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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Corruption

“Corruption” conjures images of bags of cash changing hands in deserted parking garages, but I’d like to propose a simple and concrete definition that goes beyond that: “Corruption” is when something bad happens because its harms are diffused and its gains are concentrated.

Here’s what I mean. West Virginia is known as coal country, but coal is actually a small, dwindling industry in WV; WV’s biggest industry is chemical processing, dominated by Dow — chem processing, like many industries, is heavily concentrated into a few global monopolies.

WV has a water crisis, with frequent “boil water” advisories. Its origins are in the chemical industry — specifically, in a regulatory proceeding where state regulators sought comment on whether to relax the EPA’s national guidelines on chemical runoff into drinking water.

Dow, acting through the manufacturers’ association it controls, argued the people of WV could absorb more poison than the national average because they were much fatter than the median American, and when they drank, it was mostly beer, not water.

https://washingtonmonthly.com/2019/03/14/the-real-elitists-looking-down-on-trump-voters/

No, really.

Here’s the thing. I’m not qualified to set the safe levels of different kinds of runoff in water-tables. It’s probably not zero (at least, not for most chemicals), but it’s also not “anything goes.”

It’s a question that requires subtle, interdisciplinary expertise: chemistry, health, environmental science. It’s an area where people of good faith can disagree.

These thorny, high-stakes technical questions that cross disciplines are the norm, not the exception.

Even if you have the technical knowhow to evaluate whether wearing masks fights covid, that doesn’t answer questions about vaccine safety, or whether zoom-school will turn your kid into an ignoramus.

Answer those questions and you’re left with still more: should you get in one of Southwest’s recertified Boeing 737-Max airplanes? Is the code specifying the reinforced steel joist that holds up your roof adequate, or is your building gonna collapse?

Should you eat carbs? Will your 401k preserve you through a dignified retirement? Answering all of these questions definitively for yourself requires earning 50+ PhDs, but also, people who have those PhDs don’t all agree with one another.

In a technologically complex world, there will always be official advice whose technical arguments we can’t understand. Our only reassurance is the process by which that advice is arrived at.

We may not understand the arguments, but we can recognize an open, independent process refereed by neutral regulators who show their work and recuse themselves if they have a conflict of interest.

We don’t always understand what goes on inside the box, but we can tell whether the box itself is sound. We can tell judges are financially interested in outcomes, whether they publish their deliberations, whether they revisit their conclusions in light of new evidence.

That’s all we’ve got, and it depends on a balance of powers that arises from a pluralistic, diffused set of industrial interests.

When an industry says with one voice that West Virginians are so fat that we can poison them without injury, it carries a lot of weight.

(so to speak)

It’s a stupid argument. It’s a wicked argument. It’s a lethal argument. It’s the kind of argument that might get you laughed out of the room if it is filled with hundreds of squabbling chemical companies looking to dunk on one another.

That’s the thing about conspiracies (and Dow was, in fact, engaged in a conspiracy to poison West Virginians to enrich its shareholders) — they require a lot of discipline, with all the conspirators remaining loyal to the conspiracy and no one breaking ranks.

The bigger a group is, the more it struggles to keep a united front. That’s why there’s so much billionaire class solidarity. Sure, it’s hard to maintain unity among a clutch of grandiose maniacs, but it’s much harder to maintain unity among billions of their victims.

Monopolization is corruption’s handmaiden — not just because it lets Dow hire fancy lawyers and “experts” to dress up “fat people are immune to poison” as sound policy, but because the industry can sing that awfful song with one voice.

Dow spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to win a policy that will save it millions — and cost the people of WV hundreds of millions or even billions in health costs, lost productivity, and, of course, the intergenerational trauma of ruined and lost human lives.

The reason millions in gains can trump billions in losses is that that the millions are reaped by just a few firms, who can wield them with precision to secure the continued right to impose costs on the rest of us, while the losses are spread out across the whole state.

For Dow to corrupt West Virginia’s legislature, it need only tithe a small percentage of its winnings to political causes and dark money orgs.

For West Virginians to fight corruption in the cash-money world of political influence campaigns, they have to overcome their collective action problem and outspend Dow — all while bearing the human and monetary costs of Dow’s corruption.

America is a land of manifest, obvious dysfunctions, and close examination reveals their common root in corruption.

Take the health-care system: Americans pay more for worse outcomes than anyone else in the rich world.

Their healthcare is rationed by faceless, cruel bureaucracies. They ration their medicine or skip necessary procedures. Patients hate this — but so do doctors and nurses, who have to hire armies of bureaucrats to fight with insurers.

Everyone hates this system. Everyone knows it’s rotten. Everyone — except for a handful of pharma, hospital and insurance monopolists, and the propagandists they pay to busily race through the crowd, busily swapping hats and shouting, “SOCIALISM! BOO! SOCIALISM!”

But while the US healthcare system is terrible at providing healthcare, it’s very good at jackpotting for monopolists. They reap billions while costing the public trillions, and they hand around millions to keep that situation intact.

We can see that in action right now. Nina Turner is running to take over a Congressional seat in northeastern Ohio vacated by Marcia Fudge when she joined Biden’s cabinet.

https://www.dailyposter.com/dems-launch-proxy-war-on-medicare-for-all/

For 30 years, every Congressional rep for Ohio’s 11th supported Medicare for All — a commensense measure to end the long waits, price gouging and cruel bureaucratic rationing of for-profit care. Unsurprisingly, Turner also supports M4A.

https://twitter.com/ninaturner/status/1404793650895331337?s=20

In response, a group of corporate, establishment Congressional Dems have launched an all-out attack on Turner’s candidacy, joining forces with health-care lobbyists to raise vast corporate fortunes to support her primary challenger, Shontel Brown.

The seven Dem lawmakers attacking Turner have collectively taken in $5m from pharma and health-care monopolists. James E Clyburn alone has pocketed $1m from pharma. He’s leading the charge against Turner.

https://twitter.com/TaylorPopielarz/status/1405121330433957888

Before Clyburn accepted $1m worth of pharma money, he co-sponsored Medicare For All legislation. Now he’s its most bitter opponent, insisting that it’s political poison (a majority of his constituents support M4A).

https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2020-election/live-blog/south-carolina-primary-live-updates-democrats-vote-2020-candidates-n1145296/ncrd1146076

One million people in Ohio lost their jobs — and health care — during the pandemic. The system is murdering and maiming people. It’s a wasteful boondoggle that’s bad for everyone except a tiny minority of shareholders and the corrupt officials who accept their blood-money.

It’s not just healthcare. Think of Exxon Mobil’s crime against humanity and Earth: the 40-year coverup and disinformation campaign to delay action on the climate emergency. Exxon spent millions, made tens of billions, and cost us all trillions.

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2021/jun/30/climate-crisis-crime-fossil-fuels-environment

The megadroughts, once-in-millennium heatwaves, raging wildfires, annual floods-of-the-century and zoonitic plagues Exxon bought with their millions were objectively a very bad deal — but their concentrated gains beat our much larger diffused losses (so far). #ExxonKnew.

But corruption creates policy debt, and the interest on that debt compounds — in a degraded environment, worsening health, precarious work, and a collapse in trust in institutions. The corrupt have a structural advantage, but it’s not a sure thing.

Take Ohio (again). The GOP-dominated Senate passed legislation to ban Ohio cities from offering municipal broadband. Now, municipal broadband is the best internet in America: cheaper, faster and more reliable than anything the telecoms monopolists offer.

There are ~900 (mostly Republican) towns and counties where people get their internet from their local government:

https://muninetworks.org/communitymap

And they fucking love it, just as much as their Comcast-burdened peers elsewhere hate their service:

https://web.archive.org/web/20180808223947/https://www.consumerreports.org/phone-tv-internet-bundles/people-still-dont-like-their-cable-companies-telecom-survey/

Muni networks are better at everything to do with the internet: connection speeds, price, and customer service. There’s only one area in which they underperform relative to telecoms monopolies: generating profits for shareholders by overcharging and underinvesting.

There’s only a tiny minority of people who’d trade good internet service for profitable internet service (namely, the people receiving the profits). But the pro-monopolists have concentrated gains, while the public experiences diffused losses.

That’s why the Ohio Senate passed its budget bill banning municipal networks. But when the budget was reconciled in the Ohio House, the measure was killed, thanks to an all-out uprising led by the people of Fairlawn, who stepped up to defend Fairlawngig, their muni ISP.

The victory for muni broadband is a triumph of evidence over corruption — proof that the diffused nature of corruption losses can be overcome. It’s cause for hope, especially in light of this week’s collapse of the antitrust case against Facebook.

https://www.wired.com/story/ftc-antitrust-case-against-facebook-very-much-alive/

Facebook escaped justice by citing the theories of Robert Bork, Nixon’s chief criminal co-conspirator and Ronald Reagan’s court sorcerer. Bork insisted that anittrust law had but one purpose: to keep prices down.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/28/dubious-quant-residue/#incinerators-r-us

Any other consideration, especially political corruption arising from market concentration, was out of scope.

The court agreed. No surprise; 40% of the US Federal judiciary has attended a lavish “Manne Seminar,” junkets where they are indoctrinated into Borkism.

But the absurdity of ruling that Facebook isn’t a fit subject for anti-monopoly law is the beginning of the end for Borkism, prompting bipartisan calls — led by Elizabeth Warren — to explicitly redesign American antitrust.

https://www.msn.com/en-us/money/other/facebooks-surprise-antitrust-victory-could-inspire-congress-to-overhaul-the-rules-entirely/ar-AALCJz8

Corruption has many costs: monetary, human, environmental. But every bit as important is the cost to institutional credibility. Remember, none of us are capable of understanding the technical nuances of the dozens of life-or-death decisions we face daily.

If we can’t trust our institutions — if we don’t believe that regulators are neutral, good-faith experts in ardent pursuit of the truth and the public good — then our very idea of shared reality collapses, as Snowden has written:

https://edwardsnowden.substack.com/p/conspiracy-pt1

It’s hard to overstate the sheer, reeling epistemological terror of institutional collapse. When the EPA allows the chemical industry to poison America, how can you know whether the products in the store can be trusted not to kill your family?

https://theintercept.com/2021/06/30/epa-pesticides-exposure-opp/

Remember, the Flint water crisis came about as the result of corruption: the promises of “experts” that taking shortcuts to save money would come out all right, despite the copious evidence to the contrary.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flint_Water_Crisis

What parent of a permanently damaged child, poisoned by lead deliberately introduced to save pittances for a tiny group of people, could ever trust any “expert” process again?

Michigan Republicans saved millions at the expense of billions, but the gains were concentrated among the wealthy white taxpayers of the state who enjoyed cuts to the top marginal rate, and the costs were born by the Black families of Flint. That’s corruption.

#pluralistic

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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Where There Be Dragons (Bit 4)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4

Another bit of this slowly building AU :D Thanks to @janetm74 @tsarinatorment and @scribbles97 for their amazing support with whatever this is ::hugs you all madly::

I’ve had an amazing response to this attempt at Steampunk. Thank you so much for all your encouragement. I don’t know where it is going and at the moment, it seems to just be scenes between family members, but there is a voyage ahead with adventure to be had.

I hope you enjoy what I come up with :D

-o-o-o-

Sally Tracy loved her grandsons, but honestly a good percentage of the time they were idiots.

She pulled out her pocket watch. Under the waves there was very little indication of time, and most certainly within this metal behemoth a lack of good healthy sunshine, so perhaps their excuses for working until time on end were at least partly valid. But honestly, all five men were workaholics and to their detriment.

Five.

She sucked in a breath, but kept walking down the hall towards the hangar.

Young Alan smiled at her in her mind’s eye and yet again she found herself blinking rapidly.

She shoved the watch back into her skirts and pulled out a handkerchief. She knew how to handle herself. This was far from her first experience with abrupt grief.

That thought brought her beloved Grant to mind, followed by her lovely Lucy dressed in her favourite skirts and that beautiful parasol Jefferson had gifted her.

She stopped in the hallway, grabbed at the metal wall and fought to control herself. Alan had not been declared deceased as yet. There was still a chance and it would be poor form for her to show grief for a grandson not dead.

Miracles happened.

They had happened before.

She shook herself. If Gordon could do it, so could his little brother. The Tracy sons were strong and resilient. They had proved it time and time again.

While she was only a Tracy by marriage, she should not be expected to be any less.

Wiping her eyes, she fanned a little coolness to breeze away any flush to her face. She needed to be strong for her boys.

Especially the idiot ones working themselves to death.

Spinning the wheel that sealed the door between the hangar and the rest of the ship, she lifted her skirts and entered to the expected sound of hammering.

She raised her voice. “Virgil Tracy, I called you for dinner half an hour ago.”

Something heavy clattered to the metal floor as the hammering came to a sudden stop. There was a scuffle, a clanking of metal tools and a pair of legs appeared under the bulk of Thunderbird Four followed by the rest of her grimy grandson.

She shook her head in exasperation. “Just look at you. You are filthy.”

He wilted in guilt, shoving off his goggles. “I’m sorry, Grandma.”

Sally sighed. Virgil was kindness itself. Gentle, artistic and sensitive, but he was also the grottiest of them all. Gordon was excessively untidy, but Virgil could manifest grease and grime out of thin air.

She might have blamed it on his mechromancy, but it didn’t need sparks to occur.

“Up you get. You need to clean up and eat something, young man.” She held out a hand, but then reconsidered it due to the condition of his. Thunderbird Four was definitely cleaner than he.

But then something amongst the grease caught her eye. “What is that?” As Virgil stood up, she grabbed his right hand where a smudge of blood betrayed a gouge at the base of his thumb.

“Oh, I slipped.”

“Obviously.” She glared at him. “And you’ve left it to collect all the germs it can find. I thought I taught you better than that. Did you want an infection?”

“No, Grandma.”

“You are coming with me to the infirmary and we are going to clean this. Then you are going to wash up and present yourself at the dinner table like the polite young man I know you are.”

“Yes, Grandma.” He hung his head.

It only caused her to frown more. She reached over and touched a finger to his chin, gently nudging him to look her. “Honey, you have to look after yourself.”

A sigh. “I know, Grandma. It’s just…I need to know the ‘birds are at their best…”

“You need to do something.” It was obvious.

He let out a breath. “Yes.” His dark eyes sparkled in the overhead lighting.

They were all as bad as each other. Ten days, Scott said. They were going to be confined with very little to do for most of that time. They hadn’t even left yet and already they were showing signs of strain.

“John will get us there. As soon as it is dark enough, we will leave New York, head south and find your brother.” She touched a hand to his chest. “And then we will face this together.”

He didn’t comment on that, but his eyes lowered and his other hand, just as dirty as the one she was holding, pressed her fingers tight to the cotton of his shirt.

Leaving black smudges.

She let out a breath. “C’mon, dear, let’s get you cleaned up.” She led him back to the door she had so recently come through, and still holding his injured hand in hers, freed her other hand to unlock the mechanism again. With a yank, she pulled it open.

Only to discover a naked metal woman in the hallway.

“Eos!” Because it could be no other.

Beside her, Virgil startled and hid his face with a groan.

The automaton straightened in alarm. “Mrs Tracy!”

“What exactly do you think you are doing parading around the ship naked?!”

“Umm…”

“Have you no shame? There are five…four impressionable young men aboard.”

“Impressionable?”

Virgil groaned again, still holding a grotty hand to his face. “Eos, why?”

“John said I should speak to you about fabric.”

She glanced at her grandson. It would be a considerable challenge to assist Eos with any request if Virgil was unable to look at her. “Eos, go to my rooms and we will find some suitable attire for you. Please wait there while I attend to Virgil.”

Artificial eyes blinked at her. “Yes, Mrs Tracy.” And the little wench tottered off.

Virgil was still clutching his face.

“She’s gone, dear.” Sally couldn’t help but smile as his blush became very apparent under the grime. A tilt of her head. “You know you are going to find it very hard to be a medic if you can’t look at the female half of the species.”

“Grandma!”

A chuckle. “You are adorable when you’re embarrassed, honey.” She still had his injured hand captive. “Now let’s see to this.” And she gave him a gentle tug through the door.

He peered timidly up and down the hall, wary that the naked metal woman would appear again.

Oh, yes, she loved her grandsons, but yes, some of the time they were idiots.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Sally Tracy #Grandma Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Where there be dragons AU #an attempt at Steampunk

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kkulmoon · 4 years

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ROOM 2020 | knj ✦ m

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : It's finally graduation! You have just earned your master’s degree, but it's 2020 and onsite graduation and celebration isn't an option. However, Namjoon still wants to make sure you celebrate and scream at the top of your lungs. And what better way to celebrate plenty than in room 2020?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Namjoon x Reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut, fluff

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 18+

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : brief mention of airborne disease similar our current situation, alcohol, biting, unprotected sex (you better wrap it up!) , blindfolding, breast play, pussy slapping, a lil spanking, groping, cunnilingus, fingering, mushy and sappy fluffy behaviour is present (I just couldn't contain myself OKAY), slight edging. I think that’s it, pls let me know if i forgot to add anything :))

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐲 : three lovely people, Angie @scvkjin, Coralie @seakay05 (an editing queen!!!) and Bee @inkedxclouds (another editing queen!!!!!)

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 : the talented Danica @dee-ehn

𝐚/𝐧: i want to preface this by saying this is the FIRST smut I have ever written, so lowkey don’t know how to feel about what I just wrote. Anyways,,,, I want to give a big thanks to the person who went completely feral with me once I saw Joon during the 2020 graduation commencement, she and Joon are the reason I felt the need to write this, Danica love u babes 🤧💞. I also want to thank Bee, @j-sope @bangtiddies and @jeonggukingdom, for being such amazing pillars of support, love u 💞. Other than that, enjoy I guess 💆‍♀️🤪

Namjoon has done it again. You are going into full overdrive, ears operating at their full capacity, in hopes of figuring out where exactly he's taking you. “Don’t wear any eye makeup.” That’s what he had requested through text the night before. A request that hasn’t manifested much in you, except for the sudden realisation that Namjoon usually does not care about your makeup habits. That should have been warning enough. But that was then and you’re here now.

The roughness of Namjoon’s tie massages your eyelids as your body registers the gravitational drag before the ding sounds. If the swooshing doors and the slick card in your hand aren’t evidence enough, the sound lets you know that you’re indeed currently at a hotel. You jump slightly at the touch of his hands at the back of your head where the knot lies.

“Just checking; wouldn’t want you to peep.” The voice is sweet and the thrill it arises in you even sweeter.

It’s summer time, graduation day and it would have been like any other day of celebration had it not been for the current state of the world. Everyone is faced with an airborne disease that threatens the livelihood of society and stifles everyone's plans for fun days lit by the never-ending golden rays. That’s your current reality and yet in the midst of all the uncertainty there are two sure facts: today, a Friday, you have just graduated and today, over 730 days since you let longing gazes turn infatuation into a relationship, Kim Namjoon loves you enough to have sat beside you to attend your streamed graduation ceremony.

You’re left to walk alone, Namjoon trusting you enough to do so. You have just earned your masters in engineering and with honours at that, walking straight should not be a problem. It wouldn’t be one did you not have his looming breath caress your bare shoulders every time he shifts closer to you as if he is some bloodhound able to smell your state. The clacking of your sandals and the soft thud of Namjoon’s steps fills the air to let you know that he is walking a few steps behind you.

The day had started with a heretic phone call from your mother screaming at you for oversleeping on your graduation day. The wifi had been funky and you had spent a whole thirty minutes trying to build a stand with a proper height where you could prop your laptop. In the middle of all the chaos you had managed to spill water on your dress that Namjoon had to blow dry. You were left with a scorching thigh and to say the least, you felt crispy. The morning was chaotic but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Well, except for the stand. It’s wobbling had given you too much anxiety. The prospect of your laptop plummeting to the floor in the middle of the stream to reveal the mess in your room made it very hard to focus on the ceremony.

The only upside to the stream had been the fact it was much shorter than an usual graduation celebration. Before you knew it, you were required to give your speech as the class’s valedictorian. As creative as you consider yourself to be, you decided to not deviate from the usual template, starting with a sweet thank you, mentioning your countless hardships through ‘the most formative years of your life’, thanking your favourite professors and even managing to slip in a suggestive comment aimed at that man that has your heart, just to make him happy.

“I would also like to thank Namjoon for all of his nightly motivation. I truly could not have come all this way without him,” you had said with a wide smile, squeezing his palm into your hand, not because you wanted to be affectionate but because it was heading south of your thighs into the moist valley between your legs.

Namjoon’s hand lands on your shoulder bringing you back to the present and you feel heat in its placement, what you don’t know is whether it is his hand or your body. You can’t help but quiver at his unseen touch of your arm, fingers tracing their way to your loose fist where they snatch the damp keycard away.

The soft click of the electronic lock unlocks something in you. What in the heck did Namjoon have planned for you? Was this one of his few adventurous moments? You were the one who always suggested places to go and planned your activities not because he wouldn’t but because he couldn’t. Anytime he tried planning anything, something was missing. At first it was the picnic where he forgot the cutlery then it was the camping trip where he forgot to bring bug spray. So as excited as your body feels, your mind can’t help but be cautious.

You are kept waiting for something, anything. A soft push or maybe a calm order, but Namjoon gives you neither and yet you feel secure in continuing your walk. You are allowed a few steps forward before Namjoon makes you stop, once again. The door is shut with the same suspenseful click and all you can think is: Show time!

The room is quiet except for the soft whooshing of the ventilation. Only then do you take notice of the increased tempo of your breaths. You breathe in deeply, teeth munching on your bottom lip. The effects of your quiet calming ritual crumbles as soon as Namjoon closes the gap between the two of you, lips on your shoulders, hands holding on to yours as he engulfs you into a back hug.

“Oooh,” you shiver, coiling into his chest.

At first, there’s one kiss in the middle of your shoulder, followed by another at the crevice of your neck. Your stuttering breaths, encouraging him to give you a warm wet lick up your neck to your decorated earlobe. One that he bites as he grinds his hips into your clothed ass. “How are you feeling?” Namjoon asks fingers caressing your interlocked digits. All you can do is stretch your head back to come into contact with his shoulder and grind back onto his crotch in response. You feel great, better than great in fact, yet you know he is the only one able to make you feel you even better.

“Come on babe, you are a big girl and you just graduated. Use your words with me.” He says, composed as always as his kisses travel up the side of your face to stop at your temple where you sense the slow but evident stretch of his lips. “You know how I’m feeling,” you whine.

It’s the chuckle, it’s the small consecutive rumbles of his chest and it's your undeniable devotion to him that makes you squirm in place, head shifting side to side on his shoulders, waiting for him to continue. His hands spread across the expanse of your stomach as he kneads at the flesh making you inhale in hope that he would reach lower. And lower he goes, palms spreading to touch your heat.

“Yes, right there!” You hum in accordance with his action.

“Here?” he inquires. You nod, head still back as you curve it to the side once Namjoon’s soft warning bite scrapes at the skin of your ear. “What did I say? Words, babe, words.”

