#I’ve read the explanations but none of them stick

[itspileofgoodthings]

I taught the Hamlet and Ophelia scene yesterday and with one class it went fairly well and we had a little extra time at the end I gave them for personal use, and then the next class it went super well and the kids were so engaged and discussing it all deeply, and then the third and final class was so quiet, bumps on a log, so we finished super fast and they had nothing to say so I just made them go through it line by line, translating each line for me after I read it, even though I have consistently avoided doing this because tbh Hamlet talking about commerce and beauty and honesty has always somewhat eluded me and IT WAS SO GOOD ?? They had illuminating and interesting things to say and some of the inherent layers of the scene started coming into the light for me as well as them and it was just soooooo good like.

[gf2bellamy]

hey girl!

Just read someone talking about a tiktok where the boyfriend sits with his plushies and watches and corrects his girlfriend as she teaches him as a way of studying for exam.

Maybe a PhD!student!reader x early!season!spence with this plot and he gets all cheery and claps whenever she gets a topic right idk

Hope that made sense😶‍🌫️

Love ya! 😘

studying — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, fluff , reader has an exam, earlyseason!spencer <3 a/n: hi hi !! this isnt the first message i've received abt this tiktok video ( i feel like i'm the only one who hasnt seen it?) but its so spencer so i just had to write this <3

You stared at the whiteboard, its surface cluttered with half-erased scribbles, bullet points, and arrows pointing in increasingly uncertain directions.

The markers were beginning to dry out, and your brain too.

You squinted at the words, trying to will them into making sense, but they just sat there, refusing to reorganize into anything remotely coherent.

Behind you, Spencer sat cross-legged on your bed, half-buried in a sea of plushies that had taken up residence there during your all-night study sessions.

He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you were pretty sure he was enjoying himself.

The way your nose scrunched when you were frustrated, the way you gestured wildly when you finally connected the dots. He loved it when you taught him things, even if he already knew them.

You sighed and dragged a hand through your hair. “Okay, I give up. I’ve explained this same thing four different ways, and I’m still confusing myself.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away.

When you glanced back at him, he was gently repositioning a lopsided stuffed bear, straightening its little bow tie. He caught your gaze and smiled, warm and a little shy.

“You’re not confusing,” he said quietly. “You’re just tired. But I think you're explaining it better than you think you are.”

You let out a breath somewhere between a groan and a laugh, turning around to lean against the edge of your desk. “Then why does it feel like none of it’s sticking?”

“Because you’ve been at this for hours,” he said, shifting slightly and patting the spot on the bed beside him. “Come sit. Let’s go over it again.”

You hesitated, eyeing the whiteboard one last time like it might suddenly throw you a bone. It didn’t.

You had discovered early on in your relationship that Spencer was an excellent study partner—not just because of his eidetic memory, but because of the way he listened. He absorbed information like a sponge, but more than that, he made you feel heard.

When you explained concepts aloud to him, it forced you to articulate them clearly, and his occasional corrections (always gentle) helped you more than anything else.

With a reluctant sigh, you crossed the room and dropped onto the bed. A stuffed alpaca flopped sideways onto your lap, and Spencer gently rescued it before it fell off the edge.

“This one likes to supervise,” he said with a grin, setting it back beside you like it was part of some official plushie committee.

You couldn’t help but smile. “He looks judgmental.”

“Motivational,” Spencer corrected with a soft laugh. “He believes in you.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders relax for the first time in hours. He turned toward you, expression open and attentive.

“Okay. Tell me again about the difference between quantitative and qualitative methodology. As if you were explaining it to someone who knows absolutely nothing about it.”

“You do know something about it,” you teased.

“Humor me.”

You exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts, and launched back into your explanation.

As you spoke, Spencer nodded, asked the occasional gentle question, and—when you got slightly off track—interjected with the quietest correction, always phrased like a suggestion instead of a critique.

It didn’t hurt that he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Every time you nailed a concept—delivered a term with confidence, or remembered an example from your research—he clapped.

Actually clapped.

Not loudly, not obnoxiously—just a few soft, sincere rounds of applause, the kind that made you all warm and fuzzy.

“Well done,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with pride. “You’ve got it.”

You chuckled and glanced at the plushies around him. “I think they’re helping. You’ve got a whole committee of motivational support there.”

Spencer paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Well, they are great listeners.” He reached down to adjust the stuffed elephant’s little bow tie.

You continued explaining. Eventually, your words started flowing smoother, more confidently. You stopped stumbling over the terminology.

By the time you reached the end of your explanation, you felt like maybe—maybe—you actually understood what you were saying.

You stood up again, feeling the need to walk around as you grabbed another marker and began scribbling new diagrams on the whiteboard.

“And then… that’s it,” you said, your voice more certain now as you stared at the board, watching the last piece of the equation fall into place. You took a deep breath and turned back to Spencer.

His expression was pure warmth—bright eyes, a grin so wide it almost seemed to take up half his face.

"Exactly," he said, his voice soft with admiration, before clapping again—this time with more enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but grin back.

That smile of his, so genuine and so full of pride, made all the hours of frustration feel worth it. He didn’t look tired—not even slightly. Not after hours of watching you scribble, re-explain, stumble, and try again.

Spencer didn’t show a hint of impatience, and that made you appreciate him even more.

In fact, he looked downright adorable sitting there—cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by plushies, still so full of energy and enthusiasm.

You let out a breath. You had done it. You got it.

“I think… I might actually get some sleep now,” you said, laughing a little as you leaned against the whiteboard for a moment, suddenly exhausted.

Spencer chuckled softly, setting down the stuffed elephant he’d been gently adjusting for the past few minutes, his eyes twinkling. “Sleep sounds like a good idea. But if you need to go over it one more time, I’m happy to help.”

You shook your head, a fond, tired smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “I think you’ve helped enough for tonight.”

He shrugged lightly, an endearing gesture that made you feel like he was constantly giving you more than you could ever ask for.

"Anytime," he murmured, voice warm like the tea he'd made you three hours ago that now sat cold and forgotten on your nightstand.

You turned back toward the whiteboard, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of diagrams and notes that had once felt like your mortal enemy.

Now, it just looked like progress.

“I think we can erase these,” you mumbled, already reaching for the eraser.

Spencer padded up behind you, quiet as ever, until you could feel him just over your shoulder.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, lips brushing just behind your ear. “Might want to keep it up for nostalgia.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Spencer, it’s a jumbled mess. Half of it looks like it was written during a caffeine-induced breakdown.”

“That’s the charm,” he said, tightening his arms around your waist briefly before releasing you just enough to grab a nearby marker.

“Besides, this little guy deserves a spot in the Smithsonian,” he added, circling a particularly squiggly doodle of a triangle that had somehow gained angry eyebrows and a caption that read ‘Qualitative gremlin.’

You laughed, letting your head fall back against his shoulder for a second. “Oh no, not the gremlin.”

“He has theories,” Spencer said solemnly.

“You are the gremlin,” you shot back, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

Spencer feigned offense, but the grin that lit up his face gave him away. “Rude,” he said.

You finally began to erase the board, slow satisfying swipes of the eraser wiping away all the hours of stress and scribbled confusion

When the last marker stain was finally wiped clean, you stepped back to admire the blank space like it was a newly renovated canvas.

“Look at that,” you said, arms crossed, satisfied. “A fresh start.”

Spencer hummed in agreement beside you. “Symbolic.”

You glanced at him. “For what?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Tomorrow. The next chapter. Your well-deserved nap.”

You let out a sleepy laugh. “God, yes. That.”

He smiled, then reached out and gently tapped your forehead with his index finger. “Go lay down, before you try to start another lecture.”

You caught his hand before he could pull it away and gave it a small squeeze. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

Spencer’s smile widened, eyes soft as he laced your fingers together. “Lead the way, professor.”

[slothquisitor]

Subliminal

Summary: In which I give the Blood of Arlathan quest actual consequences for at least Rook and Lucanis. Lucanis/Rook, hurt/comfort, 4.5k.

Read on AO3.

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Elgar’nan’s ritual in Arlathan Forest goes quickly from bad to worse. Lucanis is unprepared for the sheer overwhelming number of Venatori, for the way Elgar’nan’s power worms its way into their minds, for ending up trapped in a strange repeating loop of forest until Solas shows Rook the way out, but none of it scares him quite like Rook is right now. She’s moving too slow, and her own spells keep flying wide, missing their targets entirely. 

“Rook! Get out of there!” Neve yells. 

The Venatori are flinging spells at them relentlessly, but it’s like Rook can’t hear them. She doesn’t dodge, is only saved by Neve throwing up a shield at the last second. The heat of a fire spell turns to steam as it hits her frost shield. 

“Rook!” Neve yells again. “Venhedis. Lucanis, what’s wrong with her?” 

He’s not sure, but he stabs the nearest Venatori, doesn’t even watch them as they fall to the ground before hurrying to Rook. “Cover us!”

“You got it,” Neve replies, and he can feel the crackle of her ice magic behind him. 

He grabs Rook by the shoulders, isn’t heartened when Rook sways at the contact. Her eyes are unfocused. “Rook? Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?” 

He’s doing a bad job at keeping the panic from his voice as she doesn’t respond at all to his calls. Her head dips to the side, so he catches her face in his hands. “Rook! Are you with me? Camina?”

Her eyes focus on him, just enough. She winces. “I can hear them in my head. They’re so loud.” Her words are barely above a whisper and each one seems like a battle. Is she talking about Elgar’nan and Solas? 

“Arguing. Fighting. Hurting Rook,” Spite says. He can hear it too?

She’s lost color in her face, and her nose begins to bleed as he pulls her to the relative safety of a column. Mierda. This is bad; they do not have time for this. “We’ve got to keep moving. Can you do that?”

Rook nods weakly, holding onto her staff with both hands like a walking stick. 

He does not feel comforted. “I’ve got you, okay? Just stay behind me and Neve and keep moving.”

“What’s going on, Lucanis?” Neve calls, a hint of frustration in her voice. 

“We need to cover Rook. Solas and Elgar’nan are in her head,” he replies quickly. 

Neve’s eyes widen as she ducks with them behind the column he’s pulled Rook behind. “I hate that that sentence makes sense. Alright, stick close, Rook.”

Rook acknowledges them and then they’re all running, fighting through Venatori. He and Neve have the doubled job of fighting and protecting Rook. He can tell she’s doing her best, seems to have figured out that the more precise spells aren’t working for her, so she’s switched to calling up spirits from the ground. It makes everywhere they go more treacherous to travel, but it’s actually hitting the Venatori instead of going wide, so it’s hard to complain about it. 

Lucanis keeps checking behind him for Rook, making sure she’s still with them. He can tell she’s trying to rally, but the color has completely drained from her face and she keeps wincing at every movement. He’s slashing through Venatori crystals and Neve is doing her best to shield them from the flames of a construct, and it’s hard-fought, but eventually the Venatori around them are all dead. 

“There! The Dalish!” Neve says rushing forward and blasting the last crystal keeping the Dalish locked away. Nearly thirty men, women, and children huddle together looking at their rescuers with wide eyes. 

Lucanis leaves Neve to make explanations and reassurances to them as he falls back to Rook. She’s breathing hard and stumbling her way up the stairs. He catches her arm, steadies her. “I’ve got you.”

She attempts a smile in thanks, but it’s more of a grimace. “I really wish I didn’t have a front-row seat to how much Elgar’nan and Solas hate each other right now.” 

He wishes there was literally anything he could do about that. Bellara, Emmrich, Davrin, Taash, and Harding come around a corner on the other side of the platform the Dalish were being held on. In the distance, Elgar’nan’s archdemon roars. 

“We’ve gotta move!” Taash yells, waving them all forward. 

“Move where?” Davrin demands. 

“As far away from here as we can,” Neve replies, pulling an older elf to his feet. 

“Solas…says there’s…a safehouse…not far from here. The wards should shield us…the entrance is hidden in some overlapping rocks?” Rook leans more heavily into him and he steps closer to keep her upright. 

Her words are too quiet for anyone else to hear, so he quickly repeats them. Bellara nods immediately. “I think I know the place. Follow me!”

The rest of their companions are busy helping the Dalish, but Neve turns back to the two of them, hurrying over. “I’m shit at healing, but tell me where it hurts and I’ll do my best.”

Rook grits her teeth. “Oh, you know…I just have two gods in my head now instead of one….fuck...” The lighthearted sarcasm she so often employs is rather undercut by the fact she can’t quite finish a sentence. 

Neve looks less sure then but places a hand against Rook’s temple. He can feel her pull on the Fade, and Rook sways a bit. “How’s that?”

Rook’s eyes are somewhat unfocused again. “Better, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Either way, we’re out of time,” Neve says. 

“Go. I’ve got her,” Lucanis says. “Rook, can you move?”

“Right behind you.” But her words are shaky. 

He decides then not to let go of her, pulling one of her arms over his shoulder and wrapping his around her waist. And then they’re moving. It’s slow going, but they manage to keep up with the group for the most part, he can feel the magic in the air fading back to whatever passes for normal in Arlathan. 

“Can we stop a moment?” Rook asks weakly. 

“Rook,” he says with an air of apology. Not yet, they can rest when they get to Solas’s safehouse. But her feet stumble and he has to stop anyway, lest they both tumble to the ground. 

She pushes away from him and over to a nearby rock outcropping where she begins retching, leaning against the wall for support. Rook needs a healer and soon. He wishes he knew better how to help her, but she has no wounds he can see and there are no enemies for him to kill now. So he just steps uselessly forward, rubs her back while her body convulsed, and whispers reassurances he’s not sure he believes. When it’s over, she’s breathing hard, head resting against her hands on the rock. 

“Always glamorous, this saving the world business. I’m sorry,” she manages, glancing at him miserably. 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. Can you keep moving?”

“Rook hurt?” Spite asks. 

“Something like that,” he replies. 

“Yeah.” But she winces a little as she straightens. “We lost the group, but I think I know where to go.” There’s an unspoken insinuation that it’s because Solas is still in her head. He’s known this as long as he’s known her, but it had never felt like something dangerous, like something that might hurt her. Solas had saved them, but he’s not sure about the cost. 

He closes the distance, letting her lean against him again. It hadn’t been a choice to touch her before, it was more panic and necessity. But further from danger, he can’t deny the way his breath catches when she touches him, shifting so he can easily wrap his arm around her waist. “I’ve got you,” he says. 

“I know.” It’s the steadiest she’s sounded since this all started. 

Lucanis keeps them both moving, one foot in front of the other, but he knows they’re finally close to safety when he catches sight of Taash running for them. 

“She need a healer?” Taash asks matter-of-factly. 

“Yes,” he replies at the same time as Rook insists ‘no’. 

Taash, for their part, looks unimpressed. “Tracks.” They step in, easily picking Rook up and carrying them. “I got her from here.”

Some part of him is grateful, he is tired. They have been fighting Venatori, running through ancient ruins, and he’s been half-running, half-dragging Rook through the maze of paths and trees to get here. But another part of him panics at letting go of her, as though relinquishing his hold on her might put her in more danger somehow. It’s ridiculous, so he lets her go and jogs to keep up with Taash’s longer strides. 

They lead them through some trees into a crack in the rock, easily hidden unless one knows exactly what to look for. On the other side of the rocks is a small grove. He sees Strife and a number of Veil Jumpers already here, carrying in supplies, and helping the Dalish. Tents are already being set up around the edges of the grove. 

Taash carries Rook to an elven woman with vallaslin over one eye, and they disappear into the nearest tent. He can only assume she must be a healer. He’s about to ask if he can follow when Neve comes to his side. 

“Strife doesn’t think the Venatori are following, but we’re going to wait it out here for a bit,” Neve says. “Is Rook okay?”

“She said that Elgar’nan and Solas were in her head. I’ve never seen her like that.” 

“We’re lucky it was only her Elgar’nan was affecting like that. Solas had to have known what was going to happen when he told her he was going to distract him…”

He doesn’t like that Neve has come to the same conclusion as him about Solas and his  ‘help’. It just means he’s probably right. He glances around at the Dalish clan, harrowed, but alive. “At least we saved the clan.”

Neve nods. “It is nice to get the job done. Seems to be happening more often these days.”

“Is that hope I hear?”

That earns him a tired attempt at a laugh. “Call it cautious optimism.”

