#I CAN FINALLY OVER ANALYZE 19 DAYS AGAIN

[motianz]

Mo's face after being called cruel/knowing he hurt He Tian.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 19: Build a snowman

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Character: Stanford Pines

Naughty or Nice: Nice

"Let's build a snowman!"

Looking up from his book's, Fords eyes went wide as he fixed his glasses. "Why?"

"Because it's fun."

Ford parted his lips, then shifted his weight in the chair he was sitting in. Seeing how excited you were over something so little, he couldn't say no to you, not to someone he cared so deeply about.

Hand in hand, Ford stepped out side of the shack as he glanced around. It was a crisp winter day in Gravity Falls, the town blanketed in a thick layer of snow. Your eyes glancing over at Ford, the man bundled up in his warmest coat, scarf and gloves.

The man was looking forward to a quiet day of research but he just couldn't say no to you.

Nearly squealing, you let go of his hand taking off as your boots crunched over the snow. "This is perfect for building a snowman." Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and Ford couldn’t help but smile at your enthusiasm.

Ford chuckled, grabbing his hat. “Let’s see what we can create.”

Ford followed after you as he trudged through the snow to a clear spot in the yard. You immediately started rolling a large snowball for the base, while Ford, ever the scientist, analyzed the snow’s consistency.

“This snow has the perfect moisture content for packing,” Ford noted, helping you with the base. “It should hold together nicely.”

Snorting, you gave him a teasing grin. "Nerd."

"Hey!"

As you two worked, you both chatted about your favorite winter memories. You shared stories of snowball fights and sledding, while Ford reminisced about the time he and his brother Stan built an igloo that lasted for weeks.

With the base complete, you both moved on to the middle section. Ford’s precision and your creativity made for a perfect team. You carefully placed the middle snowball on top of the base with Ford's help, making sure it was secure.

“Now for the head,” you said, rolling the final snowball. Ford helped lift it into place, yo both stepping back to admire the work.

“Looks good,” Ford said, nodding in approval. “But it’s missing something.” The man tilted your head to the side.

Your eyes lit up turning to face Ford as you snatched the mans scarf off his neck, once it was wrapped around the snowman you slipped off your hat placing it on the head. "Their! Perfect..."

“Perfect,” Ford smiled as he wrapped his arm around your waist, you both admiring the creation. “I think this might be the best snowman in Gravity Falls.”

You grinned. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Ford.” Placing a kiss to his cheek, Ford relaxed holding you close.

This was perfect, he felt his stress just melting away thanks to you.

And he would do it all again.

[moonami]

PART 1 OF A LITTLE IDEA FOR A NEW HETALIA FAN WORK WITH A HORROR ELEMENTS PRESENT, TAKING CERTAIN INSPIRATION FROM ANALOG HORROR, THE NEXT PART WILL CONTAIN SHORT DESCRIPTIONS OF ILLNESS AND BLOOD. I am doing this for fun so sorry if there are any errors english is not my first language, lol, but i would be really grateful if you guys shared this so i can feel encouraged to write and draw more for this AU and if any other artist wanted to collab to do more about this idea, my DMs are always open. I hope you enjoy.

THAT MORNING

...

During a winter morning on 11 January 2001, a phenomenon of unknown origin was sighted and documented around the world, which, upon further investigation, would be named "The First Baptism".

Several days before the event, sudden changes in temperature had been observed, decreasing alarmingly, but finally stabilizing the night before, during which it snowed, however, the weather forecast had already informed the public of the possibility of more snowfall during the remainder of the week and that hail showers were not ruled out.

11 January, 8:00 AM

It was snowing again; classes had been cancelled, but there were children in the streets. playing, people were late for work.

While mortals went about their business, the nations observed from their offices, homes, gardens, wherever they were, the occurrences of the peculiar day, some with surprise, some with satisfaction, and a few with childlike wonder.

And then, as soon as the clock struck the hour, it happened.

9:00 AM

What had begun as a quiet morning turned into a snowstorm, which the witnesses described as the heaviest of their lives, and when they looked up into the sky, their eyes could focus enough on the middle of the blizzard; they saw, amidst all the whiteness, a huge line stretching across the heavens. All describe seeing the same line; some say they believed it was caused by the wake turbulence of a plane or something similar, or that their eyesight deceived them, which was proved to be untrue, as the line in the sky began to "open up," now being described as an "incision" in the sky, a wound, which opened its maw and poured over the cities and them. inhabitants, its contents.

… One of the soldiers pierced his side with a lance (λόγχη), and immediately there came out blood and water.

John 19:34

…

The contents were black particles, which tainted the snow, causing it to change colour. to a dark jet, and for the next half hour, the wound in the sky continued to fester, and the cities were covered by thick blankets of dark snow.

The black snowfall, nowadays known as The First Baptism, lasted for the course of a week. During which time the world was brought to a complete standstill due to the possibility of side effects from exposure to the phenomenon.

Initially it was thought that the possible cause were black coal emissions, but this was quickly ruled out as no black carbon was found after samples were analyzed.

Everything seemed to be trapped, frozen in time, all except for the fine flakes falling to the earth because of gravity.

And the immortals were the most affected, acting like statues; they remained in the same position ever since, with their feet stuck in the ground as if they had taken root, immobile except for their lips, eyes, and small involuntary movements of their hands.

People close to them, such as their bosses or assistants, describe the immortals being suddenly drawn to the dark snow from day one, leaving their homes, abandoning work, looking up with lost eyes and expressionless faces, stretching out their arms trying to reach whatever flakes they could between their fingers, removing parts of the clothing for better contact with the snow and breathing rapidly, they were described as out of their minds, babbling unintelligible words.

When attempts were made to convince them to go back inside, they did not respond. And if attempts were made to force them inside, they became violent, so to prevent the situation from escalating further, it was decided to allow them to stay that way.

This was until the seventh day.

Where, inexplicably, every nation moved towards their capitals abnormally fast.

It was not so common these days to observe them using any of their supernatural qualities, let alone without any warning.

Although there are records of these mobilizations, there are few reports of the concrete actions of the immortals, as the capitals had been the areas most affected by the storm, and despite attempts to observe closely what they did there, it was impossible to get close enough to discern, and they were lost from sight.

That is, with about three exceptions that were much later made available to the public and other nations.

The United States of America, the Russian Federation, and Great Britain.

Washington D.C. America could be seen heading towards the White House in the middle of the storm, and once he arrived at the North Lawn, he stopped moving, with the use of a camera it was possible to observe his face closer, he was observed with had a manic expression and seemed to have say something.

Moscow Russia was spotted in the red square along General Winter, who was described as "Odd," and unlike America, he wandered around the area for several minutes, running around like a madman, until he crossed his gaze with the tomb of the unknown soldier, at which point he ceased his activity and calmed down.

No information was provided on the specific location of the event.

England interrupted his journey midway, being drawn to sources of water, plunging into a semi-frozen river, he was quickly rescued.

No other reports are available for the other cases due to a lack of information.

[thesimpsbasement]

Prompt 19. with Herlock Sholmes x gn or male reader (for the event)

•Prompt #19:“Of course i came for you it would take much more than that to stop me”

•Reader is gender neutral

•Tags/warnings:violence,blood

_______________________

This was meant to be a nice date with Herlock. He managed to save enough money to treat you to dinner to show his appreciation for you.He isn't the type to always be a romantic but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body.

You two were walking down the streets of London when you heard heavy and quick footsteps approaching you ,turning around you see 2 people running towards you,both holding a knife.One of the goons got ahead and aimed to attack.You being his target. Closing your eyes you waited for impact but the pain never came.Opening your eyes you notice Herlock in front of you,knife plunged into his arm and it's bleeding! "HERLOCK!" You yell,eyes widen in shock " _____ go! Run! I'll be fine!" He grunts looking dead serious.You've known Herlock for a while and if Herlock is serious then there's no way to change his mind.Turning around you ran as fast as your legs could take you.You tried to find the closest phone booth to call the police. But of course things aren't in your favor because you managed to trip over god knows what. What's worse is that the thug was right behind you ready to attack. Even if you tried to get up you still wouldn't have time to flee.As you saw the attacker lunging at you ,someone got in front of you and what you heard next was something only familiar,sorta like the sound that Iris' smoke gun makes,wait Iris' smoke gun? Like the one Herlock invented? Analyzing the figure in front of you it finally hit you,it was Herlock! Said detective was busy detaining your attacker who's now laying on the ground after Herlock gave him a good punch in the gut "Herlock…" you murmured getting up from the cold pavement " Everything is under control now no need to fret" he says getting up as well as he asked the guy to get up so he can take him to the station. You looked at his arm and you noticed it's bandaged up,rather poorly if you do say so yourself " You came after me while you're still injured!?" You ask ,a bit louder than you intended " But of course I came for you! It would take much more than that to stop me” he chuckles " After all you're my partner I can't just leave you for dead" he says giving you a wink " Say what happened to the other guy?" You ask ,remembering how there were 2 of them " Oh yeah I did the same thing I did to this fella and a policeman just so happened to be nearby so I asked him to keep and eye on him as I went looking for his friend" he explains, his grip on the guy tightening slightly remembering how he almost hurt his beloved,angry Herlock was a rare sight but definitely a scary one. " Speaking of which there he is" Herlock said pointing at the 2 figures In front of him. " Mr. Sholmes I see you have caught the other person you were chasing" said the police officers " Why of course,What would you expect from the great detective Herlock Sholmes" he says, handing over the attacker to the officer " I trust you'll take these 2 at the station? For you see I'm quite busy at the moment" he says, slugging his arm around you with a smile " Uhm right sir! I will" he said before leaving the 2 of you alone. As soon as he left Herlock sighed before his posture became sluggish. You recognise that stance of his, he's in his depressive mood. " Hey, you ok? Well I mean besides the hand injury" you ask,worried look on your face "are you ok? How can I possibly be ok! Our precious date has been ruined and we ended up having a terrible time instead of spending it carefreely eating something delicious " he exclaimed " I swear I'll have those two never see the light of day again even if it's the last thing I do" he says,his brows furrowed. " Hey don't worry about it too much, we can still go later! But right now I think we should take care of that injury of yours,don't wanna go around with you bleeding now do we?" You say trying g to lift up his mood " Alright you do have a point" he says quickly regaining confidence " I won't let those chums ruin our lovely date more than they already have" he says grabbing your hand with his other hand.

" Let's get going,the quicker we get home,the quicker we can deal with this stab wound and the quicker we can get our date started" he says,quickly scanning the area to make sure there's no threats before pecking your cheek " I'm quite hungry you know and I have anticipated this day for so long" you giggle at his antics " I know I've been you planning it after all" you say as you two started walking home," But of course I could've done it on my own but you insisted to help because you're my lover" he says " Are you trying to say we're not?" You ask jokingly "Never in a million years ever since that day you confessed you shall forever be my partner till death separates us" he declared " Is that a marriage proposal?" " Maybe ,Maybe not we'll just have to wait and see".

((Wedding prolly gonna have to be in secret cuz yk 1900's but yeah

[iasaim]

Interstitial Static Transmissions

(transcript of audio log - 19:27 – 2024/11/22) ...there is little left of the lab equipment. I expected to find things in disrepair, but this appears to have been the aftermath of some terrible accident or an act of deliberate destruction.  The cleanup is going to take longer than anticipated and likely delay the rest of the team’s arrival.... (transcript of audio log - 12:42 – 2024/11/23) ...the spectrum analyzer was salvageable and I took some readings of the sample the previous team had been studying.  Their notes don’t reveal much aside from the anomalous nature of the transmission which sounds to me like garden variety signal interference.... (transcript of audio log - 17:11 – 2024/11/23) ...I wasn’t told anything about why the last group had been pulled from the project.  Typically they like to rotate personnel to mitigate against fatigue and the side effects of isolation from the outside world.  In those instances there are always transition procedures and careful documentation.  This is clearly a different case, but it still would’ve been nice to have a bit more background on what I was walking into.... (transcript of audio log - 03:58 – 2024/11/24) ...there seems to be something in between the noise.  I listened to the sample several more times and was able to make out something that sounded like a voice though it was severely degraded.  I’m going to attempt some repairs to the outside equipment and see if I can get it up and running.... (transcript of audio log - 22:13 – 2024/11/24) ...it took most of the day but I was able to get one of the satellite arrays back online.  I have the coordinates for the sample signal and will attempt to connect with it to conduct my own analysis.... (transcript of audio log - 14:02 – 2024/11/25) ...made a new recording of the transmission and the linguistic fragments found in the original sample were present in even greater number, though still not any clearer than they had been before.  I’m starting to wonder if what I’m hearing is actually language or something else entirely.... (transcript of audio log - 02:36 – 2024/11/26) ...I played it back over and over again to make sure that I wasn’t mistaken.  Buried in the thick blanket of static...I heard it say my name.... (transcript of audio log - 22:08 – 2024/11/26) ...tried several different sets of filters and things are finally becoming clearer.  Think I’m close to figuring this out.... (transcript of audio log - 11:15 – 2024/11/27) ...new transmission recording tonight using current filtration parameters.  Heard my name again and another name that sounded like Sisyphus or Cynthia...going to keep refining things to get a better signal.... (transcript of audio log - 03:46 – 2024/11/28) ...there was an electrical short in the receiver that caused a feedback loop in my headphones.  Ears won’t stop ringing and I can’t sleep with the distraction....  (transcript of audio log - 16:02 – 2024/11/29) ...hearing finally cleared up and on the next live session I heard the second name again.  It was easier to make out this time...Cynthia followed by Scott, Megan, and Brad...the members of the first research team....  (transcript of audio log - 10:33 – 2024/11/30)  ...they didn’t leave...not entirely...all still here...speaking to me.... (transcript of audio log - 10:33 – 2024/12/01) ...I’m beginning to understand...it’s a continuum that contains the remnants of ourselves after we’re gone...a flowing stream of souls.... (transcript of audio log - 02:51 – 2024/12/02) ...they’ve asked me to join them...the journey shouldn’t take long...just need to make the necessary preparations.... (transcript of audio log - 04:14 – 2024/12/03) ...study must continue...everything set...beginning new transmission in three...two...one....