You reach your hand to place it on top of his, keeping it rooted in place, as you buck into the sweet roughness of the pad of his fingers. “Yes, Joon, right there.” You try to sound collected yet it all comes out in a pitched mewl. You bite down on your lips, the rhythmic stimulation of his hands inducing a steady rocking of your hips, small gasps rooting themselves at the top of your throat, mouth running dry from Namjoon’s sporadic choice to delve deeper between your thighs.

”Hmmm, Joon. Please stop teasing,” you whine, inching your mouth with your tongue out towards him. Anything would do, you would take anything he wanted to give. His pulsating neck, his parted lips, his cool fingers, or his throbbing dick.

”I am just giving you some motivation,” he smirks alluding to your graduation speech. Your cringing expression humours him and you gasp, body growing tenser by the minute. You now know that it was all planned. He had been touchy all day, slipping a couple of stolen kisses and sneaky squeezes throughout the ceremony. You couldn’t manage to act right, your leg almost kicking the stand down. Your eyes should have been wet, not your pussy. His own innuendos didn’t go unnoticed. You were quite frankly overwhelmed. Namjoon was nasty but never that public about it and certainly not during a live online graduation. You’re brought back to the present with a stinging slap to your sex.

At this point, your wriggling is at its max and you can feel the burn of his suit jacket at the back of your neck. You try your luck with a tentative turn to your right and to your surprise he lets you take over. Your nose is now buried into his chest and you can hear the thumping of his frantic heart and it’s your turn to smile. The faint smell of your lemon scented detergent fills your senses. You give his torso a small kiss, arms locking themselves around his upper body. The pressure of the firm protrusion in his pants makes itself known on your body and it takes everything in you not to beg. You just need to be more patient. That’s what Namjoon has taught you; good things come to those who wait.

And good things do come once he palms your ass cheeks, gripping hard at the soft flesh. A small squeak leaves you as he scoops you up, legs encircling his hips. “What do you want babe?” It’s a simple question, really. Yet the answers are endless. You more than want, you need him to give in to your advances and lose himself in you the way you are losing yourself in him even when he has barely touched you. Through all of that and the other thousand scenarios that flash by in your mind your lips settle for something they can themself profit from.

“Kiss me.”

Still blindfolded, your mouth gapes at the air hoping to catch his full lips once they are close enough. His hot breath fans your face as you exchange panting breaths that have your head inching forward, an action that earns you a pinch to your behind. Namjoon seems to take pity in your eager behaviour and finally closes the distance. The instant your lips touch, you exhale deeply, sinking further into the vicious grip of his hands and he manages to increase the span of his exploration. Hungry for more, you overtake the kiss, hands cradling his face as your tongue floods the warmth of his mouth, legs squeezing him closer evoking a soft croak from him. Your movements are frantic. Long gone is your attempt at being collected as you let it be known, let it be felt that you needed him glued to you in all places imaginable.

Your noses bump in the middle of your furious exploration of his lips. You taste the champagne you had after you officially graduated in your tiny one room apartment and you hope that there will be more times like this where you would get to celebrate with him and be able to close your eyes and still taste those memories on the tip of his tongue. Along the way as you keep devouring his now wet lips, your makeshift blindfold, Namjoon’s tie, unravels itself to fall between your faces. In that moment, he opens his eyes, “Hi,” he says, lids half away open but enough for you to feel the warmth from his deep brown eyes.

“Hi!” you giggle, forehead falling down to touch his.

A few instances ago you felt ready to unleash your ferocity on him and force him to pick up the tempo and find his rightful place inside of you. Yet, here you are, now somewhat calmer.

“God, how are you so cute?” Namjoon questions, nose scrunching up. Despite the cuteness overload your body craves to be handled in a way that’s nothing short of passionate and all consuming.

The two of you are now slightly more composed, your desires still itching deep within you but your actions have now taken a calmer route as he puts you down. Your tunnel vision for Namjoon subsists and you’re able to take in the dimly lit room. If the invigorating makeout session wasn’t enough to let you know that the celebration is still going, the ice filled bucket with champagne does just that. You walk past the inviting cream coloured bed to reach the side table with the champagne. Your heated hands touch the perspiring green glass bottle, holding it out to Joon while you raise your brow at him.

“That’s for after the ceremony,” he makes it known.

You let out a mellow ‘oh’, “I see.”

You place the bottle back where you had found it and walk to the end of the bed, where you sit down, kicking off your heels and reaching up to take off your graduation cap.

“Well then, we better get started,” you say enthusiastically. Namjoon who had found his way to stand in front of it lets his soft palm weigh down your wrist, stilling you. “Wow, you really have a way of killing the mood, huh? And I think you should keep this on. Isn’t the cap usually removed after the ceremony?”

With grinning lips you lean back on hands, the cool and slick sheets sliding under your hot palms. You shift your gaze to Namjoon’s feet, for once he decided to ditch his sneakers, which he had swore he would wear to your graduation, probably just to annoy you. You let your naked foot trail against the leather of his shoe, sliding it up his cream slacks all the way to his right calf. Your eyes lift up to his, calm and attentive.

He had already discarded his suit jacket to be left with a white shirt, one you had advised him not to wear, Namjoon had a habit of managing to dirty his clothes even in the cleanest of environments. Staring right at him, you push forward behind his knee hoping he will get where you want him, need him. For a second you’re hopeful as his knees slightly give in. But Namjoon shakes his head, side to side, with a soft smile, “Not yet, we wouldn’t want your dress to get ruined now would we?”

You looked down at your attire. Yeah, you think, maybe he's right. Your mom had made the ivory white lace and tulle knee length dress and she would definitely ask to keep and store it. You don’t exactly want her to guard and treasure a sweat and cum covered dress. You take a deep breath as you let his warm hand guide your body back up, tugging harshly at your wrist to draw you closer to his body.

Namjoon hunches down and his fingers dance on your thighs, the anticipation making them stutter. He reaches the hem and softly ruffles the material. “You looked really cute today, by the way.”

You’re left cheesing, hard, hands covering your face as you give a muffled ‘stop it’ before you huff and add a faint ‘thanks’.

He heaves the rustling material all the way up to take it off, humming softly at the result as you try to figure out what to do with your hands. Being shy around Namjoon isn’t a regular occurrence, yet today, when his eyes have made it their job to observe your every movement, chasing your reactions to his light hearted teasing, you feel more bashful than ever. Now they look content, they sparkle, happy to be able to see what they had been imagining all day. The view is just as enticing as any of the other times he has the pleasure to undress you and have you standing barren ready to be clothed with his fervent skin.

With two steady fingers, he presses against your sternum to push you back down onto the bed. He approaches the space between your widened legs to stroke your chin, tightening his grip as he dives back into your mouth. You let your spine extend to its fullest length, pushing back against his wet hot appendage. Your grip on his slacks deepens, scrunching the textured material as you continuously tug on it, hopeful that it will let him know his advances are too calm for your liking.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to agree, slapping your hands away the moment his reddened lips leave yours. As furrowed brows adorn your face and puffed breaths do their best to recuperate the oxygen the kiss stole from you, you clench your fists thumping your legs. You need to do something with your hands, and therefore you let your arm span across the little space between your face and his crotch. Despite the lack of full light in the room, you can see the outline, the impatient longing of his cock, as it strains against his pants. You really want to touch it. And touch, you try. But no matter how much you push, Namjoon doesn’t let you through.

“No, no, no, no. It’s your graduation, not mine. I got you.” With a small wink his head is now levelled with your chest as he plants the same smouldering pecks that are only reserved for you on your eager hands.

The drag of his palms against your thighs burns sweetly, the sensation etching itself within your most private area to drag a needy call for him to ravage you. The pecks keep travelling from your hands down your pulsating chest and to your thighs, which are tense with unattended lust. You have the time to take a couple of full breaths before the next is trapped within your pressed lips, anticipation stilling your fidgety state.

It’s the hot and electrifying breath of his focused body hitting your drenched panties that compulses a sudden wave of rapture through your anticipating physique. Now it’s too much. You can’t help but reach for the short deep brown strands of his head to smash his face against your wet centre. The humming resurfaces to ripple through needy walls as you shove him even closer to your throbbing heat, as impossible as it may sound. Namjoon rewards you with a firm lick to your clothed slit coating the drenched cloth ever more.

He licks again only to leave you needy as the cool air hits the scalding area. Fingers hooking around the thin material that covers your lower half, Namjoon calmly removes the barrier, contrasting with the quick shimmy of your legs. He throws the ruined piece of clothing onto his discarded jacket.

Now, this is it. You’re impatient, somehow managing to spread your legs further apart as to flaunt your unprotected dripping center. Namjoon has a history of losing it once he saw the state he put you in. You’ve noticed the slow blinking of his eyes once his knees have scooted closer to the edge of the bed.

His head migrates forward towards where you need him most as his hand pushes against your jitter filled stomach, prompting your head to bounce against the plush pillows as it settles down ready to be ravished. Namjoon’s affirmative arms lift your legs onto his shoulders as they hook you in place. He continues to fan his flaming breath over your shivering thighs, lips occasionally bumping against the goosebumps printed on your skin.

“Joon pleaseeeee...”

You scramble for his head, the wait agonising. Your hands never reach their intended destination as they spread against your hip bones whilst he dives in. Just like the past moments, he comes in soft. Gentle licks from his tongue, as his slurps at your dripping pussy lips. Lips that meet his in a slow and torturous game of push and pull. To hear you moan and swear is the kind of motivation Namjoon needs to let his tongue snake its way into your tight pussy. “Oh shit,” your pleasure ridden fingers curl around his tight forearms. Your hips move on their own accord meeting the deep plunges of his strong muscle. Namjoon responds with a rougher approach, nose burying itself in your pubic bone as he reaches his hands to wrap them around your neglected breasts.

His own ferocious pace sets you off, the lewd wet sounds of sucking and slurping mixing with your combined needy moans in the naked air to create a melodic sound that drives the both of you deeper into your pleasure. The increased intensity of your tugging and scratching at his scalp tells Namjoon that you’re close, close to where he wants you to be, in that place where he believes he gets to experience your most enticing beauty. With that in mind, he licks his lips coating himself with your arousal and letting those same lips circle themselves around your clit. He’s met with a sudden jerk of your hips, hands pressing against your stomach to keep you in place, letting his enjoyment of your current state encourage him to spiral his tongue around the sweetest spot.

Once your strained moans manifest themselves, he brings one of his hands to your gaping hole. Warm thick fingers, plunge into your sloppy heat, slowly delving in and out determined to bring you over the edge. “Look who’s so wet for me.” You respond with an uncontrolled tug of his hair. Namjoon continues the sluggish pumping of his hand as his tongue flicks at your sensitive clit. His fingers curl inside of you, teeth scraping against your lips before hollowing his mouth around your seeping slit. His coated fingers whirl around your sensitive bud, palms kneading at the tender tissue, squeezing and releasing to the rhythm of his laps at your soaked lips, engorging himself on your sweet juices.

“Come for me, babe,” he says as the palms of his strong hands stroke your stuttering legs. His tongue takes one last plunge, muscle tense, probing in and out of your pulsating warm pussy. All it takes is the harsh supporting pumps and curls of his fingers to make you writhe and shake as the knot in your stomach winds itself tighter and tighter. Your sweet lips keep inviting him, sucking his tongue and fingers in and Namjoon lets it all go, a satisfied groan rippling through his lips and into your agitated form.

Even in the increasing darkness of the room, you do not dare to keep your eyes open as your body convulses into a twisting mess once you can’t handle the curling of his fingers and the gentle biting of his hungry teeth. The scream comes before the reactions as you let it all out, feet kicking out, thighs trapping Namjoon’s smiling face as you ride out the wave of pleasure that just hit you. The distinct yet tenuous swing of calming hips encourages Namjoon to lay down affectionate pecks across the expanse of your slit migrating to the top crease of your leg to lay small pinching bites. Bites that tell you to get ready, there’s more to come.

The mattress sinks deeper into the supporting structure of the bed as Namjoon slides you farther up the bed to hover over your panting chest.

“Can you please let me see your pretty eyes?”

All you need him to do is request and you shall give. You promptly remove the arm that is laced above your eyes to give a lopsided smile. A smile that stretches as you notice the way Namjoon’s expression mimics your own, small valleys probing his cheeks. The calm staring of his eyes has your tongue dancing around your mouth, arms extending themselves to unbutton his damp shirt. Despite your haste you manage to undo the buttons at such a painfully slow paste that his hand has to lay itself on top of yours to guide you slowly and steadily down the row of small round obstacles shielding your palms from his radiating and glistening chest.

The undoing goes by slowly, yet it feels as if it was done in a flash. Even now you seem to forget Namjoon’s ability to distort time for you. Knowing hands travel to find their rightful place on his taut chest, moving beyond the watering views to scratch at the deprived skin of his clenched back. The deep rumbling that leaves his throat leaves you rapt, your ass responding as it has you bucking into his hard member. The innocent movement starts a string of hisses, hisses that echo in the air, leaving you even more entranced with his reactions to your craving heat.

Impatient, and unwilling to obey, your feet scramble to undress his loose slacks. Namjoon’s still perched over you, the strong stance of his arms wavering with every swipe of your wet pussy over his clothed cock. Your toes hook onto the sides of his pants pushing down to reveal his tight grey underwear, the front part decorated with small darkened spots that have you biting your lips.

Mimicking your previous movement, he is left bare, his dick bobbing up as it’s released. It’s common procedure now for you to reach, with excited hands, for what is rightfully yours but this night happens to be filled with reminders. His ordering hand wraps around yours, bringing them to his drenched lips, “Tonight’s about you.” You get that he wants to treasure you, but you like giving and not being able to deplore all of your current ecstasy on every inch of his body has you whining, shoulder shimming side to side.

Yet Namjoon decides to turn a blind eye to your outcry, instead focusing on letting your tight entrance know that its favourite guest is waiting eagerly to get it in. Hooking a forceful hand on your right leg, he slides the blood rushed tip of his pre-cum coated member up and down your slit, letting the tip slip so as to let the entire length of his warm member bask in the wetness of your needy pussy. A wetness that he created, made for him to plunge into.

The squirming ends of your hands wind themselves around your exposed hair and ankles doing their best to prevent him from prolonging your burning torment by forcing him into you. Namjoon takes pity in your jolting hips as he hits his throbbing member against your tender nether lips, leaving your legs shaky. And for once you welcome the furrowed eyebrows on his concentrated face as he slides his pulsating dick, progressively stretching your needy walls, the thick member delving deeper into your slit. “Ahhh,” you sigh, content and full, walls clenching and dripping at the well-known stretch.

The minute Namjoon bottoms out, two simultaneously exhales rest in the ventilated atmosphere. Using the little force that you have left you lift yourself up, you let your abused lips catch his. You latch onto them, hands cradling his head to bring him even closer, as if that is possible. It’s your hungry exploration of a place already so familiar to your tongue that has him moaning into you whilst he delivers measured strokes into your oozing center. Despite his need to drag himself back to catch air, you don’t let go, mumbling into his clenched teeth, “Fuck me harder, Joon.”

The lapping kisses resume alongside the quick strenuous pounding of Namjoon’s hips. All together they have you breathless and dizzy basking in the overpowering musk of his body. You mewl, biting his saliva slobbered mouth to relieve the staggering friction from his rolling hips.

“Shit, they were right to give you that award. This honour roll pussy really is something else,” Namjoon huffs out and you let out a chuckle that morphs into squealing moans as he continues to lay down pointed strokes that keep pushing you closer and closer to the bed’s headrest. Your folds are reaching their limit, pussy clamming around the slamming thrust of his cock. Namjoon chews the inside of his cheek, letting the intimidating protrusion of his clenched jaw set you back in place. In place being pointed nipples lazily grazing his chest, arms grounding the last of your sanity on his steady form and panting mouth finding refuge in the deep crevice of his neck.

“Babe, come on,” he warns.

“Whattttt,” you whine. It’s not your fault your body can’t control itself.

He gulps a good chunk of your breast and bites it harshly. It has the adverse effect, what should have been a warning only has you more heated. A big slap sounds and your legs clench tighter around his ass cheeks as Namjoon completely bottoms out only to stop. His hands find purchase in your ruffled exposed hair, elbows trapping your head, as he mutters into your boiling ear, “Be still.” You can do nothing but whine and pout trying your best to be obedient giving him small nods despite your restricted head. Namjoon doesn’t flatter, he remains still as your composure wavers every few seconds. It all results in teasing bites along your ear and the sides of your face.

You feel like you’re dying, of bliss that is. He still won’t move and you have managed to not let your involuntary needs take over your motor skills. It’s the tender stroking of his hand on your cap covered head that lets you know you have done well. Yet Namjoon’s slight chuckling whisper confirms your beliefs, “Let’s graduate baby.”

The languid thrusts turn into audible pounding, squelching sounds feeling your ears as your multiple tries at breathing fail, the air stopping in your throat resulting in inaudible gasps. The rupture of your orgasm manifests itself in your bones, your arms and legs trembling, eager to let Namjoon’s own edged body know how the blistering attack his thick cock on your craving walls is an all-consuming experience that you welcome with a wall piercing moan, “AHHH… fuck.., Joon hmmm.”

The thrusts have now turned frantic, as they miss their intended aim. He’s almost there. You engulf him into your chest, placing soft encouraging bites along his uptight shoulder as his nails anchor themselves on your slippery back.

“Congratulations, baby, you deserve it.” Those are the words he uses to invigorate the warm spurt of his cum, coating your squeezing pussy as your hands, placing on the warm globes of his ass, press him closer to your bucking center. You want it all, to be filled to the brink and claiming what is rightfully yours. For sure, the best graduation gift you’ve ever received. You let the remaining ripples make their way through his body, caressing his arms as your faces drag against each other.

Namjoon opens his mouth only to let his slack body fall on top of yours, drained but content. You’re left to snicker as you thread your fingers through his sweat drenched hair strands. “Hmm, now would be a great time to have some champagne.” You point towards the bucket bottle. He shifts his head to have his chin right on your chest looking up at you.

He looks at you for a short while as if he was imprinting the sight of your makeup smeared and sweaty face on the back of his mind. His hand reaches to take hold of the visor of your graduation cap, with a firm hold on the leather covered material he tugs the cap off and throws it into the air. “Oh!” you exclaim laughing as you clap.

“Happy graduation, Y/N, you did it,” Namjoon says with a kiss between your cooling boobs. You place a chaste kiss to his forehead before pushing him off of you with the little remaining force you could conjure up.

Apprehensive steps take you to the chilled metal bucket. Before you can snatch the bottle into your hands, ready to allow your mind to become hazy enough to have another round filled with even more erratic cries, Namjoon reaches for the bottle from behind you. Knowledgeable joints fiddle with the metal string, thumb pressuring the cork top into the air. You twiddle with your tired hands to hold the two champagne glasses, however still swimming in your ecstatic mood you manage to spill some champagne onto the ground.

You take a big swig of the champagne, somehow behaving drunk even without the alcohol. Another one of Namjoon’s admirable characteristics. To put you in such a euphoric state that overwhelms your senses and solidifies his place in your heart. It could have been the champagne, your undeniable infatuation with the sweet man in front of you, or the gaze that he gave you as if he was seeing you for the first time once again, as if there’s still details for him to catch and memorise. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, not as you stand on the tips of your toes to plant a few pecks on his lips. And for good measure, in case the message isn’t clear, you slip in a couple of ‘thank yous’ and ‘love yous’, all while hoping your future reserves a whole array of ‘Room 2020s’.

Posted: June 18 2020 a/n: Hope you liked it, feel free to let me know your thoughts 🥺

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havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong · 3 years

Text

An Interlude — Me, ‘Yourself,’ I

Two Masters pick up another ‘them.’

Many other ‘them’ — of times and Masters long gone, each filling each other’s roles in stories meant to be the same.

Like a play filled with understudies, where the choice in lead actor changed everything —

...Then, what to do about that?

<Pt. 1/???>

featuring story from @hasbbdoneanythingwrong + @hasquetzdoneanythingwrong

"...It's you."

A being from his dreams, a being beyond rational description.

A Singularity had appeared, hadn't it? One only recently, showing its face, a remnant of what should've been destroyed.

The coward believed such a thing was the only cause of a being haunting his dreams. A shapeless, formless, yet all-encompassing, formed being, that threatened to vanish from his sight and take him over, simultaneously.

And its words, too-

▓▒░▓▓▄▀▌▌▐█▒

Made no sense.

No, nothing the being said would mean a thing to the cowardly Master, and yet it made sense all the same. Two opposite extremes, filling him not with the words it spoke, but the emotion those unspeakable tongues filled in his mind.

"...I don't understand. I... I don't get it at all."

No, so much 'strange' had occurred, in a matter of mere days. A Servant had spoken of a world not unlike his own, another Chaldea, and another Master. Then, replaced soon after, by a Quetz who spoke of it only as a faint dream, barely recalled, but fondly looked back on.

And mere days afterwards, this thing -- that which now sought to fill him with unending fear, and discomfort, as it held itself within him, seeking to spread itself within his mind like a comforting, but foreign virus to the human conscious.

╟╧╜╚╕╘╧╨╪╬╗

...His heart, suffocating under the mass of the 'it,' that threatened to encompass his entire being, envelop it into itself--

...Yet, its words made its way to his mind, before the cowardly Master forced himself to wake with a bite to his finger.

Y o u a r e n o t a l o n e . S e e k T H E M .

...The being, so foreign, spoke now as if the Master himself were speaking to 'him' in a mirror.

...The seeping, crawling feeling faded in an instant, as the familiar 'My lord!' awoke him from his slumber.

With Da Vinci fussing over something in the other room, surely preparing to announce the time of their Rayshift, the cowardly Master made a beeline for somewhere -- someone -- he knew would help.

"Oh, hell no."

Ritsuka had spent a solid five or six seconds just laughing incredulously, before their eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak.

"--I'd heard it from... something. Ritsuka, we already know they exist, and... We need to know what they're up to. If they're allies, we need to get their aid, and..."

"It's not that."

Ritsuka interrupted my speech by placing a finger over my mouth. Breathing out, they placed their index finger on their temple, as if trying to formulate what they were to say next.

"Thing is, Cadence, we have a serious problem with time stuff right now. We already have a sudden Singularity that's just happened, despite our best efforts, and your first idea is to go check other timelines? And off the advice of a weird thing that appeared in your dreams after the Singularity was formed, no less!"

Ritsuka breathed a long, drawn out sigh out, as I took the opportunity to get a word in.

"This time stuff is something we can take advantage of, especially because we've just achieved a sort of contact with it. Remember Quetzacoatl? She was acting as if she were in a different Chaldea entirely, for the day we summoned her, until her Spirit Origin 'shifted.' All things considered, we need to check up on that."

Placing a finger to my neck to calm myself, lightly scratching its side, Ritsuka waited a moment before responding.

"...Listen, if you're right, we can't do this willy-nilly. You know full well how dangerous this is. But..."

...Ritsuka shook their head, raising their hand in what I could only assume was the brief consideration of punching themselves in the face.

"...You're not the type to take stupid risks. The fact you're not avoiding this like the plague says to me that you've got something in mind. After all these things we've seen up to now... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I guess we'll have to look at even more time shit."

