#I mean if I do see this my morbid curiosity will probably compel me to click

[dandelionsandderivatives]

Look, there's nothing inherently wrong with writing fanfiction for something you've never seen/read/engaged with. It's not morally wrong.

That said, I can't imagine why anyone would want to do that???

I mean, why spend your precious and limited free time writing something you don't care about? If you're making your living off it, that's one thing, but fanfiction?

I haven't come across this irl yet, but I also can't imagine it would be a super good/interesting experience for the reader, except as a kind of anthropological study to see how much canon a fandom-blind writer can absorb.

This is something I'm seeing more and more on AO3 that I'd never seen when I first got into fandom stuff, so I wanted to find out how you all feel about it.

What are your thoughts about seeing posted fanfiction that isn't commissioned, where the creator says that they have never read/watched the source material? For example, someone putting out a fanfic for a show they've never watched that includes the tag Author Has Never Seen Suchandsuch.

[spooky-momth]

welcome to my enclosure I have many thoughts and doodles abt lila (shipping mostly)

[ID in ALT!]

hc dump under cut (it gets LONGG lol)

General:

anthro au specific but since my Skid & Lila are both cats, some nights they'll just sit in total darkness (bc cats can see in the dark). it is great and enriching for both of them.

adding onto that, ever since Pump started coming over they added some glow in the dark star stickers along the walls to help him find his way around :)

Lila is transfem to me . I don't need proof or elaboration this is just something I know in my heart /lh

she probably started transitioning pretty young, which is something she feels lucky for. her parents were supportive ^_^ !!

that being said, her parents were rather protective, and she didn't get out too much as a youngin.

-- that is why she was so lax with Skid going outside. she was kind of overcorrecting for that.

She was probably deep into alt fashion in college (elaborated on later)

Shipping Opinions:

I am just some guy on the internet, if you like a ship I don't, that's great and I love that for you! Live your life.

Goldenlavender (x Jaune): gestures at url. I think it is funny. also.

I feel like they've quietly been pining for a very long time now, but they've both been friends for so long and don't want things to change.

there's something quiet and unstated, but definitely there between them. they don't kiss or anything, but they hold each other really close and aren't too shy about being affectionate. you know?

women who are best friends.

also ross would finally have a parent who can pass off as a natural reason why he has black hair. he is beating the hair dye allegations!!!!!!

Grapecandy (x Kevin): I'll be honest right now. I keep thinking Kevin's, like, 17.

He isn't, I think. But I literally didn't even think of him as being a suitable option for her for a while LMAO

I think I can sum up all of the wagegang x Lila thoughts here: It just doesn't compel me, unfortunately. I don't see their potential dynamic as being particularly funny, or spawning interesting drama. Shrugs. Sorry!

specifically w Kevin though I think they would break up as soon as Skid is brought up LMAO. like he doesn't hate the kid but he isn't ready to be a stepfather imo.

(x Bob): Do they have a ship name? Anyw the age gap isn't my main issue with it. Lila's in her late 20s at the youngest, and they're both adults. I don't think anyone means tiny witch Lila when they bring this ship up anyways

nor is the stalking or attempted murder. I had a creepypasta phase, these behaviors are obviously Very Bad irl but they can be interesting to see in fiction. morbid curiosity and whatever.

My main issue is that their potential relationship is so much more interesting if it isn't romantic, you know? Like, how do they know each other? What was he to her? Why did she react so strongly to seeing him in her past? She seems eager to try to reject the idea that the man in the photo is him, but why? Was he important to her? Did she care about him?

TL;DR: I want more fics abt these two's relationship, but specifically non-romantically.

Deadflowers (x Patty): Not sure about this ship name. I don't see this one often. Anyw, I don't actually have any thoughts on Patty, so this is going to be super short.

I think they might have a nice time together on a date, but I don't think it could be anything serious.

Though, if they did.. overworked x overworked means they'll have to take care of the other, even tho it'll mean they call each other hypocrites for working so much all the time.

I could see it as a background/dressing ship, but not really as the focus of anything. sorry girls

Poisonwine (x Skid's Dad): I want to know more from onscreen canon first!!! But I think they could be super interesting!!!

The tweet that implies that he didn't care bout Lila is. hROUUUGH (<- thang whose heart is breaking). He didn't care, but did she know that? Did she care? I feel like she did..

There's no way Lila doesn't know about the cult. I'm a believer that she was a part of it herself until he died (the robes, "Remember Lila") ...Did she join because of her own beliefs, or because her husband was in it? Did he have to coerce her at all?

I think he was a good dad to Skid.

You may notice this is a lot of me dancing around what I actually think they're like. That's because I don't want to really solidify any specific readings of what's going on here. I am embracing the future with open arms!!

they're t4t tho this is non-negotiable /silly

RoyalPurple (x Carmen): this was supposed to have its' own section but now I'm making a fic with them so just. wait a minute there HAHAHA /silly

(& Streber): this is a Specifically platonic headcanon but I like to think they ve gone to the same university. They're definitely in diff strands, Streber to Engineering and Lila to Architecture, but they could've met through an org and just been pals.

They weren't suuper close or anything, but they were birds of a feather. Girl who goes to class with chokers and giant boots, and guy dressed like a victorian fantasy LARPer.

I think she sent him flowers or a get well card in the hospital :) [miserable hand shake between them abt being personally victimized by Bob]

The Ships That Don't Have Doodles

these will just be single bullet points!

(x F. Gregor): same comments as wagegang x Lila; doesn't compel me. Nothing's wrong with it, I just don't see it.

(x Dexter): this is only funny to me because I draw Lila and co as cats in the Anthro AU. he calls her a stupid bitch, we can move on.

(x Jack): I could see a onesided crush from his side, like "the lady who keeps calling is kinda cute" but I don't know if I could see it getting serious. she can give him a smooch if he wants, as a treat.

(x John): ok this one could actually be really cute. eatyourmaker's post abt Skid and John getting along is super adorable and I could maybe imagine Lila hitting it off with him after seeing how much he cares for Skid. maybe Skid plays matchmaker. this could work. I like it.

(x Ignacio): in the deleted scenes she tried to beat a teen to death for calling Skid a dumbass, I don't think she could get over the threats.

(x Fat Thief/Thin Thief): this could be funny if she was still mad at them for breaking in repeatedly. she doesn't seem threatened by them just irritated LMAO

(x Frank): childhood friends who don't really talk but are chill with each other. they're funny. I don't feel the romance tho. S&P's cool uncle

(x Pump & Susie's Parents): Pump & Susie officially get Skid as a brother AND they finally have one (1) parent who isn't always absent, just sometimes absent. other than as a background detail tho there's nothing here.

(x Mayor Evermore): they would ignore each other on the street on purpose

(x Moloch): he didnt get to but he WOULD call her a bitch.

(x Richard): poor man's Lila x Carmen

(x Spider): please let my girl beat the spiderfucker allegations.

[gentlemancrow]

idk if you’re still taking requests so no pressure but maybe jmart 18 about jon’s scars? or,,, honestly however you wanna interpret that lol

Hehe bet you thought you weren't getting one. But of COURSE you're getting one! <3 HERE YOU GO!! Sorry it is late I am not a fast writer haha! This was a VERY interesting one to interpret and I got a little wonky and metaphysical there for a bit WHICH I LOVE and THE IDEA MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BIT LONG FOR A DRABBLE BUT! It's soft and I'm soft and I enjoyed this one SO SO MUCH ; w ; I hope you do too!!

Jon had Seen enough. Martin had decided that long ago. He had witnessed enough, been forced to witness enough, been the vessel into which literally everything had funneled into in an unrelenting typhoon of unspeakable, unfathomable horrific knowledge comprehensible only to him long enough that he damn well deserved the luxury of imperception. He had earned the right to not notice when Martin accidentally bought the wrong brand of chai, the one he insisted tasted like someone rubbed a stick of cinnamon on plasterboard and jammed it in a cardamom pod, but honestly tasted just like the one he preferred. The universe, whichever one they happened to be in now, owed him not realizing the buttons on his cardigan were one off until they were about to head out and Martin had to fix them, fingers humming with the warmth of him lingering in the cashmere every time. He deserved to forget his keys and then also have to go back to check that their flat door was locked twice, just to be sure. He deserved tossing cabbage in the trolley at the market, only to get home and realize it was a head of iceberg lettuce instead, and also he had completely forgotten the onion anyway so back he would have to go. Tiny and insignificant, patently human foibles that any normal person might tally up to a really rotten day overall and gripe about over a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape he had won as gleaming, pyrrhic badges on the ruins of his humanity yanked back from the claws of the yawning, devouring dark matter of the cosmos and stitched painstakingly back together with love.

But mostly Jon deserved to not notice the way people looked at him.

He need not see the painted-on expressions of strangers that ran the gamut from quiet pity, to voyeuristic curiosity, to outright revulsion that Martin could not help but see everywhere they went. They had no idea. Not even the slightest inkling of what, exactly, had composed that magnum opus of horror and pain scarred resplendently on his flesh, his bones, his sinews and synapses. To even try know was to go mad, the mind looping through and around and between consciousness and logic and love and fear and philosophy and metacognition until it squeezed into an ouroboros black hole singularity of dense unknowing that collapsed in on itself and perished in cataclysm. They had merely gotten lucky that being extruded through the plumbings of creation seemed to straighten out their fibers enough to be woven back into the fabric of reality, but they were too kinked and snagged and gnarled to ever lay fully flat again. And that was why they stared.

The invasive beings of Jon and Martin had come to mutual terms with it long ago, but they also knew they would be forever incongruous with an innocent world, with a world where they did not belong and that collectively looked at them both like an ontological cancer, benign but festering and ugly. They would never know the thing that crouched behind the stars with pointed knees and elbows that even then, groped to find their new world in the lightless vast, and Jon deserved to not perceive any hints of that either. He deserved their quiet, their peace, their wordless human acceptance.

Jon deserved to be innocently chewing a periwinkle-painted thumbnail in front of the ice cream counter, just as he was that gossamer spring afternoon, turning woeful and forever mismatched brown and green eyes at his husband and asking if he should get mint chip or rum raisin before deciding, actually, could he have a sample of the salted caramel ribbon first? He pointed eagerly at the various frozen tubs behind the glass with his gnarled right hand, where the fingers never did quite open or close properly again, and missed in his wonderment at the veritable cornucopia of sweet delights available to him the mingled look of pity and horror on the cashier’s face as she doled out samples at his request. Martin lurked protectively behind, silent, sentinel, seeing it all, a hot brand of fury boring its way through his chest as he glared icy blue daggers at the clueless young woman, who only compounded her crimes by complimenting the permanent white forelock in his ginger curls as she took his order.

Martin snatched his double scoop of rocky road and pralines and cream out of her hand with a withering scowl and said nothing. Jon, frowning in the dread shadow of Martin’s hushed wrath and finally deciding on just the mint chip, took it upon himself to pay while the poor young woman skirted around both their gazes. They took their ice cream to enjoy in the balmy sun on the metal patio tables outside the shop under a cloud of unspoken insults and slander which Jon was more than happy to pop open the conversational umbrella beneath before the downpour.

“Something wrong?” he asked solicitously.

“Nope. I’m fine,” came the curt answer, suspiciously also lacking in eye contact as Martin stabbed his pink spoon into the rocky road.

Jon’s mismatched eyes narrowed shrewdly. There was one thing that never escaped his notice, even now, and that was the painfully obvious way Martin always broadcast his inner hurts and the physical language of his turmoil he had become fluent in over the years.

“Okay, yes you are probably fine. And I’m guessing it has nothing to do with you actually, because you’re angry and you rarely get angry on your own behalf, which means it’s probably something to do with me or some perceived slight. What happened in there? Did someone make a snide remark about my eccentric ice cream selection? The long skirt on a warm spring day? Oh, no, I’ve got it. It was probably the earrings, yes? I knew I should have gone with the feathers instead of hoops, matches the outfit much better.”

The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up in a hapless, crooked smile as Jon coaxed a laugh out of him, and he looked up into his gaze adoringly to grant him unspoken conciliation.

“No, no not at all. Nothing like that. It’s nothing, love. It’s not a big deal. Just low blood sugar or something. Just eat your nasty mint chip or rum raisin or whatever that unholy concoction is,” Martin snorted, gesturing at his cup.

“Liar,” Jon crooned with loving reproachment, reaching out to thumb a little bit of rum raisin on the tip of Martin’s nose as punishment.

Even breathed with such unfettered, undying affection, Martin hated that word. He hated how transparent he still was to the man he loved, how much he still truly saw him, saw through him. At least all it took to compel him now was a little melted ice cream rubbed clean off his nose and a winsome smile with love-puddled green and brown eyes.

“Okay, okay… fine,” he admitted with a resigned smirk and a sigh, “I don’t like the way they look at you. Okay? That’s all.”

Jon’s brow knitted together curiously.

“Hmm? Who? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Everyone!” Martin finally effused in frustration, “Everywhere! They look at you like you’re… like you’re damaged goods! Like you’re some pitiful beaten animal on the street, or worse, like you’re some sort of- some sort of um…”

“…Monster?” supplied Jon, lips pursed and lids drooping.

“…I wasn’t going to say that,” Martin stammered.

“What other word is there?”

“Fine, they look at you like you’re a monster. They take one look at your face or your throat or your… your hand. And I can just see it on their faces. They look at you like you’re a monster, and I hate it. You don’t deserve that. You never did! They don’t even know you! They don’t know what happened to you…! And sorry, Jon, but I get angry about it because it’s not fair, and I can’t exactly go about lobbing right hooks into the faces of everyone who even looks at you cross-eyed, now can I? Much as I’d like to…"

Jon went quiet as he listened, dabbling first in the rum raisin, then indulging in a little mint chip chaser, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he nibbled on the plastic spoon.

“Is that what you see?”

The color rolled out from Martin’s freckled cheeks along with the very spirit from his eyes in a fog, his entire mien awash in pallor.

“What? How could you say that to me? I would NEVER think that about you, Jon! How could you ever think I would think that? I-I know I said some awful things in the past about your scars, but I-“

“No no! Martin, no! Of course not! I know you would never!” Jon cut in, reaching across the table to snatch his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, rubbing his knuckles and over his wedding ring, “You misunderstand! I was asking if that’s what you see in their eyes?”

Martin clung to Jon’s hand, heart palpitating and breath easing.

“Oh…” he blurted dumbly, flushing with lively hues of reds and golds once more, “I-? Of course I do, what else could it be?”

“I don’t see that. I don’t see that at all,” Jon answered simply, “It’s… hard to describe but, damaged goods, disgust, morbid curiosity, those are all… Hard things. They have sharp edges. And when people here look at me, I don’t feel anything hard or sharp, it feels… soft? It feels gentle.”

Shaking his head, Martin frowned.

“Gentle? How is openly gawking at someone’s scars in any way gentle?”

“It’s just a feeling I have. I suppose,” Jon mused, thumbing at his beard with his free hand as he constructed an analogy that would make sense in his mind, “Mmm… Think of it like this. Humans, life, we’re all very visually oriented creatures, right? We respond to visual cues in our environments that are universally understood. We wear these rings so that everyone knows we belong together, just the same as bright colors usually mean poison, or how specialized feathers, or horns, or dewlaps and the like let others know they’d be a good mate, or how some things look like eyes or like entirely different creatures to scare off predators, and so on.”

The creases in Martin’s forehead only deepened in confusion.

