#I wrote based on memory then went back through the books and movie

[my-wild-imagination1996]

Cross Your Mind

A/N: This is not proofread and I am not perfect. There will be spelling and grammatical errors. I have not written smut in over 6 years, I’m sorry if it’s terrible. 

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON THE AMAZING HUGH JACKMAN AND MY CRAZY IMAGINATION

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Age gap reader is late twenties and hugh is 55, swearing, P in V, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), jealousy

You and Hugh had a short lived six month situationship while he was filming in your city. You had met while you were at a bar with some friends celebrating the release of your book. You wrote under a pseudonym to keep a low profile. You and Hugh had agreed that once he was done filming you’d be done. That this was nothing more than a mere friends with benefits situation. It had been three months since you’d last seen Hugh or since you got laid. You knew it was bound to happen but you were still shocked to see that Hugh had been seen on a date. As time went on you kept seeing paparazzi pictures of them at galas and various other events together. Your friends had invited you to an afterparty for a movie premiere. Unfortunately for you, your friends didn’t mentions who’s movie it was that premiered. You told your friends that you were going to get ready and you’d meet them there. Once you had gotten inside, you saw Hugh at the bar. It's been months since you saw Hugh, your former friends-with-benefits, and the thought of him still sends a shiver down your spine. The memory of his muscular body, the feel of his rough hands on your skin, and the taste of his kisses have haunted your fantasies since you two called it quits. He had his usual date with him, hurting you which made no sense to you because you both had agreed that it was completely casual. 

Hugh stands tall, his broad shoulders commanding attention even in this sea of people. His dark brown hair, slightly graying at the temples, adds a touch of sophistication to his rugged good looks. Those hazel eyes, piercing and intense, scan the crowd, but you know they haven't noticed you yet. He's engaged in conversation with his date, chuckling before he leans down whispering something that makes her blush.

Your stomach twists with a mixture of jealousy and desire. That could have been you by his side, enjoying his charming company. But he chose to end things, fearing that your feelings were becoming too deep for a casual arrangement, but truthfully you don’t think he did it for you. You think he did it because he’s scared of your age gap and that he’s holding you back from someone your age. Now, seeing him here with another woman, you realize that your feelings have become very deep and you need to know that he’s been thinking about you like you’ve been thinking about him. You want him back, and you're willing to do whatever it takes.

As you make your way through the party, your eyes never leave Hugh. He's dressed in a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his muscular frame, accentuating his powerful physique. His date, a slender blonde, clings to his arm, her eyes sparkling with admiration. You feel a surge of determination—she doesn't know what she's missing out on.

You approach them, your heart pounding in your ears. Hugh's eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes you. "Y/n! What a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you were coming." His voice is warm, his smile genuine, but you detect a hint of tension in his words.

"Hugh," you respond, your voice steady despite the chaos of emotions within. “My friends invited me and I thought it sounded like fun. Had no idea that you’d be here" You flash him a playful smile, your eyes daring him to remember the past.

The blonde by his side clears her throat, a subtle reminder of her presence. "y/n, this is my date for the evening, Sarah," Hugh introduces, placing a protective hand on her lower back. "Sarah, this is an old friend."

You extend your hand to Sarah, your grip firm and confident. "It's nice to meet you, Sarah. Hugh has always had impeccable taste in women." Your words hold a subtle challenge, and you see a flicker of uncertainty in Sarah's eyes. Sarah glares at you before pulling Hugh away and saying it was nice to meet you. 

You watched Hugh the majority of the night waiting for the perfect time to get him alone, you couldn't help but feel a familiar ache between your thighs. Hugh had a way of making you feel things you'd never felt before. His touch, his kiss, the way he knew exactly how to pleasure your body—it all came flooding back to you in that moment. You took a sip of your drink, trying to steady your trembling hand.

The room seemed to shrink as you made your way towards him, determined to get some answers. You needed to know if he ever thought about you, if the memories of your passionate nights together ever crossed his mind. You pushed through the crowd, your heart pounding in your ears.

"Hugh," you said, your voice barely audible over the music. He turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in your presence. His gaze traveled over your body, taking in your curves, and a devilish smile played on his lips.

Your cheeks flushed under his gaze but your body was screaming and for once in your life you wanted to be selfish and go after what you wanted. “When you're with her, do I ever cross your mind?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer, his breath warm on your ear. "How could you not?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of pleasure and anger. "And what about when you're fucking her, Hugh? Do you ever imagine it's me underneath you, begging for your touch?" Your words were bold, fueled by the liquid courage in your glass.

Hugh's eyes darkened, and he took a step closer, his body almost touching yours. "You know I do. I can't help but picture your beautiful face, your lips wrapped around my cock, your pussy dripping wet for me."

A moan escaped your throat as his words hit you like a physical blow. You wanted to resist, to play it cool, but your body betrayed you. You craved his touch, the way he could make you feel like no one else could.

"Prove it," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Show me that I'm still the one you want."

Without hesitation, Hugh grabbed your hand pulling you to an unknown private destination. As he opened a random door, the dimly lit room welcomed you, inviting you to indulge in your desires.

He roughly pushed you against the closed door, his strong hands gripping your hips. "You're still mine, y/n. Every inch of you belongs to me." His lips crashed onto yours, devouring your mouth in a rough passionate kiss. You responded eagerly, your tongue dancing with his, tasting the familiar flavor of his desire.

Hugh's hands roamed over your body, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your dress. You arched into his touch, craving more. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down, exposing your lace bra and the swell of your cleavage.

"Fuck! I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you." he growled, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. His hands slid under your dress, squeezing your ass cheeks, pulling you closer to his hardening length.

You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. "Hugh, please..."

He knew exactly what you wanted. With one swift motion, he lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his erection pressing against your core through the thin fabric of your panties. He pushed you against the door before pulling your panties to the side. He positioned himself at your entrance, his thick cock teasing your pussy lips. With one powerful thrust, he filled you, claiming you as his. You cried out, your body welcoming him, the familiar sensation of being completely filled by him overwhelming you.

Hugh began to move, his hips snapping forward, pounding into you with relentless force. His eyes never leaving your as he wraps his hand around your throat making you smile at him. He was right; you were his, and in this moment, you belonged to him completely.

"You're mine, y/n," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Always have been, always will be."

His pace is relentless, his cock hitting all the right spots. You felt the familiar coil of pleasure in your core, building with each thrust. Hugh leaned down, capturing your nipple between his teeth, biting gently, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Cum for me, y/n," he demanded, his voice commanding. "Let me feel your pussy milking my cock."

His words were all it took to send you over the edge. You cried out his name as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls clenching around his shaft, milking him as he continued to thrust. Hugh grunted, his body tensing, and you felt his hot cum filling you, marking you as his.

As your breathing slowed, Hugh collapsed onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving. He pulled you close, your bodies still entwined, and kissed your forehead. "You never left my thoughts, y/n. I may have fucked others, but none of them made me feel the way you do."

You smiled, satisfied that you had your answer. Perhaps this time, things would be different. Perhaps Hugh would finally realize that what you had was worth more than just a casual fling.

[aparticularbandit]

I was exploring thecreaminhiscoffee - because I'm autistic and I'm going through a Roger Rabbit phase and I love how you write Jessica - and I found your headcanon that Jessica and Roger's relationship isn't entirely healthy. Was that just a detail in your role-playing universe, or do you think the same thing about the movie canon? I ask because many other WFRR fans see Roger and Jessica as "couple goals" and "so cute" and "so wholesome", and I was curious to hear a dissenting opinion.

I assume you mean this headcanon? (Sorry, I have a lot, and it has been. a really long time since I've been super deep into them. I have to go back and find things to remember what I wrote. XD)

That particular headcanon would probably be specific to my personal portrayal of her built of the backstory and history I've given her. It doesn't necessarily have to be true of every interpretation of Jess; it would highly depend on how other writers build her history, what sort of history they give her, etc. (For instance, if I remember correctly, the history she's given as Jessica Krupnick in the script for the prequel/sequel that ended up not being made (for good reason) does something entirely different - but that's based on a Toons are born, not made theory which runs counter to the Toons are made, not born theory I went with (although - you're reading headcanon, you know that Toons can be born, but it's more complicated, especially when considering all the Nonnie Montgomery stuff; it's...another topic that we're not getting into, that's not the question, I'm getting distracted. XD Also this is not even getting into the book, which is a whole other animal.)

...which, actually, is kind of - I'm not using the book as a touchstone, but it does. influence. how I think about. the characters. sometimes. XD

But, like, if we're speaking from a strictly canon sense - and it's been a while since I've seen the movie, so I'm going off of memory and that. bulk of. headcanon and what I remember about it - even in canon, I wouldn't say their relationship is completely healthy? Healthy relationships rely on communication, and there's a lot of miscommunication between the two of them? Jessica is literally being blackmailed into cheating on Roger because he would be thrown out of the business if she didn't? (Patty Cake appears to be code for Toon cheating for Roger and their particular relationship, so. Using that term.) And like, sure, yes, that's a kind of love to do anything that you need to do to take care of your significant other, but like. Maybe in a healthy relationship Jess would have had the conversation with Roger about what was going on instead of just doing the thing? (To be fair. Roger would tell her not to do it, even though it would kill him to not be working, and then Jess would probably do it anyway, which is also not very healthy.)

Jessica, in the movie, does a lot of I'm going to do all of this on my own and not ask anyone for help at all (with the possible exception of asking Eddie to help her find Roger) and just does not explain herself to anyone either, although she tries with Eddie. This may be an example of people wouldn't believe her (Eddie certainly doesn't). It might not. Even with her devotion to Roger, there's a sort of...unhealthiness to it?

Loving him isn't wrong! Loving him to the point of doing things that hurt their relationship because she thinks it is all on her to take care of all the things on herself is...not.

(Then again, you can make the argument that if she'd had any of these conversations with Roger, he wouldn't have been able to keep his mouth shut, but, ah, that's another thing.)

EDIT: I feel better speaking about my personal portrayal vs. the movie canon, even though mine was originally built from the canon? I can speak to her, but the movie is. open for interpretation? It is. complicated. ><;;;;

[thisworldisablackhole]

Project Hail Mary, by Andy Weir - 5/5

Just wrapped up Project Hail Mary about a week ago and I have been letting my thoughts on it stew as I have been slowly worming my way into Snow Crash. Figured now would be a good time to write about it.

The only thing I knew about Andy Weir prior to reading this is that he also wrote the book that the movie The Martian (feat. Matt Damon) was based on. I never read The Martian, and I'm not sure I've even watched the movie or not, but the reason I bring it up is because one of the first things that hit me while reading this book is that it feels like it is just begging to be adapted to the big screen. It's intense, emotional, full of cliff hangers and classic tropes of stoicism with a healthy side of humanity saving heroism. I would dare to say that it's even a bit cheesy, but I loved it for that. There are twists and turns that will have you gripping the edge of your seat in terror, but it ultimately finishes with a pretty safe, crowd pleaser ending, not unlike some MCU fan service (if marvel films weren't garbage lmao).

Another aspect of the movie-likeness of this book is due to how simple and conversational the writing is. Some people might not like how simple it is, but hell was it refreshing to read something that was just fun and easy to follow after painfully trudging through all the superfluous abstract descriptions of Gibson's Sprawl trilogy. It almost reads like a script at times, as it is made up almost entirely of dialog and action sequences. The entire thing is written from the first person point of view of disgraced scientist-turned-beloved highschool teacher Ryland Grace, and the narrative flips back and forth between current time and flash backs as he recovers his lost memories. He dictates his every move in the form of internal monologue and the result is a book that is extremely easy to visualize, because you are made to feel like you are in the drivers seat the entire time.

Hell, I even felt like I learned some cool ass shit about science and physics while reading this. Project Hail Mary is chalk full of mathematical equations and lengthy descriptions of exactly how space travel works, how different chemical compounds interact with each other etc etc, but it is all written in such an engaging and fun way. Andy Weir went out of his way to consult with experts in a number of fields to make sure all of the science was accurate, so you know it's not just a bunch of made up bullshit. It really brings the teacher aspect of his character to life too, and I couldn't help but feel like if he was my teacher in highschool, maybe I would have payed a sliver of attention.

Despite all of the math and science in the book, I have to reiterate that this is very much written for the common layman, and I appreciate that so much about it. It's probably one of my favourite books of all time now just because of how pleasant and easy it was to read. I breezed through it in about 5 days despite the fact that it's almost double the size of what I'm used to reading. It's a page turner for sure, and I truly hope it does get turned into a movie some day. I need to see Rocky doing his jazz hands on the big screen god damnit!

[normalwitch]

listen i’m so in love with the owens’ house. the production designer describes it as literally a cauldron, having a whole world in both the house and garden, and that it’s a sanctuary for the family, who are outcasts. they aren’t the only ones. the black cats they collect over the years are all from a shelter on the island. nobody wanted any of them because of superstition, fear of bad luck and wickedness ( black cats historically have been seen as omens of evil, suspected of being familiars of witches ) , so eventually they all gravitate to the owens’ house --- and then the women there accepted and take care of them. i love the symbolism of that alone. it’s just so poetically beautiful, outcasts finding refuge with outcasts !

there aren’t any clocks or mirrors inside the house. in the back there’s a henhouse, a potting shed, a large padlocked greenhouse, and a garden described to be so lush and green it’s dizzying. a gate leads to a bluestone path up to the porch, where the ivy and climbing wisteria grow, and the light is always turned on after midnight. this is the light the desperate townsfolk from jealous house wives to angelic women in the choir go when they want to visit the aunts for something they desire. a charm, a potion, a spell, a tea, a spell. during the daytime they’ll avoid crossing the same side of the street as the women living inside but they’ll still arrive to sit at the table and hand over cash ( though the aunts favor cameos and have a drawer stuffed full of them ).

when you step inside and over the threshold it seems like time moves at an entirely different pace removed from the outside world. even just trying to get  a peek within, there’s a current of discernible energy on the air, but good luck !! the damask curtains are almost always drawn, and the glass is old and thick, tinted with a green that makes everything look watery, almost like a dream. so maybe you’ll doubt what you see, if anything. or maybe you won’t, knowing the rumors swirling around the island and uttered since the 1600s.

the manor is so old that some of the wood used to make the paneling and mantels is extinct. a total of fifteen different types of woods have been used, including pine, golden oak, silver ash, and cherry fruit that gives off the scent of ripe fruit even in the winter. none of the woodwork itself ever gets dusty or needs polishing ( but sally takes it upon herself to dust and polish anyway ). there are three floors, a cellar, and two staircases. the one in the back is chillier, twisting like a puzzle, and the other is elegant and crafted from mahogany, leading all the way up to the turret that is like a single lighthouse tower. above the velvet-cushioned window seat on the landing of the front staircase is a portrait of the beautiful maria owens herself. her hair is pulled back with a satin blue ribbon and she’s wearing her favorite blue dress. sometimes it might feel like her eyes are watching you ( which might make sense, since when she was alive she fearlessly looked people straight in the eye, even if they were older or came from a higher class ).

it’s always cool, like a crisp autumn day. bats live in the attic, mice live in the walls. this changes after michael, sally’s husband, moves in, as i have discussed with @liminalchaos, despite the manor not needing the upkeep, it appreciates the efforts and dedication sally has always put into taking !! care !! of it ! because after michael moves in, the house becomes and stays cheery and warm. the bats move out of the attic and into the garden shed. roses begin to grow along the porch’s railing and choke all of the the weeds. the teardrop chandelier in the parlor tinkles back and forth on its own. through out the night a tranquil sound reminiscent of a flowing river fills the interior, glittering and trickling. it’s so sweet and melodic the mice come out to make sure that the manor is still in one piece, and a meadow hasn’t taken the house’s place.

the house. is. magic. even the bluestone path outside of it, which stops getting cold and icy during the winters after michael and sally get together. speaking of the stones !! maria brought them with her from ireland years ago to form the path in the garden. they’re protective, some would say lucky. extras are stored in the shed, along with maria’s rope. maria owens herself took matters of protection and luck very seriously. that’s why she planted so many things that still remain in the garden to the current day; fruit trees in the dark of the moon, hardy perennials, lavender, lilacs, roses, and strong onions and more. the owens will get down on their knees in the dirt and weed but never have to worry about earwigs. rabbits come to eat the mint, parsley and lettuce. aunt jet and frances are the ones to nail the skull of a horse on the fence to keep out gutsy and hungry neighbouring children.

the grimoire shifts back and forth between the conservatory and greenhouse. it’s a thick, black, tome that is cool to the touch, filled with layered pages that fold in and out; only, it will burn your hand if you touch it  and you’re not an owens. the conservatory has its glass beakers, tubing, vials and rows of potted plants, which is next to the potions room; the greenhouse outside holds bulbs and flowers, waiting to be planted in the autumn, along with those requiring special care. there are no mirrors in the house itself, but there is one hidden behind a black cloth inside of the greenhouse. it’s a curse or blessing ( undeniably magical ), however way you want to look at it. if an owens dares to remove the cloth to take a peek, she will see her reflection, along with shining images of the future to come.

back when maria owens was still alive and not too long after the victorian manor was built, a hurricane damaged all of the houses on magnolia street --- except for hers. not even the laundry hanging out on the line was disturbed. this incident helped fuel fear and rumors of her and her bloodline’s powers. it didn’t help when greenery on the island would brown and wilt and the owens’ garden flourished. any stroke of bad luck or mundane misfortune was swiftly blamed on the women living inside the house. while the garden was gated by a smaller fence, an even larger, black and spiky one circled the vast property. it looked like a snake to any outsiders. folk grew up and passed along superstitions. don’t walk past during nightfall, it’s not safe. only the most foolish would try to peer over the iron gate and into the yard. you risked being hexed or cursed, and being sorry for the rest of your life.

so this is long, and i bet i forgot details, i know i forgot details. like how the roof is a favorite place to go and lay out on to star gaze, look out at the ocean. the house, the property, it’s all spacious and rich with history. it’s a good thing it’s so big so that the women living inside it along with all the black cats that come and go have room to live and be free, even if it doesn’t always feel that way for them. it’s their safe place away from any prejudice or misunderstanding that might await them off their property. the owens women have largely always been envied and misunderstood. barely have any outside of blood dared to step inside the manor, since it's always been seen as too risky to do so !!