[arrhakis]

(via The Fascist Transmigration - The Insidious Reborn Of Fasci… | Flickr)

The Fascist Transmigration - The Insidious Reborn Of Fascism by Daniel Arrhakis (2024)

This article, one of the first made for the Accademia Degli Incogniti, a page (or movement if you can call it that) that I created to Combat Fascism and the Nationalist Far Right that is spreading voraciously around the world but especially in Europe and Portugal .

You may follow these pages or movements in :

Accademia Degli Incogniti 🎨🍀🙏 (@AcademIncogniti) / X x.com/AcademIncogniti

Accademia Degli Incogniti

Facebook www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61566439515831

The Fascist Transmigration - The Insidious Reborn Of Fascism

The Fascist Transmigration is one of the terms used by us to understand the rebirth of Fascism in Europe and the World.

When talking about transmigration, it is the movement of a soul to another body after death (related to reincarnation). We can thus speak of the transmigration of fascism (Reborn of Fascism) and fascist theories after the end of the Second World War, which was thought to have ended!

But in truth it was not like that, it survived and remained hidden in many ways, some more subtle than others: through the manifestation of racism (Especially in Europe and the USA), in totalitarianism (Like in Russia), in silent genocides, in chauvinism, in homophobia , misogyny, xenophobia, religious intolerance, propaganda and hate speech (especially on social media).

Fascism was not dead, but latent in society in insidious forms of social discrimination and just as in the past when The Great Depression and the subsequent Economic Depression, which caused significant social unrest around the world, led to the great wave of fascism . The same has happened in our times.

Liberal democracies emerged discredited from the Great Depression. Democratic institutions and mechanisms seemed powerless in the face of the economic and social crisis that took hold over a long period of time. There were several extremist solutions that came to power in Europe throughout the 1930s.

Again in our days, the popularity of fascist and nationalist ideas, like that of so many other far-right forces in Europe, soared after the 2015 migration crisis, when several European countries – including Sweden – decided to open their doors to refugees fleeing the wars in Syria and Yemen.

But already before, the 2008 financial crisis, popularly called the subprime crisis, had been one of the worst global economic disasters in recent years.

Originated in the USA, it began with the burst of the mortgage bubble in the financial market and spread to the rest of the world, with catastrophic and lasting effects.

The election of Donald Trump and his politics in 2017, which according to Henrique Araujo Aragusuku (2024) "mobilized socio-psychological elements that go back to the analyzes of the emergence of historical fascism, such as identification with an idealized and transcendent figure, submission to an authority or cause superiority and aggressiveness directed towards out-group threats", was another major factor, if not one of the most important.

The final blow was the The COVID-19 pandemic, also known as the coronavirus pandemic, a coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic with major social, economic, cultural and political impacts, gave definitive leverage to the anti-vaccine movements and of political extremism.

But this was just the beginning, as we will analyze throughout our page.

[marketingprofitmedia]

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SPILL HER GUTS

Hi Guys!

Welcome to “A Little to Gone” the Messy, Unorganized, and Complicated blog here on Tumblr. Now, it's been a couple of weeks since the Olivia Rodrigo fiasco but I still just can't get it out of my mind. I've been planning this blog for a couple of weeks, So welcome to the Olivia Rodrigo-Lore Episode. 

For those who do not know but also for those who do Olivia Rodrigo is a world-renowned pop star sensation who has dropped her sophomore album GUTS, to those who have not listened to it please do. I can't express how good it is, the obsession is just very real. Dont let me get too sidetracked, just with any album I feel like there are bits and pieces that you can decode or break open. Albums are like puzzles. We get insight into celebrities' lives.

The lore of this album is so much more. It's incredible

The storytelling of its lyrics reveals just how many people are involved in this story. To keep this blog constructed, Im going to analyze the songs that stuck out to me and left me questioning what, how, and who. 

The general theme of the album is the experience of a teenage girl. Themes of self-love, jealousy, beauty standards, and love. She expressed so much love but also heartbreak. That’s where Vampire, the single released to tease this album. Now, the song is essentially being exploited for love by an older guy. This boy used her over and over again until she finally received the courage to break it. The song’s title, lyrics, and cover art all make reference to vampires. Most often vampires are metaphors for an individual who drains the host of their energy and renders them helpless and depleted. The song discusses the value of liberating oneself from an unhealthy relationship. Further in the song it also talks themes of vulnerability and self-discovery. 

Zack Bia and Adam Faze. They are the suspected vampires in Olivia’s life. 

Adam Faze was her first boyfriend. Adam is a film producer, the speculations about how they met are unsure but they were seen out together in the summer of 2021, at a premiere, while some sources claim Olivia introduced him as her boyfriend, From their pictures of their semi-public relationship would surface on social media of them posting their scarface couple’s Halloween costumes. However, by February 2022 radio silence of the relationship cracked leading to an eventual split. Keep in mind that Adam and Olivia have a 6-year age gap, She was 18 when they first met and Adam was 25.   In the song “Vampire” she talks about how she felt exploited by a person much older than just using her for her fame, Olivia says “But you made me look so naive  The way you sold me for As you sink your teeth into me”

This age gap is pretty huge between Adam and Olivia. Adam is often told that his appearance is youthful. vampires are known for being ageless/ or fresh for example look at Edward Cullen, Adam is a man who has not aged. He looks pretty young for his age of 25. Also, the timeline when she announced her relationship with Adam lines up perfectly with the release of  the two years  before Vampire premieres

Now the next theory of who it might be is Zack Bia. Suspicions of them being a couple came out in February of 2022 when they were seen spotted going out… “In the night”, If you don't know anything about this man. He is a DJ, and he has to keep this night persona, thus to quote Olivia “You only come out at night”. Now If we are being honest, I just think Vampire is about Zack and not Adam, In Vampire she sings how it was “6 months of torture” Page six reports they broke up in August. Now if we look at that timeline it is exactly six months, As for the age gap, Olivia was 19 while Zac was 26.

From all this evidence I personally believe that the vampire is Zac. But what do you guys think? I look forward to hearing from you in the comments. Also, make sure to give the album a listen. It is definitely worth the time. Have a nice day! Hope to hear from you guys soon!

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Leave, Then Go (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! Soooo... I did a thing. 

The response was positive, so I went with it. Double Lizzie! Excited to present you with the Wanda/ Leigh crossover! Let me know what you think, I’m actually excited about this!

Summary: Y/n works on mending bridges with Leigh when she meets the alluring Wanda Maximoff. 

After waiting for what felt like hours, the woman you were waiting for finally appeared. You scrambled to your feet as you rushed forward to meet her. Concern immediately took precedent when you were able to fully take in her appearance. 

She looked like a ghost of who she used to be. Beautiful, but void of life. 

The bags under her eyes were prominent and the naturally glimmering emerald eyes that you used to love were dull. Empty. Dark like a storm rather than bright like the sea. Her shoulders were slumped forward with the weight of life when she used to stand so tall before.

It was as though she had been drained of all the light that she used to radiate.

Guilt clawed angrily at your chest. “Leigh.” You breathed out, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

When she met your eyes, her expression hardened. That was always a special talent of hers. Making you feel small with just a look. “What are you doing here?” 

“Hi Y/n. You look good. Thanks, I did start running again. Green juice, it does wonders.” You sarcastically began a conversation with yourself. If her defense mechanism was being cold, yours was humor. 

Leigh wasn’t amused by your antics in the slightest.

If looks could kill you’d be six feet under now. “What are you doing here?” She repeated in annoyance, heavily emphasizing every word. 

Everything about her posture screamed impatience. “I-I wanted to check on you sooner. I did.” You fearfully watched a disbelieving smile spread across her lips. You knew that look. She was about to tear you apart. “I know! I know. I’m way too late and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Leigh.” You rushed out, the words clumsily stumbling over one another as they tumbled from your lips. They were sincere though. You hoped she knew that.

“That’s not good enough.” The bite of her words made you flinch. Leigh moved to step around you, but you caught her arm.

You dropped your hand when you noticed her eyes fall to the place you made contact. “I know it’s not.” A heavy sigh escaped your lips. “By the time I heard the news, it had been months. Then it took me months to work up the courage to see you again… The last time we saw each other wasn’t exactly a… fond memory.”

Leigh’s eyes began analyzing you critically. You shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. “I needed you, Y/n. I needed you and you weren’t there.” Her eyes began to shine slightly with unshed tears.

The shame you felt made it impossible to maintain eye contact with the woman before you. “I know.” You whispered. “And I’m sorry, Leigh. Truly. I am. If you allow me, I’d like to earn your forgiveness. Your trust. To prove I can be there for you and be the friend you need.”

“Friend?” Leigh raised an eyebrow as she loosely crossed her arms. “If my memory serves me correctly that’s the reason you weren’t there in the first place.”

You awkwardly rubbed your arm. “Yes. Friend. I can do that. I can be that for you… If you give me the chance.”

Leigh stared at you intently, her eyes searching yours, for what you didn’t know. “No more grand declarations or ultimatums?” 

“No grand declarations or ultimatums.” You repeated as you smiled hesitantly back at her. 

You desperately tried to beat back the memory that lingered at the forefront of your mind. Of tear stained cheeks and white dresses.

After a tense moment of silence, Leigh nodded. “Probation.” She warned simply with a point of her finger as she moved around you to go into her house.

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. You expected her to tear you apart. Scream at you until she was blue in the face. “I’ll call you?” You called after her unsurely. “We can get coffee?”

“Mmm.” Leigh hummed flippantly over her shoulder, barely audible as she closed the door behind herself.

With a small smile you turned and began walking back in the direction of your own apartment. The conversation had gone better than you had dared to hope it would. Leigh could be cruel when she was hurt, and you knew you had hurt her. Leaving the conversation unscathed felt like nothing short of a miracle. 

___________________________

Lying awake in bed later that night, your mind couldn’t help but wander to Leigh. Not that those thoughts were anything out of the ordinary. Seeing her today though made you worry even more than usual. 

Hey. I don’t know if this is still

your number. It’s Y/n. 

Read 12:14 a.m

You watched the bubble appear and disappear at the bottom of the screen several times before your phone chimed with a reply. 

Is this a booty call?

Sent 12:19 a.m.

What? No! I just wanted

to check on you.

Read 12:20 a.m.

Surprising. 

Sent 12:21 a.m.

Surprising that it’s not

a booty call or surprising

that I’m checking on you?

Read 12:22 a.m.

You tell me.

Sent 12:22 a.m.

I really did want to check

on you, Leigh.

Read 12:24 a.m.

I’m fine. Goodnight.

Sent 12:25 a.m.

Goodnight, Leigh. I’ll be at 

Coffee Code tomorrow morning doing 

some work if you want to stop by.

Read at 12:26 a.m.

After a few minutes of silence, it was clear she wasn’t going to reply, so you allowed your eyes to close as you drifted into a restless sleep. Still haunted by the image of white dresses and tear stained cheeks. 

___________

The bustle of the early morning crowd at the local coffee shop was always a place of serenity for you. The sounds of everyone around you going on with their lives was calming white noise to you and made doing tasks easier. 

“Excuse me?” You looked up and smiled slightly, actually surprised that Leigh had taken you up on your offer. “Do you mind if I sit here with you? It’s pretty crowded.”

Relief was your initial response to seeing her. There was still sorrow in her eyes, but the resentment she regarded you with yesterday had faded. There was an air of shyness that she carried that was unfamiliar to you. 

Leigh was many things but timid was not one of them. “Of course not, I did invite you after all.” 

Her head tilted slightly, and her movements became hesitant as she sat across from you. “I’m sorry?” 

Nerves forced you to look away from her and fiddle with the cup of coffee before you. “Last night? I really was trying to check on you.” The smooth porcelain under your fingers distracted you from seeing the way the woman before you watched you with confusion. “You look beautiful today by the way.” 

Regret flooded your racing mind as soon as the words fell from your lips. The compliment was definitely overstepping the boundaries of friendship. 

A light blush spread across Leigh’s cheeks at your words. Odd. Leigh usually dismissed your compliments or rolled her eyes. “Um…” The other woman’s nose scrunched slightly. “I think you may have me confused with someone else.”

You weren’t sure what game she was playing, and it put you on edge. “Leigh, it’s obviously you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not your friend. My name is Wanda.” The woman informed you shyly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Your eyes widened in disbelief. This woman was the spitting image of Leigh. It wasn’t Leigh though. That much became clear the more you observed her.

For the first time since she sat down you were able to detect the subtle differences. Wanda’s hair was just a shade darker. The make-up she wore was just a tad more noticeable. The many rings stacked on her fingers were accessories that Leigh would never wear. 

More importantly, the way she carried herself. It was heavy and timid but lighter than Leigh. Something about Wanda reminded you of breaches of sunlight breaking through storm clouds rather than the perpetual storm that Leigh carried. The storm that always seemed to be moments away from sweeping you away. 