Across the camp, he can see Davrin and Bellara working with the Dalish, talking and helping. Emmrich sits with some of the wounded, providing healing. Taash stands guard outside the tent Rook was taken into, and Lucanis doesn’t know what to do with himself. So he follows Neve and Harding and tries to be helpful, awkwardly accepting the gratitude of the elves, while he keeps one eye trained on Rook’s tent. 

Eventually, the healer emerges and has a conversation with Taash before stepping away. He breaks away from watching Harding start a fire to check in with them. 

“And?”

“Rook’ll be fine, but Nehna - the healer -  said she needs to rest. So I think we’re here for a while.”

Rook’s going to be fine. A weight lifts off of him. She’s going to be fine. 

“You can go in there if you want. I did ask, you know, in case you wanted to,” Taash replies with a bit of a knowing look. 

He does want to see her. Wants nothing more than to see for himself that she is fine, but first, the group should talk. “I’ll go after we update everyone.”

The group has mostly drifted together around Harding’s fire anyway. They’ve set down their weapons and are sitting around the fire finally taking a breath. He hasn’t managed to relax enough to do the same. Elgar’nan and his archdemon still feel too close, and he doesn’t trust Solas’s assurances this place is safe from his gaze. 

“Is Rook okay?” Harding asks. Everyone’s worried gazes let him know that they’re all just as concerned, but Harding is just the first to voice it. 

Taash nods. “She’ll be fine. Needs to sleep it off though. Maybe not the worst thing to do to wait this out here though?”

“Strife left a group of Veil Jumpers back at the crater, and he’s going to head back to check-in with them, see what Elgar’nan did after we interrupted. I thought I’d go with him,” Davrin says. 

“Your call. If I ever see that place again, it’ll be too soon,” Neve says. 

“Rook said we’re safe from Elgar’nan here and I’m sure he’s upset we interrupted the ritual, so it might not be the worst thing to wait it out until we hear from the Veil Jumpers,” Harding says. 

Bellara nods. “Besides, Strife asked some of the Veil Jumpers to see if they can figure out the wards on this place to replicate them elsewhere. I’d like to help with that if I can.”

“A very good idea. I will see if I can lend my expertise as well,” Emmrich offers. 

“Sounds like we’re waiting it out, then?” Neve asks. 

Lucanis is fine with that. “Yes.”

Their group thins as Davrin leaves with Strife, and Emmrich and Bellara go to assist the Veil Jumpers. Lucanis pads quietly over to Rook’s tent, some part of him expecting someone to stop him, to tell him that this isn’t allowed. 

But no one does. 

Inside the tent, Rook sleeps. Her face has regained some of its color, and she looks peaceful, no longer in pain. Something in his chest loosens. She’s fine. She’s going to be just fine. The tent is small, but she’s at least in a bedroll and under a blanket. Her armor sits in a neat pile by her feet. There’s enough space for him to sit without bothering her, so he takes a seat on the mat that covers the ground of the tent. 

“Rook?” Spite asks, peering towards her sleeping form. 

“Don’t wake her; she needs to rest,” he whispers. He expects Spite to argue, but he doesn’t, simply drifts back in his direction, settling into the silent vigil. 

Looking at Rook, he realizes this is the horrifying danger of finally having something to lose. There are no weapons in the world strong enough to solve gods fighting in her head. He had been able to do nothing except watch helplessly from the sidelines as she suffered. What sort of fight is that?

He sits beside her until his back is aching, and then he pulls his cloak off to create a make-shift pillow. He could divest himself of his armor and weapons, but he’d rather be ready in case. He stretches out carefully taking up only a little space and listens to the sounds of the camp beyond: the soft murmur of voices, the crackling of the fires, and the general relief permeating the movement of people who have just survived something horrifying. 

He fights sleep, at first. More out of habit than any real fear, but when he overhears the news that Davrin and Strife return with, he finally shuts his eyes. Elgar’nan had sacrificed the Venatori to his dragon. He’s sure the thought should horrify him, but he can only think that it’s what they deserve as he falls asleep to the soft sounds of Rook’s breathing. 

***

When Camina wakes, she doesn’t recognize the dark red canvas above her or the soft blanket she’s curled up under. Her head feels heavy like it’s somehow been filled with cotton, but it doesn’t hurt and that’s a relief. She’s not sure she remembers a time when she was in more pain than what had followed at the crater. She’d barely been able to put one foot in front of the other, her vision had been spotty and her head had felt like it was splitting open. Lucanis had to basically drag her here before Taash picked her up and carried her to the healer. That’s the last thing she remembers.  

She rolls over on the bedroll she’s sleeping in only to find that Lucanis is here, still in full armor. It’s a testament to how worried he was that he’s here at all, she knows that. She’s immediately filled with guilt. 

His head twists in her direction, eyes opening with a purple gleam. Ah, not Lucanis. 

“Rook?”

“Hello, Spite.”

Spite turns Lucanis to his side so that they are facing each other. He lays on the opposite end of the very small tent, giving her as much space as possible, she assumes. She wonders if he meant to sleep or not though his cloak is rolled up beneath his head. 

“Rook. Hurt?” It’s clear the demon is doing his best approximation of a whisper, but it’s more of a stage whisper than anything actually quiet. 

“I’m alright now.”

“They were loud,” Spite says. 

She frowns. “You could hear them?”

His face twists in disgust. “Shook the Fade. Hurt Rook. Lucanis worried.”

“Just Lucanis?” she asks teasingly. It has become no secret that Spite likes talking to her. Perhaps it is because she’s rather more indulgent of his questions than Lucanis usually is, but then Spite can talk directly to Emmrich, and still, his preference is her. He reminds her of Manfred sometimes with the questions and curiosity and attempts to understand the world. 

Rather than responding, Lucanis’s eyelids flutter as he wakes, Spite ceding control. She gets the feeling that if it weren’t for the communication barrier and his inability to interact with the world without Lucanis’s body, Spite wouldn’t spend much time there. He seems more often baffled by bodies than having any true interest in possessing Lucanis. 

“Hey.”

“I hope Spite didn’t wake you,” Lucanis says, a note of apology in his voice. 

“He didn’t.”

“How are you feeling?”

She feels much better than before. Her head is blissfully quiet. “My head feels funny. Foggy almost. Otherwise, fine.”

He looks relieved at that. “Good. You had me worried.”

“Thank you for staying with me and getting me out of there.”

��Always.”

“The Dalish?” she asks.

“All saved. Thanks to you,” Lucanis replies. Then his gaze skitters away and she braces for the bad news she can tell he’s about to deliver. “Elgar’nan was angry about the interrupted ritual. It sounds like he sacrificed the Venatori to strengthen his archdemon.”

So it had all been for nothing. The Dalish clan saved, but people died anyway. An archdemon strengthened. She tries to cover her disappointment, but he catches it anyway. “It could’ve been innocent elves…instead it was racist blood mages. We’ll get another chance at him.”

“We better,” she replies. “Is everyone waiting on me? Is that why we’re here and not at the Lighthouse?”

“I think everyone is still asleep.”

“So we have some time?” Just the two of them, in here? Alone? 

His answering smile is soft. “We do.”

“You don’t have a bedroll.” He is simply stretched out on the woven reed mat that covers the floor of the tent. 

“I didn’t exactly plan to sleep…I just…I wanted to be with you.” There’s something endearing about his earnestness, but there’s an undercurrent of clear worry in it too. Why else would he be here, in full armor if not for the fear?

She reaches across the distance between them and takes his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.” It’s not the first time they’ve touched like this, but it is the first time she’s reached for him. 

He doesn’t pull away and with his free hand, he carefully readjusts her blanket so that it once again covers her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

She remembers the splitting headache, the way her vision had blurred. But she also remembered him, cradling her face and calling her back. “You called me Camina.”

The uncertainty is clear in his eyes, and she worries she’s pushed this too far. He sighs. “I didn’t know what was happening. I was trying to get your attention.”

It had worked; she remembers the way he’d come back into focus. As terrified as she was, he had been there and he had been calling her name. “It was nice.”

He seems to be considering her words. “You told me once that you wished there was somewhere you just got to be Camina.”

It had been a comment tossed out in a moment of vulnerability months ago at the beginning of all of this. But he remembered. It makes her want to be brave. 

“Maybe…when it’s just us…when we’re like this…”She doesn’t know what else to call this, what they are, but when he looks at her like that, she’s almost sure. 

He shifts a little closer to her, a finger reaching out to carefully tuck her hair behind her ear. “Camina.” The way he says her name is careful, as though it is something delicate on his tongue.

She wants to lean into that touch, wants to draw him closer. She wonders for a moment if he’s going to kiss her the way he didn’t in the pantry. Especially as he carefully runs the back of his fingers across her cheek before tracing the line of her nose. His brown eyes are soft in the half-darkness, mouth parted a little as though he is in awe that this moment exists at all.

“You’ve never told me how you got this,” he says, fingers gently gliding across the scar that spans the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a silly story,” she breathes, wishing he wouldn’t stop touching her. 

But he pulls back. “Tell me.”

So she does. She tells him of a night filled with all the belief of invulnerability that youth brings. She tells him how the halls had always called to her, and so one night when she answered, she’d found herself followed by her newest friend: Willow. She tells him of the wisp that had led them down into a place that felt unexplored, uncatalogued. She had caught sight of a funerary urn and had wanted to read the name etched into the clay, but it had been too high up to see properly. Will had been busy exploring another part of the tomb, so she’d climbed the stone recesses containing the bones of the dead to reach it. She’d just grabbed hold of it when the stone had crumbled beneath her boot. She’d found herself falling and she’d done what she could to protect the urn, and in so doing, it had landed on her nose, cutting across the bridge. It had hurt, but she still remembered Will’s laughter echoing off the stone, the way she had joined her even as Will had pulled a bandage from her satchel to mop up the blood. The way Will had carefully been her eyes as she’d clumsily attempted to heal her injury then and there. The way that night had cemented their new friendship. 

“Why didn’t you just ask Will for help getting the urn?” he asks. 

“How would she have helped? We’re the same height. Besides, I’m impatient and bad at asking for help, you know that.”

He chuckles. “I do.”

“I could have gone to a Watcher healer after, they probably would have made the scar a bit less noticeable…but I didn’t,” she says, the words a hushed whisper in the quiet darkness that covers them like a blanket.

“Why not?” he asks, thumb brushing her knuckles. 

“I found I didn’t mind it…or the reminder of the night.” She’d been so unsure about Willow, about their new friendship until the moment Will had seen her laying on her ass at the bottom of a tomb and burst into laughter at the same time she reached into her bag for her healing kit. 

“It suits you; you’re beautiful.” He says it with such quiet awe, with such focused intensity she cannot help but blush. In Nevarra, beauty always felt unattainable. It was lush gowns and arms full of golden bangles. It was Van Markams and Forsythias and Pentaghasts and country homes. Beauty always felt gated behind the etiquette that still doesn’t feel second-nature to her no matter how many classes the Watchers made her sit through.

But she knows what he finds beautiful: a sunrise in Treviso, a good cup of coffee, a sharp, well-maintained blade, a collection of words in a book…He doesn’t use the word lightly, and to know she is included in that venerated list makes her want to close the distance between them. She wants to trace her own fingers across his cheek and ask him about his scars and their stories. 

But she doesn’t because she is afraid of spoiling what she does have with hopes for more. They have made no declarations and the only promises they carry between them are spun sugar soft and just as fragile. She still remembers too clearly the way he had pulled away in the pantry; she still hasn’t found the courage to ask why. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly, as much a reminder to her of this connection as punctuating her words. “Do you have any scars?”

“A few,” he says. “I don’t know any assassin that doesn’t.”

She waits him out, the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air. 

When he begins speaking the words are muffled, rushed together. “There was a job in Orlais and I found myself on the wrong end of a chevalier’s blade, it cut me right here.” He gestures to his left side, right on the ribs.

He tells her a story about breaking into some lavish chateau outside of Val Royeaux, of sneaking in through windows and creeping through the quiet. Of finding his target, a Comte, ready to dispatch him, but the Comte had swapped places with a chevalier, so he’d wound up in an unexpected fight with an imposter and had to scour the house for the real Comte afterward. He’d found him cowering in a nearby linen closet.

“He caught me by surprise,” Lucanis says, sounding almost impressed. “It was a good plan, it might have even saved him if I hadn’t known the Comte couldn’t fight.” 

“How did you know?” she asks. 

“He’d sent his brother off to fight for Grand Duke Gaspard during the civil war in his place, and he was the one who paid for the contract.”

“His own brother?”

Lucanis sighs. “Orlesians.” He says it with exasperation as if his own cousin hadn’t just tried to get him killed. If he catches the irony, he gives no indication of it. 

“Does it ever bother you? Your job?”

“No, death comes for everyone. I’ve never killed an innocent by my count. It is a solitary sort of occupation though. I hadn’t realized that until I joined this team. Though I could do without the dragons if it’s all the same to you.”

“And gods fighting in my head,” she agrees.

He glances at the comfortable tangle of their fingers before meeting her gaze. “Even so, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

When he looks at her like that, her stomach does a little flip. She hopes he can’t tell. “Laying on the hard ground in a tiny tent after fighting through scores of Venatori?”

The corners of his mouth tip up at her attempt at a joke, his gaze filled with nothing but fondness. “With you.”

And if that isn’t a declaration, what is?

Likes and reblogs are love!

[ad-astra-per-asparagus]

Ok dumping my thoughts right here now that I’ve collected them since reading Batman 138. It’s a doozy, so bear with me.

Honestly, the premise of Gotham War is intriguing and could’ve been good if not for the sloppy execution. It’s interesting to see Bruce’s psyche rapidly declining, but how Zdarsky is going about it is ham-fisted and forced. First off, Selina’s method is outlandish and riddled with plot holes. There’s no skirting around that. Now logically I could see the batfamily members not declaring an allegiance to either side because both Bruce and Selina are in the wrong here; Bruce is losing his mind because Zur is hijacking it while Selina thinks training criminals will magically solve all violent crime in Gotham and everything will be sunshine and rainbows. But having the kids blindly fall into line with Selina because they agree with her plan is dogwater writing that I’m surprised Zdarsky cooked up after his spectacular Daredevil run. Have them form their own faction and let them actually act like they have agency and purpose instead of shoving them into roles that don’t fit.

Now I’m a little skeptical on the whole Jason/failsafe stuff. On one end, it’s a daring concept to play with. It shows how Bruce is going off the deep end and raises the stakes of the plot. On the other end, it’s going to drive an enormous wedge between Jason and Bruce for the foreseeable future. Like, there is no forgiving Bruce for this easily. Maybe that’s a good thing though, considering Jason for the past few years has been cycling through the same character arc over and over again like a washing machine that spits out clothes that are more worn-out after every load. Taking him out of the batfamily fold and inserting him into his own corner of DC sequestered away from Batman might actually force DC to write him organically, depending on whether or not Jason doesn’t go insane himself because what Bruce did to him was quite literally torture that will now be perpetual. Wowza.

My next gripe is the timing between comics. Batman and Robin’s timeframe is vague, but after reading 138 it makes zero sense why Damian would steadfastly stick by Bruce’s side—unless of course B&R happens way later, and somehow Bruce regains minor control of his mental state. Or the most realistic explanation being that the writers didn’t communicate the timelines, leaving their stories to contradict each other. But what are comics if not zany contradictions of stories? So I guess this gripe can slide…for now. Benefit of the doubt to Williamson at least because he planned B&R way in advance, meanwhile Gotham War was strung together as a myopic copy of Marvel’s Civil War in order to—I’m spitballing here—have Bruce be alone for a while in his own comics because he’s “a loner”…despite his character being, at his core, a family man, and whose character revolved around family for decades. Family rift stories can be good. Packed with drama. Exciting. This is none of the above.

Finally, arguably my biggest complaint about this dumpster fire, is Tim. Writers tend to be biased toward characters, I understand that, but when favoritism bleeds into the writing it sours the story altogether. Having Tim assume this role of “Bruce’s savior” is incredibly cheap and a little laughable at times. I see that they’re trying to establish him as important again, reliving his glory days as the Robin who helped guide Bruce back onto the right path after Jason’s death, but throwing other characters under the bus to lift him up is crazy. Especially Damian, because Damian saved his dad’s life twice in the last few months. Seriously, I’d brush it off if Tim hadn’t told Damian he was the one who helped Bruce out of the darkness while Damian only pushed Bruce further into it. Paraphrasing, but that’s the general idea: Tim is a saint and the rest of his siblings (Cassandra? Who?) are a cut below him when it comes to helping dear old dad out of his bad place. That hug was cute, but it was sugar spread on a pile of shit.