“Okay sure, but scars aren’t a natural adaptation? We don’t look at scars the same way we look at pretty eyes on a moth wing or something.”

“I know that, that’s not what I’m saying,” Jon reiterated tenderly, “What I’m saying is I’ve always felt like my scars are a visual cue, but one that says to others ‘treat me gently’, because clearly I haven’t been. And it’s… well it’s been quite nice. You were about to tear that poor girl’s head off, but didn’t you see how she not only gave me about six samples when the sign clearly said two per customer, but then she also gave me the rum raisin ‘by mistake’ and then conveniently forgot to charge for it?”

“Wh-did she?” Martin gasped in shock, rewinding the transaction to remember that indeed, Jon had only asked for mint chip, but there was clearly also a generous scoop of rum raisin in his cup, ”She did… No I… I guess I didn’t notice…”

Jon let Martin’s hand go to cup his cheek pointedly in his scarred palm, running his thumb over the soft curve of his cheek and the spray of his ruddy freckles comfortingly.

“You want to know what I think? I think what you perceive as disgust or aversion or even pity is just fear, like you had. Fear of pain, fear of disfigurement, of fallibility. People are always afraid of seeing what can become of their mortal bodies, but that has nothing to do with me, or being disgusted by me. People are, at their cores, good and gentle, Martin. I know they are, we both do. They see me, my cane, my limp, my hand, my gray hair, my face, and they don’t even ask, they just know, on some primal level, that life was not kind to me. And so in some tiny way, like free rum raisin, they almost always try to give something back to me.”

Jon had known. He had noticed. It had never escaped his perception as Martin had assumed. Jon had known all along, but it was only Martin who still saw daggers in the smiles of strangers while he had taken the last vestiges of his powers irrevocably branded on his body and soul and sowed something delicate and beautiful and blossoming in his new earth. Martin had made a weapon. Perhaps no less delicate and beautiful, but still cold and sharp and deadly. The razor white edge of the sun through frigid fog.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Martin choked, his throat pinching shut with the threat of tears, “I-I had no idea…. I-I only thought…”

“It’s alright, please don’t cry, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. You only thought you were protecting me. I protected you for so long, when you were desperate to do the same for me, to save me, but had no power to do either. Now you’ve got your turn to do the protecting in earnest, and honestly, it’s a… can I- can I say hot? Can I say it’s a hot look on you? Or is that weird?” Jon asked, tips of his ears blushing coyly.

Martin managed a laugh as he sniffed back the tears and thumbed both sets of lashes dry under his spectacles.

“It’s a little weird for you, in particular, to say it, just because it’s you. But I’ll take it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Perhaps then, Martin thought as Jon leaned over their whimsical little metal table outside an ice cream parlor by a park with a striped canopy above them and birds singing and kissed his tears away and then kissed his lips into a smile, that sharp things needn’t always be weapons. Perhaps his sword was, in reality, a spade, or a hoe, something to tend and nurture the new and fragile happiness Jon had tilled. Gentle things deserved gentle protection, and he was still going to devote every iota of his being to protecting Jon until the end of their days. After all, as they finally got to enjoy their slightly melted ice cream, Jon still dribbled a bit of rum raisin down his beard and carried on none the wiser. Martin let him go on like that, blissfully unaware, talking about Polyphemus moths and the myth of the cyclops and something about someone going about as Nobody, until he finally reached out with a napkin to attentively wipe it away.

Other than a gracefully paced ‘oh, thank you dear,’ Jon never missed a beat.

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

I’m On Fire [Chapter 2]

With her sister’s wedding fast approaching and her Mom hounding her about finding a date, Y/N makes a terrible decision that lands her and her least favorite genius in a confusing situation.

Chapter Summary: Y/N and Spencer start to put a plan together.

A/N:  I’ve got a head cold at the mo’ but I had to get a covid test just in case so I’m not allowed leave my room till I get the results! So enjoy a bonus chapter while I wallow on my own for like 36 hours :( On a positive note, thank you guys all so much for the response to chapter 1 I really didn’t see that coming! I’ve tagged everyone who asked, let me know if you wanna be added

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Category: Fake Dating, Enemies to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst, it’s a Slow Burn Baby

Warnings: Cursing, some NSFW language/themes

Word Count: 6.1k

Previous Chapter -- Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Masterlist 

"Are you coming up or what?"

The question was still ringing in my ears. It caught me completely off guard. 'Up' as in up to Spencer's apartment? Where he lived? I knew he lived somewhere in theory, just like I knew deep down that he wasn't made in a test tube. 

Without noticing I've undone my seatbelt and I'm hopping out of the car, following him around to the front door. I guess I am coming up.

Spencer's apartment is more cosy than I thought it was going to be. It's warm and lived in. It's not big, but I think that might be what makes it homely. Something about the way he behaves had me thinking it would be fully decked out in stainless steel or glass or something. But it wasn't pristine, it was messy. 

There were books bursting from the shelves that lined the walls of the apartment, along with books laid open over nearly every surface in the place, it looked like he was in the middle of reading all of them, and honestly, I didn't doubt it. Maybe I'd misjudged him. He even had some photos of what looked like his family, and maybe friends, even some of the BAU, lining his walls or propped up on his mantle. He had little trinkets and souvenirs on his shelves too, evidence that he'd been around the country for reasons other than a case. I would never admit it to him but there was a real charm to the place.

Once we got inside he took off his bag and suit jacket, tossing them on the desk just inside of the door. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, and he seemed to pick up on my awkward energy.

"You can make yourself at home" he said, his confident streak remaining. I had no idea what to do with that. What would even make me comfortable in Spencer Reid's apartment? I took a seat on his sofa and just sat with my hands resting in my lap. Really not even sure where I should look without feeling like I was invading his privacy. Even though I wanted to. I think it was morbid curiosity, looking for clues on who this man might actually be outside of the BAU. What I really wanted to do was stand up and walk around, soaking in every bit if this place as if it would help me decipher our messy relationship.

He returned to the living room a few moments later, two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one in front of me on the coffee table. I pick it up and take a sip. It's lemon and ginger, how did he know what kind of tea I liked? I held the mug in my hands inhaling the steam in an effort to relax. When I look up he's watching me, arms folded across his chest.

"So, how does this thing work. What's the game plan?" I honestly have no real idea. This evening really got away from me, I was still expecting to snap out of it and wake up in my bed at any moment.

"Well I can't say I've ever been in a Sandra Bullock movie before either so this is uncharted territory for me too" I say with a chuckle, trying to ease the tension. Even a little. I can see him crack a small smile but hides it almost instantly, his face hardening again.

"My sister, Margot, she's getting married in like 4 months." I can feel myself tense and I shake out my shoulders, I have to remind myself that he's agreed to this already, "Fuck it, I'm just going to be honest with you. My Mom's mostly freaked out that I'm too attached to this job and that I'll just never find someone again." I shouldn't have said again, fuck. I hope he didn't pick up on that. Who am I kidding. "Even though, I'm not sure I care if I do or don't?" he doesn't say anything, like he's waiting for me to continue. I know I've shared a little too much already but I keep going.

"Margot's 2 years younger than me, I introduced her to her fiancé Philip, we met in college, he's a sweetheart. But since they've gotten engaged Mom's gotten exponentially weirder. I think she's convinced I'm fully going to die alone, as if that would be the worst thing that could ever happen? Anyway, she's been trying to auction me off to all these guys, using this wedding as an excuse. I'm not sure how much of that phone call you actually heard earlier but Mom was trying to sell me on this guy, David, and I just… snapped." I look up at Spencer and he unfolds his arms, leaning in ever so slightly coaxing the story out of me.

"David, he uh, he worked for my father for a while back in high school, filing documents and stuff, busy work mostly. He used to make out with me when he was at our house after school, but then he'd ignore me in the halls the next morning. I know it's because I was a pariah back then or something but I didn't want to think about it today and I just got worked up. I shouldn't have let on that you were my date, I was just going to ask if I could bring Garcia or something, and I'm sorry." I cover my face in my hands, "I'm insane, you can back out if you want to."

I can hear him move from his spot on the opposite side of the sofa, he takes my wrists and gently pulls my hands from my face. He looks into my eyes, "I'm in this now Y/N, what do you need me to do?" he asks, and there's a genuine earnest in his voice that I think I've only ever heard a handful of times. And it's never been directed at me.

"Okay, well we've got a few months before you ha–, wait, fuck!" I throw my head back, there's already a complication, "shit" I curse under my breath. His eyebrows knit together, sitting upright.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"I forgot about my Mom's 50th, it's next month. They've got this whole huge party planned back home in upstate New York. I've gotta go and they'll probably want to meet you, or they're gonna have a load of questions for me at least. I can try and get you out of it I'm sure"

He gets that cocky look again, he shakes his head "I don't know, I've always liked a bit of competition" he reclines back into his corner of the sofa, taking a satisfied sip from his own mug before speaking again. "You know, if I've got to learn enough to pass as your boyfriend in a month, surely that means you've got to learn enough to pass as my girlfriend within the month, no?"

Oh god. What have I done, why didn't I think this far ahead. "I mean, yeah I guess you're right." I had to remember he was doing me a favor. I had to get over myself. "Okay, if you're sure you're up for that?" I ask, and he nods, and I think he looks excited, or maybe he just finds the whole situation funny.

"If anyone's up for the competition it's you" he says, and I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a dig but I nod in agreement.

He takes another sip of his tea, collected and relaxed. I can't help but notice how at ease he is when he's in his own surroundings. I'm so used to seeing him sitting at a desk surrounded by paperwork, or combing through file after file in the make-shift office in a small-town police station, usually flustered or anxious, or antagonizing me whenever he wasn’t. This was a different Spencer. Completely in control, at ease.

"Alright, shall we get started then, we can't really afford to waste any time can we?" he was actually sort of right, so I nodded. It was only now occurring to me that I'd have to share parts of my personal life with him if I wanted this plan to work. We already knew the basics about each other, I'd read his file when I started at the BAU, I'd read everyones. And I feel like it was safe to presume he'd done the same.

His eyes bore directly into mine as he leaned forward, I think he was enjoying how uncomfortable I must've looked.

"How about I ask you some rapid-fire questions and you have to answer 'em?" he asks, and it's as good of a plan as any, and I can't think of any other suggestions, so I nod.

"Okay, shoot." I say, unsure and nervous, so I brace myself. I'm just grateful that he's making my life easier rather than harder for what feels like the first time since I met him.

I really should've known better.

He leans in, "So Y/N, first question, when did you lose your virginity?"

I almost choke on the mouthful of tea I just took, that can't be what he just asked, and he looks like he's savoring my shocked expression.

"I uh, I don't think you need to know that?" is all I can get out.

"Really? You think that's something your boyfriend wouldn't know about you?" he's right, but I didn't want to admit it outright.

"I feel like I sort of already hinted. It was that same guy David, I was 18, he was 19. We had sex on the couch while my parents went out one evening. I kept my bra on the whole time, he came, I didn't. It was all very standard stuff." I wasn't sure what compelled me to add that last part. I think I was giving in to the open honestly thing. "So what about you Doc?" I challenged.

He didn't seem embarrassed, or even shy. "I must've bloomed little later than you" he admits with a soft chuckle, "Vivian Stewart, I was 21, she was too. It was the last semester of my last PhD and I figured I must be missing out on something. And I sure was" he smirks to himself. "I came, she did too, 3 times. I did a lot of research ahead of time" he mirrored my story and I rolled my eyes. It was hard not to feel a little impressed but I tried with everything I had to stifle it so he couldn't tell. I wish it didn't make me feel something but it did. I gulp down the mouthful of tea that's been sitting in my throat.

I have to shake myself back to reality. I can't give him the satisfaction of throwing me. "My turn." I command, "When was your last relationship Dr. Reid?" I ask, "I mean like, serious one, not like hook-up" I clarify before he can ask. He thinks on it for a moment.

"I'm not sure what you classify as fully serious, but I guess it was this girl, Rebecca, we dated for a while when I first joined the BAU but it didn't work out. What about you?" he flips it back.

"So that was what, like 6-ish years ago?" I ask, he just nods.

"Mine was like 3 years ago now I think. I met this guy Nathan on my first week of college, we dated for like 4 years. He moved here for me when I got accepted by the BAU." I had to stop myself from delving into the detail. It was a long time ago now but it still hurt. "Long story short, the hours were demanding and they got in the way more than I would've liked. We ended up splitting a couple months after I got the job." I tried to play it off like it wasn't one of the more devastating things to happen in my life. But something told me he’d registered that, so he didn't push.

His energy picks up and he looks at me with a grin, but there's something a little sinister behind it. "I've got a more fun question for you." he leans in closer to me, "Y/N, when was the last time you got laid?" I just looked at him in shock. 

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, I can go first if you really need me to?" his voice didn't waver,

"Fuck you Reid, I know when it was!" I snapped back at him. I did have to think back a little farther than I'd like to pull up the memory.

"Met this guy in a bar when I was out with Pen one night, we went back to his place and hooked up." I say as deadpan as I can make it.

"Well that's not very exciting is it?" he jokes, "Did you at least cum that time?" I know he's just trying to rile me up, but I answer anyway.

"As a matter of fact I did" I earn back a little of my confidence.

"I'm so happy for you, but you did manage to avoid my initial question" fuck "when was this exciting night of yours Y/N?" he probes, like I really, really wished he wouldn't. I could lie, but I'm sure he'd be able to tell. I cringe before I can say it.

"About 8 months ago" I mutter, just low enough for him to hear.

"Sorry, did you just say 8 months ago?" He nearly shouts in disbelief, he seems to find it funny.

"Hey fuck you Spencer!" I go on the defensive, "When was the last time you even got laid?"

"Like two and half weeks ago" he says, confident, and still laughing, "Wait wait, when was the last time you got yourself off? I know you're not waiting 8 months!" he giggles and I think I could kill him. I know I kept giving him outs but was it too late for me to just get up and leave?

"I'm not doing this with you if you're just gonna make fun of me Reid, I get enough of that at work" I get out, my voice is serious but I'm trying to hide how awkward all of this is making me feel, and I don't know that I'm doing a very good job.

I can tell that's gotten to him, he relaxes and eases up on the giggling. "Look okay wait Y/N. I'll stop, I'm not actually trying to make fun of you. I was being serious, I think stuff like this is important if we're gonna have to be comfortable around each other enough to seem like a real couple. Plus, it'll just help break the ice?" he shrugs. "But you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

I soften, because I agree, even thought I hate that he's right. "Fine" I collect my thoughts, "2 nights ago I'm pretty sure." I regret it almost instantly, but breaking the ice is supposed to feel awkward.

"Same here actually," he chuckles, "what'd you do?" I'm so startled by the question I almost forget how to answer.

"I, uh, my, my vibrator? I just felt like uh, I watched some..." I still can't force out a whole sentence. It's not like I was always awkward about sex or anything, I could talk to Garcia, or honestly probably any of the other team members about it. But with Spencer it didn't feel as comfortable. He still sat calmly, smiling just a little.

"Same here, 2 nights back, but with my hands I guess. I wonder if we were doing it at the same time?" he mutters the last part gently and my head goes a bit fuzzy. My eyes drift away from his face and settle on his hands, the mug he's holding looks so tiny with his fingers wrapped around it, I wondered how they'd look wrapped around my-

"Okay I think that's enough for one night, don't you think?" I jump up off the sofa and turn, mostly so that he doesn't catch the blush thats creeping from my neck up to my cheeks. And because I don't know what I'll say, or regret saying, if this conversations continues on its current trajectory.