[maggiedelusional]

Superstar (Preview)

Pairing: Rooster x f!reader

Author's Note: Hey besties! I am so so so sorry for the long hiatus, the fall semester started and I am taking 18 credits this semester along with 4 jobs and studying for the LSATs so I've been in the trenches to say the least. I have been sporadically working on this fic, and I originally did not want to release it until it was fully completed but today is my birthday so I was feeling magnanimous and have decided to release this preview of my one shot that is currently in the works. Please hold on a little bit more. If you all like this preview I will release the full version. Also keep in mind I started writing this before TGM was released on streaming so I wrote parts of it based on memory (because the beginning is set during the actual movie).

Hopefully Part 10 of Let Me Go will be out soon!

Okay on to the story.

Bradley Bradshaw’s voice was an enigma to you. How could anyone's voice be so hoarse and yet so strong?

As an air traffic controller for the Navy, you’ve heard every type of voice imaginable. The gruff demanding ones from the Air Boss, the shrill screams of pilots having to eject due to a bird strike, the quiet dulcet tones of a shy WSO, and everything in between. 

The first time you heard his voice through the comms, you weren’t exactly starstruck per se, just a bit thrown off.

“This is Dagger 2, asking for clearance for take off.” 

It’s not like you didn’t know who the pilots flying this mission were. Everyone in the goddamn Navy knew who they were, they were the best of the best. 

You even saw their pictures. Thought some of them were cute (especially the one rocking the Miami Vice Stache). But hearing their voices was different from reading their files.

Though most of the details of the mission were classified, you had a basic idea and knew that there was a good chance that someone wasn’t coming home. 

“This is Dagger 2, asking for clearance for take off”

The voice repeated. You snapped out of your thoughts, the voice was smooth as honey and it had just a hint of fear but yet so heavily determined. Your heart really went out to the poor pilot. 

“Dagger 2, you’re clear for take off.” You said, trying to convey as much sympathy as you could in those words. 

The actual mission itself didn’t last longer than 3 minutes. Working for the navy, you should’ve been used to the high stakes situations that often go hand in hand with these kinds of assignments. But you couldn’t help but sit on the edge of your seat during the duration of the mission.

There were a few initial hiccups, you felt like you were watching a movie as you listened to the daggers communicate with one another. Their nervousness (and to be honest your own) upon seeing the SAMs and your both concern and irritation at Lieutenant Bradshaw’s cautiousness. 

Yes, his by the book and precise flying is part of the reason why he was considered one of the best, but if he didn’t throw that shit out of the window and speed up he will end up getting himself killed. And even though you didn’t necessarily know him, this possibility filled your body with so much dread.

You felt relieved (well only slightly, they hadn’t made it out of the woods just yet) when Rooster finally got out of his own head and sped up. The two miracles were successfully pulled off and the 4 jets had made it past Coffin Corner. Now it was a dogfight all the way home.

You commended just how level headed and pragmatic the pilots were as they evaded the SAMs and attacks that were thrusted upon them. You knew if you were in the same situation you would’ve panicked and blown up by now. Your admiration was interrupted by the mayday call of Captain Mitchell.

A heavy tension set in the control room, everyone was shocked at what just transpired. It was interrupted by the voices of the other daggers. Notably Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Trace. 

Phoenix had announced that she and Lieutenant Floyd were heading back to home base, along with Payback and Fanboy. However, you were yet to hear confirmation from Rooster, with the last thing he said went along the lines of going after Maverick. 

You held your breath as you heard Admiral Simpson demanded his return. The control room was met with silence, and you knew exactly what he was going to do. 

It was less than 5 minutes when it was confirmed that Lieutenant Bradshaw’s plane had been shot down after attacking an enemy plane. His beacon went dark. 

Lieutenant Seresin requested clearance for take off but was rebuffed by the Air Boss. You had to take everything in you to not shed a tear.

A thick silence fell over the entire ship. The mission was technically a success but you wouldn’t be able to tell based on the solemn look on everyone’s face. 

Even after the remaining daggers returned on the ship, no one wanted to leave the control room. The entire ship was at a standstill. 

That was until a beacon marked “Rooster” started beeping on the screen. 

No it couldn’t be.

“Sir, Rooster has gone supersonic.” You told Admiral Simpson with a gulp, trying to contain your hope. 

“An F-14 tomcat has been spotted sir.” Another ATC announced. 

“Maverick.” You heard someone say, not sure who but you did not care at that point. What’s important is that they were alive!

But it was not time to celebrate just yet. Two bogies were spotted alongside the F-14 Tomcat. And everyone knew this meant a dogfight was about to commence. 

The situation looked more and more grim. An ancient F-14 against Fifth Gens? It was unlikely for the two pilots to make it out unscathed yet alone alive.

But by some grace of God (or possibly Maverick’s unbeatable skill, probably both) they managed to take down two bogies. 

Rooster managed to turn on the plane’s radio to contact the ship. You felt relief which was instantly thwarted by the news that there was still one Fifth Gen, directly in front of the plane. 

You knew they needed help. You looked at Admiral Simpson desperately, hoping that he would allow the Reserve Dagger to go assist. But Cyclone seemed frozen and you knew you had to take matters into your own hands.

“Dagger Reserve, are you ready for liftoff?” You spoke into the mic, the other people in the control room looked at you in shock.

“Finally!” The elated voice of Hangman came through the comms.

Admiral Simpson shot you a hard glare, if only looks could kill, you’d probably be as screwed as Maverick and Rooster. But you knew you had to do something. 

“Yes this is Dagger Reserve asking clearance for takeoff.” 

“Dagger Reserve, you are clear for takeoff. Bring our boys home.” You said with a small smile, if you get fired and discharged, possibly thrown into the ocean it’ll be worth it knowing what you did to save the aviators.

Hangman shot down the Fifth Gen with ease, earning him his second confirmed air combat kill. You knew that the other pilots would never hear the end of it. But all you cared about is he saved HIM.

Rooster’s laugh and banter with Hangman might’ve been the most wonderful sound you’ve ever heard. 

Seeing him on the tarmac reunited with the rest of his team had to be one of the highlights of your career with the Navy, if this was the last moment you had in the branch then you were perfectly content. 

“What you did was reckless insubordination! If there was another fifth Gen out there, we would’ve lost 3 of our best pilots and 2 planes worth millions of dollars!” Admiral Simpson had chastised you. 

“I have half a mind to dishonorably discharge you!” You 're ready to accept your punishment with grace. You were however surprised at his next words 

“But your actions saved 2 of our men.” He added with a gulp.

“You are clear from punishment, but DO NOT make this a habit!”

“Yes sir.” You told him with a steady voice.

“Thank you sir.”

“You are dismissed, go join the rest of the fleet.” He told you.

You ran down to celebrate the returning pilots, but so was everyone else. You could only see a glimpse of Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw past the dozens of bodies approaching to greet them. 

But even from where you were standing you could see the beaming smile and bright eyes of the mustached pilot. And from that exact moment you knew you were a goner.

Tag list under the cut

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[randomabiling]

Stories

I wrote this, inspired by this post of @downton-bridgerton . There’s a small nod to @ohtobealady and @modernamericangirl too! Hope you don’t mind! 

It had become a sort of habit to his week, pulling out the old albums and touring books, finding bits of ephemera from their past to delight the children. On Tuesdays, with Mary leading the tenants meeting and Tom at the shop and Cora at the hospital, Robert found himself the adult entertainer of his growing grandchildren at tea time. While George enjoyed a competitive game of chess with Barrow, and Caroline liked to mime her puppets, Sybbie begged for stories. 

True stories, mind you, none of these fancy fluffers, Donk!

And so while the other children started off on their own diversions, once Sybbie sat knee to knee with him and he began flipping through grainy pictures and offering up bits of tickets to far away attractions, Caroline and George soon shuffled closer, until they were all hanging about him, their pink lips parted and blue eyes captivated by the tales he told.

George especially liked adventure stories and so Robert humored him with memories of their travels. He embellished the time a camel spat at him at the base of Giza. He divulged the secrets of the catacombs in Paris. He awed with his retelling of Houdini’s water torture escape, an amusement Cora had forced him to endure. The children fingered the evidence of his travels with the same delicacy used on religious relics, quietly absorbing the past’s whispers.

Caroline always wanted to hear about the parties. She wished to know everything about the princes and princesses he’d dined with and if queens danced quadrilles. She demanded details about dresses and adornments and intrigues. To Robert’s own surprise, he’d noticed a great deal, and satisfied her curiosity, recalling ridiculous hats and weekend capers that elicited gasps and laughter from his young audience.

Sybbie wanted stories about Cora. It was the subject he was most intimate with, and the one that made his insides warm, his voice going low and soft the longer he spoke. She asked about her Granny’s life in New York and what her Papa did and what kind of books she read as a girl and did she sing the same songs to her mama as she sang to them. He’d told Cora of it one night, how fascinated the child was with her, and Cora had shuffled under the covers, chuckling and blushing, embarrassed by the attention but content. 

“Donk, will you tell us about the first time you saw Granny?”

Robert wasn’t expecting the request that Tuesday, as he opened the pamphlet he’d gotten from his visit to the Sistine Chapel. His movement stilled, and though Sybbie had asked the question, three pairs of eyes blinked hungrily at him, their round faces all reflecting traces of their Granny’s features. His mouth went dry and his heart fluttered in panic, as it always did when confronted with the implications of their courtship. Robert allowed his mind to skip down the path of memories to that day, to that moment. 

And he felt joy. Not guilt or shame but truth. And he looked down at his grandchildren and spoke with the knowledge of how the story unfolded.

“I was at the Hampstead Ball. It was too warm for an April evening and I was cross. I wanted to be home, not dancing!”

“Oh Donk, but you were silly!” Caroline squealed, rolling her eyes in a childish way that made him think of Cora and Mary at once.

Robert snickered. “Well, I didn’t love parties like you do. A chap I went to Eton with was telling me some bit of gossip and I stared out into the crowd, bored and not listening. A group of ladies stood not far, their backs to me and then they moved, and there was your Granny.”

“Oh,” Sybbie sighed. “Just like a movie…”

Robert smiled down at her. “The chap’s voice sort of faded away. Granny’s gloves had tiny little buttons at the wrist and she was fastening one that had popped loose. Her head was angled down just a little but she was occupied and so I stared much longer than proper.”

“And!” Sybbie and Caroline prompted impatiently.

“She was beautiful. More beautiful than any one I’d seen or have seen since.”

“Ohhhh,” Sybbie and Caroline put their hands over their hearts, melting dramatically back on their heels while George buried his face.

“And then her eyes lifted up and I couldn’t feel my feet. I forgot to blink or look away.”

Robert’s voice trailed off and he looked up from his grandchildren and caught the same blue eyes in the frame of the library door. Cora lowered her gaze and shook her head, her lips turning up shyly.

“Eventually my friend clapped me on the back and told me to stop ogling her and ask for a dance. In the time he took my attention away, Granny had disappeared into the crowd.”

“But you found her?” Sybbie asked eagerly, rising back on her knees again.

“Oh yes,” Cora cooed, startling the children as she walked from behind them. “Yes, he certainly did.”

[bi-bard]

Please Say That You're Joking (Pt.1) - Chuck Shurley Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Please Say You're Joking (Pt. 1) [You can read part 2 by clicking here!]

Pairing: Chuck Shurley X Winchester!Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 2,930 words

Warning(s): mentions of sex, threats of violence

Summary: (Season 4; Season 11) (Y/n) had a single one-night stand while coping with loss in a not healthy way... if only they had a clue about the weight of their actions.

Author's Note: I was recently going back through some of the "lighter" episodes of Supernatural because I wanted to watch something I could chuckle at. That's where this came from.

This might be the most crackheaded thing I've written in a while.

Also, the amount of things I had to bullshit my way through this is actually ridiculous.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

Sam, Dean, and I walked into the motel room. We were all confused and slightly scared.

We had gone to a comic book shop to do some work on a case. However, we were then called fans.

Fans of what?

Well, fans of a series of books about our lives.

I was the middle Winchester child. Two years younger than Dean, two years older than Sam. I was beyond confused when I saw some weird, romanticized version of me on the cover of a book.

"This is so weird," I mumbled, plopping onto one of the beds in the room.

Sam jumped onto his laptop and started researching. Dean was holding one of the books, reading through it. I didn't even want to touch it.

"I don't like how he describes (Y/n)," Dean commented. "It's weird. It's like he's in love. Listen to this..."

Dean dramatically clears his throat and starts to read in an even more dramatic voice, "'Even after a hard hunt, (Y/n) could easily be seen as the most beautiful of the siblings. They mimicked the beauty of their mother more than their brothers. There's no bruise or cut that could take the loveliness away from the natural curves of (Y/n)'s face. If only they could see how everyone else would stare-"

"Okay, ew," I muttered, walking to the table. "What'd you find?"

"Well, it seems like Carver Edlund is a pen name," Sam shrugged. "And the fans are intense."

"As in," Dean asked, closing the book and joining the two of us at the table.

"Well," Sam handed me the laptop so Dean and I could look at it, "there's fanfiction. About all of us."

"What's this, 'Sam/Dean'," I asked.

"It's... me and Dean... together."

"They just don't care that we're related," Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"God, this is so weird."

"So, how do we find this guy," I asked.

--time skip--

We managed to find the publisher of the novels and found her house.

"So, you published the 'Supernatural' books," I asked as we walked in.

"Yep," she nodded. "Yeah, gosh. These books... they never really got the attention that they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap."

"Could not agree with you more," I said. "We're hoping that our article can shine a light on an underappreciated series."

"Yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press, then maybe we can start publishing again," she replied excitedly.

"No, no, no," Dean immediately shut her down. "I mean, why... why would you want to do that? It's such a complete series with Dean going to hell and all."

"Oh my god, that was one of my favorite ones," she rambled. "Dean was so strong and sad and brave. And Sam... I mean... the best ones are when they cry... like in 'Heart' when Sam had to kill Madison; the first woman since Jessica he'd really loved. When Dean had to call John in 'Home' and ask him for help. Or when (Y/n) went back to the motel room after getting kidnapped and just had to sit in their own head and had to truly process not only the death of their mother but now their father. The mixed feelings were amazing."

"You're a really big fan," I noted. She nodded.

"Gosh, if only real men were that open about their emotions."

"Real men," Dean asked.

"I mean, no offense," she replied. "How often do you cry like that?"

"Well, right now I'm crying on the inside," he muttered.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Lady, this whole thing is funny."

"How am I supposed to know this is legit?"

"Oh, trust me," Dean mumbled. "We're legit."

"Well, I don't want some smart-ass article making fun of my boys," she snapped as she sat in her chair.

"Oh, never," I replied quickly. "We actually are big fans."

"You read the books?"

"Cover to cover," I promised.

"What's the year and model of the car?"