[prescriptionfiction]

            TW: PTSD, War & Combat, Harassment/Abuse of Power

Where should I even start with this book? If you’re in the LitRPG/Fantasy/Progression Novel/ Kindle Unlimited space at all, then you’ve heard of it. Undoubtedly one of the most popular of the genre, does this book deserve to be remembered as a pioneer in fiction? Or is it a cluttered mess of a novel? Let’s discuss.

            First, the genre. If you’ve never heard of it, LitRPG novels are fiction novels that incorporate video game-like aspects somehow, usually through the world’s magic or combat system. If you’ve never read a book in the genre or if you aren’t familiar with video games at all, it can be a bit… awkward, to put it lightly. There’s just a general sense of cringe associated with a book about people using video game-style UIs and power scaling that makes it a difficult genre to break into. If you can power through, though, or if you just don’t care, like me, then I really do think that these books can be worth a shot, this one in particular.

            Now, the book itself. First, the title is a bit uninspiring. There are around 12 books in the series and none of them have proper titles, just “He Who Fights With Monsters #1”, “He Who Fights With Monsters #2”, etc. etc. Not a great start in my eyes but I’m not huge on titles anyway. If the story’s good, I don’t care what you call it as long as I can say the name with a straight face. The cover’s also pretty solid. It doesn’t give too much away, a surprisingly large problem with a large portion of books I’ve read, and it doesn’t look cheap or poorly made.

            The story itself revolves around Jason, a man who works as an assistant manager at an office supply store. Bypassing that entirely, the story starts abruptly, with Jason waking up completely naked in a hedge maze. Here, the LitRPG elements make themselves known. A holographic screen appears in front of him, offering a quest: Explore the hedge maze with pants as a reward upon successful completion. Already, half of you are about to click away. “Wait, it’s an isekai on top of having video game shit? I’m out.” Hold on, lemme cook.

            I won’t go into too much more detail about the beginning (certainly not about the Potent Carnivorous Hamsters or the cannibal cult) to avoid spoilers since the story progresses pretty quickly after that. Jason gets magic powers, finds friends, fights monsters, kind of what it says on the back cover. Just know that, despite how silly or stupid it seems now, there’s actually a good explanation for everything that has and will occur. It takes some time, but once the pieces begin to fit into place, it all feels like it makes sense and fits into the story.

            The main character is also a sticking point for some people. You might be saying, “Well, first it’s the genre, then the isekai story, now the main character sucks? Why are you even telling me about this heap of garbage?” Shhhh. Shut the fuck up. I said lemme cook. In this case, I feel like it’s an issue of people not following through more with the series. The issue people have is that the main character is nonstop snarky, sarcastic, and an overall wiseass who doesn’t respect people much more powerful than him and seems to just get away with it for no reason. Which, fair enough. Some of the jokes are pretty funny but I can see how that gets old. If you quit here, this will probably be one of your big takeaways for the series. If you keep going, though, it’s well worth it. The character development arc that the series follows actually shocked me on my first readthrough and continues to impress me on further rereads. There are real, serious consequences to Jason’s actions and disrespect for people he dislikes. His character development reflects this in a very believable way, and once he develops some, you can start to see the positive characteristics hiding under the mask of snark. Plus, his anti-capitalism, anti-American exceptionalism sentiments are pretty funny.

            The magic system is interesting and pretty easy to follow so I won’t touch on it too much here. Powers are incredibly varied, keeping it fresh and unique. There’s some bloat later when the author needs to remind you exactly what each character’s ability does during intense combat sequences, but they’ve already noted that it’s a problem and are working to improve their writing in future books.

            Finally, the depiction of stress and PTSD is present and pretty well warranted in the series. I won’t touch on it here since, duh, it’s the first book and everything’s sunshine and rainbows, but it’s worth mentioning due to how much it impressed me. Seeing characters have real-feeling stress and PTSD responses to combat, killing, and torture isn’t something that’s touched on much IMO. This book uses these intense feelings to ground the characters, making them significantly more relatable and realistic. In this story, actions have real consequences. People aren’t invincible and can’t shrug off horrifying sights and experiences. Their progression is influenced by their experiences and it’s on full display here. Again, not really present in this one but definitely a selling point I wanted to mention.

            Now. That was a lot of rambling, I know. I know I didn’t touch on the story much but there’s really only a little I can mention without taking away some of the enjoyment you’ll get from reading this book. If you enjoy fantasy, magic, lots of fighting, and world-spanning mystery/danger, give this a shot. I genuinely believe that this series is something special. It might not be the most well-written at times, but I enjoy it every time I read it.

I rarely give 5 stars to a book. It really needs to be something I love for me to recommend something this highly but this book absolutely deserves it.

[naneun-no]

💭 Thoughts and Questions 💭

Content: My thoughts on the backlash to the JITB physical release. This is rather long.

It feels necessary to preface this with I LOVE Jung Hoseok. I’m a fan. His solo release may damn well be my favorite of Ch. 2 so far. None of my thoughts are a criticism of him, moreso criticisms of the backlash to the physical release…

So, I’m trying to keep up with the drama surrounding the JITB physical release but maybe I’m just too out of the loop to understand?

I don’t buy physical copies (of almost anything). It’s just not a part of my fandom experience for any fandom I belong to. Hasn’t been for years, since most of the world and my household went digital. So maybe that’s why I didn’t get the uproar originally when everyone wanted a physical album, but I mostly ignored it. Now I see a lot of people chastising those who wanted a physical album (and apparently caused enough of a ruckus to get one) and I’m not getting things again.

Perhaps it’s because I work for a B2C (business to consumer) corporation and I’ve been in marketing for a decade, but to me this seems like a normal occurrence? That is: 1) customers want/like something/ a feature they’ve come to expect. 2) business doesn’t quite realize or foresee how much their customers like said feature. 3) business releases a version of their product without said feature, to switch things up or for budgetary reasons or whatever. 4) customers go “hey what the hell, where’s that feature we like?!” and business is forced to 5) step back, reevaluate, and decide whether to stick with their original rollout or make a change to meet the demands and re-release the product with the feature that was missing.

Does that make sense? Idk… I guess I’m probably over-simplifying it, since one of the differences between the products released by a musician/idol and those released by a business is that there’s a lot of personal creativity and agency in the idol’s release. So criticism of it can come off like disrespect/distrust/hate for the artist themself. However, I would like to note that a great deal of creativity and passion goes into many, many products, and just because a large business produces them doesn’t mean that a lot of individual artists and creators and businesspeople weren’t behind the scenes, busting their asses only to be disappointed when they see the consumer reactions, which are oftentimes not as open to innovation and change as the artists were hoping. They experience that pain too, they’re just not precious, beloved idols so nobody really takes it upon themselves to defend them, and they pretty much only have their partners and work friends to mope to about it over drinks at happy hour.

And that brings up another interesting point; people seem to be defending Hobi on the basis that any ARMY who demanded a physical album are questioning his creativity/validity as an artist and making him feel bad and in general being shitty, entitled, ungrateful fans. In other words, they’re defending him as a creative person, not as a business person. Cause it could be argued that not releasing a physical album was, in hindsight, just not a great business decision. And he realized that later on, and, like his letter said, had to decide whether he wanted to stay the course or make a “better late than never” change.

[sidenote: I read the translation in its entirety, and I’m not seeing the agonizing heartbreak that others seem to be seeing? I’m seeing the honest explanation of a creative who made a bold move and is realizing — with some disappointment — that his audience wasn’t as appreciative as he hoped they’d be, and he’s making a course correction…? But maybe I’m too steeped in the corporate world to see this as the soul-wrenching sob story it apparently is??]

The reason I think it’s interesting that people are defending him primarily as a creative person and not a business person is that a few weeks back my timeline was FULL of ARMY’s mocking and side-eyeing you know who — Doja Cat.

She made waves (again…) for essentially saying she didn’t “love” her fans cause she doesn’t know them. And my TL was flooded with people smugly saying “it’s just a bad business decision to alienate your fans like that” while simultaneously sharing clips of BTS and their very demonstrative love for ARMY while gloating “can’t relate 😇”. Which begs the question — are BTS’s expressions of love for ARMY personal, or are they just good business?

I’m not saying that to be cynical, I’m saying it because Doja Cat (and I’m not an apologist for her by any means, but it’s a timely reference) was apparently a foolish businesswoman for making statements that made her fans mad. And Hobi is apparently a poor, wounded creative soul for making a decision that made his fans mad…?

Now, making inflammatory statements like “I don’t know those ppl” when referring to your loyal fans and not releasing a physical version of an album are two WILDLY different things and I understand that. I am not trying to conflate the two, more just noticing when and how we, as a fandom, choose to refer to famous musicians as “businesspeople” and when we don’t. When Doja spurns her fans, it’s a dumb business move. When BTS says they love their fans, it’s because they’re super duper sweethearts who love us forever. When Hobi makes a call for his album that a lot of fans disagree with, voicing that disagreement is suddenly hate and harassment for the artist you’re supposed to love, rather than consumer backlash.

I say this not having seen the harassment myself, but I also didn’t look for it. I saw people expressing disappointment, frustration, even that classic paranoia that all ARMY seem to have these days (“he’s being mistreated!”). So if there were genuine threats, hate, and vile behavior that crossed the line (and sadly, in this fandom, there probably was) then I think calling that out and saying “WTF is wrong with you people?!?!” is more than justified.

But when I see people scold, lecture, and attack others for clamoring for a physical album and being overjoyed when their cries were answered, I just think…. You must not work in the consumer goods industry. Cause this shit isn’t that unusual. 🤷‍♀️

Tell me how I’m wrong? I’m totally open to respectfully chatting. Just kinda had to get it out of my head.

[mumblingsage]

RUE can be tricky because some things do need explaining, and there's always a distracted reader who would appreciate some reminder of context. But you often don't need to spend as much time explaining as you might think, and reserving explanation for the more complicated or counter-intuitive elements of the characters and story ensures you won't strain any reader's attention span.

I recently found a great example of what this can look like in practice from author Cheryl Burman:

Here’s a short piece from Legend of the Winged Lion where I’ve added to the actual text [in the square brackets] to show what I mean. Gweyr summoned a wry smile [to show Da she was mostly joking]. ‘Chicken soup, again?’ [she said drily.] If Mam was here, it would have been carrot soup today [because Mam always made carrot soup on Wednesdays. She’d been doing so ever since Gweyr could remember]. A too familiar lump rose in her throat [at this reminder of her dead mother]. Da raised an eyebrow [to show he understood Gweyr was thinking about her mother] and tilted his head in the direction of the scullery [telling her she needed to get back to work]. ‘Nearly done.’ Gweyr huffed [at the implication she was lazy]. She wrapped a thick cloth about her hand [to prevent it being burned] and picked up the kettle [from the hot range]. ‘Make sure you top it up, won’t you, luv?’ [as if Gweyr needed reminding to do this each time] ‘Sure, Da,’ Gweyr [quickly assured him. She] squeezed between the table and a dresser [where the gap was very tight] mumbling [to herself], ‘And sweep the bar and the tap room and dust Mam’s chaos of old horseshoes and bells,’ as she went back to the pots [dreading the boring day of work ahead of her]. My additions have doubled the word count, added nothing to the meaning of the passage, and slowed the whole thing down.

As a reader, I'd be fine with 2 or 3 of those bolded explanations (maybe I missed where the kettle was, or preferred the rhythm of a slightly longer sentence here or there), but none of them are absolutely necessary--as proof, the story was published without them--some of them underestimate the reader's intelligence, and all of them together are a real strain.

(I'll also say, I've been listening to an audiobook of a novel that is overall solid, but has the occasional unnecessary explanation that sticks out when you're absorbing the text at the slower pace of someone reading aloud. "Wait, that sentence could have ended several words ago, I already know this!")

Apparently the original use of "show, don't tell" from Ernest Hemingway was to advise writers that they don't need to tell readers what they're already showing them. Less "do this instead of that" and more "no need to be redundant."

Anyway I've tried incorporating this idea into my editing advice -- less "you should show this instead of telling this" (occasionally "I think you can convey this image more vividly with a specific detail, with about the same number of words") and more "I don't think you need this explanatory line because the reader has already reached this conclusion from what information you've given us up to now." Editors also refer to this as RUE, for "Resist the Urge to Explain."

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Three

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: So sorry last weekend’s chapter was late this week, I’m back to my regularly scheduled posting! I’m so excited so many of you like this series so far!!

Word Count: 1131

Series Masterlist

• January 25, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

My second day at Forks high school started much smoother than the first. It was pretty much uneventful until I decided to eat lunch alone outside on the picnic tables in the quad. It was an overcast day much like all the others and maybe a little chilly, but still decent enough since it wasn’t currently raining. It made for the perfect condition being that no one else really wanted to eat outside.

That is, until I spotted none other than Jasper Hale headed in my direction.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, pointing to the opposite end of the table I’m currently occupying.

“Not at all.” I respond, idly tidying my area self consciously.

“Sorry, sometimes it’s a little overwhelming inside and I come out here to get away.” He says by way of explanation, laying down the sketch pad he carried with him along with a few pencils and a smudge stick. “Mostly I just come out here to draw uninterrupted.” He sits and flips to an empty page, tilting it a little away from my view.

“I get it, large crowds aren’t my thing either. Plus in the two days I’ve known Emmett I can already tell that he probably creates a hostile drawing environment.” I finish with a light chuckle, turning my attention toward the unfinished apple in my hand.

“You draw too?” He asks, eyebrows lifting as he begins a rough sketch on the blank paper.

“Oh heck no, I don’t have any artistic abilities like that, as much as I wish I did.” I frown, taking a bite of my apple.

“I didn’t think I had it in me either, but I took some classes, watched some videos online, and doodled around a lot. Finally got the hang of it although I still don’t really think I’m that good.” He trails off, concentrating on his pencil strokes. “It helps with the stress though, especially when there’s a lot going on.”

“That is… actually kind of neat. Having an outlet that’s also inspiring, creating art and it centering you in the process.” I muse out loud, watching a face beginning to take shape on his paper.

I’m about to ask who he’s drawing when the bell signaling the end of lunch rings out in the empty air surrounding us. I gather my trash and stand while he tucks his supplies away.

“Thanks for keeping me company today.” I tell him as I gaze into his beautifully golden eyes, not quite ready to part ways with him.

“Thanks for allowing me to disturb your peace and quiet.” And as if reading my mind, “Mind if I walk you to your next class?”

“Oh um, sure.” Trying not to seem too excited by the proposition of spending more time in this gorgeous boy’s presence. I tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear and walk towards him.

“Lead the way, darlin’.” He announces, sweeping his arm in the direction of the main school building, a smirk on his lips.

I laugh and shake my head at his antics, a blush creeping up my cheeks as I walk past him in the direction of my economics class.

Ditching my trash in the trash can as we leave the quad, I miss the way he grins at the accomplishment of making me giggle. I also fail to notice the astounded looks of his adopted siblings as we pass them unaware of their presence through the windows of the cafeteria. Faces reflecting their shocked thoughts at seeing their brother openly flirting with a female compared to his normal stoic facade.

“How did you do it?” Emmett asks, leaning against the locker next to mine.

“Could you be a little more specific?” I ask, a little confused by his blunt question.

“You’ve been here less than a week and my brother is wrapped around your little finger.” He says, holding up his pinky to wiggle in my face.

I laugh and shut my locker, “Emmett, I’ve had all of like two interactions with Jasper, you’re looking into this a little too much.”

“He usually keeps to himself, this isn't the normal Jasper we’re talking about.” He falls into step slightly behind me on my way to the last class of the day, his large build not moving through the throng of students as quickly as I am.

I turn to look at my new friend, “I literally have no clue, it’s probably nothing Em!” My heart picking up speed at just the thought of Jasper. Is he actually interested in me? Is that what Emmett is getting at?

There’s no way, beautiful people like him don’t go for people like me.

I turn and leave Emmett behind in the hallway as students finish rushing through the halls, the tardy bell ringing.

American History, the class I share with Jasper Hale and it also happens to be the last class of the day. Unfortunately though, his assigned seat is on the other side of the room. At least it’s more forward than mine, leaving me to observe him for most of the class period without him seeing.

History is also my worst subject; whether it’s world or US history, I hate it all the same. So many mistakes and atrocities, I wish I could let it flow in one ear and out the other without having to remember it for tests.