"Sure," he says, standing up next to me, and I want to move further away instantly, "you're probably right, and it's getting a little late now anyway" he glances at his watch. Ushering me back towards his front door and opening it up. Before I can walk out he lightly touches my shoulder to turn me back to face him, and I wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from every part of me.

"So are you free next Friday after work?" he asks, and I'm so flustered I almost forget why, I just nod. "Perfect, how about we come here again and we can dive into preparing? You could also make a start on getting these onto a hard drive?" he gestures to the antique looking hardbacks adorning the shelves.

'Sounds great!" I perk up, feigning enthusiasm, "See you then!"

"Well, see you Monday morning actually Y/N" he smirks as I walk out the door. Fuck, he was right.

I really hadn't thought this through.

——

The weekend was a bit of a blur. I decided to try and put some useful information into a document for Spencer. It felt strange to try and condense my life into as few pages as possible. I knew Reid had an eidetic memory, and nothing would necessarily overwhelm him. But I also knew that he was someone that the team relied on to fill in a lot of the gaps in the rest of the our knowledge. So I felt bad about dumping a load of information on him, especially considering it was a favor he was doing for me.

I'd complied the majority of my life into a 15 page document and printed it out. Hopefully that would address most of what my family could guerrilla attack him with. There was also something unsettling about the imbalance. I was going to give him so many of the intricate details of my life in a little file, whereas all I really knew about Spencer was what I'd taken it upon myself to learn about him throughout the past few years.

I'd read all of his work while I was in college, given how he was the gold standard of getting into the BAU at a young age, I wanted to know who this guy was. I think I'd pictured something different. And I couldn't deny there was something enticing about finally getting to know him after all of these years of working together. Maybe this could actually be fun, or interesting at least.

----

I arrived early on Monday morning. I thought I was first into the office as usual but Garcia was sitting in my desk chair waiting for me. The second she saw me walk in she tensed, she must've known we were the only people in this early.

"What happened! You've been avoiding me all weekend?" she asked, and she was right. I'd drafted enough texts to her, trying to explain what the plan was, mostly without wanting to admit that she was right. Maybe I was stubborn.

"Alright okay, I drove Reid home." I admitted, dropping my bag by my desk. She rolls her eyes at me, dramatic as always.

"Well I knew that already Y/N damn! What happened next?"

"Fine, we went into his apartment and talked for a while. Trying to sort out the details, get a handle on things I guess?" I said, unsure of how much I should actually give away about our conversation.

"What things!?" She shouts, standing up from my desk,

"I don't know Pen, like logistics and stuff, I still haven't decided how I feel about that little stunt you pulled on Friday night!" I let my frustration get the better of me, and maybe that's why I haven't talked to her. It could also be because I know she's able to read me like a book and I'm not even sure how I feel about this whole situation.

"I call bullshit." She counters, "I know you were relived as hell when I sorted that whole thing out. You would've had anxiety tummy all weekend if I hadn't called Spencer!" I just go silent, she was right. I'd gotten so caught up in the whole, 'how to have a fake boyfriend' that I'd almost forgotten about how stressed I was about Spencer hearing my call in the first place.

"Okay, shit" I sigh. "Maybe you were right Pen. We're actually meeting up again this Friday after work to make a plan for the next while, so I guess that's progress?" I shrug, trying to play it off like this whole situation doesn't make my stomach flip.

"Ohhhhh! So like a date?" She probes, her enthusiasm rising drastically.

"Oh my God Pen no! Like an appointment at best" I diffuse the situation

"Ugh that's no fun" she says, not even trying to disguise her disappointment.

As if on cue Dr. Reid walks through the double doors into the bullpen. Both Garcia and I wave, overall awkwardly, but making an attempt pretend like things were completely normal and like nothing had changed since the last time we were all in the office together.

Penelope heads to her office as the bullpen starts to fill up quickly. Less than an hour later though Garcia's back at my desk and there's a new case that needs the teams attention in Boston. I follow her into the conference room and wait for the rest of the team to join. Spencer follows a moment later with 2 cups of coffee in his hands. I can see my mug in his hand and my automatic response is that he's messing with me. But he places my mug in front of me in the circular table before taking the seat next to me, listening to Garcia's briefing. I don't know if he's ever sat next to me in this conference room, at least not by choice.

I barely had any time to finish my coffee before I have to say goodbye to Garcia and hop on the jet to Boston.

----

The case was grueling. More so than usual. It was wrapped up late on Thursday night and the team decided to fly back home first thing on Friday morning. I was exhausted. Even if there was enough time to get sleep each night it wasn't like I got any. Whenever a case got on top of me like this it made it hard to rest, or get it off my mind at all until it was wrapped up. So even though it was over, that didn't mean I wasn't exhausted.

Hotch gave the team the rest of the day off, given that we have until submit our paperwork by Monday. I wasn't sure if Spencer's invitation from the following week still stood. I didn't want to ask, partly because I was so tired, but also because I was scared. I wasn't about to show up at his house in an effort to have a heart to heart, or hand him a condensed version of my life story on a manilla envelope if he was as drained as I was.

Standing by my desk I packed up everything I'd need to get my paperwork done over the weekend, I was just about finished when Spencer snuck up behind me, perching himself on the edge of my desk. "So, you almost ready to go?" he asks, like it's the most obvious question in the world. I couldn't really hide my surprise.

"Oh yeah. That's fine, I mean, if you're still cool with that?" I ask, and I hate how flustered I sound, like he makes me nervous.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He chuckles, standing up straight.

"Cool, gimme a sec and I'll be good to go."

I pack up the rest of my stuff quickly and we make our way out. There's something that feels a little eerie about the two of us being in an elevator together alone again. It was a different kind of awkward to how it felt a week before hand. It almost felt like a kind of tension rather than a hatred or a rivalry. Either way we rode down in silence.

Once we got to the basement Spencer walks out of the elevator and walks straight to my car without having to ask. I unlock it and he hops into the passenger seat. Like this is a natural interaction. Something we do all the time. And I don't hate it as much as I thought I would.

"So," he says, buckling up his seat belt and breaking the silence, "do you know how to get to my place from here or do you need directions again?"

"Well I've got to turn on the engine first" I tease, hoping he picks up on the reference to our last car ride, he chuckles like he does.

"Are you hungry?" he asks

"Starving."

The delivery guy get's to Spencer's apartment at almost the same time we do.

---

Once the food's been demolished the two of us finally sit on his sofa, the same sides as the week before. "So, shall we get back into this?" He asks, sitting forward slightly to pull a notebook out of his satchel on the floor. It's small and lavender, and it's got a pen clipped into the spine. He cracks it open and flips to a specific page.

"Sorry, what's that?" I ask, pointing to the book, he looks confused,

"They're my notes?" he says, like it should be obvious

"Your notes?" I ask,

"My notes on you." he smirks, again like I'm silly for even asking.

He had notes on me? He had a whole notebook on me? What was even in that thing?

"You've got notes on me?" I ask, my hands reaching out to grab it, but he retreats faster than I can catch him. "What have you got in there that's so serious?"

"Nothing." and his tone's a bit too stern and I don't really want to push it when he's being so uncharacteristically nice to me.

"I've actually got this ready for you" I pull the file out of my own bag and toss it to him. "I'm not sure exactly what you need to know but that should be the majority of it at least."

He opens it up and glances over the the pages. It takes him all of 2 minutes to get through the whole thing. It feels unsettling that he's taking in a boiled down version of my life while I'm just sitting on the opposite side of the sofa. Trying to avoid the attention I pipe up.

"Um, hey, maybe it would be a good time for you to show me where to make a start digitizing your books over here?" I stand up and make my way to the shelf. He jumps up off the sofa and walks toward me, visibly excited.

"That's actually a great idea, I thought that the theses from my degrees could be a good place to start, since I'm pretty sure they're not backed up anywhere." he guides me to a section of the book case by the window. There's a series of leather bound hardbacks, the same gold font embossed on the spines. I recognize all of them, pulling out the first one.

"This is my favorite" I say without thinking about it and he does a double take, clearly thrown.

"You've, uh, you read my work?" he asks, completely puzzled. I'm sort of proud that I've managed to make him this awkward, and I nod.

"Mmhm, back before I joined the BAU actually. Before I really knew you" I regret saying the last part, it comes out a little meaner than I really wanted it to so I back track. "Spencer, I read all of your work while I was in college, you were like the gold standard. I don't think I slept more than 2 hours a night throughout my PHD because I was just trying to get as much done as you." and his face softens at the admission. But it takes him a moment before he responds. Leaving the two of us in silence a little too long.

"I had no idea" is all he says.

"I think this one was best" I say propping up the one in my hand, "you get a bit cockier as you move on” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "but I'll start with all of these I guess" I grab the matching books and stack them in my arms. Walking over to his desk and setting up. Glancing at the clock it was only 7pm so I decided to just make a start.

Spencer didn't contest. Letting me just get settled at his desk, I pull out my laptop and begin work on transcribing the first volume. After a few minutes he silently places a cup of tea down beside me and goes to sit on the sofa. The time rolls in quickly after that, each time I look up at Spencer he's carefully combing through the file I'd given him. Re-reading it and making little markings in his lavender notebook. I'm not really sure what I put in there that was worth making a note on but clearly he was reading between the lines on some things. That little notebook was like a profile of me.

When he seemed like he'd finished writing he pulls out his phone, scrolling through it aimlessly like I'd never seen him do before. It made him look so normal. His eyebrows knit together as he's looking at something on his screen and he stands up. Making his way over to me at the desk and shows me what he was looking at.

"Who's this?" he asks, "This guy you're with?"

I recognize the photo instantly. It's from a few years earlier, Nathan and I on the beach, my head resting on his chest. He'd taken it while we were on vacation celebrating our anniversary. That was about a month before I got into the BAU, I had no idea that was going to be our last anniversary. I gulp down the emotions that it stirs. I'm mostly over the whole thing by now, but looking at old photos like that, photos of happier times, it can still sting.

"That's uh, the boyfriend I was telling you about last week. Nathan, we broke up not long after I joined the BAU?" he nods, but he's smart, and I kind of figure he already knew that.

"Ah alright" he takes out the hardback and jots another note down. Maybe he's trying to get a read on me.

"What are you doing?" I gesture to the phone,

"It's research, do you not think that if you and I were really dating that stalking your social media profiles would be on my agenda?" he's smug, and he's right. But I guess I just didn't expect it from him.

"Well that's not really fair now is it? I can't reciprocate, you've got no social media presence whatsoever!" he finds that funny, letting out a deep chuckle and tucking his phone away in his back pocket.

"Maybe so, but that imbalance is hardly my fault. Besides, you've read all my dissertations apparently..."

"Bastard" I joke, slamming my laptop shut and throwing a pen from his desk at him so that it lightly bounces off the top of his head.

"Hey, there's no need for violence Y/N!" he rubs the spot beneath his curls, "Maybe it's time you took a break actually?" he says, sitting himself back down on the sofa.

I was reluctant to admit it but he was right. My eyes were starting to go a little fuzzy after looking at the screen for so long. I stand up and stretch my arms out above my head, feeling my spine stretch out after sitting for so long, letting out a low groan. Spencer waves me over to the sofa and I join him.

"How about we go back to basics?" Spencer asks with a small grin, and I can't help but let out a long sigh.

"I thought I was taking a break, no more questions" he just laughs at me,

"Relax, you're not that interesting, it's just a simple question." he states, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to find it funny or offensive

"Ugh, fine, shoot"

"Well, actually it's two questions" he corrects, "what's your favorite movie, and what's your favorite snack?"

I'm confused mostly by the fact that it actually is a simple question, I was expecting something a lot more contentious, but also because he looks eager to know the answer.

"I'm not really sure what my favorite movie is to be honest, one of them is Night of the Living Dead?"

He nods to himself, and jots it down in the notebook again, "Alright, I can make that work" he stands up off the sofa before turning back to me, "and snack?"

"Peanut butter cups I guess?" I respond and he grins ear to ear, which is a completely new sight, and I like it way more than I thought I would.

"Perfect, gimme 2 minutes!" he leaves the living room and wanders towards the kitchen.

Spencer returns a few minutes later with a DVD, a packet of peanut butter cups , and a thick knitted blanket gathered in his arms. He drapes the blanket over me and gently places the peanut butter cups on top of it before popping the DVD into the player and sitting down beside me. I'm not really sure how to process any of the situation. Am I about to watch a movie on Spencer Reid's sofa? Sitting next to Spencer Reid?

"I... I, uh, thought you were just asking for your notes?" I ask, pointing at the notebook resting in his lap. He picks it up and throws it onto the coffee table.

"Sometimes I find experience is the best teacher, don't you?" he asks before pressing play, “And besides, it should keep you quiet for a whole 96 minutes” of course.

I can only nod in agreement, I'm not really sure what I'll say if I try to speak. I get myself cosy under the warm blanket and we watch the movie in near silence.

Once the credits roll Spencer finally speaks up, "I actually went to see a screening of this last month downtown, there was this little old horror movie fest-" I cut him off without really realizing, I'm just strangely excited that we've genuinely got something in common.

"Holy shit, I was there!" I say, more enthusiastic than the situation calls for.

He laughs at my excitement, "Well, I guess we have more overlap than I thought, that should probably help with the whole charade." he stretches his arms up over his head and let's out a small, gentle yawn. I'd been enjoying myself more than I thought I would, or would ever tell Spencer, that I'd almost forgotten that we'd both been on a case for almost every waking moment of the past week. I really should feel a lot more drained than I do.

I was just after midnight when I suggested that I head back home. I offered to take some of the books home to work on throughout the weekend but Spencer insisted that I just work on them whenever I came over again. I sort of felt like I should thank him for the evening when I was on my way out the door, or give him a quick hug, no that felt wrong. In the end all I could really muster was a lousy, "goodnight" and a meek wave on my way out the door before I drove home. And couldn't get to sleep.

— —

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Malchance (Reid Fic) - Part 2

Summary: The only thing reader can count on is her bad luck and what it’ll get her into. In this case, it’s the lioness’ den - the lioness being Cat Adams.

Category: Angst, Fluffy Ending Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Canon-consistent trauma, brief mention of daddy issues, blood, manipulation, yelling, deceit (Let me know if I missed anything) Playlist: Call Out My Name by The Weeknd Word Count: 5k

READ PART 1 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

“There’s going to be a key to cracking Cat,” Ms. Prentiss explained to me. 

“A key?” 

“You’ll know it when you find it.” 

That was probably the most ambiguous advice I could’ve gotten, but it’s the one she sent me into the field with and the one that loomed in the back of my head as everything unfolded.

The plan the team and I agreed upon, which ironically Dr. Reid knew no part of, was that after Cat and him went to the rink, they’d come back to his apartment, where I would be waiting. Posing as his concerned girlfriend, the unexpected presence of competition would enrage Cat. With the wrath of a woman scorned, she’ll be furious enough to slip up and make a mistake. 

I’ve heard that she’s done her best, or arguably her worst, when she’s prepared, so this curveball might just put an end to the reign of Queen Cat. 

As far as the outlined plan of events went, sure, it was simple. As for me? 

No shot in hell that I’d be able to pull this off.

There was seemingly no feasible reality where I could outsmart her until she made a mistake or keep on the facade long enough to deceive her. The entire success of the plan hinged on my abilities or her lack of propriety. Not exactly betting odds, if you ask me. 

And yet, against everything, I was still walking into the lion’s den on my own volition, making myself right at home, acting like this was exactly where I belonged. When in reality, this was the last place I should’ve been.

