom. What if someone saw him here?

"I thought I saw you going here. Just wanna check..." He said this while you peeked through each cubicle. Thank Heavens no other women were here.

"You're not supposed to be here. Let's go." You made your way to the door, attempting to twist the doorknob but Jungkook stopped you.

"Kook." You sighed. "The meeting starts in ten minutes. We'll be late." You said sharply, reminding him this wasn't the time to play games.

"Five minutes." He let out a deep breath too. "Just give me five minutes, Tiger."

Your breathing hitched upon hearing the desperation in his voice. You made a mistake by meeting his gaze. The softness in his eyes never failed to make your knees go weak.

"I just wanna see you..." He drawled, lightly pushing you against the door and caging you in his arm.

Jungkook cupped your face while you pressed your cheek against his hand, instantly melting. Your stomach knotted with desire. It felt good to be touched like this.

"Kook..." Your teeth chattered though, the protest of your brain was hard to ignore. "W-We can't."

And as usual, you gave into what your mind thought was right. You were pushing him away. Again.

Stupid.

"Why can't we?" It was surprising to hear him ask this without the whiny tone. He was calm today, like an adult asking for a reasonable explanation. Jungkook knew he couldn't get what he wanted by whining.

"Make me understand, Tiger. Why can't we?" He was caressing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut because you didn't want to look at his doe eyes.

"Soojin."

"To hell with Soojin." You shuddered when he said this. His voice was rough, so different from the Jungkook you knew. You had to open your eyes to make sure it's still him who was caging you.

The Jungkook you knew would never say something like this.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself for you to understand?" He was looking at you through hooded eyes.

Your heart hammered through your chest.

"It's not Soojin who I want. It's you." You felt his finger tracing your bottom lip. The way he was staring at your lips made you shiver. "Nothing compares to you, baby."

Oh.

You realized you couldn't use Soojin as an excuse. It's not working anymore and frankly, it's just pissing Jungkook off. He swore he'd vomit if he heard you say your sister's name one more time.

"W-We still can't." You trained your eyes on the floor. He was about to ask why but you beat him by speaking at once.

"Because you're my rival."

You thought you'd hear him scoff or hiss, but Jungkook just clenched his jaw. Deep eyes boring into you. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"I'm not." He said seriously. "I quit. I'm not competing against you."

You were the one who scoffed.

"Why?" You looked at him like he was crazy. "This is your father's company too."

Jeon Jong-in worked hard to build Castle Architectural Firm. Why wouldn't his son continue his legacy?

"You never listen to me, do you?" Jungkook let out a small chuckle before booping your nose. It's amusing how fast his expression changed. "Didn't I just tell you? Nothing compares to you, Tiger..."

He was saying that he'd choose you whatever happened, even if it meant losing other things. Because really, what's the use of all these material things when you're not by his side?

"Kook..." You pressed your hand on his chest and then you're suddenly reminded by what you had tried to do when you got drunk days ago.

The last time you put your hand on his chest, you tried to kiss him.

"What excuse are you gonna give me this time, my Tiger?" The corner of his mouth quirked up. Amusement was written all over his face. "Don't tell me you're gonna say you don't think I'm in love with you?"

Jeon Jungkook was the only person you knew who was never scared to admit his true feelings. You just knew he would confess his love at any chance he got. It's like he didn't mind if he got his heart broken. Truthfully, it felt like he would get his heart broken if he didn't confess all the time.

He had always been like this. Always genuine, never scared. He acted based on what he felt and he's never sorry for it.

"Are you?" You weren't sure what took over you when you knitted your brows together and asked this.

Jungkook's eyes grew big and then he let out a dramatic gasp. It was as though he couldn't fathom the words that left your mouth.

"Where is this coming from?" He swallowed thickly, disbelief was still apparent in his eyes. "You don't think I—wait. What?"

Jungkook blinked. Once. Twice.

"Shit. You seriously think I'm not in..." He trailed off, "oh." It's like something clicked. Jungkook's disbelief turned into credence when he realized something.

He stared at you with pursed lips, like he was trying to figure you out. Your expression seemed like you were challenging him that Jungkook wasn't sure what to do.

He felt like you're not going to believe whatever he would say, so instead of blabbering how crazy he was for you, he just used his mouth into something that shocked you.

Jungkook leaned forward and without hesitating, he kissed you.

Hard.

It was as though you were waiting for him to do that because your response was instant. You kissed Jungkook back like a hungry person who hadn't eaten in days.

Jungkook pressed his chest against yours, like he wasn't content with your proximity. He wanted to be closer to you even more.

"You don't think I love you because—" He bit your lip, making you moan. Jungkook pushed your body weight against the wall with his own. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your dress hiking up in the process. "—I didn't kiss you when you were drunk?"

He got it now. You're sulking like a kid because of it? Huh. What did you want him to do? Kiss you and then have you hate him since he wasn't able to control himself?

"You're a fool if you think I didn't want to do it. I was literally on the verge of giving you my whole world right there and then." You parted your lips and allowed his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth.

Jungkook was the very definition of sweet. Everything about him tasted sweet, heavenly, and addicting. It was like he was an angel, but in reality, he made you weak. A devil meant to punish your heart for wanting to take more than you could handle.

Jungkook gave you so, so much more and you couldn't stop taking it all.

"But I don't want to take advantage of you. I want you to really want me, to really mean it when you kiss me." He cupped your ass as he hummed and groaned with desire.

You felt bolder when you asked him; "do you think I mean it now?" In between kisses.

Jungkook swiped his tongue along your teeth. "Yeah," he answered yet he groaned in dissatisfaction. "But I'm selfish, Tiger...I want more than this."

He stopped kissing you, opting to press his forehead against yours. He breathed you in. He was letting the selfish part of him consume him again.

Jungkook wanted you with all of his heart. He was disgustingly in love with you.

"Love is not my priority right now, Jungkook." You said since it was the truth. You had the opportunity to help people serve justice.

"I know.” And he understood it. Jungkook was nuzzling your nose. "Promise me you're not gonna hold back..."

He knew how much you loved Soojin. He was a little worried you're going to back down once you saw sadness in your sister's features.

"I won't." But you weren't that person anymore.

It's interesting, really. Some people swore they'd never change but there's always that one circumstance which would transform them either into a better or worse version of themselves. You hadn't realized yet if your metamorphosis was the former or the latter. All you knew was that you had reached your breaking point—your limit.

"Good." Jungkook smiled softly at you. His eyes were crinkling. "I know it. I called you Tiger for a reason."

He was finally telling you the reason why he crafted that nickname for you. He didn't elucidate any further but you felt like you already understood. Tigers represented courage. To some, it symbolized truth and justice.

"Thanks, Kook." You returned the smile. Jungkook helped straighten your dress. He kissed you one last time before opening the door so you two could face the challenge set for today.

You arrived at the conference room just in time. Soojin and Sin-ae were already present. Your two brothers were here as well. They're shareholders too.

Once the quorum was recognized, the vice chairperson made a simple statement. The agenda for today was also discussed. The topic mostly revolved around the firm's responsibilities and liabilities—both civil and criminal—to the affected people.

There had been major changes with regard to ownership too. It had come to the attention of the board and other stockholders that the Kims were no longer the biggest investors in the firm.

"Quite the opposite actually." Jungkook leaned against the backrest of the chair as he crossed his arm over his chest.

He looked so relaxed, as if the matter being discussed didn't concern him.

Yes, that's actually the truth. Jungkook was just asked if he had the biggest share in Castle Architectural Firm.

"I sold all my shares. I'm just here to officially announce that I'm no longer tied to the company. I quit both as an investor and an architect."

There had been a protest after Jungkook said those words. It's clear that the majority of them couldn't accept this.

"This is ridiculous! Who will be the next chairperson now?" Mr. Han balled his hands into a fist.

Jungkook remembered this man. How could he forget? He's the same scum who disrespected Soojin and basically all women. He's a misogynistic piece of shit.

"It's not my fault you're not informed. All information is laid down for investors like you. I am not competing against the Kims."

It was revealed right there and then that Taemin's illegitimate child and Soojin were the candidates to be the next chairperson.

Of course Sin-ae lost her composure. It's expected. She's dramatic like that. She was shouting and demanding how this became possible.

The charter and the country's law stated that in order to become the company's chairperson of a professional corporation, one should be employed as an architect in the firm first.

Sin-ae talked to the Human Resources Manager before. The employee confirmed that you weren't hired. You didn't even apply.

"Oh I'm not talking about me, Mam." You smirked at your father's wife. "You see..."

For dramatic effect, you stood up and walked around the room. Everyone was either looking at you with anticipation or hatred.

Jungkook was the only one looking at you in awe. He liked seeing you like this, in control and confident. He pouted while watching you. He wished he could kiss you again.

"I know it's not a secret anymore that I'm Kim Taemin's child. But..."

But. There's this word again. More often than not, the word but followed something negative...or shocking.

In this case, it's the latter.

You saw surprise written in their faces as you revealed the truth:

"I'm not the only bastard of Kim Taemin." You stood behind the chair of one of the shareholders and architects here at Castle.

You tapped his back, causing him to sit straight.

"Everyone, meet Jung Hoseok—or should I say Kim Hoseok, the eldest son of Kim Taemin..."

Hoseok smirked too as he said “let the game begin,” under his breath.

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livsoulsecrets · 3 years

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Kit Herondale Fic - Am I Enough?

Summary: Kit wonders if he has what it takes to be the big brother Mina deserves and goes to Alec for some advice, which proves to be really useful.

It was funny, Kit thought as he got up from Magnus’ fancy couch, leaving his parents happily chatting with Jace as he retold some of his favorite memories with Alec. Everyone saw Jace as this untouchable hero, an example of glory and fierceness, even Jace himself thought that, Kit was certain, but nobody was more worth of admiration to Jace than Alec, that much was clear in the way he looked at his parabatai for affirmation every time he spoke in public, the anchoring hand he would always lay on Alec’s shoulder before battle and the softness of the words whispered between them.

Alec was Jace’s hero in every sense of the world. Alec was everything Kit hoped he could be to Mina, little Mina that would hang on to his finger like her life depended on it, who would smile at him every time he picked her up, Mina, who he would die for and live for and do anything and everything for. His light and wild rose, she was so much more than he deserved, but Kit was determined to be exactly who she needed.

That determination is what kept Kit going as he walked into Magnus and Alec’s kitchen, finding the Consul of the Shadowhunters, the highest authority of their people, one of their most skilled and wisest members, with glitter all over his hair and a well-intended, but still tragically messy rainbow on his cheek, courtesy of his son, Rafael, who looked quite proud of himself.

— Yes, now you are ready for the party! — Rafe announces, putting the paint-brush down.

— Thank you for that, I am sure I look... — Alec stops, looking over to Kit, noticing his presence. — Interesting? — He completes, hesitant.

— That is one way to put it. — Kit answers, barely containing a laugh.

— He looks gay! — Rafael says, fiercely, crossing his arms.

— I look what now? — Alec asks, confused, but still entertained.

— You heard the kid. — Kit is laughing now, not being able to help it.

— Gay, dad. Papa told me gay means happy as well! He said you would be gay twice if I made you happy on your birthday! — Rafael explains, looking offended his point wasn’t understood. — I know how much you like my drawings, so I made you a gay one, like the flag we bought last week. — Kit feels like he is intruding a lovely family moment, but he is too touched by Rafe’s dedication to miss the scene. Alec smiles and bows down to kiss his son’s forehead.

— Gracias, hijo. — He says, messing his hair up in sequence. — I do love your drawings and I love you even more. — Rafe smiles back to his dad, pleased with himself. He gets off the table, where he was sitting to be able to paint his dad’s face, and runs to the living room.

— He is adorable, you know. — Kit says and Alec smirks.

— Yeah, he really is. I’m lucky. — Alec’s words are simple and direct, like many things about him are, but they stick with Kit. Before he met his family, he used to think love was a complicated, painful and disastrous thing, like what his dad seemed to feel for his mom and for Kit himself, like the lies and betrayal he saw in the Shadow Market, like the tricks he pulled as well. It was only after getting to know Tessa and Jem that Kit noticed love was quite simple, that good, real love was calm and peaceful and felt like home. The trust and the care he learned from them made Kit understand that loving somebody is not about the big gestures and dramatic moves, it is about knowing someone inside out and still staying, not because you desperately needed them, but because you desperately wanted them.

Alec’s love for his family was a lot like the one Jem and Tessa had, the love they shared with Mina and Kit. That is what prompted Kit to come after Alec today, seeking some guidance in how to present this very same type of love to his little sister.

— Alec, could I ask you something? I know it is your birthday and I don’t want to bother you, but I promise it will be fast-

— Kit, just ask it. You’re not bothering me. — Alec cuts his rambling off and Kit is grateful for that, not even understanding why he is so nervous. Ever since he moved in with Tessa and Jem, he had met Alec many times and grew quite close with his family as well, since Tessa was one of Magnus’ oldest friends. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Alec could never be anything other than kind towards him.

— Okay, sure. Good. — He answers, eyes casting down. — This is probably a weird question, but... How did you make sure you were the brother your siblings needed? Because, honestly, Jace and Izzy adore you and it seems so effortless to you that it blows my mind. I have known Mina her whole life, which is not much, you know? She is only one. But, for her, it is a lot of time! Still, I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like- By the Angel, like she needs so much more than I can give her. That is insane, I get it, her favorite word at the moment is poop and she adores to scream it at the top of her lungs every time we’re out, of course she doesn’t have great expectations right now, but she will someday and I don’t think I will be able to be who she needs me to be. Will I even deserve all the trust she puts in me? All the love she gives me? Will I even-

— Kit, stop. — Alec firmly demands and Kit is so shocked by the action that he finally turns to look at him. It is quite astonishing to find a sly smile on Alec’s lips. — Just stop, okay? You’re overthinking away too much, trust me: I have been there. It was never effortless to me, quite the opposite. I spent most of my life doubting I could be the right person to keep my siblings safe. When Max-

He stops, swallows dryly, seeming to gather himself for what he is about to say before speaking again.

— When Max died, I was destroyed. I felt like I failed him. Somedays I still do, so does Izzy, so does Jace. Still, I know Max would never think that of us, he knows Sebastian is the only one to blame for what happened. — His expression softens for a moment and Kit hopes he didn’t bring out any hard memories on such a happy day. — What I’m trying to say is that you will never feel like you’re enough or like you know what you’re doing, it will always be hard and the idea of letting Mina down will always be scary. There is no running away from that.

— So, I will just feel this terrified forever? — He is well aware of how disturbed he sounds, but can’t help it when Alec just dropped this bomb on him.

— No, not if you learn one little thing, that took me many years to understand. — Alec’s voice is soft now; the tone Kit only ever saw him use around his family.

— And what is that?

— Mina already thinks you’re the everything she needs. She already thinks you deserve all the love and trust she gives to you. You know why? — Alec questioned and Kit just stared blankly at him, not knowing what to say. — Because, every single day, you get up and choose to try your best to make her happy and keep her safe. That is all she needs from you: to never stop trying. She doesn’t want you to drive yourself crazy or sacrifice anything for her. I once thought the same, I was sure I could never be myself or be happy, if I wanted my siblings to be proud of me. I thought that was the only way I could protect them. Angel, how I was wrong. All they ever wanted was for me to be exactly who I am. — He glares at Jace laughing loudly in the living room, Izzy rolling her eyes at him, but still smiling softly at her brother shortly after, and something shifts inside of Kit.

That is what he wants for his and Mina’s future. He wants her to laugh at him until they are both out of breath, he wants her look at him with the just right combination of exasperation and affection, to still grab his hand when she is scared and run to his arms when she is happy.

— So... You are saying that I should just be myself? — Kit queries and Alec nods, as if he just asked him if the sky was blue.

— Yes, as cheesy as it sounds, just keep doing what you’re doing and I’m sure you will be fine.

— But what if who I am is not enough, Alec? — His voice cracks and he hates how obvious his uncertainty is, but Alec doesn’t shudder.

— Kit, you are more than enough. The fact you even question it already shows you are, that is why you care so much. Still, I know, better than most, that I can’t be the one to tell you that. Any words will fall flat if you don’t believe in it. Look, I wouldn’t worry too much about Mina if I were you. She already adores you. Maybe just focus on believing in yourself, make sure you see why she does. Do that, kid, and I can assure you all these doubts will vanish. — He lays a hand in his shoulder and squeezes it, dropping it shortly after.

— That was really... Wise. — Kit blurted out, trying to absorb what he just heard.

— Don’t sound so surprised. — Alec jokes and Kit can’t help but fell an overwhelming sense of gratitude settling in his chest.

— Thank you for saying all of that. It really helped, like, you have no idea how much. — Kit thanked him; glad he had gone to Alec with his questions.

— You’re welcome. — He calmly responded, just as Izzy entered the kitchen with an empty glass.

— Alec, where do you keep the wine? Because I’m sure Magnus is hiding the good stuff from me! — She claims, coming to rest against the door way.

— If I told you where he keeps it, I will probably have divorce files on my desk by morning. — Alec playfully provokes his sister, that just waves his concern away with a hand.

— Fine, for the sake of your marriage, I will just have you ask him for me. — Then, upon realizing Alec’s lack of interest in the idea, she pouts, moving to hang on Alec’s shoulder. — Please? — He looks down at her and sighs.

— As you please. — She claps in excitement and kisses him in the cheek.

— I’ll be waiting! — Izzy announces, before leaving the kitchen.

— Are you good? — Alec asks Kit once his sister disappears into the living room.

— I will be. — Kit answers and he is only half faking the confidence in his voice, so he takes that as a win.

— Yeah, you will. — Alec confirms as he walks away, Kit on his tow. He drops himself back in the couch, deep in thought. He is startled when a tiny hand grabs his left leg. Once Kit looks down, he finds Mina holding on tight to him to push herself up. He smiles down at her as she stands, her grip on Kit so strong he wonders if that is some sort of Shadowhunter-Warlock baby superpower.

— Min-Min, you are getting though. — He proudly states. Mina giggles, as if she understands what he’s saying and puts both of her hands up, a common indication she wants to be picked up by him.

Kit gladly does so, placing his sister in his lap. She wiggles her little feet up as she rests her head against his chest, one of her hands coming to grip the collar of his shirt. She must probably be tired, her nap time coming up, but Kit tells himself he’ll soon put her down in Rafe’s bed like Magnus offered, even though he knows he most likely won’t. He holds her against his heart as she dozes off, feeling her hand relaxing the grip in order to rest against his heart, her five little perfect fingers going up and down with every heartbeat beneath them.

In that moment, he’s absolutely sure they’ll be just fine, not because he’s perfect or sure he will never make mistakes, but simply because he loves her away too much to be anything other than his very best self.

#Kit Herondale #Kit Rook #kit herondale fic #Alec Lightwood #Jace Herondale #izzy lightwood #max lightwood #mina carstairs #jem carstairs #tessa gray #rafael lightwood bane #the shadowhunters chronicles #my fics #the dark artifices #the mortal instruments #ghosts of the shadow market #fluff

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thejustmaiden · 4 years

Text

Heyo, fellow Inuyasha fans! Happy Friday! This particular blog will serve as a collection of random thoughts I’ve been mulling over lately. Hope you’ll consider giving it a read. By the way, it’ll specifically pertain to the Sessrin ship. If that’s not something that is of interest to you, then no need to read any further. Whatever happens, I wanted to get this out before the sequel. Alrighty, let’s go!

I’m not sure many of us realize just how much fiction sparks public dialogue and shapes culture. There have been countless studies and research done to prove it, therefore this really isn’t up for debate. What the real question here should be is have we taken the time to fully contemplate and assess just how much fictional experiences are able to change or influence our perspective on real, everyday life? The visual arts are just one of many evolutionary adaptations that serve to give us more insight into one another’s mind. If our outlook on fiction contrasts with said insight, then perhaps some re-evaluating is in order.

Powerful works of literature such as 1984 and the beloved Harry Potter series are just two examples. George Orwell’s book contributed strongly to how readers viewed government and politics during that time, and to this day it’s a book that resonates with many. As much as Harry Potter is cherished all across the world, there are religious and academic institutions that condemn it or have even gone so far as to ban it. I may not agree with the extreme measures taken, but it’s fascinating nonetheless to witness the extent to which fiction can move and mobilize people for a cause.