Wanda was beautiful. Obviously. She was beautiful in a way that was different than Leigh even though they looked identical. There were no sharp edges to her beauty. It was soft. Like the first break of day. Leigh’s beauty was all sharp edges threatening to cut you to your core at every turn. 

You didn’t know Wanda, but you wanted to.

“I’m so sorry!” You quickly apologized when you realized you had been spacing out. “I must have made you so uncomfortable! It’s just that you look exactly like my friend and she makes me nervous so I didn’t even notice the difference at first. You could be her twin-” Your nervous ramblings were cut short by a hand being placed over your own. 

Wanda smiled slightly and all you could do was cover your face in embarrassment. She must think you’re a psychopath. “It’s okay…” She trailed off and raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

It didn’t take long for you to catch on. “Oh! My name is Y/n.” You shook your head as you humiliated yourself even more with each passing minute. “I’m so embarrassed.”

The melodic sound of her laughter drifted into your ears causing your stomach to flip. “Don’t worry. I think it’s cute.” Your cheeks burned at her words. The chime of her phone interrupted the moment as she finally pulled her hand back. 

A small frown tugged at the corner of her lips as she read over the message on her phone. “Not to over step, but is everything okay?”

“Yes. I just need to leave now unfortunately.” You noticed an almost undetectable accent framed her words. The accent just made her all the more alluring to you. “Do you think I could have your number?” She asked shyly as she tugged at the sleeves of her sweater.

Without hesitation, you scrambled to find a pen and a loose scrap of paper to write your number on. “Here you go.” You both shared bashful smiles when your hands grazed one another.

With a small wave, and a soft smile Wanda turned to leave. “I’ll call you.” Excitement bubbled in your chest at the thought as you dreamily watched her walk out of the coffee shop.

“Okay. Am I going to regret coming?” You jumped at the unexpected appearance, causing you to spill your coffee. You mumbled several choice expletives under your breath as you desperately attempted to salvage the papers that you had spent the entire morning working on. 

Realizing that the attempts were futile you crumpled the papers and focused on drying the table. “We’re off to a great start already.” You heard Leigh sarcastically muse from her place across from you.

Nerves bloomed in your chest, knowing it was actually Leigh sitting across from you. You treaded forward cautiously. “S-sorry. I’m glad you made it out, Leigh. It’s good to see you.” You stuttered out. 

“I would ask how the coffee is, but it looks like the table would know more than you would.” Even more sarcasm. Definitely Leigh. Like you had noted when Wanda was there, Leigh was all sharp edges.

At the thought of Wanda, you leaned forward, pretending to not notice the way Leigh’s aloof attitude faltered slightly. “Do you have a twin?”

A dry laugh fell from Leigh’s lips. More controlled than Wanda’s. “What? Are you on drugs?” 

“I think I may have just met your twin.”

Leigh’s stare became cautious when she realized you weren’t joking.

There it is! Debating making this into a series. If I did should Wanda have powers or should she just be a normal person? Also how does the title Love Me (Or Let Me Go) sound? :) Let me know what you all think, I’m excited to hear back from you all! Thoughts and comments always welcome!

[w2beastars]

Waezi2′s thoughts on “Beast Complex” chapter 19

This chapter is one of those that just seems okay the first time you read it, but when you read it again it somehow gets better as you notice small details and you re-analyze the dialogue.

But as I said before, Paru is great at subtle story-telling and at showing instead of telling, something manga often has a problem with. And I’m sad that chapter 19 is the end of “Beast Complex” that I actually enjoyed more than “Beastars.”

Today’s tale is about Nagumo the Crocodile, a school boy who gets invited to come inside the house of his classmate Heyse the Bovine since the weather is terrible and he might catch a cold. Heyse’s mom doesn’t mind, she is more than thrilled to have guests.

Naguma is offered a towel to dry himself. The crocodile boy notices right away that this is a high-quality fluffy towel, indicating that Heyse’s family is at the very least VERY well-off.

Heyse takes a bath to make sure not to catch a cold from being out in the rain. Heyse tells Naguma to take over his still warm water once he is done... and this is where it gets weird.

We all know about the Back-Alley Marked that sells meat to carnivores who want to satisfy their craving for meat. But what about poor carnivores who might not be able to afford meat? Paru gives us a final bit of world building as we are told that the animals who are less than fortunate when it comes to money still goes to the BAM, they just buy soup since it’s much cheaper. Heck, some argue that it is okay to drink this sort of soup since it’s not REALLY meat.

Naguma recently had soup that his brother bought from the BAM.

And the bath water that Heyse the Bovine allowed him to use very much smells like the cheap soup. Despite knowing that drinking bath water is pretty pathetic and sort of insane, Naguma can’t help but drink of this giant “bowl” of “beef soup.”

... And he get’s caught with both his hands in the cookie jar... or rather, the soup can I guess.

Naguma is lucky since Heyse is startles at first, but then pretends like he did not just see his crocodile classmate drink water with his flavor.

Naguma is invited to stay for dinner. It just revealed that the two of them didn't know each other that well, they are just classmates. Heyse’s mom thinks it is nice that the rain made it possible for the two of them to know each other better... something that makes Naguma nervous since he feels like Heyse knows way too much about him now. That, and he finds it a bit unsettling that Heyse is acting like nothing. As Heyse escort him on the way home and the two of them are alone, Heyse finally speaks of it... and Naguma is surprised by what the ox has to say.

Yeah, he is kinda chill about Naguma drinking a substitute for meat soup. He even says that he feels sorry for the crocodile boy since him doing something like that is probably because he is poor and his family takes pity on the less than fortunate.

... Yeah, that’s kind of a dick thing to say. And as you can see on Naguma’s expression, he is not exactly flattered by what Heyse just said.

The next day, Naguma is on cleaning duty at the school’s pool. But he doesn’t have to do it alone since Heyse offers to help him so it will only take half the time. And when Naguma asks why, Heyse says once again that he pity him for being so unlucky two day in a row, both being caught drinking bath water and being stuck cleaning a pool.

Being fed up with Heyse looking down at him, Naguma kicks him into the pool while he still wears his clothes. He then jumps in the pool as well and yells at the ox for being arrogant and that he really doesn’t need any of his (no pun intended) bullshit, that the wealthy ox boy has no idea how much it sucks to be him.

But this is where the plot takes an unexpected turn.

Yep, Heyse actually snaps at Naguma and calls him an asshole. He says that the crocodile was not the only one who got scared, so did Heyse when he saw a crocodile drink “soup” with ox flavor.

This is interesting. We naturally share Naguma’s view of what is going on since he is the main character of the chapter. But if we take a step back and look at the situation with neutral eyes... how would you feel if you saw someone drinking water that tastes like you? Naguma kept thinking about Heyse as above him since he was well-off and had a nice house with fluffy towels. But nothing can change that Naguma is a crocodile and that Heyse is a bovine.

The genes means a lot in the Beastverse. Just look at Sebun the Sheep who has to deal with the fact that society thinks more of Legoshi than her despite that he is ten years younger than her AND he is a school dropout. She is a little sheep, he is a big wolf, nothing will change that.

So I think Heyse being all you-are-less-fortunate-than-me spiel was his way of trying to distance himself from that extremely uncomfortable situation. Try and tell himself that Naguma wouldn’t hurt him, that he was just poor and desperate.

It is very suiting that they clean the air between them while being in the school’s pool. It’s like they mix up like a soup... in a metaphorical way, naturally. Because that’s what a friendship is, or any relationship really. You offer the other something of yourself, the trust in each other mix like different ingredients in a soup.

Naguma then... actually, I will let this little moment speak for itself:)

I just love this interaction:) There is a Legoshi-Louis like feel to it. It is uncertain if Heyse really “apologized” on Naguma’s behalf or if he is just too proud to admit he said sorry for being kind of a jerk.

The boys then talk about if they should hang out at Naguma’s place this time.

The ending of “Beast Complex” is not as dramatic and detailed as some of the other chapters, but it is a nice and subtly told story that captures the spirit of the entire series as well as giving us a final piece of worldbuilding.

I’m gonna miss this series Paru.

I’m Waezi2, and thanks for wasting time with me.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Finale | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: It’s Halloween, and there are a lot of things on Spencer’s mind.

A/N: Here it is, everyone: the end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this far. I greatly appreciate all of you, and I hope you enjoy it!   Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Penetrative sex, light D/s, mostly fluff! Word Count: 7.5k

—————————————————

Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.

It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.

But she wasn’t a season, and when it came to my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.

“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

(Y/n)’s face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.

“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”

The truce was received poorly, her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration to continue, “I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are... wrong. They are wrong.”

It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway), clutching tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.

“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating the way my voice jumped a little bit. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”

“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.

I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway. The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough for me to let the full force of my affection show before she noticed.

She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.

I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she had hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it. Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.

For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.

“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate further into my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”

All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.

That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.

I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.

But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.

“What are you doing?” I said through a very amused chuckle.

She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression. “I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”

I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.

“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”

“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seatbelt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.

“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.

“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away. I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.

“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.

That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted.

The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. My mind was brought back to the first time she ever let me know she was jealous, bickering over blondes and preferences while she sat in the very same place. And, just as before, she was still wearing the same raggedy old sweatshirt of mine.

“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.

“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”

The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be better with her there. In a way, I think we were trying to prolong the high of ‘hooky,’ finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour.

… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her? And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.

“Do you see that?”

For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.

“See what?”

“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”

My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”

“The giant pile of leaves?”

“Uh-huh.”

Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.

“What about— No! (Y/n)!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.

I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.

“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me. “This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.

As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.

“Absolutely not.”

With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.

The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.

“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.

“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”

As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.

But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns despite not being able to indulge in anything herself. Although she did half-heartedly attempt to trick me into buying her drinks in several different establishments, I think she was honestly proud that I avoided the drinks altogether. It was a nice reminder that sobriety could be something enjoyed between the two of us, regardless of the environment. However, we didn’t let that stop us from jumping into a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.

“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.

“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.

(Y/n) had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her 31-year-old FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.

“Laugh it up,” I droned. And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.

“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”

“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”

“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.

But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. It took her a while to figure out why the route felt so familiar, but I wasn’t ready to ruin the surprise. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on her. She didn’t disappoint.

“The Mayflower?” she asked with a bit of a bashful laugh before looking up at me through narrowed eyes, “Feeling nostalgic, Dr. Reid?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Thought it was more romantic than the club,” I offered, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies that burst through my stomach. “Not by much, mind you.”

Although I got the feeling that she didn’t know, or perhaps just didn’t remember, that wonderful night from almost a year ago was one of the most important days of my life. I knew it then, too. From the second I set my eyes on her from my pitiful place against the bar, I knew that she would ruin me.

“Nothing screams high end romance like an alley and a little light law breaking,” she sighed. I almost missed it, too preoccupied with the way her arm tugged me tighter so she could rest her head against my shoulder.

“I can take you home if you’d rather.”

“Hmmm. Depends,” she hummed. Then, turning her head up to me with that playful look that always turned me to putty in her hands, she purred, “How much longer do you think you can wait before you just have to have me?”

I sucked in a sharp, sarcastic breath, eyeing her just long enough for her to start to fume, I let out all the air with a defeated sigh, “I guess we’re staying.”

That serene sort of teasing continued past the reception desk and all the way up the elevator. If there were other people there, we didn’t bother noticing. We were too busy watching one another to even look away long enough to find our room. Doubling back through the dizzying hallways until we found the elusive number, we finally settled into the only vaguely familiar layout of beige and tan.

She was much quicker at it than I was. Before I’d even finished washing my hands and checking exposed skin for bugs that I was convinced had hitched a ride from the leaf pile, she was already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a tiny piece of lacy cotton and her favorite sweatshirt. The sight made me stop, lost for breath and logic of how I was lucky enough to be there with her again.

“See something you like, Dr. Reid?” she teased through giggles, no doubt recalling the same memory as me.

My answer didn’t need to be said, but I said it, anyway. She deserved to hear it.

“Yes.”

With arms outstretched, she sleepily begged, “Come here.”

But I couldn’t.

“Not yet… I just… I want to look at you like this a little bit longer.”

How could I move on from this moment, when it was the best I’d ever felt? So overwhelmingly safe and at home despite being in a strange, sterile room. I had no desire to move any inch of me if it meant that this image would persist for the rest of my days.

“You getting all romantic on me?”

“Always,” I chuckled. Her usual disgust for my sappy behavior didn’t show itself, overpowered by the gentle curve of her lips and hands that were becoming more and more insistent to be held. Eventually, I had to move, knowing that it was the only way to hold her.

My body reacted the way it always did when it found her. All of the tension dropped from tired shoulders, desperate to touch her more. To feel the imprint of her body pressed against mine, a mess of heat and need and love.

She was the one to kiss me first, and for a moment I let her do it without reciprocation. I wanted to feel how her touch became softer and shier as she realized what I was doing. That I was spending all of my energy memorizing the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back a giggle against my almost-still lips.

“What’s happening in that big genius brain of yours?” she murmured with eyes half open but still containing universes.

“I’m just thinking of all the things you’ve done to make me fall in love with you.”

I thanked all of the gods in every pantheon that made her too tired to tease. Instead, she just laughed, playing her part in bringing us back to that night we met.

“Like quote Picard?”

“We still haven’t watched Star Trek together,” I whined.