"1967 Chevy Impala," Dean smiled proudly.

"What's May 2nd?"

"That's my- uh... Sam's birthday," Sam replied.

"Sam's score on the LSAT?"

"Umm... 174," Sam said nervously.

"(Y/n)'s first hunt?"

"Vampire in Washington," I answered. "Dean was at the motel sick and (Y/n) almost chopped John's head off when he scared them."

"(Y/n)'s favorite memory that's not related to hunting?"

I smiled, "Helping Sam get ready for a date when he was a teenager because Sam didn't trust what Dean had told him."

"Dean's favorite song?"

"It's a tie," Dean replied. "Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Traveling Riverside Blues.'"

She finally laughed and smiled again, "Okay, okay. What do you wanna know?"

"What's Carver Edlund's real name," Sam asked.

"Oh, no. I can't," she shook her head.

"We just wanna talk to him," Sam continued. "You know, get the 'Supernatural' story in his own words."

"He's very private," she shrugged. "Like Salinger."

"Please," Sam tried again. "Like I said, we're um... big fans."

Sam unbuttoned his shirt enough to show his anti-possession tattoo. Dean pulled his shirt to the side to do the same. I rolled my eyes and yanked the arm of my jacket down and pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt. I don't wear as many layers as them and I had opted to put the tattoo on my upper arm because I thought it looked nicer.

"Awesome," the lady mumbled before standing up. "Y'know what?"

I looked away as she pulled her pants down.

"I got one too."

"Wow, you are a fan," I slapped Dean's arm. The lady fixed her clothing before grabbing a pen and paper.

"Okay," she said. "His name's Chuck Shurley-"

And I stopped listening after that. I knew that name... why did I know that name... oh... oh no. I'm gonna kill him. We're going to meet this man and I am going to end up killing him.

I followed Sam and Dean as they started walking out of the woman's house.

"Excuse me," she called as we reached the door. We looked back at her. "I'm sorry, but you look exactly like how I picture (Y/n) when I read the books."

I chuckled, "Thanks."

"He describes (Y/n) with so much detail," she smiled. "You could play them in a movie."

"Thank you," I waved as we walked out.

"'You could play them in a movie,'" Dean teased.

"I know who Chuck is," I said, ignoring him.

"What," he asked. I nodded. "How?"

I pointed to get into the car. I got in the back seat and Sam and Dean sat upfront. Dean started driving to the address the lady gave us before I started speaking.

"Okay, when you went to hell, Sam's not the only one who ran off," I explained. "I wasn't gone for four months... just two weeks. In those two weeks, I got involved in a single one-night stand. The name he gave me was Chuck Shurley."

"You screwed the man who wrote books about us," Dean asked, sounding angry.

"Do you think I knew he was writing books based on our lives?"

"He had to have known who you are," Sam added. "This isn't an accident. He has to get visions or something."

"Yeah, I know," I nodded. "He made money off of my name and then screwed me."

"Damn," Dean mumbled. "I missed a hell of a lot."

I rolled my eyes.

--time skip--

I knocked on the door loudly. Sam grabbed my arm, shaking his head at me. The door was opened and I smiled obnoxiously as Chuck. He was in a robe, his boxers, and an old white shirt. He looked tired and like he hadn't had a goodnight's sleep in days.

"Chuck Shurley," Dean asked.

"Chuck Shurley that wrote the Supernatural books," Sam added.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "This is Sam... Dean... and I'm (Y/n)... the ones you've written books about."

Chuck sighed and went to shut the door. I stepped in, stopping it with my foot.

"Listen, I appreciate the enthusiasm, I really do and I remember you," he motioned at me, awkwardly grinning before seeming to shake the memories out of his head. I almost slapped him right then. "But please... go get a life."

"You see," Dean followed me, helping to force our way inside. Sam made sure the door shut behind us. "We have a life... and you're selling books about it."

"Okay, this isn't funny," Chuck mumbled.

"You're right," I said. "We just wanna know how you're doing it?"

"I'm just a writer, I'm not doing anything."

"Then why do you know so much about demons and tulpas and changelings?"

"Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing!"

"No, it's not," I shook my head. "Believe me, we're not fans."

"What do you want then," he asked.

"I'm Sam... and that's Dean and (Y/n)," Sam tried again.

"Those are fictional characters," Chuck yelled. "They aren't real!"

Dean grabbed him and pulled him outside.

"Wait, wait-"

"We aren't kidnapping you, calm down," I rolled my eyes. Dean opened the hidden compartment in the impala's trunk.

"Are those real guns?"

"Yes," I nodded. "And real rock salt, real fake IDs."

Chuck let out a laugh at it, "Well, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number-one fans. That... That's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some poster in the house."

"Chuck, stop," I rolled my eyes, grabbing his arm as he went to walk away.

"Please don't hurt me," he begged.

"How much do you know," Sam asked. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Have you not been listening," I asked. "The real question is how do you?"

"Because I wrote it," he explained.

"You kept writing?"

"The books never came out because the publisher went bankrupt," he furrowed his eyebrows.

I stepped back, letting go of his arms.

"Okay, wait a minute," Chuck crossed his arms. "This is some kind of joke, right? Did Phil put you up to this?"

"Oh my god," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. I grabbed his robe. "I'm sorry but I'm really tired. Nice to meet you. I'm (Y/n) Winchester, these are my brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. You wrote and published books about us, probably knew who I was, and then you still slept with me."

He stared at me in shock.

"What," I asked.

"The last names were never in the books," he mumbled. "I never told anyone about that. I never even wrote that down."

"Then I guess we have a lot to talk about," I let go of his robe.

The three of us followed him inside.

--time skip--

"I got a visit from Cas," Dean explained as he walked in. "I've some important information."

After talking to Chuck and getting a draft of what was supposed to happen, we were all panicking. Dean told us to wait here. Lilith was going to come for Sam and we both thought it'd be harder if there was more than one of us here at all times.

Now, Dean was coming back from seeing Chuck.

"And that important information is...," Sam trailed off.

"He's a prophet of the lord," Dean said, smirking at me.

I shut my eyes, letting my head fall forward.

"Please say you're joking," I mumbled.

"Nope," Dean replied.

Sam looked over at me. He only started chuckling after his brother broke.

Dean was laughing his head off within seconds, "You screwed a prophet!"

"Shut up," I groaned. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Archangel will kill you."

"I'll happily pay that price," I muttered. "I slept with a prophet."

"At least that means he didn't write himself to sleep with you," Sam tried to comfort me.

"Yeah, God just decided I was supposed to sleep with the guy publishing books about my life," I replied sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Come on, it could be worst-"

"Sam, love you, but don't finish that sentence if you even kind of value your life," I muttered.

I was desperate for this conversation to just end.

--time skip--

After all was said and done, and Chuck accidentally helped us chase Lilith away for a while, we gave Chuck a lift back to his place.

I followed him up to his door, offering to look around and make sure that he's safe. He shook his head.

"I have an archangel protecting me," he reminded me. "Can't get any safer than that."

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he said. "About us. I didn't recognize you until after... it all... and I didn't say anything because I didn't really know how to explain it. The whole event makes me feel all scummy."

"It's alright," I replied with a chuckle. "It's fine, I promise."

He offered me a nervous smile, "Y'know, in all of my visions, you're the most vivid thing."

With a grin, I leaned over and kissed his cheek gently. I stepped back and headed back toward the impala. I made sure to take note of his nervous and flustered face.

"See you around, Chuck!"

"You... You too," he called after me. I got in the backseat and got comfortable.

"So... screwing the prophet wasn't that bad," Dean asked.

I just rolled my eyes, waving through the window at Chuck as Dean pulled away from the curb. Leave it to a Winchester to end up in a situation like that.

--time skip (season 11)--

Sam and I followed Dean with our guns ready. Dean was following the amulet that he had owned for a long time without even knowing it could show us where God was.

Everyone had been infected by Amara only minutes ago but now it was okay and Dean's amulet was glowing.

"Holy shit," I mumbled, seeing who was walking over to us.

Chuck.

He was supposed to be dead. That's why Kevin's prophet powers had been activated.

"No way," Dean said.

"Hey," Chuck... or God said. "We need to talk."

Despite our understandable hesitation, Chuck reached forward, teleporting all of us back to the bunker. I stepped away from him, slightly overwhelmed.

"(Y/n)," Chuck walked over and tried to grab my arm. I instinctually slapped him. I was nothing but confusion and anger. "I deserved that. Just, please?"

I stepped away again.

From behind Chuck stepped Kevin's ghost. My breath caught in my throat. The poor boy had been through so much shit because of us.

Kevin told us about how we looked stressed and that we should listen to Chuck.

Then, Chuck waved his hand. Kevin turned into a ball of white and blue light before ascending beyond the bunker.

"Where'd he go," I asked.

"Heaven, where he deserves," Chuck promised. I nodded.

I listened to the rant about how Chuck had abandoned us all and how awful things were. Then, the conversation turned to the plan to stop Amara. The boys talked about needing Lucifer and Chuck got incredibly upset. In a fit, he went to leave. I stepped in front of him.

"No," I said bluntly. "Even if you want to avoid the subject of your estranged son, you can't just leave."

"(Y/n)-"

"Sam, Dean," I looked at them. "Give us a minute?"

They both nodded, glaring at Chuck on their way out. I tried to ignore the instincts that were telling me that Chuck was just selfish.

"(Y/n)," Chuck mumbled.

"Just answer my questions," I said. "Then we can discuss what to do with Amara without you storming away recklessly. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Have you been God the whole time," I asked.

He nodded.

"You wrote all of our stories?"

Another nod.

"Did you write that I was going to sleep with you?"

I felt manipulated and angry. I was desperate for an answer. I knew that this could've made me feel like dirt, but I needed to know.

"No," Chuck said. I clenched my jaw, ready to call him a liar. "I told you. I had been pretty much hands-off for a long time. Did I know who were? Absolutely. I'm sorry I lied to you about that. But I didn't plan anything between us. We weren't some divine plan."

I nodded, looking down.

"You know how Dean and Amara are connected," he asked. I nodded, looking back at him. "We're like them."

"And that's not a divine plan-"

"I'm not doing a good job explaining this," Chuck shook his head. "It feels like we're like them. Like there's this bond that just happened as soon as we met."

"You lied to me, for years," I said. "Saying we have some bond isn't gonna fix that."

"I know."

We both fell silent. Slowly, I started laughing. Chuck furrowed his eyebrows, "My only one-night stand... and it was God."

Chuck started laughing with me while I really processed what I had done.

I slowly stopped laughing.

I didn't notice until it was too late that Chuck had slowly gotten closer to me. As soon as his lips brushed mine, I pushed him back. Not hard, but enough to get him to step away.

"No," I mumbled. "Not that, no."

Chuck nodded, "Got it."

"Now," I sighed, "we need to actually plan to stop Amara, and if we need Luci-"

"We don't," he said bluntly. "We can do something else. We don't need him. Okay?"

I nodded. In my gut, I trusted him. Maybe that was me being an idiot but I did trust him. For now at least.

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[ererokii]

Line without a Hook || E. Jaeger & J. Kirstein

➳ Jean Kirsten x Fem Reader x Eren Jaeger

Word count: 4,517 Warnings: angst, fluff, unrequited love, cursing ➳ note: this is based off the song Line Without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery! I’ve been thinking this for a long time and I’m super excited by how it came out! Also big thanks to @reddriot​ for betaing!

➳ Synopsis: is love really worth it? Let me say, it’s not always worth it.

You can hold my hand if no one’s home.

Do you like it when I’m away?

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

It starts out simple really. A boy and a girl. Childhood friends, to be precise. Those two are inseparable. Nothing can tear the friends apart, besides their parents, of course. Like two peas in a pod. 

Jean says he knows you like the back of his hand. He truly means that. He knows your favorite boy bands from when you were younger, how many terrible phases you’ve gone through, favorite foods, and places. If he wrote a novel about the things you told him, he would be a renowned author. 

Since kindergarten to now, in the middle of your junior year, you and Jean have been side by side. You told him everything. From random vents and gossiping about the rude girls in your class to how horrible your period cramps were— even though Jean hated hearing about the last, he stuck through it for you.

Only you. 

The pavement that followed the street your house was on is memorable. Jean can recall the amount of times you’ve had races, chalk scribbles covering the grey that would be washed away by the angry neighbors. 

He listens to you as you talk about a kid getting in trouble in your Calculus class, watches how lively your motions are as you speak. Jean can’t help but smile when a laugh slips past your lips and you glance at him. There’s an unknown sparkle in his eyes, one filled with love. 

You haven’t changed one bit, he thinks as he faces back forward, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His mind begins to wander as you both continue down the pavement, part of your routine when school ends. 

Your houses are right next to each other. You’ve been with him since you were in diapers. He was there when your first tooth came out, congratulating you, and you were there for him when he finally learned to ride his bike with two wheels instead of three. 

The bubbly lovable five-year-old back then is the same as you are now. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Oh all my emotions

Feel like explosions when you are around

A sigh of disappointment leaves Jean’s lips when he listens to Connie talk about something he has learned over the weekend (something completely stupid— he just doesn’t care). Currently, the students are at lunch, the cafeteria full with loud shouts and random noises. 

“Connie, shut up,” Sasha groans, placing her water bottle on the table, wiping her crumbs off. “No one cares that you finally figured out how to stick a spoon to your nose.”

“What do you mean?! You were the one who showed me!”

The brunette gasps and looks over his way, cream cheeks tinted with an adorable shade of pink, pointing a finger at him. The bickering between the two commence as Jean listens, slightly amused. 

As much as he indulges in their argument, he can't help but wonder where you are. 

It’s not like you to skip lunch, especially without at least letting him know. Did you stay behind to talk to a friend? A teacher? Maybe you went to the bathroom.

But it’s at least 15 minutes in. 

“Sasha,” he speaks up, slicking back his hair. The sound of her name catches her attention, making her look at him. “Have you seen Y/N?”

“Y/N?” she asks in a whisper before her lips curl in a grin, already knowing why he asked. “Do you miss her?”

“Just answer my goddamn question!”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Connie asks, looking between his friends before stopping his gaze on Jean. “Why do you need Y/N?”

“Oh, you know! He lik-”

“Shut up!” Jean shouts, catching the attention of nearby students, his face heating up as his cheeks turn a darker pigment. “Just answer me!”

“If you must know,” she taunts him, twirling a strand of hair from her loose ponytail. “I saw her talking to someone in the hallway. Must be important, she’s been there for quite some time. Might want to be her knight in shining armor and saving her, huh?” she cocks her head to the side, staring at one of the windows in the room, watching as the branches of trees sway from the harsh winds. 

The atmosphere outside was cold, breezes rushing down on anyone who was not inside. The sun was hidden by the thick grey blankets filled with rainwater, waiting to shower the world. The temperature recently has been dropping, mid 50’s at least. The weather was a shock, to say the least. 

“I didn’t know Jean likes her!”

“What do you mean?!” Sasha gasps, turning her body to face her small-minded friend. “It’s only obvious! You must be really stupid then!”

“Well, how could you tell?!”

Before Jean has a chance to interrupt Sasha, she begins to rant. He prefers to stay silent, clasping his hands together in his lap as he lowers his head, finding interest in the marbled tiles of the floor his feet rest on. 

The words that slip past Sasha’s lips reach his ear and out the other. 

It’s easy to tell, Connie. Have you noticed the way he looks at her? Can’t you see the love in his eyes? The way he will actually go out of his way to help her with anything? Here you guys are, two close friends, I thought you would have known about his crush. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on every time he ditched plans with us to go hang out with her. He’s whipped, and you’re too stupid to know it. 

His cheeks turn a shade of pink as his eyes squeeze shut, her words replaying in his head like a broken record player. Each sentence is like a knife stabbing away at his brain, causing the slightest ache to form in his frontal region. 

She’s right. Anything she just said five minutes ago, is completely and utterly correct. 

He can still hear her talking about it to Connie, but he can only focus on three sentences that stick to him like glue. 

Have you noticed the way he looks at her? Can’t you see the love in his eyes? The way he will actually go out of his way to help her with anything?

Memories of him helping you in any possible way come to mind. He can’t recall how many times he has entered class two minutes late because you had so much to carry. 

He stares at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at. It reminds him of those cliche animated movies with hearts in the character's eyes. He’s blinded by his love for you, that he never noticed any signs that you don’t feel the same way about him. His heart races miles per hour when you’re around. Sometimes he worries for himself that maybe, his heart might explode within him. 

“Anyway, lunch has about 20 minutes left...where is she?” Connie mutters, scratching the top of his head.