The takeaway is that indicating fiction doesn’t have the power to create change in our everyday lives is misleading to say the least. So how exactly then can fictional stories that are, after all, completely made up affect society in such profound ways? It all lies in the power of the psychology of fiction. According to cognitive psychologist and novelist, Keith Oatley, who’s been researching the psychological effects of fiction for over a decade, he states that engaging with stories about other people can improve empathy and theory of mind. When we identify with these characters’ struggles, we begin to share their frustration for societal problems that plague them. These types of stories tap into our emotions more so than- believe it or not- nonfiction, and thus their effects inspire us and even have the ability to alter our worldviews.

I’ll be returning to that specific topic a bit later, but moving on for now!

It’s safe to say that I speak on behalf of the majority of antis. That being said, I first want to add that we are aware that sessrin shippers claim to agree that there was nothing inherently romantic that took place between Rin and Sesshomaru during their travels together. The thing is we have trouble believing you guys when you time and time again provide contradictory statements to defend your stance.

Voicing things like, “all signs point to Rin” and “it’s been foreshadowed” sends the exact opposite message of what you supposedly stand for and, if anything, confirms that you’ve had romance on your mind long before it would’ve been acceptable to come out with openly. You can’t just go along with what we say when it’s convenient to your argument and then back it up later with “who else but Rin.” How can the relationship you’re imagining be so obvious if they didn’t hint at it for the whole duration of the original series like we agreed upon? Elaborate on how we could’ve possibly come to such wildly different conclusions when we started AND left off with the same views for and throughout the series.

On top of that, making the excuse that we don’t speak for adult!Rin and that she has the right to make her own decisions once she’s old enough is a weak defense. Firstly, because we haven’t even met her. Secondly, because it’s unfair of you to assert that you know what’s best for Rin and then say we’re not allowed to just because it doesn’t align with your beliefs. I get that you feel protective over her character, but do recall that this adult version of her none of us have actually met yet. We have no idea what kind of woman she’s become, what her dreams or aspirations may be, and whether she’s married or even wants to be. I’m not against the idea of her falling in love, I just don’t think it’ll be with Sesshomaru. I guess I’m also a fan of the idea of her following in Kaede’s footsteps, because if anyone can grow up to be an independent, trusted, and wise leader of the community like her it’s Rin.

To make matters worse, way too many of you continue to celebrate the drama cd and profess that it was sweet that Sesshomaru basically promised he’d wait for Rin all while somehow ignoring the glaring grooming implications. Why do you only see what you want to see and fail to acknowledge that actual child grooming scenarios do in fact play out like this in real life? A high percentage of people who have been victims of grooming can attest to this. If Sessrin does go canon, all the sequel succeeded in doing to avoid the direct correlation with grooming was skip over the more questionable and dodgy portions of it. Take out the time jump, however, and you no longer have a loophole to cover up the scary unmistakable truth, which is that Sessrin and grooming are essentially one in the same.

No one case is identical to another so please don’t come to me with your “but how is it grooming if Sesshomaru didn’t manipulate Rin” refutes. Nobody knows what the hell went on during those years between The Final Act and this upcoming sequel. Based on everything exhibited so far- that is if we decide to recognize the drama cd like so many of you choose to do- Sessrin’s dynamic is eerily reminiscent of real life child grooming. Why else do you think a lot of us fans have a huge problem with it? It’s triggering for a reason.

Let’s be honest, Sesshomaru’s supposed love confession could’ve just been the first of many gestures like it. Who really knows, right? According to you shippers, a major shift in their relationship took place sometime during this critical period none of us got to watch unfold. I’m sure you all have explored the various ways this would’ve gone down in fan fiction and through other creative means of expression. Not to spoil the fun, but all I can’t help but wonder about is just how many of those supposed “cute moments” would’ve been as creepy and cringey as that proposal. Hundreds of thousands (possibly millions?!) of fans would undoubtedly agree with me, too. It seems to me this ain’t due to a mere difference of opinion. Taste is one thing, ethics a whole other.

By the way, in case you didn’t know, groomers don’t necessarily need to plan out every single move in order for their behavior to constitute as grooming. What we should be paying attention to instead is the fact that Sesshomaru made a conscious decision to act on his own selfish desire for a young girl who couldn’t have possibly known in that moment the magnitude of what he was asking of her. Why is it that a vulnerable Rin is put in a position that forces her to be the one responsible for making such a big, life-changing decision for the both of them? Yes, Sesshomaru gave her the choice and, yes, she doesn’t have to make it till later, but why on Earth is he coming to her with this well before a child her age is ready and mature enough to handle it? Even if his intentions are good (broadly speaking of course), his what you shippers probably call “innocent acts” are incidentally coercing Rin into reciprocating his feelings. Whether he planned for that or not, he’s at fault. Period.

That’s one way the power imbalance works. A child wants nothing more than to please the adult they look up to and adore, because they’re impressionable like that. Maybe Rin processes this like she’ll want whatever he wants, so that’s what she trains herself to believe- either right then and there or over time. Plus, if you really think about it, why wouldn’t she trust him if in her eyes he’s been nothing but good to her and that’s all she’s ever really known? (Psst! Charm is integral to the manipulative nature of grooming so it’s deceiving AKA manipulation can come off as praise or flattery.) Bottom line is that Rin is too young to have to think about this kind of deep stuff at all, and Sesshomaru shouldn’t have taken advantage of the power he had/has over her to influence a decision she was by no means prepared to hear about much less decide on. Your headcanons seem to imply that she’ll eventually have to choose though, and Idk about you but I rather not push my own fantasy agenda onto a underage girl regardless of how much I want it. Idc if she’s fictional, it wouldn’t feel right so why would I want to see that? My principals couldn’t ever allow for it.

Even if it wasn’t an official proposal, per se, it’s still disturbing to me that so many of you find joy in the thought of a grown adult male essentially waiting for a young girl HE KNEW to become old enough before pursuing her. I know this drama cd ain’t technically canon, y'all, but since this is literally the only source we have that may foreshadow a potential Sessrin to come, and it’s referenced a lot, I figured it still should be called out for exactly what it is- Grooming: 101!!!!

Just as I demonstrated above, fiction has the ability to make even the most inappropriate and uncomfortable situations be viewed in a favorable light when you put the right spin on it. *cough* Lolicon culture, need I say more? *cough* Despite what you may believe, the strategies fiction utilizes to explain themes/concepts can genuinely lead to how we perceive them, and ultimately to how we come to make sense of a similar event presented to us in real life. Especially if we have no prior experience with any of it and have nothing to compare something to, these perceptions can be dangerous yet still persuasive to certain fans- young ones in particular. The more narrative consistency across stories and different mediums, the more likely they’ll influence social beliefs. Minors don’t possess the same capacity as adults to think critically about the content they consume, and if we aren’t more careful about what we put out there then all of us will continue to face serious repercussions.

This is precisely why it’s crucial we persist in our fight against the rabid phenomenon of glorifying young girls in every sexual context imaginable. Just look at what something as seemingly harmless as fiction has the power to do. The scope of fiction is broad and far-reaching, and it’s about time we stop denying that fact and actually do something about it if we have the means to.

The truth of the matter is that we’re in desperate need of proper education and training programs on this issue in our communities. Families need to ensure their children have access to the necessary resources, but it isn’t just on them. ALL of us gotta do our part and ALL of us should be up for the task. It takes a village, right? If we do not properly discuss and address child sexual abuse (CSA) with our children and in public forums, including the internet, then we’re ultimately accepting incidents of CSA should they arise. Consequently, that also translates to indirectly accepting that the predators among us stay untreated and/or unpunished. That’s how the generational and societal aspect of the abuse can continue, and we must do everything in our power to secure our children’s future. Yes, even when it comes to fiction.

If you still somehow don’t think the Sessrin pairing has anything to do with grooming, allow me to break this down for you one more time:

1. If some of your fellow sessrin shippers say that a relationship like this in real life is harmful, then that should be pretty telling in and of itself.

2. Piggybacking off #1: if your only defense to that is “well it’s just fiction,” then you should ask yourself why you can’t ever come up with better reasons. Same goes for history and culture, so please stop using those to justify this relationship. None of the above can or should be applied since it’s already been established that fiction pervades our lives and vice versa.

3. If fellow shippers who are victims of grooming say they are drawn to Sessrin because it allows them in a way to “take back control” from their abuser so that they can better cope with past traumas, then they’re inadvertently admitting that Sessrin does possess qualities associated with the past child sexual abuse they underwent. AKA Sessrin is relatable for its abusive dynamic.

I have to ask by the way, but why do you get so offended when we don’t support your ship anyway? Is it because we interpret it to be controversial and you don’t like your ship getting a bad rap? Is it because it would be insulting to admit that antis actually have a point in it being problematic and you rather double down instead? Or is it because you’re projecting yourself onto Rin and prefer to not go into detail about why that is? Maybe it’s too personal, or maybe it’s because deep down you’re ashamed. Of course that doesn’t mean you’re bad people, but suppressing these kind of negative emotions can’t be healthy for anyone. A little awareness and self-reflection on your part can benefit not just you but all of us in the long run. Cognitive dissonance can suck, but it’s also part of being human.

I recently came across a comment I’d like to share with you. Unfortunately, this is not the first time nor will it be the last I see the likes of it. Anyway, in it a fan stated how embarrassing it must be being an Anti in this fandom when an episode like “Forever with Lord Sesshomaru” exists. Guys, this shipper and all those who liked their post are showing their true colors. Perpetuating and/or anticipating these sexualized images of young girls is a grave issue in both our society and media alike. I think we can all agree on that, or at least I hope so. It’s remarks like these that prove we still got a long way to go in terms of progress, and if we ever hope to effectively reverse some of our backwards way of thinking. So serious question for ya in regard to this: Why is it too much to ask that grooming be portrayed for what it is? Grooming. To clarify, grooming is bad and needs to be painted in a bad light. It’s as simple as that. If only we could all acknowledge it for what it is, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Historical accuracy and cultural differences aside, it appears the crux of the matter between Sessrin shippers and Antis is our acceptance and/or denial of fiction’s influence on real life. If we can’t agree on this, then we’ll never agree on anything else. As mentioned earlier, there is more than enough evidence to support the idea that fiction impacts our lives in extraordinary ways. I, for one, believe in the transformative power of stories. I think they do more for us than many of us give them credit for and/or are inclined to admit.

This is partially why I believe that the majority of sessrin folk are missing the point most of the time. All they do is focus on insignificant and irrelevant information that accomplishes nothing but more gaslighting and strawmanning. Whether it be an intentional or unconscious decision, whatever we argue goes right over their head. All they do is throw around deflections and antagonizing remarks that serve no real purpose other than to make Antis out to be the unreasonable and irrational ones. Making connections between our own lives and our stories is a completely natural and normal occurrence. If those particular shippers insist on denying just how interconnected real life and fiction both are, what that tells me is they’re either out of touch with reality or deliberately choose to be.

Just to be clear, I am of the opinion that most if not all antis aren’t real life predators. If they say they aren’t, I honestly take their word for it. Speaking to Sessrin shipper directly: We know it’s not Sesshomaru you want to be but Rin. No, we’re not calling you pedophiles or groomers. None of us think you are using a fictional ship to attract underage fans to be the Rin in your life or anything of the sort. We are well aware that many of you are self-inserting yourself as Rin, so please don’t feel the need to tell us yourself because that would be stating the obvious.

I learned from a few of you since this sequel was announced that the Sessrin relationship isn’t just a ship but an opportunity for you to confront the person who used and abused you. So there’s two issues with this I’d like to raise. (Sorry if I’m repeating myself, but it’s urgent I stress this again!) This is what I have to say:

If fiction does not affect real life or have the ability to normalize anything as you claim to believe, then why does “fixing” what happened to you via your preferred choice of coping associated with these two characters in the first place? Why bring your past abuse into this at all if at the end of the day it’s “just fiction” and nothing more to you but a source of entertainment?

By confessing that you use Sessrin to cope with your past trauma, you therein reveal that Sessrin does in fact resemble an adult-child relationship with a grooming dynamic. So why then would you want other fans to be exposed to a pairing that brings to mind the very abuse you endured? We’re supposed to stop this toxic cycle- NOT find more ways to manifest and relive it, much less subject other fans to it.

You may think that Sessrin doesn’t fit the textbook definition of what child grooming is, but that’s not to say it doesn’t embody it or that it doesn’t at the very least have traces of it that stand out.

“Antis are miserable people who don’t know how to enjoy a good story. It’s just fiction, stop ruining it for other fans!”

Well, no, it’s not just fiction or just a story. Some of you evidently went and proved that yourself, and without my help, by revealing how you relate Sessrin to your own life and apply it to cope with past abuse. Past abuse or not, as far as I can tell we’re all equally invested in these characters. That speaks volumes and just goes to show that fiction touches our lives in long-lasting ways.

I have something I want to say concerning some of who believe that it’s inconsiderate of antis who have been victims of grooming or another form of child abuse to tell other victims who ship Sessrin how they should cope with their trauma. Now as much as I respect the various means victims discover to deal with their painful pasts, there’s always an appropriate time and a place for these things to occur. We must seek out better ways to safely cope with the abuse we lived through (if any) without running the risk of hurting and endangering others.

There are plenty of fans in other fandoms who don’t try to defend their ships going canon, because they’re able to recognize an unhealthy or toxic pairing when they see one and won’t try to justify it. A Sessrin romance simply does not belong on a show geared towards teens, and I really don’t need to go into detail about why we shouldn’t support it, at least canon-wise. Shipping Sessrin is your right, but if you don’t keep it to yourself and your corner of the fandom then you really shouldn’t be surprised by the opposition. All we ask is you respect that their specific dynamic falls under the category of child grooming (or very close) and should be treated as such in public. The world of fiction may be wider than the world we live in, but that doesn’t always mean “anything goes.” In the creative spaces our minds occupy we must still adhere to the same fundamental and moral guidelines we live by in life. There’s nothing wrong with exploring new terrains and experimenting with ideas, but we must also remember that our stories are all about communicating and connecting with people. So let’s please be more mindful of the sort of messages they’re sending.

Besides, this isn’t only about you and what makes you feel safe, it’s about all of us. I don’t know how much more I can stress that really. How can thoughts endanger our children, you ask? Well, it’s not like we’re suggesting that our thoughts can jump out of our tvs, materialize themselves, and place kids under mind control. The forces behind fiction are a lot more complex and nuanced than a “monkey see, monkey do” approach, so don’t waste any more time trying to describe that to us. You’re taking this argument in the wrong direction.

Take the “violent video games breed killers” theory. I’m afraid you’re misconstruing what we’re saying and then taking it quite too literally. Please stop twisting our words, because nobody on our side is saying that just because you play violent video games that you’ll become a violent person. The Sessrin equivalent of that would be if you ship them then you must be a pedophile or turning into one. *sigh* I know you guys are feeling attacked, but I’m afraid your defensive nature is keeping you from thinking straight. Clearly, there are always exceptions (I’d recommend reading up on the Slender Man case), but Antis aren’t saying you’re one of them.

You see, it’s not so much about the content as it is the notion of the content. Kids and teens who are playing these video games have been informed that killing is wrong, because they grew up learning that early on like the rest of us. No sane person would advocate for violence and nonsensical killing in real life. Since they fully understand the severity of the consequences of killing a person in real life, they are able make a clear distinction between the two. When it comes to killing there is hardly any ambiguity. Sadly, that is far from the truth when it comes to sexualizing girls. It should immediately be perceived as wrong leaving no room for interpretation, and yet here we are still putting up with these inaccurate and demeaning female representations.

Most children who have been groomed don’t realize it till years down the road. If they aren’t ever taught the telltale signs to properly labeling grooming situations, how do you expect them to make sense of and relate to a fictional version? Let’s think of about it from a child’s perspective. Yes, this includes teens who rely pretty heavily on adult guidance and the content we put out there for them. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment and picture that you’ve never had child grooming explained to you (because that’s just the reality for so many unfortunately). Wouldn’t you say it’s possible for them to deduce that what they see on their screens is how they come to discern something in real life, especially if they have little to no experience with it? Perceived realism is plausible, y'all.

What it comes down to in the end is that the ideas and emotions we cultivate behind these stories leave an impression on others. Impressions are capable of influencing the way we see the world, which in turn affects us and beyond just our imagination. The way I look at it, stories contribute to how and why we normalize certain beliefs and trends. If fiction reflects real life like most of us tend to agree, then wouldn’t you say Sessrin is a (in)direct result of this world’s tendency to place young girls in overly sexual or romantic environments? Where do you think fiction draws its inspiration from? Sure, some of it originates from our imagination, but most of what drives us to create these stories is the real world and the people who live in it.

Fiction is meant to mirror reality, but it’s ridiculous to suggest that it’s only a one-way street. That fiction in no way, shape, or form influences our reality? Or that it only works the other way around? With all due respect, that’s simply not true. No productive discourse can be had if we choose to ignore the truth and don’t come together (at least halfway) to tackle the real issues at hand.

Okay, I think I’ll leave it off there! Thanks so much for reading. I expect this to be my last blog on any topic regarding Inuyasha in the near future. As much as I’ve looked forward to answering all of your asks and writing all the blogs I have over these past almost 5 months, I think it’s best if I spend some time away for now. With the sequel fast approaching, I’m doing what I always do: hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I’ve met some amazing people along the way, that’s for sure. And who knows, maybe you’ll see me active in the tags sooner than we think. Until then, it’s been an absolute pleasure! Enjoy the sequel, all of you. 💜

#inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #anti sessrin #it's been real y'all #catch ya on the flipside #(which I hope is in a promising sequel 🤞)

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in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather · 3 years

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For FED: I think people in this fandom take extremes and things too seriously. There’s so much preemptive hand wringing over Jacques fics even though I think it’s clear most if not all fandom writers don’t intend to write a “Jacques is actually a guilty rapist but I am going to defend him nevertheless because he is hot or because I don’t believe women” fic. All the Jacques enthusiasm I’ve seen is bc people enjoy the aesthetics of AD in medieval costuming, and all the fics proposed or written so far are essentially AUs, either where Jacques is innocent, or an alternate timeline in which TLD events didn’t happen at all, or it’s not even Jacques but Medieval Clyde, and I think that’s so obviously fine and unproblematic. But I keep seeing some blogs/authors being very timid like testing out the waters saying they kiiiinda like (read: they like a lot ok) the aesthetics buuut then a big quick disclaimer “bUt i Do noT cONdoNe hIS aCTionS”. I mean duh? I would hope nobody condones rape in real life which is so obvious that I think when people in fandom say this in relation to Jacques fics it just smacks of being performative. And also speaks to the level and fear of policing and censorship happening in the fandom now tbh. It’s also hypocritical because these same authors gleefully write in universe/in canon fics for other ADCU characters who canonically murdered people and I don’t see a disclaimer being like “i doN’t cOnDoNe mUrdER in ReAl liFE”. Of course I’m not criticizing fics of other characters at all, nor do I have a problem with darkfics either. But I don’t like this hypocrisy. It’s like there is a police/morality council in this fandom and you have to say certain performative things in order to be deemed “non problematic” and left alone in peace or like there is a litmus test you need to pass in order to write for a character.

I was thinking about just publishing this with no comment because I think you said it perfectly.

I will say I agree that there are self-appointed arbiters of what/who is acceptable and that doesn't fly with some of us. And it's good to know people are discerning enough to notice that.

I don't like these performative spirals where people yell over each other how woke they are and then continue to do things that alienate the people they yell about championing.

And I have a lot to say about the hypocrisy of a lot of people who like to be very loud about their correct opinions. Obviously, things that range from mean, distasteful, to disturbing and evil are bad, nobody thinks they are not. And here's a revolutionary idea: trust your readers and trust your skills. If you don't condone something, it'll come across in your writing. If you low-key do condone something and fetishize it routinely, I suppose you do feel like you have to virtue signal.

I find it kind of funny that people are either desperate to justify their previous writing by saying this or are incapable of letting an opportunity to self-aggrandize pass by, even if the boast is 'I think one of the most heinous kinds of violent crime is not cool.' Slow clap all around.

I will not insult my readers' intelligence by making such claims and I will write Jacques as I always have.

Thank you for the ask, I'm glad to know people feel this way ❤️❤️

#fed

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phenomenal1500 · 3 years

Text

The Blood In My Veins | Black Sails

Chapter 60: XXXIII

For Chapter 59: Actions Have Consequences click here.

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

"Find her? I have her." I immediately smiled at Charles before giving him a shoulder bump to give him credits for his amazing guessing skills and he playfully grabbed me by the hip to push me against him. As always I let out an embarrassing squeak and gasped for air as Charles placed his other hand right under my breast to secretly outline it.