Today though, I get the sense our teacher has had a difficult day since he’s decided to let us work together freely. Seeing as I don’t really know anyone yet, I’m forced to work alone.

As if he could feel my discomfort and irritation with the assignment, Jasper Hale appears at the edge of my peripheral vision, claiming the abandoned desk next to mine and turning a few heads of our classmates.

“You’re thinking so loud I could practically hear it from across the room.” He mutters lowly without looking up from his worksheet.

“I’m thinking too loud?” I respond defensively as I cut him a look that would normally skin boys alive.

“Would you like some help or not, doll?” He asks, a grin sliding across his lips as his eyes meet mine in challenge.

“I-uh, I hate history.” I manage to blurt out, a little flustered that he so easily bypassed my frustrated facade without a blink.

“I do want that explanation eventually, but we have work to finish and only,” He breaks eye contact to glance at the clock above the board, “thirty seven minutes left before you’re on your own.”

“Alright Hale, what did you get for number four?” I deflate and accept his offer to save me from the misery of suffering through this stupid assignment alone.

Next

[souichieatr]

idk if you’ve read the manga ‘to say the least, this is love’,,, but could you do like opposites attract with shinichiro; silly little delinquent x serious college student 😇😇

maybe like they meet and start to run into each other a bunch more, shinichiro is very vocal about him starting to develop feelings and the reader is very straightforward and only focused on studies. but starts to warm up to him and he starts giving reader rides to class on his bike and whatnot🤭🤭🤭 sorry this explanation is so long idk how to put it in shorter words T^T

— cigarette with his number on it

a/n: absolutely LOVE LIVE LOVE shinichiro with a partner like this so i decided to write a little story not completely the ask (i got off topic) BUT PLS DO ENJOY

warnings: none?? , wc 1029

“Hey Y/n do you have a pencil I could borrow?” Shinichiro leans over to his right to whisper to the girl taking notes.

"I gave you a pencil last class shinichiro.” She whispers back, not looking up from her notes.

"The class was last week. How am I supposed to keep track of a small pencil?” He pouts and crosses his arms. Shinichiro was always like this unprepared for class, late, cutting classes. Shinichiro watches Y/n write her notes grabbing a pen underlining what she found important. He had always found himself watching her; they did share a couple lectures and he made sure to grab the seat next to her in every one. The professor asks if anyone has any final questions before dismissing all the students.

“Hey Y/n what are you doing tomorrow?” Shinichiro asks while the girl picks her things and packs them away.

“Homework” Y/n responds walking past shinichiro but he follows quickly behind her.

"Cmonnn it’s Friday there has to be something else for you to do” he whines he can tell he’s annoying her by the way she clenches her pen.

"I don’t see why you care so much of what I’m doing with my time.”

"You’re doing homework instead of going on a date with me.” Shinichiro pouts as Y/n rolls her eyes. Shinichiro has been asking her out since their first class almost 6 months ago and each time Y/n has denied him but today will be different. Shinichiro smirks, stepping in front of the girl stopping her, taking the pen out of her hand, ignoring her glare. He takes his pack of cigarettes out and fishes one out then puts the pack back into his pocket.

"I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke on school property.” She says flatly he chuckled at her.

"I’ve seen you study at the Coffee Bean so you’ll meet me there” he says writing on the cigarette. “And before you say no just take it as you’re already going to be studying there and I just happen to show up at the same time and since we’re friends I sit with you and we have coffee.” He grabs her hand, opening it and gently placing the cigarette in it and putting her pen in his back pocket. “Text me for the time you’ll be showing up.”

"Give me my pen back Shinichiro.”

“You’ll get it back when we meet at the Coffee Bean.” He winks at her then walks away. She looks at the cigarette shaking her head and puts it in her pocket.

Setting her things on her desk with a sigh, pulling her phone out of her back pocket, something falls on the floor. Looking down she sees the cigarette rolling on the floor she bends down and picks it up.

“Wow Y/n new hobby?” Her brother says looking at the stick in her fingers for a second but not sticking around for a response making his way to his room. Sighing again she looks at her phone typing the number.

I want my pen back.

Shinichiro hates to admit it but he’s nervous, walking to the spot he agreed to meet her at. Brushing his hand through his hair as he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Walking in with a deep breath he finds her in the dark corner face deep in her book.

"Y/n? What a coincidence” He says walking her with a smile on his face.

"Hello Shinichiro” She says, breaking away from her book. “You didn't bring your books?”

“Watching you study gives me all the satisfaction I need”

"What does that even mean?” He laughs at her comment. She goes back to her book and starts to write something down when he catches sight of her pen.

"Do you like spiderman?”

“What?” She stops writing to look at him.

“Your pen.” They both look at the kiddish pen sitting in her hand, it's blue with the character spiderman around the top.

"I mean yeah it's the only other pen I had since my other one was being held hostage.” She said, twisting the pen between her fingers.

"So it was just laying around?” He says with a smirk.

"My brother gave it me as a joke”

“You have a brother?” He says, eyes widening a bit. She raised an eyebrow nodding her head.

An hour had passed and the two never seemed to notice, lost in their own world. Y/n closed her book, setting it off to the side much to Shinichiro’s pleasure. The two talked about their siblings, why they applied to college, shared stories about middle school and spiderman which Y/n is a big fan of Shinichiro found out. Every time Y/n giggled at his stories his cheeks burned she was beautiful he thought to himself. Looking down at her watch Y/n’s eyes widened.

“Oh wow I didn't mean to talk your ear off” she says giving him a soft smile.

“I like seeing your face not in a book” he says smiling at her in return leaning on his hand. She gave him a glare and started to pack her things. “Do you have to be somewhere?”

"I told my brother I would pick something up from the library for him it closes soon”

"Do you want a ride?”

"Are you sure? I've never seen you even walk by the library” she says giggling remembering the time she was studying and instead of walking past the library he went to the opposite side of the street.

“Well you'll just have to hold my hand so I don't run away” he says, snatching her bag and swinging it across his shoulders as he stands up.

“Just say you want to hold my hand Sano” she says standing up next to him. He nudges her towards the door with a crooked smile as he shakes his head.

not proofread

[azurish]

Pyrrha Dve and Pyrrha of Thessaly: Survivors of the Flood

“If I’m God, I can start over. The flood, you know? You can wash things clean. That’s all the end of Earth was … making things clean.” --Nona the Ninth, p. 435

“You want Gideon the First, and Gideon the First is dead. He’s not coming back. Oh, God, Gideon,” said Pyrrha, suddenly. “Gideon … G—, you died for nothing.” --Nona the Ninth, p. 390

tl;dr: Pyrrha Dve shares a name with Pyrrha of Thessaly, one of the only two survivors of Zeus’s great deluge in Greek myth, which might connect to why Pyrrha alone seems to remember G1deon’s real name from before Jod’s “flood.” Unpacking this allusion brings to light other suggestive parallels between the two Pyrrhas’ stories, including:

Zeus and Jod’s destruction of the Earth with the intent to replace flawed humanity with a new, pious version of humankind who would worship them as gods

how the Greek Pyrrha survives without Zeus’s knowledge by hiding in her husband’s “chest” (sound like someone we know?)

Pyrrha of Thessaly’s role in repopulating Earth by disturbing her “mother” Gaia’s grave and casting her bones (aka stones) to the ground, from which arose the new human beings (who else disturbs “Earth’s” Tomb?)

and some other more out-there parallels, including a connection to the tower in the River; some thoughts on Zeus, Jod, and cannibalism; a verrrry tangential connection between Pyrrha and Gideon Nav; and thoughts on other survivors

So, following the release of Nona the Ninth, we’re now all familiar with Jod’s conception of the end of the Earth as a literalization of the flood myth with him as God.  Afterwards, he claims he brought back all his friends without their memories – and, based on his discussion of renaming Ulysses and Titania and the fact that the Lyctors’ old names are all dashed out, many of us have assumed with new names.  But somehow, Pyrrha Dve seems to remember her necromancer’s original name.  What’s going on with that?

I don’t have an explanation, but I do have a very interesting parallel, which is almost entirely not the same thing while still justifying writing meta! :P  (I mean, if you’re looking for an explanation, my best guess is that Jod talks about altering memory through changing the brain’s biological structures, suggesting that the soul still remains a blind spot of his.  Pyrrha no longer has her physical corporation/brain and is solely existing in Gideon’s body, so maybe there’s something there?  Soul memories, idk lol.)

Lots of past meta I’ve seen about Pyrrha Dve’s name has focused on Pyrrhus of Epirus, who gave his name to the term “Pyrrhic victory”: a victory whose losses were so severe as to call into question whether such a “victory” was really worth it at all.  On that reading, Pyrrha’s name is a nod to how attaining Lyctorhood was a Pyrrhic victory for Gideon and the other Lyctors, because they had to sacrifice their most beloved companions (brother, wife, best friend, etc.) to achieve this “lesser”/imperfect Lyctorhood.  I’ve also definitely seen people point out how the name Pyrrha itself comes from the Greek adjective “πυρρός”, which can mean flame-colored or redheaded: clearly apt for our girl/my wife Pyrrha.  I think all of that is right, and also I think tazmuir was drawing on yet another mythological parallel for Pyrrha’s name: that of Pyrrha of Thessaly, survivor of the Flood.

Pyrrha of Thessaly and Pyrrha Dve

In Greek myth (well, more or less, depending on the version – I’m quoting Dryden’s Ovid here, so Roman reception, but I’ll stick with Zeus to make things easier), Zeus decides to wipe the Earth clean after judging humanity irredeemable.  When he shares this plan, the other gods immediately complain that, should he destroy humankind, “Neglected altars must no longer smoke,/If none were left to worship, and invoke.”  Interestingly, he immediately reassures them: “Lay that unnecessary fear aside:/Mine be the care, new people to provide./I will from wondrous principles ordain/A race unlike the first, and try my skill again.”  In other words, after the cleansing flood, he’s going to create a new crop humanity to worship him and his pantheon at those neglected altars … sound like anyone we know yet?

However!  Two humans survive Zeus’s deluge: Deucalion, ruler of Phthia in Thessaly, and his wife Pyrrha.  Here’s where it gets especially intriguing, because depending on the version you read, this Greek Noah and his wife survive for different reasons!  Ovid’s Metamorphoses has them surviving because they’re the two best people around – the most holy, upright, worthy, etc.  But in other accounts, such as that in the Bibliotheca of Pseudo-Apollodorus, they actually sort of sneak past Zeus.  Deucalion’s father is the Titan Prometheus (whom you may remember from other Zeus-defying escapades like “giving humanity fire”), and Prometheus instructs Deucalion on how to build and provision a chest that will survive the flood.  Thus, when Zeus goes to destroy humanity, Pyrrha survives inside Deucalion’s chest until the flood ends and the two reach dry land and propitiate Zeus.  (OK, so it’s an actual physical wooden trunk, BUT ALSO Pyrrha survives by hiding in her husband’s chest I’m just saying.)

After surviving, the two ask the gods (usually Zeus through an intermediary) how to repopulate the planet.  They are told to “throw … your mighty mother’s bones” to the ground – a suggestion that horrifies Pyrrha, who refuses to defile her mother’s grave, crying out, “Forbid it Heav’n, said she, that I shou’d tear/Those holy reliques from the sepulcher” (we’re back to quoting Ovid here btw).  But after carefully pondering their instructions, they find a different meaning: perhaps, Deucalion suggests, “This Earth our mighty mother is, the stones/In her capacious body, are her bones.”  So they gather up “Gaia’s bones”, i.e. rocks from the ground, and when they cast those stones behind them, new human beings spring up from where they fall.

Pyrrha’s calling Gaia her mother, her disturbing Gaia’s remains from their “sepulcher,” and Gaia’s “bones” repopulating the Earth are all very interesting!  It probably goes without saying that there’s a Gaia-Alecto connection here (in fact, I think you could even say John makes that connection fully textual when he calls himself John Gaius, if you read it as a Lyctoral name).  I read the Greek Pyrrha’s identifying Gaia as her mother as a neat inversion of the parental relationship between Pyrrha and Nona (note that in the myth, Gaia isn’t Pyrrha’s actual mother – that’s Pandora, while her dad is Prometheus’s brother, Epimetheus (which technically makes Gaia her paternal great-grandmother)).  Our Pyrrha is, obviously, involved in unearthing (heh) Alecto’s body from the Tomb, just as the Greek Pyrrha felt she was being called to disturb her mother/Gaia’s resting place.

Alecto the Ninth Speculation: Gaia’s Bones and the Resurrection

All of the above I think is reasonably textually supported, but with the last “parallel” – the repopulation of the planet from Gaia’s bones – I’m going to step off the deep end, lol, and move away from literary analysis of existing parts of TLT to pure speculation about the future.  First off, the key caveat is that, obviously, I don’t think Tamsyn Muir is trying to write a literal beat for beat version of the Greek flood myth with Pyrrha Dve, so I think the actual likeliest explanation here is that the actual limit of Pyrrha Dve’s connection to Pyrrha of Thessaly is just that both (sort of) survived their respective divine “floods.”  But I do have a couple thoughts about directions that “Gaia’s bones” and the resurrection could point at, which I’ll list roughly from most to least likely; and I’m also interested in hearing others’ ideas.

I think this parallel could pay off in one of two directions: either the Resurrection in the past or something in the future, in Alecto, involving a collaboration between Nona/Alecto and Pyrrha.  In the past, we obviously don’t know yet how the Resurrection actually went – John’s confession in Harrow’s Alecto-dreams didn’t extend that far – but it’s easier to speculate (and to pick out speculative parallels).  It certainly seems apparent that Jod’s going to be majorly drawing on Alecto’s power to do it – just as Zeus claimed he was creating a whole new crop of humanity to worship him, but was actually digging up Gaia’s bones to make the magic happen.  Making bodies from earth and stones is a classic mythic motif, so I don’t think the Pyrrha flood myth is necessarily being referenced here, but there sure is something neat about John’s making Alecto’s body “from the dirt, my blood, my vomit, my bone.”  Beyond that, some versions of the Greek flood myth suggest that humanity’s nature was changed by being reborn from stones, with Ovid writing, “Hence we derive our nature; born to bear/Laborious life; and harden’d into care” (the Greeks were generally huge fans of the pun possibilities between λαός (people) and λᾶας (stone)). You could maybe connect that to the suggestion that there seems to be something slightly off in Jod’s new version of people – the sickliness that affects necromancers?  (I don’t think that’s quite right, though, because you’d expect stones to be harder, not brittler and easier to break.)

But the myth isn’t just about how Zeus uses Gaia’s bones to resurrect humanity – it’s also about how Pyrrha and her partner (Deucalion/G1deon) bring back humanity.  Maybe the importance of Deucalion in revitalizing humanity via Gaia could pay off if it turns out G1deon has a key role in the Resurrection (Jod keeps talking about how he has “big plans” for Gideon’s arm, and he even says that “G—’ll be easiest” to bring back, although in context I think he just means that he won’t have to wipe as much of his memory because he wasn’t even at the compound)?  I think that’s a reach, though, and that the arm is just important so he has biomaterial on hand (lol).  But the reachiest possible connection here is to say that maybe Pyrrha’s going to play a role in some future Resurrection: something in Alecto the Ninth that resolves Jod’s “missing math” (the people he didn’t bring back, possibly the souls clogging up the river?) and brings more people back, or brings back people “correctly.”  Certainly, in terms of any role Pyrrha could play in collaborating with Alecto/Gaia in something like a resurrection or rebirth of humanity in the next novel, it’s worth noting that she is now strongest remaining link from Alecto back to Nona, with all of Nona’s compassion and love.

Remaining Errata

OK, that’s all for immediate parallels from the meat of the Greek flood myth! But there are some remaining pieces of the myth that caught my attention, so those get to go at the end of this piece of meta.

The Tower

Whatever’s going on with the massive new Tower in the River is obviously going to be important!  I have a LOT of thoughts about this, but that is for another meta.  What I’ll say here is that, while I think the clearest reference there is to the Tower of Babel (what with Nona being the only person who can still understand all languages), another famous mytho-religious tower-y structure often identified with the Tower of Babel is the towering pile of mountains that the Greek Giants built to reach the gods when they tried to challenge Zeus et al.  Per Ovid, observing the Giants’ building this tower was one of the things that made Zeus despair at the current state of the world and decide to set off the flood that Pyrrha survived in the first place.