“I don’t know, but,” Sasha grows quiet, listening to the ongoing thunder from the outside. The lights flicker for a second, a couple of yelps emitting from other students, slightly afraid that the power might go off while school is in session. “The storm is almost here.”

“Y/N!” Connie suddenly yells, pointing in the direction of the door, your body jogging closer to the table. “Where have you been?!”

“Sorry!” you laugh, out of breath as you drop your things on the bench, taking a seat beside Jean. “I got caught up in a conversation with someone! I guess I lost track of time for a bit.”

“I messaged you like four times,” Jean mutters, glancing over at you before looking at the table, playing with the plastic straw that he used to drink out of.

“You did?” you ask, pulling your phone out from your pocket, lips puckering when indeed he did so. “I’m sorry, Jean. I didn’t even feel my phone vibrate.”

“Oh, whatever, who cares! Eat! Or I’ll eat your food!” Sasha yells, pointing a finger at you, a smile gracing her features. 

You laugh along with her as you converse with your peers, the conversation you had replaying in the back of your mind. Jean chooses not to intervene, instead would rather listen. 

The roaring thunder plays in the background, everyone paying no mind to it. What he doesn’t know is that the storm is much closer than Jean could have thought. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Listen close, it’s a no

The wind is a pounding on my back

And I found hope in a heart attack

Oh at last, it is past

Now I’ve got it, and you can’t have it

Another evening, another study session, another day of bottling up his feelings until he can no longer hold them inside.

The storm made its way to shore, raining pouring down and even some hail; not what anyone was expecting. 

Jean mindlessly flips through the pages of his English book, not even paying attention to the words as he checks how many pages are in chapter five. 

“This seems pointless,” he adds with a sigh, tossing the book on your bed along with his highlighter he uses to annotate with. “I should just find a summary online or something, I don’t want to read this.”

“And why is that?” you ask, looking up from your book, placing the hardcover against your thighs. “Is it boring to you?”

“No,” he mutters, rolling onto his back. “It’s stupid. This love crap.”

“Well...it is a romance story, the teacher told us when we got the book. But why do you think it’s dumb?”

“He writes letters for her, and in the end, she ends up rejecting him. I don’t think that’s romantic.”

“And? It’s beautiful on his part,” you close your eyes as you stretch your arms over your head, letting out a grunt. “It’s the fact that he wrote to her every day. It’s like he poured his soul into every word. The words he uses are..literally everything. It makes me swoon over him, and he’s not real. Makes me wonder if someone would do that for me.”

Jean’s head perks up at your words, one of his eyebrows raised in curiosity when he notices the bashful look on your face, eyes averted to the comforter on your bed. “Why do you have that dopey look on your face?”

“Huh?!” your eyes are blown open as you look over at him. “What are you talking about?!”

“I’m talking about that, idiot,” he points at your face, watching your eyes cross faintly to stare at his finger. “You’re acting about that guy in the book.”

The patter of the rain is the only noise that fills the void called silence in your room. His warm eyes don’t leave your face at all, waiting for your answer. You’ve been acting weird ever since you were late to lunch this past week. 

He watches your mouth open as if you’ll say something but close it right away, like you were concealing anything you had to hide.

“...well? Y/N? Are you there?”

“Yeah!” you cough into your elbow, running a hand down your face. “I-- you can’t tell anyone.”

“You know I never tell anyone what we talk about.”

You’re silent, a bit too quiet than usual. You fiddle with your fingers before blurting the words that have been eating away at you. 

Jean’s heart stops for a moment, eyes wide in shock when he processes it. His blood runs cold as he’s unable to move, frozen like a statue. The signals in his brain begged him to respond, but he couldn’t. He could hear the faintest sound of bells ringing in his ears; all noise surrounding him was now drowned out by his thoughts. 

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds. 

“You like someone?” he asks in a whisper, barely audible to your ears, but you heard as you nod shyly, biting down on your lip. “Well... who is it?”

“That’s...I can’t say it.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I’m afraid to say it out loud because I don’t want to ruin my friendship with him.”

Friendship? That could be anyone at this point.

I have to figure out who, he thinks as he draws random patterns into the sheets. “Well, tell me about him then. Is he in our grade?” he asks.

“Yeah, he is. He’s in four of my classes.”

Jean was in four of your classes. Math, English, Foreign Language, and Science. 

“That’s it?”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Can I finish before you interrupt? Thank you.”

You pause momentarily before speaking again.

“He’s stubborn. I’ve noticed that his demeanor changes when it depends on who he is with. He seems like a hardass and looks like he doesn’t want to be bothered, but he seems like a total softie when he’s with people he loves. Not to mention he’s hot...and tall. He’s blunt and straight to the point. He doesn’t bullshit at all. He’s really sweet as well, to me. He always goes out of his way to make sure I’m okay and how my day was. He just..he seems to care for me, and I feel the same way about him.”

Jean takes every word you say into consideration. He’s stubborn, it seems that he doesn’t like to be around people he doesn’t know but loves those he does know. He knows he’s hot. Practically every day he looks at himself in the mirror and thinks about how good he looks.

He’s blunt and straight to the point. He doesn’t bullshit at all. He’s really sweet as well, to me. He always goes out of his way to make sure I’m okay and how my day was. He just..he really seems to care for me, and I feel the same way about him.

Jean can feel his doubt and worry turn into happiness and confidence as you keep on ranting, to which he’s not fully paying attention anymore. He knows it's him. It has always been him.

No one else.

Jean likes you.

And you like Jean, that’s all there is to it. 

“Do you want to tell him?”

“Yeah...” you trail off, scratching the nape of your neck. “I want to tell him on Friday after school. Do you think he’ll like me back?”

“I think he would. How could he not? He would be a total idiot to reject you.”

You hum at his reassurance, placing your hand on his, squeezing gently.

“Thanks, Jean.”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

Darling when I’m fast asleep

I've seen this person watching me

Saying, “Is it worth it? Is it worth it?”

Tell me, is it worth it?

Friday comes, and Jean can hardly wait for school to end. He’s not paying attention, his eyes constantly staring from the whiteboard in the front to the clock that tauntingly ticks slower than usual. 

He bites down on the pink end of his pencil in anticipation, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor, the noise resonating through the classroom. 

Maybe I should just keep my eyes off the clock, he thinks, lowering his head back to the worksheet their teacher gave the class.

Econ class was a drag. He could care less about the differences in macro and microeconomics, the same with Communism and Capitalism. It’s just a bunch of words that don’t make sense to his brain. 

This was one of the classes he didn’t have with you, the last class. 

Instead of doing his worksheet (luckily, the teacher said it would be for homework if it wasn’t finished), Jean proceeded to think about ways he could tell you his feelings.

He could be old fashioned, tell you how much he adores you and how happy you make him feel when you’re around. How his heart can be heard from the outside of his body, how his hands got warm and clammy, maybe sweaty when he became too nervous.

Or

He could ask you out on a date. Take you somewhere, one of the places you’ve told him in the past that would make a great date for you. He smiles when he thinks about taking you downtown at night, looking at the soft lights that would brighten the streets; loving the sparkle in your orbs as you look around in awe. 

He hums, pleased with himself when he figures out what he’ll do, scratching the back of his ear. 

He wonders if you’re thinking the same thing.

-

You glance at your table partner, looking at his piece of paper before looking down at yours, displeased how his is able to look better than yours. You pick up your eraser, gently wiping the shadings away from your drawing, careful not to crease your paper.

“It’s not that hard you know, you just don’t know how to shade.”

“I know how to shade, Eren,” you reply with a huff, placing your eraser back down. “It’s just...this is a bit harder than usual.”

“All you have to do is follow the markings,” he presses the edge of his drawing pencil against the reference photo both of you are using, tracing the shape of it. “You could honestly just copy the photo, I doubt this woman would even notice.”

You chuckle at his choice of words, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. “I don’t think she would anyway. She just stares at it and calls it an A. I bet for our expressive project, she wouldn’t notice if we copied each other.”

He shakes his head with a smile, the loose strands of his hair swaying with his head movement. “No, she wouldn’t,” he rolls the sleeves of his hoodie to his elbows, grabbing his pencil again. “Then again, we are working on it with each other.”

“Speaking of that, what should we do?”

“Up to you, Y/N. I don’t mind. I’m just trying to pass this stupid class anyway.”

You relish in the silence between you as you gaze at him from your peripheral. You take notice how his hair frames his face effortlessly to the dip in his nose. It’s perfect how it forms to his cupid’s bow to his lips; not too big nor too small either. Just right. 

You clear your throat, scratching at the nape of your neck. “Why not do...stages of love?”

That catches his interest.

“Stages of love?” he asks, moving in his chair to face you, a hand propping his head up. “Elaborate?”

“Like you know...how we gain a crush on someone. We like how they make us feel, and soon we think about them some more. Maybe make little scenarios in our head. Then we gain the crush and want to be around them. You know what I mean, right?”

He’s silent, hues that represent the blue of rivers, boring into your own. At first, you think he hates your idea, but then the corner of his lips curls into his infamous grin. “Yeah, I like that. Did you have anything else in mind?”

“Maybe...rejection?”

“Rejection?” he repeats, a bit shocked at how romantic your words were, to something filled with sadness. “And why would you want to do rejection?”

“W-Well,” you stutter, unsure how you should put it. “Everyone always talks about the good in love but never the bad. And I think it could be done good, you know?”

He hums, scratching away at his chin before nodding. “Yeah, alright. That sounds oddly specific, but I like it. We can honestly get started soon, that way, we can finish faster and not worry about it.”

His smile throws you for a loop, your face heating up as you pick up your pencil, trying to distract yourself. 

“Say, Y/N?”

“Yes, Eren?” you reply a bit too quickly, cursing yourself out internally for sounding too desperate. 

“Can we talk?” his cheeks are a shade of pink, his eyes averted as he plays with one of the strings of his hood, reminding you how a child would distract themselves. The tips of his shoe nudge against yours, barely kicking gently.

“Aren’t we talking right now?”

“No, I mean after school.”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

And in my eyes, there is a tiny dancer

Watching over me, he’s singing, 

Jean storms out of his Econ class with a grin, hands gripping onto the straps of his backpack as he looks down one end of the hallway before going down the other direction. The art room was three classes down his. Usually, Jean will wait right there by the door for you since you take ages to finally leave the classroom. 

When Jean finally reaches the room, he sees that the doors are locked, and the lights inside are off.

Huh, that’s weird, you’re always one of the last to leave, nor are you ever this early. 

He stands there for a few more seconds, peering in through the small glass, and sees nothing before taking a step back and quickly continues to walk down the hall. His legs are quicker, going down the two flights of stairs. 

His eyes frantically search for the yellow shirt you wore, unable to find you anywhere. 

“Sasha!” he calls out once he reaches the end of the stairs, running towards the girl and their friend, who was at the lockers, pulling things she needed to take home for the weekend. 

The brunette looks over her shoulder, stopping her conversation with Connie as she shuts her locker. “Yeah, Jean?”

He pants, leaning on his knees before letting out a deep breath and standing straight up. “Have you seen Y/N?”

She ponders for a while before shaking her head, looking over at Connie, who shakes his head, shrugging. “We haven’t seen her since Art class.”

“You didn’t see where she went at all?”

The events before class ending play in her mind before she gasps, snapping her fingers, pointing up at Jean. “Yeah, I know where she went!”

“...are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to guess?!”

She mocks him for a second before pulling her phone out. “I could have seen her leave with Eren. I think they went to the bench in the back. You know the one I’m talking about?”

He’s taken aback for a moment before shaking his head, retaining the information. “Alright, thanks.”

Why would you even be with Eren right now? You never meet with him after-

“Are we still on for this weekend?!” Connie yells when Jean is making his way down the corridor.

“Yeah, we are!” Jean's voice travels through the air, reaching both of his friends, hands clammy as they’re shoved in the front pocket of his pants. 

The walk to the back courtyard was tiresome. His feet seemed to drag behind him, an aching feeling forming in his gut. Thoughts pounded against his skull repeatedly, trying to force him to stop. He wants to stop, but he has to go.

He has to tell you he loves you. 

He can’t help but smile when you describe the boy you like this week. In his mind and most certainly his heart, he was the king of the world sitting on his high horse as he screamed in victory, letting the whole world know that the person he likes, feels the same way about him. 

The fresh air from the outside meets his nostrils as he deeply inhales, allowing it to enter his body before exiting. The sun is the first thing he meets with as he exits the building, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes away from the harsh light. He mutters something under his breath as he looks around for a second. 

“She’s a,

She’s a lady and I’m just a boy”

His honey orbs finally stop on a bench where you and Eren are seated, that’s not too far away, but his body is hidden from your view. He lets out a sigh of relief, leaves crunching underneath his feet as he walks, not taking long strides, rather walking slow to rethink what he’ll say.

“Y/N, I’ve liked you for a long...no,” he mutters, stopping in his tracks as he looks down at the green grass and leaves, kicking away at them. “I’ve loved- no, that sounds a bit aggressive, goddammit,” he groans, tugging at the roots of his hairs. “Why is this so fucking hard?!” he growls underneath his breath, leaning against the brick wall. 

He never was anything else but honest with you. How could he say it?

What if this ruins your relationship?

...what if you liked Eren?

His breath hitches in his throat when realization dawns on him. His lips part, a soft exhale releasing from within him. His fingers curl around nothing, as if he was holding the air’s hand. The tips of his fingers shake, his whole body stiffening as he stares hard at nothing. 

How could he be so stupid?

It all made sense now. How you stayed behind during lunch that one time without saying anything; in the back of his mind that day, he knew that someone had to be a boy, maybe a girl. Even then, you would always let him know. 

Jean should have known from the beginning that you only saw him as a brother. 

His chest aches as his vision goes blurry, biting down on the inside of his lip to the point where he can taste the bitter metallic on his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut before opening, wishing he hadn’t at that moment. 

He’s singing

“She’s a, she’s a lady and I am just a line without a hook.”

His heart breaks, stomach-dropping when he sees Eren’s hand brings you closer to his body, lips pressed up against yours; your hand placed on his cheek, cradling his face. Even from where he stands, he can sense the urgency in the kiss, how your bodies move together as one, how your fingers grip onto him like he’ll leave any moment. 

His lower lip quivers for a second, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, clearing his throat. Jean cranes his neck upward, looking at the sky, muttering the words, “Why him?” over and over like a mantra, no other words coming to mind. 

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you. Not Eren, just you. Those moments where you laugh, cry, or stay silent, those are the moments that flash in his head.

Did he do something to you? Was it something he said?

Did you ever like him at all?

“It’s pointless,” he whispers, pushing himself off the brick wall, immediately making a beeline for the doors. He swallows harshly, legs moving faster than ever, wanting to get out of this hell hole called reality. 

Like every day, you’ll walk down the same pavement you’ve been walking on for years.

Only this time, he’s walking alone. 

Oh, and if I could take it all back

I swear that I would pull you from the tide. 

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

taglist: @sleepysnk @jaegerbomb20​ @reddriot​ @kkiimmberly​ @kingtamakimurder​ @tamasoft​ @byougen​ @spike-this-ass​ @crimsonbows-and-arrows​ @squidonmywall​ @thicmitten​ (message me to be apart of it!)

[taephilia]

lost (myself) & found (you)

pairing: jeon jungkook x gn!reader

genre: fluff, soulmate au, based off of kimi no na wa

warnings: one (1) swear word

word count: 2,120

a/n: i saw this quote from the movie and inspiration just struck and i haven't been able to get it out of my head since. ofc i wrote this for jungkook since he's a weeb and said he would also want to hear bells ring when he meets his soulmate <3 also this is not edited lol i'll come back to it later, i just wanted to get this out

"Once in a while when I wake up, I find myself crying. The dream I must’ve had I can never recall. But… the sensation that I’ve lost something, lingers for a long time after I wake up." - Tachibana Taki, Kimi No Na Wa (2016)

Jungkook isn’t sure how long he’s felt like this—felt like something is missing, something important, something that his heart just can’t seem to let go of even if his brain has already forgotten. He knows that he dreams of whatever it is. He recalls scenes as he goes about his day; a loud laugh here, a brush of a hand against his there. People that he’s never seen before walking by him in a city he’s never been to, music playing on the radio that he’s never heard, a family that he comes home to that he doesn’t recognize at all. It’s all very strange and Jungkook is starting to wonder if maybe the late night ramen he’s built up a habit of eating has gone bad or maybe the unhealthy amounts of salt in it are the cause behind this. Because it was all fun and games until Jungkook’s heart starts to ache, like it’s calling out to someone that his brain can’t even conjure up an image for. Someone that he would search the ends of the cosmos for, someone that, whenever he feels like he gets close to them, slips right through his fingers like grains of sand. But he shakes it off whenever the feeling comes and ignores the heavy feeling in his chest in favor of paying attention to that day’s classes. If he had somehow found his soulmate, it definitely wouldn’t be someone in his hometown in the countryside.