"Then show us!"

~~~

Slowly, the day had almost passed just as fast as a human could blink and see the world again and I had settled myself at the shoreline to watch the sea come closer and pull back again every few seconds followed by the small clear waves. The pirates under Billy Bones leadership were prepared to hold the beach against Woodes Rogers' redcoats and as I examined them they seemed to be ready for every possible strategy and their minds were open for every option that could happen. However.... of course the fighting spirit was soon over when we all noticed that only Silver was returning from the fort and with one of my eyebrows raised I wondered where he had left Flint. Had he killed him?

I didn't have to do much to hear that information because the news was already spreading across the island in less than a second after Silver and Billy had discussed it.

The deal had been done; we were buying Nassau back, in exchange for the cache of the stolen Urca gold.

How weak it sounded for us to choose this outcome.... it also sounded way too easy if I thought about it.

A woman would be rowing out to Rogers' ship to persuade him to sail to Port Royal and await Eleanor Guthrie's arrival with the gold that we had to hand over to regain Nassau. It all sounded too good to be true and I immediately knew there was something off about the deal. Besides, Rogers would never retreat until he had Nassau. I've seen his true self.

Of course I had to warn one of our most important leaders, the one that was now stuck as hostage in that fucking miserable fort.

God, how many bad memories were linked to that place? The war between Flint and Charles.... Abigail's captivity.... my captivity.... Jack's captivity.... Charles' captivity for the second time and almost certain death twice. Slowly I pushed myself up and sighed while letting all the memories flow away as I walked to the hard surface to get a better grip under my feet before I made my way towards the fancy building it had all started in. The Governor's Mansion. I remembered that Jack had made it his salon after he had conquered the L'Urca De Lima. The citizens of Nassau drank, fucked and gambled in the parlor, while Jack had moved into one of the bedrooms to claim it as his own with me moving in for a week or so after Charles had left off to sea, tricked by Jack into capturing a slave ship.

Those weeks had been calm, no enemies to deal with and no problems. Well, that was before the rumours had spread about the imminent arrival of Woodes Rogers.

Jack had then gathered the most important people to discuss the defence of Nassau, but some had tried to refuse before Jack had shown his newly grown backbone by threatening their crews directly.

That was also the first place where I had met Charles' mentor, Edward Teach.... who had at the time announced that Flint had died by the hands of Captain Hornigold. The news had ripped away my faith. Of course I trusted Jack and Charles with my whole life, but I somehow already had felt it in my bones that the show of force wouldn't work out. Because of all that we had now ended up here and to get Nassau back so easily after all the effort we had to put into our forces to regain it would perhaps lure us into a massive trap.

I dragged my tired body up the few stair steps and leaned against the door frame as I watched Charles puzzle out the best strategies with two other men I remembered as his loyal crew members.

I didn't want to disturb them and stood there until one of the men turned around to share a gaze with me. "Captain, I think someone needs you."

Charles didn't even have to think about who the man was talking about and still stood ahead of me with his back my way, leaning over the big table in the middle of the room.

"Naida.... something's off and I can't get it out of my mind." He ran his hands through his long hair, being completely honest with me about his feelings in a long time again, and I hooked my foot behind the leg of the chair on the opposite side of Charles to pull it back and sit down on it straight in front of him.

"I know." I sighed while closing my eyes, afterwards watching the ceiling as I leaned my elbows on the table we had once used to discuss the future and defence of Nassau.

"You heard about it as well?"

"Mhuh." I hummed and looked Charles straight in the eye as he straightened his back and shook his head.

"I can't believe Flint would agree to this, you?"

"I don't know, perhaps he was done with everything, wanting to secure the island and the people within it."

"He would never give up his war." Charles reminded me, but I was still deep down hoping that all of this would be over one day, just so that maybe he and I could one day live how it should have been.

I didn't know how quickly it happened after I had found Charles, but suddenly the room filled with familiar faces who really had no business here anymore.

I was completely lost and I, confused, gazed at Silver who hopped in last after the room was full as I was trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

"A ship was spotted on the horizon, approaching the rendezvous beach from the south and flying no colors. Kofi and his men are returning. The wind is dying out. The cache will be on the sand in a few hours, at most." Billy coughed a bit to clear his throat while letting his eyes scan the room.

"Who knows they've arrived?"

"So far? Him, you, them...." Billy pointed at me and Charles who calmly walked their way. "And I. That's it."

"But sooner or later, people are going to know." I whispered to the men as we had approached the two and I leaned against the desk to support myself while Charles sat down.

"And we're going to have to give them instructions about what happens to that cache once it lands." Charles went on talking as he rolled a coin through his fingers while resting his boot on his upper leg. He didn't let his eyes drop from the coin so he wouldn't make a mistake, but we all knew he was concentrating on thinking about the best options.

It was always something Charles did to think harder about an important strategy or subject. He was a man with a lot on his mind and by focusing on the coin he could always concentrate on one particular thing.

The reason why I sang was the reason why he rolled a coin through his fingers.

"There's no more putting off a decision. Giving up that money is an impossibility." Silver clenched his jaw as Billy leaned more forward to the four of us so that nobody would suspect what it really was about. "Flint will just keep pushing for these things, costly things that we pay for with our own suffering, with our own lives. You know this. You've always known this." Silver had softly shook his head and sighed while Billy lowered his voice even more so I had to really focus on his lips to understand what was going on. "Sooner or later, it has to end. You send word to the fort and tell them it's here. Arrange for them to come out. I'll have men waiting there. I'll end it quickly. All you have to do is look the other way."

"I don't want it happening in full view of that beach."

"Yeah..." I noticed that Billy looked very tired because of the red glow and bags under his eyes and Silver didn't look so good either, probably both struggling with the former 'friendship' that had been lost by the war.

While I was examining the two men, Mady walked through the door and closed it behind her with a stern face expression as usual, softening a bit as she walked further in and spotted Silver. Charles and I smiled at each other and greeted the unknown red-haired man before my lover got up and offered me his hand to leave the Governor's Mansion with me, clearly a sign to leave the two lovebirds alone.

~~~

Me, Charles and Mady with a few more companions of her side had been ordered to wait for Eleanor and Flint to emerge via the secret tunnel that had led to the fort because Silver had notified that he didn't want the exchange to happen in full view on the beach. It somehow sounded weird and suspicious, but I didn't have to complain about such things. Our only job was to escort Flint and that bitch to a secluded beach which wasn't that far away from the center of Nassau and.... I got to see Flint again. As I heard the insects chirping, I peacefully played with a white butterfly that had landed on my leg and took in a deep sigh as I spotted the blond woman stepping into the light, followed by the redcoats that tried to both.... kill.... Charles.

My heart suddenly started to beat faster and I couldn't hear my surroundings because of the blood pounding in my ears that blocked the other sounds.

I saw nothing but red and squeezed my hands until my nails had torn my soft skin, leaving small moon shaped cuts into my palms.

That whore had stripped me from almost everything, twice! I clenched my jaw in full hate and tears of hatred filled my reddish eyes. It wasn't long before I pulled a knife from my boot and longed for nothing but her death, but instead of actually cutting her to fucking pieces, I had been stopped by the careful and gentle arms of the man I loved and I gazed at him in horror. Why didn't he feel the same way as I did?

"She would have killed you if I hadn't saved you from that fucking fort.... and you are stopping me from the one thing we all fucking want!!"

Before I knew it, I was pushed tightly against the muscular man and bursted into tears without even realizing it. I no longer cared about how my reputation crumbled down at the moment, these people didn't even notice any of this happening as they had already put a pace behind their walking and Flint was the only one waiting for us. Slowly a hand was moving up and down my back to keep me calm and little kisses were left on my hair.

Luckily for the blond whore it helped because the red atmosphere quickly turned gloomy and l became a calm and tired mess.

When Charles got up and hoisted me up with him, he knocked the dust off my clothes and dried my tears before I started doing it myself, taking a deep breath as I did so.

Eventually I managed to stay calm around the demon and we walked through the dunes behind Mady.

Of course I walked next to Flint and Charles who were both always on the lookout if I had any tendencies to turn that whore's neck around again, but for now I would leave her alone until I found the right time.

We actually walked to the coast for the price of the L'Urca De Lima, however, the only thing waiting for us was a delightful Jack with a small crew; the ship that was seen approaching was Jack's and not the one sent to retrieve the gold.

"STAND DOWN!!! JUST WAIT!!!" The clumsy, but highly intelligent man pointed out at his crew as he noticed who stepped his way.

I hadn't seen Jack for maybe a month and a half, and he didn't know the news about Charles who hadn't yet given up his life at the gallows.

With full joy I pushed Charles and Flint to the waterfront and the three of us walked to Jack at a high speed.

It seemed like I wasn't the only one happy to see him.

"Flint?" He furrowed his eyebrows until he saw us. "Naida! Charles!"

"What are you doing here?" Flint questioned the man as Charles and I took turns giving Jack a tight embrace and he was amazed when he saw Charles and me healthy and well. He also immediately changed his gaze to my stomach and I smiled, confirming the kid and I were also okay.

He had cared for us both when we were captured so it was normal for him to question its health.

"Thank you, Jack, for keeping me safe from the governor." I thanked him as I thought back to the day when Jack and I were imprisoned together in Nassau. He had offered himself to go free willingly with Rogers if I was allowed to walk freely around Nassau, unharmed, as long as I did nothing that had something to do with conspiracy against civilisation.