The sound must have stirred something new in her, because she rolled us over to take her seat on my lap. She hung over me, looking down at me, hopeless and breathless at the feel of her thighs under my hands. My heart started to race, but I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until she spoke the words that were already running through my mind, “We’ve got time. Picard can wait.”

Everything about it was effortless. Our bodies had fallen together and mouths found each other exactly like every romance novel has ever tried to tackle the metaphor of gravity.

But if we were an orbit, it was not a binary like the traditional notion of two equal souls. Despite the nickname I’d chosen for her, nothing about her soul was small. And even though she burned bright, she wasn’t anything like the fiery combustion of a star.

She was a home. A thing so full of vitality and life that I would love to watch for whatever time I had left. I was just a moon, loyally following her and trying my best to shield her from whatever might try to harm her. To protect her when she needed rest and to lead the tides to kiss her when she wished. I would be her shadow, shining a light onto her even in the darkest time. All that I asked for in return was a spot beside her.

‘One day,’ she had said before, ‘if you will have me.’

But it was never a question. Not for me. And if she really needed me to answer it for her, I was happy to give her that. I hadn’t been waiting for even a year, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Yeah, he can,” I repeated, quiet and with such a heavy waver that I’m surprised she could understand the shifting inflections. Even if she didn’t, she knew that something had changed in those few seconds of silence.

“What’s up, Spencer?”

I didn’t know how to answer. How to explain what I was feeling. But I grabbed hold of one hand, clinging desperately to her and guiding her to the heart that felt dangerously light. The rapid pace of its beating still not enough to alert her of the true cacophony of my thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

The answer was yes. Because no matter how loud and chaotic the sounds inside my head were, they all lead me to the same conclusion.

“Picard can wait, and we have a lot of time,” I tried to explain through a dry throat that was only growing tighter with the unwieldy weight of the feeling.

“Yes…” she mumbled back, just as trepidatious and nervous as I was.  

Just like I was. Because we were. We were connected by some force, whatever you want to call it. Whether it was a chemical or psychological or heavenly connection, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how I felt. To know that there was nothing that would ever tear me away from her.

“But I don’t… I don’t think I want to wait.”

After a couple more seconds of silence, she answered with a knowing stare, “… What?”

From my position underneath her, I was able to reach over just enough to grab my jacket. Of course, it helped that she moved with me, clearly curious and terrified of the possibilities. But a good kind of terror… I hoped.

My confidence grew as her legs gripped tighter around my hips and her hands shot up to cover her chest with balled fists pressed against one another. I heard the friction of her skin as her body started to shake in a different way, with an adrenaline that I hadn’t seen from her in even the most dangerous situations.

But when I pulled a small velvet box from the internal pocket, everything stopped. She became completely still. Her eyes were wide and frozen on the object in my hands, only to look away when she heard my voice.

“(Y/n).”

“Where did you get that?” she asked like she hadn’t just seen me pull it from my jacket. The same jacket that I wore every time that I was with her. The wool fabric that she’d swaddled herself in on a number of occasions, none the wiser of how much heavier it was for me when I wore it.

“I know this is really random, a-and to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” I said through the most awkward laughs I’d ever produced (which was saying something), “I mean, I knew I wanted to marry you, I’ve known that for quite some time, hence the ring.”

I paused, but got nothing in response. Nothing except her lips quivering from their parted position, and her nose twitching as she tried to settle on just one expression. But it didn’t matter how she contorted her face; they were all exactly as they should be. Because they were all her.

“But today, with you… I-I’ve never been that happy in my life. Jumping in leaves and fighting over fall flavors and I—“

Her eyes stopped bouncing, settling with my gaze and robbing my lungs of all air. She made up her mind, deciding to leave everything exactly as it was. The honest truth of the overwhelming storm of every emotion that had been experienced in the little time we had shared together.

The knowing that everything had happened exactly as it should have to bring us here.

“I love you so much,” I whispered, careful to make every word as genuine as they were, “And I know that we have all the time in the world left with one another… but I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife.”

“Ask me,” she answered immediately and abruptly.  


“Okay,” I laughed, endlessly entertained by how she could sound so aggressive even when we were both at our most vulnerable, caught in the nexus of our love.

“Um… Will you… marry me?”

There was no hesitation. No worry, no fear, and no doubt.

“Yes, you stupid old man!” she outright screamed, throwing arms around me even when it meant we both slammed against pillows and the headboard. She didn’t stop squealing even when she kissed me, struggling to find more of me to hold onto.

After she decided that tugging on my hair was the best way to express her affection, I managed to break away just long enough to shout, “Wait! I have to put the ring on you!”

“Then put it on!” she yelled, thrusting her hand in front of my face and practically slapping me in the process. But none of the pain mattered. Nothing was even recognizable outside of the feeling of her sweaty, shaking palm resting against my fingers.

I noticed for the first time that I was also trembling. I took the time to focus, slipping the ring over her finger. But once it started to safely slide into place, my eyes returned to watch what I knew to be happy tears fall over her cheeks. I wiped them away, but they were replaced with the wetness from my face when she brought us together again with a long, gentle kiss.

A calmness came over the room like the feeling following a storm. A clean slate with soil enriched for growth. A hope for a future forever changed.

“What do we do now?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and holding tight to my hands.

The answer seemed clear enough.

“Whatever we want.”

 —————————————————

 Is this really happening?

I stared at the diamond shining back at me with a clarity that had to be a metaphor for my heart. In the vague reflection of yellow light and us, I felt a warmth that doesn’t normally accompany metal. My finger’s new companion felt so comfortable in its new resting place. A constant reminder of the man I called home.

Then I turned back to him, unsure how I was supposed to move on from this moment. I never wanted to leave, but I also needed to move. I compromised and settled with my face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just dedicated to me. In that peaceful quiet, I heard him speak so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.

But I did.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said with fingers dancing through the ends of my hair, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And for once, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like freedom. I was finally free to be who I was without worry that I would be alone. Without worrying that I would be too much or too little to please him.

I was enough.

Enough.

“I love you,” I said, tasting salt from tears I hadn’t even noticed were falling.

Curiously, and in a rare role switch, Spencer was the one who took a blatantly affectionate display and turned it into something else. Pulling me away from his chest, he dragged me up until he could drag his lips over my jaw.

“Don’t cry, little girl,” he cooed with what I could only imagine was a wicked grin, “I haven’t given you a reason to yet.”

Something about that gruff rumble in his throat caused my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Every inch of me burned with flames that could only be put out by his touch. I chased after his lips with my own, but he was insistent on trailing down my throat. He knew I would be powerless to him. I wouldn’t be able to argue when my hands were knotted in his hair and my hips were already rocking helplessly against his erection.

“I want you to fuck me,” I seethed. My blood was boiling from the heat I felt within, and before he could even answer I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh? You don’t want me to make love to you?” Spencer laughed. As if that had ever been our style.

“No, I want you to take what’s yours.”

He responded to the demand by pushing me from my seat, forcing me onto my back on the other end of the bed. I wasn’t going to complain, either. The new position allowed me access to his belt, which I unbuckled before he even had time to laugh.  

“Are you really challenging me right now, little girl?”

But despite the taunt, he did nothing to stop me. His hands were also busy removing my clothes. And just like before, our nakedness was reciprocated. With each lost layer, I should have felt lighter, but I didn’t. I felt so powerful, so aware of how our bare bodies twined together.

“Here, of all places? Do you remember what I did to you that night?”

How could I ever forget?

“I’m not the same girl you had in your bed then,” I purred. We both knew it was true, although not in the way I was implying.

Because Spencer had changed me. Irrevocably. He taught me so much — not just about physics, literature, or criminology, either. He taught me about kindness, softness, and vulnerability. He taught me how to trust that someone could hold me without the intention of letting me go. More than anything, he taught me that I didn’t have to learn these things alone. Even the smartest man I’d ever met needed help with them sometimes.

Then again, something told me that Spencer wasn’t in a very humble mood. Perhaps it was the fact he’d pinned me down again, with his hands clumsily gripping hard enough to leave crescent moons in my forearms.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he growled with a small, chaste kiss, “You’re still just a fucking brat.”

I wasn’t feeling bratty then, though. Especially not as I felt the head of his cock pressed against me, just hard enough to feel the resistance of my body. He waited there, no doubt taking pleasure in the way my whole body squirmed underneath him. My hips bucked, but he managed to keep a cruelly steady distance.

“You’re so precious when you’re needy,” he mumbled. And although I stubbornly avoided looking him in the eyes out of protest, he forced my face towards him again, anyway. “Go on. Say please.”

“Fuck off,” I whined through a prominent pout that did me no favors.

“Say it.”

“Please!”

I managed to make eye contact, but it was fleeting. As soon as he thrust forward into me, my back arched and I lost myself in the pillows. My hands found him, though, leaving angry red welts over heated skin. If Spencer was at all affected by the pain, he made no showing of it. His pace continued, steadily forcing our bodies together until I trembled in his hands.

He would hold me there, at my limit but not pleading for him to do anything different. With tender hands, he would fuck me until I swore bruises would follow. But I never felt unsafe; I felt cared for and cherished in a way I’d never known. I trusted him to know my limits better than myself.

I trusted him with all of me because I had already seen that when given the chance, he would do whatever he could to protect me.

The love I felt must have shone through my eyes because his hips got slower, drawing out each movement. My hips rose in tandem with his, allowing me to feel every inch of him inside of me.

“This body belongs to me now and forever,” he whispered.

It always has.

“You belong to me.”

And I felt it. The undeniable string of fate that tied us to each other. I could feel his every emotion as his fingers brushed over my throat. I melted under his touch, completely consumed by the love he felt for me. The kind of love that people spent their whole lives searching for only to come up empty. That powerful thing that drove gods to war and men to madness.

The only feeling that could tear down every wall that had been carefully crafted to protect myself. Because I didn’t need them anymore. Spencer’s arms would take their place, holding me through the storms that might follow the same way he had carried me through the ones that led us here.

“Yes,” I breathed, “I’m yours.”

For forever and whatever comes after.

The words were truer than they’d ever been before, and Spencer took it as permission to let go of any remaining hesitation. The slow, gentle thrusts became faster and our moans echoed in the small room without a second thought to the poor patrons in the rooms surrounding us. Because if they felt what we did, they would understand. Spencer still tried to hush the sounds, crashing his lips over mine in a sloppy, frenzied kiss.

I was suddenly reminded of every romantic story I’d ever heard. They all spoke of feeling so close to someone that they felt like an extension of yourself. I wasn’t sure if it was completely true, but there was no denying how at home our bodies were. The way our tongues wrapped around one another and how our noses bumped so gently in the chaos was unmatched by any meeting driven by lust or need.

His hips met mine over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to keep him closer. Even when my hips chased his to be held longer, Spencer was persistent in the ruthless pace. Because like me, he was lost in the euphoria. I knew it from the sound of his whimpers and the way he bit my lip just a little bit harder.

“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged.

“You,” I answered without any doubt, “I just want you.”

His response came even faster, even more desperate and scratchy as it came through his lips into mine.

“You have me. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I will take care of you.”

There was nothing left to say. I could feel the truth and force behind the words as he fucked me harder, eliciting one more quiet cry from me in the sound of his name.

“Spencer...”

When he returned the call, though, it wasn’t with any name I’d heard from him before.

“So you better get used to this feeling,” he said through a smile that I felt on my lips before he drew back. He looked me in the eye as he buried himself in me, tensing to hold himself back just a few seconds longer. To see the look on my face and let that be the feeling of us giving in to each other for the first time in our new story.

“Because I’m never going to grow tired of this, Mrs. Reid.”

Mrs. Reid.

That was going to be my name.

Mrs. Reid.

That was the only thought running through my mind as I felt the coil in my gut snap and all of my muscles tense around him. There were no whorish sounds left in my lungs, only little whimpers and whines as I tried to claw him closer. Spencer gave up his visual in exchange for kissing me while he finished. My walls held him so tightly that I felt each pulse and every place where his release filled me. But nothing was more compelling than feeling the way his lip quivered between mine as his body fell onto mine with no grace required.

Spencer could act hard all he wanted, but I felt the way he craved softness. Safety. Love. All things I was happy to give… for a price.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?” he replied sleepily but animated enough to have a healthy dose of snark. Snark that earned him a rough nudge of my elbow into his ribs.

“You know!”

But naturally, the genius had to play dumb. With a happy little hum, he snuggled closer to me, burying his face into my neck so he could mumble against the skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Please,” I sighed, “for me?”

He seemed to contemplate the plea for a little while longer, with wiggling toes I felt against my shins and a happy sigh that breezed over my neck. I tried to take in those small things while I waited, knowing that while I had a lifetime to learn them, this moment would never come again.

“Fine,” he finally settled, propping himself up to give another soft kiss followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Only for you, Mrs. Reid.”

 ——  The Next Morning ——

 Waking up next to Spencer with a ring on my finger was literally waking up to find my dream come to life. And sure, his light snoring and constant wriggling under the sheets he continued to pull off of me weren’t perfect or picturesque, but they were real. The same way that he chirped when he felt my legs wrap around him in his sleep and only woke when he heard me giggling.

His eyes fluttered open, taken aback by something that he saw. Although I would blame it on the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I was sure that he would give me all the credit.

“Good morning,” he slurred.  

“Hi,” I answered with a smile and an attempt to pull him closer. But my hand was stopped by his, squeezing my palm between his fingers before dragging my knuckles to his lips. From there, he laid a gentle kiss over the diamond he’d placed there the night before. Although it was strange to be outshone by a rock, I let it go for now.