Soulmate. That’s who his grandfather had told him he’s been dreaming about ever since Jungkook confessed almost two months ago about the reason behind his ever-present furrowed brows and faraway look in his eyes. He says that it had happened to him when he was around Jungkook’s age but, like most dreams, he’s forgotten who it was. He then went on to talk about the red thread of fate and that’s when Jungkook started tuning out. It’s a nice concept to think about when you’re a child—a red string tied around your pinky that connects you to the person that you’re destined to be with—but it’s just a myth and Jungkook doesn’t have time to think about things that aren’t real. Not when he barely has the time to think about the things that are real, like college entrance exams and graduating from high school.

So he buries his head in his books and pours every last drop of blood, sweat, and tears into his studies to get into his dream college in Seoul. The yearning in his heart doesn’t go away but it’s eclipsed by the pure exhaustion that he feels at the end of every day. And, like most dreams, he forgets.

Jungkook is 23 when he seriously begins to wonder whether or not he’s going crazy. He had thought he was going over the deep end while in college but hearing bells go off? Now that takes the cake. It happens at random; he never knows when the bells in his head will ring (and Jungkook knows that only he can hear them because nobody around him ever gives any sort of indication that they’ve heard them) no matter how much he tries to prepare for it. He checks his surroundings every day, eyes scanning over the crowds of people weaving around him in Seoul, but it’s no use. The only consistent location that they seem to chime in is when he’s on the metro and even then, it’s on random days, at random times, and not always at the same stop.

He’s not the type to go chasing after fairy tales, or at least, he isn’t anymore. He doesn’t have time to think hard and long about what these imaginary bells could mean, not when he has a job to do and people to impress and money to be made. And his grandfather died during his second year of college so the only conversation of “soulmates” that occurs now are the ones he has with himself in his head and the memories of their conversations years ago. But as fate would have it, Jungkook took a couple of days off to get an early start to the weekend and he is just itching for an adventure. So when he hears the bells go off while he’s making his way to his connecting train, he closes his eyes for a brief moment and puts himself into the hands of fate.

Jungkook allows his feet to carry him where they want, observing his surroundings and keeping an eye out for any person who gives any sort of indication to hearing something that they shouldn’t be hearing. He climbs up the stairs and out of the station, not giving any attention to the people who side-eye him for standing still on a bustling sidewalk, but looks down at his hand instead. In particular, at his pinky, which feels like there’s something squeezing at it. Like… like a thread that’s been tied snugly around it.

The red thread of fate, a voice in his head whispers to him and Jungkook almost chuckles out loud at the thought. And then almost laughs out loud again because, although he doesn’t believe in soulmates, his actions say otherwise. Because as much as Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates… Well, the thought of them and the red thread of fate being real is nice, isn’t it? Someone that you’re destined to be with, connected to by a string that can tangle and stretch but will never fray, keeping you tied to them for all eternity. It’s a comforting thought, especially when he thinks of his extremely lacking love life that comes with his high standards and fear of rejection.

Jungkook passes by a bakery during his fate-led walk and just as he’s considering stopping in to buy something, he hears the bells again. A light sound, one that could be mistaken for a phone notification, but one that he knows very well. But Jungkook’s soulmate must be as used to the sound as he is because no one around him gives any sort of indication that they’re also in search of him. And after an hour and a half of walking around a part of the city that he isn’t too familiar with, he’s ready to call it quits for the night. So Jungkook makes his way to the nearest metro station and gets on a train home.

Of course, that’s when he hears the bells again.

He looks up from his phone and around the crowded train but nobody has been able to move since the doors closed. And if it were someone near him, he would have heard them before. There’s a flash out of the corner of his eye and when Jungkook looks up and out the window of the sliding doors, he sees a pair of eyes staring back. A pair of eyes that are not his but in fact belong to someone in a train traveling right next to his. They stare right at him and mirror his own when they widen at the exact same time as his. But just as soon as Jungkook finds you, he loses you just as quickly when your train goes in a different direction.

Jungkook spends the entire day the next day looking for you. He manages to cross off everything on his “things to do when I’m in Seoul” bucket list that he’s been adding on to for the past 10 years. His feet hurt, his wallet feels significantly lighter than when he first left his apartment, and he’s wondering how much weight he lost from walking what feels like the entire expanse of Seoul three times over. And even after all that, he hasn’t heard the bells. Not once.

And it’s at this point, when Jungkook decides to eat dinner at his favorite ramen shop before calling it a night, that he begins to wonder if he had missed his chance last night. Not like it was much of a chance considering the fact that you were on a different train and he had no way of getting to you. But fate is cruel, isn’t that what some people say? Maybe his thread is just so tangled, so frayed, that it’ll take a lifetime before he’s able to get another glimpse at you. And Jungkook just isn’t that patient.

He can barely even remember what you look like anymore. Maybe it’s the hunger eating away at his stomach and the aching of his feet but as he eats his ramen, he can only recall vague details about you. Like how he wants to drown in your eyes, how soft your skin looks even through two dirty train door windows, and how he thinks your shiny hair probably smells nice - like vanilla or peaches or something. But your face? Absolutely nothing. It’s like he blacked out the second he looked up at you last night.

Jungkook leans back in his seat as he sips at his water, staring out the window of the shop as if you would walk past right that second. But you don’t. So Jungkook throws a couple of bills down onto the table for a tip and heads out, a sigh leaving his lips when he looks around but doesn’t hear any bells. Now that he’s had a chance to sit down and eat, he feels a bit more rational and more determined to find you—but that can wait until tomorrow after he’s had a good night’s sleep. It’s a bit later in the evening so there’s barely anyone around him as he makes his way to the nearest metro station that will take him home. Jungkook is just about to descend the stairs when something makes him stop. He’s not really sure what it is that he stops for; the bus honking on the street beside him or the group of friends laughing as they walk by him? Or perhaps it’s the person at the bottom of the stairs, their eyes looking down as they climb up, but Jungkook just knows that it’s you.

Well, he doesn’t actually know. He’s pretty sure it’s you. It feels like it’s you. But is that fate talking or just his hopeful heart? Jungkook decides not to say anything and slowly walks down the stairs. The bells will tell him if he’s right. Your eyes glance up and meet his and Jungkook sees them widen, but like him, you don’t say anything. Are you waiting to hear your own bells?

He shoves his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie, eyes quickly darting away from yours to stare holes into the ground as he keeps walking. His heart beats faster with every step and he has to resist the urge to just stare at you point blank because he needs to know and-

He hears the bells. And it’s like a weight is taken off of his shoulders.

But he keeps walking. And you keep walking. And now Jungkook is panicking because why the fuck is he still walking? You’re his soulmate, he found you, so why isn’t he stopping? Jungkook tries to get his feet to stop moving, to just turn around and call out to you but he can’t. What would he even say? ‘Hey, you’? He doesn’t even know your name. ‘I think you’re my soulmate’? How disgustingly cliche. What if you don’t even care that he’s your soulmate? What if you’re already seeing someone? What if he’s the only one that can hear the bells for you and you hear them for someone else? What if-

“Um, excuse me?”

Jungkook almost trips on the last step from how fast he turns around at the sound of your voice. His hands feel clammy but he keeps them in his pocket otherwise you’d be able to see how they’re shaking ever so slightly. He drags his eyes up to yours and suddenly, every bit of anxiety he felt is suddenly gone. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?

“Have we met before? You seem really familiar.”

You’re at the top of the stairs now but you step down a few steps, as if you want to get closer. Jungkook climbs back up a few steps because he does want to get closer. There’s an easy smile on his face as he says, “Found you.”

He isn’t sure where it came from. He isn’t even exactly sure what he means. But it feels like the right thing to say, like something that he’s vaguely remembering from a dream he had a long time ago. And judging from the matching smile on your own face, you know what Jungkook means.

“Took you long enough.”

[ibijau]

I don't think I've seen this anywhere (and if you know of any fics that do have this concept, please link!), but what if the events of MDZS (all media) was actually based on history within a modern AU of MDZS?

So like, as an example, you have people speculating whether or not Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were lovers or not in the same way people do with some real historical figures today, some theories that say Nie Huaisang orchestrated everything that go mostly ignored by everyone except those in the #NieHuaisangDidIt community because it's Nie Huaisang, who is largely remembered as a relatively harmless sect leader, etc... Some even still think the Yiling Patriarch was pure evil, though the novel, shows, and audio drama have since made this an unpopular opinion to have.

And then there's Wei Wuxian, be it through reincarnation with regained memories or immortality, listening to all of this in the background.

“I'm just saying that you wrote your thesis on him, so of course you're biased,” Jin Guangyao said. “There's no way Nie Huaisang organised all this. Everyone in that period agrees that he was so stupid he could barely do basic additions!”

“I have a phd and I can't count either,” Nie Huaisang countered. “Listen, I tell you, the proof is all there if you just look.”

Of course, they weren’t called Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao, not in this life, but Wei Wuxian wasn't good with names. In fact, after centuries of being alive, he was worse with names than he'd ever been. Thankfully, this crowd Lan Wangji and him had become friends with didn't mind at all the nicknames he'd picked for them.

“And I can prove that Jin Guangyao didn't even die, and made a name for himself in Japan,” Jin Guangyao retorted. “There's this Han man who suddenly appears out of nowhere in the Japanese court, claiming to know great magic, and...”

“Yes, I've seen the movie too,” Nie Huaisang yawned, taking another sip of his bubble tea.

Jin Guangyao went red and purple, while Wei Wuxian tried to hide a snicker. If there was one sure way to piss of Jin Guangyao, it was by mentioning that recent movie that had come out, very loosely inspired by a series of blog articles he'd written years ago when he was still a student. The inspiration was loose enough that he hadn't been involved in the process at all, because the scenarist had pretended they just happened to have come to the same conclusion.

It wasn't a bad movie, Wei Wuxian thought. It wasn't a goodone either, but he quite liked the actor who played Lan Wangji in it (Wei Wuxian himself wasn't part of the plot, sadly, on account of being officially dead by then), and the fight scenes were pretty fun. Besides, he felt like Jin Guangyao should have liked it even better than he did.

The actor playing him was the tallest member of the cast after all.

“I hope you choke on your tea,” Jin Guangyao muttered, to which Nie Huaisang answered with a bright grin.

It was about to devolve into a fight (an animated academic discussion, Jin Guangyao would have called it) when Lan Xichen entered the boba place, radiant as always. She ordered her own tea (plain black tea but with extra sugar and the sweetest fillings available, as usual) and sat with them, apparently oblivious to the adoration with which Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang gazed upon her.

Wei Wuxian had a bet going on with Jiang Cheng about which man would ask her out first in this life. He also had a bet going on with Jin Ling regarding whether anyone would dare ask her out at all. Wei Wuxian would have tried to help the matter, but Lan Wangji wouldn't allow it, worried for his sibling. A needless worry, Wei Wuxian thought. Lan Xichen was doing well for herself in this life, and so were the other two. Going into academia had been a great way for them to channel their lingering resentment. Their fight had almost never gotten physical in this life.

“I'm sorry for being late, jiejie wanted me to help her order something from overseas,” Lan Xichen apologised, smiling warmly. “I hope I didn't interrupt anything important? You seemed to be chatting, no?”

“We were talking about Guangyao's movie,” Nie Huaisang cheerfully answered.

Jin Guangyao looked about ready to murder him, but Lan Xichen just laughed in that sweet, careless way of hers and in a second both men had forgotten their previous argument.

“Oh, that reminds me, I brought something that might make you laugh,” she said, digging into her handbag. “It's in your field of study... in a manner of speaking.”

She put a book on the table. On the cover were two handsome young men, one dressed in black and carrying a flute, the other in white holding a bright sword. Above them, bold characters professed that this book was called “The Founder of Demonic Cultivation”.

Wei Wuxian's drink went the wrong way, and he nearly died coughing on a tapioca pearl. When everyone was sure that he wouldn't choke so stupidly, they all turned their attention back to the book.

“What's that?” Jin Guangyao asked.

“It's a danmei novel,” Lan Xichen explained, a spot of red on her cheeks. “Jiejie lent it to me the other day, and as soon as I started reading I realised the subject was... familiar. It's about Wei Wuxian. The real one I mean,” she added with a smile to Wei Wuxian who pretended to be fascinated by his bubble tea. “It's, ah... very creative. It takes liberties with some of the events, but, ah, it's very well written.”

“Wonderful, more fiction,” Jin Guangyao muttered.

Meanwhile, Nie Huaisang eagerly grabbed the book and started browsing it with hungry eyes. He had theories about that, too. Mostly, about the exact nature of Wei Wuxian's relationship with Jiang Cheng, which he had once explained to Wei Wuxian with far more details than the immortal would ever have cared to hear... and he hoped Jiang Cheng himself would never hear about it.

In fairness to Nie Huaisang though, his arguments had been very convincing, and Wei Wuxian would have had doubts, if he hadn't been married to Lan Wangji for over a thousand years.

“Oh, Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang grumbled, closing the book and sliding it back toward Lan Xichen. “I suppose I see the appeal, but there's really no evidence whatsoever in their case, you know?”

“We know,” Lan Xichen said with an indulgent smile.

“Now, Jiang Wanyin and him, on the other hand...”

“You people are obsessed with romance!” Jin Guangyao complained. “His relationship to Jiang Wanyin was platonic!”

Wei Wuxian distractedly nodded. That was indeed true.

“And so was his relationship to Lan Wangji,” Jin Guangyao added with a disgusted glare at the book.

Wei Wuxian grimaced. That was very much not true.

“From the letters I've read, I think in today's world, the Yiling Patriarch would probably be asexual,” Jin Guangyao argued. “Not that I particularly approve of using modern terminology to describe the sexuality of long dead people, but if you consider everything we know about him, then... are you ok?”

“Peachy,” Wei Wuxian coughed, trying not to burst out laughing. Jin Guangyao's pride was still a delicate thing in this life. “Hey, Xichen-jie, mind if I borrow that book until we meet again? I think Lan Zhan would love it.”

“Sure, I don't see why not.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, and pocketed the book.

Lan Wangji and him were going to have a good laugh that night, as they always did whenever someone wrote a new story about them.

[evermoreholland]

Paper Rings | Tom Holland

summary ❥ it’s your anniversary and you propose to tom with a song.

warnings ❥ fluff

word count ❥ 2,152

a/n ❥ you can listen to paper rings by taylor swift while reading this because this is obviously what it’s based off of lol. also, this was edited by my good friend @tefilovesreading! 

Today is your second anniversary with your boyfriend, Tom. The past two years have been the best of your life by far. You have had your fair share of relationships, but Tom took you by surprise in his love for you. You were a singer and it was difficult for you to pursue relationships, but Tom understood you because he has gone through similar. You would often write songs about your experiences in relationships. You have been writing a song for Tom for a while now and you thought that today would be a perfect day to show him.

Tom knows that he wants to marry you. He can’t imagine a life without you in it. He has been thinking of how he was going to go about a proposal for months now and he realized that your second anniversary would be the perfect time to confess his never-ending love for you and his commitment to be yours forever.

Tom picked out a ring for you many months before today, without your knowledge. The two of you had talked about marriage before, so a proposal wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Tom called your mother, sisters, and even got his own mother’s opinion about an engagement ring for you. He finally found the perfect ring to propose with.

Tom made dinner reservations at your favorite restaurant tonight. He planned to spoil you the entire day, making sure that you knew that you were his queen.

Tom rises early. He lifts the blankets off of himself and steps out of bed. He tucks you back under the cover gently, not making a sound. He tiptoes to the kitchen to make you a cup of your favorite tea. He fills the kettle with water and then places it on the stove. He turns to the refrigerator to take out some of your favorite fresh fruits as a part of breakfast. He prepares toast as well and then he sets it all up on a tray to bring to your shared bedroom. He walks to the room and finds you still sleeping peacefully. He places the tray on the bedside table beside you and then leans to kiss your forehead. You were a light sleeper so the action woke you up almost instantly. Your eyes open and you see your boyfriend preparing something besides the bed.

“Morning,” you whisper. You toss and turn until you eventually sit up. “What are you up to?”