"You're welcome, Dear." He smiled back and then watched Flint. "We escaped the governor's men. Came back to rejoin the fight, but didn't know if the harbor was safe to enter. What are you doing here?"

~~~

"You want to trade it? You want to trade the cache, my cache?"

"It was the only way we could avoid a fight we were more than likely to lose. And it guarantees us control of the island today and for certain."

"All it guarantees is we no longer have the cache that we all agreed was critical. And who decided this? You and Mr. Silver? Because I can't imagine Naida and Charles committing to such a thing." Flint had stayed quiet as he knew Jack was right and I watched the ground. We could have stopped them, but it was too late when Charles and I figured out their plan. "Ah... It won't work."

"It's done. It's already agreed to."

"She agreed to it. Her people agreed. You've agreed. Naida and Charles and I probably didn't. But it's all meaningless unless and until he agrees. Woodes Rogers."

"He left the island for Port Royal as she asked to await her arrival with the money. He's already agreed to it."

"No, he hasn't. I watched him defeat Edward Teach in battle...." I gasped as it occurred to me that Jack had just declared Teach as dead and right away my thoughts went to Charles who had lost his father figure. I gently pushed myself against Charles's side as I wrapped my arms around him and I noticed that Charles weakly embraced me back. "Outnumbered and through sheer force of will. I saw his bloodlust with my own eyes. That man will never surrender his position here. He will never allow himself to be defeated by you or I. Not because we bribed him, not because Eleanor Guthrie told him so. He simply will not allow it to happen. I don't know where that man went or what designs drew him there, but this I know.... Woodes Rogers will be returning.... and this fight isn't nearly over."

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elliemarchetti · 4 years

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Slytherin!Hermione AU (part 11)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Other Harry Potter fics:

Somewhere to Start (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

The Deal (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

Our First (Almost) Kiss | Our First Kiss

The Polaroids | The Sixth and Seventh Polaroids

Memories of a Survivor

Words: 2442

In the following years, Hermione never remembered exactly how she managed to pass the exams by living in the almost certainty that Voldemort was going to return but the hottest days of her life passed, albeit slowly,marked by an alternation of written and practical exams and there wasn’t the slightest doubt that the three-headed dog was still alive and well, behind the bolted door. The last exam was History of Magic; after spending an hour answering questions about the inventor of the self-mixing cauldron, they would be free for a full week, before the results came out, which cheered Hermione up a little, even if she was slightly disappointed by the fact she had unnecessarily studied the Werewolf Code of Conduct of 1637 and the uprising of Elfric the Eager.

"No more reviews!" Ron exclaimed when he joined them in the shade of the tree that she and Pansy had claimed as theirs, one of the closest to the lake shore, but far enough away from the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan who were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid basking in the warm, shallow water. Harry, who continued to rub his forehead, also joined them, which further cheered Pansy, although the boy wasn’t exactly in a good mood. Hermione had already advised him to go to the infirmary but he claimed that he wasn’t sick and that it was only a warning of impending danger, although they didn’t know where it would come from: the Stone was safe and Snape didn’t seem to have discovered how to evade Fluffy’s surveillance. Despite this, Hermione couldn’t free herself from the annoying feeling that there was something important that she had forgotten to do, something that wasn’t about the exams.

"Doesn't it seem a little strange to you," asked Pansy, "that the thing Hagrid most wants in the world is a dragon and a stranger appears who happens to have a dragon egg in his pocket, which is prohibited by the wizards laws? "

"I don't understand. Couldn't he have been a dragon trafficker?" Ron asked, but Hermione, who had been following Pansy's mental process, had already stood up and was running with her friend to Hagrid's hut. Harry, who during the ascent must have understood what the girls had realized, didn’t even give the keeper time to greet them and asked him what the stranger looked like.

"I don’t know," Hagrid replied vaguely "he never took his hood off, so I never saw his face, but it's not strange, there’s a lot of bizarre people at Hog's Head."

Hermione dropped to the ground, exhausted, near a bowl of peas.

"And what did you talk about?" asked Pansy "Have you ever mentioned Hogwarts?"

"Maybe," replied Hagrid, frowning, trying to remember. "He asked me what job I do and I told him, so he asked me what kind of creatures I cared for and I told him, adding that I always wanted a dragon. Then I don't remember so well, because he kept offering me drinks, but I think that’s where he offered me the egg, but only if I had kept it well: he didn’t want it to end up indoors in some house. So I told him that after Fluffy taking care of a dragon would be the easiest thing in the world.”

"And did he show any interest in Fluffy?" Hermione asked, trying to stay calm.

"Well yes, even here you don't often meet three-headed dogs, right? So I told him that Fluffy is good, if you know how to calm him down. Just a little music and he falls asleep like an angel.”

Suddenly an expression of horror was painted on Hagrid's face, once he realized that he shouldn’t have given them that information, but before he could stop them the four kids had already disappeared, headed for the castle, which after the sunny meadow seemed cold and gloomy.

"We have to go to Dumbledore," said Hermione, but nobody knew where the principal lived.

"What are you doing here?" asked Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a large pile of books.

"We would like to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione with a courage that all her friends seemed to judge remarkable, unlike the teacher, to whom the request seemed to be suspicious.

"Professor Dumbledore came out ten minutes ago," she explained coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and immediately flew to London. So, provided what you have to say is more important than that, I advise you all to go back out and enjoy this beautiful sun.”

But they didn't follow her advice and began to plot a plan, only to be interrupted again, but this time by Snape himself, who in turn suggested to them, in a much more threatening tone, not to stay indoors on a day like this. Unfortunately, their first plan failed miserably, and they had to ask Blaise’s help to design a better one, which quickly became even more dangerous than the previous. After dinner, Hermione was very nervous and sat down with Pansy, browsing through their notes, hoping to find some spells that could help them that night. Blaise, who was on the same couch, hardly opened his mouth, too focused on thinking about what he was going to do. Slowly, as their housemates went to bed, the room emptied, and after Adrian had given her one last sad look before closing the door of his room behind his back, they were finally alone.

Pansy, who had noticed the whole thing, gave her a long look, which Hermione knew meant that in her opinion she should’ve talked to him, but she didn't go into further discussion, partly because she didn't want to risk arguing with her again, partly because she was too busy thinking about a way to sneak out of the dormitory without being noticed by Filch, his cat or Peeves. It was an injustice that Harry and Ron had the cloak while they could only count on their cunning, but Hermione certainly couldn’t complain that she had no dead parents from she could inherit such a magical object, so they would’ve arranged, as always.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice from a dark corner of the room, from which Sally-Anne emerged like the villain of a sci-fi movie.

"Nothing," said Pansy dryly, who had been deeply disappointed by the girl's attitude, perhaps more than Hermione.

"You're going out again." she noted, and no one denied that, since she was right. Despite she was bad, and had kept a decidedly low and childish attitude, she wasn’t stupid, which certainly wouldn’t have allowed her to understand the gravity of what they were going to do but could’ve stopped them, or at least slow them down, which they certainly couldn’t afford, given timing was fundamental in that plan.

"Even if it were, it's none of your business. And anyway, why are you still awake? And what were you doing hidden in the dark?" Hermione asked, hoping to have caught her in the middle of a crime.

"I wanted to know what you got Blaise into. I may have been wrong, but it's not fair that he doesn't talk to me anymore because of you." she replied, and for a split second Hermione felt guilty, remembering how she had felt when she thought he had chosen Sally-Anne, but then the boy replied, speaking for the first time after a long silence, in a cold voice that would’ve hurt anyone deeply. From that kind of attitude it was evident that he came from a noble family, where screaming was useless but acting in that way dug holes of coldness between themselves and others. Hermione hoped that he wouldn’t become like Malfoy's father, whom he and Pansy had described to her as an ice-hearted person, despicable to anyone, even his own son.

"When you reach a certain level, they’re all like that." Blaise had told her one day, and Hermione had never forgotten it, showing her Malfoy from another point of view, although she was sure she would never be his friend.

"I don't care what you say," Sally-Anne insisted, but before she could go on, Pansy petrified her, without the slightest sense of guilt in her eyes, and they went on. Nervous as they were, they saw Filch every statue’s shadow and believed they heard Pix falling on them in every distant breath of wind. At the foot of the first staircase, they spotted the janitor's cat, which forced them to deviate, but fortunately they didn’t meet anyone else until the third floor, where they reunited with their friends.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," said Harry, incredibly serious for being just eleven-year-old, but everyone followed him, although the door was already open and the risk of running into something they didn't want to see was very high. As she imagined, Fluffy was asleep, lulled by the sound of a haunted hard that didn’t sound a real tune but was enough to keep it calm. They crawled toward the trap door, which was incredibly close to the three gigantic heads, and Ron pulled hard on its ring, opening it instantly.

“What do you see?” asked Hermione, anxious.

“Nothing, just darkness.” he replied. There was no way to know if there was a safer means to go down unless they used the Lumos spell but Hermione suggested not to because, although music kept Fluffy asleep, a sudden source of light could disturb its sleep, making it perceive them as a danger. So they decided to jump, Harry first, followed by everyone else when he warned them it was all right. They must have been several yards below the ground, even below Slytherin's dormitory, judging by the wet walls and the fact that a huge amount of Devil's Snare covered the floor. Before it could cling to her friends, Pansy pulled out her wand, waved it in the air, muttered something, and shot a jet of flames at it, the same ones that Hermione had used on Snape. Within moments, the plant withdrew from the source of light and heat, its tentacles crumpling.

"Fortunately, you always pay attention to Herbology’s lessons." Blaise commented, leaning against the wall next to Hermione and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Then they entered a narrow passage that proceeded downhill between two stone walls, the only sound to accompany them the slight dripping of the water, until she seemed to hear, in the distance, a flutter of wings, nearly at the same time Harry saw a light at the end of the tunnel, which turned out to be a room with a vaulted ceiling full of birds with splendid colors that fluttered and circled. On the opposite side there was a heavy wooden door, which led Hermione to imagine that they would’ve been attacked by beaks and claws if they had tried to cross the room, which instead didn’t happen, even if they still faced an obstacle, and a great one: the door was closed and not even Alohomora could open it. Pansy suggested blowing it up, but again Hermione voted against, certain that it was protected by a spell far more powerful than the ones they could cast.

“And now?” asked Ron, but Hermione and Harry had already found the solution and were throwing broomsticks at their companions.

"They are keys." Blaise explained, pointingat what they supposed were birds.

"And they are hundreds." Ron hissed, hateful as always towards the newcomer. He probably would’ve preferred to carry Neville with them than to accept a new Slytherin in their party.

"What we are looking for must be a big old-fashioned key." Pansy noted, carefully examining the lock.

"Probably silver." Hermione added.

"Like the handle." concluded Harry.

"It shouldn't be difficult for you, Potter." Blaise commented, alluding to his role as Seeker in the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Harry was the first to fly, probably hoping to prove his worth, but it was Ron who saw the right key, who had a wing bent, as if someone had already caught it and abruptly slipped it into the lock. Hermione rushed at full speed in the direction Ron indicated, but risked bumping into the ceiling by how abruptly the key run away.

"We have to surround her!" Pansy exclaimed, never taking her eyes off the right key.

"Ron, you watch from below and Hermione, stay where you are and stop it if it tries to go up while we catch it.” Blaise ordered, and so it was done, but the key dodged all five, forcing Harry to chase it, the pursuit ending with a sinister sound of the key looking for an escape between the wall and his hand. The jubilant cries of the other kids echoed under the vault of the vast room when the lock clicked open.

“Ready?” asked Harry at his companions while he still had his hand on the handle. They all nodded and he pulled, revealing a dark room that suddenly lit up as they entered, parrying an amazing scene before them: they were on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black pieces, all much taller than them and carved in what looked like stone. In front of them, at the end of the vast room, there were the white pieces, which made them shiver, as they had no face.

"And now? What do we do?" Pansy whispered.

"But it's clear, isn't it?" said Ron. "We have to start playing and gradually cross the room until we get to the other side."

Indeed, well defended by the white pieces, there was another door.

"And how do we do that?" Hermione asked nervously.

"I think," Blaise replied, heading for a black horse "that we should pretend to be chess pieces too."

As soon as he touched it, the stone came to life and the horse began to scrape, while the knight lowed his head covered by the helmet to look at Blaise.

"Do we have to come with you to cross?" the boy asked without hesitation and the knight nodded. Blaise turned to his companions: "We have to think about it well. Weasley, Potter, can you play chess?”

"Ron is very good at it," said Harry, "but I started only a few months ago.”

"Hermione, you're not a great player, too, so you and Harry will be king and queen. Pansy, you take the place of that tower," he said, pointing at one on the far left “while Ron will take the place of the bishop next to Harry.”

“And what about you?” asked Hermione, worried.

“I’ll be the knight.”

#slytherin!hermione AU #hermione granger #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #harry potter #ron weasley #adrian pucey #minerva mcgonagall #albus dumbledore #severus snape #rubeus hagrid #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy #sally-anne perks

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tomeandflickcorner · 4 years

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Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Venkman’s Ghost Repellers

Well. That was certainly different.

It starts off with a prologue scene, with a tanker ship of some kind sailing through the open ocean. A member of the crew nervously informs the ship’s captain that they’re starting to get dangerously close to the New Jersey Parallelogram. Which, the show explains, is like a smaller version of the Bermuda Triangle. If you’ve never heard of the New Jersey Parallelogram, don’t worry; it appears to have been something they made up exclusively for this episode, considering I can’t seem to find any information beyond its appearance here. Anyway, mere seconds after they mention the New Jersey Parallelogram, a strange grid-like pattern in the shape of a dome appears before them, and the tanker vanishes into thin air upon colliding with the grid dome.

We then cut to the Firehouse, where Egon is tinkering with his PKE Meter and Ray is doing some stretch exercises. They’re both currently listening to a report on the radio, which is discussing the missing tanker. As the news report winds up, Peter begins to walk down the stairs. Judging by the fact that Peter is only wearing sweatpants and has a towel draped over his shoulders, I can only guess he just got out of the shower. That or they have a weight machine upstairs and Peter was working out. Though it really doesn’t matter either way. Ray begins to tell Peter about how another ship disappeared in the New Jersey Parallelogram and suggests that perhaps they should head out to try and investigate the strange location, in the hopes of cleaning it up. But Peter is quick to reject the idea, since the New Jersey Parallelogram is out in the middle of the ocean, so there would be nobody to pay them for the work. While this does fit in with Peter’s character, considering we’ve already established that his favorite part of Ghostbusting is writing out the bill for their services, does he really not think there wouldn’t be some monetary reward involved should they find and manage to return the ships that had gone missing?

Anyway, Janine walks in at this point, sporting a pretty sweet looking red poncho. And Peter, for some reason, decides to be a bit snooty in greeting her. Though I suppose his over-the-top sarcasm was because she was showing up late, as Janine apologizes for such. She explains that she couldn’t resist buying the poncho she’s currently wearing. Of course, right when you start to think the show is making some sexist joke about women and their shopping habits, it’s subtly revealed that Janine was actually informing the Ghostbusters about something in a roundabout manner when she tosses Peter the poncho and tells him to read the label. Upon doing so, Peter sees the poncho is being marketed as ‘Venkman’s Ghost Repellers.’ It turns out that Peter’s father, who was previously mentioned in X-Mas Marks the Spot, is trying to cash in on his son’s success as a Ghostbuster and is selling these ‘ghost repellers.’ Peter, upon learning about his father’s latest business venture, is nothing short of horrified and frustrated, as this is apparently not the first time Jim Venkman did something like this. Egon voices his concern that Jim selling these ponchos and claiming they can repel ghosts would be considered fraud. Especially when Peter, in order to determine their effectiveness, gets Slimer to assist him in putting the poncho to the test. In doing so, it’s proven that the so-called ‘ghost repellers’ are completely useless.

Out of nowhere, Jim Venkman appears at the entrance of the Firehouse. (Talk about impeccable timing.) Peter immediately begins to reprimand his father for the ponchos, but Jim doesn’t see what the problem is, considering he doesn’t think he’s hurting anyone by distributing the ponchos under false advertising. Strange thing is, there’s apparently some serious concern that Jim’s dishonesty could come back around and land the Ghostbusters into major legal trouble. Especially when Peter begins yelling at Jim about having lawyers hounding him for the rest of his life. Admittedly, I’m not a lawyer and have little knowledge in regards to the legal technicalities that would probably be at play here. But why exactly would anyone be held responsible for the actions of their parent? Of course, perhaps the problem is that Jim actually stated that he was the father of one of the Ghostbusters on the labels of his ‘ghost repellers’ Which I guess would give people the impression that the Ghostbusters themselves are endorsing the product. But if that’s the case, couldn’t the Ghostbusters sue Jim for copyright infringement or something? Again, I’m no lawyer, so I don’t have the legal know-how to properly judge this situation. In any event, Jim does agree to stop selling his ‘ghost repeller’ ponchos, if that’s what Peter wants him to do, and he makes his leave. After Jim leaves, Peter kinda sighs, stating his father isn’t a bad guy, but is still a con man who can’t make an honest buck. Ray replies by commenting that it’s not surprising, since that sort of behavior is clearly in Peter’s blood. Which is possibly a callback to how the movie clearly illustrated that Peter wasn’t a completely honest person in regards to the experiments he conducted. Peter responds to the jab by blowing a raspberry at Ray, but in a good-natured way.

Of course, it’s then shown that Jim didn’t honor his word and is still distributing the fake ‘ghost repeller’ ponchos. After the Ghostbusters wrap up a nighttime bust down at the pier, they notice a ship is preparing to depart to the location of the New Jersey Parallelogram in order to study it or something. And we see that, unbeknownst to the Ghostbusters, Jim has ended up giving the crew of this ship some of the phony ponchos, which leads to the crew of this ship believing that they’ll be protected from whatever is causing the ships to disappear within the New Jersey Parallelogram. Of course, because the ponchos don’t work, this ship ends up disappearing as well.

Three days later, Peter receives a visit from a Coast Guard official, who informs him that the ship they’d seen leaving for the Parallelogram, the MS Applegon, has vanished, and that he’s expecting the Ghostbusters to help locate it and rescue the missing crew. Even though the official offers to pay them for their assistance, Peter tries to come up with an excuse by claiming they were booked up. Until the Coast Guard Official mentions the ‘ghost repellers.’ Upon realizing his father was involved, Peter quickly changes his tune and pretends to be very eager to head out.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in town, Jim is watching TV from his hotel room. When he learns the MS Applegon went missing, he seems to be filled by guilt, realizing that he’s to blame for this. (Seriously though, guy. What did you THINK was going to happen when you gave fake ghost repellers to a group of people you knew were going into a place noted for paranormal disturbances?) To try and make up for his mistake, he heads down to the docks and rents a speedboat in order to go off and find the missing MS Applegon himself.

Eventually, the Ghostbusters make it out to the site where the Coast Guard lost contact with the MS Applegon. Like all the other ships that have appeared in the episode so far, they witness the dome-shaped grid appearing before them. The Coast Guard tries to avoid colliding with the lines in the grid, as per Egon’s instructions, but to no avail. And they end up vanishing as well. Though we do get a rather funny moment here:

Peter: Egon, what now?

Egon: As long as we don’t disappear, we’ll be alright!

(They disappear)

Egon: Aw, nuts.

What follows is a rather trippy sequence when the ship they’re on seems to fly through the Tron version of light speed. When they come out on the other side, they find themselves in a surreal dimension where the ship they’re on seems to be floating through mid-air. Of course, now that they’ve made it inside the New Jersey Parallelogram, there’s still the question of how they’re supposed to locate the MS Applegon. Fortunately, Egon is already way ahead of everyone. He managed to rewire the PKE Meter somewhat, so instead of it detecting paranormal entities, it will go off around people and objects from the physical plane. Such as the missing ship. (Huh, the PKE Meter can do that?)

They begin to try to locate the missing ship with the altered PKE Meter. Briefly, Ray notes that they’re detecting a signal, but it’s only at a strength of 0.04. Egon announces the signal they’re picking up is too small to be coming from the MS Applegon, and that they should focus on finding a signal that’s at least 6 or 7. Winston points out that the weak signal could be a lifeboat, but Egon is rather quick to dismiss this possibility, insisting it’s probably just a malfunction. Okay, no offense to Egon, of course, but it is a bit thoughtless of him to not even bother checking on this before dismissing it as a malfuntion. Because Winston does have a legit point. After all, the start of the episode stated clearly that 7 ships had disappeared around the New Jersey Parallelogram. So seeing Egon’s sudden hubris here is a bit bothersome. Particularly when it’s then revealed to the audience that the weak signal is coming from the speedboat Jim rented. Because he ended up here, too. Though he’s not having much luck in finding the MS Applegon, either. He’s currently being chased by a pair of ghosts that almost remind me of those geometric shape puzzles. And while I can’t be sure, I’m fairly certain they recycled the audio sound file of the Banshee from Darby O’Gill and the Little People, because the ghostly wails of these geometric ghosts bear a strong resemblance to the wails of the Banshee. Anyway, Jim does soon find the MS Applegon, but because he’s still being chased after by ghosts, he can’t really do anything.

As this is going on, The Ghostbusters run into a bit of trouble themselves, as a torpedo appears out of nowhere. Fortunately for them, the torpedo misses them, but they’re a bit confused by the fact that the torpedo actually changed course before it could collide with them. Egon once again is able to explain things by stating that, in this dimension, reality is all crumpled up, and no two lines can intersect with each other. Which explains why everything is so topsy-turvy.

It’s at this point that they locate the MS Applegon. Because of what was just established, it’s determined that they have to physically tether the MS Applegon to the Coast Guard’s ship, to ensure that they’ll stay together. Once the two ships are secured to one another, they use the altered PKE Meter in order to locate the entrance to this dimension within the New Jersey Parallelogram. Which they manage to do relatively easily.

Of course, things aren’t quite wrapped up yet. Especially since there’s still 5 minutes left. They end up noticing the speedboat that Jim had rented floating nearby. Except now, it’s empty. Which means that Jim is still inside that other dimension somewhere. So Peter and the others have little choice other than to go back inside and locate the man, even though Peter states that Jim probably deserves to be left where he is. After returning to the warped dimension inside the New Jersey Parallelogram, the Ghostbusters end up entering this weird area that was covered by a dome. Inside the dome, they manage to locate Jim, who is trying to ward off the ghosts swarming around him with an oar. The Ghostbusters come to his aid, driving the ghosts away with their Proton Packs.