...The Master laughed, in disbelief, before turning on their heel and beginning to move south.

"...I think, if anyone's going to know about this, it's going to be a certain Moon Cancer."

"--You're not seriously thinking of going to her for advice, right?!"

"Less advice, Cadence, more a way to figure out what the hell has been happening outside our little bubble. I doubt we'll be able to see everything, but even just a little bit will do. It'll tell us who our allies might be if we end up forced to one of their worlds."

Ritsuka raised their hands over their head, stretching themselves out and yawning loudly to get out the slight ache of sleeping on a Chaldea bed.

"...Or, if a Singularity forces us into contact with them," he continued with an awkward laugh, "we need to figure out who won't kill us on sight."

...Turning a corner of Chaldea's hallways, he'd knock upon a very certain door -- greeted by a purple-haired lady, smiling wide, with a gaze best described as a mixture between intimidating, venomous, yet also fairly innocent for the moment. "Why, if it isn't my favourite senpais. What brings you here so soon? Ritsuka, you usually at least wait 'til noon to try out some BB slots."

The lady took her seat on her bed, resting her chin on her right hand and raising an eyebrow -- turning an ear to the two of us.

"No slots today, sadly. BB -- I'd like you to help us understand other people."

"...Other people? Senpai, you're not exactly lacking in the social department. Although, C--"

"--Not like that," I quickly clarified, if only to save my own pride. "We're looking to understand people from... different Chaldeas, if that makes any sense."

...At that, BB's eyes widened, if only for a moment -- then smiled, with a sort of distinct softness, before it returned to its usual mischievous aura.

"Is that so..? You're sure about this, right, Senpai~? Surely you wouldn't wish to be jealous of Masters better off than you two."

Before I could respond -- frozen just for a moment at hearing that -- Ritsuka piped up in my place.

"Yeah, we're alright with that. At day's end, we want to see other people like us. What they've done, and... If they'd be allies for us, should we somehow meet."

...The mischievous lady only nodded, before placing a floating screen just in front of them.

"If that's the case, I have no choice but to show you all the other Senpais out there! ♥"

...And, mere moments after -- our first sight showed its face.

"--You vermin should know that I am the only one who can hurt my centipede!"

An annoying voice, marked with an angered 'sigh' that would've made most anyone's hairs raise on end.

Yet, to the Master they now saw, such a voice could bring only the brightest of smiles. Two beings of seeming opposites, giving each other a knowing glance before a wave of confidence enveloped them both.

With the casual smile only a devil could muster, the Moon-Cancer made short, easy work of the mere beasts in their way. The icy wasteland, seeping away at the Master's bones, did little to harm the sense of warmth that seemed to envelop them both.

"Now, now, Quin," the lady spoke with a chuckle, "don't get too happy yet~! There's a cave to hang out in not too far away -- we can talk there!"

Quin -- That was the Master's name. A spare glance at their BB's face told them all they reckoned they had to know -- in place of her devilish grin, remained a mischievous -- yet warm, glowing smile.

The moment they fled into an otherwise dark, empty cave, Quin collapsed to tears -- perhaps in part of fears that could only come from traversing a Lostbelt alone, but seemingly mostly of relief.

"How... H-How did you get here..?!"

Through sobs, the Master spoke, as the Moon-Cancer only smiled, and laughed, crouching down beside her Master.

"Quinny, I'm hurt~! You should know by now that I can pretty much do whatever I want."

Neither Master observing the event could truly understand the pain she went through just to reappear at the side of her Master -- but Ritsuka, sparing a glance to look at the BB that manifested there, saw teary eyes, and a soft smile.

...The face of someone who had almost certainly been through hell.

Cadence focused upon the Master themselves, finding himself awed. A Master who, despite all that remained against her, found herself with allies that wouldn't so easily give up and leave her. A Master who, though almost assuredly afraid, still stood up and kept pushing forward. And a Master who stayed with the Moon-Cancer who seemed as if she was her exact opposite, as both impacted each other permanently.

"...That was Quin, senpais~!"

Spending a moment holding a hand to her eyes, BB soon returned to her usual self -- Ritsuka only smiled, but didn't elaborate on it any further.

"...That was..."

...She seemed to be a good person. A 'hero' -- even allied with someone considered evil, she...

...She was a hero. In her own right, she was a hero -- even if she were afraid, she still pushed forward, and fought with the bravery of a hero.

"...Well, we probably have one ally, Cadence.”

Ritsuka smiled a bit, as if to ease me of something I'd not realized I had, before returning to the Moon-Cancer.

"What's our next sight, then?"

To that, the Servant only winked, before another screen enveloped their sights.

"...Hey."

A black-haired man, narrowed eyes at two writers not far in front of him.

No time for grief, for there was still something to do. The eyes of a man who had a plan -- even if far out, one he would place his faith in.

Those eyes -- sharpened, fire sprouting within that pupil of his -- were eyes of sheer determination.

"If you can turn fantasy into reality, how about we pull a Moriarty on me?"

A sentence truly outside the realm of 'reality' -- one that caused Cadence to recoil in shock. Yet, the cowardly Master still found himself leaned in to listen, as the other Master beside him smiled and nodded to themselves.

Mash, turning to face the black-haired Master, raised her eyebrows in some form of confusion.

"--Huh..? Senpai, what are you talking about?"

"Moriarty has that gun from that one German story. If the authors here can do something similar to help me, then..."

...The Master spent a moment in thought, but it certainly wasn't one spent in hesitation. No -- both observing Masters knew the look well.

It was one of focus, and of finalizing their plan. It brought back memories of Reines, of Chen Gong, and of El-Melloi.

"...That doesn't sound outside the realm of possibility."

The taller author -- Murasaki, at a closer glance -- spent a few seconds staring upwards in thought before replying. The smaller author, surely Hans, stared at his colleague and Master with a mixture of incredulity -- and, just as much, curiosity.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Let me see if I can find what I'm looking for."

To this, the Master flicked his fingers delicately from a row of comic books situated carefully on a shelf, up until he pulled a certain issue out, as if it were made for this very moment.

"--This! This, here."

Opening the comic to a specific page, as if he'd done this a thousand times before, he placed his finger upon one panel in specific -- a planet made of dark ooze, its inhabitants slimy parasitic creatures.

A middle-of-the-road author, almost assuredly Shakespeare, took a close look, and smirked, as the Master elaborated.

"Symbiotes. From Marvel."

As the determined Master watched the author's expressions, Shakespeare decided -- as usual -- to be among the first to speak.

"Interesting."

...Hans, meanwhile, twisted his face into a frown.

"...I'm not sure how I feel, adapting a modern work like this."

"Just do it. I'll be able to save her with those powers."

The Master only furrowed his brow, his voice taking on a slight firmness to it. Andersen picked up on that tone of voice -- one of someone who had already weighed their options, and one that had already decided their fate. The author silenced himself for the time -- at times like this, even he recognized that he had to put his author's code to rest.

"Senpai... Is this really a good idea?"

Mash spoke carefully, placing her words best to try and ensure her friend had thought it through. She had faith in his idea, the observing Masters could tell, but it was certainly best to avoid acting rashly.

"...I need to save her, Mash."

The Master, certainly, had already made his decision. As he elaborated, Mash's concerned expression shifted to a soft smile -- assured that, at least, he was sure of this action. If he held faith it’d work, then she felt she could as well.

"I hate being without her. And I want to skewer the fools who took her away."

...Murasaki, at that, only nodded.

"I can see the pain he's feeling. We... should help."

...At his fellow authors' words, Hans raised his hands up, and grinned awkwardly.

"Fine, we'll turn you into an alien monster. But it likely won't stick when this Singularity's fixed."

"So long as I get my wife back, I'm fine with it."

The gaze of the Master said it all -- he would stop at nothing to find, and save, someone he loved.

Suddenly, to the two observing Masters -- the sheer determination of this Master, even as he requested a possibly dangerous procedure, now only made sense.

...He, too, had something to protect.

The Moon-Cancer smiled, for a moment, before closing her screen.

"That, Senpai, was Rex. A Master who managed to tame even a lady like Quetzacoatl~!" Ritsuka gazed back at me, the look in his eye saying it all.

"...That was his Quetzacoatl?!"

Of course, his incredulous statement immediately after solidified things -- as, giving it some thought, I'd realized myself what had happened.

"...Well, now I feel a bit bad, summoning Quetzacoatl like that. Probably should've used a catalyst that wasn't a T. Rex plushie."

As Ritsuka casually said something that made even BB perform a double take, my mind fell a little bit -- as I tried to make heads or tails of that Master.

'...That man... Despite a situation so grim that he had to alter his own body, and add a Phantasmal Spirit to its structure... He didn't look fearful at all.'

No -- it wasn't fearlessness. That was sheer grit, made only stronger by what was on the line. His sharp tone, the fire in his eyes, wasn't from foolish aggression or rashness -- it was from a man whose life and love were all on the line. A man who knew how bad the situation could get, and one that could swallow their fear and fight for the sake of someone they loved.

'...No wonder she was so insistent on finding him.'

The horrible taste of jealousy caught in my throat -- my eyes closed, seeing only that fiery gaze.

...That was bravery.

...My eyes flipped between screen after screen -- Rex' fiery gaze, and his risky yet high-reward plan just to save his lover. Quin's emotional strength in the heat of the moment, holding out and fighting long enough to find safety, being such a kind Master that even one like BB would cherish her.

'...Compared to them...'

...That jealousy, that surrounded my neck, tightening it and stealing my breath away. Envy at their strength, where I had lacked it.

Those -- were heroes. Those were the people that would surely save their 'Chaldea.'

...Certainly, I knew my own weaknesses -- but it only became clearer, where I stood.

"...Cadence, I think he's an ally. Whaddya think?"

But the jealousy cleared itself from my neck as Ritsuka shouldered me lightly, and as a hand formed itself upon my shoulder. Silent though it was, I knew that grip as well as the back of my hand.

"...He's no Genji."

...An approving voice -- Ushiwakamaru, doffing her mask and blindfold and sitting just beside me.

"...He fights our fight. An enemy of the Genji is a friend of mine."

...That jealousy wouldn't so easily leave me -- but I only allowed my mind, for a moment, to recognize my own strengths.

Even if I paled in comparison to these two heroes, I still had something.

"...I think he's an ally, too, Ritsuka. Maybe a little blunt, but... I've only ever seen a gaze like that in you."

The Master beside me scoffed.

"Are you kiddin' me, chief? I don't think I've seen anyone so determined to help someone. And seeing as how you're showing us that, BB, I assume he succeeded."

"Correct~! Both of these two are just as alive as you are. And, y'know, this isn't the end of our marathon."

...Ritsuka raised an eyebrow.

"Jeez, just how many saviours of humanity are there? I find it hard to believe so many Earths got the crap end of the stick."

"You'd know if you counted to infinity, senpai~! I'm only showing you the ones you'll probably meet. I snuck a little charm into that Quetz' pocket, you see, and now you're linked~!"

...

"What."

Ritsuka took approximately five seconds before responding.

"It was just a bit of stomach medication. A little baggie I gave her. I don't even think she knows it's there."

...

"What."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding~! Maybe."

...As me, and Ritsuka, found ourselves completely sidetracked by what was best described as 'the worst thing we've heard in centuries,' BB clapped her hands together and began pulling up a few more screens.

"I call a little intermission~! All three of you, get some treats and come back later. I promise you'll love the next ones."

...

An ever-shining light, bypassing such simple screens, watched 'them' in their many, many seats.

Them who threatened to suffocate and take over 'them,' 'him,' but who satisfied themselves watching the production of Life.

The rakugo theatre intrigued them all -- as a lone 'it,' playing the parts of them all, laughed and dropped another punchline to the tale. Surely, a dramatic, comical, saddening, heartmelting, uplifting 'rakugo' --

...As the actors raised their hands to follow suit, and drive the coward into the next act of his performance, 'it' held up its fan and its cloth, waving the acting Masters to their next story -- to the next ochi.

▄▀▄██▌▌░█▓╨╨╜╓═

The ever-shining light laughs, and cries, and screams, and smiles gently.

The performance has only just begun.

#fgo #gudasona #mastersona #l o r e #cadenceloreposting #feat. quin and rex #also more foreshadowing because i love implying shit

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deathonyourtongue · 3 years

Text

Resurrection | 12

Summary: A ragtag team of Spec-Ops operators are brought out of retirement for all the wrong reasons. When the dust settles, only the best will be left standing. Pairing: Pablo Schreiber x OFC, Henry Cavill x OFC (listen, she gets with the whole team, okay? Don’t lie, you would too.) Word Count: 2K Warnings: Nothing much really. A/N: Sorry this took so long. February really is the worst month.

By the flight manifest, we’re half an hour behind Wallace, and I feel every minute of it on the plane ride from London to Benghazi. Prior to joining the team, I’d only been assigned to Libya once and it was from the comfort of the Whitney parked off the coast of Italy. This will be my first time with boots on the ground, and the history of spec ops in the country isn’t lost to me; it’s just one more reason why I’m glad I no longer have to wear a uniform.

“Ten minutes out,” the pilot calls over the comms, everyone prepping their go bags, ready to make up for any head start Wallace has.

Benina International Airport barely registers in my mind as we pick up two vehicles that were prepped for us courtesy of Uncle Sam, my mind’s sole focus being on saving the hostage and capturing Wallace. All of us want our pound of flesh, none more so than those he’s directly injured over the course of the last few weeks.

“I need everyone on their A game. We can’t afford to let him slip through our fingers again. His behavior is escalating and since he’s so well-connected to the who’s-who, it stands to reason, he’s going to throw everything he has at us. Above all else though, we leave no one behind. Understood?” Rick’s voice is firm but warm over our comms, making it clear that despite the gravity of the situation, he cares about our well-being first and foremost.

“Do you think he’s trying to do a shot-for-shot remake?” Jake asks as we roll into Benghazi proper, grateful for the tinted windows on the late model G wagons no doubt left over from Gaddafi’s rule.

“If you mean do I think he’s going to go to the same village we were patrolling? No. I don’t think he’s that sentimental about things. I think he’s going to pick a spot that’s overlooked by the country and blow it to high hell after he finishes reenacting his sick fantasies. Remember, had we not stopped him that night--”

“I know, he’d have committed war crimes,” Jake cuts Dom off, his sickened expression making it clear that he doesn’t need to be reminded.

“Has intel found him yet?” I ask, hoping we don’t have to waste any more time in tracking him down.

“They don’t have a lock yet, but they are tracking a BMW that came out of Benina half an hour ago. Reports of a blond woman without a hijab and a red-haired man poured in the second they landed.” Rick explains, all of us shaking our head.

“Muslim majority country and she already sticks out like a sore thumb by being blond, but he didn’t bother to make her wear a hijab? If we don’t get to him, the Libyan police will,” I snort, finding little humor in the recklessness with which Wallace treats the lives of others. Like any good narcissist, he cares only for himself and if others get hurt in the process of him getting what he wants, so be it.

“They’re going to attract attention no matter what. All of us are. Keep as low a profile as possible, and with any luck, we’ll be out of here by this time tomorrow,” Rick adds, all of us hoping for the outcome that’s eluded us since we reunited.

Our hideout in Benghazi is simple, yet beautiful. Like most places, it’s heavily fortified, a solid metal gate closing behind us and men standing watch on all four corners as we make our way towards something that resembles a Roman villa of old. Outside, the heat hits me and for a second, I’m brought back to the op that nearly took my life, hoping that this time, things will end differently, at least for our team. Max’s cologne brings me back to the present, and I fall in step with him as we make our way into the blissfully cool war room.

“Oh fuck yeah. Don’t mind if I do!” Jake enthuses as he takes note of the tea and finger foods laid out on the table. Shaking my head, but nonetheless pleased, I take a seat and let out a breath I don’t realize I’ve been holding. Max’s hand smooths over my hair as he sits next to me, his gaze still eyeing my bruise with concern. It’s endearing to say the least, and not the kind of treatment I’m used to in any part of my life.

“Okay, fuel up, but pay attention. Intel has an eye in the sky and they’ve found the BMW. We’re tracking him now. Gonna let him get settled in, then we’ll pay him a house call. He’s also traveling light; only two body men and paid local team which means--”

“Which means a bunch of teenage human shields. Fucking great,” I mutter.

Stephanie Pierce had been dumped half an hour before getting to the airport. Doing her best to save face, she’d made it through security and was intent on getting a little drunk before boarding, if only so she could sleep on the flight. American by birth, she had come to London for school, and had, up until the breakup, been having the time of her life.

Now it's all spiraling into a nightmare.

“Please, just let me get back to the airport! I don’t have anything to do with this! I didn’t do anything! I’m just a student! Please!”

“I can’t do that, darling. For one, you’ve seen my face, and two...Well, you’re my insurance policy. You see, the people that I’m after, they have a soft spot for those they consider innocent. Problem is, no one’s ever truly innocent, are they? No, not even you, dear Stephanie. It only took a few moments for me to do the numbers, so to speak. Young, parents are middle class at best, no real money for school, especially abroad, but here you are in designer clothing, taking vacations whenever it strikes your fancy, and not a dime in debt. Do your parents know what you do on the internet, my darling? Didn’t think so. No, that deep, dark secret won’t be revealed until after you perish, which...will be soon, I’m afraid.”

Her screams make her captor laugh, almost as though he’s delighted by the reaction. It chills her to the bone. Now she understands that this isn’t some wannabe who hijacked a plane and has no real plan; far from it. Whoever he is, he has calculated each and every move leading up to this point.

She wishes she could talk to her mom one last time.

“Night Train to Alpha, confirm visual.”

“Alpha to Night Train we have visual. We count 12 signatures, including the hostage. You are a go.”

We’re no stranger to David and Goliath fights, and 12 is on the smaller side of some of the groups we’ve taken on, but no matter the number, we approach this one with extra precaution, only because of Wallace’s M.O. None of us are looking to be anywhere near another one of his bombs.

The compound he’s made his hideout is run of the mill for this part of the world. Like our own, Wallace’s has high walls, a sturdy gate, and a simple floor plan. It leaves us with two options; come in with a bang, or creep in with a whisper.

“There’s two gates,” I remind the boys, knowing full well that while they all prefer coming in with as much firepower as possible, it opens the door for Wallace to get away in the commotion, and I, for one, want to end this once and for all.

“Alpha, how many signatures on the exterior?” Dom asks, all of us hidden in the shadows, waiting for the deciding factor on how we proceed.

“Looks like 2 on the south side, patrolling the far gate. If you’re going in quiet, now’s the time to move.”

We all nod and immediately get to work. Strapping on my gloves, I grab my wire cutters out of the pocket on my kevlar, and wait until Flip has gotten into position. The tallest of the team, he bends over, providing me with the flat of his back to stand on so that I can cut the razor wire off the top of the wall. Carefully, I peek over the edge, relieved when I find the courtyard empty. Though there are lights on in the compound, every window is covered with an opaque blind, making this way of entering far better suited to our needs.

I cut enough wire away to allow all the boys to climb over, making sure to throw it away from the compound not only for safety, but to reduce the chances of us being heard. Satisfied that everyone has clearance, I pocket my multitool and quickly hop over, landing softly in the dirt.

Rick and Benji are quick to follow, the three of us taking up post so that the rest of the guys can come in safely. It takes less than five minutes for all of us to breach the perimeter, and after a moment to regroup, we move towards our target.

“Alpha, we need your eyes,” Rick whispers, taking point as we position ourselves flush against the nearest wall of the compound. We could clear the place blind, but that increases the chance that someone will sound the alarm as they die, and we can’t take the risk. Though they said they had to wash their hands of it, after Rome, the DOD extended their resources; while they can’t send those currently serving, they can provide a helping hand to those who are willing to risk it all to capture one of our own.

“Two at 3 o’clock, in the first room. There’s two at the back gate you’ll want to handle first.”

Nodding at one another, we split up. Rick and Dom position themselves at the first room, Flip and Benji take up post across the villa in front of another room, while Max, Jake and I edge around to the back of the compound, intent on taking out the two men guarding the rear gate as silently as possible.

With Jake on one side, Max and I move around to the other side, all of us needing to get eyes on the men. As I predicted, they’re young, but I find cold solace when I see that they’re not teenagers, bought out to act as human shields. Checking my gun, I make sure the silencer is on tightly before leveling it into place to look through my scope. At less than 50 feet, it’s an easy shot; it just has to be timed correctly. Max counts us down using only his fingers, and when the time is right, both Jake and I take double-tap shots, killing the men before they have a chance to make a sound.

Over comms, I can hear Rick and Dom breaching their first room, and as we move back towards the center of the villa, Benji and Flip do the same. My relief grows with every room that’s cleared, the body count growing as we approach the spot where Wallace is holed up with the hostage.

“Last room has the prize. Good luck, and godspeed.”

The room in question lies at the heart of the villa. Protected on either side by anti-rooms, We have to work our way through two more sets of men before finally being able to come face-to-face with Wallace once again.

A bright smile is the last thing we expect when we finally level our guns to his head.

“Nice of you all to finally join me. Thought it would take much less time for Uncle Sam to track me down. No matter, you’re here now, we can get to it. In your haste, I’m afraid none of you noticed...” Wallace’s gaze goes to the floor, and as my own eyes follow, I can’t help but feel my heart sink. My eyes dart quickly to Max and Dom, nausea overcoming me as I find that every single one of us has stepped on a trip wire.

“It’s like Russian Roulette, except I’m the one holding the gun.”

Wallace’s laugh will be imprinted in my mind for the rest of my life.

#henry cavill #pablo schreiber #henry cavill x ofc #pablo schreiber x ofc #resurrection #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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jail-crow-of-mandos · 4 years

Text

Is Caranthir Autistic Or Am I Just Projecting: An Autobiography

Yup, here it is. My long-promised autistic Caranthir meta. Although I’m not sure how much of a meta it can be considering Caranthir is only mentioned by name 24 times in the entire Silmarillion, outside of the name index at the end. So here’s the plan: we’re gonna go through every time he’s mentioned and see if it tells us anything about potentially being autistic.

Before we begin. here is the DSM list of requirements for being diagnosed as autistic. Considering how few times we see Caranthir doing stuff in day to day life, odds are we won’t get to the level required for full diagnosis, but it certainly can help support it as a theory.

Requirements:

Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction,

Deficits in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships

At least two of the following: Stereotyped or repetitive motor movements, use of objects, or speech, Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior, Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus, Hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input or unusual interest in sensory aspects of the environment

Symptoms must be present in the early developmental period (but may not become fully manifest until social demands exceed limited capacities, or may be masked by learned strategies in later life)

Symptoms cause clinically significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of current functioning.

These disturbances are not better explained by intellectual disability or global developmental delay. Intellectual disability and autism spectrum disorder frequently co-occur; to make comorbid diagnoses of autism spectrum disorder and intellectual disability, social communication should be below that expected for general developmental level.