Cannibalism

Other reasons Zeus was angry enough to flood the earth: eating human flesh! One of the impieties that drove Zeus to damn the first version of humanity was King Lycaon daring to test whether Zeus was truly omnipotent by serving him human flesh.  Go on, dive in, I know y’all are thinking of that bit in Harrow where Jod says, “Ten thousand years since I’ve eaten human being, Harrow, and I didn’t really want an encore.”

Gideon Nav as Pyrrha Dve’s Achilles?

Finally, Phthia, which Deucalion and Pyrrha ruled, was later Achilles’s home. You could possibly say something here about our Pyrrha and G1deon as not-parents to Gideon, who ~invaded~ the planet of Priamhark Noniusvianus, just as Achilles invaded the city of Priam in the Trojan War.  I think that’s probably squinting too hard, buttttt you could still make the case.  Also, that takes us full circle back to the other Pyrrhus that Pyrrha could be named for, because Plutarch seems to suggest that Pyrrhus (he of the Pyrrhic victory) got his name from family tradition because Deucalion and Pyrrha were the first rulers after the flood in Epirus.

Other Flood survivors?

OK, I have no idea what to do with this piece, but obviously Pyrrha isn’t the only potential “survivor” of Jod’s “flood” – the fleeing trillionaires (or potentially other human outposts?), etc.  Similarly, some versions of the Greek flood myth suggest that in addition to Pyrrha and Deucalion, a few other humans slip through, such as Cerambus, grandson of Poseidon.  This seems kind of tangential, but hey, if someone named “Cerambus” shows up in AtN and seems to know a lot about Earth without Jod’s blessing, we should probably listen to him! ;)

Sources

Ovid’s Metamorphoses The Pseudo-Apollodorus Other Greek and Roman flood accounts overview Pyrrha and Deucalion in Greek and Roman writing On Pyrrha, Deucalion, stones, and puns

[random-iz-stuff]

Voice headcanons for the comic characters:

Zib:

A slightly older Dib with a slightly older sounding voice (I headcanon that although Zib did kill his Zim at the age of twelve, the rest of his story leading up to his appearance in the Zimvoid took about four years, making him about sixteen years old by the time we see him). His voice also has a slightly mechanical sounding effect to it, which is the result of Zib’s attaching of Zim’s PAK to himself, along with the cybernetics he had to add to himself to make it possible in the first place.

Chammy Wamboo:

Pinkie Pie from MLP. I have no explanation, I just know that this is true in my bones. Just look at her and tell me I’m not correct.

Virooz:

Hal Stewart from Megamind but with a slightly mechanical effect to his voice, which is due to all the cybernetics he installed into himself. It just fits. Read this with the voice of Hal from Megamind and tell me it doesn’t.

Recap Kid:

I don’t have a solid answer for this one. I’ve sort of bounced between a whole bunch of voices for them, from the Collector from the Owl House to Skull Kid from Majora’s Mask, but none really stick for long.

I know for a fact that they wouldn’t sound completely human through, having the sort of otherworldly quality to their voice that Skull Kid, the Collector and Bill Cipher all have, while still sounding childlike. The Collector is close to what feels right, but isn’t quite there, almost like it’s just slightly to the left of what I’m thinking of.

If anyone has any ideas for what their voice sounds like, I’d love to hear it.

In fact, I’d love to hear your voice headcanons for any of the voiceless characters.

[superphantom]

Enthralled with the idea of Danny from Danny legit dies and has a physical corpse but can still kinda be human au and the Winchesters from just regular canon bumping into each other while... hiding bodies.

Three teens carrying a fourth by his arms and legs into the woods. Would they even be able to tell that it’s Danny’s corpse? It’s gotta be pretty much cooked through at that point. Hold on, I’m going to write something rq, apologies for any mistakes/bad writing but the concept is just too fun. If you think so too, go ahead and try your hand at it, this has so many excellent interpretations.

Edit but not really cuz I haven’t actually posted anything yet: I’ve only read back through this once but I’m pretty happy with how it’s turned out, just wanted to add a quick warning for horrific death and descriptions of a corpse and all that. 

--

Digging graves always sucked, naturally. It’s hard to plow through a good six feet of rocks and dirt and bones and whatever other crap might be waiting below the surface (one time, in some backwoods in Ohio they’d hit a bathtub around three feet down. Never got an explanation for that one). But, of course, the muggy pits of July made things much worse.

Sam had shed his top layer in the car, and was now down to a single shirt. He probably would’ve taken that off too, had it not been glued onto his back from sweat. Dean, who’d made a dig at Sam earlier that night for not being able to “take the heat like a man” still wore his flannel over his shirt, though it was beginning to soak through.

Laborious elements aside, what really made grave digging so tedious was the inability to fill it with anything else. It wasn’t like they could play music or anything, when they were in graveyards they had to keep a low profile, and all the other smart places to go hiding a corpse don’t get radio reception. And talking? With the amount of dust and dirt they kicked up, not to mention the work itself, it was more like trying to reason with a bully as they threw sand in your face. Gritty, painful, and overall, not worth it. So the brothers dug side by side with only light from a half-dead camping lantern and the singing of insects to keep them company.

Sam hit a rock with the tip of his shovel to knock it loose from the wall, the scooped it up and heaved it over the side of the grave. It was still only about knee height, meaning they’d have to put in another two hours minimum if they wanted to get the man hidden.

He’d been working with a witch to dodge death as he cheated his way through some shady business dealings. Actually, he’d been fairly easy to subdue- probably why he needed the witch in the first place- but once Dean had yanked the hexbag from where it hung around his stick-figure neck he’d begun to convulse and when he stopped, well, he wasn’t going to start convulsing again. That, however, was a problem for tomorrow.

Sam knocked a few rocks loose this time, letting them pile around his feet then launching them all over his shoulder at once. With the sound of metal clacking against rock gone, he realized Dean had stopped digging and was leaning against the handle of his shovel cautiously looking out into the woods. Sam moved in next to him and tried to figure out where he was looking.

“What are y-“ he asked. Dean shushed him before he could finish, then signaled for him to listen and pointed just past a thick bramble, to a gap between two trees. It would’ve been impossible to spot without years of hunting experience, out about 100 yards away were little moving. They weren’t even shadows, it was simply just movement in the dark. “Dude-“

Dean shushed him again, and shot him a dirty look before pointing more forcefully in the direction of the movement and focusing back in place. He gestured once again for Sam to listen. For a few moments they stood in silence, barely breathing. It was faint, but Sam began to make out what was unmistakably English. a dull beam of light swung around towards them then went back to facing the other direction, effectively re-blacking out the figures. Sam reached back, not taking his eyes off the movement, and now occasional glimpses of light, and snapped off the lantern.

It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they could see each other again, Dean tilted his head to the left, pointed a few times with two fingers in a two directions then held one finger against his mouth. Sam nodded and they both began creeping in opposite directions with the intention of surrounding who or what was having a chat out in the woods at night.

Sam moved as if he were gliding above the forest floor. He could vaguely make out Dean doing the same, though he was now could see Dean about as well as he’d been able to see the... three? He hovered further. Definitely three people (or, by his guess witches), earlier. Now that he was getting closer, though, he began to take note of a few things.

There were three short witches(?) standing fanned out around something slumped on the forest floor, their dying halogen flashlight held limp in one of their hands, flickering sadly. The witch farthest from flashlight-witch and closest to Sam held a shovel, though didn’t make any moves to use it. None of them moved, they all just stood there and stared at whatever was at their feet.

He signaled to Dean that he was going to go in from the front. He was pretty sure he saw the shadows nod to him, so he took that as an okay. Like a mouse on cotton, he positioned himself just far enough into the forest that they couldn’t quite see, Dean doing the same but behind them.

“I- What do we do?” the one holding the flashlight muttered. His nose was awfully clogged, it sounded like he’d been crying.

“I don’t know, Tuck.” The one holding the shovel answered. She also sounded upset, but more like she was doing everything she could to push back tears, a tone that Sam knew very well. “Danny, are you sure you wanna do this?”

The one in the middle, Danny, shook his head. Each of his arms reached across his middle, like he was trying to hug himself, or maybe more like he was trying to make himself look small, trying to hide. “I-“ his voice cracked and he let out a few sobs. The leaves and sticks made a simultaneous crack as he fell down onto his knees, folding over himself and shaking with pure, cutting sorrow.

Flashlight, or Tuck apparently, and Shovel got down beside him, hugging him from either side. They held one another and sobbed, one of them, Shovel, creaking out some pained “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”’s between wordless wails. From the looks of them, they couldn’t be more than 12 years old. Or maybe they could, Sam wasn’t a pediatrician. They were undoubtedly much too young to be in the middle of nowhere, all alone in a fragile mental state doing who-knows-what.

Sam looked to Dean then gestured with his head to let him know he was going to talk to the kids. Dean shook his head and violently gestured with his gun at the kids. Wait. Not /at/ the kids, beyond them. He’d neglected studying the white-wrapped body in front of them. That explained the tears. He couldn’t help but feel for them, even though for all he knew they’d just murdered someone in cold blood. He looked back to Dean and nodded, then signaled again.

Keeping his gun at the ready, but tucking it behind his back he slowly and deliberately stepped out of the trees, intentionally making noise so they’d see him coming. Tuck looked up with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose. Danny and Shovel tensed but didn’t further acknowledge him.

“Um, hey,” he said, trying his best for nonthreatening and landing at the border of creepy and awkward. “Are you guys good?”

Tuck’s eyes flooded with tears, but he got up on shaky legs, trying to pull Danny and Shovel up with him. They weakly joined him, leaning against one another for support. Despite the warm night, all three were trembling.

“I’m, uh, I’m not here to hurt you,” Sam started, not really sure where he was going with this, “I’m Sam Winchester, what are your names?”

Tuck gave him the same watery stare he’d had the whole time, like Sam was the saddest thing he’d ever seen. Shovel looked up next, she was more angry. Maybe her smeared and ruined makeup should’ve made her look silly, but all it did was add to the aggression she exuded. He could see her squeezing both her friend’s shoulders and tugging them very slightly to the left, wordlessly signaling- or at least trying to- an escape plan. Sam pretended not to notice.

“I just wanna know what happened here,” he inched his way towards the corpse. As he got closer he could smell burnt hair and flesh, another thing he was all too familiar with. He didn’t break eye contact as he squatted down and gently pulled the sheet back from a tuft of what he assumed was hair.

He bit the inside of his cheek upon seeing the boy. Fried was the only word that could describe him. His mouth hung open, as did his eyes- or at least, what was left of them. Ooze had dribbled from every orifice and re-solidified in horrible mauve blobs. His hair was barely more than a charred mess, his skin was peeling and bubbled in places, and so discolored Sam could barely make out the dusting of freckles across his nose. This was a death in agony if he’d ever seen one.

He folded the cloth back over the boy’s head and straightened up, pulling the gun from where it had waited behind his back.

“Alright,” he said firmly, “I’m gonna need some answers.”

Danny looked up, letting Sam properly see his face for the first time. His red-rimmed eyes widened at the sight of the gun, lips tightening into a thin line. It was a look of fear and resignation. He ran the back of his hand across his nose. Sam noticed a dusting of freckles on it. He looked to the sheet and then back to Danny, then checked once more.

“What the hell is going on here.” Sympathy gone, Sam allowed himself to posture intimidatingly. Whatever freaks these- these- these... freaks! were, they weren’t about to get away with cooking some kid alive. “Talk.”

The “or I’ll shoot” was silent, but understood. Danny cleared his throat, one hand rubbed nervously on the back of his neck.

“It- I-“ he stuttered, then in a barely audible trembling voice he said, “I, uh, I think I’m dead.”  

[mizunetzu]

wait okay i have so many ideas you have no clue- okay so basically y/n is too scared to confess to either ushijima or shinsou (you decide lol) so he just puts love notes in his locker :)) but ushijima/shinsou catches him one day so he teases him about it but he liked y/n too so he lowkey confesses and its super fluffy i- 🥺🥺 i've had this idea for so long but i have no clue where to start writing it myself lolll

Guess who...took 4 months...to do Mr. Shinsoussimps request...not me...ahahaha...what are you talking about...BUT ANYWAYS IM SO SORRY MR SHINSOU PLS TAKE THIS FIC AS MY APOLOGIES

——————

Ushijima x reader - Secret Admirer Love Letter-kun!

⚠️warnings - none

Pronouns- male, he/him

——————

(Y/n’s) hands shook as he traced the linings of his love letter.

It had a red, heart-shaped sticker on the seal flap, with the words ‘To Ushijima-san’ written in royal purple across the back. The letter had slight crinkles from the shaky grip (Y/n) held it with.

His heart raced purely thinking about how Ushijima would react. Would he even react? Or would he just look at him with that blank stare and walk past him? Would he be ridiculed for being a man giving a love letter to another man?

Every single intrusive thought made (Y/n) want to tear up the letter and flush it down a toilet. Nonetheless, he stood next to Ushijima’s locker, waiting for him to appear.

His legs shook. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest. He could physically feel the sweat running down his forehead. He was probably gaining stares from other students for standing near Ushijima’s locker and panicking silently.

All these ‘what-if’s’ was beginning to make (Y/n) second-guess his decision. Maybe he couldn’t do this after all...

No! He had to! He’s been harboring his feelings for Ushijima for years now, and he was getting nowhere! Even if it was rejection, and he certainly hoped it was not, he needed an answer!

Just as if right on cue, (Y/n) heard the familiar deep voice of Ushijima coming down the hall. He wasn’t saying much, but the accompanied grunts of acknowledgement to Tendou’s ramblings was enough proof it was him. Without thinking, (Y/n’s) panic took over him, shoving his love letter into Ushijima’s locker and dashing out of the way.

He blended himself in with the gaggle of students near their lockers, watching Ushijima as he opened his own locker.

“Ara?” Tendou cocked his head when the letter (Y/n) slipped in fluttered out. It landed on the floor gracefully. Ushijima bent over and plucked it off the ground.

“Our Wakatoshi~kun has a secwet admiwer?” Tendou squashed his face together and boared curious eyes into the heart-shaped sticker on the note. Ushijima grunted.

“It seems to be a love letter.” Ushijima’s low voice sent even more panic through (Y/n). He didn’t want to be there while he opened the letter. But here he was, 10 feet away from him as he carefully peeled off the heart sticker from the envelope.

Ushijima’s eyes silently scanned the letter, it’s meticulous, thought-out writing filling Ushijima’s eyes. The silence rang so, so loud to (Y/n), as he watched Ushijima read his love letter with his emotionless face.

After what seemed like forever, Ushijima lifted his head up from the note. (Y/n’s) heart stopped.

“It is a love letter.” (Y/n), and Tendou, deadpanned.

Tendou reached for the letter. “Fiiiiine, then let me see-!”

Ushijima pulled the letter away, raising it above his head and out of Tendou’s easy reach. He lowered the letter and cradled it to his chest.

“No. It’s mine.”

(Y/n’s) heart fluttered. Could this mean-?

“But it does, however, have no name.”

“Awh. Poor Wakatoshi-kun’s admirer must be rewwy shy~”

(Y/n) internally facepalmed. Of course he forgot to sign the note! Why wouldn’t he?! (Y/n) crinkled up his nose. He was still determined to get his feelings to Ushijima.

He turned around, and walked to class. The next day, for sure, he was going to give him a love letter with his signature on it this time.

——

(Y/n) stared down at his paper, then shifted his eyes to the alarm clock sitting tauntingly at his dorm room’s desk, with the bright red numbers 10:35 pm glaring so menacingly at him. Like it was telling him to hurry up and sign the new love letter he just wrote. (Y/n) re-read the letter on his desk for the 6th time that night.

Everything was perfect. It explained his feelings perfectly, explained how long he’d been smitten for him for, hell, he even doodled a small picture of Ushijima himself with a heart next to it in the corner of the page.

Everything was there, except his name.

Did he really want to put his name, though? I mean, (Y/n) saw how...endearing Ushiwaka’s face looked reading his original letter. What if he ruined that when he finds out it was him who wrote it? And not some cute girl?

(Y/n) stared at the empty space on the page where his name was supposed to go. His hand gripped his pencil tighter than he should’ve, and began to write.

‘(L/n) (Y/...’

He stopped. (Y/n) thought about it for awhile, then grabbed his eraser and scrubbed at the name until it was pristine white again.

‘Your secret admirer’

Was all he wrote.

He packaged up the note in another small envelope, pressed a cute little heart sticker to the flap, and went to bed.