But it turns out the Ghostbusters firing off their Proton Packs weakened the structure of the dome they were in. Which apparently results in the New Jersey Parallelogram getting destroyed as well. I’m not exactly sure how this was achieved, but there we are. And at least, with the dimension inside the New Jersey Parallelogram closed off, they’re all able to make it back in one piece. Though Egon laments that he never got the opportunity to study it. So Ray tries to put a silver lining on things by stating that they’re probably the first guys to successfully destroy a wonder of the unnatural world.

As the Ghostbusters make their way back to shore, Jim gives Peter his word that he now intends to go straight. But that promise apparently didn’t last long, as the next scene shows Peter receiving a postcard from his father. The postcard states that Jim got a job in northern Alaska- selling iceboxes to Eskimos. (A statement I find slightly problematic, since not only is the term Eskimo considered offensive by some, but also because iceboxes actually CAN be useful to people living in arctic areas, as the alternative is storing food outside in the natural artic freeze, which could often lead to the food getting severely damaged by the subzero temperatures. So iceboxes can help keep that food cold enough to prevent spoilage and warm enough to avoid the damaging freeze. But still, I get what they were trying to say here.) Ray jokingly states that perhaps they should ask Jim to come work with them, seeing as how persistent he is. In response to this joke, Peter apparently threatens to throw something at Ray (we have to guess as to what, since we can only hear Ray’s voice over an exterior shot of the Firehouse), but Ray soon realizes he’s only teasing.

While the overall premise of this episode was certainly interesting, and the dimension they wound up in was pretty cool, I still think the ending was a bit weak. Not only am I still not sure how the warped dimension got destroyed, they never actually indicate what happened to the other ships that were lost within the New Jersey Parallelogram. Although, seeing as how the mentioned disappearances began in 1980 and this episode supposedly takes place around 1987, the crews of the other missing ships may have ended up starving to death, since I’m sure their food stores could only last them so long. But what about that tanker from the start of the episode? I suppose it’s possible they were also freed when the dimension got destroyed, but some confirmation would have been appreciated. It’s also interesting to meet Peter’s father, Jim. We’d already established that he was always working when Peter was a boy. Now we got an idea of exactly what kind of work he was involved in. Still, it’s clear that, while Peter still has major issues with his father (and for good reason), he still cares about him. Which is arguably a good character trait for Peter, as it suggests that he doesn’t give up on people easily.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

#the real ghostbusters #rgb episode review #ghostbusters franchise

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writing-my-way-to-hell · 4 years

Text

ANGEL AU

Part 1

Just this idea that came to me as if I didn't have enough WIP on my plate already.

Be kind is my first post.

Angels live among humans and lead normal lives, but all of them are destined to something great, a mission that will change their lives. The moment Peter sees Tony, he knows his mission is to help the tortured man and he won't take no for an answer.

Starker. Angel!Peter. Human!Tony. PostCACW.

___

Tony is tired, so tired. He just came out of the longest meeting of his life and he wants nothing more than to go back to his tower, straight to the lab and lose himself in one of his projects.

He crosses the street heading for his audi and taking in his surroundings just enough to avoid being hit by a passing car.

New York's weather is downright freezing this time of the year and he can feel it chilling him to the bones. He fastens the scarf around his neck quickening his pace. Dark clouds obscure the sun and he can't help thinking that the weather perfectly reflects his current mood.

On his way to the car he bumps into someone, he mumbles a quick 'sorry' and ducks his head not wanting to be recognized. As he passes the stranger though he notices something, wings, he's just bumped into an angel, he stops for a moment, baffled, then turns around but he only manages to catch a glimpse of the stranger disappearing behind a corner.

Duh. He has not seen an angel outside of government functions and marketing deals for years now.It's stupid, he knows that angels live amongst humans and there is nothing strange about meeting one on the streets. To be fair it's not like he goes out a lot these days.

He comes out of his stupor at the sound of a clacson and quickly dives for his car.

Once inside his penthouse he makes a beeline for his lab asking Friday to not let anyone disturb him. That's how he spends the night, and the days after, his robots and a bottle of scotch his only company, working until exhaustion claims him and he just can't go on anymore.

***

Tony is sitting at his kitchen counter, nursing a strong black coffee in his right hand as he scrolls some legal documents on his Stark-pad when he hears a sudden clicking sound.

Pepper's heels. She comes into the kitchen and takes him in. He knows he looks like a mess, from his pale skin to the dark bags under his eyes, fatigue and weariness heavy on his shoulders, he cannot find the strength to care.

"Tony" her steely eyes softens, her voice is soft like honey "Tony, hey. You've been closed in that lab for days and you didn't answer our calls. Rhodey and I were starting to get worried, that can't be healthy for you" her eyes following the trail of empty bottles of scotch leading to the sink.

He lets out a hoarse laugh but immediately stops after a look at her face. She is genuinely worried for him and nowadays is hard to find someone that cares. He's already managed to fuck everything up when it came to their relationship, he doesn't want to alienate her from his life too.

He doesn't know if he could survive that.

"Yeah I know, sorry. Had this really important project…" he lies "Anyway, is there another reason you're here other than to check up if I'm still alive and kicking?" his tone a bit harsher than intended.

"Tony" she scolds him "Well… there is one actually" he waits for her to continue.

She takes a deep breath mostly to calm herself

"You know how everyone is fighting each other about whether the rogue avengers should be hunted down or allowed back?" he nods slightly, dread suddenly pooling in his stomach. Wherever this conversation is going, he is not going to like it.

"Well, it looks like people want the avengers back together. They don't feel safe with everything that has been going on recently and… oh alright, there are rumors going around about them getting pardoned if they agree to sign the redacted version of the accords you are working on with Ross" before he could react she continued "It's just rumors for now, but well I thought it best to warn you, you know, just in case…" she trailed off.

Tony took a bit to let the informations sink in, if the public was leaning in the rogues' favor there was a really good chance of them getting pardoned and then- and then what? Pepper said people wanted the avengers back together but could things really go back to what they used to be? Could he put his trust again in the people he had come to consider a family only for them to stab him in the back?

He closed his hand in a tight fist hoping Pepper missed the slight tremble. An headache starts blooming at his temples.

"Yeah, okay, alright, thanks for coming to tell me. I-" he didn't want to be rude but the room was starting to feel suffocating "I think I'm going out, clear my mind a bit. Help yourself some coffee if you want. See you later."

Tony quickly grabbed a dark jacket and a pair of obscured glassed. Phone and wallet ready he slipped into the elevator, Friday directing him to the service door in the back to leave without being noticed.

For a bit the fresh air of the morning really managed to make him feel better. Now craving the cup of coffee he had left unfinished on his counter he sets out to find the nearest coffee shop.

He finds a nice one not too crowded and decides to get in, once it's his turn to order he takes off his glasses and enjoys messing a bit with the cashier.

"I'll have a black coffee , super strong and keep the change" he says handing the befuddled man a fifty.

He lets out a quiet laugh as the star-struck man snaps out of his stupor and stumbles around to prepare his order.

Once he is done, fuming drink in one hand he turns around and the unexpected happens.

His eyes meet the most beautiful pair of eyes he's ever seen. He studies the owner of those eyes, a young boy looking not older than eighteen, soft looking curls frame his delicate face. His skin is milky white making his amber doe eyes stand out even more. But what catches Tony's attention are the two majestic wings attached to the boy's back. They are as pure as wings can get, white with silver reflections, the feathers all neatly ordered and soft looking. Tony wonders briefly what they would feel like at the touch.

The boy doesn't move, his head is tipped slightly to the left, eyes wide open making him look like a confused puppy.

"Are you okay?" Tony is not sure what is happening, the other people in the shop have stopped their actions, trying to understand the sudden tension in the air.

"Hey, kid. Is everything okay?" Tony repeats as the angel has yet to move. His stillness is starting to unnerve him.

Suddenly his wings start to flutter nervously, as if itching to open to their full length.

"Are you feeling alr-" Tony interrupts himself as the boy starts walking in his direction. The other customers now completely silent in anticipation.

The engineer is about to take a step back when the young man unexpectedly reaches out with his right hand.

It stops just above Tony's chests, then breaks the distance and lands just above his heart.

The billionaire is startled by the intimate contact but does not move back.

When the boy speaks his voice is like the softest silk on his ears but at the same time he sounds on the brink of tears "Let me take some of your pain" he says. Those beautiful eyes now look sad, pained.

His wings finally give in to the instincts and spread wide open before engulfing around Tony, shielding them from view.

Tony cannot believe what is happening, he has heard stories about this but he just labeled them as myths and nonsense.

***

A sudden memory comes back to his mind, his mother calm smile, her hand stroking his hair, his younger version chanting "Again! Again!",his mother laugh.

"Okay little rascal,just fit under the blankets and I'll tell you the story." Five years old Tony quickly obeys.

"The legend says that many years ago, Angels looked after humanity from their place in the sky, doing anything in their power to take care of us"

"And then?! What happened after, mum?"

"Hush baby, I'm telling you. They saw how bad people were at caring for each other though and decided that acting from a distance was not enough anymore, they went against God's wishes and descended on earth, because they cared about humans too much.

A magnificent army of angelic beings with shining wings and golden hearts came here on earth to look after us"

"Wow" little Tony's eyes shine in wonder.

"Yeah, wow. They spent years teaching humans how to make good choices and be kind to each other, but when eventually the time to go back came, they found out that going against God's wishes brought unexpected consequences, they could not return to the skies anymore."

"No!" Tony didn't want the Angels to suffer, they only wanted to help! "But they tried to help us! That's not fair!" he said mustering as much indignation as a five years old child was capable of.

"Well yes, it is a bit unfair Munchkin, but everything happens for a reason, you know?

The angels eventually started living among humans and that's why today you'll see them sometimes, like that kid you met at school the other day, remember?"

"Yes! I knew he was an angel, but I didn't know all this story!"

"Well now you do baby, and I'll tell you something more. Every Angel has a mission in the world. They don't know what it is, but they recognize their mission when it presents. It could be helping someone or saving somebody. Maybe they will discover a cure for some illness that will save millions of lives! Nobody knows for sure but the one thing certain is that once they see their mission, they recognize it and then they'll do anything in they power to complete it."

"Do you know any angels that completed a mission?"

"No baby I don't. But I'll tell you how to recognize them. Once an angel accepts his mission their wings start slowly turning gold. I hope one day you see an angel with golden wings baby, they are said to be the most beautiful things in the world."

***

Tony thinks back to what the stranger said, "Let me take some of your pain" he nods slowly, almost in a trance.

The angel boy leans forward until his forehead is in contact with Tony's heart. A single tear slides from the corner of his left eye as he absorbs some of the genius pain. For a moment he feels lighter, happy almost, he feels safe embraced by the feathers as if nothing in the world could hurt him. He wishes that moment could last forever.

But it doesn't . The moment breaks. The boy retreats, his wings fold back, he wipes the tear away and smiles.

Tony is so shocked he doesn't even know what to say.

The other patrons in the shop are still silent, appalled by the magnitude of the event they have just witnessed.

"I- I- don't…" Tony's voice fades, but the boy only smiles harder.

"Hi, my name his Peter"

And what a beautiful name for such a beautiful creature.

" Tony" he almost murmurs but the boy hears him.

"Hello Tony, it's nice to finally meet you" and the following smile brightens up the whole space.

Tony is still baffled by the whole ordeal but he knows one thing for sure as he catches a glimpse of gold on Peter's right wing. A golden feather.

The boy has accepted his mission.

His mission is Tony.

Oh boy, he had just wanted a coffee.

___

If you like the premise I'll write a part 2

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #angels #Wings #fanfic #Angel Peter #Hurt Tony #post cacw #part 1

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angrypixie-sarisa · 5 years

Text

The tapestry

Piedras Rodantes Pt.7

Okay, so, I wanted to write another fanfic and since nobody pays attention to me on tumblr, the situation it’s just perfect, It’s a Supernatural fic. Now here’s the deal. It’s a polyamorous situation. I know, shush.

Sam x Mexican!Fem!Witch!reader x Dean

Warnings: Throughout the fic there are gonna be lines in Spanish. Nothing to fancy for google traductor, i hope. “Suggestions” of spanish songs i love. Swearing in both spanish and english. And the usual, mentions of blood, violence, smut and other varieties. It’s supernatural, really we don’t expect something else. Spoilers?(if you haven’t watch spn of course, or if you are just getting started with it) Also, SLOWBURN. Also, some chapters are short, some are long, depends on my mood.

Descriptionof the whole fic in general: So, remember when Sam took a break of hunting because he thought he was a danger for everyone? Season 5, i think? That’s where the fic starts. Reader and Sam met at the bar where he worked at, developed a friendship and a crush on one and the other. Then Sam has to leave because of all the shit that goes down throghout the season and the horseman and the fight between the archangels. But promises the reader that somehow, he’ll come back. Then, he goes to hell. That’s when reader meets Dean. And yeah, things aren’t as smooth with them in the begining. Reader befriends Lisa and Ben first, which raises Dean’s suspicions. He just wants to keep them save and all. After some stuff they become friends and the Sam comes back. So yeah…

What to do when feeling down

Things to do to cheer up

How to deal with a bad day

Good movies

Why?????????????

That was what your google research looked like. It had only been two days and you were nowhere near to carry on with your day. This usually didn’t happen to you. Normally you would see the signs and you’d end things before it got worse. But something about Sam just told you to keep going and you never feared where things were headed until it dawn to you. Well, shit. I’m a witch and he’s hunter. What could possibly go wrong? It’s not like you were in a coven or something like that. You weren’t satanic. You never even listened to the taunts of demons. You weren’t even sure if you were a witch. You only were certain that normal you were not. You had powers and gifts and your intuition was better than the others. Yet, these things had always been a part of you. And you knew your family well; they would’ve never dare to give in to the bullshit pact of a demon. Please, your mom would’ve even scolded the demon or threatened it with the, oh, so powerful chancla. Your dad didn’t believe in these things and your grandma always carried her Rosario with her.

Throughout the years, witch always felt the right word to describe you. Nobody had a bad reaction to it in México, so why was it that in the US everyone was ready to burn you alive?

You sighed and shrugged. There was only one thing you hadn’t tried yet. Well, two. And those were getting chocolate ice cream and painting.

Yes, you liked to paint and draw. You liked art in all its glorified representations and interpretations. You took out your supplies, a big white sheet you always intended on converting it in something else, all kinds of color acrylic paintings, a spoon and the ice cream. Brushes? What were those? You needn’t such things when you had fingers, the best brushes of the world.

You looked at your tin can filled with old and new brushes of all kinds. You stared and stared, as if the can itself had eyes and it was contesting against you.

“Fine, I’m sorry. I do love you guys, I just want to paint with my fingers today.” And it seemed that they understood. They always did.

It did the trick, you blasted some music, ate ice cream from the container (staining the spoon just a smidge) and painted the sheet. You had not and specific image. You just ran your fingers through it with blue and then orange and then pink and then green; making a whole beautiful mess of it.

You were almost finished with it when a loud banging at the door disturbed you from your artsy mood.

“Hijo de su pinche madre. ¿Quién toca tan pinche feo?” You whispered out loud. You got up from the floor, pausing the music, and cautiously approached your front door. You looked through the window and saw a far too familiar tall figure standing in front of your door. His eyes caught you staring and he sheepishly waved his hand hi. You rolled your eyes.

As you opened your door, you leant on the door frame, not inviting him to come inside and not telling him to go away either.

“You owe my door an apology.” Sam knitted his eyebrows together and scoffed a laugh.

You raised your eyebrows and your chin. You pursed your lips and stared him down.

“Seriously, you want me to apologize to a door?” You nodded, he sighed.

“I’m sorry, dear Door, it wasn’t intentional. I will never do it again or to any of your door friends.” He looked at you, waiting for your approval. Trying to hide your smile, you bit your lip and only nodded once.

Sam took in the sight of you. Your hair was braided and away from your face. Your yaw had a little bit of blue paint. Your hands were a mess, all the colors seemed to merge in them, frankly it seemed as if that was your actual skin color, spots of pink and red and blue and orange and purple… It felt right, for some reason. You were wearing your “to paint” t-shirt; an oversized white old t-shirt which had hints of your many years painting.

His eyes, then, landed in your bare legs. And he knew, you were only wearing the t-shirt.

Sam cleared his throat and forced his eyes to go back to yours. You weren’t glaring anymore, you would’ve been, but it wasn’t the first time you had caught him looking.

“Hey.” He said softly.

“Hey.” Your eyes followed his hand as he scratched the back of his neck. He’s nervous.

“Can I… May I come in?” You took a deep breath.

“Are you going to capture me and burn me alive?” He shook his head.

“No. I… I want to talk.”

“Did you bring something?” Sam laughed as your eyes traveled towards the brown bag behind him.

“Ice cream, chocolate and red wine, the cheapest red wine.” “As it should be”, he heard you whisper. It was then when the sound of your laugh filled his ears, he had missed it. You took a step inside and opened your arms wide.

“Come in.”

“So…” You said as you took two spoons out of the drawer. You opened the ice cream, but saved the wine for later. If Sam started asking questions, you might need it.

“I… I have questions.” He said. Oh boy, no. You sighed and opened the bottle.

“I figured. Shoot.” You poured yourself some wine and asked him if he wanted. He shook his head.

“Well, for how long?”

“Long as I can remember.” You took a sip and glued your eyes to the table.

“Well, what exactly can you do? Maybe you’re cursed or something similar. You don’t have to be a witch.” You silently laughed.

“Maybe you’re right but Sam you have to understand that I haven’t met someone, something or a whole definition for what I do.”

“Maybe I can help you with that.” He was wearing his worried face, with those puppy eyes looking at you. He wanted to help and correct the situation between you.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” You exhaled dramatically and brushed your hair with your fingers.

“Let’s start big, am, I can teleport, I see the future, I can sense people’s auras and sometimes even read their minds, although the last one’s rare. It only happens when the emotions of the person are very strong.” You looked at him through your glass of wine as you took another sip. He nodded for you to continue.

“I excel at divination, I can talk to animals but it’s the same situation as reading minds. I can heal myself and others in different levels…” Flashbacks started to flood Sam’s head. There was one time where he was preparing a coctel and as he was cutting the lime he had cut his finger. It wasn’t something big. You had already spent some time together and when he went back to talk to you at your place in the bar, you had indeed brushed your fingers lightly to the tips of his. By the time he saw his finger the cut was tinier than a papercut. Of course, when he questioned it out loud, you suggested it been the lime juice, you claimed it had scaring properties.

“You mentioned teleporting.” Sam started. You stopped talking and nodded, emptying the last of your wine in your mouth.

“How can you exactly teleport?”

“Not like demons. I can’t just banish in midair and reappear where I’d like.”

“Then how?” You gave him a small smile. You stood up and as easily as before the whole mess, took his hand in yours. As if it were the first time, he blushed intensely. It surprised him how used to your touch he was and how with only two days of not being around you it felt weird not to hold your hand in his.

You conducted him to the nearest closed door, that been the one of your supplies closet. You opened the door and showed him, well, your closet.

“What am I supposed to see?”

“Ordinary, isn’t it?” He rolled his eyes, but nodded. You closed the door again and when your hand went to touch the handle again, he thought he had seen it shine orange as the sunset. When you opened the door the sight in front of him was different.

It was a sunset in front of his eyes, a beach and a calm waving ocean; so near and real. He had never gone to the beach, ever. In the hunter life there wasn’t much space for vacations, let alone a vacation in a tropical destination.

“What? Is this real?” Sam turned to look at you. A warm feeling spread across your chest. Oh, his stupid face, so adorable and lighted and full of surprise and wonder.

“You want to go? The portal won’t close unless I close it. So we can walk in the beach if we want to.” He scoffed and started taking off his shoes and socks. You did the same.

“How does this work?”

“Well, there’s like a veil between the places. The veil helps the people or animals at the other side not see our side of the portal. They only see what they should be seeing.”

“So, we just have to step through the veil?” You nodded.

Sam took your hand in his. Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t often that he took the initiative, however through the past weeks; he seemed as if he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. It was always the small of your back, your elbow, knee, head, shoulder or back of your neck that was in touch of his palm. But when it came to holding hands, you were the one that usually started it.

“Ready?” You asked him. He didn’t answer. He just walked ahead of you, for the doorway wasn’t big enough.

You were already used to it. Being in one place and then being in another. The change of scenery didn’t affect you. Then, you looked at Sam, his eyes were closed. He was walking then stood still as he took in the feeling of soft sand beneath his feet.

He exhaled a shocked breath.

You giggled and contemplated the idea of kissing his cheek, his cheek or lips. A sad smile was drawn in your face. Even after all of this, you might still end up without him.

You gulped the knot in your throat, so your voice will sound smooth again.

“Open your eyes, Sammy.”

He did. If you thought his last expression was priceless, then the one in front of your eyes made the aching in your chest grew bigger. The sort of ache you have when you see something so beautiful it hurts. The sort of ache that you had both experienced at the sight of each other under the orange, golden light of the sunset.

He felt his hand leave yours as his arm slowly snaked his way around your waist. He drew you closer to him, chests pressed together. With his other hand, he cupped your face. You debated yourself whether you wanted to close your eyes or stare into his. Your hands placed themselves on his shoulders, but when he hugged you closer you clasped them at the back of his neck.

“I don’t know what you are Y/N and I don’t care anymore.” Sam whispered. He dipped his head more until you noses touched.

“I could be many things, corazón. But I know evil I am not.” He loved it when you called him that. That little pet name you had for him.

“Y/N, I really want to kiss you, so you better not tease me again.” You giggled and he closed the distance between you.

You both sighed in content. You had waited so long for this kiss. Such a tender yet desperate kiss. A kiss that could last forever and yet slip away. Like time or ether, touch or heartbeats. You both wanted it to last forever, if only your breaths had the same will as your lips.

When your lungs cried for air, you separated and stayed closed. Contradictory but existing.

“How was that tease, pretty boy?”

“You call that teasing?” In his eyes there was a promise, he’ll show you what it truly was teasing.

#sam winchester #sam x reader #dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader #fluff #angst #smut #piedras rodantes

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alchemisland · 5 years

Text

The Moors Mutt III

Night fled day. Before the others rose I read the sky. Spying an uncharacteristically vernal mustard sliver, I imagined another world past the clouds, opposing ours directly, and their rising summer sun.

God, shrouded in cancerous sadness, could but weep. Too weak to conjure flame.

The storm, furious mute, spoke through man's works, droplets exploded musically; dull on timbers, shrill on sheet, like crackling fire on thatch.

Foot travel was impossible, even treacherous. Lar wouldn't have it. 'I know someone. Unpaid tab, lovely spacious wagon. Hold tight.'