“You got this, okay?” Someone in my earpiece chirped. Just out of paranoia, I pressed the device further in, un-tucking the strands of hair behind my ear to better conceal it. Even that wasn’t enough to lower the specter of my doubt. I prayed that she was lax in her vetting tonight.

“Spencie!” A giggly shriek from outside the door sent one large shock wave through my entire body. It was so sharp like they were right there. The sound of heavy footsteps followed, and my stomach churned in anticipation. I already hated this.

How did I even get here? 

Oh, right - malchance. 

I contemplated cracking my knuckles to self-soothe, but then I remembered what Ms. Prentiss told me about ‘tells.’

“Bodily tells are how people can read the emotions you’re not directly expressing. A majority of what profilers use to study behavior is your body language. Unfortunately, some of the best profilers are the unsubs themselves. She’ll know what you’re feeling if you show her. So stay strong.”

Stay strong. 

Try as I might, I couldn’t keep the fear from washing over me when the pair of muffled voices outside became clearer as they entered the apartment. 

I must’ve caught them in the middle of something, but I couldn’t exactly deduce what, seeing as they stopped when they saw me, which was before I turned around.

Dr. Reid was floored by my being there, but at least, he had a look of recognition. It wasn’t enough that he merely distinguished me to settle the worry I had about the fact that the BAU hadn’t told him I would be here. If I could, I would have, but they each advised against it. They needed his raw reaction just as much as they needed her’s. 

One ghastly look up and down and I could tell she came to the exact conclusion the team anticipated she would - that I’m her new competition. 

“Spencie - who is this?” 

Her dehumanization of me made Dr. Reid viscerally guilty for having extended an opportunity to let yet another person suffer the corollaries of her cruelty. He shook his head softly at me as though to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ An interesting choice - that that was what he chose to nonverbally say to me first. He didn’t even ask me with his eyes why I was here or what I was doing - he just apologized. 

What has this poor man been through?

“I’m his girlfriend,” I answered for him before the silence could get suspiciously long. By inserting myself in the conversation, I was following what the BAU suggested I should do earlier. Stand your ground. You can’t be afraid to speak up to her. “I’m (y/n). You are?”

I held out my hand for a handshake that was never returned. Instead, all I got back was an ice cold stare. 

She’s reading your body language, an inner voice I didn’t even recognize called from within me. Soon after I realized it wasn’t my conscience speaking - it was Ms. Prentiss. I’d forgotten I had an earpiece, much less that there were micro cameras littered all over the apartment so they could have a firsthand view of this train wreck. How could anyone voluntarily watch this mess unravel? 

“And when did this happen?” Her voice went up an octave as she tilted her head with morbid curiosity, then let it roll back in Dr. Reid’s direction. “Spencer?”

“Five months ago,” he replied without missing a beat, keeping his eyes steady on mine. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve believed him, but that stare he was giving me said something more. What’s going on? He wondered.

Oh, Dr. Reid, if only I could tell you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” She asked through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. Suddenly, the surface of her expressions liquified then melted away until I could see well beneath the anger, revealing the bodily tells of humiliation. 

I was profiling her, and I didn’t even know that I could. 

“You made me promise not to talk about anyone else except you tonight, remember?” He remarked with an uncharacteristic amount of edge behind his words. 

His outer mask was liquefying and transforming in its own right, too. As Cat became easier to read, the Doctor was slowly morphing into the man I first met - the man who was furious enough to throw an entire set of books off a table. The man who’s darkness made him impossible to read - made it impossible to think he’d ever been seen or touched by the light. 

She huffed and spun her head around so fast, it made her hair whip up and over her shoulder. The stern look upon her face fell for the briefest moment, and if it hadn’t been for everything I knew about her, I would’ve thought she looked pretty. She was pretty. But her soul, her sensibilities, they just ruined her. It was a shame really. 

She was tainted by wickedness in a way that I never would be, and for that, she had already come to the decisive determination that she hated me. 

“So how old are you, (y/n)?” Like a hawk hovering over its prey, she began to walk around me in a tight circle so she could scrutinize my every angle, discover every flaw, and poke at every button she could find. Precisely why she asked that question, too. She wanted to know where the similarities started and ended between us. She wanted to compare herself to me. Size me up, tear me down - lioness v. lioness. If she was gonna play dirty, then so be it. Two can play that game. 

“I’m 28.” A flat out lie. I’m 26. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize you had a type, Spencer,” She ruefully chuckled.

“And what’s that, Cat?” I couldn’t see him, but he sounded so unamused. 

“Jailbait.” 

There wasn’t much I could do besides move on from the subject. “Cat? Is it?” Considering she hadn’t told me her name before, I think Dr. Reid purposefully included it in his response so that I’d have a reason to know what it was. 

Smart move, Doctor. 

I wanted to smile from the way he was helping me out and working together with me, but my poker face stayed on.

“Catherine Adams,” She drew out the name to assert herself. I didn’t get to call her Cat like Dr. Reid did. That was his name for her and his name only. She made that point crystal clear. When I finally shrugged, she pounced once more.

“You really have no idea who I am? I’m hurt.” She fake pouted and put a hand to her heart to feign offense. “Spencer’s never mentioned me? Not once in your five months of dating?” Her emphasis on the timing of our ‘relationship’ showed her knowledge of the deceit, but she needed to do more than just put stress on one word. I wouldn’t back down that easily. 

“Why would he? You mean nothing to us.” Nastier words have never left my lips, and yet, I still made sure they were coated in the harshest tone I could muster up the courage to use. 

She scoffed and stopped walking around me to pull on Dr. Reid’s arm and force her mouth to make contact with his ear. Despite the closeness, he still refused to meet her eyes. He kept them locked on mine. 

“I mean nothing to you? Is that so?” Her breath was a jarring enough sensation on his neck to make his eyes shut. He was beyond uncomfortable. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell her what you told me at the rink?”

“What did you tell her, Spencer?” I was forcing him to speak, not because of the case, but because I wanted to know. Was that wrong?

“I …” The words got caught in his throat. “I told her that there’s some part of my brain, some part that she somehow inhabits.” 

A pang in my chest told me there was still more. That pang would be correct.

“No, go ahead, Spencie. Tell her the rest. Don’t be shy now.” 

He forced himself to look away from me as he said, “And no woman, no matter how good, no matter how kind, no matter how …”

“Say it,” She demanded, firmly tugging on his arm harder. 

“No matter how sexy she is, can ever get her out.” He looked repulsed by his own admission, and if I was being honest, so was I. 

“Are you in love with her?” Although I was venturing far off script, it felt like an appropriate response as his ‘girlfriend.’ It was my response. 

“No. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you.” 

He’s such a pretty liar. 

Cat must’ve been annoyed by her lack of involvement in the conversation as she felt compelled to step in. “Prove it. Kiss her like you kissed me out there and I might believe you.”

Pretending to be hurt wasn’t hard. Not when I didn’t have to pretend. 

“You kissed her, too?” I had to ask.

Imagine if I were actually this poor guy’s girlfriend. Forget me - God help that girl. Even if this was all for the sake of the job, that wouldn’t have made it any better hearing what he’d confessed to her or what they did. 

Dr. Reid looked incredibly apologetic for someone that had nothing to apologize for. Sure, I was playing his girlfriend, but I wasn’t actually anyone of value in his life. So why did he look like he felt so goddamn guilty? 

“Ugh hurry up and kiss already!” Cat stomped her foot impatiently. 

As she released Dr. Reid, she gave him a strong shove in my direction, causing him to stumble right into me. He’d caught himself by grabbing onto my hips, while I stabilized him by clutching onto his forearms. 

His eyes were piercing through mine. I won’t kiss you unless I have your permission. His eyes read. 

Fighting against every reflex in my body that was resisting, I leaned closer. Then, right as I closed my eyes, I felt it. 

Not his lips. 

Blood.

My blood.

The coin-like taste shocked my eyes wide open so fast you would think I never even closed them in the first place. Abandoning my grip on his arm, I used my hand to block the sight of my bloody nose. 

(Y/n), what’s going on? Ms. Prentiss asked in my earpiece. 

“My nose is bleeding,” was my answer for everyone listening - Dr. Reid, Cat, and the BAU alike. 

“Are you alright?” He unhesitatingly shifted out of the role he seemed to be playing. His guard fell down to the point where it felt like nothing else mattered but to know that I was okay. It wasn’t Spencer and his fake girlfriend talking anymore, it was Dr. Reid and me again. 

“HELLO?! What’s going on?” The minute Cat’s shrilly voice hit the air, Dr. Reid shut it down with a steadfast hand. 

“Not now, Cat! Time out.” He motioned a T before he let an invisible magnetic force freely connect his hands onto my hips again. It seemed like he didn’t even touch me on his own accord but instead, it was the mere gravitational pull that brought his body back to mine. “This isn’t a game anymore.” His tone was unwavering as he walked me away from Cat and into the bathroom. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He whispered in a familiar tone after shutting the bathroom door behind himself. “You can leave now. You don’t have to keep doing this.” As though I were his grandmother’s delicate china, he hoisted me in the air momentarily to help me onto the sink with an almost unnecessarily large amount of caution. 

“I’m fine.” While I attempted to wave off his concern nonchalantly, traitorous butterflies swarmed my stomach at the feeling of his touch. 

“Don’t tell me you’re fine!” He scolded through an outpouring of laughter. “I can see the blood!” He underlined his words by pressing the toilet paper he retrieved on the spot under my nose where the blood was centralized. 

“Then don’t ask!” I just as playfully responded. 

“Alright, fine, fine,” He jokingly put his hands up in surrender. “What should I ask you then?”

I wish I was more uncomfortable than I truly was. Maybe then it would’ve been easier to lie to him. But there was something about how close he was to me or how unrelenting his stare was that made sincerity spill out from my every seam. 

“‘Why are you even here if you’re just ruining things?’” 

He looked so hurt despite the fact that the depreciation was directed at me. “Why would I ask you that?” 

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” My eyes flashed to the door to ensure it was closed, but without the ability to guarantee that Cat wasn’t right outside listening in, I lowered my voice. “I’m way in over my head here. I have no idea what I’m doing and I feel like I’m just making things worse.” 

“None of that is true,” It sounded like a reprimand, the way he was defending me to me. “The team wouldn’t have asked you to be here if they didn’t think you could do it … and anyway, it’s kind of nice having a partner in crime.” 

He needed to watch his step before he began charting dangerous waters from which he could never escape. I was already playing with fire by allowing any real genuine emotion seep out around Cat. Except now that he’d thrown me a lifeline with his insinuation of liking my company, I knew, at least to some degree, that the feeling was mutual. I briefly calculated the risk until I ultimately decided to let my boldness rear its ugly head.

With the speed of light, I clicked off my earpiece with one hand and turned off Spencer’s with the other. He caught my wrist only after I’d successfully disabled the devices from allowing the team to hear us and us to hear them. 

“What are you doing?” “Why didn’t you kiss me?” 

Our questions came at the exact same time, and yet I didn’t repeat myself. 

I knew he heard me.

It was out of turn for me, given that I’d only briefly calculated the risk of asking this before doing it. It came out suddenly and then I couldn’t take it back. But I blame his gaze for my oversharing. It brought me so much comfort that I failed to recognize the discomfort my question had posed. 

He sort of laughed, saying, “Your nose was bleeding.” 

Under any other circumstance, I would have believed him. Unfortunately, he was exceptionally unconvincing, precisely because he didn’t look very sure of that explanation himself. 

While I’m sure my nose bleeding was a reason not to kiss me, it was most definitely not the reason. My honesty itself felt something like a nose bleed. For one thing, it annoyed me and was beyond my control. But for another, I wished I could find the source and pinch it off to make it stop. Stop it before I spilled out the words, “Oh, I get it ... you just didn’t want to kiss me.” 

“That was definitely not the problem,” He said a little too quickly and a little too adamantly that it made my head spin. In that response - he sounded very sure of himself, a complete contrast to his previous demeanor. 

“So why didn’t you?” I wish I could tell you why I was pressing the subject so hard. I’d like to think that if you were in my position, you’d want to know the answer as badly as I do now, which is the best rationale I could possibly come up with to justify what I said next.

“If you weren’t scared and if you didn’t not want to, then why didn’t you?” 

“(Y/n),” He averted my eyes by turning his head to the side, revealing a side smirk of contempt. I should’ve been mad that he was visibly frustrated because if anything - he was the one being frustrating. Instead, all I could think about was how I wanted to kiss that smirky mouth. Maybe to make the smirky-ness disappear. Or to control it.

Make it mine. 

“You’re running out of excuses, Dr. Reid. You’re going to have to kiss me eventually, so let’s just get this over with already.” Did I really just say that? 

“I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Kiss me!” Yes, I really did. 

“I’m not going to kiss you.” 

“Just kiss me!” 

“(Y/n), stop.” 

“God, Spencer, just kiss me already!”

“No!” His eyes found me again; This time they were wider. “Not like this!” 

Silence. 

Then he cleared his throat as if they’d somehow cover the confession that had already been said. 

“Not - I didn't mean - I just. We can't like that because that's not … do you know? Like it's very ... that's not what-" He continued to stammer until he mouthed one last “What?” to himself in complete disbelief of the words that had left his lips and the words that were still struggling to. 

Our brains must’ve been working at the exact same speed because while he couldn’t find the right words to say, I was still trying to process everything he already had. 

Without waiting for my response, he fled from the bathroom. When the door slammed shut, I whipped my body around to face the mirror, my fist tingling with the urge to punch the stupid girl staring back at me in the reflection. 

I knew I couldn’t take refuge in here for much longer unless I really wanted to piss Cat off. Which I totally did, but not if I couldn’t guarantee that Spencer wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. As confused and pissed off as he made me, I never wanted to hurt him.  

Once this realization dawned on me, another one had followed.

This was the key to cracking Cat. I’d found it. 

Like an overexcited bull bursting through the gates, I pushed my way out of the bathroom door seeing red. I saw Spencer first, standing in the corner of the room to monitor Cat from a distance. The aforementioned lioness herself was perched in an armchair, slouching in it comfortably as though she’d sat in that very seat a hundred times before. Not a single display of care in her conduct for the people whose lives she was actively trying to ruin. 

“So you finally ready to kiss your boyfriend yet?” If sarcasm were a liquid, it’d be dripping from her lips. She was so casually destructive when she spoke, like a loose-lipped bomb capable of going off at any minute but deliberately delaying the blow until it was guaranteed to wreak the most havoc on the most number of people. Seeing her in that light only made things easier.

“Forget the kiss, Cat. In fact, forget Spencer all together,” I waved my hand in his general direction behind me. Like him, I was standing, giving me all the power I needed to assert myself effectively. “It’s just you and me now. Exactly what you’ve wanted since the minute you stepped in here.”

She laughed ruefully, if only to make me insecure. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you scoped me out. You were doing that to figure out how alike we are, right?” 

She straightened a little more to sit up in her chair. She was hooked. “Why would I want to do that?” 

With my right foot, I swiped the foot rest out from underneath her legs, making her feet fall flat against the floor. Caught off guard by my swift movement, her upper body hurled forward while I took my seat on the foot rest, placing me directly across from her.

It wasn’t for a lack of dominance that I sat down. No, it was that I knew I had power over her, and I didn’t need to stand up anymore to prove it. 

“Feel free to stop me when I’m wrong,” I told her emphatically, knowing that would never happen. 