“I know you shouldn’t sleep with it on, but it’s so nice to see it’s still there,” he said with a heavy breath before lowering our still joined hands to rest against his heart. I could feel the way it beat a little bit quicker as I came closer, and I wondered if this was really what it would be like forever.

“I couldn’t resist wearing it.”

“You know you can still change your mind, right? We haven’t told anyone.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I replied unlike every time before. There was no teasing, no joke or anger or sadness. Just a pure, unadulterated joy.

… Of course, the question did bring up an entirely new anxiety. It did feel a bit silly, but it needs to be expressed.

“Have you?”

“God, no,” he laughed. Like he’d only asked the question to see the way I might panic. But as soon as I heard his assurance, I knew it was the truth.

My mind started to drift back to that first morning we spent together. It felt like a lifetime ago, but everything still felt so very much the same. I wondered if there were things I would change if given the chance. It wasn’t until after I ran through the laundry list of things that we would have been better off without that I realized I’d asked the wrong question.

It wasn’t a matter of what I would have changed, but what I would have kept the same. And the answer was simple. No matter what I would face in my life, I just wanted it to be with him. Everything would be okay as long as I had him.

However, when I tried to kiss him, Spencer still seemed hung up on the things he would have changed. Our lips didn’t connect for even ten seconds before he broke apart, happily laughing through the words, “This is so much better when I’m not hungover.”

“Old man.”

He didn’t argue back, wiggling under the sheets until our chests were pressed together. I took it as a very poor attempt at a power play, because instead of craning my neck to look up at him from my spot, I simply climbed his lanky figure until our noses were pressed together.

“Your old man now,” he corrected, followed by my own clarification of, “You were always mine, Dr. Reid.”

“But now you get to show everyone.” He grinned, letting go of my hand to roam over the curves of my body. His daily attempts to memorize each version of me he held. After a few more moments of silent reverence, I asked the question we’d have to face eventually, lest we face even more awkward, embarrassing moments with the team.

“Who’s gonna tell everyone?”

He barely even considered the options before he shrugged.

“Let’s just… wing it.”

I paused, certain that I’d heard it wrong. “You, Spencer Reid, would like to ‘wing it?’” I repeated, barely able to get the words out without laughing from the absurdity of it all.

But he was quick to assure me, “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright. Whatever you say,” I sighed. I figured that it wouldn’t be worth it to plan right now, anyway. It wasn’t exactly our style. If anything, we would find the perfect time completely by accident.

“You know what we should do first though?” I excitedly announced to the best audience a girl could ever ask for.

“What?”

“Coffee,” I drawled. To which he quickly answered, “I love you an ungodly amount.”

Taking full advantage of that admission, I shoved the poor soul who’d shackled himself to me forever away as I ordered, “Go turn it on. I am craving shitty hotel coffee in bed with my fiancé.”

“Fine,” he resigned with a smile while rolling out of the bed, “Spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat!” I shouted back from safe under the covers that I could finally get back in his absence. They weren’t as good as him, but they would be enough for now. I buried my face into his pillow, snickering as I heard a very tired Spencer call from the bathroom, “Forever mine!”

Just as the sounds of running water filled the room, I lifted my head at the distant sound of familiar chiming beside me.

“Is that my phone?”

I didn’t answer, paralyzed in my place as I felt the most intense sensation of deja vu I’d ever experienced. Right there on the nightstand, I saw the name Hotchner.

Spencer was quicker this time to leave the bathroom, but just as he turned the corner, a thought must have stopped him. Because he paused, staring at me with hotel sheets gathered around me and his phone against my ear.  

He didn’t try to fight me for the device. In fact, he didn’t move at all, watching from a few feet away with a smile I’d never seen before. The kind that I felt so deep inside of me that I realized this was what they meant to share a soul with someone.

 “Hello,” I spoke softly and filled with love, “this is Mrs. Reid.”

 The End.

—————————————————

Epilogue

[vaguely-concerned]

PLEASE talk about the Lupin-Jigen sunset motif more when you have the time/motivation!

Haha oh boy I probably will at considerable length once I've got a handle on it, if I know myself right! XD To be honest I feel like I've only just started to pick up on just how often and consistently it pops up, though, so I'm not sure I know how to analyze it yet -- here are the examples I've noticed in what I've watched so far, everyone please chime in if you can think of any more! These are pretty much all intimate private scenes between just the two of them rather than like group shots/scenes, I haven't really been tracking those the same way

- I haven't watched part 1 yet, but I know there's a scene with the two of them and a sunset in it. Maybe this was where it got started? If so I guess the seed of it was there from the very beginning lol

- Episode 0: First Contact: They literally drive off into the sunset together as newly minted partners at the end ffshdjakfs just completely normal heterosexual life-long partnership things

- The Gravestone of Daisuke Jigen: The two of them yet again in a car looking out over a sunset while lighting each other's cigarettes in another very normal heterosexual move while having a Moment of mutual delight in themselves lol

- Part 6, episode 0 'The Times': The last shot of the episode is Lupin alone next to the Fiat looking out over a glorious sunset while waiting for Jigen to show up so they can have the drink they talked about earlier. Lupin's voice over about it is exceedingly tender. As I believe I said at the time, "I hope I one day find something I can be as passionate about as Lupin is about thinking sappy shit about Jigen while gazing at beautiful sunsets" lmao

- The Part 5, episode 19 'Mirage': The final part of the episode is a quiet scene with just the two of them at sunset. I personally didn't get any romantic vibe between Jigen and Mirage in the backstory at all, but if you read it that way there's literally no way to misconstrue the way Lupin echoes that scene word for word with him here. Actual 'what do you mean subtext???' territory. Man I love part 5 haha

- The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, Episode 8: While they're eating together for the first time (feat. Lupin's dubious-looking home cooking but Jigen's no coward, he eats it anyway haha), they're sitting in front of a painted wall that looks very much like a sunset scene

(like so!)

- The Castle of Cagliostro: Parts of what I affectionately call the wistful gay roadtrip AMV during the opening credits are clearly set at sunset, and we also see them gazing out at it together at one point. (Incidentally the last scene of it where they're smoking together seems to be right before dawn instead, which tickles my brain somehow, especially since Miyazaki has said he imagined this movie as further down the timeline, with an older gang)

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 30/?)

Chapter 30: Where the Skies End

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20 • 21 • 22 • 23 • 24 • 25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30 • more coming soon

[ You can also read on AO3 ]

Unsurprisingly, and much to your frustration, Connor had finished the move without you. There might not have been much left to move at that point; but, it was your stuff at a house that you rented, and not Connor's responsibility in the slightest.

But, there was no telling the android that, and you knew that he would have been well equipped with plenty of reasons as to why he could handle the rest of the move alone: you needed rest, he didn't require sleep, etc, etc.

When you stepped off the elevator into the android's - and now your - apartment, Connor had a look on his face, as if you had come home for the first time in years. You had only spent a week at Hank's place, and only a day and some odd hours at the hospital prior to that, and Connor had been nearly inseparable from you the entire time; yet, it felt like ages since you had been here.

It was only then that the weight of your near death experience became apparent. Before, your life, or the loss of it, wouldn't have impacted anyone else. It was just you in that little house, trying to make a living, picking up the pieces of a war and watching humanity change astronomically.

Now, there was a life that would be changed if you were gone. You let yourself imagine how Connor would cope, what would become of him, and struggled to keep the sorrow to yourself.

Perhaps, for the first time in your life, you knew what it was like to be needed.

Your wound healed remarkably in the weeks that followed. The scar left behind was star shaped and your skin was darkened around the sunken surface. But, you didn't find yourself hating it as much as you thought you would.

It wasn't something you looked at with pain or regret, but rather something prideful. Maybe there was something masochistic about it, not that you found yourself bothered by that realization.

Your coworkers thought it looked 'pretty cool' and declared that it made you 'quite the badass'. Now, you could wear the badge of 'I've been shot', with a bizarre story to tell. You didn't care if people thought it was strange, letting yourself get shot for an android.

Connor was much more than 'just' an android. He was the man you loved, who carried an astronomical burden you could barely understand. Sure, you could judge the weight, the pressure; but, you, an ordinary human, couldn't possibly understand what he felt as the target of a revolution that would change humanity forever.

The thoughts became clearer as you and Connor stepped into Haven for the last time, and you took in the emptiness, the quiet, and the cold.

"One moment," Connor advised you, stepping away and into the open space in the center of the room.

RK800, like all androids, had no true sense of temperature. Connor couldn't feel cold the way humans did. His artificial skin wasn't going to prickle with goosebumps and his muscles wouldn't shiver from the discomfort.

His HUD could report the weather if he enabled it and he had various feedback modules to inform him of how the temperature would affect a human, with the rightful assumption one would be in his presence.

Yet, despite this very well known limitation of his being, Connor couldn't explain how he managed to feel so cold as he stood there in the very abandoned Haven.

He was aware that warmth could be metaphorical, symbolic of belonging and comfort. His sense of cold was both literal and figurative in this sense. Without any machines running, all the lights turned off, Haven had become very cold. The halls, once busy with androids, were now empty, and the building was silent if not for the creaking walls.

-until someone walked through the distant corridor, their quiet footsteps rattling in Connor's acute hearing module.

There was an apology on the tip of Connor's tongue when he caught the sight of Markus. However, the RK200's stare wasn't cold or untrusting. There was something undeniably regretful on his face, conveying sympathy to the fellow android.

Markus' mismatched eyes caught the sight of you over Connor's shoulder, and spared a sad expression.

The two androids had agreed to meet here, for the last time in circumstances like this, hopefully. Once the final bill was passed, and androids would be proper citizens, there would be no need for this.

However, Connor had yet to obtain a definitive lead on Reaves' accomplices. This, at the very least, could provide some security for the androids that came before him.

"I know you didn't want me to," Markus began. "But, I will tell them it's from you. They should know."

"It's... your choice," Connor replied quietly, hoping to mask the uncertainty in his tone.

The two androids took each other's wrists, pushing the fabric of their jackets out of the way to touch skin to skin. Connor knew that Markus trusted him. He took the file without even bothering to scan it first. Only once it was already saved on his local system did he bother to analyze it.

The detective android had worked on that during your recovery week, while he laid beside you in low power mode. He reviewed the log files on his internal firewall over a thousand times, and crafted additional security protocols, specifically designed around write protection. Factory defaults, if he could help it, would be near impossible.

Markus could share this new code with other androids. If Connor failed to stop it in time, at the very least, their memory modules would be protected from brute force attacks, cyberlife certified or otherwise.

As their hands parted, Connor seemed to understand why he felt so cold. He had grown accustomed to how your skin felt - how human skin felt. Even when you weren't acutely aware of it, you were always warm.

"You're one of us," Markus declared, his hand dropping to his side. "We couldn't have done this without you. Your sacrifices need to be known."

"Sacrifices," Connor parroted quietly, doubtful.

He thought about Reaves' disbelief, at how he prioritized saving your life over securing the future of his kind. He could have killed you, carried on the mission, secured all of the chips and brought the android protestors to absolute surrender.

But, he didn't.

Before you, what had he gambled, if not his own life? A life that, by the very words of his creators, didn't exist, was meaningless, just programs executed in succession. He had questioned the very existence of his own life, but so had every android before him.

Still, the determined look on Markus' face didn't falter.

"Until we meet again," he offered, nodding at his fellow android. His eyes landed on yours before he turned away, and you offered him a sad, small wave.

As Connor passed, he took his hand in yours and guided you out of the building with careful steps. It was unnecessary to bring you here, but he understood the importance of goodbyes, and didn't want you to believe your efforts here had been in vain.

You expected to be driven home after that; however, as you climbed into the car, Connor asked, "would it be alright if we went to the park for some fresh air?"

"-'course," you replied softly, shifting your gaze from the android's face to look out the window.

Connor was uncharacteristically quiet during the drive, his hands gripping the steering wheel in a death lock. You didn't pay much mind to it, figuring he was stressed after everything that had happened. You had been the one on death's door; yet, Connor was the one seemingly always on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

It was worrying; but, you knew he needed to work through it in his own way.

At the park, Connor had hoped you would head straight for the bridge, to a place you had cherished so much. If his research was accurate, this needed to be done at a special place. As he followed you slowly up the curve, feet tapping against the boards, a wave of doubt washed over him.

You looked stunning, standing upright for the first time in weeks, with pep in your step, the sun soaking up your hair. Could he really have this? Could he even think himself allowed for such a thing? Could an android truly understand the needs of a human?

"You alright?" you called out to him, pausing before you reached the apex of the bridge.

It snapped him out of his stupor, and Connor replied softly, "I'm fine."

You continued and he followed, counting the steps despite how unnecessary it was. The android knew he had never been this scared in his life. This type of sensation was really, really unpleasant. His processors were giving him ridiculous warnings that didn't pertain at all to the situation.

He shut off the alerts and met you at the top of the bridge. His hand slid over the railing, analyzed the material as a strong timber, coated with a lacquer color called 'cedar brown', manufactured by-

Connor quickly closed the analyzed results, realizing how pointless that was. He was distracting himself, busying his processor with his manufactured purpose to avoid something he was definitely not made for.

At the top of the bridge, you turned to the man standing beside you, just in time to see him deactivate his human skin. His gaze met yours, and you smiled at the sight of RK800, as he was made, without the imitation of human-likeness.

For a moment, he stood there and let the heat of the sunlight catch on his sensor processors. The human tone of his factory issued skin flickered back on briefly before shutting back off, as Connor mentally questioned if he should do it like this.