——

The next day, (Y/n) made sure to rush to school early to slip the note in his locker. He wanted to see his reaction to his new note. It made him feel sorta high. What kind of face would he make? Would he be delighted? He hoped he would.

(Y/n) crammed the note into Ushiwaka’s locker. No one was around. Good. No one saw him shove the letter through, therefore no one could tell Ushijima it was him. (Y/n) sighed contently, and timpered off somewhere secluded, but somewhere he could still see Ushijima and his locker.

After scrolling on his phone for what seemed like an hour, he heard Tendou’s familiar voice, humming a strange song and trailing next to Ushijima. It was his daily indicator that Ushijima was near. If he could hear Tendou coming, almost 100% Ushijima would be there too. (Y/n) pocketed his phone quickly and peeked behind a row of lockers.

Ushijima silently unhinged his locker, listening to Tendou talk. However, they fell silent when another letter fluttered out from his locker, this time landing so perfectly in his hands.

“Ara ara? Another note from Admirer-chan?”

“Yes. But I know it’s a boy, Tendou.”

(Y/n’s) heart dropped. He watched as Ushiwaka peeled off the heart sticker once more, while continuing his conversation with Tendou.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

Ushijima stopped, and reached into his locker once more. He pulled out (Y/n’s) previous note, and pointed to a line of text scribbled on there so neatly. Tendou raised his eyebrow, and leaned down to inspect the note.

‘-Besides, there’s no way someone as amazing as you can like a guy like me. It’s weird right? I hope you don’t think it’s weird. But I wouldn’t blame you.’

“Ahhhh~ makes sense...” Tendou hooked his arms dramatically over the back of his head. “But do you? Does Wakatoshi-kun think Secret Admirer-kun is weird?”

Ushijima traced the two love letters with his eyes. “I think he’s brave.”

(Y/n) clutched his tightening chest. It suddenly became really hard to breathe. How was Ushijima being so unintentionally sweet?

Tendou cooed. “Awwww, Is our Wakatoshi-kun catching feelings for his Admirer-kun?”

Ushijima folded the two notes back into their envelopes silently. He said nothing to Tendou’s remarks, while gently placing the two love letters back into a safe spot in his locker.

(Y/n) brisk-walked away, flustered, before he could hear his answer.

——

Writing notes and hiding them in Ushijima’s locker became a sort of habit for (Y/n) in the past few weeks.

Every now and then, he’d write a short love letter signed “Your Secret Admirer” or “Admirer-kun” and slip it under Ushijima’s dorm room door or the cracks between his locker. It became an addiction of watching him unravel the note with the tenderness of an angel. For such a big dude, he held each love letter (Y/n) wrote him with such delicacy.

(Y/n) walked with a pep in his step as he arrived to the school building early, like he’d usually been doing. He’d recently been writing small letters, playground compliments like “I think you look nice today!” or “the way you play volleyball gets me all fired up!” but this was the first time in a while he wrote a good chunk of his feelings out.

At first he thought he would make Ushijima uncomfortable, but after many of his personal notes filled with the most wonderful explanations of his feelings, or rambling about dates he’d like to take him on, he’s grown more comfortable with it. Especially after seeing the teeny tiny, barely noticeable blush tinting his cheeks as he read them.

(Y/n) stopped in front of Ushiwaka’s locker. It was a familiar stop, after cramming in letter after letter inside for about a month or two now. It’s been so long that (Y/n) couldn’t even remember himself.

Just as his hand met with the cold metal locker to slip the note in, two hands slammed down on (Y/n’s) shoulders, effectively scaring him shitless.

“I’ve caught you! Secret admirer-kun!”

“Uwaaaah!”

Tendou made a show of flamboyantly pointing his lanky fingers at (Y/n), bending his back father then (Y/n) knew was possible in the process. (Y/n) jittered, swinging his hands in front of him while stuttering incoherently.

“I-it-its not-! It’s not wh-what it-! T-the letter-I was just-I-!”

“There’s no use for it now, Secret-Admirer (L/n)-kun! You’ve been caught red handed!” Tendou stuck his tongue out heartily while (Y/n) broke into a cold sweat. If Tendou kept yelling the whole damn school would hear him.

“I-I’m not the one leaving notes in Ushijima-kun’s locker! I was just-!”

“Oya? Then how did you know Wakatoshi-kun was gettin’ notes in his locker in the first place?” Tendou eyed him down half jokingly. (Y/n) sputtered.

“More importantly...” Tendou dramatically pointed to the envelope half-sticking out from the slits of Ushijima’s locker. “Whaaaaats that!?”

“That’s-!”

There was no use fighting Tendou on this. (Y/n) deflated, defeated and grasping on to the wall of lockers for support. “Uuuuu...”

“So, Secret Admirer-“

“S-stop calling me that! Just (L/n) is fine-!”

“-Secret Admirer-kun, what made you fancy our lovely Wakatoshi-kun?”

(Y/n) turned around, facing the locker as Tendou smiled his usual, Tendou-grin. (Y/n) didn’t wanna look at Tendou and his stupid knowing smirk.

“He’s just...I dunno, he’s just so-cool...and stuff...and he’s so nice...looking...”

“Ah, such sophisticated words-tell me, do you write all of this down in the letters you give him?”

“Hey!” (Y/n) whipped his head around.

Tendou chuckled, and part of (Y/n) wanted to smack him upside the head. Tendous laughter eventually died down, as he pretended to wipe a tear from his cheek. He looked back at (Y/n), who was blushing profusely and had his arms crossed.

“Phew...haha...” Tendou cleared his throat. He pointed straight at (Y/n). “Now, here’s some ultra wise words from Satori-sama!” He mimicked a fake drum roll on his lap, before pointing at (Y/n) again.

“Ja-jun~! You should Wakatoshi-kun how you feel about him!”

(Y/n’s) heart got stuck in his throat. “A-are you crazy! I could never! I-I’m not...I’m not...I’m scared..”

“Hm? But you’re not scared to write about how much you wanna kiss him alllllllll oveeeeeer-?”

“That’s different!” (Y/n) yelled, more quietly this time. He turned back to the locker, and tipped the rest of the note in sticking out inside the slit. The note disappeared through the gap, just like all of its predecessors. “Like this, I can tell him how much I love him without him knowing it was from me! What if he’s disappointed it’s me and not some other dude?”

“I’m veeeeeery sure he won’t be. But suit yourself, I guess.” Tendou shrugged. He turned around and left, but not before saying,

“But you’d better tell him yourself before he finds out from someone else.”

“Wait-what does that mea-“

(Y/n) looked back, only to find Tendou gone. (Y/n) stood there, perplexed, before dashing off to his own locker, so he wouldn’t be spotted near Ushijima’s.

——

Everyday when (Y/n) went to slip another note into Ushiwaka’s locker, Tendou’s words would ring in his mind.

‘You’d better tell him yourself before he finds out from someone else.’

He knew that. He knew that but he couldn’t stop himself from cowardly slipping notes into Ushijima’s locker, just to run and take cover as he opened them up. And one time he could swear Tendou was looking right at him in his hiding spot when Ushijima was reading one of his letter.

(Y/n) shook the thoughts from his head. That happened 3 days ago, and nothing happened. Tendou was probably just trying to scare him into telling him. Yeah. There’s no way anyone could’ve found out about him being Ushijima’s secret admirer.

He huffed and strode up to Ushijima’s locker, just like he did every time before that. No one was in the hallway. There was no footsteps, at least to (Y/n’s) knowledge, and Tendou wasn’t around with his booming voice. If (Y/n) could hear Tendou coming, chances are Ushijima was not too far behind.

Tendou wasn’t there. (Y/n) was safe. He smiled and rose the letter up to the slot in Ushijima’s locker. He slowly crammed the note in, slowly, slowly until-

Slam!

A large, calloused hand slammed against the locker, making (Y/n) jolt up in surprise. (Y/n’s) heart stopped beating. He felt someone lean against his ear, and then they whispered:

“So Tendou was right. You were the one leaving the letters in my locker.”

“Ushijima-kun-!”

(Y/n) whipped his head around by the speed of lightning, pressing himself against the locker wall as if he’d disappear into it. Stupid fucking Tendou! Of course he’d tell Ushijima!

Ushiwaka didn’t move from his spot in front of (Y/n). His arm outstretched on the wall beside (Y/n) didn’t falter either, making him blush even more. God, he wanted to disappear.

The letter, now hidden crudely behind (Y/n) sweaty back, was being smushed as he tried shrinking in on himself.

“I-I-“ (Y/n’s) mouth ran dry. “It’s not what it looks like-!”

“Hm.” Ushijima’s deep voice manage to startle (Y/n), despite being right infront of him. God, he was close. So close. He’s too close. Oh god, why is he so close?

Ushijima suddenly grabbed (Y/n’s) hand, making him sputter in surprise as Ushijima pulled it out gently. A letter with a red heart sticker on the flap was wedged in between (Y/n’s) shaky, sweaty fingers. Ushijima looked at the envelope, while (Y/n) averted his embarrassed eyes.

“...But it’s exactly what it looks like.”

Words perished in (Y/n’s) throat. If the locker would just open up and swallow him whole, now was the time.

Ushiwaka plucked the note out of (Y/n’s) hands, ignoring the small protests of (Y/n) himself. He tried to grab for the letter, but Ushijima held the envelope high above his head and grabbed at (Y/n’s) shivering wrists. (Y/n) squeaked.

“...why are you trying to grab it back if this letter was meant for me in the first place?” Ushijima looked oblivious to (Y/n’s) embarrassment. (Y/n) croaked. He didn’t even register what Ushiwaka said with how strong and warm his grip on his wrists were.

He didn’t realize Ushijima managed to peel off the heart sticker and fish out the note with his hand until he started reading the letter. His eyes scanned the words, even when (Y/n) quietly squirmed protestingly in his grasp.

“Mm.” Ushijima hummed. (Y/n’s) eyes widened when he realized what he wrote in today’s note.

‘Y’know, I think you’re really cool with how you’re so dedicated to your club. But maybe...one day we could grab a bite to eat after your club activities? Just you and me? And maybe if I’m lucky enough I just might get a kiss from the amazing Ushijima Wakatoshi-kun~’

(Y/n) wanted no more but to die then and there. Ushijima looked at (Y/n) with an unreadable gaze.

“Ah. So it seems in today’s letter, you would like to go out for food and kiss. I am free after club activities today at 6. Are you free at that time or must we reschedule?”

(Y/n) met Ushijima’s state with a confused face. He said nothing-he couldn’t say anything. All he could do was muster up a weak “w-wha..?”

“So...you are not free today...?” Ushijima’s face was normal, but he gave off the same vibe a sad, kicked puppy would. It was sorta cute. (Y/n) waved his hands around frantically in Ushijima’s grasp.

“N-no! That’s not it! I-I’m free! I’m totally free! I just-“

“You just what?” Ushijima cocked his head to the side bluntly. (Y/n) opened his mouth to say something, but let it clamp shut quietly.

(Y/n) averted his gaze. “Well...you don’t think it’s...weird that I was the one leaving you love letters?”

“But I already knew you were a man in the first place.”

“Still!” Ushijima was genuinely confused. (Y/n’s) voice died down a bit.

“Aren’t you...y’know...disappointed?”

Ushijima’s gaze never left (Y/n’s) eyes. “Why would I be disappointed?”

“I’m...w-well...it’s just...”

Ushiwaka placed his free hand on the other side of (Y/n’s) face, effectively trapping him in between his arms. Ushijima’s heavy gaze was too much to bear. (Y/n) instinctively averted his gaze away.

“You still haven’t given me a valid reason to be disappointed.”

“I-“

“You’re lovely, I believe you are very attractive, and you leave nice letters of encouragement in my locker everyday.”

“Wait-“

“I believe we both have feelings for each other. Therefore, I do not see why you are so hesitant on just doing what today’s lovely note said.”

“Ushi-“

“Is this just an excuse to turn me down? Were the letters not your true feelings? Because if so you just have to say so-“

“Ushijima-kun!”

(Y/n) rasped out between his fingers. He was covering his blushing face, and Ushijima didn’t know why until he realized his face was centimeters away from (Y/n’s). If it weren’t for (Y/n’s) hands cupping his face, they’d probably be able to kiss with one push closer.

“P-ple-please s-step back...”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Ushijima moved back, but didn’t quite move his arms from their positions on either side of (Y/n). He blinked. Silence engulfed them both, Ushijima bluntly staring at (Y/n) as he blushed and blushed into his hands.

Ushijima figured he should say something, and even open his mouth to speak when (Y/n) suddenly piped up, bringing his hands down from his face.

“I-I’m free...at 6...”

Ushijima blinked again.

“Ah. Today?”

“Yeah..!”

“Lovely. It is decided then. Will you wait for me at the gym after practice? If not I can pick you up from your dorm room.”

(Y/n) fought the urge to pinch his arm to see if he was dreaming or not. “I-I can meet you at the gym!”

Ushijima smiled gently, and that’s probably the first time (Y/n’s) seen him smile ever. It was so coaxing, relaxed and warm, (Y/n) wanted to take of picture of it and just stare at it for days. Ushijima let his hands fall to his sides. Not before giving a pat to (Y/n’s) head.

“It is decided then. It’s a date.”

(Y/n) had to remind himself to thank Tendou later.

——————

Lowkey this was so fun to write~ why don’t y’all leave some love in the comments because of that~~?

[arrantsnowdrop]

To be a Jedi - Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Request: “anakin/female!reader getting together fic that involves reader crying because she’s feeling self-conscious about her appearance and feeling worthless and anakin comforting her and calming her down and then accidentally confessing to her?”