With that being said, let’s start at the beginning:

“The seven sons of Fëanor were Maedhros the tall; Maglor the mighty singer, whose voice was heard far over land and sea; Celegorm the fair, and Caranthir the dark; Curufin the crafty, who inherited most of his father’s skill of hand; and the youngest Amrod and Amras, who were twin brothers, alike in mood and face. In later days they were great hunters in the woods of Middle-earth; and a hunter also was Celegorm [...]”

“[Regarding the Oath] Thus spoke Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, Amros and Amras, princes of the Noldor [...]”

Okay these two tell us absolutely nothing about Caranthir in particular, at least for this particular topic. Moving swiftly along.

“But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud: ‘Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin”

Now we’re finally getting to the good part. Let’s start at the beginning. “Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity”. Yep. To put that in layman’s terms, it means to have trouble understanding how to navigate conversations in a normal way, often talking out of turn or speaking too harshly. This falls into both of those. On top of that, it also shows signs of “Deficits in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships”. He is clearly misreading the situation and attacking Angrod for no real reason outside of being mad about everything. This is not how you speak to a stranger, especially not a diplomat.

One could even argue that it could show signs of “Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior”” and “Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction”. The former could be argued because one could say that he has fallen into a comfortable pattern, and the idea of changing it is deeply distressing to him, hence why he lashed out. The idea of changes happening that he didn’t directly have a say in causes him to panic and react with anger. As far as the latter one goes, given Maedhros’s initial response to Angrod as well as him trying to calm Caranthir down afterwards, one can reasonably assume that his body language was telling his brothers to stay calm and cordial. Caranthir either ignored this deliberately (which would strengthen the prior argument that he struggles maintaining and understanding relationships, given the authority Maedhros has over him) or he simply could not pick up on the nonverbal cues that Maedhros was giving.

“Now the people of Caranthir dwelt furthest east beyond the upper waters of Gelion, about Lake Helevorn under Mount Rerir and to the southward; and they climbed the heights of Ered Luin and looked eastward in wonder, for wild and wide it seemed to them were the lands of Middle-earth. And thus it was that Caranthir's people came upon the Dwarves, who after the onslaught of Morgoth and the coming of the Noldor had ceased their traffic into Beleriand. But though either people loved skill and were eager to learn, no great love was there between them; for the Dwarves were secret and quick to resentment, and Caranthir was haughty and scarce concealed his scorn for the unloveliness of the Naugrim, and his people followed their lord. Nevertheless since both peoples feared and hated Morgoth they made alliance, and had of it great profit; for the Naugrim learned many secrets of craft in those days, so that the smiths and masons of Nogrod and Belegost became renowned among their kin, and when the Dwarves began again to journey into Beleriand all the traffic of the dwarf-mines passed first through the hands of Caranthir, and thus great riches came to him.”

So this is the part that led to all of the Caranthir loving money jokes, which ultimately led to there being a Caranthir/money tag on AO3. (No, really.) That said, there’s a lot to unpack here. First of all, it’s pretty reasonable to think that Caranthir’s love for planning and economics go beyond average, so let’s assume for a moment that economics are his special interest. This would fill the third elective requirement: “Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus”. Or, in other words, having a special interest. But beyond that, him not even trying to hide his distaste for the Dwarves clearly shows a lack of basic diplomacy, which we’ve been over before. He has severely lacking social skills. Plus, choosing to be hostile towards a group that have the exact same interests as him proves that he struggles with change, or at the very least forming interpersonal bonds, even if he did form an alliance with them in the end (which only goes to show how strong his special interest is).

“Therefore the Noldor held strength of cavalry In the plains at that place; and the people of Caranthir fortified the mountains to the east of Maglor's Gap. There Mount Rerir, and about it many lesser heights, stood out from the main range of Ered Lindon westward; and in the angle between Rerir and Ered Lindon there was a lake, shadowed by mountains on all sides save the south. That was Lake Helevorn, deep and dark, and beside it Caranthir had his abode; but all the great land between Gelion and the mountains, and between Rerir and the River Ascar, was called by the Noldor Thargelion, which signifies the Land beyond Gelion, or Dor Caranthir, the Land of Caranthir; and it was here that the Noldor first met the Dwarves. But Thargelion was before called by the Grey-elves Talath Rhúnen, the East Vale.”

Okay this one might be a bit of a stretch, but one could argue that Caranthir choosing to live beneath the mountains and in a notably dark region could indicate a sensitivity to bright lights, which would qualify as a sensory sensitivity. Even if not, though, we already have the required two of the four electives.

“At that time [Celegorm and Curufin] were from home, riding with Caranthir east in Thargelion [...]”

And this tells us absolutely nothing.

“But seven days later, as the Orcs made their last assault and had already broken through the stockade, there came suddenly a music of trumpets, and Caranthir with his host came down from the north and drove the Orcs into the rivers.

Then Caranthir looked kindly upon Men and did Haleth great honour; and he offered her recompense for her father and brother. And seeing, over late, what valour there was in the Edain, he said to her: 'If you will remove and dwell further north, there you shall have the friendship and protection of the Eldar, and free lands of your own.'

But Haleth was proud, and unwilling to be guided or ruled, and most of the Haladin were of like mood. Therefore she thanked Caranthir, but answered: 'My mind is now set, lord, to leave the shadow of the mountains, and go west, whither others of our kin have gone.'”

One could probably argue that Haleth was Caranthir’s only friend outside of his immediate family, which certainly indicates a struggle in forming bonds. That being said, he did pretty good here. I’m proud of him :))

“Maglor joined Maedhros upon Himring; but Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves; and the Orcs came not into Ossiriand, nor to Taur-im-Duinath and the wilds of the south.”

While this is a very interesting passage for Caranthir’s characterization, it has nothing to do with him potentially being autistic, so we can move on.

“The sons of Ulfang the Black were Ulfast, and Ulwarth, and Uldor the accursed; and they followed Caranthir and swore allegiance to him, and proved faithless”

Poor Caranthir can’t catch a break, can he? But yeah of course he chooses the people who end up being the least loyal. Certainly indicates a lack of character judgement, which falls under not understanding nonverbal communication.

“There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir”

RIP. But it doesn’t really tell us anything.

Obviously, we can’t know what he was like during childhood development, nor can we know what underlying conditions he may have. However, given how many alliances he fucked over or nearly fucked over with his bad social skills, it’s fair to say that his autistic traits would have clinical significance. So, in conclusion, while nothing can be said for certain, it is reasonable to think that Caranthir is autistic.

#tolkien #silmarillion #caranthir #meta #actuallyautistic

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poetic-emptiness-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Morendo (Echoes of the Past 5: The “Aunt”)

Name of the fic comes from music vocabulary. It's an Italian word and means ”dying away”.

Characters: Afsoun Gul, Hande Kuura, Helena Kuura, Sardar Gul, Hugo Kuura, Nazali Satrinava, Julian Devorak & Asra Alnazar (mentioned)

Content warnings: mention of miscarriage & a character death

Words: ~2 700

@arcana-echoes

Afsoun Gul, the firstborn of Kourosh and Aytan Gul. The apple of her parents' eyes – for so many times had they tried to have a child, but all of them had ended in miscarriage. When Afsoun let out her first cry, both of her parents burst into tears of joy – they finally had a child who survived the pregnancy. They thought it was a miracle, like magic, so they named her Afsoun which means charm or spell in Karnassian. She stayed healthy and grew up in a loving, if a little overprotective home. Her olive skin, wavy, dark brown hair, Roman nose and bright, green eyes drew everyone's attention even when she was a child. Although she was outgoing, she had this mysterious aura around her. Just over a month after she had turned 8, she surprisingly became the big sister to a baby brother, Sardar. Despite their age difference, the siblings grew closer as Sardar grew up. At the age of 11 Afsoun started to manifest magic. Her maternal grandmother trained her first, but after her passing, she studied on her own – when she was 25, she moved to Vesuvia and bought a magic shop to practice her occupation as a magician.

”Listen, I just got a letter from Afsoun,” Sardar states seriously when he comes to living room where Helena and Hande are knitting. Both of the women raises their heads from their works and scrutinise Sardar questioningly. His expression is worried, ”She told me she's come down with something, but isn't sure what. She belittles it, of course, and I don't like it one bit, I think we must go see her – it might be serious.” Helena and Hande look at each other, worry clear on their faces, as well. Afsoun rarely became ill and it must be something serious, if she doesn't know what it is. Helena thinks for a moment, before talking to her husband, ”Love, what do you think, if we also ask Hugo to join us? He understands magical aspects of healing and illnesses better than anyone I know – he's taught Hande, after all.” Sardar's eyes are filled with adoration and his grimace turns into a hopeful smile, ”Esheq zendegua men¹, that's a wonderful idea! Why didn't I think of that? Could you please write to him immediately? He can come straight to Vesuvia, if he's available.”

They leave the very next day. Sardar has rented a carriage for them. Hande doen't like to be that near to horses, but she swallows her fear and with trembling hands she enters the carriage. Once she's inside it gets a little easier, but she's ashamed that she's so horrified of those innocent creatures. Once her parents are inside with her, both of them take her hands in their own – like they could sense her fear – and smile to her encouragingly. ”It's going to be okay, afetab men². Just deep breaths,” Sardar says calmingly. Hande closes her eyes and breaths. She feels the hands of her parents and finds it relieving – she's safe. After some time, she finally opens her eyes and looks around. The panic has been subsided, and they can start their journey to Vesuvia.

***

Three days later

Afsoun's whole body aches. She had hoped to open her shop today, but how could she? Even a thought of leaving her bed makes her body ache more. But she has to, there are still chores to do, and who would take care of Azar if not her? With a groan, Afsoun rises up – it really worsens her pain, but she ignores it. Now is not time for lying around. She drags herself to the bathroom to wash her face and teeth, but almost loses her balance when she glances in a mirror. She can't believe her eyes, and moves closer to see better. ”Oh my goodness...” slips from her mouth. Her scleras have turned to crimson. This is bad... I need to see a doctor. She forces herself to change clothes, put on a shawl to prevent others to notice her eyes and puts protection spells on her shop's front door, before she leaves to visit Dr. Satrinava. She has even co-operated with them a few years ago and she knows they are in town right now.

Normally Afsoun would just walk, but she feels so exhausted already she takes a carriage to bring her to the outskirts of South End. She has heard, that instead of the Palace (Countess Nadia is their sister, after all) Dr. Satrinava is staying in an inn at South End, and is currently visiting their former apprentice, who has a clinic there. Luckily the driver knows where the clinic is and they are there in no time. Afsoun pays the driver and thank them before knocking on the clinic's door. She hears a voice of an unfamiliar person calling her to come in and she opens the door. She looks around her: the clinic is small, but clean and cozy. In the office there's a young, tall, lanky man with curly auburn hair and grey eyes. His skin is even paler than Hande's, Afsoun notices. ”Good morning! How can I help you?” greets the man with lively and warm voice. He seems to be a nice person, Afsoun thinks before she anwers, ”Good morning. I have heard, that Dr. Satrinava is at the South End. Are they here?”

Before the man can answer, Afsoun hears some voice from the back room, and when the door opens, there comes Dr. Satrinava with their red shawl and playful glint in their violet eyes. ”Did someone call for me?” they ask in that always friendly tone of theirs. Afsoun can't help, but grin, ”I should have known, that instead of that fancy Palace you'd stay in the rowdier parts of this town, Nazali.” Dr. Satrinava looks a little pensive at first, but then a recognition hits them, ”Could that be always so mysterious magician Afsoun Gul? It's been ages! Didn't know you've started to use shawls during summer!” They approach Afsoun to hug them, but Afsoun steps back, ”I think it would be better, if you don't come too close to me. I have come down with some foul disease, and I don't know if it's contagious.” Before she can explain any further, the red-haired man opens his mouth, confused, ”Erm, you two know each other?” Nazali glances at the man and slams their hand on their forehead, ”Where are my manners? Yes, Afsoun, this is Dr. Julian Devorak, a former apprentice of mine and now a doctor with his own clinic. Julian, this is Afsoun Gul, a gifted magician – don't give that face, Julian! I'm sorry, he's a little jumpy about magic – who helped me with some tenacious epidemic a few years ago.”

Although Dr. Devorak seems to be wary about the fact, that Afsoun is a magician, he still smiles to her and greets her very politely – one could say he's actually charming. ”Please to meet you, Dr. Devorak. You don't need to worry, I won't bite,” Afsoun says a little mischief in her voice. Dr. Devorak relaxes a little and lets out a chuckle, ”Please, call me Julian. Friends of Dr. Satrinava's are my friends, too.” Afsoun smiles, although none of the others can see it because of her shawl. Then Nazali asks, what is this ”foul disease” Afsoun is talking about. Suddenly, Afsoun remembers her aches again and her legs give out. Julian catches her in time and helps her to sit on a chair. ”Well, for a few days I've only had a sore throat and muscle aches. Today, I saw this,” Afsoun says and takes down her shawl to reveal her eyes. Nazali's eyes widen in surprise and worry when they see Afsoun's eyes, ”Oh no... Not you, too...”

***

Disbelief. Numbness. Those are the things Afsoun is feeling on her way back home. She who was almost never ill, has come down with something even doctors don't know, what it exactly is. Only that all who have gotten it so far, haven't survived it. Nazali has told Afsoun that her case is the second one they've seen in Vesuvia – others have been on battle fields. They also said not to throw in the towel, but Afsoun couldn't share their optimism. This disease is unknown, so what are the odds she's going to survive that? Not so great. Nazali promised to come to see her every day at home calls – well, at least she'll be in good hands when it comes to pain relief... She also thanks her sense, that she had made her will years ago, just in case. All will go to her niece, Hande.

Afsoun had never married or had children of her own. That didn't bother her, though – she has never wanted those things to herself, after all. She has always been more than happy with her friends, Sardar and his family. She's only going to be sorry, how much pain she'll cause to Sardar with this. Like he hasn't lost enough already... How on Earth has she gotten this disease, she just can't understand it. A fit of cough takes control of her body – like the aches weren't enough already. Well, if Hande decides to keep the shop, she's going to be great with shopkeeping: customers love her, she's extremely skilled magician for her age and she has also intelligence which will help her with budgeting and bookkeeping. Luckily she's already 21 years old, so she's also more than capable to move to live on her own.

When the carriage arrives in front of her shop, she's surprised: there's another carriage in front of it. Oh no... Could it be Sardar? Now Afsoun regrets that she has told her brother about her disease. Painstakingly she manages to get out of her carriage and pay the driver. Afsoun drags herself towards her home's door and yes: Sardar, Helena and Hande are standing there, looking puzzled and worried. When Afsoun makes her presence known to others, Sardar and Hande both are trying to come to hug her, but she stops them, ”No! It might be contagious!” She explains her visit to see Nazali and how her prognosis is far from good. She even tries to convince them to return home, even when she knows it's taken them many days to travel here. Sardar and Helena won't hear any of it and tell, how they have also invited Helena's younger brother, Hugo, to see if he could do something. Afsoun lets out a sigh, ”Oh well, but please, be very careful and remember to wash your hands as often as possible.” With that, Sardar helps his sister to enter back to her home while Helena and Hande follow suit.

***

A week later

It's over. Afsoun Gul has passed away at the age of 55 with her brother, sister-in-law, niece and brother of her sister-in-law by her side. The disease took its toll of Afsoun really fast and no matter what Nazali, Hugo or Hande tried to do to help her, nothing could be done. Sardar has broken down completely, crying beside her big sister's bed – he is now the only living member of his family.

Although Helena nor Hande cry easily, both of their faces are now covered with tears. Hugo is also sad, although Afsoun wasn't as close to him as she was to Helena's family. He also knows, how much they all have already gone through, and this is just too much. The soldiers of Count Lucio had come to the shop and demanded, that Afsoun's corpse should be given for them to burn, but Sardar got furious – his wife and daughter had never seen him like that. Sardar stated, that Afsoun's body will be moved to Karnassos where she will be buried beside their parents. ”The Count has taken enough away from me – he won't take my sister's body. End of discussion!” had Sardar shouted to them, and soldiers decided it would be better to give in, especially since they had a Satrinava on their side.

Later that day, Helena finds Afsoun's will while cleaning her room. She asks everyone to the kitchenette where she opens it. Helena offers the document to Sardar, but he shakes his head, eyes still red due to all crying. Helena nods and takes her husband's hand when she starts to read the will. Only Hande seems surprised about the fact, that Afsoun has left all of her possessions to her – including her shop. ”But... Why me?” she whispers, staring at the table. Sardar sniffs and turns to her daughter, ”Because, afetab men, you are the only one of us, who can do magic. She doesn't have her own children and she has trained you since you were a toddler. Afsoun is... was proud of you and I think she wanted to give you a chance to live your own life.”

”But what about going to university? You have saved money so I could go to Prakra to study even more magic...” Helena takes her daughter's hand and squeezes it reassuringly, speaking in Hongas, ”My darling, of course you don't need to decide yet. You have many options: you can sell the shop, rent it or keep it and apply to university later. Me and your father just want you to be happy, so don't do anything you think we expect you to do. Give yourself time and think carefully, what YOU want to do.” Hugo nods in approval and Sardar has understood his wife's words as well, and agrees in Karnassian, ”Your mother is right. You are 21 years already, it's your own life and it should be you who make the decisions.” Hande looks at her parents and uncle. She hasn't ever needed to make a decision that big, and only a thought of that makes her skin crawl. Well, like äiti and baba had said, she has time – luckily...

***

Dear Asra,

I'm sure you have heard by now, that amme³ Afsoun has died. It was some foul disease, which the doctors there or even my uncle Hugo have never seen before – they all were flabbergasted. My family and me were there, when it happened, and it was heartbreaking to witness her withering away in a week... I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was coming there – I was so worried about amme and the disease seems to be contagious, so I didn't want to risk your health and life. We (me, äiti, baba and Hugo) needed to be quarantined for two weeks at amme's house. Luckily none of us got infected...

I have a surprise for you: I'm going to move to Vesuvia. We found Afsoun's will and she has left her shop and all of her other possessions to me. I was surprised for that – yes, I am the only magician of my family, but still... I have discussed the matter with my äiti and baba, and they thought the magic shop gives a better opportunity to practice my profession than it is with my current way in Karnassos.

To be honest, I'm a little nervous about it. I've always lived in Karnassos and leaving this city for good feels a little scary for me. Shopkeeping is also a great responsibility – will I manage to uphold my amme's legacy and am I skilled enough to keep it? Still, I'm also excited: I will get a new adventure, and what's best, we can see each other more often than before.

I'm moving to Vesuvia in a month – there are some legal aspects to finish yet, and I have also my own arrangements to make, before I can leave. Could you help me with moving in, while we arrive to Vesuvia? Äiti and baba are going to come with me to help with all the things I take from here.

I can't wait to hear from you! Stay safe and send my love to Muriel!

Best wishes,

Your friend Pixie

TRANSLATIONS:

¹ ”The love of my life”

² ”my sunshine”

³ paternal aunt

NOTES:

Azar is the stove salamander and Afsoun's familiar

My AO3

#The Arcana #fan apprentice #Hande the Apprentice #Julian Devorak #Nazali Satrinava #fanfic #my writing #my work #arcana eotp

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confused-stars · 4 years

Text

hawksweek2020 - Day 2: Wholesome Gen

@hawksweek2020 ___ Dark Shadows and Red Feathers (or: i accidentally write way too much angst but somehow manage to turn it wholesome in the end)

___ All he could see was smoke. All he could feel was smoke, too, which was a whole lot more problematic. There was nothing solid enough for him to stab a feather into, or to punch and kick at, and he was flailing, trying to stay airborne as his lungs burned with the need for oxygen. Hawks could easily handle any sort of physical quirk, and most emitters, too, but this… this was almost as bad as fire. He hadn’t been able to sense the villain about to get the drop on him, because there had been no solid form his feathers would have alerted him of. No vibrations to tune into. And now he was wrapped up in a thick cloud in it, and it felt like the viscosity was changing, almost like a gaseous tar sticking to his wings, cutting off his airways… “Hawks!”

Tokoyami. Hawks rolled around in the air, trying to shake off the smoke, somehow… he had no idea how to get it off of him, and he wasn’t falling yet, but it was only a matter of time. He could already feel the familiar dizziness that came with being cut off from air for too long. Part of his brain focused on his feathers, several of them dancing around himself and the smoke villain, trying to poke at their defenses, trying to get him out, but none of it was working. He called the feathers back into his wings in an attempt to use them to balance himself for the time being, but his control was slipping… fuck, even if Tokoyami managed to catch him, that would only mean the kid would get enveloped in the smoke as well, and then they’d both be incapacitated. Hawks closed his eyes, the darkness made no difference, and continued gasping for air, if he could only get one good breath, then his mind would be cleared and he could do… something. Anything. “Dark Shadow, no!” A noise like a roar, and like a powerful wind, and maybe a little like thunder, was the last thing Hawks heard before he lost consciousness.