“Happy anniversary, my love,” Tom says and sits on the foot of the bed. “I made you breakfast.”

“Thank you, love. Happy anniversary.” Tom hands you your mug of tea and you take a sip. This was exactly what you need to start your day, which a warm cuppa. “This is probably the best cuppa I’ve ever had.”

Tom giggles at your compliment and he blushes. You just have that charming effect on him. “Well you are my best girl, aren’t you?”

You smile at your lovely boyfriend. “I guess I am.”

You and Tom eat the rest of your breakfast in bed together. Tom insists on feeding you to be romantic and you hesitantly accept. After, you put on a sundress that Tom purchased for you for today; a pink flowy sundress with strawberries on it. You match it with a pair of cream color wedges.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Tom compliments when he sees you walk out of the bedroom into the living room where he was sitting on the sofa waiting for you. He’s wearing navy slacks with a light blue short-sleeve button-down shirt. His hair is gelled back, which you hated because you couldn’t run your fingers in his beautiful chestnut-colored locks. “Absolutely stunning.”

“You look gorgeous too.” You walk towards your boyfriend and take a seat beside him on the sofa. You take his hand in yours and you can feel how sweaty his hand was, but you decide not to comment on it. To be honest, you didn’t think much of it anyway. “What are our plans for the day? I have something for you, but I want to give it to you later.”

You wrote Tom a song in an attempt to propose to him, and you were hopeful that he’d say yes. Although you did like tradition, you want to pop the question to your boyfriend, and what better way to do it than what you know best; music.

“Oh, you do? What is it, love?” Tom was not a fan of surprises and for almost every occasion he would try to pry his present out of you.

“You know that I’m not going to tell you,” you reply.

“It was worth a try. I was thinking that we can try strawberry picking,” Tom says and then kisses your cheek. “How does that sound, darling?”

“Sounds wonderful, Tommy,” you mumble. You kiss him and then get up from the sofa. You hold your hand out for him and say, “Let’s go, baby.”

“Let’s do it.”

The drive to the strawberry field was full of giggles, music, and love. You get to the field and Tom opens the car door for you, as per usual. He grabs the basket from the backseat and he guides you to the field. Tom takes photos of you dancing through the field and picking strawberries. He didn’t want to forget this moment, he couldn’t forget how beautiful and ethereal you look in this moment.

You get back home and wash the strawberries that you picked. You cut some up for you and Tom to eat. You gather by the sofa once again while Tom turns on your favorite film. You pull out your phone to text your best friend, Natalie, to set up the backyard for the proposal. Natalie and Harrison knew about your plan to propose to Tom and set up a stage for your small performance.

Tom cuddles beside you after he presses play on the television. “Who were you texting?”

“Just Natalie,” you answer vaguely. You didn’t want Tom to catch on or possibly find out about your plan. “Just chatting.”

“Ok,” Tom says, not buying it completely but he didn’t push. “After the movie, we’ll go to dinner, yeah?”

“Gotta show you something first, baby.”

“Tell me what it is,” Tom groans. He nuzzles his face into your neck and kisses it. “Please spill.”

“That’s not going to work with me, Holland. Now, let’s watch the film, silly.”

“Fine,” he says.

The film passes by fairly quickly. You clean up the living room with Tom, and then you tell him to wait in your bedroom until you text him to come outside. “Why must I wait in our bedroom, darling?”

“I just want to make sure that everything is perfect first,” you reply as if it were obvious. “Please don’t peak.”

“I promise that I won’t, angel,” Tom says and then kisses you. You cup his cheek and pull him closer. Your lips linger on his for a moment before you pull away. “What was that for?”

“I just love you, alright?” You choke up a bit. Thinking about what you were about to do made you emotional. You have never been in love with someone like you were with Tom. “You mean the world to me, Tommy.”

“I love you too, darling. You’re my entire world.” Tom always knew what to say and he gives you the reassurance you need. You pull away from him and walk towards the yard.

You finish setting up everything for the proposal and set up the projector for the slideshow. As the song plays, you planned on showing a slideshow of photos of you and Tom. You send a quick text to Tom telling him to come to the backyard. You hear him come outside and soon enough, he is standing in front of you.

He notices your display. He notices the decorated deck mimicking a stage with flowers surrounding it, white roses to be exact. He notices your microphone and speaker. “What’s all this, love?”

“I wrote a song for you,” you began, but you pause to rub your hands against your dress. Nerves were building up. “For our anniversary. It explains how I’m feeling.”

You see Tom smile at your explanation. “Let’s hear it then, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

You prerecorded the acoustics and harmonies, so you would simply just turn on the speaker to play the music. “The song is called Paper Rings. I hope you like it.”

You turn on the speaker a pop upbeat sound fills the air and you immediately feel at ease.

The moon is high Like your friends were the night that we first met Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet Now I've read all of the books beside your bed

As you were singing, you think about the memories that you and Tom share. You remember meeting him at an outdoor pub. You were first introduced to Harrison, Tom’s best mate. They were stoned, to say the least, but it was still probably one of the best nights of your life.

The wine is cold Like the shoulder that I gave you in the street Cat and mouse for a month or two or three Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe

Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night (Oh!) Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life (One, two, one two three four!)

Tom looks at you like you’re the only woman in the world, yet he doesn’t know what your next lyrics would be. He didn’t know that you want to marry him as much as he did.

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams Oh, you're the one I want

He begins to pick up on what you’re telling him, and it warms his heart. His eyes begin to water as he watches perform for him. You look very gorgeous too.

In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool When you jumped in first, I went in too I'm with you even if it makes me blue Which takes me back To the color that we painted your brother's wall Honey, without all the exes, fights, and flaws We wouldn't be standing here so tall, so

Kiss you once 'cause I know you had a long night (Oh!) Kiss you twice 'cause it's gonna be alright Three times 'cause you waited your whole life (One, two, one two three four!)

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams Oh, you're the one I want

I want to drive away with you I want your complications too I want your dreary Mondays Wrap your arms around me, baby boy

You wrap your arms around yourself for emphasis and Tom giggles gently. He is crying at this point and you feel yourself tearing up too.

I want to drive away with you I want your complications too I want your dreary Mondays Wrap your arms around me, baby boy Uh huh

You sing the chorus once more, and you begin dancing along with the music and Tom couldn’t help but smile at you.

You're the one I want, one I want

You finish off the song and you do a little bow as Tom claps for you. You walk towards him and he wraps his arms around you. “I loved that, baby,” he whispers in your ear.

You look at him and notice the tears streaming down his face. You wipe them away and say, “So?”

“So?” He repeats, not fully understanding where you’re getting at it.

“Will you marry me, baby?” You ask.

Tom smiles and instead of answering, Tom reaches for something in his back pocket. He pulls out a velvet ring box and gets down on one knee. Tom opens the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. “Does this answer your question?”

“Yes it does,” you giggle. “I guess that we both had the same idea.”

“It’s not a paper ring, though,” Tom says, referring to your song.

“Well, I do like shiny things,” you joke. “I’d be honored to marry you, Tom.”

Tom slips the ring on your finger and stands up to kiss you. This moment couldn’t be more perfect.

“Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lover.”

~

Tagging: @canwekissforever-hazzy @storybookholland​ @petesrparker​

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 16

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“You’re coming to me about soulmate bonds?” Bruce Banner asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Once again, you and Bucky nodded in sync, standing awkwardly in the middle of his lab. 

Bruce let out a sigh as he turned back to whatever he had been working on. He hadn’t totally dismissed you two yet, thankfully, so you were just forced to stand there, waiting.

When Bucky had told you this was who would potentially help you, you were a bit hesitant. You had only encountered Bruce briefly in your time at the compound. In fact, you hadn’t really gotten to know anyone outside of Bucky and Steve. So, coming to an Avenger, let alone a literal nationally recognized genius, for help with such a thing...made you nervous, to say the least. You’d have to confess your troubles to a third party once more. 

But Bucky assured you over and over again that Bruce could be trusted. He didn’t know the scale of his research on the topic but he felt he was a trustworthy person for this. Eventually, you agreed. After your first shift back at work - a new addition back to your routine as you worked to regain some stability - Bucky took you over to the compound. You had thought he had gotten an appointment or at least gave Bruce some kind of rundown on the proposal but, apparently, no.

“What makes you think I can answer any questions on that?” Bruce grumbled as he furiously wrote notes on his current project. You and Bucky shared a look. 

“I heard you did some research on it,” Bucky explained. 

Bruce huffed. “So?”

“So,” Bucky sighed, “we think we… we have a problem with ours.”

This vague statement was enough for Bruce to perk up a bit. His writing had stopped. He was looking forward now, away from the project. “A problem?” Bruce asked, slightly glancing over his shoulder.

You shifted your weight as you stood a bit uncomfortable with the admission out in the open. Bucky, though, was the definition of cool, calm, and collected. You were just a little bit jealous of him.

Bucky nodded. “To put it simply, my girl has nightmares.”

Bruce seemed very interested now. He finally turned back around, facing you two fully once again. He looked intrigued but not really excited. You wondered greatly what his research really encompassed. 

“Nightmares?” Bruce was beginning to sound like some sad echo. But you and Bucky just went with it, nodding your head in confirmation. Bruce continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of nightmares. They’re dreams we have — soulmate dreams.”

You sighed, greatly out of annoyance. You’d been hearing the same thing day after day after day for years. “I know,” you finally said. “I am well aware of that but it just isn’t how ours work. I’ve only ever seen the…bad things Bucky has encountered. And for a while, after we met, they stopped.”

“As you would hope.”

You nodded. “But then that…thing happened. And it’s all started over again except somehow stronger. I’m seeing it all through Bucky’s eyes. Through his feelings. Through his — his everything. I’m back there twice over and many times after.”

Bruce shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to do. Bucky was very tense beside you, hands balled into tight fists waiting as anxiously as you for Bruce to just say something about it. But he didn’t, not yet, as he raced over to his desk. From one of the drawers, a very particularly locked one, Bruce pulled out a file. He flicked it open and began reading, his finger roaming over the pages wildly, hunting for whatever it was he needed. You and Bucky just watched the situation unfold, practically holding your breaths. 

Eventually, Bruce walked back over, a very specific page opened in the filed documents. You couldn’t make out what it was about from your sneaky glance so you waited for the genius to begin. He looked between you and Bucky, jaw slacked in amazement and concerned. 

“Before I get into this, I want you both to promise me this knowledge doesn’t leave this lab unless it is on my account, okay?” He spoke strongly and seriously. You two nodded. Once he was pleased, Bruce looked back at the file and began, “Gosh, I can’t believe I forgot about this… You were right, Bucky, I have researched soulmate bonds. I didn’t do it for long, God knows it’s a hot topic, but part of my research involved what I nicknamed toxic bonds.” He looked pointedly at you two. “It just started out as a little theory stemming from the old stories about soulmates ‘moving on.’ It’s really a bit more than just not liking someone. This theory revolves around stories of soulmates, in these cases, receiving unflattering or uninteresting dreams from their partnered mates. I was basing these off the accounts of long ago as there are no known partners that fit this mold. At least, until now.” Bruce motioned between you two. You didn’t like where this was all going. “I believe what you two share is a toxic bond, a sort of glitch in Fate. Except, where you two fall flat in this is the fact the nightmares have come back. All dreams change after meeting your soulmate, right?” No one said anything. Bruce continued, “Yes, they technically should. Something has in fact fallen off with you two. I can’t say what but it doesn’t add it and could be significant to this research. With permission, I would like to run some tests on each of you.”

You stiffened. “T-Tests?” While you should be kind of relieved there’s some answer - or idea - for what you’re experiencing, you were suddenly hung up on the prospect of being an experiment. Bucky’s hand reached out to grasp yours, trying to offer some comfort. The thought of being strapped to a chair flashed through your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky shoot Bruce a harsh look.

“Nothing harmful, I promise,” Bruce insisted. “I would just like to take a peek into your brains, into the bond.”

“That’s possible?” Bucky asked. You were glad he at least had the strength to speak.

“It’s attached to the brain function in various ways,” Bruce explained. “A look into your brainwaves can tell me a lot. Or nothing, if that's the case, too.”

You knew you were doing an absolutely horrible job at hiding your worries but, thankfully, neither man was bringing much attention to it. They just looked at you, waiting for an answer. You were quite impressed by how Bucky was just going along with this. But, at the same time, there was a reason he came here instead of seeking a true outsider. If this was okay with Bucky, it was going to have to be okay with you. At least this time, you weren’t being thrown in a chair alone. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

***

You didn’t know which was more daunting: the actual test itself or waiting for the results. 

The test was more like a true test of patience. You basically just had to sit there as Bruce wrote notes and saw things you never could make out from the weird squiggly lines on the monitor. All while he’s doing that, you’re trying not to just break down from being in a lab again. Thankfully, Bucky offered more comfort the best he could. He let you squeeze his non-metal hand, never flinching once no matter how much your nails dig into him. He even tried striking up conversations with you, trying to distract you. He tells you about the new romance movie he thinks you two should go see. You try to stay engaged, feeling a bit bad you couldn’t focus well on it, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

When the roles were reversed, Bucky didn’t ask for any help from you. You still tried to offer something by taking his hand in yours. But he just didn’t need distractions, perhaps a bit too familiar with being subjected to testing. This had to be on the easier side, you figured. 

Once you both were finished, Bruce instructed you to take a seat and wait. He had some things to double-check. The longer you sat, the more you were worried it was bad news - but you didn’t even really know what bad news would actually entail. What was he looking for? How much of the bond could actually be seen? You hadn’t heard of this ever. If you did, you probably would’ve looked into it a long time ago just to clarify if you were fucked in the head or not.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked, gently. You fiddled with your fingers, unsure. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” you said. “Just not sure what he’s going to find.” Bucky agreed and you two fell back into your silence as you waited. 

Minutes later, Bruce finally re-entered the room. You two must’ve been wearing hopeful looks because he motioned for you to calm down. Bruce wasn’t matching your excitement. Something twisted in your stomach. 

“I’ve reviewed your tests,” he said, holding up a folder labeled with your names. You two nodded. Bruce motioned towards you first and said, “Your test came back perfectly normal. Everything is fine with your part of the bond which quite surprised me but I checked and rechecked. The issues aren’t with you-,”

Bucky sighed, cutting Bruce off as he mentally pieced it together. “They’re with me.” 

You felt your body tense as Bucky looked defeated beside you. He wasn't meeting either of your gazes despite you trying to reach for his hand again. He shrugged it off, you quickly turned to Bruce. 

“What’s the problem?” You just about demanded. Bruce didn’t look very phased by your outburst. He pulled up a seat in front of you two looking like he had to mentally prepare himself for this.

“There’s an unnatural disturbance in Bucky’s side of the bond,” Bruce explained as he flipped open the folder. You didn’t even try to understand the printed results. Bucky was fully disconnected at this point. “I can’t say for sure what caused it, but if I had to guess when he underwent what...Hydra did, it affected lines in the transmission process. They probably thought they were severing the lines but they were really just scrambling them, hence the nightmares. They’re the dominant memories the bond reads in transmission. Bucky’s missions and recent healing process didn’t help anything. All in all, to put it simply, any intense moments Bucky experiences will be projected back to you due to a disconnect in the function of the bond.”

“So, I really was the cause of all this?” Bucky finally spoke up. His voice was hoarse, almost weak. You knew he thought his hair hid the look of distress written on his face but you could feel it. Boy, could you feel it. 

You immediately began shaking your head and reaching for him again. He didn’t move under your touch but at least he was allowing it. “This isn’t your fault, I promise.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest further but Bruce stopped him, “You couldn’t do anything to prevent this.” He looked back at you. “Either of you. These were the actions of some deranged individuals and they are the only ones responsible. I’m just sorry you two have to pay the price.”

“I-Is there anything we can do to fix it?”

Bruce closed the folder, looking more uncomfortable - if that was even possible. “I’m afraid not. It’s hard enough to damage soulmate bonds, essentially impossible to bandage.”

Upon hearing that, Bucky abruptly stood up. You jumped at the sudden action, suddenly convinced he was going to walk away. Forever. But instead, he made his way over to the window, his back towards you two, lost in whatever self-deprecating thoughts were flooding his brain. You’d address that later but were currently focused on pressing Bruce.

“There’s really nothing at all?” You were sounding desperate at this point but Bruce didn’t seem to mind, giving you the most sympathetic look.

“My best advice would be that Bucky finish his healing treatment and then get him out of this...profession.”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you two now. “What, like retirement?”