The sudden nervous expression on his face, and his flickering pallet, had you concerned. In the sunlight, you could catch the subtle flaws in the design of his optics: the faint glimmer of a camera lens hidden beneath the almost perfect human appearance.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you asked, suddenly reaching for him. Your hand fell into the curve of his elbow.

"There's-" Connor began, stopping himself when a jogger passed the bridge. He was silent until they were gone.

"There's something important I need to ask you," Connor explained, his voice quiet and hoarse. "I'm sorry for not being more forthcoming. I was afraid."

Despite the obvious implications of what that question was, your head swarmed with the worst possibilities. The detective android, who had stormed a building of armed men to rescue you, who never hesitated to take a bullet for anyone, was afraid of something?

"Connor," you murmured, his name falling from your lips without purpose. The concern, however, was heavy in your tone.

"Before I ask, you need to know that you can refuse. There is no obligation, despite what we have been through. I won't hold any negative feelings towards you. From my research, this is premature, and I apologize for that," Connor babbled.

"What?" you blurted. "Connor, what are you - what's wrong?" you insisted, pitch rising as you started to panic.

"Nothing is wrong," he replied sharply.

He stepped back, just enough to create a few inches between you. You watched him reach into his coat pocket and pull out a small box. Mind hazy with the aftermath of Reaves' attack, you feared Connor was going to present you with evidence, that the case had taken a dangerous turn, or even inform you with the worst possible news.

But, then, Connor, cupping the small box in his palm, knelt down onto one knee. He looked up at you, brown eyes bright in the sunlight, android skin white as freshly fallen slow, failing to conceal the crease in his brow as worry sank in. The box opened, but you were too focused on his face to bother looking inside.

"Will you marry me?"

You could have laughed, at yourself, really, for thinking he was going to talk to you about Reaves, about factory-resetting computer chips, and the potential downfall of androids.

Instead, you let out a choked gasp. It was pathetically wet and embarrassingly loud. It all came pouring out before you could even think to stop it. Connor's nervous expression melted into panic when you started crying hysterically.

He was shifting to stand up, an apology hot on his tongue. He could feel his processors heating up, threatening to lock up at the sight of your tear-soaked face. It had his internal processes soaring, questioning if he had misinterpreted your relationship, your feelings for him.

You flung yourself into him before he could stand up, knocking the jewelry box right out of his hand. It clattered noisily on the bridge. If Connor was human, he would have followed; but, he was sturdy and, even unprepared, managed to stay upright as you crashed into him. His knees hit the bridge and his hands cautiously cupped your back.

"Yes!" you cried out, pressing your cheek into his coat, some odd centimeters from his thirium pump.

Your arms squeezed at his back, hands clawing into the thick fabric of his coat. Connor was unmoving, stiff where you clung to him. The artificial movements he made to appear more human had ceased, and you briefly feared he had powered down.

"Yes," you declared again, softer this time, squeezing him even tighter.

Finally, his systems relented and he properly relayed to his processor what you had just said. His arms wound around your back and, for the first time in weeks, Connor hugged you tightly, as if he wasn't afraid that he might hurt you. You could feel the tightening of his fingers tugging at your blouse, the thirium pump in perfect beats inside his chassis.

"Yes," you said again.

His cheek fell against your hairline and he closed his eyes. He wanted to dig his fingers past the fabric of your clothes, to feel your skin in a hopeless attempt to interface. Even if he could only reach your body, even if your mind was out of reach, that was good enough.

"Yes," again.

For now, the ring laid forgotten in its case, the jewelry box sitting some odd feet away, flipped on its side.

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Three

If you had a home, it would be Bucharest, even though you despise the place. It was the first place you went when you got free, because you know he’s here somewhere, conducting his evil machinations from the shadows, shielded by layer after layer of vile men across the globe doing his dirty work. There are plenty of men out there deserving of your particular brand of justice, but no one more so than the Viper. Sometimes you think that, if you can just find him and take him out, you might be able to move on—try to make a normal life for yourself, whatever that looks like. You don’t allow yourself to think about what will happen if you finally achieve your life’s goal and it’s still not enough for you.

You remember everything about the day you learned of the Viper’s existence. You were just 7 years old, one of many little girls packed into a shipping container. You had no idea how long you’d been in there or how long you would be in there. It smelled rancid, and there was never a moment of quiet. Most of the girls were screaming or crying, but a few (like you) were silent, just observing. You don’t know who sold you from your orphanage and shipped you off to Dreykov and you never will. What you do know is that you had no family to miss and no one to miss you, so you didn’t understand what the others were so upset about. From the very beginning, you adjusted to life as a Widow almost effortlessly, which is its own form of tragedy.

Others, though, they were stolen away from people who loved them. This seemed a foreign concept to you when you heard about it from the tiny, sobbing girl huddled next to you in the shipping container—the girl who told you about the Viper, the girl who would become your first and only friend until Dreykov took control of all of your minds. Once you were given the serum, your memories were locked up inside your own heads—none of you could have talked about your past lives even if you’d wanted to. Your words were not your own. You didn’t know what was real and what was planted there. Sometimes you still don’t, and nothing terrifies you more than that.

You have no idea how many little girls the Viper funneled to Dreykov over the years, but it was probably a decent amount. His real bread and butter had always been sex trafficking, and he’s still doing it—on an even larger scale if your intel is correct (which, of course, it is). But he won’t be operating for much longer, not now that you’re so close you can almost taste the venom. You were barely 8 years old when you decided you would kill him, and now you have your chance. You are so close, closer than you’ve ever been, but he keeps slithering out of your grasp. And so you’re in Bucharest, again, looking for answers, again. But you have other business, too—almost as important, if not more so.

You head to the safehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building doesn’t look like much on the outside, but you’ve made sure the inside is comfortable enough for the women and children who live there. The matron greets you at the door and you hand her this month’s envelope, which contains enough cash to feed everyone for the next two months, keep the lights and the water on, and some extra to fix the plumbing issues that have been plaguing the building since you bought it.

The building can house about 40 people comfortably—it’s not nearly enough, and you’re determined to create as many safe spaces as you can, but it’ll do for now. For now, you have to select your charges according to a very strict criteria: they are all women and children (and the children of women) who have been bought and sold by the Viper. Some of them escaped on their own; some of them had assistance from you and the very few people you trust in the city. But all of them have suffered, and all of them have information that you need. Individually, it’s not much, but the more women you talk to, the more pieces of the puzzle you have to work with.

Besides for the cash drop, today you’re here to see the newest resident: Irina, a 19-year-old beauty your Bucharest contacts had managed to snatch from one of the sex clubs. Irina was delivered to the Viper at 12, and her life since then has been an endless nightmare that you can’t think about for too long without feeling physically ill. She’s sitting by the window in the living room, cupping a steaming mug of tea, when you approach her. You walk towards her slowly, and when Irina looks over at you, there is recognition in her eyes even though you’ve never met.

“You’re the Widow,” she says.

“Not anymore,” you reply. “But if that’s what you’d like to call me, go ahead. May I sit?” She gestures to the seat opposite her and you settle in for a chat. “I’d like to ask you some questions, Irina. Is that ok?”

“The others told me you’d be coming.” She speaks softly, her voice hoarse from screaming or crying or both. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll never catch him, you know.”

“I disagree,” you say, “but I need more information.”

“Alright,” she agrees, “if you think it will help,” and you begin the gentlest of interrogations.

Irina tells you that for the first several years after she was taken, she hadn’t heard anyone mention the Viper. She thinks that a lot of the girls probably knew about him or came directly from him, but no one would talk about it because it was too dangerous or traumatizing (or both). Things were different at her last club, though. When you ask her how many of the girls at Delirium knew about him, she tells you that several of them had passed through him somewhere along their journey. One of them—one far too young to be working there—even admitted that she’d been with him only two months earlier.

Finally, after all this time, you’ve got a clear line from point A to point B. You feel it in your bones that Delirium holds the answers, that if you can just get in and poke around a bit, you’ll be able to find him. You take Irina’s hands in yours and thank her for her help, and then you hear it: heavy footsteps coming down the hall. No woman or child in the building weighs enough to make a sound like that, and no men are allowed on the premises. You know who it is before you see him.

*****

Bucky watches you enter the building from his position on the roof across the street. His contact had told him that there were whispers of a Widow safehouse at this address, though no one would dare set foot within 10 blocks of the place to find out. Bucky doesn’t believe the rumor, though. He knows you work alone, that you pride yourself on it. He assumes this is just one of many places where your targets meet their ends, and he knows enough about Bucharest to know that there are a lot of men in this city who fit your modus operandi.

Still, something is off. It’s not an empty building. There have been women and children coming and going all morning, and nearly all the apartments seem occupied. Why would you choose to do your dirty work in a place with so much activity, with so many innocents around? That seems not only impractical but beneath even you. He’s lost in these thoughts, checking each window with his binoculars, when he settles on a beautiful young girl staring out the window, looking desperately sad. She turns to look at someone he can’t see, and then he sees you emerge from the shadows and take a seat opposite her.

There’s a softness to your face—a gentle kindness—that knocks the wind out of him. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you, analyzing your body language and facial expressions to try to figure out what the hell is going on. This is the last thing he expected to see, and he tells himself that this woman must be hiring you for a job—except the woman is nothing but a broken child and doesn’t look like someone who would be taking out a hit on somebody (and certainly not someone who could pay for one).

It’s unnerving, watching you this way, and Bucky is no longer sure that what he’s doing is right. There’s something about your interaction with this girl that makes him feel like a voyeur, witnessing an intimate moment that he should not be seeing but that fascinates him nonetheless. Still, he’s here, you’re his mission—albeit one he took upon himself—and he needs to finish it. By this time, Natasha and Steve are almost certainly on their way, and Bucky needs to get to you before they show up. He went rogue and committed to this plan; now he just has to execute it. He’ll deal with the consequences later.

Bucky makes his way across the street and around the back, where children’s toys litter the small yard of weeds and dirt. When he gets to the back door, he notices that it isn’t the usual ancient rusted lock that one finds on the old buildings in this neighborhood; it’s brand new tech. There’s a pretty decent security camera setup around the building, too.

What the hell is this place?

Bucky has two choices: he can rip the door off the hinges, or he can scale the building and climb in the open window on the top floor. You’re going to be homicidally pissed either way, so he might as well not destroy any property—you may be a monster, but the other tenants here look like civilians, and he doesn’t want to sacrifice their security in his quest to bring you in.

Bucky makes it into the building and weaves his way through the hallways. Along the way, he runs into a few women, and each one of them freezes when they see him. They are shocked and deathly afraid—a look he knows far too well—and they scurry back to their apartments and lock the doors. With his hair cut short, baseball cap pulled down, and leather jacket and glove hiding his prosthetic, it doesn’t seem possible that all of these women would immediately recognize him as the Winter Soldier. That’s what it feels like to him, though, and it’s a gut-punch sensation he does not like at all.

When he gets to the sitting room, the girl you are with has the same look of terror, and for a moment, so do you. But you snap back to yourself quickly—having gone from soft to terrified to hostile within a span of about 15 seconds. Before he can react, you stomp towards him, grab him by the jacket, and hiss, “Not here.”

Bucky hears you speak to the girl in Romanian, “Don’t be afraid, Irina. He’s a friend,” although he knows you think him anything but.

The second you get him into the hallway, you’ve got your knife to his throat. Even with your cold blade nicking his skin, Bucky fights the impulse to disarm you. He doesn’t want to fight you. He knows that he’s intruded on something here, though he doesn’t know what, and he actually feels guilty. He could break you in half if he wanted to, but he lets you pin him to the wall—lets you feel like you’re in control.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you growl.

“You know why I’m here,” Bucky replies, but he doesn’t know—not really, not anymore. “What is this place?”

“It’s somewhere safe,” you say, “or it was until you showed up. No boys allowed, Soldat. Time to go.”

You catch him off guard when you flip him around and throw him through the nearest door, and before he can regain his balance, you kick him straight through the window and into the yard two storeys below. The fall is nothing to Bucky, and he knows that you know that, but it certainly made a statement. He looks up at the broken window he’d just crashed through and sees you peering out with a satisfied smile on your face.

Bucky calls up to you, “I just want to talk.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

“I mean it,” he says, and he actually does. “You can pick the place.”

He watches as you consider his offer, weighing your options—you obviously don’t trust him, but it’s clear that the sanctity of this location is important to you. Now that he’s violated it, you can’t just let him wander off. You agree to meet with him that evening—in public, at a club in Old Town.

“Come alone, Soldat,” you call down to him, “and if you tell anyone about this place, I’ll throw you out a higher window.”

Bucky tries to hide his tiny smile but he knows you see it, just like he sees the little quirk of your lip just before you disappear. He hoists himself off the ground and brushes himself off. When he turns to leave, he sees a little girl holding hands with her mother. He has no idea how long they’ve been standing there, but the girl is pointing and giggling at him.

The little girl asks, “What happened to him, mama?”

“The Widow’s bite,” she replies.

*****

“He’s not going to hurt her, Natasha,” Steve says as he prepares the Quinjet for landing.

“She might not give him a choice,” she replies, strapping herself in. “What the hell was he thinking coming here alone?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “There’s something about this girl that’s really gotten under his skin.”

Natasha looks at Steve, asking the question with her eyes she wouldn’t dare say aloud, and he picks up what she’s putting out.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. All of that programming… it’s gone. You know that. He’s just Bucky now.”