He came to about twenty feet above the ground, and immediately spread his wings to break his fall, swooping low above the heads of terrified civilians. There were some screams, a handful of scattered cheers, and Hawks took to the sky again, gasping in lungfuls of precious night air. He still felt like there was tar or something like it stuck to some of his feathers, and his flight was a little more sluggish than usual, but he was up and awake and… oh, no. Oh, shit. The smoke villain seemed to have disappeared in the seconds he’d been out, but this was a much, much bigger problem. Dark Shadow was spread out in the air between two skyscrapers, massive and dark and buzzing with power, eyes glowing menacingly. Hawks couldn’t even see Tokoyami. He’d heard of this, of course, he would be a terrible hero if he didn’t do his research, but he’d never actually seen Tokoyami lose control. The kid had told him that it only happened at night, and if his emotions got the better of him. And with how in control Tokoyami usually was, especially for someone his age, Hawks had just decided not to worry about it too much while still keeping an eye out. Why was Dark Shadow acting up now? Was it because… “Hey, big guy!” Hawks rose with a few slow beats of his wings until he was near Dark Shadow’s head, though close enough to dart away if he needed to. “I’m okay, see? All in one piece! You did good!” Whatever he’d done. Hawks would get the story later. “So you can let Tsukuyomi go now, alright?” A tendril of shadow swiped his way, and Hawks dropped down a few feet to dodge, it, spiraling up higher once he regained his balance. “Come on, hey, it’s okay! You can calm down now…” Maybe there was no reasoning with him when he was like this. Hawks didn’t entirely understand Dark Shadow, but apparently even Tokoyami kept learning new things about his quirk. They communicated well enough, the shadow being’s personality an interesting contrast to Tokoyami’s serious demeanor. There was none of that visible now though. Just something that anyone without knowledge of the situation would have called a monster. “Tsukuyomi!” Hawks swerved sharply to the left when Dark Shadow tried to hit him again. Good thing he was focused on this now, and not on the people on the streets below. Hawks didn’t think that Dark Shadow was malicious in this form, but he probably wouldn’t care about any destruction he caused. Until he snapped out of it. So, Hawks needed to solve this quick. “It’s alright, kid, I’ve got this! I’ll get him to calm down, you’ll be safe in no time!” And Hawks dove straight at Dark Shadow, narrowly dodging his shadowed beak as he flew a tight circle around his head, then dove underneath his form, only to shoot up again and flash him a bright grin. “Come catch me!” Dark Shadow immediately rose to the challenge, and Hawks didn’t even have a moment to be relieved, because fuck, he was faster in this form. Hawks weaved his way through the sky, keeping them both far above the upturned faces of the civilians, and dodged and rolled whenever necessary – until he found what he’d been looking for. A massive billboard advertisement (for Best Jeanist’s newest Winter line) lit up by four floodlights from below. Several feathers shot out to cut away at one of them, causing it to shift slightly, creaking with the movement. It was unstable. Hawks allowed himself a tiny grin, he loved when his on the fly plans worked out the way he intended. “Just a little further, buddy, you almost got me!” he called, rounded the billboard, and used his momentum to slam his feet against the damaged floodlight. The impact rattled his bones, and he let out a tiny noise of pain, but the light was pushed aside, beam hitting Dark Shadow directly in his yellow eyes. There was a screech that sounded almost pained, and his form began to shrink. Hawks was already up again, and he didn’t hesitate, wings carrying him right to the middle of where the quirk’s most dangerous manifestation was shrinking to. He still couldn’t see much past the darkness, but his arms closed around a solid body, and a moment later, he was hovering in the air with a shivering Tokoyami in his arms. Dark Shadow was nowhere in sight. “Hawks,” Tokoyami gasped, and fuck, were those tears? The kid was clinging to his jacket, and he didn’t seem to feel up to saying much more. Hawks could understand that. He beat his wings backwards and brought them to the roof the billboard stood on – and there was some minor property damage for the night, great – and landed them both carefully, holding onto Tokoyami until he was sure the kid was standing on his own. Then, he pulled away to check him over. Aside from being obviously upset, there were no visible injuries. His hero costume might be concealing most of them though. “Tsukuyomi. I need you to focus. Are you hurt anywhere?” Tokoyami shook his head. “N-no. Hawks, are you… you almost…” “But I didn’t,” Hawks interrupted, half-worried about what would happen if Tokoyami got even more upset, and half just worried about his intern, period. “You saved me. And yeah, it went a little south after that, but thanks to you I was there to do damage control.” He patted Tokoyami on the head, and it was more than enough proof of the kid’s state that he leaned into it with a quiet crooning noise rather than pull away, embarrassed. It had to be a nightmare to be trapped by his own quirk like that, unable to move or stop himself from being, essentially, an accessory to whatever Dark Shadow did. Like attacking Hawks, for example. Did UA have a decent councilor? They should. Hawks had to remember to let Eraserhead know about this, at the very least. They were supposed to inform UA about any unusual happenstances during patrol anyway, and this definitely counted. Hawks pulled out his phone and checked the time. They still had a little more than two hours left on patrol. But a sideways glance at Tokoyami assured him that there was no way the kid could go on. Now, he could always send him back to the dorms and finish the patrol by himself, but… he couldn’t just leave his little intern alone to deal with this. Because he wouldn’t go and find someone to talk to, that wasn’t his style. He’d just hide away and brood and feel guilty. Hawks could not let him do that. He sent off a text to his agency’s group chat ‘The Roost’, letting his sidekicks know that he had to skip out on the rest of his patrol, and asking them to find an off-duty hero as replacement for him. This hadn’t happened a lot, but it wasn’t unheard of. Hawks had gotten hurt before, or hit by quirks that made him unable to finish flying his route, so they had a system in place for that happening. His agency, as far as it was his, anyway, worked like a well-oiled machine. “What kind of food do you want?” he asked, looking up from his phone and over at Tokoyami. At least the kid had stopped shaking. He appeared composed again, like usual, but Hawks knew better than that. Now, Tokoyami tilted his head at him, eyes narrowing a bit in confusion. “… what?” Hawks waved his phone. “I just called out of patrol duty for the night, so we’re getting food and watching a movie.” Tokoyami gaped at him, and Hawks crossed his arms, putting on what could probably be described as a pout. “What, you don’t wanna hang out with your favorite hero in the whole world?” Tokoyami looked away. “… I would be fine returning to the dorms on my own. You have no obligation to mother-hen me after what just happened.” Hawks shook his head. “Nope. No, I will mother-hen you because I want to.” Certain people - Rumi, Dabi - already called him ‘chicken’ on a regular basis. “You’re choosing to fuss over me rather than protect the people of this city,” Tokoyami pointed out, and yeah, he kind of had a point. This was definitely not how he was supposed to choose in this situation. But screw that. “Heroism starts small. Sometimes only with one person. You’re my person for the night,” Hawks told him, and apparently his tone was insistent enough that Tokoyami caved. They touched down on the balcony of Hawks’ apartment about half an hour later, with Tokoyami clutching a big bag of McDonald’s food to his chest. They’d decided on that since it was fast and Hawks could get a ton of chicken nuggets, which was always a good selling point. As he walked over to press his finger against the scanner to unlock the balcony door, Hawks realized that Tokoyami was only the second person he’d ever invited to this place. Rumi had been here a few times, but even she didn’t usually hang out. They were both pretty busy, after all. It wasn’t even that much of a home to Hawks, who preferred to spend what precious free time he had up in the sky, or perched on a rooftop somewhere. More often than not, he ended up taking notice of some minor crime that way, and ended up working even during his time off. But he didn’t really mind that at all. “Make yourself at home,” he told Tokoyami over his shoulder as he pulled off his boots, walked inside and headed straight for the couch. It was spacey, and absolutely covered in a collection of pillows and soft blankets, and he was completely unashamed of that fact. This was his space, and if he wanted all the soft things, then he could damn well use his hero salary to get them. Tokoyami was a little more hesitant as he followed him inside, setting down their food on the couch table and looking around, scanning the room. It was probably not the prettiest, or the most homey looking. There were a handful of photos on the wall. A framed selfie of Hawks and Endeavor, the latter frowning into the camera. A photo of Rumi asleep in the grass on one of the first days they’d ever spent just hanging out. A photo of Tokoyami from the Sports Festival, looking serious with a medal around his neck. Hawks had gotten that from one of his sidekicks, and he’d hung it up because that was what you were supposed to do with photos, and he kind of liked it anyway. Tokoyami stared at it for a few beats, then turned abruptly around and pulled off his cloak before sitting on the couch. Hawks opted for the carpet in front after getting out of his jacket and having two feathers carry it to its space beside the door. He stretched out his wings a little and looked them over, frowning. There were some black spots that looked like ooze. Felt like it, too, when he ran his fingers through it. He scrunched up his nose. “Tokoyami.” He looked up, purposefully using the kid’s name instead of his hero name since they were off duty now. “Mind helping me out with my wings a bit after we eat? I don’t think I can reach all the spots to clean them.” “Oh. Of course I can… do that, Hawks.” Apparently tonight he was just throwing off Tokoyami over and over again. But that was better than him being all withdrawn and guilty. Hawks turned on the tv and then tossed the kid the remote. “Pick whatever you like. This movie night is for you.” He moved his attention onto unpacking their food, setting Tokoyami’s aside for him while the kid browsed through a selection of all horror movies that Hawks had never even heard of. He wasn’t a big fan of horror… but he’d suffer through it for his intern. The movie that Tokoyami picked started innocently enough, though the vibe was a little off from the first second. Hawks didn’t know enough about horror to know if this was a common thing. He just focused on his nuggets, and Tokoyami ate quietly beside him. There were no jump scares or anything of the sort, it was more of a… half creepy, half psycho kind of movie, and Hawks could say with absolute certainty that he was not enjoying it. He felt a little queasy each time the villain appeared, acting like a perfectly pleasant and friendly person and not at all like the monster they actually were underneath it all. Hawks preferred his villains clear cut and obviously scary, thank you very much. As they finished the meal, Hawks took that as an excuse to flee from the movie for a little while, and he returned from the bathroom changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and with a warm, damp towel. He sat in front of Tokoyami and handed it to him, and the kid, after a moment’s hesitation, tugged his wing up and stretched it out, running the towel along the dirty spots carefully, but clearly with some expertise. Hawks didn’t know the difference between grooming his wings and what Tokoyami had to do for his shorter, softer head feathers, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Hawks focused on the movie, though he found himself much more comfortable now. The events of the night were catching up to him a bit, his throat and lungs still felt a bit raw from the smoke, and he was going to be sore all over the next morning, but mostly he was just exhausted. “It looked like that warp villain,” Tokoyami said, during a quiet part of the movie. Hawks turned his head to look at him, but Tokoyami was focused intently on his wing, smoothing out some stray feathers. “From the League. The… the smoke villain, his quirk was reminiscent of that one. Seeing you get swallowed up brought my mind back to that night…” Hawks nodded in understanding. He knew a little about the summer camp incident, mostly what all the pros knew, and a few minor details Tokoyami had been willing to share. He’d had a friend taken from him that night, and he’d had to watch. Having his mentor disappear in a much similar way… “It’s not your fault you had a trauma reaction,” Hawks found himself saying, “You’ve been through a lot for a kid your age. And you’re strong as he- heck for it. But it’s okay that you’re not perfectly in control all the time.” Tokoyami gave him an incredulous glance. His hands stilled. Hawks pushed his wing insistently against them until he took up his work again. “I mean what I say, chicklet. We’ll work on you calming Dark Shadow down on your own, but it’s not your fault that you got upset. People have emotions, that’s not something you can switch off.” How convenient that would be. “And you saved my life tonight. I’m proud of you.” Tokoyami averted his gaze again, and Hawks turned back to the movie. They sat in silence for a little while. “… chicklet?” Tokoyami finally asked, quietly. Hawks tilted his head back and grinned toothily up at him. “Yup. Welcome to the nest. There’s no escaping mother-hen Hawks now.” Tokoyami looked like he wanted to put that theory to test. Good thing Hawks could outfly him any day.

#hawksweek2020 #bnha #i haven't written any action scenes in literal years it feels like #but heyyy its tokoyami because i love the birb gang #is this wholesome enough???#i dont know why the angst got away from me so much #(because this is me and i cant have nice things unless i do a sad before)

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thedaveandkimmershow · 3 years

Photo

We woke up this morning, for the second time this trip, in the back of a rented Nissan Armada SUV. It was a pretty good night’s sleep, too, because of the cushions and mattress topper Kimmer found a coupla nights ago at Home Depot and Walmart. :-)

For posterity, the winning prescription goes like this: on the bottom, yoga mats we picked up at the Medford GoodWill; on top of those, the two sets of seat cushion pairs from Home Depot; on top of those, the thick foam mattress topper from Walmart and then one of our sleeping bags inside up, then us, then a wool blanket, then our other sleeping bag inside down, and finally... our duvet cover from home. Icing on a pretty layered cake, as it were.

It was all super comfy.

And warm.

A good night sleep was definitely had by us both.

By morning, the clouds and wind that rolled in last night were finally gone... well, at least the clouds cleared away.

Eventually.

Which made for a sun that was definitely cookiin’... at the same time the continued breezes cooled it all down.

It was a heckuva balancing act of temperature control. :-)

So sun, wind, waves. Yeah.

We’re off to a lazy morning start.

By the way, I legitimately forgot what day it is today. Both the day and the date. That’s how far off our normal life schedule we’ve wandered.

Now earlier we talked a little about the solar panel set-up Kimmer’s cousin employs. He actually uses two: a larger one powering his teardrop trailer and a smaller one that’s mobile.

So far, though, Kimmer’s used the power, WiFi, and plentiful outdoor tables ‘n benches under quite lovely palm trees at the local shopping center for her Zoom meetings. Today, though, she’s thinking about using the domed tent her cousin set up along the west end of camp.

So I set up table, chair, and equipment in there... she takes a seat to make sure she’ll be comfortable in there (which she is)... and thus the plan’s set.

Except.

A coupla minutes before her first meeting she discovers to her horror that her laptop’s nearly out of juice. Jumping to her rescue, her cousin does this:

He grabs his smaller, mobile solar panel set up, moves it to the west side of the tent, snakes a cord into the tent and into a power bank he places at the foot of her desk into which I plug her laptop.

This was Kimmer’s aha! moment, by the way. Proof of concept. The one in which she realizes how working on the road could work. Could actually work.

She’s also sold on the idea of buying a WiFi hot spot while we’re down here because she’s well aware of how completely dependent we are on everyone else’s WiFi: Fred Meyer, Lowe’s, Moro Campground. In fact, our first attempt to do what we usually do on these trips, Starbucks, was a complete failure this time because what we usually do is snag a table for an hour or two for WiFi and recharging. So taking care of some of the business that followed us on this road trip has been, to say the least, a brain teasing, logistical challenge.

So it’s settled. Tomorrow, we’ll be passing by the Spectrum Center in Irvine where there’s a T-Mobile store. T-Mobile’s our cellular service provider... so we figure that’s where we’ll start.

By the way, I called Oregon Light Truck & RV to see if it’d be okay for us to leave the Rialta with them one more day than planned... and here’s what the rep said:

“No problem. It’s only costing you $284 per day.”

That was a little joke, by the way. We’re totally good for another day. Plus, we ended the call wishing each other a Happy Easter.

Wow.

Tomorrow’s actually Easter.

Okay so the story so far’s that Kimmer’s completely set with her Zoom meetings in her cousin’s tent with her laptop powered by the California sun.

In the morning, I while away the hours writing about our adventures thus far. Man, those first few days were brutal.

After lunch, I head out into the Laguna/Newport wilds gathering the different supplies and groceries here ‘n there of which we’re in need. Trader Joe’s, less than a mile from camp, was first on my route, of course. Picked up some lunch here and I swear if boy scout camping was more convenient like this I woulda totally been more into it.

Later I was at a nearby Starbucks sitting outside in the shade, partaking of both an iced chai tea latte and a little bit of peace.

Remember that?

Peace?

Seriously. It’s the best.

I highly recommend it.

In my case, the critical ingredients were a disconnect from my usual daily routine... and the time to experience what’s actually there when I’m not being a perpetual motion machine.

After Kimmer’s last meeting of the day, we’re out for a walk again on the beach. These walks, by the way, are substituting for the ones we take along South Lake Union only way, way better.

I guess you’ll just have to trust me on that one.

Today’s walk was our longest walk while we were here, with the sun dropping ever lower and the tide creeping higher this time around.

We walked all the way to the other end below the Shake Shack high on the cliffs above. Also to the very end of those beach cottages that’re either being torn down or remodeled.

This end of the beach, especially, was hoppin’ with teens and families and couples and boogie boarders enjoying every last moment of the day.

On our return walk, I became fascinating by these four little birds with long necks and super narrow beaks. They seemed to be playing in the surf as well. Because as the surf receded, they chased after it. As it came back in again, they ran away from it. As in

Run away! Run away!

I’m guessing they were feeding on something right there at the leading edge of the moving surf. Tiny things that their beaks could snatch even with the surf racing away. But not when that surf was coming after them. In fact, whenever the surf raced too quickly for these birds, they’d take to the air... then set down immediately nearby.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Most of the time the four birds acted in sync. One time, though, three took to the air going left while the other broke right. Immediately realizing its predicament, the last one did a mid-air pivot... and throttled up until rejoining the rest.

And I suppose the reason I’m telling you about this tiny scene is that it really did feel like young friends hanging out. Doing stuff together. Joining and rejoining. All while being very young.

Back at camp, it was full blown night as we joined the camp fire with family, enjoying each other’s company in conversation, joking around, and laughing.

It was a reminder how there are different ways for Peace to manifest in our lives. And for Joy to enter in.

Sitting alone at Starbucks. Walking a sunset beach together. Experiencing it even around a campfire.

We ended our day, once again, in the back of our SUV rental, this time partaking of a streaming episode of “Hot In Cleveland” on ParamountPlus.

Because, you know...

Camping.

#California road trip #Rialta #SUV bedroom #Nissan Armada #solar panels #WiFi #power bank #Crystal Cove Shopping Center #Moro Campground #Pacific Coast Highway #beachwalking #sunset #Peace #Joy #laughter #friendship #family #camping

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kisslcnd · 4 years

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oh my god , was that really tommy harcroft getting out of the uber ? no way . they must be the splitting image of mason gooding . i hear the twenty-three year old is worth at least $180m , and have at least 234.6m followers on twitter . the singer has been in the tabloids for years , but strangely enough nothing but them being purely inventive . i'm just waiting for their callousness to shine through . with lavishsecrets out in the open , it's just a matter of time before redacted is revealed . ( ic : the weeknd + miguel voiceclaims , cismale , he/him )

way back aka backstory !

tommy’s something of a legacy here in los angeles --- his dad’s a big time movie star with a weirdly indulged, but somewhat successful music career on the side. his mom, a socialite through and through, with a taste for the good life ruling her every choice.

life until he was five was great --- toys and money and love and a pretty damn good existence. until his mom decided one day, she wasn’t fit to be a mother; wasn’t cut out for the life of walking two steps behind someone till she was dead or passed over for a younger model. and that was fkn that, in the harcroft home.

tommy was old enough to remember the talk, the rumours, the scandal of his mom walking out and seemingly disappearing --- but young enough to still want his mom.

from that moment on, and it was tommy and his dad against the world. even when his dad found someone else, had another kid. it was still them against the world. he cherishes his dad like you wouldn’t believe, looks up to him any number of ways.

because of that, tommy’s always somewhat delighted in his own legacy and the power it involves. while he was a good natured, sweet kid --- once his mom left, he took a turn for the worse; and took a turn for the dark.

( there was a switch flipped in his mind. for all his mom said she cared, said she loved him, and loved his dad. for all his mom said she wouldn’t ever leave --- it turned out to be a lie. a joke with no punchline. he started to see that things like feelings and loyalty to your loved ones never really mattered, because people did what they wanted in the end. )

so why wasn’t he?

he was getting into clubs at sixteen on the virtue of his last name; living in the lap of luxury; perfectly content to whittle away his trust fund to the low thousands.

it was his step-mother that, in the end, pushed him towards something better. putting her foot down and demanding he be a better role model for his baby sister, tommy finally, finally decided to find himself a career.

always something of a poet in his youth, he channelled that into something... more.

( what followed was a serious of mixtapes and eps, eluding to darker desires, a fucked up sense of self. all released under half-assed pseudonyms, just for the sheer fact of having something to do. he didn’t expect the response he got --- shares all over soundcloud and filtering into instagram stories. eventually, he claimed the work as his own --- and re-released it under a simple name: tommy. )

street smarts aka personality !

tommy’s incredibly close with his baby sister, ( she’s also a wc ! ) despite the age gap. there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the lil tkye, and he often credits her with being the reason he gets his shit together on the daily. he wants to be a good person for his sister, and wants her to have a good role model.

despite the brillant smile, the creative ideas, the charming personality --- tommy has a heart of stone. the concept of monogamy is foreign to him, and for every girlfriend he’s had, there’s another girl he’s cheated on her with.

his issues with his mother, his family, all manifest in horrible, unique ways --- his casual attitude towards sex and feelings, his liberal use of drugs and alcohol; being just as quick to betray someone for a leg up, as he is take them under his wing.

he’s callous and cold --- he’s sarcastic and doesn’t want to take a deeper look at his own issues. why should he? no one else ever does. why does he have to be the bigger fucking person?

his music is, really, everything to him. ( a side note --- his claims re music are the weeknd, with a slight dash of miguel for aesthetics. i’ll have more to say in this area when my spotify stops being a shit. )

he’s one of those people who attracts hangers on like nobody’s buisness --- his dad’s populairty and legacy being the main factor. not that tommy would ever dare to suggest he didn’t like this part of his life --- god no.

divin’ deeper aka connection ideas !

exes ! secrets and not so secret, people who started as hook-ups and ended up in whirlwind flings on yachts in the south of france. the messier, the better.

pr relationship ! there’s probably one on the horizon, something to try and clean up his image just a little bit. a hard task, since tommy’s more inclined to fuck his way through a guest list than settle on monogamy.

best bros ! someone who’s known him since he was a kid, who knows what kind of guy lurks beneath all the bullshit and all the abandonment issues. someone he would literally bury a body for. his person.

enemies ! maybe tommy cheated on their sister. maybe tommy fucked them over in a collab. maybe there’s an ancient grudge between their two families.

collabs ! people he’s worked with in the past for songs, lyrics, etc etc. the list goes on.

#lavish.intro #ok kdjfsdf i tried so im gonna treat myself with a cookie #also take a shot for every time i wrote 'mason' instead of tommy here im clearly on something

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waywardaardvark79 · 4 years

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Supernatural Rewrite: Season 1 Episode 4: Phantom Traveler

Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you.

Pairing: eventual Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: language, show level violence

Word Count: 8,724

A/N: I’ll try to do at least one episode a week. No set schedule.

Dean was in that perfect middle ground state, stuck right in between being awake and asleep, everything a warm, hazy glow, and comfortable. God, was he comfortable.

He took a deep breath, the smell of strawberries hitting him, taking over his senses, his mouth turning up a little at the corner because of the images that were flooding his brain. You. You were the only thing he was seeing. He couldn't help himself anytime he smelled strawberries he instantly thought of you. You always seemed to smell like them, and he found it calming, a constant in an ever changing world.

Dean never really had anything constant, stable, in his life, not counting his brother, but even Sam had went away for awhile, leaving him spiraling for something familiar. That's why he hauled ass to Sioux Falls, South Dakota that night. He needed to be reminded that there were still constants in the world. That there was still one thing he could count on to not change, and you smelling like strawberries was it. He knew it was stupid. It was completely ridiculous that something so simple, so trivial could mean that much to a person. I mean, it was just shampoo.

It was something that he would never admit out loud, afraid of how crazy it would come off. I mean, to say that the smell of your strawberry shampoo was sometimes the only thing that kept him grounded somedays was insane, right?

He found himself dwelling on how outrageous it was sometimes, but no matter the thoughts that crossed his mind, they always ended with you. Then he would think that maybe it wasn't the strawberry shampoo that was the constant he could count on, maybe it was just you, after all. He could always count on you, and that brought a peace to him that he never thought he would have.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his blissful state, his hand automatically reaching under his pillow for a weapon as he turned his head to see who it was.

"Morning Sunshine." Sam said as he walked in, carrying a tray of coffees and pastries.

"What time is it?" Dean croaked out, you shifting in your sleep and tossing your leg over him.

"Uh, it's about five forty-five." Sam said.

"In the morning?" Dean asked, a little annoyed to be awake that early.

"Yep." Sam replied.

"Where does the day go?" Dean asked as he untangled himself from you so that he could sit up, being careful not to wake you as you were definitely not a morning person. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked once he was free of you, reaching up to move a strand of hair that had fallen across your face.

Sam watched the moment unfold before him, a feeling he couldn't place hitting him, "Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours." he replied.

"Liar. Cause I was up at three, and you and Y/N were watching a George Foreman informercial." Dean said, staring him down.

Sam scoffed, "No, we weren't." he said, knowing just how worried you and Dean were about him.

"Really? Cause I'm pretty sure I heard Y/N talking about how she would kill someone for one of those fuckin' steaks." Dean said, choosing to leave out what else he heard.

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV, and you know infomercials about food always make her hungry, and then she wants to order whatever it is they are talking about." Sam said, smiling a little about how you always insisted on ordering everything you saw on TV, Bobby's kitchen full of different appliances.