Tags: @lothloriien​

Warnings: self-deprecation, insecurities, etc. (~2,500 words)

~~~~~

Being a Jedi really sucked sometimes.

Not all the time. In fact, you normally enjoyed the fast-paced, demanding lifestyle you led. Even as a youngling you had taken pride in the ritual and responsibility of being a Jedi, and now, as a Padawan on the verge of facing the Jedi trials, you were more confident than ever that the Force had led you down the right path.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t have bad days every once in a while.

Your Master had been called away on some highly classified mission in the Naboo system, so you’d been spending the week at the Jedi Temple working on some independent research and participating in training sessions with the other senior Padawans. Unfortunately, they were focusing on lightsaber combat this week - something you were definitely not as skilled at considering your specialization in negotiation and communications.

It wasn’t that you were unathletic - you were training to be a Jedi for crying out loud - but it was hard not to feel a little self-conscious about how much you were struggling with the training exercises, especially when your assigned training partner was none other than Anakin Skywalker.

It was just past midday - you’d been training for hours already and still had a few to go. The sun was blaring down on the courtyard where you and the other Padawans were sparring under Obi-Wan’s supervision.

You panted heavily, eyeing Anakin as the two of you circled each other slowly. There was no question as to which one of you would launch the next parry - Anakin had taken the offensive right out of the gate - so all you could do was try to catch your breath and prepare yourself for his next attack.

His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, a few beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and some of his hair sticking to his face. His eyes were following your every move, tracking you like you were some kind of prey.

You hated this.

Suddenly, Anakin lunged forward, blue lightsaber whirring loudly as he swung it towards you. You groaned, lifting your own lightsaber up at the last possible moment to deflect him.

“Such a slow reaction time,” Anakin teased, grinning as he stepped back to give himself a wider range of motion.

“I thought it would take you longer to catch your breath,” you replied, voice strained as you blocked another one of his strikes.

You’d been friends with Anakin since Obi-Wan took him as a Padawan years ago, offering to help him as he played “catch up” with the rest of you. The fact he’d become such a strong Force-user despite starting so late was something you deeply respected him for, though you were perfectly content simply watching him display these skills.

Being on the receiving end of a lightsaber attack from Anakin Skywalker was not something you would consider enjoyable. You’d spent the whole morning dodging and jumping and somehow still losing every match. 

You flinched as Anakin’s lightsaber hit your torso, the sting of the “training mode” setting hurting far less than the sting of your own pride.

“Seven to one,” Obi-Wan called from where he was watching. You groaned, rubbing your temples with your free hand and turning your lightsaber off.

“Hey, you were definitely doing better than time,” Anakin said reassuringly, sensing your frustration. “Improvement is all Obi-Wan is looking for.”

“Improvement doesn’t take away from the fact I’ve lost seven matches today,” you seethed, bending down to re-tie the laces of your boots.

“Perhaps if you worked out a bit more you wouldn’t lose so often,” one of the other Padawans jested. Your head snapped up, face flushing as you sent them a pointed glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked curtly, watching them look between you and Anakin uncomfortably.

“It’s just-”

They didn’t get a chance to finish, letting out a small shriek as they dodged a rock flying through the air. You turned around to look at Anakin, his slightly raised hand indicating who’d been responsible for the rock. At least he was using his Force capabilities in your favor now.

“Thanks,” you muttered, reigniting your lightsaber, glancing at the clock above where Obi-Wan was sitting. All you wanted was for training to be over so you could retreat to your room.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Anakin said, a somewhat angry look on his face as he took a fighting stance across from you. “You’re perfectly capable of wielding a lightsaber, and you’d definitely beat them if you’d been paired up.”

“Hopefully,” you corrected him, “hopefully I’d beat them.”

“Definitely,” Anakin insisted, you rolling your eyes as you lifted your lightsaber in front of you.

----

What sucked about getting older was how little you saw Obi-Wan and Anakin. Your Master was responsible for conducting multiple research projects for the Jedi Council off-world, and Obi-Wan and Anakin hardly ever stayed on Coruscant for longer than a few days, so it was unlikely that you’d find yourselves in the same place for a decent amount of time anymore.

Normally, you would’ve used this week as a great opportunity to catch up with one of your oldest friends. This damn lightsaber training was getting in the way.

It had been yet another long day of sweating the equivalent of your own bodyweight and paling in comparison to Anakin’s abilities. Obi-Wan had focused on lightsaber combat in precarious and compromising situations, with one of which resulting in you falling off a two story rock wall.

As you stood in front of the mirror in your room you couldn’t overlook the spattering of bruises covering your torso and arms, all varying hues of blue and purple culminating from the last few days. You sighed, grateful you were getting the extra training you so clearly needed and nervous about what that meant. Imagine you’d been confronted by some Sith fanatic in the last few weeks - who knows how long you would’ve lasted?

Perhaps you were overthinking. You did have an extremely over-skilled training partner who made most other Jedi look incompetent with a lightsaber.

That being said, you still couldn’t shake what that other Padawan had said about you yesterday. Had you really become unathletic? You didn’t think you’d ever really neglected your daily training exercises, but perhaps those weren’t enough.

You sat down on the edge of your bed slowly, shoulder slumped. Maybe you weren’t as capable as you thought. The bruises all over you and lack of any actual visible muscle certainly pointed towards that.

----

The next morning, you skipped breakfast, giving Obi-Wan some offhanded explanation as to why you’d be missing training and heading for the library. You weren’t really skipping for no reason, your Master had given you a list of different research topics for you to look up in the Jedi Archives. Did you really need the extra time to get this done? No, but it still gave you a good excuse to avoid the feeling of physical incapability that accompanied your training sessions.

Plus, you didn’t want to slow the entire group down. Tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered yesterday when Obi-Wan made you repeat some dumb exercise on a floating raft over and over again, even though everyone else had already done it to his satisfaction. It was humiliating.

At least here in the library, surrounded by stacks of holograms and books, you were in your element. Here you didn’t have to move fast or chop anyone’s limb off out of self-defense.

It was sometime in the late afternoon when Anakin stormed into the library, loud footsteps immediately shushed by a swarm of librarians. You couldn’t help but grin softly, eyes meeting his as he marched over to you much more quietly.

“Even the great Anakin Skywalker is no match for an angry librarian,” you teased, him scoffing as he plopped down in a chair next to you.

“And where were you today?” Anakin asked, a strange intensity behind his question. You gulped, gesturing to the pile of transcripts and notes in front of you.

“I was right here,” you replied meekly.

“Since this morning?” he asked, eyes widening in surprise. You nodded.

“What the heck, Y/N,” he groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Obi-Wan assigned me a different partner. Do you know how irritating every other Padawan is to train with?”

“No, I’ve only ever trained with you,” you said bluntly.

“Exactly!” Anakin responded a little too loudly, earning him a dramatic shush from the circulation desk.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, slapping his chest lightly. He rolled his eyes.

“What I mean is that I’ve only ever trained with you, too, so everyone else doesn’t live up to my expectations.”

“What expectations?” you asked quizzically, flipping one of your notebooks closed.

“Working hard but still having a good time,” he answered, waving his hand nonchalantly. “You never sacrifice good banter for anything, I value that.”

“Ah, I’m glad to know you only value me as a training partner for my humor,” you retorted dryly, gathering all your belongings into a pile and standing up. Anakin’s brows furrowed as he looked up at you, a confused look painted across his face.

“Hey, what?” he asked, standing up with you. “What happened?”

“Nothing, just makes sense that you only enjoy my conversation, not anything actually training-related.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, completely dumbfounded as you started walking away.

“See you tomorrow, Anakin,” you replied, refusing to shed any more tears until you reached your room.

----

The next morning you were too unmotivated to let Obi-Wan know you weren’t coming, deciding instead to stay in bed and do absolutely nothing. Well, you were reading, but what did that really matter to a Jedi? You were supposed to be able to do backflips through the air and take on five enemies at once, and yet here you were wrapped in two blankets feeling like absolute shit. Some Jedi you were.

You held your breath as someone began knocking furiously on the door, hoping desperately they would think you weren’t home.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” Anakin called. You groaned, turning around and smashing your face into the pillow.

“Y/N!” he called again.

“Don’t come in!” you shouted back, voice muffled through the pillow.

“I’m coming in.”

“Don’t-”

You never got the chance to finish, bolting upright in bed as the door flew open, Anakin stalking in. You rolled your eyes, just thankful he had kept the door on its hinges.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, cringing as you recoiled slightly at his harsh words.

“What do you mean?” you replied quietly, his face softening as he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I meant what’s wrong, not what’s wrong with you,” Anakin corrected, taking your hand in his own.

“Nothing’s wr-”

“Don’t give me that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t even try, I know you better than anyone Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You kept quiet, focusing on the way his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of your hand.

“You’ve been acting off since we started training together, is it something I did?” he tried again, genuinely concerned. You laughed dryly and shook your head.

“No, Anakin, you didn’t do anything,” you replied truthfully, looking at him. “You’re perfect, I promise you did nothing wrong.” He gave you a small smile, looking down to where he was still holding your hand. He didn’t let go, only gripped you a little tighter, urging you to continue. You bit your lip, debating whether or not to tell him.

“Do you remember when that Padawan told me I needed to exercise more?” you asked finally. His head snapped up, eyes meeting yours.

“I knew it,” he murmured, nostrils flaring as he tried (and failed) to conceal his budding anger. “I knew it.”

“Anakin it’s ok,” you said, reaching out and rubbing his forearm, his gaze following your hand. “I mean, they were right, if I-”

“No,” Anakin said. “No, they weren’t right. They have no idea how strong you are, how capable-”

“Anakin I’ve struggled this entire week,” you blurted, eyes stinging and face heating up. “I pale in comparison to you, and the other Padawans, at least physically. I thought whatever training I’d been doing had been enough but clearly it wasn’t, so they’re right. I need to exercise more, I need to train more, I’m incapable of defending myself with a lightsaber and I don’t even look like a proper Jedi.” You thrust your bruised arms out towards him. “Look at these, you don’t have them, no one else does. I’m the only one who struggles with every exercise and test.”

You realized you’d begun to cry, tears rolling down your face and breaths shallow.

“Y/N,” Anakin murmured, hurt in his eyes as he took your arms gingerly in his hands. “Y/N, no.”

Your eyes widened as Anakin bent over, slowly pressing his mouth to each bruise on your forearms. You gulped, feeling a little dizzy as Anakin glanced up at you. “You’re an amazing Jedi,” he started, sitting back up straight and pulling you closer to him. You tried to pull away, not wanting to stain his robes with your tears, but he held you firmly. “You’re already stronger than half the people in that group, I’ll have Obi-Wan reassign you so you can kick someone’s ass and everyone will realize it.”

“Anakin-”

He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours.

“There’s more to being a Jedi than using a lightsaber, anyways,” he continued. “You’re the only person our age in this whole temple that can negotiate with warlords and thieves and murderers and still come back unscathed with five new friends.”

You chuckled, biting your lip as he pressed a kiss against your hair.

“You’re perfect, Y/N,” he insisted softly, you shifting in his arms to gaze up at him.

You were surprised by how nervous he looked, as if he didn’t know how you’d react to what he’d just said, what he’d just implied. You just smiled softly, leaning up to press a slow kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Anakin,” you mumbled against his face, grinning as you felt him smile.

Suddenly he pushed himself up, forcing you down onto the bed and collapsing on top of you. You shrieked, bursting into a fit of giggles as he began nestling himself in your hair.

“Shouldn’t you still be at training?” you asked, a wide smile on your face.

“I was sent here by Obi-Wan to fetch you,” he replied smugly.

“So shouldn’t we both be getting back then?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, gazing down at you with a cocky smile on his face.

“I never told him when I’d be coming back.”

You decided you could afford to skip training another day - Anakin probably needed the rest anyways - and pulled his face down to meet your own.

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | chapter four

Chapter Four

summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, depressed spencer, reader has a daughter, falling in love, strangers to lovers, library smut, oral (female receiving) lots and lots of fluff

word count: 3.9k

from the beginning <3

Everyone at work was very understanding. Almost all of them saw it coming, he was taking more sick days than normal and he wasn’t putting up a fight anymore when the 30 days was required to take rolled around. They were profilers after all.

He arrives on Thursday morning to pack his desk. The team is finally home and all together to wish him well on his future journey, giving him hugs and kisses as they each visited his desk.

They had already replaced him, Will LaMontagne was giving the FBI a shot, finally. Spending more time with JJ, the kids were old enough now to accept both of them working. And Kate Callahan was back, now that her baby wasn’t a baby anymore either.

Even Penelope and Derek showed up, bringing a cake that said ‘happy retirement’ written across the frosting. They were happy for him, they shared the same excitement he had. There was a thrill in his eyes again as they asked him about his plans.

“Tell us about this Y/N you met,” Emily cut into the laughter to get to the serious topics.

“I’ve been going to the park a lot recently and I found this little reading nook by a pond. She was there with her daughter and they invited me over to their picnic,” he realized how fake it all sounded as he continued to speak. “Her daughter is wonderful and super smart, I took them to the Smithsonian on Sunday and I’m completely smitten.”

Everyone swooned, happy to see him finally finding someone that makes him gush like this. It had been a very, very long time since Spencer has told any of them about a person, let alone someone he was in love with.

“She is wonderful,” Penelope added, “she makes the best tea and she lives in a literal Disney movie.”

Spencer laughed, “yeah she does. They probably read more books than I have, they make so many references all the time and they even dress up for what they’re reading, it’s amazing.”

They were amazed by how giddy he was, unable to stop smiling at him, “here we dressed up for the museum, I was milo from Atlantis and she was the old man in Tarzan,” he pulled his phone from his pocket to show them the photo.

It was his background now, Y/N sent it to him when he finally went back to his place Monday night, knowing he’d miss them. Not wanting him to be alone.

He was beyond proud to show them the photo, beaming from ear to ear as they all complimented his attire.

“She looks like you,” Kate added, “must be the genius gene,” she added, making awkward eye contact with JJ as they both clocked it.

“She’s exactly like me, that’s why Y/N likes having me around, it’s good for Amoreena to feel normal with the way our brains work,” he spoke about her like she was his own. Forever grateful to have her in his life.

“So when are you proposing?” Matt teased him. Knowing the feeling of love like this all too well with his perfect wife and a handful of children.

“I’m not trying to jinx anything,” Spencer admitted. “I actually have a job interview at the Library she works at later, so I’ll be around here a lot more.”

“He’ll be moved in by the end of the month,” Tara smiled, proud of him and the courage it takes to follow your heart.

“I’m going to miss you guys,” he presses his lips together softly, nodding as he avoids eye contact with them. “But you can call me whenever you need my brain, I guess.”

Hugs were exchanged as Spencer had to leave, Derek even offered to drive him back to his apartment to help with 4 boxes of books from his desk, and to have a bit of a talk like they always do.

“It’s surprisingly easy to be a dad, all you have to do is be there and love them,” Derek shared a tidbit of advice

“She told me she doesn’t mind me being like Amoreena’s dad, but I don’t think I can yet. I want her to decide when she wants me in that role.”

Spencer explains his feelings the easiest to Derek. Like he was already in his mind and knew the thoughts before he said them, Derek was never mad or disappointed in him. He loved him fully, and Spencer loved him right back.

“Like when you chose Gideon?”

Spencer can only nod, it’s still too sad to think about him being gone. “You know what it’s like, you love your father but there are other people in your life who fit the role better.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “You’re going to be great, regardless of the name she uses when she thinks of you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer smiled as they pulled up to his apartment, “you should bring Hank to meet the animals this weekend sometime.”

“He’d love that,” Derek smiled back at him, patting his shoulder lightly. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it if you didn’t first,” he admits. “You’re a strong man who decided to put his happiness first, I can be too.”

“You sure as hell can,” Derek wrapped him up in one last hug before sending him off to live that best life he was talking about.

The only person who didn’t know yet was his mother. He wasn’t sure how to tell her, he knew she’d be proud of him regardless but that anxiety of disappointing her never went away even now that he was 40.

“Spencer!”

“Hey mom,” he smiled when she picked up. “How are you?”

“I’m fantastic, Marge and I are going on a walk later to see some ducks that were born, I really love it here Spencer,” he could hear it in her voice. She was much more joyful when she was surrounded by friends.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“you sound happy, what’s going on?”

She was his mother, after all, she could know exactly how he’s feeling from just hearing him breathe or being in the same room as him. It was like a superpower, she always knew what was going on.

“I met someone,” he can’t help but smile. “And I quit the FBI to have a family.”

“You’re kidding?” He couldn’t read her tone, not sure if she was surprised or disappointed.

“Her name is Y/N, she has a 7-year-old daughter named Amoreena who is exactly like how I was as a child, you’d really like them,” he explains and he can hear his mother's smile from his end of the phone.

“I would love to meet them, you can bring them to visiting hours next Tuesday?” Diana offered, genuinely happy for him in a way that made his heart burst.

“I’ll see if they’re free and I’ll let you know.”

“I love you, Spencer,” she reminded him. “It’s nice to hear you’re happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I love you too, thank you, mom, for everything.”

She hangs up before they can get too emotional, leaving Spencer inside his sad little apartment all by himself. Taking the opportunity to pack his overnight bag for Y/N and pick out some books from his collection to show Amoreena.

There’s an envelope sticking out of one of his books that manages to catch his attention, taking it out to see his name written on it in Gideon’s handwriting. He almost forgot he had this, how important the words were.

Spencer,

I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me. I’m sorry the explanation couldn’t be better, Spencer. I’m sorry it doesn’t make more sense, but I’ve already told you. I just don’t understand any of it anymore.

I guess I’m just looking for it again, for the belief I had in college, the belief I had when I first met Sara and it all seemed so right.

The belief in happy endings. When you find that, never let it go, Spencer.

Don’t let this job do to you what it did to me, get out and get a life when you can. I have faith in you, till I see you again, take care, son.

Gideon