Natasha nods in agreement, but a part of her still has questions—not whether the deprogramming worked, she knows that it did, and she trusts Bucky with her life. No, Natasha’s concern is what is going on inside Bucky’s head. He was doing well, he was adjusting, he was finally ok, but the existence of you seems to have triggered something in him that the words never had. The words made him cold and empty and ready to comply, but you—you make him think, and Natasha knows how dangerous it can be to dwell too much on things you’ve left in the past.

When Steve and Natasha arrive at Bucky’s old apartment, it’s empty, but there are small signs of life—the indent of a head on the pillow on the floor in the corner, an apple core just starting to brown. He’s been there, and recently. Natasha and Steve don’t know who he would still have contact with in Bucharest, so they are left with nothing to go on. Bucky knows how to cover his tracks, and he left them just enough crumbs to get them to Bucharest but not enough that they could find him when they got there.

“He wants us to trust him,” Steve says, “to wait for him to bring her back here.”

“I can’t just sit around waiting for something to happen, Steve. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Steve asks.

Natasha sighs and looks out the window. “I have no idea,” she replies, and that’s when she sees it: a piece of graffiti spraypainted on the wall of a building down the street—a coiled snake ready to strike.

The memory hits Natasha like a freight train. She knows that symbol. She knows what it means. She knows exactly who you’re looking for and it seems absurd to her now that she hadn’t thought of it before.

“Let me make a call,” she says. “I think I know why she’s here.”

[the-widow-sisters]

Returning the Favor

Summary: After Natasha and Yelena decided they needed to go find Alexei, Natasha ends up stopping the car at a small, rundown inn so the two of them can rest. When they are getting ready for bed, Yelena is reminded of all those ugly marks on Natasha's back, and she feels compelled to try to help in some way. Strangely enough, Natasha accepts her help. Canon compliant.

Word Count: 3120

  The women had been driving for quite some time that evening and had fallen into a mostly comfortable silence as Natasha focused on driving and Yelena mentally celebrated the fact that Natasha actually liked her vest that she was so proud of.

  However, they both were extremely exhausted by now, and they had started looking for places to stop and stay.

  After several minutes of searching, Natasha finally pulled in and stopped at a small, rundown inn that looked like one of the sleaziest spots in town.

  “It’s not the Ritz Carlton, but it’ll do,” Natasha muttered under her breath as she unbuckled her seat belt, and Yelena glanced at her with some confusion, trying not to let too much of the emotion invade her features. The last thing that she wanted to do was look uneducated or unknowing in front of Natasha.

  “I’ve slept in worse places,” Yelena finally settled for wryly admitting, and Natasha just looked at her with something that resembled guilt. However, it was gone as soon as it appeared, and they both got out of the car, heading for the front of the little inn.

  Yelena just lingered near Natasha as the redhead asked for a room for the both of them, and she took a moment to analyze anyone she saw and the general area. She needed to make sure that the both of them would not be compromised or caught.

  In the midst of her pre-planning, she had not realized that Natasha had finished getting a room.

  “Hey, did you hear me?” Natasha called, and Yelena looked quickly at Natasha, silently questioning what she needed.

  “What?”

  “Can you go get our bag?” Natasha questioned, and Yelena somewhat begrudgingly nodded in agreeance, not really sure if she liked being the bag-fetcher, but she complied as Natasha chucked the keys in her direction. Yelena caught them easily.

  “We’re in room 19. It’s only got one bed, but we’ll figure something out,” Natasha told her with all the calmness in the world. Yelena, however, was still stuck on the fact that she and the older woman were going to be sharing a bed.

  It was something that she longed for throughout her many years in the Red Room, wishing they could be like they were as kids when they would crawl in bed together and wrap their arms around each other. She really needed that comfort through the horrors and tragedies she had to endure. Now that she was actually going to get her wish, she was feeling more anxious about it than anything. Things were not the same with her and Natasha, and she could not get a good read on the redhead.

  Nevertheless, she decided to just go and get the bag and worry about the bed arrangements later.

  Once she headed up to the room with the bag slung over her arm, she quickly noticed that Natasha had already peeled the bedcovers back and was about to sit on the edge of the bed and remove her shoes. It was then that Yelena truly considered something that she should have thought of beforehand. Yelena just stood stock still, her eyes shifting about as she scanned the room. Natasha seemed to realize her tenseness and spoke.

  “What?”

  “We need to check for cameras,” Yelena spoke quietly, worrying they could be heard.

  “I already did,” Natasha immediately assured her, and Yelena found herself surprised that the redhead had bothered with it. She would have assumed that Natasha was long over even remotely thinking of that sort of thing.

  She guessed some habits just never die.

  “Well, aren’t you ever the golden child?” Yelena muttered under her breath, a tiny bit of bitterness easing into her tone but mostly finding herself filled with some strange sense of being cared for.

  Yelena shook those thoughts from her head, remembering the reality of their situation. Yelena uncomfortably stood near her side of the bed, already feeling her stomach twist with the fact that she was going to have to share a bed with someone that she so desperately wanted to get close to and that seemed to not really want her all that close.

  Once she kicked her shoes off, she looked back up in Natasha’s direction, just watching her as she tiredly removed her own shoes. Her eyes swiftly locked onto the bit of skin on her back that was exposed as she bent over slightly. Yelena felt her heart ache as she was intensely reminded of the bruises covering Natasha’s back in giant, hideous splotches.

  It made her hurt, and now that the image was back in her head, she could not quite get it out. It was bothering her relentlessly, and she quickly considered the possibilities and how she could at least get a better look at the marks.

  It was then that she thought of the perfect excuse. Yelena cleared her throat a bit.

  “Hey, um… Since you bandaged my arm earlier… I was wondering if you wanted me to take a look at your back? You know, returning the favor and all,” Yelena offered, forcing a sense of casualness and nonchalance in her voice when she was really feeling something much more overwhelming. It constricted in her chest, squeezing her heart as she made the tender offer to someone that she somehow adored despite the fact that she had not seen her in years and years.

  She could see Natasha stiffen a bit from her position sitting on the edge of the opposite side of the bed. Yelena just watched her carefully, feeling sure that the redhead was going to turn her down.

  Honestly, she was beginning to regret asking her at all. She knew that it probably sounded weird, and it honestly made her feel a little weird to say anything at all. However, all she knew was that every time she looked at Natasha’s jacket-covered back, all she could think about was the ugly bruises that she had caught sight of when they were at the safehouse. Even now, Natasha’s thin, black shirt did little to take the image from Yelena’s mind.

  She was about to add onto her last statement and try to write it off as a joke or something until Natasha suddenly replied.

  “If you want,” Natasha consented, her head turning to the side as she glanced in the blonde’s direction. Yelena awkwardly shuffled over, easing onto the bed behind the redheaded woman. She paused for just a moment before touching the older woman’s shirt, trying to gather her nerve.

  It had been so long since she had been so close with Natasha. Granted, they had their close-combat fight from earlier, but she was completely and terribly out of practice as far as peaceful, intimate contact with this person that was somehow so important to her.

  Some part of her was weirded out by the whole thing, but another, somehow louder part of her was screaming how right it felt and how much she just wanted to hug the person in front of her, regardless of the anger, hurt, and many other mixed emotions that had been running through her rampantly.

  Yelena gently looped her fingers around the hem of Natasha’s shirt and pulled up. She kept going until the shirt hung itself around Natasha’s shoulders, exposing the ugly marring that had been concealed beneath the fabric. It was then that she realized that Natasha’s back was not just bruised but there was also some raw skin there that was just starting to heal a little.

  Almost before she could think better of it or control herself, Yelena reached her free hand out to Natasha’s back, gently touching the ugly purple-red splotches with the most feather-light contact she could muster.

  Her astute observational skills did not miss how the muscles of Natasha’s back tensed up with the contact. However, other than that, the redhead showed no resistance to her. Yelena trailed her fingers down the older woman’s back, feeling the skin, muscle, scar, bruising and raw flesh that was there.

  To her surprise, there was an ugly scar on the lower part of Natasha’s back, and Yelena ran her thumb over it gently, noticing how the skin on it was peeling up some. It was no doubt reopened somewhat from her activity throughout the day and the amount of falling and scrapes they had. Natasha never moved out from under her touch, and she actually hardly moved at all outside of the controlled breaths she was taking.

  The sight of these things made her stomach flip and her chest hurt. And she could not help but feel extremely guilty for her own actions earlier. She knew she could not have made these wounds any better by slamming Natasha into every wall she could find. The guilt was almost stifling, and it made her irrational.

  So irrational that Yelena felt a tug in her to just hug the redhead from behind. But she pushed away that urge as quickly as it came, negating it and shoving it in some locked part of herself. However, much to her frustration, it still lingered a bit within her despite her best efforts.

  “You’ve got a lot of booboos,” Yelena muttered under her breath, trying to bring at least a hint of levity to the situation since she was so uncomfortable with her own feelings. Natasha huffed a bit, her muscles in her back moving just a bit with the contraction of her chest.

  “Booboos seem to be the thing that I have most of,” Natasha replied softly, her voice some mix of bitterness and a poor attempt at a reciprocation of Yelena’s humor. However, it came out much more tense than it should have, and Yelena found herself at a loss as to what to say.

  Things quickly grew quiet again, falling back into that awkward silence between them. Yelena knew logically that there was nothing that she could do for the bruises and raw places on Natasha’s back, but she still felt her heart aching as if she needed to do something.

  “There’s some antibiotic ointment in the bag over there,” Natasha pointed out suddenly, almost as if she sensed Yelena’s difficulty and hesitance to leave Natasha in her current state without some sort of attention.

  “I bought it earlier,” Natasha explained simply, her voice quiet as she explained its presence. Yelena hesitated for a moment more before heading over to the bag and searching through it, pulling out the ointment and then heading back to Natasha.

  She knew the redhead was doing this mostly for Yelena’s benefit since the antibiotic ointment was not going to do much for the places on Natasha’s back. However, she desperately hoped that Natasha did not see through her motives and realize that she just wanted to be close with her. It was hard enough for Yelena to admit to herself, and she could not imagine the humiliation if Natasha found out about it.

  Yelena sat just behind Natasha, her legs folded together as she opened the container and placed it between her legs. She then reached a hand up to help keep the shirt in place where it was bunched up around Natasha’s shoulders.

  Yelena dipped her free hand in the ointment, making sure her fingers were coated with the sticky stuff. She then hesitated for just a moment, hovering over Natasha’s shoulder blade. She waited for a long moment, trying to gather the nerve, and once she finally managed to get just enough courage, she made contact with Natasha’s skin.

  Natasha let out a breath that was not quite a hiss, but it was definitely a sigh of discomfort and slight pain. Yelena knew that the stuff was not made to burn, but she also knew that sometimes medication burned anyway despite what it said on the container. She did not reply with an apology, knowing it would do no good. Plus, she could not exactly trust her voice to work at this moment.

  Yelena worked at the place gently with her fingers, rubbing the ointment into Natasha’s skin and trying to get the stuff to actually sink in some so it could help her sister. Natasha loosened gradually as Yelena almost massaged her back.

  The blonde ran her palm over the wound, trying to spread the ointment across her back. There were very few raw places on Natasha’s back but when she hit one, Natasha’s muscles would tense slightly before relaxing considerably.

  Yelena then moved across Natasha’s back to the other shoulder, rubbing a small bit across the relatively small abrasion there. Natasha did not react to that one, and she assumed it was mostly just bruising.

  When Yelena moved down to the lower parts of her back, however, Natasha stiffened quite a bit, the quietest of noises escaping her. If Yelena had not been trained to listen for things as she had, she would have definitely missed it.

  Yelena ached to do or say something that might ease the pain, but she had no idea what. She just settled for rubbing the stuff more gently and speeding up her work over the area. She then dabbed a bit of the ointment on her index finger before rubbing it on Natasha’s scar. She knew that there was not much reason to do it there, but she somehow wanted to let Natasha know that she was paying attention and that she cared.

  Natasha had been extremely hardened to her throughout their time together so far, but she had caught small glimpses of Natasha just looking at her with something that was infuriatingly real. Something that was completely opposite of the words that Natasha kept repeating and seemed to have taken up as her mantra.

  You weren’t really my sister.

  That stung more than anything that Yelena had heard in years. It had come from someone so close to her, someone that she absolutely loved so much that it hurt. The only thing that had eased the pain was the way that Natasha kept gazing at her with that tender, loving, soft look in her eyes. Of course, every time she looked in Natasha’s direction in an attempt to get a better look at the expression, Natasha returned to her calculating, quietly brooding countenance.

  She never said anything to acknowledge it, but she would stare at Natasha for a long moment to silently inform Natasha that she was indeed paying attention and knew that she secretly cared still.

  Her returning stares must have done something, because when Natasha bandaged her arm that evening, Natasha had that love and care in her eyes that she had been trying so desperately to hide. It was not as strong as it could have been, but it was still plenty enough to make Yelena’s heart hurt with the need to be close with the person that she considered to be her sister.

  “How bad is it back there?” Natasha questioned, and it was then that Yelena realized how long she had been focusing on Natasha’s back. Yelena pulled her hand away quickly as if she had been burned and used her clean hand to pull down Natasha’s shirt over the wounds carefully.

  “You look like someone tied you to the back of a truck and drug you behind them on the road,” Yelena informed her simply, trying to keep the small note of worry out of her voice and finding that she was failing miserably.