Unpaid tab, yes. Lovely wagon, no. Against the rising slope, his contraption strained. Its light frame shed water. The man knew his charge and kept us steady. Hold tight proved apt phrasing.

When the carriage wasn't veering towards fatal tip, I dismantled the day's duties into gelded chunks. Easy. Ten manageable tasks. Ten had a ring to it. A certain motivating roundness. Ten tasks set to Heracles condemned to misery by jealous Hera. Ten commandments from on high.

The day passed quickly. I worked mostly absent of mind, scanning peeling labels for keywords. I napped again at some indeterminate point, rising to the first red flares of evening.

Near freedom, the final banality seemed yet more soul destroying. Fortunately it proved easy, simple scribbles to confirm a job done. Mac donned, packed bag overshoulder, I signed the final form with a flourish.

On the doorstep, gazing out at the torrid tempest I was to endure, and again the following day, for a brief moment Cairn Cottage seemed inviting.

I cast a final backward glance. Inside Acrisian frames, there lay my ancestors in oils, frozen in perpetual offence.

As discussed, Charon on his chucking carriage arrived and ferried me back to Sperrin.

Outside the tavern, wet as it was possible to be, I waited. I don't know what I hoped to see. Some queer curiosity took me. I wished to see how they spoke without me. Maybe it was awkwardness that prevented an unannounced arrival. I pressed my ear to the door. Lar told a joke and howled with laughter, joyous overmuch at his own humour. When I entered I hovered in the open doorframe, dripping like a swamp witch. A wave of relief swept over Lar, which he wrestled into a piteous pout.

Two drinks waited, patient as unconfessed sinners. When I peeled off the mac, he flashed a one-sided smile. I muttered a reluctant thanks.

We feasted after. A meal to see us off. For strength, we ate lashings of gravy thickened by meat juices, steaming Yorkshire puddings, slabs of succulent pork, bog mushy peas, and custard to follow.

Afterwards, we reclined swollen. When the small crowd shifted, Fergus rose to slip the bolt unbidden.

My mind was in custardy. I was eaten witless. I wondered had Lar planned the old stuff and sneak.

'Are we, as lantern thieves, away with the light?' Lar undid his top trouser button and grew an inch before my eyes.

'We are.'

'Handled a gun before?' That old chestnut. Long I had anticipated such a discussion.

'I have and don't intend to again. Hate hate hate them. Listen, speaking of, we need to talk about this whole thing.' Lar's brow furrowed. 'I believe with alternate ends, disagreements arise.' I thought carefully and he waited patiently. 'This isn't a fox hunt.'

'I never said it was. You seem a bit peeved actually. If I can be bold, why hate the gun and not its wielder? Is a rifle always an instrument of terror no matter the context? On the shoulder of an adventurer piercing the interior, emboldened by its weight, is it the selfsame tool that greedily dispenses random death in the hands of a deranged person? Say a rifle, bought with pacivity in mind, never packed to shoot, merely to brandish and quell cooling tempers, where do you class that?'

Nobody is perfect and there was the proof. When it came to criticising people en masse, Lar was your man. Less evident was his enthusiasm when the crosshair turned to his own private club. Gunfans, gunmen, - for men they were mostly - whatever their preferred nomenclature, are tiresome, everybody agrees.

Realizing I had zoned out, I nodded extra vigorously at his next points, hoping the nod was taken as a sign of attentiveness and not agreement.

Foam pooled at the corners of his mouth. 'Even if we should not spend a single cartridge, it's a fool that lowers caution in victory! Wear these chains. Be it upon your head.'

I tried to interject, 'Lar, really that's a bit dram-'

He continued unabated, 'Should the beast prove strengthful and beguiling as I suspect, and we its seekers should become gunless hunted, it's not a good look for that book of yours.'

Though admiring of his passion on the subject, I had none to share. 'A gun is a gun. Any given situation is more likely to end in a leaden exchange with guns present, vise a vie, sans guns we are overall safer, despite feeling less protected individually.'

'Right. And when those eviller guns unleash in benign judgement, who better to return fire than kind souls equally armed?' He wagged a finger at my smirk. His voice lowered an octave. He swerved and spat, throwing his arms aloft with such momentum that his knuckles wrapped the timbers.

He paced, every inch of his pulpit touched. Standing again before me, he exhaled the temporary madness.

Fergus rose disturbed, a tremble evident. He vocalised disquiet at our clamour. Lar made his apologies; mine mumbled, Fergus' thoughtful.

He continued 'A thousand fools wait raging. I'll not be one with my arms held aloft in deference to a keeper. Either I should die on spent casings or triumph. Your charisma won't stop bullets or beasts. I'll have Fergus pack a rifle for you. Don't wanna use it, don't.' Empassioned, Lar slammed his hand down on the bar.

'Take your rod, Pilate. We'll see who time vindicates. Have you not heard that he who lives by the sword shall too die by the sword?'

'Have heard you, Judge not?' Pulling aside a rug, he revealed a hatch beneath his feet. Fergus tossed the heavy door to one side with apparent ease and fetched a swaddled armoury, which he laid for my reluctant perusal. I chose a revolver. Six shots, lightweight, swift off the hip. I remember a sense of perceived ceremony, as if my hand should be drawn towards the right snug.

Once I fixed the holster, Lar longed to bequeath a second gift. Claims that my recent experiences left me badly turned on gifts fell on deaf ears. A gift on the house, as he put it. He returned, book in hand, and slapped it face-up on the bar. 'Old Mortimer's Mort Timer' was printed in bold crimson, letters tall as wide.

'If this is a pitiful attempt to convince me guns laws increase gun deaths, it's ill considered.'

'Ignore the cover. Cowboy there is a vessel for universal truths. Makes for a good bedtime story. Try it. If you're still offended tomorrow, we'll debate then.'

Everything seemed less intense once the guns were sealed away. We sank a fifth, then a sixth shortly after.

'Have you a path in mind?' Lar slurred.

'Arrogant I might be, fool not; you know the land better. Speak freely.'

'I have some notions.'

'Notions - mere legless actions! As joint expeditionaries, in name rather than eventual royalty, I offer no pronouncement. What am I paying you for? Hardly your winning anecdotes. We're following your route to success or failure.'

I departed, lifting the flap for myself this time. 'I know the way. See you. First light. Rest well.'

Once abed I turned the book in my hands. Its garish colour lent a faint luminosity which it seemed shameful my hands should dull. I discovered the binding was frayed. The object showed more blemish than the ravages of time; later pages wore blotches. A hypothesis soon formed, which further probing confirmed. This book was licked by the ocean. A sea tome it was.

On the inside cover, faded and difficult, illegible without foreknowledge of the owner, I saw Fergus' name printed, a phyrgian squiggle.

I read it;

Ever hear the story of old Mortimer Considine? He was bold as block letterin', round as a cowerin' brushhog, feared and lovered in equal measure. Them scales was centred for him. Instinctively he knew right from wrong. Round Texas way at one point he was the toughest sonofabitch the world had ever see'd. Papers sid it, wimmin giggled it, smoke signalled it, so it musta been true.

Guns smoking, he toured the land righting injustices, collecting bounties and if rumour holds truth, fathering bastards, later becoming county scourges in their own right. Nothing on their old man though, dull facsimiles, whudever that means. Chaotic he was. Kindly too. Smart as a Greek. Strong as a mountain man, and I hear them Greeks had big boys too.

Now, he was fixing to be the best at shooting after his days out ranging. Tired of hauling baddies in for cash. He wanted hisself a wife and cosy home, young'uns to raise right. Make right some on his past transgressions. Hell, if he had cash enough, as he was heard to say only in deepest cups on full moon nights, when the moon controlled the tides of his tears 'well as them on the beach, he'd seek out his illegitimate sprogs and give 'em something for their hard lot.

Best gotta beat the best. Roving West then East, he rode into town with his holster turned front, making his business clear so to speak. Everyone he'd fought so far he felled easy, like dead trees keeling at a shove. There was big boys, tough men who a punch would never fell. Only the impersonal, devious strength of a bullet would do it, seemed a shame really fer all their liftin' and sweatin'. What finnesse they had in riding and wrasslin' they lost at steels, for Mortimer was quick as cancer and spun like a storm at the whistle, shooting 'em full of steaming holes.

Had himself a reputation now. When he came upon town and rode the highstreet on his black destrier like a demon called from hell, only the toughest mothers dared from the shadow of the awnings. Now this one place he went, or was bound for, he got to hearing was a hovel of wretched rapists and varmint brigands, living in squalor, wallowing in vile hedonism. Imperial in their particular perversions, namely unholy orgies in that there big church built by them mexicans was once this far into the states, them was once from further yonder than Mexico and came upward, with them layered temples like square sandcastles.

Pilgrims passing elsewise in other directions he met, but none going toward. Then he saw it, the black spires silhouetted on the matte of night, which held purple and pink and orange, flashes of winking silver, and all the gold jewels of the firmament. He had no want of killing and no provin' to do with regular folk, so he kept his gun shy in behind, his trenchcoat held firm at his chest with a single button, which he took from a sheriff's waistcoat.

You there, he'd said, so high on his horse he appeared a drawn shadow, as if some perfidious god had set to drawing charcoal on the mirror of the world. Up stole the pilgrim and leapt almost.

Mort?

Nay, giggled Mortimer, almost though. What's yonder?

Pilgrim, without lookin, answered quick, Ain't nothing there and no god. Kindly sort you seem. Can tell from ya eyes. Big ol blue ones like the desert moon at night. Not cold though, blue as magick fire.

Mortimer again requested the name of that spiked tower.

Babel, he says and left.

Babel, Mortimer says and left wondering had he heard that name before. He'd met a guy named Barber once. Polack chap taking his wagon clean through to York. Was that the same word? Maybe. Nobody could kill him, not with a gun. Too fast, too cunnin' at gunnin'. Few years left at the top, at least. If they did it, it'd be ignoble, uncunning and devious. Mind, he was cunnin' at augurin' too. Augured him a plan.

After tracing his steps at a canter, Mortimer spied the same stooped soul, satchel slung on his back, hooded. Pilgrim, he said, help me and I'll pay ye. When the work is done, I'll ferry you safe to your destination.

Deal, said the pilgrim so quick as to be near suspicious.

All the way he walked fast. Faster'n an old man, Mortimer reckined. The man had loped, limped and lounged before, as a man of advanced age, now he sprang more sprightly.

Mortimer had a suspicion maybe. Gut feeling. A gnawing doubt. Not enough too stop him. Reckined he was too cliver 'n devious to get got. That morning when they got close to town and descried distantly, from a rise which he took to be an ancient thing built by them northern southern mexicans, a multitude assembled in the centre of town.

Mortimer turned to his pardner to git planning and found hisself did in, plugged and smoking, a fresh red rosette pinned on his breast. The pilgrim relieved Mortimer of his possessions and stole away back into a fresh day, right quicker than ever he'd gone yet.

That was the story of that there Mortimer.

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scarlettrose0 · 3 years

Text

When Abortion Suddenly Stopped Making Sense

Abortion won the day, but sooner or later that day will end.

At the time of the Roe v. Wadedecision, I was a college student — an anti-war, mother-earth, feminist, hippie college student. That particular January I was taking a semester off, living in the D.C. area and volunteering at the feminist “underground newspaper” Off Our Backs. As you’d guess, I was strongly in favor of legalizing abortion. The bumper sticker on my car read, “Don’t labor under a misconception; legalize abortion.”

The first issue of Off Our Backs after the Roe decision included one of my movie reviews, and also an essay by another member of the collective criticizing the decision. It didn’t go far enough, she said, because it allowed states to restrict abortion in the third trimester. The Supreme Court should not meddle in what should be decided between the woman and her doctor. She should be able to choose abortion through all nine months of pregnancy.

But, at the time, we didn’t have much understanding of what abortion was. We knew nothing of fetal development. We consistently termed the fetus “a blob of tissue,” and that’s just how we pictured it — an undifferentiated mucous-like blob, not recognizable as human or even as alive. It would be another 15 years of so before pregnant couples could show off sonograms of their unborn babies, shocking us with the obvious humanity of the unborn.

We also thought, back then, that few abortions would ever be done. It’s a grim experience, going through an abortion, and we assumed a woman would choose one only as a last resort. We were fighting for that “last resort.” We had no idea how common the procedure would become; today, one in every five pregnancies ends in abortion.

Nor could we have imagined how high abortion numbers would climb. In the 43 years since Roe v. Wade, there have been 59 million abortions. It’s hard even to grasp a number that big. Twenty years ago, someone told me that, if the names of all those lost babies were inscribed on a wall, like the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the wall would have to stretch for 50 miles. It’s 20 years later now, and that wall would have to stretch twice as far. But no names could be written on it; those babies had no names.

We expected that abortion would be rare. What we didn’t realize was that, once abortion becomes available, it becomes the most attractive option for everyone around the pregnant woman. If she has an abortion, it’s like the pregnancy never existed. No one is inconvenienced. It doesn’t cause trouble for the father of the baby, or her boss, or the person in charge of her college scholarship. It won’t embarrass her mom and dad.

Abortion is like a funnel; it promises to solve all the problems at once. So there is significant pressure on a woman to choose abortion, rather than adoption or parenting.

A woman who had had an abortion told me, “Everyone around me was saying they would ‘be there for me’ if I had the abortion, but no one said they’d ‘be there for me’ if I had the baby.” For everyone around the pregnant woman, abortion looks like the sensible choice. A woman who determines instead to continue an unplanned pregnancy looks like she’s being foolishly stubborn. It’s like she’s taken up some unreasonable hobby. People think, If she would only go off and do this one thing, everything would be fine.

But that’s an illusion. Abortion can’t really “turn back the clock.” It can’t push the rewind button on life and make it so she was never pregnant. It can make it easy for everyone aroundthe woman to forget the pregnancy, but the woman herself may struggle. When she first sees the positive pregnancy test she may feel, in a panicky way, that she has to get rid of it as fast as possible. But life stretches on after abortion, for months and years — for many long nights — and all her life long she may ponder the irreversible choice she made.

This issue gets presented as if it’s a tug of war between the woman and the baby. We see them as mortal enemies, locked in a fight to the death. But that’s a strange idea, isn’t it? It must be the first time in history when mothers and their own children have been assumed to be at war. We’re supposed to picture the child attacking her, trying to destroy her hopes and plans, and picture the woman grateful for the abortion, since it rescued her from the clutches of her child.

If you were in charge of a nature preserve and you noticed that the pregnant female mammals were trying to miscarry their pregnancies, eating poisonous plants or injuring themselves, what would you do? Would you think of it as a battle between the pregnant female and her unborn and find ways to help those pregnant animals miscarry? No, of course not. You would immediately think, “Something must be really wrong in this environment.” Something is creating intolerable stress, so much so that animals would rather destroy their own offspring than bring them into the world. You would strive to identify and correct whatever factors were causing this stress in the animals.

The same thing goes for the human animal. Abortion gets presented to us as if it’s something women want; both pro-choice and pro-life rhetoric can reinforce that idea. But women do this only if all their other options look worse. It’s supposed to be “her choice,” yet so many women say, “I really didn’t have a choice.”

I changed my opinion on abortion after I read an article in Esquiremagazine, way back in 1976. I was home from grad school, flipping through my dad’s copy, and came across an article titled “What I Saw at the Abortion.” The author, Richard Selzer, was a surgeon, and he was in favor of abortion, but he’d never seen one. So he asked a colleague whether, next time, he could go along.

Selzer described seeing the patient, 19 weeks pregnant, lying on her back on the table. (That is unusually late; most abortions are done by the tenth or twelfth week.) The doctor performing the procedure inserted a syringe into the woman’s abdomen and injected her womb with a prostaglandin solution, which would bring on contractions and cause a miscarriage. (This method isn’t used anymore, because too often the baby survived the procedure — chemically burned and disfigured, but clinging to life. Newer methods, including those called “partial birth abortion” and “dismemberment abortion,” more reliably ensure death.)

After injecting the hormone into the patient’s womb, the doctor left the syringe standing upright on her belly. Then, Selzer wrote, “I see something other than what I expected here. . . . It is the hub of the needle that is in the woman’s belly that has jerked. First to one side. Then to the other side. Once more it wobbles, is tugged, like a fishing line nibbled by a sunfish.”

He realized he was seeing the fetus’s desperate fight for life. And as he watched, he saw the movement of the syringe slow down and then stop. The child was dead. Whatever else an unborn child does not have, he has one thing: a will to live. He will fight to defend his life.

The last words in Selzer’s essay are, “Whatever else is said in abortion’s defense, the vision of that other defense [i.e., of the child defending its life] will not vanish from my eyes. And it has happened that you cannot reason with me now. For what can language do against the truth of what I saw?”

The truth of what he saw disturbed me deeply. There I was, anti-war, anti–capital punishment, even vegetarian, and a firm believer that social justice cannot be won at the cost of violence. Well, this sure looked like violence. How had I agreed to make this hideous act the centerpiece of my feminism? How could I think it was wrong to execute homicidal criminals, wrong to shoot enemies in wartime, but all right to kill our own sons and daughters?

For that was another disturbing thought: Abortion means killing not strangers but our own children, our own flesh and blood. No matter who the father, every child aborted is that woman’s own son or daughter, just as much as any child she will ever bear.

We had somehow bought the idea that abortion was necessary if women were going to rise in their professions and compete in the marketplace with men. But how had we come to agree that we will sacrifice our children, as the price of getting ahead? When does a man ever have to choose between his career and the life of his child?

Once I recognized the inherent violence of abortion, none of the feminist arguments made sense. Like the claim that a fetus is not really a person because it is so small. Well, I’m only 5 foot 1. Women, in general, are smaller than men. Do we really want to advance a principle that big people have more value than small people? That if you catch them before they’ve reached a certain size, it’s all right to kill them?

What about the child who is “unwanted”? It was a basic premise of early feminism that women should not base their sense of worth on whether or not a man “wants” them. We are valuable simply because we are members of the human race, regardless of any other person’s approval. Do we really want to say that “unwanted” people might as well be dead? What about a woman who is “wanted” when she’s young and sexy but less so as she gets older? At what point is it all right to terminate her?

The usual justification for abortion is that the unborn is not a “person.” It’s said that “Nobody knows when life begins.” But that’s not true; everybody knows when life — a new individual human life — gets started. It’s when the sperm dissolves in the egg. That new single cell has a brand-new DNA, never before seen in the world. If you examined through a microscope three cells lined up — the newly fertilized ovum, a cell from the father, and a cell from the mother — you would say that, judging from the DNA, the cells came from three different people.

When people say the unborn is “not a person” or “not a life” they mean that it has not yet grown or gained abilities that arrive later in life. But there’s no agreement about which abilities should be determinative. Pro-choice people don’t even agree with each other. Obviously, law cannot be based on such subjective criteria. If it’s a case where the question is “Can I kill this?” the answer must be based on objective medical and scientific data. And the fact is, an unborn child, from the very first moment, is a new human individual. It has the three essential characteristics that make it “a human life”: It’s alive and growing, it is composed entirely of human cells, and it has unique DNA. It’s a person, just like the rest of us.

Abortion indisputably ends a human life. But this loss is usually set against the woman’s need to have an abortion in order to freely direct her own life. It is a particular cruelty to present abortion as something women want, something they demand, they find liberating. Because nobody wants this. The procedure itself is painful, humiliating, expensive — no woman “wants” to go through it. But once it’s available, it appears to be the logical, reasonable choice. All the complexities can be shoved down that funnel. Yes, abortion solves all the problems; but it solves them inside the woman’s body. And she is expected to keep that pain inside for a lifetime, and be grateful for the gift of abortion.

Many years ago I wrote something in an essay about abortion, and I was surprised that the line got picked up and frequently quoted. I’ve seen it in both pro-life and pro-choice contexts, so it appears to be something both sides agree on.

I wrote, “No one wants an abortion as she wants an ice cream cone or a Porsche. She wants an abortion as an animal, caught in a trap, wants to gnaw off its own leg.”

Strange, isn’t it, that both pro-choice and pro-life people agree that is true? Abortion is a horrible and harrowing experience. That women choose it so frequently shows how much worse continuing a pregnancy can be. Essentially, we’ve agreed to surgically alter women so that they can get along in a man’s world. And then expect them to be grateful for it.

Nobody wants to have an abortion. And if nobody wants to have an abortion, why are women doing it, 2800 times a day? If women doing something 2,800 times daily that they don’t want to do, this is not liberation we’ve won. We are colluding in a strange new form of oppression.

* * *

And so we come around to one more March for Life, like the one last year, like the one next year. Protesters understandably focus on the unborn child, because the danger it faces is the most galvanizing aspect of this struggle. If there are different degrees of injustice, surely violence is the worst manifestation, and killing worst of all. If there are different categories of innocent victim, surely the small and helpless have a higher claim to protection, and tiny babies the highest of all. The minimum purpose of government is to shield the weak from abuse by the strong, and there is no one weaker or more voiceless than unborn children. And so we keep saying that they should be protected, for all the same reasons that newborn babies are protected. Pro-lifers have been doing this for 43 years now, and will continue holding a candle in the darkness for as many more years as it takes.

I understand all the reasons why the movement’s prime attention is focused on the unborn. But we can also say that abortion is no bargain for women, either. It’s destructive and tragic. We shouldn’t listen unthinkingly to the other side of the time-worn script, the one that tells us that women want abortions, that abortion liberates them. Many a post-abortion woman could tell you a different story.

The pro-life cause is perennially unpopular, and pro-lifers get used to being misrepresented and wrongly accused. There are only a limited number of people who are going to be brave enough to stand up on the side of an unpopular cause. But sometimes a cause is so urgent, is so dramatically clear, that it’s worth it. What cause could be more outrageous than violence — fatal violence — against the most helpless members of our human community? If that doesn’t move us, how hard are our hearts? If that doesn’t move us, what will ever move us?

In time, it’s going to be impossible to deny that abortion is violence against children. Future generations, as they look back, are not necessarily going to go easy on ours. Our bland acceptance of abortion is not going to look like an understandable goof. In fact, the kind of hatred that people now level at Nazis and slave-owners may well fall upon our era. Future generations can accurately say, “It’s not like they didn’t know.” They can say, “After all, they had sonograms.” They may consider this bloodshed to be a form of genocide. They might judge our generation to be monsters.

One day, the tide is going to turn. With that Supreme Court decision 43 years ago, one of the sides in the abortion debate won the day. But sooner or later, that day will end. No generation can rule from the grave. The time is coming when a younger generation will sit in judgment of ours. And they are not obligated to be kind.

- Frederica Mathews-Green Frederica Mathews-Green has written for National Review, the Washington Post, Smithsonian, the Los Angeles Times, First Things, Books & Culture, Sojourners, Touchstone, and the Wall Street Journal. She has been ...

#abortion #pro life #prochoice #reproduction rights #feminism #my body my choice

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blyanten · 6 years

Text

THE DUCK AVENGER PK2: #12 BLACKOUT

Today’s theme is LIGHT. It travels at 300 000km per second, and it all ends up at Duckmall. At least the Christmas version does, because those lights are all over the place, drawing people in like… mosquitoes?

Wrong insect, but the point is, Tempest is not a fan of the Christmas rush. Bloom thinks it’s nice. Donald doesn’t comment.