“You have always wanted Spencer. That’s just a fact. But deep down, you know he’s never truly wanted you. Sure, maybe he likes, even loves, the allure of your forbidden connection, but he doesn’t like or love you. And now that I’m here, the person he claims he loves in a way he’s never loved anyone before, you want to know just how similar we are. Because the more similarities you find between us, the more it kills you inside to wonder why he would love me over you if we’re practically the same. But you’ve only judged me from the outside, and we both know looks only go so far. So I’ll make it easier for you, Cat. I’ll tell you anything you want to know that way you can come up with an answer to the question you’ve been asking yourself the entire night: ‘Why her and not me?’”

She couldn’t pretend to be unfazed anymore. I had moved her beyond that. She was finally starting to react. 

“You would only be this confident if you already knew the answer to that question.” She concluded through gritted teeth. Her body was shaking all over, like the rage inside of her was boiling and her body was the feverish, bubbling water. “Do you know the answer?” 

I had nothing to hide. “Yes, I do.” 

“Tell me!” She threw down an iron fist against the top of her thigh. “Tell me what the answer is.” 

“You have more confidence in my answer than you’re ability to figure it out yourself? Come on, Cat. You couldn’t have gotten this far without your intelligence.”

“I don’t want to figure it out. I want you to tell me.” Her fist clamped around itself harder. 

“You don’t trust yourself to ask the right questions?”

“Just. Tell. Me.” Jaw clench.

“Alright, I’ll give you one similarity to start. We both have daddy issues-”

“I don’t care! Just give me the answer.” Foot tapping. 

“My grandma used to call my dad a ‘Bastard’ in French actually -” 

“Tell me!” Bodily tell after bodily tell, and I knew, I had done it. 

I beat the betting odds. 

“Fine, Cat. I’ll tell you what it is,” I had her undivided attention, and if I had eyes at the back of my head, I’d see I had Spencer’s, too. 

“The fundamental difference between you and me is that no matter what - I would never, ever, do anything to hurt Spencer. I have no compulsion to hurt him as a way to assert power over him or to make him fall at my feet. I can do that without ever having to go to the lengths that you’ve gone to. The power you wield over him is borne from a long-standing vendetta, whereas the power I wield, I resist using against him for revenge because that is what a morally sane person does. While I use my influence to help Spencer believe that he is a good person worthy of good treatment, you are constantly trying to prove that he is a bad person deserving of bad treatment. That he is anything like you.”

Her eyes just barely starting to water marked the last semblance of emotion I’d seen from Cat before the team swarmed the apartment and whisked her away. Then, the proverbial veneer of her mask had glazed back over her face, never to come off again. 

As Luke escorted her out in handcuffs, she gave me one last look over her shoulder. 

“How did you know about my dad?” 

You might think I slipped up when I told Cat that we were similar because of our daddy issues, therefore accidentally revealing that I knew more about Cat’s backstory than I led on, but that was purely by design. I had done that with the specific intention of setting this exact moment in motion. 

This moment where she would recognize that she’d overlooked my ‘mistake’ because of her lack of propriety. This moment where she would have to face the fact that she’d been deceived and outsmarted by me. 

This moment that she would think about until the day that needle went into her arm - the moment she realized - she let me win. 

_ _ _ 

As twisted as it may seem, the end to the reign of Queen Cat called for celebration. Penelope - she told me to call her that and not Ms. Garcia - had prepared cocktails galore in the round table room, which I’d actually been invited to enter this time. 

“You exceeded any expectations we had. The best we could’ve hoped for was no casualties, so I’m thrilled with the way things turned out tonight, and we couldn’t have done it without you,” Ms. Prentiss pulled me aside to say. “If you want it, there’s a spot waiting for you here on the team, and I really think you should consider taking it.”

To her proposal, I said I’d have to think about it, given that I’d hate to bestow my bad luck upon the team, but after tonight, I was about ready to declare my malchance a thing of the past. 

At this rate, I couldn’t distinguish whether I was dizzy from the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream or the job promotion from Secretary to Supervisory Special Agent. In any event, I knew I needed air. I slipped out of the conference room, past the glass doors of the bullpen, and waited patiently for the elevator. 

I must’ve caught Spencer after coming back from his ride with Cat to the prison because when the elevator doors opened, he was standing just on the other side of them, looking lost in thought. 

“Oh, hi!” I chirped, realizing then that he and I hadn’t said a word to each other since the “Kiss Me Bathroom Incident.” 

“Hey,” he called back, his voice already sounding unfamiliar after its lack of use towards me.

“Long time no see,” I joked to first lighten the air that seemed heavy between us. “I was just going to go down to get some fresh air.” 

“I’ll join you.” 

Because I hadn’t expected him to say that, I fumbled awkwardly into the tiny space that seemingly got smaller by the second, especially now that he was filling the space with me. 

The silence was a little too suffocating for my taste, and I couldn’t afford to have my breath be any more restricted by that than it already was being in this slender cage next to Spencer. Just to occupy the absence, I started rambling. “You know I was thinking -” 

No sooner did I start speaking than my words were cut off by the sweet, sweet shut of my mouth because of Spencer’s. His lips wholly encompassed mine just as his hands did to my face. I was surrounded by him and for that my breath had truly been taken away this time, but in the absolute best ways possible. 

There was simply no air. 

His ivy-like enclosure around me somehow made the claustrophobic elevator expand. Or maybe it felt like it had fallen away entirely. Nothing else around. Just us. 

His hands moved wherever they pleased and I followed suit, letting my hands go where they wished, never staying stationary in one place for too long. 

I had to feel him everywhere. Filling everything. 

He’d pulled away first, biting my bottom lip with blunt teeth to take me with him, and then he forced my lip in its place by kissing it back, pushing his lips impossibly closer like he wasn’t close enough. He wasn’t just trying to restore my bottom lip, but rather fuse ours together forever.

He pulled away for real this time but not far. His face and mine were centimeters apart, our breathes mixing in the microscopic air betwixt us. 

Still breathless, he rasped, “I meant something like that.” 

Now, I can say with absolute certainty that my malchance was a thing of the past. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

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[lovebooksforeverandever]

The Acheron Sisters part 1

So I want it to be clear that this is only the first part of my analysis. This is mostly about the sisters' coping mechanisms and how it shapes their interactions before the war. I want to do all of it (before the war, after the war and the différent relationship the sisters have with different key characters), but it was beginning to be way too long, so I decided to separate it. The next part will be after the war. This was mostly done because I went down a rabbit hole, and I had so many thoughts, and it started writing itself. This is mainly for fun, and I am honestly very open if people want to discuss it.

One of the things I really like about the ACOTAR series is that Sarah J. Maas doesn't shy from mental health topics.  I also really like how she shows how it affects people around us. I think her most compelling story arc is with the Acheron Sisters. 

I think that it is clear that the Acheron household is toxic; that is clearly portrayed. However, I would go so far as to say that it is abusive. Some people would disagree with me, and I can see why, but after thinking more about it, I believe that it was abusive towards Feyre. In my eyes, it was emotional abuse. Some professional defines a relationship as emotionally abusive when there is a consistent pattern of abusive words and bullying behaviours that wear down a person's self-esteem and undermine their mental health. That's the definition I took, and it's through that lens that I examined the series. I think it is what we saw in the Acheron's household in the first chapters of ACOTAR. Elain and particularly Nesta were demeaning towards Feyre and made her feel bad about herself. The neglect of Feyre's well-being is flagrant. The sisters barely think about her physical well-being (being in the cold, being tired, etc.), but they also completely ignore her emotional well-being. Feyre is the youngest and has to act as a father, a mother and a sister for her older siblings. And all the care she gives isn't returned to her. Her self-esteem really suffered from that, and I think it played a role in why Feyre let her relationship with Tamlin goes so far. I will explore that later. 

On the one hand, it can be easy to conclude that Nesta and Elain were abusive and end it there. However, I think ACOTAR becomes even more compelling when we give more thought to it. I don't want to simplify their experiences, but I think their mother's death and the family's demise were traumatic experiences for the three sisters. However, their way of dealing with their trauma then also foreshadows how they deal with trauma later on. I also think it helps understand the abuse in the household.

When their mother died, and they lost everything, we can see Feyre slip into a grudging acceptance and forget about herself to deal with it. That trauma, coupled with the promise to her mom, really shaped her. It is a personal headcanon of mine that Feyre's mom probably asked all of them to take care of each other, but Feyre is the only one that took it to heart, but I digress. So, the family's demise but especially Feyre witnessing her father getting beaten heavily and violently, were particularly traumatic. It is even more important to see that Feyre stopped the beating that could have escalated more and kill their father. The fact that she acted was essential to the person she became later. She shoulders the family burden, she takes care of other people's needs, she plans, she keeps them alive and forgets herself. The first pages show us that the family is starving, and yet Feyre is the only one trying. The others don't lift a finger. Even after Feyre does everything to feed everyone and make some money, that hard-earned money doesn't go to her. The sisters use it for their enjoyment without thinking of the future (I believe that this also explains Nesta's behaviour in ACOFAS. Her taking Feyre's money for her own pleasure is a pattern that shaped her life, and when lost and struggling – like she is in ACOFAS- it is easy to go back to familiar ways that are comforting). The only objection Feyre opposes to her sisters is her fear of not being able to take care of everyone if they use the money now. It's not about the unfairness of it and even less about what she wants.

Elain, for her part, is in denial. She is passive and thinks that everything is fine. They let her think that way because she is happy, brings them joy, and is the sweet child. In a way, she is coddled and doesn't deal with difficult things. I think that comes to bite her in ACOWAR when inevitable things happen. She is no longer human; no denial can help that. It is one of the reasons she became comatose, in my opinion. She didn't have the tools to deal with the way things were. The same goes for when Grayson rejects her. When denial failed her, it seems like she went into depression, and it seems to me that she could only get out by bargaining. She thought that even if she was Fae, she could still be with Grayson. However, when that failed too, and he rejected her, it was easy for the cauldron to trap her using that "bargain." I also think that Elain coping is compatible with Nesta, which explains why they are closer than Feyre. Feyre is accepting the situation; Elain is in denial. Those aren't compatible. Nesta's way is more compatible. If we add to that the fact that Elain is sweet and easy to love, it explains the easier and closer relation between those too and fuels the asymmetrical bond between the Acheron sisters. 

Finally, Nesta, for her part, is angry beyond words. It is the kind of anger that burns and destroys everything, and the way she survived it is by making it become ice-cold fury. Nesta is hurt and wants the world to hurt with her. She wants her dad to be in pain, but she wants that pain to snap him out of it and save their family. She is angry at Feyre because she accepts the situation and takes everything in stride. I think it feels like a betrayal to Nesta and she is mean to Feyre because she wants her to break and be in pain and as angry as her. This feels more like a headcanon, but a line struck me in ACOFAS where Nesta wonders if she finally reached Feyre's breaking point. It felt like the smug and morbid curiosity of wondering if you got the bad thing you've wanted for years and feeling part victorious and part afraid at the idea of finally having it. I think it is one of Nesta's coping mechanism. She lashes out to make the world feel her pain in a way, but she also wants to see if people will stay with her. I think the only person who doesn't anger her is Elain, who remind her of better days and is always there. Her anger recedes with Elain, and she wants to protect her.

[dezmondmyles]

haha ok i got tagged by @taruyison ilu <3

alright cool lets do this

Would You Rather - Fanfic Version

Do you prefer friends to lovers or enemies to lovers? Aw man, do I gotta choose? I really love both, but there’s something a little more mmm, intimate, about enemies to lovers.

Would you rather be forced to watch a terrible movie adaptation of your favorite fanfic or an amazing adaptation of your least favorite fanfic? "terrible” and “amazing” are very subjective, and I love trashy movies/games that are fun to watch/play so that’s kinda my attitude with fanfics haha.

Would you rather read fanfic chapters backwards or read them as parsed from google translate? Backwards? I guess? If I have to translates a fic, uhh, I just Don’t lmao.

Would you rather consume every fanfic as an audiobook read by a monotone narrator or have to read on a tiny printed piece of papers written in yellow highlighter? If I had to choose, probably the audiobook. My eyes have trouble reading black text on white background sometimes as it is.

Would you rather get a tattoo on your body of every fanfic title you read or never read fanfic again? Never read fanfic again ahahaha. I’ve read some trashy fanfic just based on the equally dubious title before.

Do you prefer vampire au or werewolf au? If you know anything about me as a person.... Well you know that answer. And if you don’t, it’s uh, werewolf.  

Would you rather get sold to a boy band or be stuck in a time loop with your love interest? Time loop I guess? I never listened to 1D.

Would you rather kill your favorite character or marry your least favorite character? What if my favorite character is already dead?? Also what’s stopping me from marrying my least, killing them, and cashing out on the life insurance??

Would you rather meet your love interest in a coffee shop au or college au? My big brain take is to combine both- The local coffee shop near campus. Boom.

Would you rather have your fic history leaked or never read another fanfic again? Again, I’ll just never read again lmaaaao.

Would you rather be able to read amazing fanfiction but it always has an mpreg plot twist or only read bad fanfiction for the rest of your life? I uh, wrote?? Some of the mpreg in a reasonable semi-thought out fashion?? Also I’ve already spent most of my reading subjectively bad fanfic so like, idk.

Would you rather gay ships or straight ships? I can do both?? Also are we talking gay-gay ships or “these two are in a samesies relationship but theyre bi” ship? cause i can do that too.

Would you rather ship a rarepair with almost no content or a pair with lots of content but almost all of it is cracky nightmare smut? Honey I’m already in rarepair hell don’t even talk to me lmfao.

Would you rather see your otp shatter years after their happily ever after or never have the happily ever after happen in the first place? I mean, both is already like, the Thing with them anyway lmfao. I fuck hard with bittersweet endings all the same.

Would you rather read a poorly written but complete fanfic or a literary masterpiece last updated june 2013? I mean I do both. The former esp if the content is compelling enough for me to continue reading just to see how much more terrible it can get.

Would you rather read SSSS++++ tier smut with almost 11k words or 70k words worth of fluff? I can do both, the fluff will probably make me cry though in the end lmao you don’t get that many words of fluff without something sad in there

Would you rather read only alternate universe fanfics or only canon fanfics? My bread and butter is AU by virtue of being a crossover shipper. No matter how close to canon I get with either, it’s still ultimately AU. Plus, canon is dumb af anyway for both so i’m doing everyone a favor lmao.

Would you rather introduce fanfics to your normie friend with an ongoing smut fic with great writing or a complete fluff fic with terrible writing? Depends on the normie. I have non-fandom friends who enjoy writing and reading as much as I do, and I feel like that a well written smut and fluff fic would be more compelling to them, if not just to analyze the characters.

Would you rather read your notp with all your favorite tropes and perfect characterization or your otp with tropes you despise and inconsistent characterization? I think I’d pick the notp honestly. Listen, anything can become an otp with the right convincing in my book. Though, for most of my notps, they employ a lot of similar annoying tropes I hate seeing in most of my otps so like, can’t win them all.

Would you rather have a major character death or have a bed sharing scene but it’s a ship you hate? Major Character Death in the bed they were sharing.

Would you rather every fanfic includes Jackson Wang or every fanfic includes at least one nsfw moment? dunno who that is so I guess one nsfw moment it is.

Would you rather read a fanfic that has constant grammar and spelling mistakes or one that the characters are wildly different than canon? Have you read any of my fics I’m the worst speller/grammarererrr ever. However, I can take “wildly different” to a certain point in the case of many AUs where you kinda have to fudge things a little for the sake of your setting.