"Did she order the grill?" Dean asked.

"Someone wouldn't let me." you said, sitting up in bed, sleepily rubbing your eyes. "Why the fuck are we awake right now?"

"I, uh, couldn't sleep, but I got coffee." Sam said before thrusting a cup in your face.

You accepted it, looking up at him with a sad smile, "Thanks." you said, wishing there was something you could do to make him feel better.

"When was the last time you got a good nights sleep?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal." Sam said as you got out of bed, making your way over to the pastries he bought.

"Yeah, it is." Dean said.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-" Sam tried to say before Dean interrupted.

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep our asses alive. We need you sharp." Dean explained.

You whipped around, powder from the powdered doughnut you were eating covering your mouth, "Hey! I think I've done a pretty good job of keeping us alive so far, but maybe you're right, Dean." you said before turning to face Sam. "I'm officially passing the responsibility of keeping our asses alive to you. Good luck with that one." you said, pointing to Dean, Sam smiling a little.

Dean scoffed, "If he's gonna need luck with anything, it's you." Dean shot back.

"Please, don't be ridiculous, Dean. I'm constantly savin' your ass. Plus, there's the fact that every time you see a pair of boobs anywhere near you, you get distracted." you said, before licking your lips to get the powder from your doughnut.

"Oh, that real cute. Especially coming from the person that told one of the cops a few cases back that she bet she could bounce a nickel off that fuckin' ass, and then if I'm remembering right...pulled a nickel out of her pocket and said wanna give it a try, cowboy." Dean said, a completely serious look on his face as he looked at you.

You threw your hands in the air, "Sue me! The man had a great ass. I was only being nice and giving him a compliment. Plus, that case was over so it doesn't count." you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sam sighed, "I forgot how alike the two of you are. It's a little disturbing." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

The three of you were silent for a few moments, "Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?" Dean finally asked, getting back on track.

Sam crossed the room, and sat down on the other bed, handing a coffee to Dean, "Yeah, but it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you." Sam said.

"You can't let it get to you, Sam." you said coming to sit next to him.

"Yeah, you can't bring it home like that." Dean added.

"So, what? All this it...never keeps you guys up at night?" Sam asked.

"Nope." you said, Dean shaking his head no.

"Never? You guys are never afraid?" Sam asked, reaching under Dean's pillow to pull out a large hunting knife, holding it up as evidence. "And I'm willing to bet there's one on your side, too." he said, looking over at you.

Dean took the knife back. "That's not fear. That is precaution." he said.

You nodded your head, "Yeah, I just call that being smart." you said.

"All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue with you two." Sam said, Dean's phone ringing seconds later.

"Hello." he said, you and Sam focusing on him. "Oh right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania...the poltergeist thing. It's not back is it?" Dean asked, and even though you could only hear Dean's side of the conversation you knew who he was talking to. "What is it?" Dean asked again, after a pause, eyeing you as he listened to the response.

"Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean, Y/N, and your dad really helped me out." Jerry said to Sam.

"Yeah, they told me. It was a poltergeist?" Sam asked, the four of you walking to Jerry's office inside of the hangar.

"Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie." one of the workers said in passing, causing you to chuckle.

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking. Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something if it wasn’t for those two and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?" Jerry asked.

"Yeah, I was. I'm...taking some time off." Sam answered.

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time." Jerry said.

"He did?" Sam asked, shocked.

"Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey you know I tried to get a hold of him but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?" Jerry asked.

"Good." you blurted out.

"Yeah, he's, um, wrapped up in a job right now." Dean said.

"Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" Jerry asked, you and Dean laughing.

"No, not by a long shot." Sam replied.

"I got something I want you guys to hear." Jerry said, the four of you now in his office. "I listened to this, and well, it sounded like it was up your alley." he said, putting a cd into a drive. "Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours." Jerry said before the recording started to play.

"Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485- immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message- May be experiencing some mechanical failure..." the voice said before a loud whooshing sound.

"Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure, cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board, and only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it, like it was his fault." Jerry said.

"You don't think it was?" Sam asked.

"No, I don't." Jerry said.

"Don't worry, Jerry. We'll figure it out." you said.

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors." Sam rattled off.

"And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked.

"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage...the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance." Jerry said, Dean frowning.

"No problem." Dean said, you cocking your head to the side, wondering what he had planned.

You and Sam were waiting by the car outside of a Copy Jack, Dean finally walking out as an attractive woman was walking in, the two of them taking a few moments to say hello to each other.

"You've been in there forever." Sam said.

Dean held up three IDs, "You can't rush perfection." he said.

You snatched your ID from his hand, "My perfection never takes that long." you sassed, looking down at the ID.

"Homeland Security?" Sam asked, taking his ID.

"Awesome." you excitedly said, "We haven't done this yet."

"That's pretty illegal, even for us." Sam said.

"Yeah, well, like she said, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times." Dean said, smiling a little at how excited you were.

The three of you got in the car, "All right, so what did you guys get?" Dean asked.

"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder." Sam said.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Oh, fuck yeah, there is." you said, leaning up from the backseat.

"Listen." Sam said, before playing the recording, a scratchy voice saying "No survivors." playing.

"No survivors? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors." Dean said.

"I know. That's what I said, too." you said.

"Got me." Sam replied.

"So, what are you guys thinking? A haunted flight?" Dean asked.

"Maybe." you said shrugging your shoulders, "I think it's a little early to call it just yet."

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers." Sam said, you and Dean both humming in agreement, "or remember flight 401?"

"Right. The one that crashed. The airline salvaged some of it's parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights." Dean said.

"Right." Sam said.

"Well, maybe it's kind of the same thing here, a similar deal." you said.

"All right, so survivors, which one do you guys want to talk to first?" Dean asked.

"Third on the list, Max Jaffey." Sam said.

"Oh, yeah." you said, nodding.

"Why him?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one, he's from around here." Sam said, you quickly jumping in.

"And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did. This is our fuckin' guy." you said.

"What makes you guys say that?" Dean asked.

"Well, I spoke to his mother." Sam answered, the impala coming to a stop in front of the gate to a building with a sign out front reading RIVERFRONT PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL. "And she told me where to find him."

"This guy has definitely seen some shit." you said, the three of you preparing to interview Max Jaffey.

Max was walking with a cane between Sam and Dean, Dean making sure to keep you close to his side in case any of the crazies, as he called them, got any ideas.

"I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security." Max said.

"Right. Some new information has come up. So, if you could just answer a couple questions..." Dean trailed off.

"We only need a few moments of your time, Mr. Jaffey, and we would greatly appreciate anything you could offer." you said, smiling kindly at him.

"Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?" Sam asked.

"Like what?" Max asked.

"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe, voices." Dean said.

"Maybe a strange smell." you added.

"No, nothing." Max said.

"Mr. Joffey." Dean said.

"Jaffey." Max interrupted, correcting him.

"Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?" Dean asked, Max nodding his head, "Can I ask why?"

"I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash." Max said.

"Uh huh, and that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?" Dean asked.

"I...I don't want to talk about this anymore." Max said, clearly uncomfortable.

"See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what." Dean said.

"No. No, I was...delusional. Seeing things." he said.

"He was seeing things." Dean sassed.

"Mr. Jaffey, we would really appreciate your cooperation." you said.

"It's ok. Just tell us what you thought you saw, please." Sam said.

"There was...this...man, and, uh, he had these...eyes, these, uh...black eyes, and I saw him, or I thought I saw him..." he said, trailing off, your body tensing when he said black eyes, hoping he was wrong.

"What?" Dean asked, eager to know the rest.

"He opened the emergency exit, but that's...that's impossible, right? There's something like two tons of pressure on that door." he said, you shaking your head.

"Fuck." you breathed out, lost in your own thoughts.

"Yeah." Dean said before looking over at you, noticing that you were no longer following along.

"This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage." Sam said, confusing Max.

"What are you, nuts?" Max asked, Sam tilting his head at the ironic question. "He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me."

The Impala pulled up in front of a house, Dean looking at you in the rearview mirror as he cut the engine, wondering why you had been so quiet.

"So, here we are, George Phelps, seat 2c." Sam said.

"Man, I don't care how strong you are." Dean said as the three of you got out of the car. "Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight." Dean said.

"Not if you're human, but maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe in human form." Sam said.

"Does that look like a creature's lair to you?" Dean asked Sam before turning to you. "Back me up, Singer." he said, you just shrugging your shoulders as you walked to the door, both Sam and Dean looking after you in concern.

The three of you were sitting around from Mrs. Phelps, Sam looking at a framed photograph, "This is your late husband?" Sam asked.

"Yes, that was my George." she replied.

"And he was a...dentist?" Dean asked.

"Mmm hmm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that..." she trailed off.

"How long were you married?" Sam asked, trying to regain her focus.

"Thirteen years." she answered.

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asked.

"What about his eyes? Did they ever look funny to you? Black, maybe?" you blurted out, not able to keep the question to yourself.

"No, his eyes were...fine, never black. He, uh, he had acid reflux, though. If that's what you mean?" she said, looking from you to Sam.

The three of you were coming down the stairs out front, you in the lead.

"I mean, it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense." Sam said.

"A middle aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified." Dean said to Sam before calling out to you, "What's going on with you, Singer?" he asked.

"Nothing." you said, not looking at him.

"Hey." he said, grabbing your arm to stop you, "Come on, something is up with you. You've been weird since we talked to Jaffey, so what's going on with you?" he asked, holding onto you so you couldn't walk away.

"I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. That's it. I'm fine." you said, knowing that he didn't fully believe you.

"You know what we need to do, is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage." Dean said.

"Okay, but if we're going go that route, we'd better look the part." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

You were leaning against the car, feeling completely out of your comfort zone in your new wardrobe. The black pencil skirt, crisp white shirt, and black fitted blazer weren't something you could ever see yourself wearing voluntarily. The heels were the only thing you felt slightly comfortable in, wearing them to hit the bars whenever you had a night off.

You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting on Sam and Dean to come out of the store they were in. You finally spotted them walking out, each of them wearing a new black suit with a white shirt. You smiled to yourself, thinking how good both of them looked.

"Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers." Dean said.

"No, you don't. You look more like a seventh grader at his first dance." Sam teased.

"Hey, I look like a secretary from some cheesy porno." you said, twisting your hair up into a bun.

"I think you look really nice, Y/N." Sam said, smiling at you.

"Thanks, Sam. You look really good, too." you said, before looking over to Dean to get his opinion.

"A secretary, huh? Maybe, I can see you in my office later." he said, smirking at you.

You chuckled, "Real funny. Maybe, I'll just come chaperone your dance instead." you said.

Dean shook his head before looking down at himself, "I hate this thing." he said.

"Me too." you said, adjusting your skirt.

"Hey, you guys want into that warehouse or not?" Sam asked.

The three of you walked into the warehouse each of you flashing your badge to the security guard, who nodded and let you in.

You started to walk among the wreckage, Dean reaching into his pocket to pull out a device before placing earbuds in his ears.

"What is that?" Sam asked, eyeing the device.

"It's an EMF meter, reads electromagnetic frequencies." Dean replied.

"Come on, Sam, I know you aren't that rusty." you teased, glancing over at him.

"I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted up Walkman?" Sam asked.

"Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade." Dean proudly said, grinning.

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam said, unimpressed, Dean's grin fading.

You walked over to him, "Hey, I think it's fuckin' awesome. You did a good job." you said, as he ran the meter over a piece of wreckage.

"Check out the emergency door handle." Dean said, before scratching off some yellow dust, getting some on his hand. "What is this stuff?" he asked.

You shook your head, despite having a pretty good idea what it was. You didn't want to say anything until you were completely sure that you were right, thinking there was no need to cause a fuss. Especially if you were wrong in the end.

"One way to find out." Sam said, scraping some of the yellow dust into a bag.

"Shh...listen." you said, the sounds of several footsteps echoing, "Yeah, we need to go like fuckin' now." you added, the three of you quickly making an exit.

Sam and Dean peered around the corner, checking to make sure the coast was clear, while you pulled off your heels, unable to run in them. The three of you walked casually around the corner, until an alarm started to blare, kicking all of you into high gear.

Dean took off his suit jacket and tossed it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence, Sam climbing over without a problem.

Dean started to climb over, but stopped when you didn't follow, "Sometime today would be nice, Y/N." he said, looking over his shoulder at you.

"I can't climb over in this fuckin' skirt." you said, tossing your heels over the fence. "It's so tight I can barely take a decent step."

"You better hike that thing up, or do whatever you need to do, but you better get your ass over that fence...NOW." Dean said.

"Just don't look." you said, pulling the skirt up until it bunched around your waist, checking to make sure Dean wasn't looking. "I'm serious, Dean. Close your fuckin' eyes. You too, Sam!" you said, preparing to climb over the fence.

"You commando or something?" Dean asked, managing to keep his focus on your face.

"We were supposed to go to a laundry mat, but then Jerry called, and we've been too busy." you said as you climbed the fence, quickly throwing your leg over and making your way down the other side, yanking your skirt down before picking up your heels.

"Well, these monkey suits do come in handy." Dean said, as he landed on the other side of the fence. "Hey, Singer, I think I got a nickel in my pocket. How much you want bet I can bounce it off-" Dean got out before you took off after him.

"I'm going to fuckin' kill you." you seethed, chasing after him.

The three of you were standing inside of Jerry's office. Sam had given him the yellow substance he had collected at the scene and Jerry was now looking at it under a microscope.

"Huh. This stuff is covered in-" Jerry started to say.

"Sulfur." you finished for him, all three of them looking at you.

"Sulfur." Jerry said, still looking at you.

"How did you know that?" Dean asked.

"Lucky guess." you said, shrugging your shoulders.

"You're sure?" Sam asked Jerry.

"Take a look for yourself." Jerry said, loud banging sounds from outside catching his attention. "If you guys will excuse me. I have an idiot to fire." Jerry said before excusing himself from his office, leaving you, Sam, and Dean behind.

Dean took a look through the microscope for himself, "Hmmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue." he said to Sam before turning to you, "You want to tell us how you really knew that?"

You sighed, "I had a feeling, ok. I mean, with what Max Jaffey said about the guys eyes, and his strength, then the sulfur. I mean, add it all up and it most likely points to one thing." you said.

"Demonic possession?" Sam asked, you nodding your head.

"It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch." Dean said, looking to you for your opinion.

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible." Sam answered, instead.

"This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean, it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire plane?" Dean asked, you keeping quiet.

"You ever heard of something like this before?" Sam asked.

"Never." Dean said before turning to you. "You got anything else you want to share with the class, Singer? Any feelings or lucky guesses?" he asked, and you could tell that he was upset that you didn't speak up earlier.

"Dean, I didn't know fore sure, and I thought it was pointless to throw it out there until I knew." you said, a little defensively.

"How...how did you know?" Sam asked.

"Come on, guys. You know my dad. I was flipping through lore books before I could even read, and when I wanted to learn he taught me. It's basically an evil asshole encyclopedia up here." you said, tapping your temple. "Plus, I've worked a couple of possessions with dad, but this isn't a run of the mill possession, so...I'm not a hundred percent sure exactly what we are dealing with, but a demon of some sort is probably behind it."

The three of you were in the motel, all busy researching after you told them everything you knew on the subject.

"So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right?" Sam asked, looking up from his computer.

"Yeah, Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it." you said, looking up from the book you were reading.

"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this." Dean said.

"Well, that's not exactly true." you started before Sam jumped in.

"According to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and manmade. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

"And this one causes plane crashes?" Dean asked, standing up from his spot on the bed. "All right, so, what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?" he asked.

"Yeah, you know, who know how many planes it's brought down before this one?" Sam asked.

You closed your book, "Well, death and destruction is kind of their gig." you said, Dean snorting as he turned away.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, guys. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, like Y/N said, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big, and I wish Dad was here." Dean said, obviously stressed.

"Yeah, me too. "Sam said.

"All right, boys, I know we are kinda up shit's creek without a paddle right now, but we all need to put on our fuckin' big girl panties and figure this shit out because I don't think this asshole is done fucking shit up." you said.

"This coming from the person who certainly wasn't wearing her big girl panties today, or any panties if I remember correctly." Dean said, his phone ringing before you could reply.

"Hello." he said, you and Sam both looking at him, only able to hear Dean's side of the conversation. "Oh, hey, Jerry." Dean said, a sick feeling over taking you. "Wha-Jerry...I'm sorry. What happened?" Dean asked.

You and Sam listened to the rest of the one sided conversation, "Another crash?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Let's go." Dean replied.

"Guess, I was right about it not being done." you said, grabbing your jacket.

"Where?" Sam asked.

"Nazareth." Dean answered.

"And there's the fuckin' irony." you breathed out.

Jerry was looking through the microscope again, even though the three of you knew what the substance was.

"Sulfur?" Dean asked, Jerry nodding his head. "Well, that's great. All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him." Dean said.

"With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news." Sam said.

"Yeah, I wouldn't count on that. I don't think the asshole is done." you said.

"What's the bad news?" Dean asked.

"Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight, and get this, so did flight 2485." Sam said.

"And you're sure it was forty minutes for both?" you asked.

"Forty minutes? What does that mean?" Jerry asked.

"It's biblical numerology." you replied.

"You know, Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death." Dean said, going in to more detail.

"I went back and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in." Sam said.

"Any survivors?" Dean asked.

"No, or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?" Sam asked, you nodding your head.

"No survivors." Dean said before pausing for a moment to think, "It's going after all the survivors."

"Fuck, it's trying to finish the job." you said, shaking your head.

Dean was driving while Sam was finishing up a phone call. You were in the backseat flipping through John's journal.

"Really, well, thank you for taking our survey, and if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks." Sam said before hanging up. "All right, that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon." he said.

"So, our only wildcard is the flight attendant, Amanda Walker?" Dean asked.

"Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job." Sam said.

"Indianapolis, really?" you asked, closing the journal. "I really don't know why I'm surprised." you added.

Dean nodded his head, "That sounds like just our luck." he said.

"Dean, this is a five hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel." Sam said.

"Call Amanda's cell phone again. See if we can't head her off at the pass." Dean said.

"I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off. God, we're never gonna make it." Sam said.

"We'll make it." Dean said, pushing down on the accelerator, determined to make it in time.

Sam looked over his shoulder at you, "Hold on tight, Sam." you said.

The three of you rushed into the airport and checked the departure board, relieved to see that you had made it in time.

"Right there. They're boarding in thirty minutes." Sam said, pointing to the board.

"Okay. We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone." Dean said, spotting a courtesy phone.

"Airport services." the person on the other end said.

"Hi, gate thirteen." Dean said.

"Who are you calling, sir?" they asked.

"I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, uh, flight 424." Dean said.

"Amanda Walker. Amanda Walker, you have a phone call. White courtesy phone, gate thirteen." the PA voice announced.

"Come on." Dean said, growing impatient.

"This is Amanda Walker." she said.

"Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here." Dean said, you and Sam standing back watching.

"Karen?" Amanda asked.

"Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so-" Dean got out before Amanda interrupted.

"Wh-what? That's impossible. I just got off the phone with her." she said.

Dean paused for a moment, "You what?" he asked.

"Five minutes ago. She's at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?" Amanda asked.

"Uh, well...there must be some mistake." Dean said.

"And how would you even know I was here?" Amanda asked, you and Sam trying to stand close enough to Dean to hear what was going on. "Is this one of Vince's friends?"

"Guilty as charged." Dean said, shrugging his shoulders and just going along with her.

"Wow. This is unbelievable." Amanda said.

You looked up at Dean and mouthed, "Say he's sorry."

"He's really sorry." Dean said, following your lead.

"Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?" Amanda ordered.

"He's a mess." you mouthed.

"Don't be like that. Come on, the guy's a mess. Really. it's pathetic." Dean said.

"Really?" Amanda asked, you furiously nodding your head.

"Oh, yeah." Dean said.

"Look, I've got to go. Umm...tell him to call me when I land." she said before hanging up.

"No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!" Dean said.

"Fuck." you shouted, a little louder than you meant to, drawing a few stares.

"Damn it! So close." Dean said.

"Well, I guess we have one option left." you said.

Sam nodded his head, "It's time for plan B. We're getting on that plane." he said.

"Yep." you said.

"Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second." Dean said, wide eyed.

"We don't really have a second, De. We need to haul ass." you said.

"Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash." Sam said.

"I know." Dean said.

"Okay, so, we're getting on the plane. We need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and Y/N get whatever will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes." Sam said, laying out a game plan.

You nodded your head, and grabbed Dean's arm, ready to pull him back to the car, "Hey, come on. It's gonna be ok." you said, as he stood in one spot looking between you and Sam anxiously.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"No, not really." Dean said.

"What?" What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh..." Dean trailed off.

"Flying." you finished for him before looking over to Sam. "He's scared to fly."

"It's never been a problem until now." Dean said.

"You're joking, right?" Sam asked.

You shook your head, "He's not." you said.

"Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?" Dean asked.

"All right, uh, Y/N and I'll go." Sam said.

"Ok, I'll go get what we need and I'll meet you back here. We need to get this show on the road." you said, turning to walk away.

"What?" Dean asked.

"We'll do this one on our own." Sam said.

"We'll be fine, De. Don't worry." you said.

"Don't worry? What are you guys, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane is gonna crash." Dean said, looking between the two of you.

"What else do you want us to do?" you asked.

Sam nodded his head, "Dean, we can do it all together, or Y/N and I can do this one ourselves. I'm not seeing a third option here." Sam said.

"Come on! Really? Fuck." Dean said.

"Flight attendants please cross check doors before departure." the voice over the intercom said.

Dean was in the aisle seat, anxiously reading the safety card while you sat next to him, Sam on the other side of you.

"Just try to relax." Sam said, taking note of how nervous Dean was.

"Just try to shut up." Dean snapped, the plane taking off, Dean jumping at every rumble and sound.

You grabbed his hand and laced your fingers with his, "You're fine." you said, Dean squeezing your hand tightly as you started to hum, laying your head on his shoulder.

"You're humming Metallica?" Sam asked.

"It calms him down." you said, resuming your humming after speaking.

"Dude, did you just sniff her head?" Sam asked.

"W-what? No, that's crazy. I-I was just trying to take a deep breath. You know, relax." Dean lied, a smile coming to your face.

He had let it slip once when he was drunk that he loved the smell of your shampoo. He said it always calmed him down, so you would often lay your head on his shoulder when he was stressed, giving him the opportunity to breathe you in, never mentioning to him that you knew what he was doing.

"Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? You got to say focused." Sam said.

"Okay." Dean replied.

"I mean, we got thirty two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full on exorcism." Sam said.

"No pressure, huh?" you breathed out, feeling a little nervous that there wasn't going to be enough time.

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy." Dean said, still holding onto your hand.

"Let's just take it one step at a time, all right? Now, who is it possessing?" Sam asked.

"Well, usually they go for someone with some sort of weakness. They can worm their way in like that." you said.

"Ok, so somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress." Dean said.

"Yet, another reason for you to try to chill the fuck out. I really don't want this thing jumpin' into you." you said, Dean nodding his head.