Bruce shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. Essentially, the less he fights, the less traumatizing situations he’s put in, the fewer nightmares you’ll have.” He glanced back at the folder. “In theory, you could be rid of them all. Get back to having actual dreams. It’s an optimistic take but you’ve already proven it’s possible to some degree.”

You looked over your shoulder, your worried eyes meeting Bucky’s intense ones. He wasn’t exactly protesting but you saw the hesitancy. You turned back to Bruce.

“Thank you for all your help,” you said.

He nodded. “I’m glad I could be of some assistance. If you ever want to look even further into it, I think I know someone else that could help.”

“I think we’ve learned enough for a while.” 

“Of course,” Bruce agreed and then stood from his chair. “I’ll let you two go. Probably got a few things to discuss. Call me if you need anything.” With that, he exited the lab, leaving just you and your soulmate to move forward. Somehow. 

Bucky had turned back to the window. You shifted in your seat, unsure of what to say now.

Thankfully, Bucky was the first to speak. “Do you want to get some dinner?”

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

[the-bau-quinjet]

And I confess, babe

Part 6 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Feelings are confessed... sort of.

Warnings: none 

Word count: ~2400

“There’s something I haven’t been completely honest about.” You blurted out taking a break from cleaning. It had been a few months since Halloween, and you and Spencer have hung out whenever possible, but never calling anything a date. You had both gotten pretty busy with the holidays, but still made time. He is basically your best friend, but you want more than that. You just aren’t sure he feels the same way. 

Spencer turned from where he was reading on the couch immediately mirroring the nervous expression he could see on your face. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what friends are for.” Ugh, friends. This is so confusing. As he walked up to you, you thought you noticed a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but you brush it off. You need to focus.

You have never told any of your friends about this. It’s almost like you were living two lives and all the sudden you wanted them to merge. Well, really you just wanted an excuse to sing love songs to the man standing in front of you without completely freaking him out. “You know how much I love Taylor Swift, right?” You could see the confusion growing on his face 

“Um, yeah. That’s not exactly a secret…” he chuckles as he searches for the truth in your eyes. 

“Well, um... I kind of... well… it’s not really a big deal, but I… you see…”

 “Y/N, just tell me. I promise not to freak out.” He interrupted, the confusion evident on his face.

“Okay, just… I’m inaTaylorSwiftcoverband…” You blurt, the words rushing from your mouth. You cover your face with your hands. Of course, boy genius understood the mess of a sentence you just said, realization slowly dawning on him.

 “Y/N, why were you so nervous to tell me?” He sounded shocked. “You know I would support you no matter what. When’s your next show? I would love to go see you perform.” The sincerity in his voice made tears well up in your eyes. 

You rushed to hug him as you said “I don’t know why I was so nervous. I guess people can be really harsh when you are a Taylor Swift fan. Nobody takes you seriously, ya know? I started the band because her music made me better at conveying my emotions. It was actually a kind of therapy for me at first, but then I fell in love with performing. I actually wanted to tell you so I could invite you, and the rest of the team, to my next show. It’s Saturday night.”

 He ran his hands up and down your back before pulling away to look you in the eyes. “I will be there.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

“Yay!” You were practically jumping with joy that the conversation went well. It felt kind of stupid to be so worried over other people’s perception of your music interests, but you’ve always been self-conscious of being the “weird” girl. It made even the smallest decision so hard for you. “I want you to invite the rest of the team, but keep it a surprise. I haven’t told Penelope, and I’ve known her 2 years longer than you.” He laughed as you realized how comfortable you must have felt with Spencer to be inviting him and his friends to see you perform. Usually the only way you made it through was knowing there was nobody in the audience that would recognize you enough to make fun of you. But, it was time for a change. You have always been proud of your accomplishments, and the people you called your friends should be a part of that.

 “You should know there’s always a theme to the show. I like to tell a story with her songs, pulling from all the albums helps make it more cohesive.” You wanted him to be a little bit prepared for what you had planned. 

“What’s the story for this show?” Spencer asked, curiosity brewing in his mind. 

“Well Doc, I’m afraid that’s a secret. You’ll have to wait and see.” Spencer kept pestering you to find out the theme, but you refused to tell him. Finally, he returned to reading as you cleaned the rest of your apartment.

--

 Saturday came much faster than you were expecting. The nerves you felt kept growing as you tried to finalize the set list you would be performing in just a few hours. The stories you usually tell don’t normally rely so heavily on your own life experiences. But, that’s why you fell in love with Taylor’s music in the first place. The songs are so relatable. It’s incredible how well she can convey emotions and stories with her lyrics. Plus, this is your chance to tell Spencer how you feel without having too much pressure. If he doesn’t say anything about the obvious theme, you could just pretend you made up the story for the audience. It would be fine. No pressure at all.

 The hours until your show drifted away as you got ready and arrived at the venue. You were actually playing in an auditorium instead of a bar for the first time in a few months. The night had been heavily marketed for couples since Valentine’s day is next week, but you knew your friends would all be there to support you. Going over the set list with the band, they knew exactly what mood you were going for. It was clear there were three sections to the night: 1) the break up, drawing heavily on your experience with Drew, 2) moving on from the failed relationship as you form a new crush, possibly on an incredibly hot doctor, and 3) where you wanted this new relationship to go. That storyline is what made the marketing so good. Couples could come and just be in love, relating the music to their own lives. Plus, people were itching for something to do since no real artists were touring in DC right now.

 You glance out at the audience as the lights flicker, indicating only a few minutes until show time. You find Spencer and the rest of the crew, barring Hotch and Rossi, easily as you put them in the front row. You wanted to be able to see their faces, or completely look over their heads. It all depends on the expression of the one and only Spencer Reid.

 “Hello, and welcome to the show!” You try to hide the nerves. You’ve done this plenty of times, but knowing who is in the audience is taking a toll. “In case you didn’t know, with every show I do, I try to tell a story. Usually, it is based on a movie or a book, but today I am trying something a little bit new. No book, no movie, just a story. It’s got three parts to it. Part one sucks.” You laugh along with the audience. “It’s about a breakup and learning to move on. So let’s get started!”

 You immediately jump into the first song Babe. Technically it features Taylor Swift, but she wrote it so it counts. Plus, it is the perfect song to describe your feelings to finding Drew cheating on you, and she did write it.

 This is the last time I’ll ever call you Babe.

 “Now, I know how hard it can be to get over someone who you’ve been with a long time. Especially when combined with the pain of them cheating on you. This next song describes that mentality of recognizing that someone won’t change because you want them to. Sometimes, the best thing to do is cry and scream and move on.” The instrumental to You’re Not Sorry begins to play as you calm you’re nerves.

 This is the last straw. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. And you can tell me that you’re sorry, but I don’t believe you baby like I did before. You’re not sorry. No, no, no no.

 “I know, I know. No more sad songs! After you break up with someone, it can be pretty hard to not miss what you had. But eventually, you’ll get to a point where when they call you in the middle of the night, all you have to say is We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. Like ever.”

 You make it through the next song without a hitch. The crowd is clearly enjoying the show, which is actually helping with your nerves. You’ve glanced at your friends a few times, but nothing that lingers. You’re not quite mentally prepared to look at Spencer yet.

 “With every breakup, there is some amount of time afterward where you can’t help but think about them. No matter how badly it ended, there is at least a day. It could slowly fade out or it could just disappear one day, like magic. Either way, this song is how I personally feel once that window of time ends.”

 I forgot that you existed. It isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it‘s just indifference.

 This song really helped turn the mood around. Everybody is dancing and singing, clearly enjoying themselves. As the song ends, your nerves return a bit. This is the scary part.

 “And with that, we move on to part 2! As the saying goes, the best way to get over him is to get under someone else. Well, that’s not exactly where this is going, but it follows the same general logic.” The instrumental to Enchanted has already started as you finish the intro “Meeting someone who helps take your mind off the bad by making new memories.”

 All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you. This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.

 This is the first song you are singing directly to Spencer, even if you can’t even look at him. You glance at every other member of the BAU, but you just can’t bring yourself to admit it to him. Not yet.

 Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.

 You can feel the sting in your throat that comes from thinking of Spencer being with someone else, finally making you look at him. He seems happy. He’s not dancing as much as everyone else, but he is swaying. You count it as a win.

 “Now, I’m not saying the only way to get over a breakup is a new relationship. Sometimes, you just need a friend.” You clear your throat to go right into the next song.

 Wanna hang out? Yeah, sounds like fun. Video games, you pass me a note. Sleeping in tents. It’s nice to have a friend.

 This is where it’s supposed to be obvious who you are singing to. None of your newly formed friends really know the extent of your relationship with Spencer. But, you’ve convinced him to try a lot of new things. It started small, with hiking, but eventually you got him to agree to a short camping trip over a long weekend. It was freezing since it was November, but you just cuddled together around the fire. That is what makes this so nerve wracking. You are terrified of messing up your friendship.

 “Friends are the best resource post breakup. They always know how to put a smile on my face, no matter what I’m upset about. You could go so far as to say I’m Only Me When I’m With You.” You laugh at the corny joke, knowing that’s the next song you’re singing. “To be completely honest, this is kind of a story of the past few months of my life. I had a pretty bad breakup, but I met some new friends who really helped me through it. It’s nice to be completely honest about yourself with someone else.”

 I don’t try to hide my tears, my secrets, or my deepest fears. And through it all, nobody gets me like you do.

 “Now, we move onto the third and final part of the show. We’ve covered the past and the present, so all that’s left is the future! The future is unknown, which is kinda of scary when you think about it. So, it can really help to have someone who makes you feel Fearless.” So many lyrics make you want to stare at Spencer.

 I wanna ask you dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot.

-

Run your hands through your hair, absentmindedly making me want you.

-

And I don’t know why, but with you I’d dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless.

-

You’ve decided against looking at Spencer and the rest of the profilers. If you make eye contact you know they would 100% be able to see right through you. Just two more songs to get through. You don’t even pause to talk before the next song is playing.

 Cause all I know is you said, “Hello” and your eyes look like coming home.

 You’ve spent so long thinking about Spencer and his perfect freaking eyes that you subconsciously glance at him right then. The second you realize, you look away again, missing the look of complete adoration on his face.

 And meet me there tonight and let me know that it’s not all in my mind.

 “Alrighty folks, I’ve got one more song for you. You probably could’ve guessed it by now, part 3 is about a future relationship, one I’m not currently in. But that’s the thing about the future, you never really know what it holds.” This is where shit goes a little bit sideways. You didn’t plan on changing the lyrics. Most of the profilers seem to miss it, not recognizing that you switched one very crucial word in the song. The one profiler that notices the mistake has spent the last four months listening to every Taylor Swift song ever written because he’s spent so much time with you, and you are always listening to something.

 Dark jeans and your converse, look at you. Oh damn, never seen that color blue.

 Oh damn is right. You somehow manage to make it through the rest of the song, but now Spencer knows you were singing to him. You can’t decide if you’re glad it’s out there or if you are going to puke the second you run off stage.

 “Delicate is about the beginnings of a romance. It’s that point where you are scared any sudden movements will shatter everything you’ve built so far.” You take one final deep breathe. “It’s about admitting your feelings because you can’t move forward without taking the next step. That’s what the future is all about. Thank you all for coming, goodnight!” And with that, you left.

 tag list:

@mac99martin​ @goldeng1rl8​ @eevee0722 @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15 @laurakirsten0502 @green-intervention @burnin-passion @takeyourleap-of-faith @secretpickleprofessordean @awkwardnesshabitat @loveheathens @fan-girl-97

[msmarvelwrites]

Vienna Waits

Summary: The reader has a hard time around the holidays because it brings up a lot of unhappy memories. Bucky knows trauma all too well and he’s always there to lend some Christmas cheer. 

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: mentions/flashbacks of assult, ptsd, 18+, swearing, but truly a fluff piece...

Word Count: 2.5k

Authors Note: Hi again! It’s ya girl, back at it again with the plot all to based on her own predicaments. Please read the warnings because the last thing I’d ever want to do is trigger anyone- but at it’s core I wrote this as an aid. Like My Girl, this was written to bring us together, because we are so much stronger that way! This is also my first submission to the Merry Hoemas Challange, so with that please enjoy! Sending love and light to all you beautiful holiday babies.

Thank you to @amythedvdhoarder  @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes @pumpkin-and-pine and @starlightcrystalline for hosting this holiday challange!

It was, of course, the most wonderful time of year. Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound. 

The snow cascading from the dark sky acted as a sheet of white as you nervously sipped on your tea, checking the time once again. Your best friend was supposed to be back from his solo mission hours ago, and yet here you were, alone and completely overwhelmed. 

He was always better at these things. Always knowing how to avoid the holiday slump with ease. Bucky was who you turned to when you needed a quick coping mechanism. 

Christmas with the world's mightiest heroes had its perks for sure, but this was certainly not one of them. The joyous holiday music echoing through the Avenger hq living room was doing nothing to settle your nerves. In fact, quite the opposite. It lingered around you, pulling memories you buried deep down in the back of your mind. 

“I really think it’s better if I just head home… It’s getting really bad out there and…”

His lips cut you off, lazily trailing down your neck as the taste of bile rose into your throat. He was just drunk, you thought. So were you. You had given him the wrong idea. If you just explained you didn't want him to touch you… 

He would understand, you thought… You really did. 

“Honey, I’m home” Bucky called, cackling to himself as he shook off the snow caked to his winter coat. His voice shot you back into the dimly lit living room you now resided. 

You lunged from the recliner, spinning around the corner to find Bucky, hands full of gift bags and a candy cane dangling out of his mouth as a goofy grin tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Where the hell have you been?” You tried to sound angry, but he was just so damn cute.

“Okay, first of all, you're welcome.” He scoffed sarcastically, gesturing to the gift bags as he placed them on the floor. “And second, you're the one who sent me out in the middle of a snowstorm for last minute christmas presents… So, you get what you get.” He chuckled. 

“No, no, I appreciate you- it… I appreciate it so much Buck.” You stumbled, though you didn't let the blush creep onto your cheeks before you spoke again, “You know how I get this time of year.” You sighed, crossing the room to help him with his bags of gifts. It wasn't lost on Bucky that the holiday season was difficult for a lot of the team, including yourself. Though he didn’t know everything about your past and how it brought you here, to the team, and one of the most ruthless fighters the Avengers had ever seen, he did know it was rough and dark and definitely off limits to talk about. Bucky didn't mind, however. As long as he had you by his side. 

“Ya know, if you help me wrap these gifts there might be a Christmas movie marathon in your future.” He wiggled his brows causing you to laugh. 

“That really sounds like a lose-lose on my end here, Buck.” you giggled.

“Are you by any chance at all into hot chocolate?” he bribed, though you would have caved regardless. Any time spent with Bucky was all you wanted for Christmas. 

Once all the presents were wrapped, Bucky was true to his word, puttering into the kitchen, whipping up his famous hot chocolate recipe. Honestly, if the world knew the famous Winter Soldier was as jolly was he is, they probably wouldn't believe it. Something about Christmas just brought out the best in him. 

“So,” You started as you sipped on your whip cream topped hot chocolate. “What is it about this holiday?” You pried, looking up at Bucky as he wiped a dollop of cream off the tip of your nose. 

“I don’t really know. Getting my memories back after all that time, Christmas with my Ma and sisters was always so clear…” He paused, his eyes fixing themselves on the floor. “I guess it’s one of the only really decent memories I have.” 

You only stared at Bucky for a moment as you let the words sink in. He never really spoke about his family and what, if anything he remembered. You never pushed him, thankful that he respected you the same. Though you had only been friends for a year now, those things just aren't privy to your relationship. 

“You never told me that before.” You finally spoke, watching as his eyes met with yours. 

“Yeah well, it’s hard to talk about sometimes. But… I don't know. I trust you, doll. More than anyone, I think. You kind of pull it outta’ me.” He sighed into that goofy smile you loved so much. You wanted to tell him that there was no one in this world that you trusted more, that you could and would be an open book for him, if that's what he wanted… But you supposed it went without saying. Instead, you rested you head on his shoulder, sinking back into the couch as you watched whatever sappy Christmas movie Bucky had picked out for you to watch. 

It wasn't long before the compound started to buzz with disembodied voices and echoing footsteps. A team was getting back tonight, and soon the living room would be filled with your friends booming laughter. 

You let your mind wander, tiptoeing into the darkest parts of your unconscious as the movie faded further and further away…

Your body shook, hard. You heard yourself plead, begging him to stop. Could feel the tears wet and hot as they rolled down your cheeks pooling onto your chest as he wiped them away. Such an act of kindness in such a nauseating scene. Your whole body ached with how hard you were trembling. So weak. You knew it, and now he did too-

Wanda was the first to round the corner, plopping herself down on the couch between you and Bucky, almost sitting right on your lap. 