The trio is checking in on the mall Santa when Bloom stops a pick-pocket he’s familiar with, and gets hit over the head.

From the minor crime of theft to violent assault.

Donald gives chase, somehow going from being some meters behind the guy…

to this:

Christ. If you can teleport, use your powers to get out of there. No wonder you’re just a pick-pocket with these decision skills.

Donald then fights the guy, while parents assure their kids there’s definitely a good reason Santa’s getting beat up, before ending the fight by tricking the pick-pocket into thinking he’s being shot at.

Tempest and Bloom catch up, telling Donald the pick-pocket is a familiar face around Duckmall, but the incident seems to have disturbed Bloom quite a bit. He calls everyone together to give them some news.

He’s planning on retiring. The incident just reinforced that he’s not as young as he used to be, and working security… well, even at a mall, it’s not the safest job. If the pick-pocket had been armed, today could have ended very differently.

There’s also the matter of who’ll take over. Bloom has decided it will be one of the team, and he’ll spend the next six months deciding who.

Over at some Ducklair Infotronics, Everett is holding a press conference. The Ducklairs are trying out a new initiative, called Life, where criminals who have served their sentence will be given a job at Ducklair Enterprises for one year in an effort to get them back in the game.

Angus is bored by it, calling it Christmas charity, and for once he’s probably right. But reformed criminals would need help, so eh.

And as this is a project focused on the future, a young person should run it. Because our children are the future.

Juniper’s in charge.

Angus decides this is the time to liven the conference up a bit, and starts accusing Everett of hiding behind Juniper in an effort to hide his shady dealings.

Aw, look at that, they have the same sense of humor.

Everett and Juniper seems to find this more amusing than annoying, sharing a joke that maybe Angus should participate, though it would probably be hopeless. While Everett keeps introducing Juniper and the project, Juniper zones out, thinking of her sister, missing her cue to take over. She soon recovers, and takes over.

Meanwhile, Korinna survived sinking with the spaceship, and is on her way back to Duckburg, having hitched a ride with a truckdriver. Unfortunately, he’s not going there, so she’ll have to find alternative transportation for the rest of the way.

She stopped from entering the town of Bancroft by the police, who doesn’t want loafers around. They’d like to see her papers. When Korinna refuses, they mock her, calling her a tough cookie and if she’s trying to scare them.

Korinna says yes.

I like the contrast between the truckdriver and the cops. The driver is nice, and so Korinna is nice back, the cops are rude and so Korinna presumably leaves them screaming from their own nightmares. It’s very… hmmm, childish isn’t quite the word, but lacking in nuance? She could have made the cops let her pass, easily, but instead it’s implied she goes to town on them. It’s a lot more noticeable and would make it easier to find her if the news about what happened spread. Which I suppose bring us to the complete lack of actual life experience she has. Sometimes you just have to let stuff go and be nice, if only for your own sake.

At Ducklair Infotronics, or at least across the road from it, Juniper is struggling with the phone. Not for long though.

And a very similar temper!

She brings Trentor, the man she wanted to talk to back to her office. He worked for Ducklair Enterprises for 12 years, until he was arrested for industrial espionage and hacking.

Trentor says it’s true, but that he thought she already knew. If she wants him out of the program… Juniper finally gets to the point. She doesn’t want him to leave the program. She uses her powers on him and asks if he hates her father. He does, right? It was Everett who sent him to prison.

Juniper is clearly done messing around.

Nah. Trentor hates Anymore Boring. He’s the one who had him arrested.

I will never stop being amused that despite everything, practically nobody who deals with Everett professionally seems to have a problem with him. Everett is apparently a firm believer in separating business from pleasure.

But Juniper isn’t about to let minor details like her chosen pawn hating the wrong man get in the way. The Life project offers an opportunity for revenge, and Juniper just wants to help.

So where Korinna seems to be impulsive and reactionary, Juniper is a stone cold planner.

A few days later, at Ducklair Refineries, things start to happen. A lot of things go wrong, and it ends with a big boom. The news next day inform us there are no victims, but a whole lot of property damage. Everett is pissed, because this is one of 12 incidents, though obviously none of the others were as noticeable.

Juniper puts on an excellent show of being ignorant and worried, but as soon as Everett leaves, shows how she really feels.

The angry, angry duckling at work.

At work, Juniper immediately goes to see Trentor, congratulating him on last nights success and generally acting like his sweet supporter. He offers to demonstrate how the machine he made works.

He hooks himself up to a computer, creating a virtual version of himself that can travel though computer systems and mess with things. So like a less advanced version of the Total Immersion Interface system.

That’s actually kinda fascinating, how the rest of the world is slowly catching up to the alien super genius.

Juniper isn’t all the interested though, she wants him to attack again and she wants another disaster, something to make people fear Ducklair Enterprises. Trentor hesitates, worried about getting caught. Juniper realizes her mental control over him is weakening, and decides to strengthen it.

She does this while he’s hooked up to the machine, creating what seems like a minor backlash and an unexpected outcome.

Yay, it’s the less charming, human version of Two.

Trentor is now stuck in the computer system, and he’s free of her mental control. He also knows that he’s free of her mental control, leaving Juniper in a precarious position. Juniper asks what he wants, and he tells her not to worry about that. They’re partners now.

So Juniper’s first plan isn’t quite turning out the way she hoped. But much like her sister, this seems to be less about her abilities, and more about her lack of actual experience. Using her powers on a man connected via his brain/mind to something she can’t affect… someone who’d actually gotten to live their life with those powers might have been more hesitant to do that.

Elsewhere, a train is speeding up and the instruments are not responding. It derails off a thankfully realtively low bridge, and once again, no victims. At the harbor, the computers stopped working, leaving ships without proper navigation, but again, everything is fine!

So I think, realistically, the everybody is fine, because Disney comic. But in-universe, the sheer unlikelihood of nobody getting hurt or dying makes me wonder if a certain someone doesn’t have some kind of reality warping protection shielding him from the worst consequences of this mess.

Especially since, after the stock market freezes, all signs point to Ducklair Enterprises. It’s their equipment going haywire, after all.

Juniper is at home, watching the news when the Avenger knocks on the window. She’s just so happy to see him, since she didn’t know how to contact him, and she thinks this all might be her fault.

Look at that poor innocent angel.

She brings the Avenger to Trentor’s lab, claiming he was working on a revolutionary anti-virus program when things went wrong and he got trapped in the machine. The Avenger asks why she didn’t ask her father for help, but Juniper explains she didn’t want to tell her father that her first task went from zero to disaster.

The Avenger prepares to follow Trentor inside the machine, and he notes to himself that at least he has some experience with similar contraptions, like the T.I.I hall. He figures it shouldn’t be too different, it’s still Ducklair Tech after all.

Juniper asks if he’s ready. The Avenger wants to know if she wants the truth. She wants a white lie, and the Avenger gives her an adorable thumbs up, declaring that he is ready for this new, exciting adventure.

There are white lies and there are entire performances. +1 for the extra effort, Avenger.

The virtual reality looks remarkably like rocks connected by spider-webs.

The Avenger quickly locates Trentor, making his way there via the webs. Trentor appears to be unconscious, and the Avenger, using his previous experience, thinks he encountered a surveillance program.

Of course, this is a trap, so Trentor takes him by surprise, knocking him off the rock their standing on. As the Avenger falls, Trentor calls Juniper, telling her it’s done. Juniper brings Trentor back to the real world, apologizing to the Avenger for tricking him. She had no choice.

Stone cold. I may be in love.

Trentor gets up, wearing the Avenger’s body. Oh, and Trentor no longer exists, there is only Cormack-D.

Cormack being Trentor’s first name, and yes, he’s been called that for some pages now, but he was introduced as Trentor so I’m sticking with that.

Now Trentor is free to attack Boring, and all blame will fall on the Avenger. Juniper makes a move to attack, but Trentor grabs her wrists, suggestion that her mind powers still won’t work on him.

At Bancroft station, Korinna has found a train. She’ll be sharing a cabin with Judith Taylor, who’s going to Duckburg for work. Korinna says she’s going for a family reunion.

At Ducklair Tower, Everett is helping out the police. He’s offered to help, claiming that while he’s a nice person… uh, well, I believe you want to be one… he knows how to defend himself. So he’s made something that will let him find and destroy the mysterious attackers.

Malice is awfully nice here, considering. *whispers* Reality warping protective powers.

He quickly locates an anomalous impulse that has to be the attacker, but since the attacker is gone, it’s the Avenger still stuck in the system. The Avenger lucked out by landing on a different rock, but now he has to find his way back to where he was. He tries travelling via the webs again, which works, but it’s also what alerted Everett to his presence

The Avenger dodges, surprising Everett, who made that program to completely annihilate the attacker. Does ruthlessness run in the family too?

Though, I doubt anybody thought it was a person in there.

The Avenger keeps dodging, and Juniper is informed that the Avenger is in danger by the system. She claims he wasn’t supposed to be in danger, but also that it might he chance at getting even with Trentor.

Trentor is busy leaving so he can get started on his roaring rampage of revenge against Boring. He’s slowed down for a second by looking for keys to the Duckmobile, but the car responds to “the master’s hand” as he puts it, opening at a touch.

The real Avenger is rather busy surviving, when he works out that he can access his shield in the virtual reality. He immediately destroys Everett’s program, for a while at least, causing Malice to go for the nuclear option, completely isolating any electrical networks and the phone network, causing a complete blackout. Everett thinks that’s worse than what the attacker does, but she claims the damage will be limited, as it’s in the middle of the night.

Ducklair Tower has an emergency generator, so they’ll be fine, while lights all over the city goes out. And hopefully, anyplace important has emergency generators too.

Somewhere far from Duckburg, Korinna’s train stops.

Inside the system, the Avenger watches as the spider-webs disappears, swearing to himself that he’ll never set foot in a place like this again, and if he does, he’ll deserve it. He goes for the original rock, and wakes up in Trentor’s body.

Everett notices that the anomalous impulse is gone. Boring congratulates him, but Everett says it’s not over until they know where it went.

Back with Juniper, the Avenger notices the problem.

No comment.

Juniper explains, while also claiming Trentor came back as a raving maniac. She also insists it’s not his fault, which is entirely true, but not for the reasons the Avenger thinks. Juniper calls for her car, with a robot driver, and let’s the Avenger in on Trentor hating Boring before he goes.

At the train, Korinna gets to know a little more about her roommate. Judith is a governess, on her way to work for a Mr. Fletcher, who has two kids and conveniently only knows her by her references.

Impulsiveness again. What do you know about kids?

In Duckburg, the Avenger goes to Century, complaining all the way about Trentor being in shitty shape. Inside he runs into Lyo, who is not convinced when the Avenger tells him who he is. Luckily, Lyo is easily convinced with the mention of the old superhero Astrongman.

Those old heroes can’t have been very famous, or maybe the info was suppressed somehow, if just knowing about them means it can only be the Avenger. Yeah, they’re mostly used for jokes, but they still existed.

The Avenger digs up the remote control for the Duckmobile, and locates Trentor.

Trentor for his part has started his attack on Ducklair Tower, but barely gets anywhere before the Avenger arrived. Unfortunately, it turns out that Trentor’s body is in truly awful shape as the Avenger quickly loses the fight and has to duck behind a couch to avoid getting shot.

Then the police arrive downstairs and both the Avenger and Trentor just runs off. Right in front of them While the police just stand there. It’s truly ridiculous.

Outside, the Avenger decide to grab onto the outside of the Duckmobile. Trentor tries to scrape him off, but the Avenger still manage to cling to it, long enough to cause a crash that knocks Trentor out.

While a very, very risky move, the Avenger relied on the car’s protective systems to keep his body from being killed. But still, damn.

Well, could, but there’s only so mch time I’m gonna spend searching for gifs.

He drags Trentor back to Juniper, who switches them back. She then erases Trentor’s memory of everything that’s happened. The Avenger worries his brain got fried in the system, but Juniper is quick to reassure him that Trentor is fine. Because she knows that based on… being the person who started this mess.

The only explanation for not noticing that is that the green glow is a visual cue for us. So there’s that settled.

Trentor turns out to be a fan, and the Avenger lets it go.

At the Duckburg train station, a young, amnesiac woman is found.

At the house of a Mr. Fletcher, his two kids are being introduced to their new governess.

This one is okay-to-good. The idea is cool, and the callback to the Avenger’s previous virtual reality experiences is also cool, but it doesn’t go deeply enough into any of it to be truly good. But hile I’d like more of the Avenger, this is really Juniper’s issue.

Juniper’s messy start into darkness, that I really like. Especially since she’s a) completely ruthless and b) aims really high, and c) but then fails because she screwed up, but then manages to turn it, if not entirely to her favor, onto something that leaves her blameless and in a position of trust with the Avenger. For a first outing as the villain, that’s a solid B.

The relationships within the Ducklair family are also starting to really take shape here, and the contrasts and similarities between the three are starting to show.

#PKNA #duck avenger #pk2 #comic #review #sort of #for fun

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lordavanti · 7 years

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Imagine you being the one to piece Ivar back together

ONESHOT Request: Hey you write for Ivar from vikings yeah? 😊 If so please can I make a request for Ivar x female!reader where they get into a bad argument about something and at one point he raises his voice/raises his arms and the reader instinctively flinches away from the movement. He immediately comforts her but feels guilty because he thinks she's scared of him, but reader reassures him she still trusts and loves him? Thank you so much, appreciate it! X Note: A little inspired because of that gifset from Ivar and Margrethe @whenimaunicorn posted recently. Hope this is any good and it was like you imagined. I really loved writing it, have a weak heart for Ivar his vulnerability. <3

Words: 1715

Ragnar being back wasn’t really a present for the boys, especially when he asked each one of them to come with him back to England except for Ivar. You always hated it, how some people treated Ivar as the weak one while you knew for sure he was mentally the strongest of them all. But everywhere you came there was that silence, that tensing. Alsaug hardly talked, Sigurd and Ivar had more conflict that before and Ubbe and Hvitserk really didn’t care, they were drinking and eating while Ivar just looked in front of him, almost waiting for someone to take on his bad mood. But nobody did, being a friend of him, being in love with him maked you feel compassionate with his situation. If you had a bigger mouth you would confront Ragnar with the fact but you knew Ivar wouldn’t like that. And it wasn’t your business so you just stayed put, listening to the conversation that went fort and back between the brothers … except for Ivar. It felt like he wasn’t there, a ghost on a table for his brothers and mother while he was the most visible person for you. But you stayed out of it, knowing those family matters weren’t easy to handle, centainly not when Aslaug stood in charge and Sigurd and Ivar were in the same room. Over the years you learned a big deal over the sons of Ragnar. It got you quite close in a friendship with Ivar, what started with him being so dominant around you. But you learned to handle and respect him in a certain way, evolving to a friendship. Althrought you felt more for him. You were home, having no mother since bird and a father that was half the time away, you felt quite hollow in this house, scared almost. You were just pulling of your dress when you startled from the knocking on the door. ‘Who is it?’ You asked, pulling back that dress on. ‘You don’t get much visitors except for me so take a wild guess.’ The door swung open, you hand’t even the time to get it open for him before he crawled in. ‘Ivar.’ You greeted him carefully. He was right, you didn’t got much visitors, you weren’t one of those popular slavegirls where Ubbe and Hvitserk ran after all the time. Maybe that’s why Ivar hang around you much, he had at least some kind of claim on you. ‘Father came,’ he began. You tied your dress back together and looked how he pulled himself on to your bed … althrought their was a table and chairs. ‘And?’ ‘I’m going to England with him.’ He said with that confident smirk on his face. You opened your mouth, instincly wanting to congratulate him but on second thoughts you didn’t. Why would you? He was going away with his father, back to England, knowing out of the stories they weren’t that eager on inviting vikings, certainly not Ragnar. Half England probarbly wanted him dead. And Ivar was gonna join him, he couldn’t really blame you for being skeptical. ‘What is it?’ He signed. You opened your mouth, shut it again and went to sit aside him on the bed. ‘I just have my doubts.’ ‘Wich doubts?’ He asked. You were glad he at least wanted to listen to your opninion on the matter. ‘It’s that your father isn’t really a hero over there, there are many christians who want him dead. And you are going with him,’ You didn’t finish your sentence, hoping he would get it on his own. But he didn’t or he didn’t want to admit to it. ‘What are you saying Y/n.’ He said almost inpatient. You sighed and took a deep breath. ‘Being concerned about you I don’t think it’s a good idea to go . It could get you killed, or worse captured.’ You explained in one large breath. His bleu eyes almost pierced through yours and you swallowed slowly, knowing this could go two ways. He was mostly calm around you but the last couple of days, since Ragnar returned he was a little short tempered. You saw him do already some things with his brother, you weren’t really jumping to meet that side of him to. ‘Because I’m a cripple, is that what you are saying?’ He asked you rather sharp. You looked down to the wooden floor, thinking how you could get this strarting argument turned in to no argument at all. When you looked back at him he was still looking at you with those almost harened hollow eyes. ‘No,’ you began steady. ‘I would say it to everybody. I’m just not sure if it is wise.’ You constructed your sentences in a way he could pick an insult out of it. ‘It’s my one change to go with my father.’ ‘And maybe your last.’ You reacted on that, being honest now maybe wasn’t your best move. ‘I would rather die there aside my father than here among the people that so disgust me.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Ivar, you’re not thinking with a straight mind. Ragnar his return maked you all so tensed, placing your emotions into the situation. I don’t think you thought about it.’ ‘Who are you to say what I can and can’t do!’ He yelled, trewing his arms up like he was going to hit you. And in a reflex you pulled away from the bed, away from him, away from his anger. While doing it you thought about the consequenties this could have. You never believed that he would hurt you. But you saw already so much of his anger towards others that it was an instinct your body produced being around him. And that instinct frooze him right on his place. You stayed on that distant, five steps away maybe, hardly more while you looked at him. He looked so distant, so angry while he slowly lowered his arms before his eyes looked back at you and your tensed body standing there. In seconds his mood turned around, you saw that vulnerability, that pain, the uncertainty in his always looking strong blue eyes. ‘You thought I would hurt you.’ He said. You felt your heart cracking open a little, afraid that the previous argument would change everything between you. ‘No.’ ‘Why did you jump away then?’ He asked, not looking to you but to the floor. You felt guilty for still standing there while he got all wrapped up in his emotions. You walked back to the bed, sitting aside him, turning your body towards him. ‘It was a reflex Ivar. It didn’t mean a thing.’ You tried to reassure him. He looked at you, his strong blue eyes not so strong anymore. ‘You thought I was going to hurt you, like I do with everybody I know.’ He turned his eyes back to the wooden floor. You layed two fingers carefully under his chin, pulling his eyes right back to you. ‘Everybody is a little afraid of Ivar The Boneless, it isn’t a bad thing, you will do powerfull things with it. My body just reacted on the violence I already saw in my life. It has nothing to do with you, I know you won’t hurt me.’ You explained on a soft tone. His eyes traveled to your hand still stabilitating his fragile face. ‘But you are scared of me?’ ‘Everybody always is Ivar. That doesn’t mean it effects me. You are my friend, I,’ you felt silence, looking away for a moment, doubting if you would say that. But when you turned back, saw that vulnerability again you knew it wasn’t something he showed everybody. ‘I love you more than I’m scared of you.’ You finally said. ‘And I don’t want you to go because I’m afraid that you will die, won’t return.’ You went futher. He cracked a little under those words. You hand fell back in your lap while some kind of disbelief filled his face. Aside his mother and brothers nobody really loved Ivar the Boneless, except for you. Because you saw his potential, the greatness, the tenderness of his heart. And surly now, the uncertainty in his eyes maked it even a better feeling than it already was. ‘You don’t believe me?’ You asked with a small smile on your lips. He looked back at you. You layed your hand against his jaw and pulled him closer, placing a kiss on his lips. His first reaction was to do nothing, but while you brought more pressure on his lips he opened them a little and answered yours in so much uncertainty. When you pulled back you let your forehead rest against his. He blincked his eyes, looked at you and a small uncertain smile came on his lips. ‘Go if you want to. Be great, be fearless, come back with fame. I will be here waiting.’ You stroke his jawline before you lost the contact with him and pulled back completly. ‘I will.’ He whispered. He looked aside to you and you smiled, a loving smile and he just watched you do it. ‘You can stay, if you want to.’ You nodded to the bed. He nodded, still in conflict with everything he felt of emotions. But in the end of that night you laid aside him, gazing into the room and thinking of what you had accomplished while you listened to his steady breating aside you. You broke him a little, by pulling back on his reaction …. But you pieced him back together, even more than before. You felt him turn, a hand sneaking over your waist, pulling you closer. You turned his side. It was hard to see if he was sleeping, or preteding he was sleeping but it was a nice feeling. His lips rested against your shoulder, you felt his warm breath on your skin while his hand layed on your stomach, holding you close. Maybe somebody as ruthless and disturbed as Ivar needed some love in his life, maybe he had to learn how to love before he could grow even bigger. You knew one thing, Ivar wasn’t a bad person, it was the world that maked him bad.

#ivars heathen army #ivar imagine #vikings imagine #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless

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snickerl · 7 years

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Elixir Vitae

AU fanfic set around the time of IWTB.

A/N: It gets a little smutty in the end, just a liiiiittle bit....

Find previous chapters here: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III / Chapter IV

Chapter V

Scully's not good today.

I realized right away, even before having spoken a single word with her. Stephanie, the receptionist, told me she was sorry but she didn't know where my wife was, that was the first indication because usually Stephanie knows where Scully is because Scully always lets her know so she can tell me. That's the procedure we arranged for me to meet her, but today Stephanie just shrugged apologetically and informed me that there was no message left for me.

So I tried Scully's room, the library, the lounge, the cafeteria, the gym, even Dr. Pratt's office. She was nowhere to be found. I thought there was only very little chance for her to be outside as the weather was rather nasty, rainy and windy, but lacking any other idea where she might be I gave it a shot anyway. To my bewilderment, I spotted her sitting on a park bench by the pond, unprotected against the rain, motionless, with sagging shoulders, her head hanging, all powerless and dejected.

No, she's definitely not good today.

"Scully?" I say when I reach her, not daring to touch her out of fear to startle her.

She doesn't react.

"Hey, Scully, what's the matter? Why are you sitting out here in the rain?"

I hold the umbrella Stephanie gave me over the both of us, a large gray thang with the name of the clinic imprinted on it.

She still doesn't respond to my showing up at her side.

When I left her last night, after having had dinner together in the dining hall and watching a movie in her room, she was okay. I wonder what happened to cause a mood change that drastic.

I cautiously graze the back of her hand which rests on her thigh. It's freezing cold.

"Dana," I try her first name and it works. She jerks, not really a reaction I wanted to cause, but I'm relieved to get any reaction at all. "What's wrong?" I ask again.

It takes forever for her to talk, and then "It's gone," is all she says. I'm shocked by how faint and powerless her voice sounds.

"What is gone?"

"The little duckling," she sobs. "The one I was feeding when it had just hatched. It's gone. It didn't make it apparently."