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her I'd be pretty messed up." Sam said.

"Yeah, that's true." you said, Dean humming in agreement.

"Excuse me, are you Amanda?" Dean asked the flight attendant next to him.

"No, I'm not." She answered.

"Oh, my mistake." he said, the flight attendant walking away, Dean looking to the back of the plane, "All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and I, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state." Dean said.

"You sure? I can do it." you said, worried about him.

"I can do it. I...I need to move around." he said, finally releasing your hand.

"What if she's already possessed?" Sam asked.

"There's ways to test that." Dean said, pulling out a bottle of holy water, "I brought holy water."

"Yeah, let's not do that just yet." you said, taking the bottle from him and passing it to Sam.

"I think we can go more subtle. If she's possessed she'll flinch at the name of God." Sam said.

"Oh, nice." Dean said, turning to go to the back.

"Hey." you said, stopping him.

"What?" he asked.

"Say it in Latin." you said.

"I know." Dean said, a little annoyed.

"Hey!" Sam called out.

"What?!" Dean snapped.

"Uh, in Latin, it's Christo." Sam said.

"Guys, I know! I'm not an idiot!" Dean said before making his way to the back of the plane.

You turned in your seat, watching him walk away, "Maybe I should go with him, back him up." you said, starting to rise from your seat.

Sam put his hand on your shoulder, "He can do it." he said, "We need to go over the rest of the plan."

"Fine." you sighed, taking one last look at Dean before turning your attention to Sam, "You got John's journal?" you asked.

"Yeah, here.” Sam said, passing it over to you.

You flipped through the pages until you found what you were looking for, "I'm thinking this should work." you said, passing it back to Sam.

"You think?" Sam asked.

"Sorry, I'm not a fuckin' expert, Sam." you snapped, immediately regretting it, "Sorry, I...demons just weird me out. They...I just really fuckin' hate em', and I want to get this shit done." you said, Dean sitting down next to you before Sam could reply.

"All right, well, she's got to be the most well adjusted person on the planet." Dean said.

"Good for her." you sarcastically said.

"You said Christo?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Dean replied.

"And?" Sam asked, needing more details.

"There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her." Dean replied.

"So, if it's on the plane it can be anyone, anywhere." Sam said, the plane shaking.

"Come on! That can't be normal!" Dean shouted, gripping onto your arm.

"Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence." Sam said.

"Yeah, it's okay." you said, prying his fingers from your arm.

"Guys, this plane is going to crash, okay? So, quit treating me like I'm fucking four." Dean said.

"Well, stop acting like you're fucking four." you said.

"Yeah, you need to calm down." Sam said.

"Well, I'm sorry. I can't." Dean said, reaching for your hand.

"Yes, you can." Sam said.

"Dude, stow the touchy feely, self help yoga crap. It's not helping." Dean said.

"Listen, if you're panicked, you're wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down, right now." Sam warned.

"Fuck, he's right, Dean, just breath or something." you said.

"Yeah, cause that has helped me. I've been breathing this whole fuckin' time in case you hadn't noticed." Dean sassed.

"God damn it." you said under your breath before turning in your seat to face him, "You owe me."

"For what?" Dean asked, confused.

"For the drastic measures I'm about to take to save your ass." you said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to you, crashing your lips to his.

You felt him tense up for a moment, his lips not moving as if he were in a state of shock. You started to pull back, thinking that you may have crossed a line, but before you could pull away you felt his hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place.

The kiss quickly started to heat up, Dean's tongue running along your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You opened your mouth, Dean wasting no time deepening the kiss.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, "Guys." he said.

You pulled away from Dean, "Sorry, Sam." you said, before focusing your attention on Dean. "You good now? You calm?" you asked.

Dean took a long, slow breath, "I'm so fuckin' good." he said, his words coming out a little breathy.

You tapped his cheek a couple of times, "You're welcome." you said.

Sam cleared his throat again, "Good. Now, we found an exorcism in here that we think will work. The Rituale Romanum." Sam said to Dean.

"What do we have to do?" Dean asked.

"Well...it's two parts." you started, Sam jumping in to say the rest.

"The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest which actually makes it more powerful." Sam explained.

"More powerful?" Dean asked.

"Yep." you said, popping the p.

"How?" Dean asked.

"Well, it doesn't need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own." Sam said.

"Oh, and why is that a good thing?" Dean asked.

"Well, cause the second part sends that fucker back to hell once and for all." you said.

Dean nodded his head, "First things first, we got to find it." Dean said before standing up to walk the aisle with his EMF meter, getting odd looks, but no readings.

You and Sam walked up behind him, you clapping him on the shoulder causing him to jump, "Ah! Don't do that." Dean scolded.

"Sorry." you said.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

"No, nothing. How much time do we got?" Dean asked.

"Fifteen minutes. Maybe, we missed somebody." you said, looking around at the other passengers.

"Maybe the things just not on the plane." Dean said, causing you to scoff.

"You believe that?" Sam asked.

"Well, I will if you guys will." Dean said, looking down as the EMF meter spiked, the copilot exiting the bathroom and heading towards the cockpit.

"Christo." you blurted out, the copilot slowly turning to face you, his eyes black, "Fuck." you whispered as he went into the cockpit.

The three of you headed to the back of the plane towards Amanda.

"She's not gonna believe this." Sam said.

"We don't really have a choice, Sam." you said.

"Yeah, twelve minutes, dude." Dean said.

"Oh, hi, flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope." Amanda said to Dean.

"Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about." Dean said, Sam closing the curtain behind you.

"Um, okay. What can I do for you?" Amanda asked.

"All right, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have the time for the whole truth is out there speech right now." Dean said.

"Look, we just really need you to listen to us right now, and for you to keep an open mind." you added.

"All right, look, we know you were on flight 2485." Sam said, the friendly smile Amanda had disappearing.

"Who are you guys?" she asked.

"That's not important right now." you said.

"Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure." Sam said.

"We need your help because we need to stop it form happening again, here. Now." Dean said.

"I'm sorry, I-I'm very busy. I have to go back-" she said as she tried to brush past Dean, who stopped her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Listen to me. Uh...the pilot on 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead." Dean said.

"Wait, what? Chuck is dead?" she asked.

"He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as a little fuckin' strange?" you asked.

"Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now, maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't, but there's something wrong with this flight, too." Sam said.

"Amanda you have to believe us." Dean said.

"On...on 2485, there was this man. He...had these eyes." Amanda said.

"Black eyes?" you asked, Amanda nodding her head.

"Yes. That's exactly what we're talking about." Sam said.

"I don't understand. What are you asking me to do?" Amanda asked.

"Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here." Dean said.

"Why? What does he have to do with anything?" Amanda asked.

"Oh, come on, lady." you said, frustrated.

"Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him, okay?" Dean said.

"How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot?" she asked.

"Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit." Sam said.

"Do you know that I could lose my job if you-" she started to say before you interrupted.

"Jesus Christ, lady! You're job is the last thing you should be worrying about." you said, your patience for her gone.

"Look, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't help us out." Dean said.

Amanda hesitated for a moment, "Okay." she said, leaving and making her way to the cockpit.

"All right, boys. Here they come." you said, Sam pulling out the holy water, and Dean passing over John's journal to him.

"Yeah, what's the problem?" the copilot asked.

Dean punched him in the face, and knocked him down. The two of you pinned him down, you holding his legs down while Dean managed to put duct tape over his mouth.

"Wait? What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him." Amanda said.

"Relax lady." you said, struggling to keep the copilot still.

"We are gonna talk to him." Dean said, splashing holy water on him, his skin sizzling.

"Oh, my God. What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"Get her the fuck out of here, Sam." you snapped.

"Look, we need you calm. We need you outside the curtain." Sam said.

"Well, I don't underst- I don't know." she stammered out.

"Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that, Amanda?" Sam asked.

"Okay. Okay." she said before leaving.

"Hurry up, Sam. I don't know how much longer we can hold him." Dean said.

"Regna terrae, Cantate Deo, psalute Domino-" Sam said, stopping when the demon broke free, hitting both boys until you and Dean managed to subdue him again.

Sam picked up where he left off, until the demon knocked both you and Dean off again and pulled the tape from his mouth, reaching to grab Sam by the collar.

"I know what happened to your girlfriend. She must have died screaming. Even now, she's burning." the demon said before turning to you, "And you, oh, we have plans for you." he said, Dean recovering and hitting the demon.

"Sam!" you and Dean shouted, you now trying to help Dean hold him down.

Sam recovered and began reading again. He put the book down, and helped the two of you pin down the demon, who kicked the book up the aisle.

"I got him." Sam said, the demon exiting the copilot's body and disappearing into a vent.

"Where'd it go?" Sam asked.

"It's in the plane." Dean said.

"Fuck, boys. We gotta hurry up and finish this. We're running out of time." you said.

The plane suddenly dipped and heaved violently, Sam struggling to retrieve the book as Dean splayed himself against the exit door, screaming, while you were pressed to his chest, his arms coming to wrap around you.

Sam managed to grab the book and read the rest of the exorcism, a bright electrical charge running through the entire plane when he finished, the plane leveling out soon after.

Dean was breathing heavily, holding onto you so tight that you could hardly breathe, "De...I...can't breathe." you said, Dean loosening his hold a little.

The passengers from the flight were disembarking to an area, milling with uniformed agents, paramedics, FBI, FAA, and so on. The copilot was seated in a wheelchair, a blanket wrapped around him, being questioned by an FAA agent.

Amanda spotted the three of you across the way and mouthed thank you, the three of you nodding at her.

"Let's get out of here." Dean said, as the three of you headed to the exit. "You okay?" he asked Sam.

"Dean, it knew about Jessica, and it said they had plans for Y/N." Sam said.

"Sam, these things, they...they read minds. They lie, all right. That's all it was." Dean said.

"He's right, Sam. Those assholes will say whatever they can to get inside your head. They just like fuckin' with people." you said, not revealing that you were scared about what it had said about you.

"Yeah." Sam said.

"Come on." Dean said, urging you and Sam to follow.

"Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed." Jerry said, shaking each of your hands. "Your dad's gonna be real proud. Yours too, Y/N." he said.

"We'll see you around, Jerry." Sam said.

"Maybe wait a little while before the next call." you teased.

"You know, Jerry." Dean said.

"Yeah." Jerry replied.

"I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months." Dean said.

"Your dad gave it to me." Jerry said.

"What?" you and Sam asked in unison.

"You talked to John?" you asked.

"When did you talk to him?" Dean asked before Jerry could answer you.

"I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you or Y/N a call. Thanks again, guys." Jerry said before walking away.

"This doesn't make any sense, guys. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service." Sam said, as Dean dialed John's number, all of you crowding around the phone to listen.

"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency call my son, Dean (785) 555-0179 or Y/N Singer (785) 555-0726. They can help." John said.

Sam was fuming as he got into the car, you and Dean both looking after him.

"What the fuck in going on, De?" you asked.

"I wish I knew, Sweetheart." he said, as the two of you got into the car, hoping that the next case would provide some much needed answers.

Tags: @22sarah08 @miraclesoflove

#supernatural #series rewrite #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #dean x you #reader insert #dean #spn fic #spn

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magnoliawhetstone · 3 years

Text

speak now (or forever hold your peace) →

tw vague mentions of illness, hospital

A slow, lazy grin stretched across Magnolia’s lips as she shifted her body slightly under the cool sheets. Her brain faltered for a moment--just a brief second--as her eyes looked around the less familiar room before they landed on a mess of brown curls right next to her. Ah, yes--her husband. A soft giggle escaped her as she repeated the phrase in her head a few more times, as a reminder that this was absolutely real life. It was reality that she had woken up in their bed, next to her husband in their suite and she’d get to do this everyday for the rest of her life. It was enough to make the bubbly blonde squeal with joy but, given that Jack was less than six inches away from her and still sound asleep, Lia did her best to keep her joy inward, for the time being. After all, there would be plenty of time for outward manifestations later. Smirking again, her eyes fell back on Jack and she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “I love you,” She whispered, almost inaudibly, with no intentions of waking up him. She knew from their conversations that he’d been working extremely hard lately and he could definitely use the sleep.

But Lia’s mind was awake now and that meant it was focused on one thing: coffee. Her lifeblood in the morning and a constant part of her routine. Regardless of marriage or not, she was still a woman with particularities and a morning cup of coffee was one of them. Slipping on one of Jack’s shirt’s and grabbing her phone, she carefully snuck out of the bedroom and let her feet quietly pitter patter on the ground toward the kitchen. Her eyes instantly went to the boxes of Christmas decorations littered everywhere around the living room and she shook her head. There was still much work to do on them, but it would have to happen after her caffeine fix. By this point, the blonde had spent enough time in Jack’s--er, well, now their suite--to know where everything was, so it took little brain power to grab a mug and the coffee grounds to prepare her drink. Lia hummed quietly, her energy still beaming. There were a few tell tale signs of a truly content Magnolia and humming was surely one of them. It was as if the joy could not stay within and she had to get it out somehow. The tunes always changed and more often than not it was coupled with a baking spree--but not always. Like today, where she watched as the coffee maker worked its own special magic right into her cup.

Buzz buzz buzz. The blonde furrowed her brow as she felt her phone go off, forgetting the real world did exist outside of these four walls. Her eyes flew to the screen and she let out an audible groan. Lia was not the kind of person to play hooky--she was what you called an overly responsible employee, probably coming in on her days off more than taking an extra unannounced. But this weekend had been different--and while she hadn’t known she was getting married at the time, Lia might have shared a teensy little lie with Mr. Worthington about being very ill and unable to come into work. Her boss, being the overly dramatic person he was, was displeased to say the least--but his hypochondria won out and she had scored an entire weekend of freedom. Or so she thought.

Gala tonight--I’ll have a dress sent to your room.

Lia felt her chest tighten--there was no way she’d be going to the gala tonight, that was for sure. She could stake her life on that. The question was--how was she going to get out of it. Clearly, he’d forgotten about her “illness” entirely or he’d stopped caring. Both were true of her boss from her years of experience with him. But Lia had very little experience telling this man no--and the few times she tried was met with absolutely not success. Her eyes flashed to the hallway that lead to their bedroom and she closed her eyes. She’d figure out a way to say, no--of course she would. She just needed a few minutes to figure it out.

Lia grabbed her mug with a little more gusto than she had anticipated and headed toward the kitchen table. A few sips of coffee and she’d find a solution. She swirled the light brown liquid in her cup a few times before she took a sip, letting the warmth of the liquid wake up her other senses. “Mmmmm,” She smiled softly into her cup. “Perfect”.

Her moment of peace was quickly interrupted though by the harsh vibrations of her phone and for a second she wondered if Mr. Worthington is really that impatient for an answer. But instead her body grows ice cold when she looks down at the screen--a number that’s not in her phone. A number not in her phone with the area code 843. Mount Pleasant, South Carolina in small tiny white print under it.

Oh my god.

Her cups hit the table with a thud and her eyes flashed toward the bedroom door, desperately hoping she didn’t wake Jack up. There’s no way--there is no way...

Her shaking fingers grab the phone instantly and she booked it for the balcony, quietly shutting the door behind her. She had approximately ten seconds to decide if she was going to answer this phone and she had about a million things to figure out first. What if it wasn’t her? What if it was someone else--maybe Olivia got her number changed? Maybe it was a telemarketer? How could she have even got her phone number in the first pace. Lia knew better than to ever ask the last question--if there was one thing the woman was, it was resourceful and connected. Lia never doubted that. Her time was running short and with a split second decision, her finger hit the green button and she took a deep breath.

“Hello Magnolia,” The voice spoke first, calm and measured--calculative. It was no different than fifteen years ago and Lia felt her body grow even colder than before. “My, it’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

The phone was silent for a few moments, indicating that it was, in fact, Lia’s turn to speak. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. How was she supposed to answer her? It’d been fifteen years of radio silence--how does someone just start a casual conversation with their Momma after all that time?

“Hi Momma.” It came out as a whisper and suddenly she was 15 again, nervous and afraid and ready for whatever tongue lashing the woman was about to throw down. “It, uh, sure has.” And who’s fault’s that, Momma? I’m sure it’s mine as well.

“Magnolia, what is with the whispering? Please, speak up and annunciate, I didn’t teach you to mumble your way through life.” Lia cringed and nodded--even if she was on the phone. It was a learned reaction, one that she had apparently kept all her years. “Now, we have some business to discuss, don’t we?”

“What?” Lia replied, her brows furrowing. Business could mean a lot of things to Mrs. Charlotte Barnes--and the blonde wasn’t sure she wanted to figure it out.

“Well, it’s been fifteen years--surely there’s been some changes in your life. I mean, after all, moving to Chicago was a shift, no?” Lia’s mouth went dry. How did she know about Chicago? “Or, perhaps, other life changes--ones that might be a bit more monumental than a simple continental move?”

Magnolia knew far better than to assume her mother was stupid--or that this phone call was full of warm nuptial wishes. It was too early in the morning for this--for any of this-- and yet suddenly here she was, thrown straight into the fire with no weapons, no armor, no plan of attack.

“W-What are you talking about?”

A tsk tsk passed through the other end of the phone and Lia’s momma’s voice got louder. “Magnolia, please--I am not stupid. You don’t think I’m going to find out if my daughter got married? You act as if I sleep under a rock or something. Of course I know what’s going on with you--I keep up with your life, I know your comings and goings more or less. You think I’d just...let it go after the stunt you pulled at that pageant? People still know your connections--they know who your father is. I couldn’t have you making us look like fools with your erratic behavior. Which is why I’m here to discuss your latest blunder. Do you have any idea what this is going to do your fathers poll numbers? And what kind of daughter gets married on a whim in Vegas without telling her family? How selfish of you.”

Magnolia nearly dropped her phone. Daughter. Stunt. Blunder. Her momma knew where she was the whole time? If Lia hadn’t felt nauseous before, it was surely the case now. For fifteen years her momma had known exactly where she was, what she was doing--and she’d never reached out. She’d just...ignored her. The whole time. And she wasn’t even keeping up with her out of love or actual interest--but so that she didn’t make another mistake to ruin her father’s reputation. She closed her eyes as the phone stayed pressed to her ear, her entire body shaking.

But instead of fear or temperature making her shiver, it was red, hot anger. Anger so visceral, her own body seemed to be out of Lia’s usual controlled composure. Magnolia wasn’t allowed to be angry--for so many years it was shoved so deep down inside her that she had learned to ignore it completely. She had learned to let things roll off her back spin it positively or just hide her frustration from the world. She laughed when Preston did things to get her goat, she never once raised her voice when Mr. Worthington made a snide comment. She had learned decorum and silence in the place of rage and sharp words.

But then her mother had called her marriage a blunder.

“Selfish?” She blinked a few times, fighting the urge to let out a humorless laugh at the woman on the other end of the line. “Are you calling me selfish? Momma--momma, have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror? I’m not even convinced you know what that word means. Because if you did, you’d know full well that I am not the selfish one here. So I would appreciate if you refrain from calling me that.” Lia’s pause was brief, but her momma still tried to interject. “Oh, no--I’m not done. Not even close. Mind your manners now, Momma.”

“As your daughter,” The word was sharp and cutting and it was aimed straight for her mother’s argument. “Let me paint you a picture. Dressing room, a few weeks before Miss Teen USA. You screaming about the size of dress I was wearing as the poor clerk is just trying to help us. Me, sobbing in the fitting room over the realization that there will never be a day where you’ll say you’re proud of me. Or, do you prefer a different one? A cold hospital room, doctors floating all around me, saying lots of big words I don’t understand. I’m terrified because I had just passed out on stage and I don’t know what’s going on. All I wanted was a kind smile from you or a hug or something--and instead I got firey, silent rage.” Lia was on a roll now, her anger becoming her momentum. “Fifteen years old. My childhood bedroom. Father, barging into the room with a boxed and bags, throwing all of my things in it. No words, no explanation. Just a ‘pack your things you’re leaving’. A plane ticket, shoved in my hand and a empty car taking me to the airport. No hugs. No goodbyes. Just a stupid piece of paper in my hand. You didn’t even let me say goodbye to Jack. You just ripped me away from my entire life because you were too selfish to realize I might have needed help. That I might have been sick!”

Silence, on the other end of the phone. Lia took it as permission to continue.

“You decided I wasn’t your daughter when you sent me away. When you didn’t write to me. When I wasn’t allowed to come home for breaks or holidays. When you didn’t visit me. You lost all claim to that title the minute you shut those car doors. So no, you don’t get to use that card on me. It won’t work. Not anymore.

“I am different than I was at fifteen, and I will not let you walk all over me anymore. You do not get to control my life--it’s mine and I will do what I want with it. These are my choices, these are my decisions and this is the way I will live my life. You have no say in this--and you sure as hell do not get to have a commentary on it either. You took yourself out of my life when I was fifteen, so don’t try to weasel your way back into it now. I don’t deserve that--and neither does Jack. Or Bennett. Or anyone else around me. You have been selfish, you have been cruel and so uncaring--and I wish you could understand the pain you’ve inflicted on the people you’re supposed to love the most. But you constantly ignore than because you’ve chosen yourself each and every time. I used to think there was something wrong with me--why wouldn’t my own momma want me in her life? But now I see that your choices are yours alone--they aren’t about me. They are all about you.

“And don’t you ever, ever call my marriage a blunder. Or a mistake. Or anything like it. Yes, I did get married in Vegas to the love of my life, the only person I’ve ever loved--and there is no choice I’ve made that was easier or more secure. You can have whatever thoughts you want about it, but that’s on you Momma. I love him, I’d marry him a million times over in Vegas and I don’t particularly care what you think. Not everything is about you. I’m happy, I’m glowing--and I can’t believe you’d start off this conversation with making it about you. Or Father. I don’t care what it does to his poll numbers--it’s not about him. Your choices don’t just effect you--you didn’t happen to think about who else might have gotten hurt when you sent me to London. You didn’t think about the people in my life who cared about me, even when you didn’t. Jack is a good person--one of the best people--and he did not deserve the pain that my leaving caused. So don’t dare go and call my marriage to Jack a blunder simply because it didn’t happen according to the way you had wanted it to. People are not pawns for you to play with, Momma. Life is not a game of chess. And I’m done letting you act like it is with me.

“So I don’t think we have any business to discuss, actually. Or rather, I’ve discussed all I have with you. And while I’d like to sit and listen to your response, I actually have quite a few things I need to do today, including finishing decorating for Christmas with my husband. So, if you’ll excuse me--I must be heading off now. Bye.”

One tap to the red button and the call disconnected. After the initial adrenaline faded from her body, Lia felt herself lean heavily on the balcony to take a breath. Oh my god, I cannot...cannot believe I did that. Lia had never talked back before in her life and then...then that came out. She sat in silence for a few moments, processing her conversation before a peal of laughter broke free from her chest. It was as if a ninety pound anvil had been lifted from her chest and for the first time in fifteen years, she could fully breathe. Her momma had no more control over her. She had said her piece and it was done--she was free.

Riding her high, she quickly tapped on the screen, finally finding the words to tell Mr. Worthington.

Sorry--won’t be there tonight. Something came up. See you Monday.