“Good evening!” She chimed, resting her head against your shoulder in a complete and utter disregard of yours and Bucky’s closeness. Wanda was always the best at diffusing tension you hadn't even realised was there. Though now, as she sat there, it was very apparent that's exactly what it was. However you were thankful for her halting your train of thought. 

“Hello, darling.” Bucky chuckled as you wrapped your arms around her.

Tony rounded the corner next, snickering when he saw the three of you bundled up on the couch together. “Well, isn't that sweet. The trauma triplets are back together.” 

“Dont hate us cause’ you ain’t us, Tony.” You sang, watching as he rolled his eyes and puttered off to his lab. 

“So, any plans for this evening?” Wanda asked, grabbing your mug of hot chocolate without a second thought and taking a sip. 

“This is kind of it. Most of the team is back home with their family.” You explained, looking behind Wanda's head to Bucky, “Do you have any plans with Stevie?” You asked.

“Nope.” He popped the P. “Just us tonight. Steve’s out on a solo mission until tomorrow morning.” 

“About that… Nat is actually setting me up tonight. A double date, I think? So, it's just you guys tonight.” Wanda spoke sheepishly. 

Bucky and you both gapped at her before you finally spoke, “Traitor.” You glared while she only chuckled, shoving you playfully.  

“You guys will get along just fine without me. Just don’t watch The Holiday until I’m back! You guys know that’s my favourite”

As the compound quieted down for the night, you and Bucky fell into your daily routine of  comfortable silence. It was just like every other day, or at least that's what you tried to tell yourself as the end credits of another holiday movie started rolling onto the screen. 

“So,” Bucky finally spoke, shifting in his seat to reach for something out of your eyeline. “It’s technically christmas now… And, I know we said no gifts, but I saw this and it was just so you. I had to pick it up.”

Your eyes landed on the small velvet box in his hands, your breath hitching in your throat for a moment as your brain forze. You could feel your body trembling as he held it out, waiting for a reaction, but all you could do was stare. 

“Such a good little thing.” He finally spoke. Your eyes were so glazed over you couldn't quite tell where his voice was emulating from. You could hear his belt, feel his hands on either side of your face as he whispered in your ear. “Happy Christmas, baby.” He chided, dropping the small velvet box in your hands as he left the room. 

You couldn't bear to touch it, whipping it across the room as it shattered open, the small diamond necklace rolling across the hardwood floor as it tumbled to the ground with a harsh crack. Your fingers burned where the rough velvet had been, and you remembered thinking you'd feel this way forever. 

“Y/n?” Bucky spoke your name and it shocked you back to reality. You blinked at him, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at him. He looked absolutely terrified and it broke your heart. Absolutely tore you apart that you could ever be the reason for that face. 

“Hm? Oh, yes. I’m so sorry, I was so far away there for a moment.” You reached out but before you could take the small box, his hands covered your own and he let his thumb stroke your skin, sending a shiver up your arms and all around your neck. 

“You know I would never judge you, right?” He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “God knows you've never judged me. I’m here. Whatever it is, it’s not your fault.” 

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. ‘Not your fault.’ Did he know? There was no possible way. You had Fury burn your physiatric evaluation from when you first started a year ago. No one knew. This was a fresh start, and there way no way that- 

“I can see your mind turning, and I just want to assure you, we are good. Okay? You and me, that's easy. It’s always been that way. Whenever you're ready, if you ever want to talk… I’m here, alright? Always.” His voice melted over you like a warm bath, calming you as you met his gaze. There was a sweetness you haven't seen before. It was new and yet there was something familiar about it. Had he always looked at you that way? Surely you would have remembered as it sent butterflies to explode in your stomach. 

He dropped the rectabled box in your hands and you finally felt the weight of it. Definitely heavier than a necklace, though you guess that wasn't really Bucky’s style anyways. 

You slowly clicked the box open, your eyes falling on the small black object resting on the pillow inside. 

“It’s a knife?” You spoke, just above a whisper as your hands traveled over the cool metal looking up at Bucky in surprise. 

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he explained. “Remember that mission a year back? I think it was one of our firsts.” 

“Vienna.” You chimed, the memory coming back to you now. 

“You stole my knife.” He laughed, shaking his head at the memory. “I remember, I had it in my hand, you ran out of ammo and in a flash it was in your hands. Those Hydra punks didn't see you coming. God, doll. That had to be the hottest-” He blushed, clearing his throat, “I mean, that was the coolest thing I've ever seen. Been trying to find you one like it ever since.”

“Oh, Buck.” You signed, gripping the knife in your hands and effortlessly flipping it through your fingers as it sparkled in the dim lighting. 

“Do you like it?” He hummed. 

“Like it? I absolutely love it… I feel like such an ass for not getting you anything.” You confessed, averting your eyes to the floor. 

You flinched as Bucky’s cool metal fingers tipped your head up, and he tried not to notice, though the reaction wasn't lost on him. He really didn't know about your past, but trauma knew trauma. 

“Darling, this…” He motioned to you, “This is all I need for Christmas.” His voice was like honey in tea, warm and sweet and so smooth. 

“You flirt.” You giggled, shoving him playfully as you placed the knife back in its box and resting it on the coffee table.  

“I would never.” He sarcastically gasped, causing you to laugh at his dramatics. Bucky wasn't truly himself around the others, but you wished sometimes they could see his goofy side. Though it warmed your heart he reserved it for you. 

“What do you say? One more movie before we call it a night?” You asked, relaxing into his shoulder as you clicked through the options. Bucky’s silence caught your attention, pulling you back to his gaze. He stared at you as if startled by your words. 

“What?” You chuckled nervously, raising a brow when he didn't speak. 

“You're willinging requesting we watch a Christmas movie? Are you feeling okay?” He jested, lifting his flesh palm to your forehead as if to check your temperature. You swatted him away, rolling your eyes as you did so. 

“I’m fine. I just…” You watch him carefully as his laughter faded and he focused on you. “I never really thought I could enjoy Christmas. Someone stole that luxury away from me a very long time ago, but with you… With you it comes so easy. I know it must be hard, but you never let it show. I honestly can't tell you the last time I’ve properly laughed like that during the holidays. God, it's been years and yet here we are. You just pull it out of me.” 

Bucky smiled softly, holding his hands out for yours and you quickly accepted the gesture. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned pulling you into his chest as he hugged you. It was something that was very new, and yet just felt right. Like this was how your bodies were meant to be, fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“Doll, I’ll pull it out for you whenever you want.” He cooed, sarcasm lacing his words and your head fell back, laughter bubbling out of your chest. 

“God, I love you.” You finally got out, but as soon as the words left your lips you knew how impulsive you had been. Bucky stilled beside you but you kept your eyes trained on the ceiling above, terrified to meet his gaze. It wasn't a big deal, just two friends admiring each other. You knew, however if you were honest it was much more than that. Bucky felt it too. 

“Darling,” He murmured, so low you almost didn’t hear him. Your eyes slowly returned to his as your heart nearly jumped from your chest. “You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since Vienna. You’re it for me. Always have been, I think.” 

You stared at him for a moment, unsure of where your voice went as your mouth ran dry. 

“As if I even need to say it, I love you too.” 

Divider made by the wonderful @chrissquares 

Thank you 3000 to my amazing friends @cutie1365 and @sweeterthanthis for their endless support and constant grammatical corrections. I’d be forever dyslexic without you guys... (I kind of will I think, but ya’ll make it a hell of a lot easier on me)

Taglist:

@sweeterthanthis​@cutie1365 @whateveriwant @drabblewithfrannybarnes @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @pumpkin-and-pine @starlightcrystalline @kalesrebellion @projectcampbell @calwitch @sycochick @sassy-pelican @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ @amateuratheart @officialmarvelbaby @a-really-bi-girl @fairislesheets

[moshymosh]

Remember Me- Something’s happening

When the love of your life suffers from a disease that affects their memory of their life with you, what do you do? Will you spend your last days with them, trying to get them to remember you? The life you had, or would you give up and let them forget you?

Summary- Dr. Spencer Reid felt his whole life change when Agent Y/n L/n joined the BAU. She came in like a cool summer breeze changing everything Spencer knew about love and his capacity to care for someone so much. Y/n came to the BAU with a tragic past, her only goal was to save lives and make the world a safer place for everyone. She meets a skinny shaggy haired doctor, which causes her whole life to change, much like Spencer, will she fall in love or will her tragic past or even her job prevent her?

Pairings- Dr. Spencer Reid x f!reader

A/N- This is a notebook inspired story, this story will be told and wrote like a chapter book. So some of the endings will not always make sense. Also I don't claim go own Criminal Minds or the Notebook, this is solely for entertainment purposes and for enjoyment. Some of the lines are from the notebook movie, again I don't claim to own either fandom/tv show/ movie. I try to make Y/n as vague as possible so shes more inclusive so if there is any descriptive things that don’t apply to you feel free to ignore them. Also just putting this out there as the story progresses Maeve is still alive and well, she is a good friend of Spencer and Y/n’s. There will be graphic content and sexual scenes in later chapters, warnings will be added as they go. Also if you want to be tagged send me an as or comment here, also send requests I'm down for making little fics.

PS- Please don't post my fics anywhere without my documented consent, thanks -Karma (MoshyMosh)

Warnings!- This chapter with have some sexual content, talk of sexual assault, and descriptions of kidnapping. If these bother you please don't read this chapter!

A/N 2.0- I am like half asleep, I will double check the spelling and any issues when I was up

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Y/N laughed from her couch as she tossed some popcorn at Spencer, who sat on the other end of her couch.

"Y/N!" Spencer scolded as he looked over at her, with a smile, when he saw that she was pretending to be interested in the movie they were watching.

Y/N tried to hide her smirk, before she erupted in giggles as she looked back at him, tossing some more popcorn at him. Spencer groaned as he tried to swat away the onslaught of popcorn before he started laughing along with her. Soon Y/N had wiggled her way over to Spencer as she continued to rain popcorn at him before she straddled his hips. Y/N smiled down at him as she lifted the bowl of remaining popcorn above his head then tipped it, dumping the rest of the popcorn.

"Y/N!" Spencer laughed, as he reached up to grab the bowl from her hands. She chuckled and dropped the bowl behind the couch, her arms dropped so that they were draped over his shoulders. Spencer's hands dropped to rest on her hips, and let out a sigh of contentment when her fingers brushed against some of the hair at the base of his neck as she looked down at his face.

Spencer licked his lips as he nervously fiddled with her oversized sweater, his eyes looking between her eyes and her lips. "Screw it." He said quietly before he crashed his lips to hers. Y/N let out a soft gasp against his lips before she eagerly kissed him back, threading her fingers into his hair.

Spencer's hands slid under her sweater, his fingertips brushing against the band of her shorts she wore. Y/N pulled away from the kiss to pull off her sweater, leaving her top half bare. Spencer let out a breath and looked up from her chest, his hands coming up to card through her hair. He pulled her head down to crush his lips against hers again, his hips grinding up against hers slightly. The movie they had turned on, now forgotten behind her.

As they continued to kiss, Y/N let out a groan and pulled away from him as she heard her phone ringing on the coffee table. She slid off Spencer's lap and stood, reaching for her phone. Spencer bit his lip, as his eyes raked over her topless figure, as she bent to pick up the ringing device.

"Penny, you need to have a really good reason for calling on our week off." Y/N said when she answered the phone. "We have a case don't we?" She looked at Spencer as she reached for her sweater when he handed it to her. Spencer watched her slide it on and chuckled softly when he heard her next words. "No need to call him, he's right in front of me." She smiled at him, with a wink.

Spencer smiled back and stood from the couch to gather his things after he pressed a kiss to Y/N's forehead. "Was that a kiss I heard?!" He heard from Penelope's end of the call, causing him to chuckle again.

"Goodbye, Penelope." Y/N said before she hung up. "I'll get dressed then we can go to the office."

Spencer and Y/N rode to Quantico in a tension-filled silence after what happened before they were interrupted. Spencer looked over at Y/N as he replayed the kiss over and over again. He was pulled away from his thoughts as she pulled into her assigned parking spot in the lot. The pair got out and started walking to the elevator in the parking garage.

Y/N fiddled with one of the buttons on her blazer as they rode the elevator in silence. Spencer leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple with a smile, pulling away when the doors started opening on their floor. Y/N smiled softly and stepped out with Spencer, once they were inside the bullpen, she went over to her desk to drop off her bag.

"Miss Y/N..." Penelope sing-songed as she walked over to her, dragging Derek along with her. "You have some 'splanin' to do." She said in the 'I love Lucy' voice.

"I do not." Y/N said feigning innocence. "Also we have a case so now's not the time." She said as she began to walk upstairs to the meeting room, taking her seat next to Spencer.

Soon, everyone arrived and sat down around the table pulling their files to him, opening them up to look at their contents. "Ok guys. We're not traveling very far for this case. It's in our own backyard." Hotch said as he began clicking through some of the photos on the TV screen. Y/N listened to him in the background as she started looking through the pictures for the victimology.

"Every one of the women are Y/H/C and Y/E/C eyed, the only thing different is height and weights. Some of them were found to have Y/E/C contacts and a crude dye job if they did not have the correct look to the unsub. These things were noted in the autopsies." Y/N said as she looked up at the screen as pictures of the victims came up.

"There was some DNA recovered from the sexual assaults and under the fingernails of the first victim, there were no matches in CODAS." Derek said, reading the information from his file.

"DC capitol police think the first victim is Leah Ainsworth, 24, a tourist in DC on vacation." Hotch said. "The period of which the victims were reported missing and then to when they were found is 3-5 days."

Y/N nodded her head. " The extreme amount of wounds seems like overkill. 10 of the wounds on Leah were done postmortem. A lot of rage behind these attacks." She said as she closed her file and looked around at the rest of the team to gauge their reactions.

"There's something else..." Derek said. "Every victim was found with a note that said 'For F/I M/I L/I'."

"Could it be an activist group?" Spencer asked, sitting up in his seat.

"Could be initials." Hotch said rubbing his chin in thought. "Garcia see if those are a match for anything like that."

"Got it." Penelope said, writing down a note for herself.

"Reid, Morgan, go to the latest crime scene. Y/L/N and Prentiss go to where this latest victim was abducted and see if you can get anything from there. JJ your with me, setting up the evidence boards." Hotch directed.

"Let's do this." Emily said, getting up from her seat.

The team spent the day finding out new evidence and new possibilities. As they were about to go home for the night they sat in the meeting room going over the things they found out.

"Emily and I found out our latest victim was supposed to meet someone, like a date." Y/N said as she fiddled with her pen. "But the person never showed."

Emily nodded her head. "Customer parking is down an alley behind the building, the unsub could've blitz attacked and drugged the girls."

"Garcia, anything on the search?" Hotch asked, turning towards the woman in question.

"All I got were two activist groups and millions of names." She said, rubbing at her forehead.

"Alright. Guys go home, we'll come back tomorrow and look at this with fresh eyes." Hotch said before everyone got up and went to their desks to gather their things. Y/N smiled at Spencer as she held up her keys.

"Give you a ride home." She said before she mimicked Derek's voice. "Pretty boy."

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yes, I'll take your offer, but don't ever do that again." He joked as he walked over to her.

Y/N drove Spencer home, dropping him off at his apartment building with a kiss. Soon she arrived home, parked in her normal spot, and gather things before she let herself into the courtyard with her keycard. She looked through her keyring for her house key as she walked up to her door.

She stopped what she was doing with a smile, as she spotted a glass vase full of yellow red-tipped roses sitting in front of her door. She chuckled as she fished out her phone out and dialed Spencer's number as she reached to pull the notecard out with the hand holding her keyring, as she began reading it. She let out a squeal as she felt something press against her nose and mouth. She dropped everything she was holding to fight off her attacker.

"Y/N? Y/N?!" Spencer called over the phone hearing the struggle.

"I finally found you." Y/N heard in her ear as she felt her body go limp in her attacker's arms, succumbing to the drug. Her attacker lifted her body into his arms.

"Jason..." Y/N slurred out in the direction of her phone as her attacker pulled her badge and gun off her person. "Jason Dean... Spencie..." Y/N slurred again before she passed out.

"No one is going to save you, babe. I've got you now."  her attacker said as he stepped on her phone in his walk to his vehicle.

Spencer took a shaky breath and called Hotch after the line when dead. "Hotch, Something has happened to Y/N.