  “That’s reassuring,” Natasha replied, her voice completely deadpan, and Yelena smirked a tiny bit as she headed for the bathroom to wash her hands.

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Yelena responded with just as much sarcasm in her tone as Natasha had used. Once she had cleaned her hands, she headed back into the room, feeling her muscles growing a little tired from the events of the day. Natasha had already moved into the bed, laying on her side comfortably as she faced the wall. Yelena moved onto her side, sliding underneath the blankets and positioning herself.

  However, Yelena bristled just a little as she realized that there were too many ways for people with ill intentions to easily get in. There was a window near Natasha on her side of the bed, and Yelena’s side of the bed was not far from the door. It made her terribly uncomfortable as soon as she actually considered the arrangement.

  “I’ll take the first watch if you want,” Natasha offered quietly, and Yelena felt something in her chest melt. Natasha somehow knew that Yelena was uncomfortable and nervous, and it made Yelena feel strangely vulnerable and naked for the woman to be so well aware of it.

  “No, I can. You’ve had a longer day than me,” Yelena expressed.

  “We literally did the exact same things today,” Natasha informed her, and Yelena could hear the slightest hints of a smile in her voice.

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t the one that fell and hit literally everything on the way down,” Yelena acknowledged, rolling over on her side to face Natasha. To her surprise, the redhead was already laying on her back and looking in her direction. Yelena’s mind was quickly overtaken with the almost completely undisguised affection in Natasha’s eyes.

  This time was sort of like earlier that night, but it was so much stronger.

  “I also was the one that landed on my feet when I hit the ground,” Natasha teasingly spoke, her voice soft, and Yelena was shaken from her stupor. She rolled her eyes, huffing slightly as she shrugged in response to the redhead.

  “Fine, you take the first watch. Just make sure to wake me up so you can get some sleep, too,” Yelena informed her, turning her back to the redhead so she could face the door as they slept. Natasha did not move for a long moment, and Yelena could practically feel her gaze. The last thing the blonde was aware of was when the mattress shifted a bit as the older woman sat up in the bed to keep watch.

  To her pure surprise, when Natasha woke her up for her turn to watch, Yelena realized that she had rested more well than she had in years and years. She could not remember a time that she slept so soundly without some sort of sedative.

  As Natasha laid down in her place and started to try to sleep, Yelena could not help but marvel at the woman resting there quietly.

  Somehow, although they had been separated for years now and things were somewhat awkward between them, Natasha still managed to make her feel safer than she ever had.

  And that made some of her leftover anger and bitterness dissipate.

[my-bated-breath]

Closing Thoughts on Vincenzo

No one asked, but here you go.

I watched the last two episodes of Vincenzo yesterday, but even in the midst of my viewing experience I was able to synthesis and analyze what I was enjoying and not-enjoying, what worked and what didn’t work (for me), so that itself says something about how immersive it was. Of course, Vincenzo is a great show — the action is sharp and satisfying, the schemes are elaborate and spectacular, the humor is cracky yet genuine, and the characters are so, so lovable. And I loved the romance side plot, because yes, I am weak. Still, the last 2-4 episodes strained some of that, and this is my take on why I felt not exactly disappointed, but underwhelmed in the final stretch. I’m also including what I did like at the very end, as that makes sense with how I’m structuring this kind-of-analysis.

spoilers below

Tension, Stakes, and Pay-off

The tension in Vincenzo has been ramped up ever since the death of Vincenzo’s mother, loudly and painfully declaring in that moment that “this is not a game” (contrary to Vincenzo telling Hanseok in jail that he’s toying with him). This leads to a chilling confrontation between Vincenzo and the antagonists while also uniting the residents of Geumga in all-out, unapologetic war. And there is no more game of chess — just one of cat and mouse, with Vincenzo descending upon his prey.

Hence, Vincenzo is noticeably less soft, and he strikes Babel with the steel of his resolve. His schemes feel much more sinister than mischievous as they had been before; he is ending this, once and for all. So, how does the show amp up the tension and stakes from there?

Well, it’s all in what I said before. The tension is teased out in Vincenzo stealing everything Hanseok has ever treasured and then taunting/threatening him in prison, and then with the Babel villains descending into chaos and desperation. The stakes, however, are less noticeable, because Vincenzo is kind of obviously winning. The stakes have already been established with Vincenzo’s mother, then paid off with her death, and then paid off even more with Vincenzo mercilessly seizing the upper hand.

That’s why I feel like Myunghee and Hanseo’s death just... happened. Because it’s been 3 whole episodes since Vincenzo has founded this new resolve, that sort of dragged out follow-up loses its thrill and gratification. They’ve been defeated now, completely and totally. But so what? They’ve been on the losing end for more than 3 hours of screen time now, and even their last resort of a counterattack didn’t hold much narrative weight (which is something I’ll get to later). Their deaths are not boring to say the least — I saw a post that said something similar to “Myunghee, a woman who danced to the music of others’ pain, died dancing to her own” and “Hanseo, a man with no heart, has a hole drilled into that empty cavity.”

But their deaths also happen very isolated from everyone else, not just physically, but emotionally as well. It’s almost as if Vincenzo’s clapping his hands and saying, “Let’s wrap this up now, I’m getting a little tired.” And while I wouldn’t say their deaths are unnecessarily cruel, given everything they’ve done, I don’t think Vincenzo does this in response to anything particularly substantial. Is this for his mother’s death? For Chayoung’s injury? For everyone else? Well, maybe, but it sure didn’t feel like he was contemplating that during or after torturing them. If I put the Vincenzo from the beginning of the show there in those two scenes vs Vincenzo from the end of the show, post character development and all, I think the only difference would be that beginning-of-the-show Vincenzo would still be unfamiliar with Babel’s crimes and see this as a waste of time.

A sort of side note: Now, one of the strong points of this show is its use of comedy in its otherwise very serious schemes (I still thinking about episodes 8 and 15 all the time). But with the impending climax and increasingly serious tone, there was no comedy to make said-serious schemes as engaging to watch. So now unable to rely on one of its greatest strengths, the show must rely on emotional impact. Or similarly: narrative weight.

Narrative Weight

In episodes 19-20, Chayoung is shot, Hanseo dies, and Chulwook is stabbed (and you think he’s going to die but he doesn’t). Who said there was no emotional impact in these episodes again?!

Oh right. Me.

Beyond Hong Yuchan and Oh Gyeongja’s death, injuries and fatalities suffered from our protagonists’ side don’t really have that many consequences. You can argue the consequences of Hanseo dying is that we’re all very sad, but both we and the characters are barely given a moment to grieve before we have to move on. What does Hanseo die for? He dies as an abuse victim just beginning to break out of the cycle he was trapped in, and that itself isn’t necessary a bad narrative choice, and he dies as a warrior in this Mafia vs Conglomerate war, but what does he die for? If it’s for Vincenzo and Chayoung to live, they pretty much get lucky with Hanseo running out of bullets. If it is to show that he had changed, and that this tied into some greater theme of redemption, then his death really isn’t really given enough thought for it to resonate well. I would’ve loved to see Vincenzo reflecting on Hanseo learning to trust and love again, despite all the mistakes he made in the past, and how that influences his own decision to embrace his version of villainous justice. But no. This is something I only thought of after reading a few Vincenzo posts and trying to justify my own moral for the show.

Don’t forget that Chulwook almost dies too. Like I genuinely believed he was dead, shed a tear for the daughter he would never meet, and then the show went like, “Guess what? Psyche!”

I’m not very fond of that injury/pseud-death-but-not-really.

And now we have Chayoung, the person who Vincenzo is the closest to. Don’t get me wrong, I amso weak for her never giving into Hanseo and asking for death over Vinceno getting hurt, for guarding Vincenzo from the bullet, for Vincenzo’s shocked and empty eyes, for Chayoung’s glazed gaze, for him desperately and powerlessly hugging her tightly because that’s all he can do for her now. Afterwards, she’s in the hospital, her shoulder is recuperating, and there’s a nice Chayenzo parallel to episode 4 when Chayoung was waiting by Vinny’s hospital bed. But afterwards afterwards? She’s just in the hospital. Sidelined from the climax.

Vincenzo told her, “I will finish this, for you.” That could’ve worked, because we could’ve seen Chayoung emotionally or spiritually with us during the climax and Myunghee and Hanseo’s deaths. But like I mentioned earlier, it really didn’t feel that way. Ultimately, the narrative tells us that Chayoung’s injury just means she can’t strain herself for a couple of days, despite initially delivering it so dramatically and emotionally.

As one of my friends said while we were discussing this episode: Vincenzo is the titular character, but Chayoung has so much to care for too. Her father died because of Babel, and she said, “We should share the danger.” Instead, we got a decentish-but-slightly-underwhelming scene where she is driven to see Vincenzo off. Okay then.

Characters

Speaking of, Chayoung receives much of the short-end of the character development stick in the last 4 episodes. I found this to be acceptable in episodes 17-18, and she does have that moment where she looked uncertain and nauseated at the death of the “hunting dogs” before shoving down her misgivings, clinging onto a facade of strength as she says “this is what I wanted.” Also, even though it wasn’t episode 14, I wasn’t complaining about the Chayenzo moments either.

But still, this is the second most important protagonist in the narrative and nothing about her really changes in these last few episodes. Nor does she experience catharsis alongside Vincenzo, emotionally or otherwise. There had been some buildup about whether or not Chayoung can swallow the cruel path that she has chosen, but if she’s not even the given the chance to make her own decision on said cruel path, that’s just wasted set up.

(I know that during the Babel Tower party-fiasco Vincenzo told Chayoung that he originally wanted her to push the button that’ll kill one of the hunting dogs, but then decided against it upon seeing Chayoung’s wavering face, but like. Narratively, if she was the one to press it, and then we had some follow-up character arc about her coming to terms with her decision... Oh, we could’ve had it all.)

Another thing I want to point out is that Chayoung has been a foil to Vincenzo in that she represents the happiness, love, and innocence now unattainable to him. (This is just his view, by the way, since Chayoung isn’t exactly innocent herself, which he could’ve seen if the show had only taken this direction.) That is to say, Vinceno’s most interesting character moments are drawn out of him by Chayoung: In his apartment, when they are under the ceiling-stars, and she asks him whether he has ever killed anyone. On the rooftop, when they decide that Hanseok must lose everything before he dies, and he promises to her that he’ll stay in Korea to see things through to the end, in direct contrast to himself at the beginning of the show. In the highway pass, when she embraces him after a gunfight, the closest he’s ever grazed past death. When they drink makgeolli together and he tells her about what her father wanted to say to her. When they sit together by the riverside and she tells him that his mother would have been proud of him.

One of my favorite parts of episodes 11-12 during the gun fight is just how emotionally present Chayoung is, despite not wielding a gun herself, or even being anywhere near the action. I’m not sure if I’m getting this right, but I think this is the first time Vincenzo had killed people on screen, so to see Chayoung embrace him so tearfully afterwards almost felt like he was being reminded of his humanity. And this also shows that Chayoung, despite saying that she would feel distant towards Vincenzo if he did have blood on his hands, loves him closely, so closely it hurts.

We think about Vincenzo, what it means to be a consigliere, and his distorted flashbacks of flesh and blood and killing and losing himself, and that teddy bear, slowly panning out to a child, staring at him in fear. We think about how is it possible for him to love again? Can he even know what love is?

Then Chayoung appears, a woman whose very presence unraveled the mystery that is Vincenzo. But the moment that Chayoung’s development was stunted, that was the moment Vincenzo lost his foil, and we, the audience, lost the ability to see how his past, present, and future reconcile.

Themes: Loving in Sin

In episode 20, Vincenzo and the monks have a conversation about whether he was worthy of love or not before being told that he was Vaisravana — and though he could never be accepted by Buddha, he would be appreciated at times, and he would have his own role to play too. I like this conversation a lot in concept. In execution, it would’ve left much weightier an impact if only we had seen Vincenzo’s journey to reconcile his villainy and humanity play out more, if we had a glimpse into the moral conflict warring in his mind. The last time the drama showed that to us — not told it to us — was with the death of Vincenzo’s mother.

I would add more, really, but I feel like my review up until here says everything I want it to. In my opinion, there was no real epiphany that Vincenzo reached upon hearing those words from the monk because he hadn’t reflected on it enough for there to properly be one. And the ending to Vincenzo and Chayoung’s romance would’ve felt a lot better if it was Vincenzo choosing to love her despite his fear of himself, despite his belief that he could only hurt people. (Also that ending monologue wouldn’t have felt so tacked-on, like, oh wait this is supposed to have a theme right? Here, this is vaguely related, right?)

Because a lot of this emotional potential was not quite met, I think the finale also had to resort to some cheaper ways to make us feel for the romance, such as Chayoung rushing to see Vincenzo off and Vincenzo leaving the diplomacy-relations party early (he very poetically disappears while walking behind this sculpture, but I thought it was hilarious that if the shot didn’t get cut off there in another 2 seconds we could’ve seen him walking out of where that sculpture thing blocked him lol).

Overall though, I’m pretty happy with the romance’s ending, at least conceptually. The way they incorporated the story of cow herder and weaver girl and the bridge of pigeons (not magpies!) that will allow them to see each other again every year was so bittersweet, and as someone familiar with this myth, it made me very nostalgic. Also, I do think it works better with Vincenzo’s themes that he would be apart from Chayoung in some way. They each have their own lives to lead, but although they met by coincidence, they’ll remain by each other’s sides by intention. He is a villain, and so is she, but villains love tenaciously.