Pressing the blue arrow, she sent the message on its way and powered her phone down, dropping it on the coffee table with a satisfying clunk. She wouldn’t be needing that any time soon.

She quietly slipped back into the bedroom, crawling back into bed. “Wake up, sleepyhead--better get a move on or you’ll sleep the whole day away!” She grinned, kissing him on his cheek. After all--she wasn’t kidding when she said she had a lot of things to do today. But perhaps, they could just wait a few more minutes.

( @malnatimedia )

#tw vague mention of illness #tw hospitals #[[homecoming queen?; headcannons]]

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legobiwan · 4 years

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Just got home from The Rise of Skywalker. No pithy intro, I’m just going to jump right in and it’s going to be a LONG rant here so buckle up, my friends, and be sure to read below the cut. SPOILERS AHOY YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Okay, so yes, the first third of the movie went at a blistering, nearly nonsensical pace. JJ really had to cram a whole watermelon’s worth of exposition into a...well, you know, there was a lot to take in. This movie had to do so much telling instead of showing because it was such a departure (and middle finger to TLJ) from what came before.

The thing was, the first third was also the most interesting part of the movie. I actually wish the whole trilogy had started with all of the Sith nonsense. (Actually, I wish they had started with Kylo absolutely wrecking shit like he did and then the Palpatine scene. People would have made all the wrong assumptions and it would have been glorious to unravel it over three films.) There is a strong history of Sith artifacts in both Nu-Canon and Legends, and it wouldn’t have been out of place, considering what we know now, to have made Rey, Poe, and Finn’s quest for these artifacts the start of the new trilogy, and then told the rest of the story in a non-linear timeline. Probably too experimental for a Star Wars reboot, but it would have grabbed attention and everyone like creepy Sith shit.

Frankly, I would have dropped zombie-robot Palpatine at the very start of the trilogy, as well. It’s bonkers but I don’t hate the Rey Palpatine thing and they could have spent the rest fo the movies explaining this weird-ass lineage and how it relates to Kylo, Snoke, etc. and then have built back to the final confrontaion on Exegol.

Leia. Trained. Rey. I so so so so so wished we had been able to get more of this. This, in my mind, is what it should have been all along. I liked TLJ (okay, so shoot me) but Master Leia is a whole other level of awesome. If I had to rewrite Luke and Leia’s roles, it would have went something like this:

Luke was searching for Sith artifacts. Luke was becoming disillusioned by what he was learning of the Jedi through “The Sacred Texts.” WHO DOES THAT SOUND LIKE? Hmmmm, I wonder....

Could you imagine Luke started to go a little Dooku in this respect, and so instead of fucking off the Ach-To because he had a feeling that was more “gravy than of grave” about Ben Solo’s dark sidedness, he fucked off to Ach-To - or even better - gave up training in order to keep himself from going down a darker path.

And so instead, Leia is getting involved with training (and probably also governing at the same time because she would be an overachiever like that.)

Enter Ben Solo, who is Force sensitive, strong, being trained by his mother and occasionally his uncle, who is not totally plugged into the light side at the moment, which can rub off on Ben. Meanwhile, Han is maybe not the best father (he wants to be, he tries, but it all comes out wrong. I’ve been watching a lot of Psych lately, so I’m thinking of a dynamic similar to Henry and Shawn, but a little more dramatic.)

Of course, Palpatine is seeing all of this behind the scenes, he’s fostering ill will and discontent through the scattered remains of the Empire, sending Snoke clones out to be almost pseudo-religious/cult figures in the wake of the economic and social devastation left by the Empire’s fall and the floundering new government. Extremism, in pockets, rises. Extremism which preys on discontent, which preys of the desire for family, for belonging.

Enter again Ben Solo, who has been pitted against the other strongest trainee, Rey (insert whatever last name you want. She knows it’s not her real name, she knows she was an orphan on Jakku, but she was brought by Luke to be trained). Ben is pissed how she and Leia bond, has been talking to his uncle, and perhaps encountered a Snoke clone on the way.

Rey, on the other hand, is no one but wants to be someone, and that manifests in weird ways during her training. Perhaps she leaves at some point, perhaps not. But the seeds of her being Palpatine’s bloodline are laid within her. She wants to seek that belonging Ben has.

Okay, but getting away from my personal rewrites of the sequels, Star Wars is about family and lineage, both blood and found. There was so much potential to play on this throughout the trilogy with the Skywalkers, with Rey’s relation to Palps that if they had just planned the damn thing, it could have been brilliant.

Moving ...(for now)

I felt so bad for Oscar Isaac. I felt like I watched his soul slowly depart his body over almost 3 hours. That man was not a happy camper and it came out in his performance.

Power levels. Here’s the thing, guys. Magic needs to have consequences. Sure, you can cast a spell, but what does that take from you? You can use the Force, but to what degree? How much? Even Anakin exhausted himself at some points, and he was (allegedly, according to one Qui-gon Jinn), the Chosen One. It’s the first law of thermodynamics - energy can neither be created nor destroyed - and the Force is literally the energy of every life thing in the galaxy. You take the energy, use it towards something else, it has to drain from somewhere. This is what bugged the hell out of me with Rey’s Force Healing abilities (an ability that doesn’t thrill me to begin with as it’s so easy to overuse). Kylo keels from resurrecting the dead (and yeah, he was pretty beat up already), but Rey barely seems to breathe a beat harder. Once you start ignoring the consequences for magic, you end up like a shitty video game, and one of the criticisms I’ve leveled at the movie is that it feels like a montage of Battlefront and I can’t say that’s totally off point.

JEDI HUNTERS. Ochi. I will bet my right liver we’re going to hear something about this on The Mandalorian.

So I know a lot of people wanted to see Rey Kenobi, but there was one piece of glaring evidence in the film why that would never be. (Aside from Kylo just announcing it to Rey.) She has a lightsaber, but she still ends up using a blaster. So uncivilized.

Speaking of The Mandalorian - Stormtroopers with Mando jetpacks. Hmmm.....

I loved techno-Sheev hooked up to all the equipment just floating. That was creepy as hell and played with the whole cloning and extension of life that was such a large part of the Darth Plagueis novel (which I still consider to be canon, higher powers be damned). Also, Palpy’s glowup with the wardrobe was hilarious.

Dark!Rey was hot. There, I said it.

Let’s talk about romance. Or the lack thereof. Or the shoehorned thereof.

Poor Rose got shafted in this film with no explanation. I didn’t buy that whole thing in TLJ, but god damn anyway. (Finn also got shafted, for different reasons, which I will talk about later.)

If they were going to romance, just let it have been Finn and Poe, Finn and Rey, or fuck it, even a trio.

I mean, I could have bought Reylo if it had been presented better. (With context. Adam Driver is an amazing actor, another thing I’ll talk about later.)

The Reylo kiss though - my theater laughed. No joke.

Of course, this was the same theater that thought Lando was trying to mack on Jannah at the end, so who knows what we were all thinking in there. (On that note, Lando was hilarious because no matter what, he was just having a grand ‘ol time in the movie. I like to think he got a medical spice card in his retirement years and was just enjoying anything that came his way, be it Wookiees, Jedi, starships, wars, whatever.)

While the Reylo kiss didn’t hit the mark the space lesbian background kiss got cheers, so there was some hope for my fellow theater-goers.

Did anyone pick up on Threepio saying the Senate made the bill that would render him incapable of translating the Sith language? No doubt that was a Palpatine move from TCW era.

What is up with these movies and desert/jungle planets? Ugh. Thank everyone for Kijimi, at least that was interesting.

New characters I loved: Babu Frik and DO.

Finn’s Force sensitivity. Yes, I totally buy it. I wanted more. I wanted more fucking context of a Stormtrooper who would have known nothing of the Jedi getting these feelings and then bailing from the First Order (or, if I were writing the movies, bailing from the remnants of the Empire/Snokes weird military cults.) Totally underutilized character development.

We. Were. Robbed. of Good!Ben. Adam Driver is so phenomenal. Form the little we saw of redeemed Ben, he is the perfect mix of his parents, from the “Ow” to the eyebrow wagging, the swagger, the smirks...I LOVED good!Ben. I wanted so much more good!Ben. What a transformation.

Speaking of which - the scene between Kylo/Ben and Han was terrific. I wish we had had more context for why everything went south, but it was so good and the type of family dynamic we really needed more of.

The Knights of Ren looked awesome in this film? They needed to be like the Black Order of Star Wars, and they were getting to it, but not quite there. Gods, they could have been the enforcers of Snoke’s cults (Palpy’s puppet cults) that could terrorize far more than a normal, brainwashed Stormtrooper, who was only useful as cannon fodder (I mean, if we look at the history of the clone army to the Stormtroopers, it would be terribly fitting.)

That ship tug-of-war was DUMB. (See my rant about magic and consequences). But, if Rey was going to shoot lightening Palpy-style and blow up a ship, Chewie should have died. I’m sorry, that’s terrible, I love him, but there needed to be consequences for actions and throughout the film, there were either no consequences or random consequences that were a narrative convenience rather than developed into the plot/characterization/worldbuilding.

Here’s the thing with the ST - there is so much potential. There are some awesome ideas. But they wanted to play if safe with JJ by rebooting the OT, Rian was too far out for them, there was no cohesive storytelling, and so we get these little glimpses into what could have been amidst a shitstorm of trailers for Battlefront 17.

we could have had it allll....

Final rating: 4/10

#the rise of skywalker #the rise of skywalker spoilers #tros spoilers #tros #hello there #rants from the lego compound #and what an appropriate tag it is #rey #kylo ren #finn #poe dameron #sheev palpatine #leia organa #luke skywalker #han solo #bunch of other characters i'm not tagging right now

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letterboxd · 4 years

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Survival Mode.

In ten recent coming-of-age films, Ella Kemp finds the genre thriving—and looking very different than the 1980s might have predicted. Film directors and Letterboxd members weigh in on the specific satisfactions of the genre, especially in a pandemic.

There have been jokes, some more serious than others, about the art that will come out of this time. How many novels about a fast-spreading disease are you betting on? Will Covid-19 be better suited to documentary or fiction? But the art I’m most looking forward to, and revisiting now, is the art made about teenagers going through it.

Physical school attendance, so central to the John Hughes movies of the 1980s, is up in the air for so many. Sports practice, theater clubs, mall hang-outs; the familiar neighborhood beats of a teenager’s life are more confined than ever. All of us have had to tweak our reality to make the best of invasive changes forced upon us during the pandemic. In a sense, it feels like we are all coming of age.

Teenagehood, though, is a particularly tricky time of transition, and we don’t yet know the half of how the pandemic is going to impact today’s young adults—and, by association, tomorrow’s coming-of-age films. But in the last two years alone there have been enough brave new entries in the genre, about young people so enlivening, that there’s both plenty for young film lovers to lose themselves in, and plenty for us slightly older folks to watch and learn from.

So I sought out ten recent coming-of-age films (and several of the directors responsible) to see what these stories teach us about teenagers, and how we might empathize with them. The list—Jezebel, Beats, Zombi Child, Blinded by the Light, Selah and the Spades, The Half of It, Dating Amber, Babyteeth, House of Hummingbird and We Are Little Zombies—is by no means exhaustive. But it allows us to look at several things.

Firstly, that the genre is thriving, considering these titles barely scratch the surface. Secondly, these ten films look a whole lot different than their 1980s counterparts. Six are directed by women. Four tell queer stories or, at least, feature queer characters in a prominent subplot. Seven tell stories about Black people, Asian people, Pakistani people. Only three are from the US.

And: they’re really good. They understand teenagers as angry, energetic, passionate, confused, desperate and deeply intelligent beings, echoing the nuances that we know to be true in real life, but that can often get watered down on the screen.

Blinded by the Light (co-written and directed by Gurinder Chadha) We Are Little Zombies (written and directed by Makoto Nagahisa) Beats (co-written and directed by Brian Welsh)

The protagonists in these first three films use music to feel their way through panic, brought on by both internal and external circumstances. Screaming another’s lyrics, furiously composing their own anthems, dancing along and sweating out their fear to the beat, the ongoing beat, and nothing more. It’s salvation, it’s release—when you’re left with your own thoughts, the only way to fight through them is to drown them out.

Music acts as a source of enlightenment in Blinded by the Light, directed by Gurinder Chadha (who made 2002’s coming-of-age sports banger Bend it Like Beckham). In Thatcher’s Britain, Pakistani-English Muslim high schooler Javed discovers the music of Bruce Springsteen, and his world bursts wide open. The wisdom and fire of the Boss helps Javed to make sense of his own frustrations; that the film is based on a real journalist’s autobiography makes it all the more potent.

Meanwhile, in Beats, a real-life law enacted in Scotland in the 1990s temporarily banned raves: specifically, the gathering of people around music “wholly or predominantly characterized by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats”. As the UK struggles to contain a youthful, exuberant new counter-culture, the central characters face what it means to enter adulthood. The answer to both: a forbidden rave.

“I have to say, there’s probably no such thing as teenagers without complicated emotions,” We Are Little Zombies writer-director Makoto Nagahisa tells me. The Japanese filmmaker—who loves the genre, known as ‘Seishun eiga’ in Japan—wrestles with the frustration and hopelessness of the world by giving his film’s four orphaned teens the tools, and the permission, to find solace in something other than their everyday life. Following the deaths of their parents, the quartet create their own catchy, cathartic, truth-bomb music; it’s an instant hit with kids across Japan, but the adults miss the point, of course—that the cacophony of superstardom is filling the silence of their mourning.

Nagahisa-san’s film is named after a fictional 8-bit Nintendo Game Boy game that the main character is addicted to. “I used to get through my day relatively painlessly by pretending I was a video game character whenever bad shit happened to me,” he explains. Teenagers “are constantly feeling crushed by reality right now… I want them to know that this is a valid way to escape reality. That reality is just a ‘game’. I want them to know they don’t need to face tragedies, they can just survive. That’s the most important thing!” Who else needed to hear that right now?

Jezebel (written and directed by Numa Perrier) Zombi Child (written and directed by Bertrand Bonello) Selah and the Spades (written and directed by Tayarisha Poe) House of Hummingbird (written and directed by Kim Bo-ra)

Our next four films turn to technology, mythology, hierarchy and education to animate their protagonists’ lives with a greater purpose. In Jezebel, nineteen-year-old Tiffany finds her way through mourning with a new job, earning money as a cam girl and subsequently developing a bond with one of her clients. There’s a magnetic aura, one that harnesses grief and turns it into something more corrosive as this teen puts all her energy into it. Similarly there’s mysticism in the air in Zombi Child, in which Haitian voodoo gives a bored, heartbroken teenage girl a new purpose as she searches for a way to connect with the one she lost—and with herself.

Selah and the Spades and House of Hummingbird understand the third-party saviour as more of a structure, that of a school or an inspiring teacher. Selah finds herself by doing business selling recreational drugs to her classmates in a faction-led boarding school. Nothing mends a sense of aimlessness like power. This same framework lets Hummingbird’s Eun-hee, a schoolgirl in mid-90s South Korea whose abusive family invest their academic focus in her useless brother, search for love and find connection in her school books—and from the person who’s asking her to read them.

The films on this list are not perfect; some might be criticized for specifically following a formula, the tropes of the coming-of-age film, a little too well. Jezebel lets its protagonist rise and fall with familiarity, while Selah suffers the consequences of her extreme actions, and even Eun-hee reckons with a few recognizable pitfalls. But still, the fact that these films exist is “innately radical”, says Irish writer-director David Freyne, whose queer Irish comedy Dating Amber is covered below. The filmmaker describes the coming-of-age genre as mainstream, but in the best possible sense: “It’s a broadly appealing film,” he says.

This is why, to see these stories reframed with minority voices, with queer voices, is so quietly revolutionary. “The more you see them, the more broadly we see them being enjoyed—the more producers and financiers will realize these stories don’t have to be niche just because they happen to frame a minority voice. Everyone can enjoy it.”

Film journalist and Letterboxd member Iana Murray, a coming-of-age genre fan, echoes Freyne’s thoughts. “Representation is absolutely not the be-all end-all, but I’d love to see more coming-of-age films that reflect my experiences growing up as a woman of color,” she says, before introducing what I’d like to call the Rashomon Effect. “I see it as like one of those films that tell the same events from different perspectives, something like Rashomon or Right Now, Wrong Then,” she explains. “A story becomes even more vibrant when told through a different set of eyes, and that’s what happens when you allow women, people of color, and LGBT people to create coming-of-age narratives.”

Dating Amber (written and directed by David Freyne) The Half of It (written and directed by Alice Wu) Babyteeth (directed by Shannon Murphy, written by Rita Kalnejais)

Which brings us on nicely to our last three: wildly different titles, each with young protagonists at war with themselves, trying to make sense of their bodies and minds as best they can. In this context, companionship is everything. Finding a platonic soulmate in Dating Amber, a sexual awakening in The Half of It, a first love to make a short life worth living in Babyteeth. Each film is directed with a verve and passion that you know must be personal.

The story of a frustrated boy in the closet in Dating Amber aches with care from Freyne behind the camera, while Alice Wu directs Ellie Chu, the main character in The Half Of It, with patience and the kind of encouragement that quiet girls who live a life between two cultures are rarely given. And with Babyteeth, Shannon Murphy returns Australian cinema firmly to the center of the movie map, with a quintessentially Australian optimism and sense of humor, which Ben Mendelsohn called “delightfully bent”.

These perspectives are specific to each teen, but the intensity transcends genres and borders. It manifests musically, verbally, visually, aesthetically. These teens connect with their favorite music and means of entertainment, but also simply to their favorite clothes and accessories—blue bikinis and green wigs, red neck-scarves and floaty white dresses. These details give the characters ways to reinvent themselves while standing still, which certainly feels apt for a life lived, for now, at home.

‘Pretty in Pink’ (1986), written by John Hughes and directed by Howard Deutch.

Many argue that the coming-of-age genre peaked with John Hughes, who defined the framework in iconic 1980s films that have his stamp all over them, whether he wrote (Pretty in Pink, Some Kind of Wonderful) or also directed them (The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Sixteen Candles). Hughes’ world view was of a specifically suburban, white, American corner of the world, which he filled with misfits and ultra-hip soundtracks. “John Hughes was to the genre what The Beatles are to rock and roll,” confirms Letterboxd member Brad, maintainer of the essential coming-of-age movie list Teenage Wasteland.

After Hughes, the genre tumbled, Dazed and Confused, into the 1990s—notable voices include John Singleton with his seminal Boyz n the Hood, and Gus Van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho and Good Will Hunting. This was also the decade of Clueless, which informed the bright, female-forward fare of the 2000s, like Mean Girls, The Princess Diaries and the aforementioned Bend it Like Beckham. The last decade has seen new American storytellers step into Hughes’ shoes, including Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird and Little Women), Olivia Wilde and the writers of Booksmart, and the autobiographical voices of Jonah Hill (mid90s) and Shia LaBeouf (Honey Boy, directed by Alma Har’el).

It’s interesting to note—whether it’s the 1860s or the 1980s—that many coming-of-agers from the past decade take place in an earlier period setting. Social media has demanded the upheaval of entire lives, but it seems some filmmakers aren’t yet ready to grapple with its place on screen.

The audience, on the other hand, is far more adaptable. The way we’re watching coming-of-age films has shifted, and it’s more appropriate for the genre than we could have imagined. On the last day of shooting Dating Amber, Freyne recalls one of the young actors asking, “So, is this going to be on Netflix or something?” This is when cinemas were still open.

“That’s often how younger people are devouring content now,” Freyne reasons. His film, in the end, was snapped up by Amazon (a US release date is yet to be announced). “It’s creating a communal experience with the intersection of social media: live streams, fan art, daily messages… It’s made us feel incredibly connected, moreso than I think we would have got with a cinematic release.”

Streaming platforms also cater to one key habit of a younger film lover: the rewatch. The iconic teen films of the 80s embedded their reputations thanks to the eternal allure of the Friday night video store ritual, and constant television replays. These days, it’s only with a film finding a home on Netflix, on Amazon or on Hulu, that a younger person (or, in times of global crisis, any person) can both financially and logistically afford to devote themselves to watching, again and again, these people onscreen that they’ve immediately and irrevocably found a connection with.

It’s always felt hard to be satisfied with just one viewing of a perfect coming-of-age film—observe how many times Iana Murray has logged Call Me By Your Name. What is it about the slippery, universal allure of the genre? It’s possibly as simple as the feeling of being seen in the fog of intergenerational confusion. Says Nagahisa-san: “Grown-ups think of teenagers like zombies. Teenagers think of grown-ups like zombies. We’re never able to understand what others are feeling inside.”

“The reaction is always emotive rather than intellectual,” adds Freyne. “There’s something quite visceral and instinctive about coming-of-age films; it’s an emotional experience rather than an analytical one.” That emotional experience is tied up in the fact that we often experience coming-of-age movies just as we ourselves are coming of age, establishing an unbreakable connection between a film and a specific period in our lives. MovieMaestro Brad explains it best: “There is a bit of nostalgia in a lot of these films that take me back to my younger days, when life was simple.”

But that’s not to say only those coming of age can appreciate a coming-of-age film. On her favorite coming-of-age film, Mike Mills’ 20th Century Women, Murray explains, “It doesn’t see coming-of-age as exclusive to teenagers, because that process of growth is really about transition and change.” (In a similar vein, Kris Rey’s new comedy I Used to Go Here, in select theaters and on demand August 7, meets Kate Conklin, played by Gillian Jacobs, in a sort of quarter-life-crisis, needing to grow down a bit in order to grow up.)

Natalia Dyer in ‘Yes, God, Yes’ (2019), directed by Karen Maine.

There is endless praise, conflict and wonder to be found in the ten films mentioned above—and all the ones we haven’t even gone near (Karen Maine’s orgasmic religious comedy Yes, God, Yes, now available on demand in the US, deserves an honorary mention, as does Get Duked!, Ninian Doff’s upcoming stoner romp in the Scottish Highlands). The thing about this genre is it’s raw, it’s alive, and it’s always in transition. Just when you might think it’s gone out of fashion, it emerges in a new and fascinating form. And yet, there are still so many filmmakers who haven’t tackled the genre. I asked my interviewees who they’d like to see take on a story of teens in transition.

“I’d love to see Tarantino’s take on a coming-of-age tale,” says master of the genre himself, MovieMaestro/Brad. Murray gives her vote to Lulu Wang, saying, “I love the specificity she brought to The Farewell, I think it would transfer well to a genre that needs to escape clichés.” Freyne, meanwhile, wants to see if Ari Aster might have another story about young people in him. Maybe something a bit less lethal next time.

Ultimately, “you write from empathy, not from experience,” says Freyne. I think the same goes for watching, too. It won’t be tomorrow, and it might not be this year, but eventually, the world will emerge from Covid-19. What will we have learned from the films that we watched while we were waiting? From the sadness, the angst, the determination, the rage and the passion?

Nagahisa-san already knows, and his advice is everything we need right now: “You don’t need others’ approval of who you are, as long as you understand and approve of yourself. Do whatever pops up in your mind. Live your life without fear or despair. Just survive.”