Would you rather read the most absolutely messed up dead dove with your most wholesome ship or subject yourself to 100,000 words of your notp all written in a solid block with no punctuation and horrible grammar? Dead Dove, no contest.

Would you rather have the power to read every fanfic in existence or have the power to make any ship canon? Any ship canon. I literally have no interest in read every single fanfic ever.

Would you rather read a cringy 70 chapter harry styles mafia au or a high school kpop au y/n fic with horrible grammar? At least I know who Harry Styles is lmfao.

Would you rather have your otp get together in canon but one of them dies in a tragic way or all members of your otp survive but get together with other people? They’re already dead in their respective canons so it can’t get worse from here right?

Would you rather accidentally send your boss a super detailed smut fic or read a super detailed smut fic about your boss? I think the latter because I would rather I lose respect for my boss than the other way around lol.

Would you rather read smut fanfic aloud to your parents or submit smut fanfic to the employer of your dream job? Like taru asked, what is the context. I think the latter though if it was allowed and it’s explicitly what they wanted.

Would you rather pine after an oblivious love interest or be the oblivious love interest pined after? I’m both irl (probably lmao)

Would you rather hanahaki disease or your soulmate’s first words to you tattooed on your body (and they’re really stupid)? I had to look up what hanahaki was lol, so I guess soulmate’s first words. And I mean, how much more stupid would mine be anyway?

Would you rather be an alpha, beta, or omega in omegaverse? None, I hate omegaverse with a passion. You can’t dress it up in any form possible to make me enjoy it. Idc what character(s) is/are in it, it bugs the fuck out of me.

Would you rather read a fanfic where the characters turn into furries or a fanfic where the characters all get pregnant? I mean, out of morbid curiosity, I’d wanna read both?? I’d hate it but I’d attempt to read it at least once?

Would you rather be able to resurrect dead fics or have the power to create a plethora of new fics effortlessly? New fics, so long as they’re getting completed on top of that ahaha.

whoo, that was fun! it’s been a while since i’ve done one of these memes. thanks for the tag, taru!

ok so i guess i’ll tag in return: @cooldadmondmiles @theladyisapirate and @seventhstrife

have fun friendos!

[ellipsesarefun]

by the powers of Azarath, I beseech you.

AU where Raven and Damian meet when they were way younger during unexpected and horrifying situations. 

A/N: Was supposed to be for damirae week but it turned into something else... so... here you go...

Warnings on death and murder

NOW ON AO3

---

I only wanted to know who my father was. I didn't mean to.. I didn't mean to open the portal... I only wanted a peak.. He said I could have a peak... To see who I was inside...

Raven feels her body tremble at Trigon's fires of hell blasted through the helpless cries of Azarath's people.

He said he would spare you all.. I'm so sorry.. I didn't think..

That was right. He did say he would spare them. He said he was her father and because of that he loved her. He promised. She believed him. But alas, she realizes now that demons only play their wicked strings over children who’ve only knew the world through their elders and spellbooks.. who’ve only seen the wonders of magic with an immense curiosity.. And such curiosity can be manipulated and turn against themselves. 

Mother of Azarath, I beseech you...

“Raven..” She looks down and her eyes find the horror, and maybe morbid understanding, in her mother’s eyes. She parts her lips to call out the only remaining person in her life but not a single sound was uttered as the fires engulfed the last remains of her mother’s loving face. Raven tries again and still not a single word chokes out of her lungs. Her whole body shivered in terror. For a moment, she felt her heart tighten, as though constrained by her own fear. 

Mother of Azarath, I beg your forgiveness...

Her legs give in to the weight and she kneels, turning her head towards the sky. She notices a flash of white light shimmering through the ominous grey clouds. Maybe somewhere, there lies a paradise.. Maybe she was out of her mind but she has to take a chance..

Mother of Azarath, I beseech you.. give me strength!

She concentrates on the silver lining etched on the sky and utters.

Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos!

---

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. 

He was barely past half of the mountain, but his small body persevered. He still has food from last night’s hunt and there’s still enough water for a day. He broke his arm along the way but it will heal soon, he says. His muscles burned against the frosty winds of the mountain and his boots sunk into the deep sea of snow but still he holds on.

This is training. This is for the League of Assassins. This is my calling. What I’m meant for.

From the day he was born, his grandfather never let him forget that Damian is an al Ghul. He was, still is, meant for something greater. That someday he can lead humanity to greatness. Ra’s al Ghul, reminded him it won’t be easy but a thousand battle scars is worth the future they envisioned for him. 

But at what cost? What worth is ruling a nation when his body is failing to accommodate the harsh winds? When the hands of death are near, biding their time till his soul plunges into the abyss? His body is meant to be a weapon. His body is destined for destruction. He’s brought into this world for a greater purpose! He must survive this! Failure isn’t an option! It never was, it never is, and it never will be. 

I must survive.. For the Demon’s Head. For the League of Assassins!

The next checkpoint is only some meters ahead. He feels his lungs explode as he tries to grasp for breath. He ignores the sting from his head and focuses on his steps, not keeping count on how many they are but on how he’s still moving. He needs to move, move, move. He must not allow himself to be so easily dispensable!

Almost...

Suddenly, everything is swirling around him that he can’t see the checkpoint straight ahead. He can’t feel the hollowness in his lungs.. 

Almost there.. Mother.. Grandfather.. Someone..

Damian falls to his knees and his body begs him to lay down, screaming in pain, and he relents, letting the snow engulf him as the last thing he sees is a flash of something white. Not the snow white, but something ethereal altogether.

An angel, perhaps?

He reaches out to the white and finds purple eyes.

And then darkness.

---

She doesn’t know how or why but white is the first thing that’s shoved onto her face. Raven lifts her head and looks around. The snow and harsh winds was all she could see going in an upward slope. 

A mountain? Why here? Where is here?

Bewildered, she pushes herself out of the snow and allows her psychic senses to scan her surroundings. This was probably one of the places where Trigon was once summoned. 

The ancestors must have worshipped him here..

She jumps when the essence of Hell tickles her skin. A portal must be close by. If she hurries now, maybe she could spare the world from her own destruction. Hell could keep her away from this place, still seemingly innocent from Trigon’s flames. 

She hears a thump on the ground and she looks down, alarmed at the site of lone boy buried in the snow. For the second time today, she kneels, sensing only a brush of life against her psychic aura. She pauses, feeling three human psychic auras close by but not close enough to reach him in time. The boy clad in battered clothes with a sword in his hand looks around her age. 

Mother of Azarath...

She doesn’t know why but she’s compelled to save this stranger. It does not atone for her failure, but at the very least, maybe she could salvage a life amongst the lives she could not protect.

She presses her hands to his icy cheeks, feeling the warmth of her magic. Her soul brushes against the barrier of his own and suddenly she receives flashes. Born by what seems to be a nation of people who kill people, this boy was raised to be their king.. their leader... such a child to be placed into such high regard... such a child to be pressured into the harsh grasps of reality at such a young age... Why would someone do that..?

By the powers of Azarath, I beseech you...

She hasn’t tried this spell but maybe there’s a chance... A small breath of hope..

And so she prays, as her magic flows throughout his veins, his organs, his soul... It envelopes him, almost like a blanket. She prays that he be free of such hardship. That he find people who would love him and care for him like his so called blood family wouldn't. She prays of a light inside his heart would shine against his corrupted soul and fly to greater pastures. 

Mother spirit of another realm, protect this stranger and give him and me the strength to face the dark force that is coming...

And then she hears a cough and a steady heartbeat. She releases her hands and watches her magic take a form of shield around his body. A figure of a raven appears on top of his head, pecking at his cheek. Her protection spell worked. For the first time, she feels her lips curve into a hopeful smile as the stranger’s eyelids gradually open, enraptured by the green pupils against the snow. 

A growl came from the distance, breaking her away from her small bubble of fascination and calmness. She stands up and without looking back, opens a portal to Hell and hurries out of the lands of Earth, leaving only a prayer.

---

Mother of Azarath, I beseech you to protect this stranger... for whatever obstacle there may be..

He doesn’t remember much of that encounter nor how he ended up at the foot of the mountain unscathed. His task is complete and has now ascended to a level higher from before. His missions have become far harsher, but not as harsh as the first kiss of death he experienced in the mountain. 

This might have been the delusion but even without her presence, he feels her energy inside him, a constant beat with his pulse. Angel or not, he thanks her for saving his life. Somehow, this won’t be last time he’ll meet her.

After all, the bonds of magic weigh far more than the bonds of blood.

[spaceorphan18]

Make Mine Music

So, Disney put all of it’s Animated Feature Films on Disney+ except this one.  Why? I’m not entirely sure? The Google isn’t being much help.  Maybe it’s because the first short is questionable in taste? It was edited out of the rare DVD releases.  I expected something explicitly racist but nothing stands out as such.  My biggest guess is that they couldn’t secure the rights to some of the songs, which is usually the case.  Who knows.  I expect at some point it’ll make its way back into the Disney canon. 

Meanwhile, though, all is not lost - I could find all the shorts on YouTube and other such video platforms.  Yay?  

So here we go, a run down of shorts you’ve probably not ever heard of.  

The Martins and the Coys - 

So, we kick it off with the most controversial little short.  It’s inspired by the whole Hatfields and McCoys thing -- which makes me wonder who thought that was a good idea to adapt into a children’s cartoon.  The story revolves around a bunch of dumbass rednecks who proceed to shoot each other dead until there are only two left.  And.  I had to stop and think about it as I was watching it.  It’s a cartoon, so it’s not graphic, and the ghosts all end up on clouds.  But --- this cartoon, seriously, had all of these idiots shoot each other dead in the first minute of this cartoon.  It’s incredibly morbid, and not really funny as Disney’s trying to make it off to be.  

The real ‘story’ is about a girl and boy left over from each family (lord help me, idk who is who), and they decide to fall in love instead -- except it’s stupid and dumb.  There’s nothing sweet about it.  Then there’s a five minute sequence of square dancing at the wedding, and afterwards, the girl and boy go back home, and still fight out the feud, because domestic violence is fun in kids’ cartoons.  

The whole cartoon is in bad taste, and I can see why they’d want to leave it behind.  Also, as a side note, the newlywed couple drive off in a car.  Which drives me crazy because this is the mid-19th century and no.  

Blue Bayou -

This was, like, a deleted scene from Fantasia, which was originally supposed to be set to Clair de Lune.  It’s literally just two birds flying around a literal blue bayou.  It would have worked, I think with the original music.  Instead, it’s the Ken Darby Singers singing a horrible song called Blue Bayou.  The audio quality doesn’t help it any - it truly horrid thing to listen to for five minutes.  But at least the animation is pretty.  

All the Cats Join In - 

So, the teens of Everytown USA dance to Benny Goodman.  That’s pretty much it.  I side-eye the fact that there’s an extended sequence where the teenage girl is drawn getting into and out of the shower merely because it seems the animators wanted to draw a nude girl.  You can also see the panties of the girls dancing, and there’s extended sequence where one of the girls gets upset that the animator made her butt look big.  Whatever.  Kind of opposite of the previous piece, I preferred the music over what was going on on screen. 

I’m also disappointed there weren’t more cats in something that self-identified as a cari’cat’ture.  

Without You - 

Unfortunately, it’s still decades before U2, and we’re subjected to this not great, depressing jazzy/Latino song about some dude waxing poetic, literally, abut missing the girl he loves.   The art is half way interesting as it tries to mimic the nonsensical lyrics of the song.  But the music was just irritating.  Again, recordings from the 40s, in general, don’t hold up well, but I’m also not a fan of this style of music nor this musical interpretation.  Sorry, Andy Russell. I’m sure you were a fine musician in your day. 

Casey at the Bat - 

I thought I had seen this one before somewhere, but the more I watched it, the more I realized that maybe I was just familiar with the poem.  It’s by far the most cartoonish and aimed at five-year-olds than anything that’s come before it, and I’m a bit meh on it.  By far the most interesting thing is the 40s comedic interpretation of the 1890s. 

Two Silhouettes - 

It’s two ballerina dancers (one male, one female) dancing to the title song.  You can tell that they’re live action people rotoscoped (apparently that’s what this is called) into the animation.  I mean.  You can tell that they were super excited about the idea of it -- especially, probably, after what they were doing with The Three Caballeros.  But silhouettes don’t really fit in (especially to the eyes of someone who is used to seamless CGI), and there’s a lot going on in the background, and most of it is not aesthetically pleasing.  Especially the color palette, which is kind of a barrage of colors that don’t look great together.  But mostly, this segment is just boring. 

Peter and the Wolf - 

This one I know I’ve seen before - most likely because it’s set to Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf, and I’m sure I watched in college to see how someone animated a short based on the narration of the music.  It’s the most straightforward cartoon so far, and turned way down compared to Casey at the Bat, which is a good thing.  It’s fine, it works.  Can’t say it was the most compelling thing, but it’s better than most everything else so far. 

After You've Gone - 

Another Benny Goodman piece.  I like Benny Goodman, so the music is at least enjoyable, and I’ll take the energetic pieces over the dreadfully boring ballads we keep getting.  The animation is the jazz instruments doing abstract things.  It’s fine.  The instruments on screen are reflecting what the music is doing in that moment, and while that should sound like an interesting idea, it’s really not that interesting on screen.  

Johnny Fedora and Alice Blue Bonnet - 

A fedora and a bonnet fall in love, and when they’re separated, the fedora has pines for his lost love until they reunite as hats for horses.  Thrilling, right? 

It does include the line: make your heart gay again.  And now I’m sad this isn’t about the fedora finding another fedora he can be life mates with. 

The Whale Who Wanted to Sing at the Met -

Well, I mean, ending on opera feels poetic if nothing else.  There’s a whale who sings, and a dude who thinks he’s swallowed opera singers instead of just being a whale who sings, because that is clearly more logical.  We get a montage of what looks like a meteoric rise to fame, only to find out that tragically the whale is harpooned instead of made famous.  I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.  While perhaps the most complex and compelling of all the shorts, I’m meh about opera, so I suppose I can just appreciate this for at least being innovated at the least. 

Final Thoughts: I don’t really understand who the intended audience for these shorts are.  Some are too silly for adults, while others are too drab and boring for kids (and lets face it - audiences who aren’t adults in the 40s).  

It felt more like the animators, who were scrapped for time because war, just threw things together that they were thought were interesting ideas, and nothing got really developed.  I’m also beginning to fully be fascinated by Disney’s obsession with the idea of parring music with visuals -- a theme in all of his films so far.  

I’m not sure any of this is outstanding work outside of mere curiosity from never having seen it before.   At least this calmer and, in a way, more enjoyable to sit through than the pummeling of whatever was on the screen during The Three Caballeros.  

[h50europe]

McDanno AU - Playing With Fire

Steve was on his way home from a thirty-six hours shift with the Honolulu Fire Department when a red Gran Torino on the shoulder of the highway caught his eyes.

The hood was propped, and steam wafted up from the engine. He looked around but saw no sign of the owner or a tow crew. He frowned as he passed the classic car and shifted into gear as a stir of energy spun through him. What would he give to call a car like that his own? He glanced in the rearview mirror, watched the drool-worthy car disappear as he drove around a curve. Steve gave a loud sigh and shrugged. He returned his eyes to the road, and his heart slammed into high gear. A guy walked on the side of the road, just in front of him. He knew this guy. It was Danny Williams, who worked as a doctor at Queen's Medical Center. Steve jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, swerving just in time to avoid clipping Dr. Williams. Heart thumping, Steve pulled to the highway's shoulder and released another heavy sigh. He raised his gaze to the rearview mirror, this time looking for the doctor. The first thing he noticed was that the man was limping. The second thing he saw was his scowl.