"How do you know it didn't just leave the nest?"

"Because it's the only one missing, the others are still with their mother. It didn't make it. It was too little and too weak to make it. It never really had the ghost of a chance."

I know where this is going, why this little duckling's fate troubles her that much. I put my arm around her shoulder. She's soaking wet. If I don't get her back into the building soon and into some dry, warm clothes, she'll catch a nasty cold, that's for sure.

"Scully, you're a scientist. You're familiar with nature's law of the survival of the fittest. Maybe it wasn't as tough as you hoped it was."

"Maybe," she says and rests her head on my shoulder. Drops drip from her wet hair and soak the fabric of my sweater.

"Scully, this has absolutely nothing to do with your recovery. I know the little duckling held a special place in your heart but the fact that it didn't make it doesn't mean that you're also not going to make it."

"I know," she whispers, "but I'm sad it's gone."

I press a kiss on her scalp and have the feeling I'm kissing an ice block. "Scully, we have to get you out of this rain. Suffering from pneumonia will by no means be beneficial to your healing process."

She nods and willingly lets me lead her back to clinic complex and to her room. I'm waiting while she's under the shower, the idea that she's naked on the other side of the wall somewhat intriguing I have to admit. When she emerges from the bathroom, dressed but with damp hair, I'm leaving through one of the medical journals that are orderly stacked on the coffee table; one more indication that she still is who she is.

"Are you warm again?" I ask.

"Yes. I have to blow-dry my hair and then I would like to get a cup of hot tea. Would you mind taking me downstairs to the cafeteria and having one?"

"No, of course not," I answer, "my treat."

Fifteen minutes of thorough blow-drying, two cups of tea, and a chocolate muffin later, we sit opposite each other in a booth at the rear end of the little cafeteria. I'm surprised she ate half of that muffin I offered her rather in an act of courtesy than really believing she would take it; some conducts of hers are simply new to me. The place is full of patients and their visitors, all of them absorbed in their conversations and focussed on themselves. We're definitely not alone in here but then again nobody seems to take notice of us.

"Tell me about how we became involved, Fox," she breaks the silence without prelude.

I'm a bit startled and attribute it to the secluded, somewhat private setting that she's addressing such a personal, intimate detail of our relationship in public.

I clear my throat. "Well, it took us a while."

My wording has a fair chance to make it to the final round of the understatement of the year contest, but I'm a bit afraid of the topic so I decide to remain vague.

"It wasn't love at first sight between us?" she asks.

"No," I chuckle, "not really."

If you were to describe two polar opposites of falling in love, two detrimentally contrasting antagonisms, it would have to be the phenomena of love at first sight and our homeopathic doses of romance over the course of seven years.

"When did we start dating then?"

Remember, Mulder, no lies!

"Uh, we never really dated."

"What do you mean we never dated? Then how did we get involved? Or do you mean we didn't date officially? I bet there are rules and regulations regarding fraternization among fellow agents."

"There are, and at a certain point the fear that they might split us up was in our heads, but it was not the reason for us not dating."

"Then what was?"

If I only knew how to explain without opening a can of worms.

"I guess I never really felt adequate. I wanted you to have a normal life."

"A normal life?" She sneers. "And what kind of life did you foresee for me?"

"A devoted husband. A bunch of cute kids. A nice house with a picket fence and an oak tree in the front yard."

"Ouch, how cliché!" She grimaces as if she had a toothache.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. The mocking ring to her voice disturbs me.

I remember the night we cuddled in a motel bed in Oregon shortly before I was taken. She had crawled into my bed because she was cold and dizzy. I practically told her the same thing, that I wanted for her to get more out of life than following questionable leads to weird cases through the country. I told her that there had to be an end to the craziness that was her life, totally oblivious to the fact that the die had already been cast. She was pregnant, alas, we didn't know. Cells were dividing in her womb, having the potential to actually give her the greatest of joys but were actually about to precipitate her into the greatest misery; all because of me.

Was it so wrong of me to want to spare you, Scully? Look where holding on to me has gotten you! To a mental health institution, eventually robbed of literally everything, not only your career, your health, your beloved sister and son, but of your entire past!

I'm getting nauseous.

"Anyway," she adds in a more neutral tone, "why couldn't the two of us have a normal life together?"

"Because I'm a wacko," I croak, "isn't it obvious?"

The honest laugh that escapes her chest eases the tension in my system. I'm able to open my fists and relax my jaw. I didn't even realize I was clenching them both to an extent that was painful.

"You're not a wacko!"

"How do you know?" I ask, unable to share the good impression she has of me.

She takes my hands in hers. The warmth of her touch does some more to soothe me. She looks at me and her eyes couldn't be any clearer and forthcoming.

"I just know."

She sounds so convinced, so assured. I almost believe her.

"Anyhoo, we ended up as a couple." She gives my hands a little squeeze before she adds, "so at some point we must have crossed the line. Fox Mulder, have you seduced me with those beautiful hazel eyes of yours?"

If it weren't so damn unlikely, I'd say she's flirtatious with me. She's definitely gazing, casting her eyes up coquettishly. And her voice! Where does this enticing tone come from all of a sudden?

Despite my sitting position, the room starts spinning. I have to close my eyes briefly and shake my head to break the spell to be able to talk again. My palms are getting sweaty and I feel like I want to wipe them dry on my thighs but it'd mean I have to pull my hands out of her grip and I don't want to do that. I try for a wee joke instead to hide my excitement

"As much as I'd like to claim my irresistible charms and damn good looks to be the deciding factors for you not to pack your things and flee from my office after our first case..." I make a short pause to inhale deeply, "I'd rather say it was your integrity as an agent and your curiosity as a scientist that made you stay. All I had done was piquing your interest in the special cases of the unit I was working for at the time."

"My integrity as an agent," she repeats with a smile, "I like that. Back to the topic, though, how long did it take until you made a move on me?" she ask with a bit more urgency, but all I do is smile and purse my lips.

My worldlessness makes her stare at me. Her brows hit her hairline and her eyes are two huge questions marks. "What? What's wrong with my question?

"Nothing, actually, only that it wasn't me who set the ball rolling. It was you!"

"Huh?"

I grin at her now, laced with innuendo, and I'm amused by how her eyes widen even more in shock when I explain, "one night, in the seventh year of our partnership, I got laid."

"Are you saying I laid you?"

"That's what I'm saying."

"What? No!" she shrieks, her voice a bit too loud and a cadence too high. Some people pause their conversations and turn their heads in our direction.

She blushes. Oh, how sweet!

"Yes, Scully!" I whisper.

"I would never hit on you!"

"Can you be so sure? You don't remember anything of your past, so how do you know you never did what I just told you you did?"

"I simply know!" She leans backward and lets go of my hands to tug at her shirt and remove an invisible lint. "It's just not possible! I...I'm not that kind of person!"

I am a bit amused by the consternation resonating in her voice I must say. I can't keep myself from pushing a little further. "And what kind is that, Scully?"

"The man-eating vamp who drags her poor co-worker into bed in the desperate search of a sexual partner."

A hearty laughter erupts from my chest. I laugh so hard, I almost choke. If she knew how far from the truth she is. I'm swallowing down another chuckle, feeling bad for having fun at her expense.

"My dearest Scully," I lean forward and gaze at her, hoping my eyes are as clear and honest as hers were a few minutes ago, "you were nothing like that! You simply were gutsier than me. You knew my feelings for you were exactly the same as your feelings for me. You were fed up with suppressing your desires just like I was, only that I didn't dare to act on them. Believe me, you didn't need to drag me anywhere. One single word from you was enough for me to follow you willingly."

"What word?" she whispers.

"Tonight."

"That was all I said?"

"Actually, you said, 'I want you, Fox Mulder, tonight.'"

"That's six words," she states with the stubbornness of a little girl who doesn't want to admit she stole a cookie despite her chocolate-smeared mouth.

"Argh," I huff, "do you always have to be so meticulous? Tonight is the key word here, don't you see? I knew you wanted me..."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I knew! But hearing it come out of your mouth in such a commanding voice in combination with the word tonight simply short-circuited my system. I was turned on like hell."

She bites her lower lip until it's red and swollen, mumbling something to herself under her breath. I lean backward again to give her the privacy for an inner dialogue she apparently needs to have with herself. I get a word now and then, torn out of context. I hear 'inconceivable', 'tingling', and 'sensual'. Especially the last one lets my heart beat a little faster. She most certainly was sensual that night. Very sensual. Unbelievably, irresistibly sensual.

Eventually, she's done talking to herself and lifts her head abruptly, locking her eyes with mine. With an amount of self-assuredness in her voice that surprises me a bit, she establishes, "so, I beguiled you into our first night together."

I only hum affirmatively and nod.

"And after that first night, did I always have to persuade you to make love to me?"

Interesting, I think there's a bit of apprehension threaded in her voice. Does she really believe I needed to be told to make love to her?

I wished I could show her how much I desire her up to this very day, but we're on a strictly platonic level. We're married but the consummation of our marriage is ineligible for the time being. A single passionate kiss already made her uncomfortable, what would making a pass at her do?

"You're a beautiful, alluring woman, Scully, and I'd been attracted to you from early on. You were my best friend. I'd called you my touchstone once. I would've gone to the end of the world for you."

She stares at me during my confession, her eyes slowly but continually filling with tears until they spill over. When the first drop rolls down her cheek, my thumb is already there to wipe it away.

"Are you evading my question?"

I shake my head.

"The answer is no, Scully! No, you never had to persuade me to make love to you. Having finally been allowed to show you my utter devotion had freed me from my inhibitions, and I tried to do it with you whenever and wherever possible. You were the one to set up rules of abstinence and no-go areas."

"Like what?"

"Not while we were in the office, not even a stolen kiss in our basement lair anyone hardly ever came down to was allowed. Separate rooms while out in the field. No public display of affection within a mile from the Hoover Building. No overnight stays at the other's apartment on workdays. No commuting to work together."

"Oh my, that's a long list. Was I really so compliant with FBI rules?"

"You were a dedicated agent with a high standard of work ethic. All you tried to do was separate our private from our professional lives. And it was a good idea, even tough a challenging undertaking at times. Especially when we were staying at a motel, the connecting door between our rooms unlocked, I was tempted more than once to sneak into your room and slip under the covers with you. You always threw me out."

"And I take it you always showed me exactly the face I'm seeing right now."

"You bet!" I affirm, putting on the best pout and hangdog look I can manage.

"I took all the fun out of our relationship, didn't I?"

"Oh, we had a lot of fun! I even made you break your own rules a few times. Our boss once almost caught us in the act while I was...uh, while I was reading from your lips...not the ones in your face," I tell her with a leer.

She gasps and her eyeballs almost drop out of their sockets. Her face reminds me a little of the one she put on when Skinner had appeared in the doorframe to our office out of nowhere while I was pleasuring her.

"You pushed me under the desk just in time," I conclude with a chuckle. "I hit my head so hard I had to bite into the inside of your thigh to keep the cries of pain inside my mouth."

For me, it's a very fond memory, one which actually makes itself felt in my pants. For her, obviously, it's not. Her cheeks are flaring up in crimson red and she tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous displacement activity. I notice she subconsciously presses her thighs together under the table.

"God, this is so embarrassing!" she groans, casting her eyes down.

Shit, I took it too far! Again!

I'm sorry, Scully!

"Scully, please, there's no reason for you to be embarrassed. I'm the one who's ashamed, namely of myself. It's me who overstepped the mark, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm so sorry I put that image of us in your head." I rake my hair with both hands to keep them busy, otherwise, I might slap myself. "I...I don't know what to say."

I got carried away. Why do I get carried away all the time? I forgot for a fleeting moment that despite having gotten closer in the past few weeks, I'm still more or less a stranger to her, at least when it comes to the physical nature of our relationship. How could I have been so rude and throw that intimate, juicy little tale into her face? If things were slightly different, she had every reason to report the incident to the authorities as sexual harassment.

Her eyes zig-zag across my face. What does she see in me, I wonder. Is it the broken man who feels incomplete without his perfect other or the tactless bully who's constantly disobeying the limits.

Please don't doom me, Scully!

I don't know whether the subtle study of my face has led her to any conclusions, I only fear that if it did, those conclusions might bring her to withdrawing from me. For good, in the worst case.

"You know what really makes me sad, Fox?"

'My impertinent, inexcusable behavior?' I want to supply, but only shrug. I'm such a coward.

"That one moment I feel so comfortable around you. I feel like I'm getting somewhere, like I'm beginning to understand what our relationship was like. And then, without warning, I'm punched in the stomach and I'm reminded that I know nothing about us."

I close my eyes, and a deep sigh escapes my throat. I punched her in the stomach.

"It's not your fault," she hurries to assure me as if she was able to read my angry thoughts, "and I don't blame you for getting carried away sometimes. I should be the one apologizing to you."

"Are you crazy?"

Is she crazy?

"What on earth should you be apologizing to me for?"

"You're so understanding, so patient, but...you're still a man. A man obviously very much in love with me, a man with...needs. And I'm keeping you at a distance."

"I'm fine, Scully."

That's her line, actually.

"No, you're not. You should see your face, Fox. It's written all over it how miserable you are."

"I'm miserable because of what happened to you, I'm miserable because I see how much you struggle with your situation, and I'm miserable because I can't keep my testosterone level in check, but nothing, Scully, absolutely nothing you do or say makes me miserable."

She looks at me with eyes so full of doubt and uncertainty that I can't help but getting up from my chair and placing myself next to her. I'm not a bit convinced that what I do next is the right thing to do, but I fold my arm around her shoulder and pull her close to me regardless. She feels so small and fragile, I fear that if I squeeze too hard she might crumble to pieces. I pray that I'm not overdoing it again when I gently rock her. I'm filled with relief when she relaxes against my side, her head on my shoulder and her hand on my thigh.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Scully. We're...gonna be fine," I whisper into her hair.

The memory of a very similar situation washes over me like a tidal wave. I held her in a hospital hallway many years ago, after she'd been diagnosed with incurable cancer. Although the situation seemed hopeless, I believed she'd beat the terrible disease. And she did. And she will beat the amnesia as well. This thing is not life-threatening. I'm off so much better today than I was then. I don't have to fear to lose her, the odds for her recovery are so much better. So what am I even complaining about?

Get your act together, Mulder! Support her to the best of your ability! She relies on you, don't disappoint her!

Today I dare say something I would've wanted to say back then as well but didn't have the courage to say out loud at the time. I was only thinking it, hoping she'd read my mind. Hoping she knew.

"I love you, Scully." I place a kiss on the top of her head and hear her stifle a silent sob. "We're gonna get through this together."

"I hope you end up being right, Fox," she breathes against my chest.

"I will."

to be continued

#xf fanfic #msr #Mulder & Scully #Skinner

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dailyshare · 3 years

Text

DOCUMENTATION ON SOCIAL POLICIES AND SERVICES TO THE PERSON AND THE COMMUNITY

https://the-basic-dream.blogspot.com/2020/12/documentation-on-social-policies-and.html

LIFE CYCLE

Seneca: shortness of life

I. Most mortals, Pauline, complain about the wickedness of nature, because we are brought into the world for a small period of time, because these periods of time granted to us go by so fast, so fast that, except for a very few, life abandons others in the very beginning of life. Nor of this calamity, common to all, as they believe, only the crowd and the insane populace complained; this state of mind aroused complaints also of celebrities. Hence the famous exclamation of the most illustrious of doctors, that life is short, art long; hence the dispute, not very decent for a sage, of the demanding Aristotle with the nature of things, because it is been so kind to animals, that they can live five or ten generations, and instead has granted a much shorter time to man, born to so many and so great things. We do not have a short time, but we have lost a lot of it. Life is long enough and has been given to us with breadth for making the most large companies, if all were used with diligence; but when it passes in waste and indifference, when it is not spent for anything good, driven in the end by extreme necessity, we realize that it is passed and we did not notice its passing. That's it: we don't get a short life, but we give it back, and we are not poor in it, but prodigal. As sumptuous and regal riches, when they have reached a villain master, are dissipated in a moment, but, although modest, if they are entrusted to a good keeper, they increase with the investment, so our life extends a lot for those who know how to manage it well.

II. Why we complain of the nature of things? It has behaved in a benevolent way: life is long, if you know how to use it. There are those who are caught from insatiable greed, who from the empty occupations of a frenetic activity; one is drenched in wine, another languishes in inertia; one is stressed by an ambition always dependent on the judgments of others, another is tossed about by all lands from a reckless greed for trade, for all seas from the mirage of profit; some torture the craving of war, eager to create dangers for others or worried about their own; there are others who wear down ungrateful servility of the powerful in voluntary slavery; many are prisoners of the lust for beauty or the care of their own; most, who have no stable references, are pushed to change their opinion by a fickle and unstable lightness and discontented with himself; some do not like anything to steer their course, but they are surprised by fate numb and neglectful, so that I have no doubt that what is said, in the form of an oracle, in the greatest of poets:

“Small is the portion of life we live”. In fact, all the remaining space is not life, but time. The vices are pressing and besiege on all sides and do not allow to rise or raise one's eyes to discern the truth, but crush them immersed and nailed to pleasure. They are never allowed to take refuge in themselves; if sometimes a moment of respite, as on the high seas, where even after the wind there is disturbance, they sway and never find peace at their passions. Do you think that I speak of these, whose evils are evident? Look at those, whose good fortune is run:

they are suffocated by their possessions. How many riches are a burden! To those who spit blood eloquence and the daily display of one's wits! How many are pale from constant pleasures! How many does not leave a breathe the haunting crowd of customers! So, review all of them, from the humblest to the most powerful:

this one is looking for a lawyer, this one is present, that one tries to produce evidence, that one defends, that is judge, no one claims his freedom for himself, one is consumed for one another. Infòrmarsi of these, whose names yes they learn, you will see that they recognize themselves by these signs: this is a lover of that one, that of that other; nobody it belongs to itself. In short, the indignation of some is extremely unreasonable: they complain about the haughtiness of the Gods powerful, because they do not have time to meet their wishes. Dare to complain about the pride of others who does not do you have time for yourself? That at least, whoever you are, albeit with an arrogant face but sometimes he looked at you, has lowered his ears to your words, he welcomed you by his side: you never deigned to look inside yourself, to listen to you. There is therefore no reason to blame anyone for these services, since you did them not because you desired being with others, but because you couldn't be with yourself.III. Although they agree on this point only, more illustrious wits than ever shone, never enough wonder at this tarnishing of human minds:

they do not tolerate that their fields are occupied by anyone and, if even the slightest dispute arises about the modality of the boundaries, they rush to stones and weapons: they allow others to invade their own life, indeed they themselves do so enter his future masters; there is no one who is willing to divide his money: to how many each distributes his life! They are stingy in keeping possessions; as soon as it comes to waste of time, it becomes a lot prodigal in that one thing in which avarice is a virtue. And so like to quote one from the crowd of elders: “Let's see that you have reached the end of human life, you have a hundred or more years on you: come on, take stock of your life. Calculate how much creditors have been stolen since this time, how much women, how much patrons, how much customers, how much quarrels with your wife, as the punishments of the servants, as the duty visits through the city; add the diseases, that there we are procured with our hands, add the time that lay unused: you will see that you are less than you are accounts. Go back to when you were still in a purpose, how many days have happened as well as there you planned, when you had the availability of yourself, when your face has not changed expression, when your soul has been courageous, what positive things have you achieved in such a long period, how many have plundered your life while you did not realize what you were losing, how much it took away a vain sorrow, a stupid joy, a greedy greed, a pleasant discussion, how little you have left of yours: you will understand that you die ahead of time ". So what's the reason? Live as if you were to live forever, it never occurs to you of yours transience, do not mind how much time has already passed; you lose it as from a rich and abundant income when perhaps that very day, which is given to a certain person or activity, is the last. Are you afraid of everything like mortals, you desire everything as immortal. You will hear most say: “From the age of fifty I will rest, a sixty years I will retire to private life ". And what guarantee do you have for such a long life? Who will allow these things go as you planned? You are not ashamed to reserve for yourself the leftovers of life and to set aside for the healthy reflection only time that cannot be used in anything else? How late is it then to begin live, when it must end! What a foolish lack of human nature to defer good intentions to fifty-sixty years and therefore wanting to start life where few have gone! IV. You'll see more men slip out of their mouths powerful and higher-ranking words with which they aspire to free time, praise it and place it before all their possessions.

Sometimes they wish to get off that pedestal of theirs, if it could be done safely; indeed, even if nothing presses and disturbs from the outside, luck collapses on itself. Divus Augustus, to whom the Gods they conceded more than anyone else, he never ceased to wish himself rest and to ask to be relieved of commitments public; his every speech always fell on this, the hope of free time: he relieved his fatigue with this comfort, however illusory yet pleasant, that one day he would experience for himself. In a letter sent to the senate, after having promised that his rest would be not without decorum or in contrast with the his past glory, I found these words: “But these things would be more beautiful to be able to put them into practice than promise her. However, the desire for that much desired time has led me, since so far the joy of reality is made wait, to taste some pleasure from the sweetness of the words. " Time seemed so great to him free, who, since he could not enjoy it, was looking forward to it with his imagination. He who saw everything depend on he alone, who established the destiny for men and peoples, was thinking of that very happy day when he would abandon your own greatness. He knew from experience how much sweat those glowing goods cost all over the earth, how many hidden labors they hide. Forced to fight with weapons first with fellow citizens, then with colleagues, finally with his relatives, he shed blood on land and sea: after having gone to war through Macedonia, the Sicily, Egypt, Syria and Asia and almost all the coasts, turned armies weary of the Roman massacre against foreigners.

While pacifying the Alps and taming the enemies mixed in the midst of peace and empire, while moving the borders beyond the Reno, the Euphrates and the Danube, in Rome the daggers of Murena, Cepione, Lepidus, Egnazio and others. He had not yet escaped the snares of these and his daughter and many young nobles bound by the bond adultery as from an oath terrified the weary age and even more and more a woman was to be feared with an Antonio. He had cut off these wounds with the same limbs: others were being reborn; like a full body too much blood, it always cracked somewhere. And so he yearned for free time, in whose hope and in which thought his worries subsided: this was the vow of him who could make the others satisfied with their vows.

#lifelessons #still life #literature #novel

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