Guilt pricked Steve as he shifted into Park and climbed from the truck. "Is everything okay with you, sir?"

Steve let his gaze take in the guy's ragged jeans and the sweat-dampened shirt that clung to his muscular body as he limped closer while brushing strands of blond hair from his flushed face. He was in pretty good shape for a doctor. Steve thought. The late-afternoon sun lit his face with a warm, golden glow. Damned, despite his frown this guy was quite attractive, and Steve's cock took notice.

"Do I look okay to you?" he grumbled.

Chastened, Steve cocked his head and winced. "Sorry about the near miss. I was distracted by your Gran Torino. I'm assuming the beauty around the bend is yours?"

"It is. Apology accepted." Danny waved him off with a flick of his hand.

"You're not the reason I'm angry." He squinted at him, shielding his eyes from the sun that was about to vanish behind the trees. "Hey, I think I know you," he snapped his fingers as if trying to recall his name. "Aren't you Steve McGregor from HFD?"

"McGarrett," Steve corrected him.

"Right, McGarrett. You were injured a few months ago when the Leilani Tower collapsed. How are you doing?"

"I'm back at work for about five weeks or so. Everything is fine thanks to the great doctors at Queen's Hospital. And you are Dr. Williams, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, I am. Call me Danny." He chuckled and gave his head a little shake. "Sorry. I am a little distracted by my car and other things." He flashed Steve a dirty grin.

The latter was confused for a moment, then his face brightened. "Oh, I return the compliment. So what's wrong with your car? Is it the Radiator?"

Danny nodded briefly. "I think it's damaged. It won't hold fluid anymore. It is leaking." His cock throbbed in his jeans.   Shoving his hands in his back pockets, Steve cast a glance down the road. "I'd love to take a look at it. See if I can help." Yes, their conversation was definitely heading in a particular direction if they kept on talking like that.

Danny hesitated briefly. "Are you a mechanic?"

"I'm more the Fire Department's go-to guy for car troubles. My Grandpa owned an auto shop. When my parents were at work, I used to join him. He told me a lot about cars." Steve nodded toward Danny's leg, "what happened to your foot?"

"Accident at work." He laughed. "Are your conversations always like this?"

Steve frowned, "Like what?"

"Zigzag," Danny replied.  

"Considering some I have with my five-year-old nephew, I'd say yes. Want to start over?"

"I have a much better idea. You can give me a ride to the next gas station. There I can call my cousin. My phone's battery died this morning."

Steve grunted, "How did it happen?"

"Um … I was on a secret mission." Danny's impish grin told Steve he knew he's been asking about his ankle and was yanking his chain.

He tugged up the corner of his mouth. "Okay, you were up to do an open-heart-surgery on a warlord and were tackled by his bodyguards," Steve played along.

"No." Danny glanced down at his ankle, and his scowl was back.

"Rough landing during a base jump."

Steve barked out a startled laugh and wiggled his eyebrows, "I knew you must lead a secret life. You're way too good in shape for a doctor. CIA? FBI? DEA? ATF? Oh, wait … Don't tell me unless you want to kill me."

Danny snorted, "How about the ride?"

"How about Dinner at my place?" As soon as the words left Steve's mouth, and he saw Danny blink in surprise, he realized how this invitation sounded. "That came out wrong. I'm … I'm not asking you for a date." Danny's wry face made him scramble for words again. "Not that you're not my type of guy. You are."

"Thanks … I think," was Danny's short reply.

"Ah, fuck," Steve mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I mean … you're looking great. Hot, your abs are like ... but ..."

Danny raised a hand, "Calm down. Don't hurt yourself backing up. I get it. You have a wedding band on your finger. You're married. I can tell you; I am not looking for a date. Just a ride to the next gas station."

"Widowed." Steve grimaced inwardly. Why in the world had he felt compelled to share that with Danny? Yes, it was the truth. However, telling it to him made it sound as Steve was advertising his availability which wasn't his intention at all. And yes, in his heart, he was still and always would be married to Mick.

Danny gave him the pitying frown of sympathy he has grown used to over the past months. "Gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that."

Steve returned an awkward nod of acknowledgment. "Thanks."

"Was her death recent?"

"His," Steve corrected. "It's been a year."

"Uhm, that counts as recent. I'm so sorry."

That's where the conversations always stalled because people were usually too shocked by the fact that Steve was married to another man or too polite to ask how Mick died. Despite the morbid curiosity that was plain in their eyes. Before the silence grew even more awkward, Steve rubbed his palms on his jeans and jerked his head down the road. "How about we take a look at your car?"

"Why not?"

He hurried ahead of Danny to the passenger side to open the door for him. "So you sprained your ankle base jumping?"

Danny limped to the truck and shook his head, "I wished. A drunk waltzed into the ER last night and confused it with a toilet. I slipped on his pee. It was not one of my glorious moments."

Steve barked out a laugh. "Well, now I know why you made up the story about the secret mission. It sounds much more exciting."

Danny slid onto the front seat, "So you consider me boring, now?"

"Nah, don't worry," Steve closed the door and jogged back to the driver's side. As Steve fired up the engine and executed a U-turn, Danny cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I thought you were still married, the wedding band … you didn't wear it when you were at the hospital last time."

"I don't wear it at work. I leave it in my locker. Honestly, I don't know why I'm still wearing it. It's like a bad habit. I should probably …"

"It's okay, Steve, really." Danny chimed in, "you're still grieving and if you think it helps you, wear it."

They drove in silence until they approached the Gran Torino. They got out of the truck, and Steve studied the body shape and markings. "Nineteen seventy-four?"

Danny blinked and returned a surprised smile, "You do know your cars or was that a lucky guess?"

"As I told you, I started tinkering with engines with my granddad, by the time I was nine. He let me work on my own, by the time I was seventeen."

Danny nodded, "Why didn't you make it a career, then?"

Steve shrugged, "One of my dad's friends was a firefighter. I could listen to his stories forever. He told us about the comradery and their determination to walk into a blazing fire to save other people's lives. I was fascinated by it."

Danny tipped his head in acknowledgment, "As long as it makes you happy …"

Steve forced a smile. Yes, he loved his job. However, he hadn't been truly happy since Mick's death. Happiness seemed like a betrayal of his late husband.  

"Okay, now what?" Danny's question pulled him from is dark thoughts.

Steve rubbed his hands together and faked another smile. "Mind if I take a closer look and poke around your engine?"

"Holy Moly, Steven," the blond doctor said with a teasingly flustered expression. "We just met. I am not that kind of guy."

The heat of embarrassment along with lust sent warm shivers down Steve's spine and made his cock twitch in anticipation. He rubbed his five o'clock shadow as he floundered for a reply.

Danny chuckled and gave Steve a playful nudge into the side. "Poke away. The old lady is not going anywhere without a tow truck or some expert's attention."

The sly smile he slanted at Steve said he intended the sexual overtones of his statements.

Steve was delighted by the notion that the good doctor was flirting with him. Since he had had only eyes for Mick, he was inexperienced in dating let alone flirting. Steve could not deny that he was fond of Danny. He was the first man who aroused not only his interest since Mick's death. He huffed a sigh as he felt a ripple of guilt in his heart. Mick had just been gone for a year. Why was he even looking at other men? Flirting with another man?

Steve whistled as he passed the driver's door of the Grand Torino and took a closer look at the interior. "You've kept it in excellent condition."

"I haven't changed a thing. She belonged to my dad. After he had died, I inherited her and tried to keep her in top form, as best as I could. Dad would have expected it."

"She?" Steve furrowed his brows, "Let me guess. You named your car?"

"Plenty of people name their cars," Danny stated dryly.

"True that." Steve sat on the ground in front of the Torino and thumbed over his shoulder, "I just thought it would be polite to know her name before I put my hands on her."

"You're such a gentleman," Danny quipped. "My Dad called her Isabella. Isabella, this is Steve. He's going to take care of you. Now say 'ahhh.'"

Chuckling, Steve lay on his back and wiggled his way under the front end of the Ford. The steam from Bella's overheated radiator billowed around him. He poked around for a moment, then called, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," the undertone in Danny's voice was unmistakable.

"There is a flashlight under the driver's seat. Can you get it for me?"

"Copy that."

He heard his truck's door squeak open then close. A moment later, Danny's face appeared under the car. "Here you go."

Steve took the flashlight from his hand. Next thing he knew, Danny moved from his knees to his back and scooted under the car next to him. "How's the patient doing, doctor?"

"You're such a goof," Steve muttered while he flicked on the flashlight and aimed the beam at the radiator, searching for evidence of damage. He paused when he spotted a thin crack and slow drip of yellow liquid. "There it is. You were right about the leak."

Sighing like a Drama Queen on stage Danny asked, "Can you repair it or does Isabella need a replacement?"

Steve turned his head to face him. His pulse quickened. His cock did the fandango in his jeans because being so close up and personal to Danny, and only inches apart from his beautiful lips was more than he could bear. He had to clear his throat, scared that his voice would not obey him. "Your dad would want the radiator replaced."

Danny rolled his eyes in frustration, "I knew it. Fuck. It will cost me a fortune."  

"Well …" Steve scratched his stubbled chin.

"Is there even a replacement? I mean … this car's from 1974. How on earth …?"

"I've made many contacts through the years, and I think I know someone who could help you. For a price."

"Of course, for a price," Danny muttered and scrunched up his face.

"And only If you are willing to let me do the repair work," Steve added.

"You would do the repair for free?" Danny gave him an astonished look.

"Yeah."

Danny got suspicious. "Why would you do that?"

Steve gave a casual shrug. Being so close to Danny had his heart still racing and his mind spinning. "Because I love old cars, and I haven't laid my hands on a dream car like this for ages." And it would keep me sane, and from dwelling on Mick's suicide, he thought in a silent addendum. Steve swallowed hard. He didn't want Danny to see his longing or the desperation that was written all over his face.

Danny chewed his upper lip and stared at the steaming engine.

"That is a very generous offer. Nevertheless, um …" His voice trailed off as he considered.  

"Danny?" When he turned his head, their eyes locked. Steve's pulse stumbled once more. "It's hot under here, what do you say we continue this conversation up top?"

The blond doctor's tongue darted out to moisten his lips, but his eyes remained unblinking, fixed on Steve's. Steve moaned inwardly. How in the world could he not kiss this man right now?

"Okay," was Danny's too quick response as he wiggled his way back from under the car. It was getting hot in here, too hot indeed.

[zenosanalytic]

Star Wars: The Last Jedi: Impermanence

So like I said, Rey’s story was probably my favorite part of the film, and it was my favorite because it played most to what I thought of as the film’s strongest points, which I identify as: dialogue, interaction, acting, its characters and, always very important to me, its Philosophy and Worldbuilding >:]

So Rey and Ren’s stories are pretty deeply intertwined, but I didn’t really get any Reylo vibes from TLJ. I def think that’s something to be worried about given that this is Disney and how that pairing would snap into convention, and the moment when they started fighting side-by-side did confuse and annoy me for a bit before I realized what it was about from Ren’s perspective(just your usually Sith assassination graduation). Part of why I didn’t get that feeling from it was that Ren’s story, while Driver’s performance was excellent, struck me as so limited and passively responding to/reflecting on Rey’s that it was practically ancillary to it. He was less his own character in the movie than a foil; a narrative device for Rey to bounce off of. Her desire to redeem him didn’t strike me that way either because Her motivation always felt to me to be about placing herself in the universe. Like: She didn’t want to redeem Kylo for his sake, or because of her feelings for him, she wanted to do it because that’s what Luke did. Which she directly says: “you ended the last war by redeeming Vader, so that must mean that’s how I will end this one, by redeeming my Vader, Kylo!” This gets into some larger ideas so I’ll back-up a bit for a sec.

Rey came to that island to find Luke, but that was really just a means to an end. Her real motivations were three-fold, two minor ones, getting Luke to go fight and getting Luke to train her, and one core motivation: finding out about herself. And these two minor ones are actually related to the core one:

if he trained her she would be his Apprentice, following his lead and teachings rather than having to figure out her own place and way; her confusion about her feelings and ignorance about herself wouldn’t matter, because he’d be giving her a purpose and clear social place. She wouldn’t have to struggle to figure out where she feels she belongs, who she feels she is and should be, and what she should be doing and why because he would be giving her all those answers.

if he went to fight she’d be the person who found Luke Skywalker, brought back The Legend to set everything Right again, and she’d have done her part without ever having to face the challenge of measuring up. Her anxiety about herself and her power wouldn’t matter because she wouldn’t be at the front of things; her role would be in the background, supporting the Real Heroes and Legends and following their lead.

So Rey’s main hope and fear, the source of both her drive and her anxiety, was always finding out about herself and orienting herself in this, for her, new social world she has dropped into, and in which she feels partly to be a stranger and a phony. That is made explicit when Luke questions her on who she is and why she’s there; iirc, her first two answers(”to bring you back, to train”) are stilted and awkward and he easily dispenses with them while her third, her confusion and fear about herself and her desire for him to help her make sense of it, is honest and heartfelt, and gives Luke real pause(and fear). Obvsl this is, on top of everything else, an analogy for becoming an adult so I’ll just get that out of the way as it’s pretty basic and not really what I find interesting about it. So her desire to redeem Ren was based not in sentiment for Ren but in her desire to fill Luke’s place. It is mainly an expression of her anxiety over feeling disconnected and socially adrift by attempting to solve it through role-modelling and repetition of her defining narratives; by abstracting her life via metaphor to the Legends she holds dear, and out-sourcing the anxiety of decision to the surety of history, though she doesn’t really understand the people involved in those events, and their experiences don’t really map to her circumstances.

So the whole “redemption” thing never struck me as romantic, because her interactions with Ren and desire to Redeem him were pursued for abstract immediate reasons in service to psychological primary ones.  Affection and attraction had nothing to do with it. She does come to share a common feeling with Ren(quite directly in that they, as aware Force-Sensitives, can feel each others’ emotions and thoughts), but this is never affection; never sexual or romantic attraction. Rather it is true Sympathy; a recognition of emotional and contextual similarity. She sees her conflict, confusion, and unmooredness reflected in his own, though distorted by his different particulars.

And not only does she see his confusion and chaos(mirroring her own), but she also feels the stability and control he can exercise within that via his ambition, sense of purpose, and historical nihilism[1]. As someone in conflict, she wants that stability so she seeks to understand it where she finds it(Luke certainly isn’t displaying any). In a similar way and for similar reasons, though with some morbid inversions, Rey needs to understand how he could choose to throw away the family, friends and easy affection -the connections- which she most wants because she’s never had them. Her social universe, made up largely of people who knew him and who he abandoned, is filled with all these potentials for the affirmation and acceptance which she most desires, and which he destructively rejected. She has little idea how to cultivate these connections which he was born with -has never even been able to have them(until Finn[2])- and so she’s anxious about Fucking Up and, in one of these morbid inversions, is partly drawn to Ren as someone who has had them. As, I think, has been clear since TFA(and is powerfully and repeatedly reinforced in TLJ), Rey sees herself as abandoned and thrown away; she conceives of herself as an outsider but, more than that, as one who was rejected as “not good enough” and “not wanted”. Ren threw others away, chose to be an outsider, and she also needs to understand that because it’s inconceivable to her that anyone would make such a choice. That he knows Han loved him, and doesn’t hate Han(even, in fact, still says he loves him), makes this even more incomprehensible to her, which makes her need to understand stronger. And not only in an abstract sense of curiosity; by understanding why he threw away people and how he feels about that, she seeks to understand why she was thrown away, whether she was truly unwanted, and through that seeks the validation of her hopes for what her parents felt for her; seeks a morbid reflection of Ren’s murderous “love” for his father in an abandoning “love” in her parents. That’s why Ren’s “I didn’t hate him” line is so important, and why it hits her so true. That’s why she reaches out to him(beside the control and his place as foil to her own desires). In some ways he reflects her, but in others he is a surrogate for those who rejected her and her reaching out to him is part-and-parcel with her desire to understand them.

Which brings up another interesting part of her narrative, and this is where TLJ’s take on the The Force starts to get involved and developed. Luke defines The Force differently than Kanata did, not as an energy that “moves through and surrounds every Living thing”, but as the Energy between and connecting all things: its Flow, its Tension, and its Balance. Rey’s stated motivation, her greatest desire, is to know what her place is. But her real, unstated motivation is To Belong, because she’s never Belonged with anyone, she was always alone, and she thinks knowing her place will show her who she Belongs with[3]. This is her driving Tension -the source of Tension- in her story; the thing she wants most in the Universe. Which ties it to The Force; Tension is explicitly mentioned as an expression of it. Building on this, there is a place beneath the island associated by Luke with “The Dark Side” -a pool in a cave, one wall of which seems to be ice- which the movie explicitly aligns with this precise Tension: Rey is drawn to it, feeling that she will find answers about her parents(her Belonging) there. There are other metaphysical things about this place I’ll get to later: what’s important right now is this connection: Rey, to Tension, to The Force, to this Place, to the Dark Side. Taking this as an archetype and looking at the other Force users in the film, we can see a possible pattern: Ren’s Tension is the desire to be strong and measure up to, then surpass, then be free of, his heritage; to be without “weakness”, as he sees it: restraint, connection, and sentiment; To “Let the Past Die”, and be Free to pursue his own will/strength as and when he wishes. Giving in to that leads him to the Dark Side. Luke’s Tension was Anxiety over living up to his own Legend and being able to Defeat “The Dark Side”, and indulging in that Tension on one terrible night precipitated Ben’s final alienation. So the film seems to be arguing that this Tension in the Force is what the Jedi-culture(and thus Sith-culture) considers “The Dark Side of the Force”. This doesn’t just advance compelling worldbuilding; it situates Rey’s central conflict and motivation within that Worldbuilding; within her larger world. I find this sort of structural integration with character narratives really satisfying, and it brings an added meaning to conventional movie techniques for displaying emotion by projecting it onto the world(like placing her most intense moments of confusion, danger, and inner-conflict within environments of darkness, storms, cold, and wetness during times, for instance).

Thinking about it, I feel like maybe you could expand this(and thus The Force) to being a central theme of the movie? In each “Good” character’s narrative there is a Tension driving them which they, over the movie, learn to let go of(which, in turn, leads to their naturally fulfilling it). Luke lets go of his sense of failure at continuing the Jedi, finding peace and ensuring the Jedi continue. Poe lets go of his desire to Lead through Action and Heroics, which saves the remaining Resistance, especially their pilots, and in doing so becomes the leader he wants to be. Finn lets go of his myopic desire to get back to Rey and escape the First Order and starts to really fight for the ideas and people important to him, which leads him to defeat the FO personified by Phasma, brings him back to Rey, and ensures both their safety. It is in letting go that people achieve balance and fulfillment in this story. Conversely, Ren gives in to his desires for Power and Escaping the Past by destroying it, and thus ends up being entrapped by them, like the tragic, hubristic lead of an ancient Greek play. That idea of Enlightenment, Freedom, and Fulfillment coming from letting go, and suffering coming from holding on, is Very Buddhist and Very, Very Zen, which finally brings me to my Favorite aspect of this film ^u^ ^u^ ^u^

I’m obvsl not the first to draw a connection of inspiration between The Jedi and Zen(I’m actually pretty sure Lucas even said as much at one point, but I’m too lazy to look it up rn), but the return to a more Original Trilogy, Zen treatment of the Jedi and The Force is something I loved So Much[4]. The main Tension in this narrative is between the characters while the world is just... there in its Suchness, surrounding them, and they’re in it, and part of it, and their reactions to its Impermanence. Life lives and dies and lives again; matter is built, torn down, and built again; all physical things are locked within a Permanent cycle of Impermanence, and The Force is the sinew binding it all together, the Energy flowing permanently through the impermanent. And understanding and accepting that, even unconsciously, brings about release from pain, internal balance, and true fulfillment. Hence Rey’s Tension/Desire, and the Balance she achieves when she lets go of it; admitting her fears about her past and her desires for it without letting them control her. Hence Ren’s failure to achieve balance and freedom by giving in to the Tension of his Ambitions; his past, quiet literally in the projected “ghost” of his master, defeats him. Hence Rey’s Flow with The Force when she realizes the pattern set before her(the Rocks at the end; a clear callback to Luke’s earlier comments, and to Luke’s training with Yoda on Dagoba which the Island sequence is a reference to, and Luke’s line about “moving rocks” a direct quote from his Dagoba training).

And, in typically ironic Zen fashion, by giving up on her Desire to find where she Belongs, by accepting her greatest fears of the truth and meaninglessness of her natal rejection, Rey is inevitably brought precisely to where she Belongs: to the embrace of Finn and her new found family within the Resistance. I know at this point I’m repeating myself, but this is why the complaints about Rey “not training” never really flew[5]; one doesn’t need to “learn” how to “use” the Force, one already can “use The Force” because One is already attuned with it simply by existing. One is “Born Enlightened”, as it were. What one must do is “get out of the way”; not Try to move something with The Force, but allow The Force to Flow Through You and connect you to the universe such that your Will and its Will become one, and the thing you wish to occur occurs(and, conversely, you play the role you are meant to). TFA Got this, but TLJ both Gets it and explicates it explicitly to the audience.

The whole destruction/giving away/loss of iconic objects plays into Impermanence as well. Most obviously there is Yoda’s “the books don’t matter” comment to Luke, which is one of Zen’s most famous aspects; it denies a doctrinal, textual past, and gives primacy to the experience and learning through experience(though obvsl there ARE Zen books and doctrines; so another similarity :p). More broadly is the “suchness” mentioned earlier: Physical existence is As it Is, and also impermanent. TLJ confuses things a bit though because, while Buddhism acknowledges that all physical things are impermanent, it also recognized the impermanence of immaterial things like ideology, family and connection. Zen is particularly “rigorous” on this point through its (mis?)understanding of the doctrine of “voidness”, or Sunyata. Zen interprets the Heart Sutra,

Oh, Sariputra, Form Does not Differ From the Void,

And the Void Does Not Differ From Form. Form is Void and Void is Form; The Same is True For Feelings, Perceptions, Volitions and Consciousness

often taken as the primary text for this doctrine, as an affirmation that physical reality, identity, ideology -all Things- are “empty” projections of Void or “Nothingness”, which is the true reality which Enlightenment is direct awareness of and communion with.

TLJ, and SW in general, fumbles and commits the common Euro error of replacing a Buddhist conception of impermanence, and Zen conception of “Void”, with Platonic ideas preferencing the immaterial as “divine, immortal, and Real” in opposition to the flawed, illusory “mortality” of physical reality. So TLJ, while destroying or giving away important items, consistently ties that to the message that the ideals and concepts/feelings/ephemera those items symbolized or taught -Family, Relationships, Freedom and Justice and Democracy, oneness with The Force, The Resistance, Identity, Agency, Heroism, etc- are what is Truly Important and Lasting as opposed to immaterial possessions. That’s not very Buddhist and, in particular, it’s not very Zen, as Zen not only denies the permanence of both physical and ideal things, but makes a point of encouraging one to appreciate the impermanence of existence, material and immaterial, and to see an ultimate unity, rather than opposition, between material and immaterial, through their impermanence and Voidness. Star Wars includes many visuals that are true to this tradition(Luke’s final scene in TLJ, for instance, is an excellent example, especially as it is an obvious symbol of his life as a whole, and represents his attaining a final, complete community with The Force), but then it undermines it a bit with this far more prominent Idealism which, while |:T, is sadly expected and so I don’t let it bother me.

Though, from a fan perspective, I LOVE the idea of their being doctrinal disagreements about the nature of The Force among Force-sensitive and Force-using communities. It helps to make the world and its possibilities bigger if this fictional world reflects the uncertainty, and inevitable multiplicity of opinion, of real life. And, obvsl, it both creates more space for fans to fiddle around in, and presents an easy justification for doing so(well This, my own Personal Jedi Sect, thinks THIS...) >:] >:]

And, obvsl, Zen Yoda is Best Yoda, and reinforces the Zen treatment of The Force as well. Luke’s sarcasm and leaf-swatting of Rey was also a nice callback to the ole Swamp Hermit, and to Zen, which has in its history some pretty famously crotchety Teachers.

Ok, I think that’s it on this topic. If I come up with anything else about Zen, The Force, the TFA trilogy’s Force-Users, and TLJ, I’ll make another post and mutually link the posts. Thanks for Reading ^v^

[1]”nihilism” isn’t really the word I want here, but I can’t entirely metaphorically grab the term/concept I’m reaching for |:T I mean his whole insincere “let the past die” schtick

[2]Well there’s also BB-8, but I’m not sure if she feels that’s the same. She certainly knows her way around droids, and one gets the sense she likes them and gets on well with them, but at the same time she clearly doesn’t see her relationships to droids as being as fulfilling as those she has with biologicals; her responses to people are just much more intense and invested. Or Maybe this is just part of the Series Bible for SW: that bio characters generally not respond to droids like their equals, even if they are friendly and respectful towards them. The position and condition of Droids is a Whole Other Topic re: Star Wars, Politics, and Philosophy though, so I’ll stop there ftm.

[3]This is one thing about the story that makes Reylo worries understandable, I think, because one of the possible answers the film presents Rey as considering is “with Ren”, and there’s fundamentally a romantic implication in that. They’re both young Force-Users. They’re both, obvsl, very attractive and conventionally “fit”. They’re both conflicted, confused, and searching for answers which is a frequent romantic prelude in film. Moreover he presents himself as having answers to her questions and is obvsl trying to seduce and dominate her in ways that anyone who has ever dealt with passive-aggressive manipulators like him can recognize. Which are -again; sadly- common cinematic harbingers of romance and sex. The movie certainly plays with this, but while watching it I always felt that it was for effect, for characterizing Ren and their interactions, and I thought Ridley’s performance both completely refused to reciprocate this and presented a... unstated awareness of and resistance to Ren’s overtures. Which is why it didn’t ping me as “legit Reylo” and cause concern; she was aware of and quietly guarding against his bullshit even while seeking to understand him and learn from their connection. And this was all subtle and silent, conveyed purely through her physicality and line-delivery.

[4]Though, obvsl, it was rather shallow and aesthetical in the OT, like most early Euro attempts to adapt the concepts.

[5]aside from Luke’s training being all of “shot in the butt by a laser ball while blindfolded” before he blew-up the Death Star, and Rey getting more moments of Force failure than his missing the bullseye once and going for another pass

[inuringly]

Drabble | Opera-tion

[thecatwhosleepsin]

[Book Review] The Virgin Suicides

The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides 

Genres: Fiction, Young Adult, Contemporary

Date Published: 2002 (first published in 1993)

Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing PLC

Pages: 250

Rating: 3.5/5

“With most people,” he said. “Suicide is like Russian roulette. Only one chamber has a bullet. With the Lisbon girls, the gun was loaded. A bullet for family abuse. A bullet for genetic predisposition. A bullet for historical malaise. A bullet for inevitable momentum. The other bullets are impossible to name, but that doesn’t mean the chambers were empty.”

There are a lot of books that touch the sensitive theme of teen suicide. Contemporary and young adult books tend to breach this certain topic because as the years go by, more and more young people resort to take their own lives, further proving that adolescence is indeed the time when the human mind’s fragility is at its peak. Teens find no other escape from the tidal wave of anxieties, depression, insecurities, disputes at home, peer pressures, and other darkness or sometimes, emptiness, that threatens to engulf them whole.

Literature has taken up the responsibility to capture this tragedy and lay it before us, showing us a glimpse of the anatomy of despairing minds and allowing us to reach a deeper understanding of the nature of why they chose such an end.

“Basically what we have here is a dreamer. Somebody out of touch with reality. When she jumped, she probably thought she’d fly.”

The Virgin Suicides narrates the brief, unfortunate account of the five beguiling Lisbon sisters, told by the point of view of the boys who once worshiped them in their adolescent years. The memories of the girls retains to be as vivid as ever twenty years on and together, the boys (now men) endeavor to unravel the mystery of the Lisbon suicides and reflect on their past love (rather, unhealthy infatuation) for them.

It is not a pretty book. The story fearlessly traipses over depression, lust, obsession, sex and selfishness, yet surprisingly, it manages to deliver these grave themes in a light, humorous manner, eliciting giggles in morbid moments where one should (decently) stay solemn in deep thought. 

Chucking her under her chin, he said, “What are you doing here, honey? You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets.”

It was then Cecilia gave orally what was to be her only form of suicide note, and a useless one at that, because she was going to live: “Obviously, Doctor,” she said, “you’ve never been  a thirteen-year-old girl.”

The passages strike curiosity that is further coupled by the interesting concept of a single narrator that carries the thoughts of many. The readers are compelled to skim their eyes through intricate narrations and comical observations. Undeniably, Eugenides had successfully woven a beautiful, entrancing prose. He could never bore. (Though, I must admit that the almost seven-paged retrospect about the school heartthrob Trip Fontaine grated my nerves and I was a hairsbreadth away from believing that the boys loved him as well.) 

But, I do agree with other reviews. Aside from raising awareness of the horrors of suicide, I see no point in the book. No great goal is achieved. No paramount development has visibly progressed among the characters. 

The neighborhood that witnessed the total disintegration of a family had no changes amid the repercussions that came after it, and the boys continued to live in the shadows of girls they thought they knew everything about. They knew nothing about them, rather, seeing as they never viewed them as human beings. They were mindless and willingly blind with the illusion of love which ultimately brought upon the withering of their youth.

The Lisbon girls, ethereal beauties shrouded with melancholy and mystery, honestly had no particular trait that might make them lovable to begin with. Cecilia was beyond reality and Lux’s degree of promiscuity for a fourteen-year-old was repulsive. The images of the rest of the girls (Bonnie, Mary and Therese) were blurry and a clear structure of their personalities in the story was not built. But, their close bond as siblings somehow redeemed them, it was real. Still, we can safely say that the boys’ affections were never out of true love for they only loved them for what they wanted to see. Their feelings might have sprouted from pity, as well.

Despite its flaws, The Virgin Suicides is undoubtedly a title that will continue to haunt me. I can never forget the heavy atmosphere that settled around me as I flipped through its pages and absorbed its masterful storytelling. The end of childhood dawned upon me as came upon the last page and its message was as clear as day, permanently burned in the back of my mind. I enjoyed it and I could say that it was a book worth my time.

In the end we had pieces of the puzzle, but no matter how we put them together, gaps remained, oddly shaped emptiness mapped by what surrounded them, like countries we couldn’t name.