He walked over to the window then, seeing a beautiful red and brown bird perched on his fire escape. He couldn’t help but smile, “I found my Sara, thank you,” he whispers to the bird who turns its head to the side before flying off.

Gideon always did have the best timing and the best advice.

—

“Y/N, your one o’clock is here to see you,” the receptionist at the Library said over the phone, hanging up and returning her attention to Spencer, “she’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Doctor Reid,” he hears her voice as she rounds the corner, appearing behind a stack of books in the most beautiful blue dress he’s ever seen. “Lovely to see you again.”

“You too,” he smiles.

“Right this way,” she can’t help but smile as she escorts him to her office.

“I don’t normally consider people who don’t send in a resume, but I have a feeling you’re going to be good at this,” she teased him as he sat at her desk.

“Allison is going on maternity leave in a few weeks, so you won’t start until she has the baby. If you’re serious about wanting this position, it’s only Monday through Thursday, 9 to 2:30.”

“You’re not going to ask me anything?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but the literary historian and I get to spend a lot of time together, I’d rather hire someone I know I already like,” she smiled again. “And it would be nice to see you every day without a 7-year-old taking all your attention away from me.”

“You just want to live out the fantasy of kissing someone in the encyclopedia section, don’t you?” He teased her right back, making her blush. “I knew it.”

“Sue me!” She laughed, and he finally understood what tinker bell meant when she said farries are born from the purest laughter.

He was in love with her right then and there, he was sure of it.

It had been under a week and yet as he stared at her, hearing her wonderful laughter and seeing her beautiful smile, knowing she wanted to spend time with him, that she genuinely liked him and none of this was one-sided, it made him fall harder than he thought he could.

“Come on then,” he stands abruptly, taking her hand and pulling her out the door.

She tries to giggle quietly as she follows him all the way back to the quietest section of the library. Most of the books on the shelves didn’t even have bar codes because they haven’t been checked out since the 60’s, no one needs them but they can’t seem to part with them.

She backs up against the shelf and pulls him into her space, he drops her hands and holds her face instead, looking at her beautiful eyes as they sparkled in the fluorescent lighting.

“I was expecting this to be hungrier than this when I imagined it all for all these years,” she whispers, biting her lip to force her smile back.

“You’re just so fucking beautiful,” is all he can say, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs lightly a few times before finally placing his lips against hers, ever so gently.

Her hands stretched around his back, pulling him in closer till their bodies are pressed together and then she’s kissing him deeper. Breathing in through her nose like she’s trying to keep him there forever, her fingernails dig into his shirt and he knows she wants more.

He slid his thigh between hers, opening his mouth to give her all the access she wanted and letting her take control of the speed. She wasn’t kidding when she said she expected it to be hungrier. She was kissing him like it was the first time she has had contact with another human being in years, and it just might have been. She said she was single for a while before Amoreena, probably the whole time since as well.

“Spencer,” she took a moment to gasp for air, breathing against his lips as he did the same. “Can we?”

He kisses along her jaw then, moving towards her ear to whisper, “do what? Use your words.”

“Anything, just touch me please, god it’s been 12 years,” she begged as quietly as possible, tugging at his hair as he nibbled on her earlobe.

He kissed down her neck making his way towards her chest. Holding her by the hips now, she arched her back into the shelf as he kissed all the way to where her dress started to cover her breasts but he didn’t stop. Kissing over her clothes as he dropped down to his knees in front of her.

He undid his tie, slipping it off his neck and handing it to her, “in case you need to scream into something.”

She held it in her hand for a second, registering what he just said and moaning softly in response as she held it closer to her lips, he took that as a yes and slipped under her dress.

She was wearing just a pair of regular cut pink underwear, not expecting this in the slightest when she got ready this morning. He kissed her over top of the fabric, spreading her legs so that he could kiss the insides of her thighs as she tried to desperately grind into his face. grazing his teeth against her skin as she shivers, thighs shaking in anticipation.

He kisses right where her clit should be under the fabric, knowing he’s correct when she whimpers around the tie he handed her. It's muffled and adorable as he kisses her again and again, knowing she wants more and teasing her gently.

He pulls her panties to the side, mesmerized by how perfect she is for only a second before returning to the task at hand. Being the first person to pleasure her in years, wanting her to have the best time possible.

With one hand he holds her panties back, using his other to slowly swipe a single finger through her folds to see just how wet she was. Smirking against her thigh as he’s able to slip right in.

“Please,” he hears her whisper, lifting the dress up so she could look at what he’s doing.

“Such a good girl for me,” he pressed the words against her skin.

He spreads her legs even further, resting one of them on his shoulder as he dives in, sucking her clit into his mouth abruptly as he pumps his single finger in and out. She jerks her hips at the sudden contact, stuffing the tie in her mouth and biting down as she whimpers.

He knows what he’s doing, where all the pleasure spots are and what feels the best on most women. Searching around and trying different tongue movements, memorizing the sounds she makes and attempting to hear them again and again, knowing it means she’s enjoying herself.

That’s all he wanted, to please her. Not even realizing how hard he was as he continues to eat her out furiously in the back corner of the DC Public Library. He forgets they’re even in public entirely as he moans against her clit, sending shockwaves through her body.

She’s quaking then, holding onto the top of his head with one hand as the other grips a shelf. She’s panting into the material of the tie, the hot breath making its way through the fabric and stopping the whorish moans he knew she’d make. It had been too long since someone treated her right.

He added a second finger then, wanting to push her over the edge as he curled them, finding her g spot and caressing it with every thrust of his fingers. She clenched around him then, a high-pitched noise left her mouth as she finished around him.

He couldn’t help but smirk, re-moving his fingers and cleaning them off in his mouth. Releasing them with a pop before dragging his tongue along her one last time. Gathering up everything she released and placing her panties back over her nicely.

He kissed over her underwear one last time before fixing her dress and standing up, “did I manage to fulfill the dream?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, looking like she was coming down from a real high, not just an orgasm. She pulled him in close and held onto him for dear life as she continued to catch her breath, and then her hand started to wander.

“Nope,” Spencer whispered, moving her hand away from his aching cock. “As much as I want to, I’d rather fuck you at home.”

“Home huh?” She teased him, kissing his cheek softly as she pulled back.

"I love you," he whispers against her ear, without a fear in the world that she didn't feel the same way.

"I love you too, Spencer."

They couldn’t stop smiling at each other, it felt surreal to be this happy. He kissed her a few more times, staying hidden in the back corner until the blood in his body let this dick and went back to where it was supposed to be.

She just held him in her arms, leaning back against the shelves as they kissed softly, running her hands through his hair gently, over and over. She whispered a few thank you’s to him, letting him know it was everything she waited for.

It was truly perfect.

—

Amoreena was so happy to see him back at the farm when she got off the bus, she missed him during the few days he wasn’t there.

She asked him to help with her homework, her teacher assigning them an “all about me” project to showcase their growth at the end of the year ceremony. It was almost June, she only had a few weeks left before she was off for the summer and free to show him around the whole kingdom.

Y/N brought out a box of craft supplies and a collection of photos. Showing Spencer every single moment of her and Amoreena’s life.

From her first sonogram to the first bump photo, she had and every maternity shot on the farm you could think of, to the day she was born, her first bath, first steps, chocolate cake shoved on her nose at her first birthday, everything. He felt like he watched her grow up in the blink of an eye, staring at all the photos while Y/N and Amoreena made a plan for her project.

She did look a lot like him, in some instances, she even looked like his mom. There was a look Diana would get when she was intrigued with something, or when she was trying to figure something out. She’d bite her tongue and tilt her head, and it was exactly what Amoreena did.

He never thought he’d see a child-like himself this early, he always expected someone to contact him at 18 and surprise him like Rossi. He really never, ever thought he'd have a child in his life who he was blessed with watching grow up. He never believed someone would have a kid so much like him and allow him to see the world through their eyes. He was amazed by how lucky he got, to be brought into an already happy family that wanted him, they didn’t just need him.

There was no need for a father in Amoreena’s life, she was happily living her life with her grandparents and her mother, explaining to him that she had a bunch of aunts and uncles, plus 15 cousins and they all lived close too. Her life was full of people to love her, and yet she wanted Spencer to love her too.

“Can I put the photo of us at the museum on here too?” She asked Y/N, looking at Spencer to see if he was okay with it too. “I already told my friends that you’re my dad.”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t want to cry in front of her so instead he just stopped all movement inside of his body and held it in. Looking at Y/N who was also a little emotional as Amoreena went back to looking through the photos.

Amoreena didn’t even notice how their expressions changed, she didn’t understand the weight of the words as she said them. She was oblivious to the hole in Spencer’s heart that she was filling with glitter glue, making him feel like he was whole again.

“Yeah,” he finally managed to speak. “I’d love to be on your project.”

“I know you said we don’t need dads but I kinda want one,” Amoreena’s soft expression made his heart melt even more. He was putty in her hands, willing to be whatever she wanted from him as long as he could.

“When did you say that?” Y/N asked softly, confused as to where she was when they had a conversation.

“The other morning at breakfast, um, my father left when I was little. It was just me and my wonderful mother until I was 21, then I found someone to call Dad. His name was Jason Gideon, he was my mentor and he made he feel like I was smart and loved,” he smiled, letting her know he genuinely meant it. “There’s a big difference between being a father and being someone's dad.”

“What’s that?” Amoreena’s innocent mind running wild as she tried to figure out his meaning.

“Anyone can be a father when two adults make a baby,” he said softly, making eye contact with Y/N as she blushed. Knowing where he was going with this. “But dads are special, they’re the people who are supposed to make you feel safe and loved. A person who you can turn to for advice and know he’ll love you no matter what you have to say. Dad’s are supposed to love you forever, regardless of what happens in life. Just like your mom does already.”

Amoreena leaned into his chest, pressing her head against him softly. He wrapped his arms around her gently, giving her the tiniest hug he’s ever given. “I pick you then, you’re the best guy I know and I think that means you’d be a good dad.”

Y/N silently cried, getting up from the table and walking into the kitchen so Amoreena wouldn’t see her sob. Spencer tried to widen his eyes so the tears he was generating would slip back into his tear ducts. Not wanting to cry as she held him.

“I’d love to be your dad,” he whispered, kissing her head softly as she held him tighter. “But first I’ve gotta check on your mom,” he whispered into her hair. Watching her pull away and look for where she was.

“Okay,” Amoreena shrugged, returning to her project as he wandered into the kitchen.

She was leaning against the counter when he walked in, her dress pulled up over her face as she cried into the material. Wiping her face as Spencer walked in and looking at him with the happiest smile.

She was laughing into her tears then, shaking her head as she sobbed, “why am I crying?”

He laughed then too, pulling her into a hug and spinning her around gently as she kept laughing. Her face buried into his neck as she smiled, he set her down gently so he could pull her into a kiss.

Her cheeks were all wet as he held her face, peppering kisses to her lips as they both tried to stop smiling.

“I’m going to miss hearing her call you Spencer,” Y/N whispered.

“Me too,” he giggled again. “But dad does have a good ring to it.”

tag list:

@shemarmooresfedora

@spencers-dria

@spookyspence

@reidsfish

@manuosorioh

[lord-of-christmas-lights]

I swear I have normal Narnia headcanons. However, none of them are featured in this post.

So! If you've been following my series of posts about my Inhuman Narnia AU and the couple of oneshots I posted on ao3 under ASkyOfKai, you've probably noticed that in this little universe I've created, Narnia is sort of...sentient. And I've just realized that I've only actually gone into depth about this on Discord with my friends who are probably very tired of hearing about it. So I'm making y'all suffer through it instead. Welcome to Inhuman Narnia 101, please take your seats because this is going to take a while.

Warning for religious themes, theological discussion, and some dark fantasy/inhuman/body horror concepts that involve blood and physical changes.

BEFORE I SAY ANYTHING: Please keep in mind that an AU is meant to be an alternate universe that may not follow canon information. If anything in this post contradicts canon on the creation of Narnia (it undoubtedly will), pay it no mind, this is an AU. It doesn't have to follow canon.

First off, a little explanation of the Inhuman Narnia AU in general. Basically I came up with this AU after seeing some other people on tumblr post about the Pevensies being not quite human after their time in Narnia. Just eerie, cryptid, a bit of dark fantasy kinda stuff. And I was like, "I'm in love, sign me up, I have ideas." I did not sit down and develop this all at once. The worldbuilding I've done for it has come slowly over the past few weeks through posts, fanfics, and discord rambles. The idea of Narnia being a sentient earth deity of sorts is a recent one and there is already so much to it. (Also I call her Narnia because it's convenient, she has other names but I haven't bothered to like, actually make any up so Narnia is what she's called.)

The most important thing to note starting off is that Narnia is not supposed to be a replacement for Aslan, nor is she necessarily "the hero to his villain". Aslan and I have an interesting relationship, as he is literally God/Jesus/The Holy Spirit/etc and I no longer really identify as Christian. While there are times that Aslan definitely takes a more antagonistic route in my writings, I don't actually see him as a bad guy, nor as a good guy. As God, he literally removed from our concepts of good and evil (in my opinion). The same goes for Narnia being an earth deity. I am a Christian-raised pagan, and I definitely subscribe to the idea that gods and deities are not subject to humanity and our rules. Narnia is not a good goddess, she is not a bad goddess, she simply is a goddess. Plain and simple. The dichotomy that exists between Narnia and Aslan in my writing is generally that of opposing deities, but this isn't a hard and fast rule. There were and still are times when they're friends, working towards the same goals. There are times when Narnia's power is stronger than Aslan's and times when Aslan's power is stronger than hers. There is no simple 1:1 comparison between them.

So, getting into motivations and why Narnia as a deity even exists. Essentially, I asked the question, "How do the Pevensies become inhuman?" and voila earth deity Narnia was born. Now, the basic in-universe mythology I've worked out is that Narnia and Aslan are two deities from separate dimensions that came together to create a new world, the world of Narnia. Aslan is the one who oversees things, he's the one who comes up with the ideas, and he's a little less attached to the world as a whole because he's a Creator, not an earth deity. Narnia is, however, and she literally makes up the world, she sort of runs the entire thing on a physical level, and she is much more attached to it. So she's always kinda taken on this role of making the things in her world the way she wants them. For the most part, she and Aslan designed everything together and they're both happy with it blah blah blah. Well, Aslan then decides to bring a few humans from this other world he's created to Narnia. And she affects them a bit (I've got headcanons about Digory and Polly that I haven't posted anywhere yet but I might soon), but it isn't until Aslan brings the Pevensies over that she really gets to experiment. See, there are other deities in the world that kinda rule over the various lands on a surface level (patron gods for Telmar, the Archenlands, etc, they just have less power than Narnia and Aslan) so she has a little less power over the people in those places, but the country of Narnia is both her land and her so when the Pevensies become the Kings and Queens and live there for 15 years, she's very connected to them. And it's through this connection that she starts to affect them. Honestly, I'm not sure if Narnia even knows what she's doing when she starts stripping away their humanity. I think it's that she can feel they're not from her world and she doesn't like that. She wants them to be a part of her, she wants them to belong in her world just the same as everyone else. (Side note—I know Telmar and some other lands in canon are based on people finding portals and coming through and I'd like to say that she does affect them a bit, takes away a bit of their humanity, but it's not to the same extent as the Kings and Queens of her lands).

"So Kai," you might say, "You keep empathizing that she is literally the land and the land is her. What the hell do you mean by that?" Well, essentially, she is...the...land. Basically if you've read Percy Jackson Heroes of Olympus, there's this idea that Gaia and Tartarus are both physically their domains and able to take on a smaller, human shaped physical form because they're gods and not restricted by human ideas of only having one body. Narnia is the same. Her physical form is both the entire world and whatever smaller shape she might appear in to people. However, we have to acknowledge that their world is differently structurally from ours. There's magic, there's talking animals, and in my Inhuman AU, there is a literal Heart of Narnia at the center. Like a physical, beating, human-shaped heart. Except it's a lot bigger than a regular human heart. Also it's golden. And many many many miles underground. So anyways this is where she's centered. It's basically where her soul is. Probably under Cair Paravel because I just came up with that idea and I love it. And radiating out from it are veins of magic and blood, and these stretch all across the world. Now here is where we get into blood magic and some of those fun terrifying concepts I've come up with.

Narnia has her own blood, of course, but also whenever one of her Kings or Queens bleeds in battle, she kinda pulls it down through the earth into her own heart and veins. It doesn't really do anything to her or them in particular, it's just a fun side effect of them having a patron pagan god. Yes this includes Caspian after he becomes King. Also Peter's blood turns golden because he's the High King, and then later Caspian's does too because I just really like imagery of Ben Barnes bleeding gold. (Side note—when Peter returns to England, his blood goes back to red, but it does remain a brighter red than blood generally is).

Diverting for half a second here. Now, in both my regular Narnia writings and my Inhuman AU, Lucy is very very connected to magic. In my regular Narnia fanfic, she studies with the druids, who are sort of like BBC Merlin's druids. They're just like, chill dudes who run around in camps doing magic and making prophecies and shit. However, in the Inhuman AU, they are a lot darker. One of my favorite ideas with the Inhuman druids and Lucy is that they are so connected to Narnia's magic and her Heart that their hands become stained with blood. Is it their blood, is it Narnia's blood, is it someone else's blood? Idk, don't ask questions. But yea, their hands are permanently stained reddish-brown to almost black. In my regular Narnia stuff, I still like the idea of Lucy's hands being stained and go with just earth magic, dirt stuff for the reason why. But yea no, in the Inhuman AU her hands are stained with blood because of blood magic.

So getting a bit more into how Narnia affects the Pevensies now because I love talking about this lol. She doesn't consciously chose how to change them, though she does call them her creations. Generally the way her magic affects them is by connecting them to to the land in some way and bringing out certain traits they have. So for Peter it's his eyes flickering between regular blue and the amber of a lion's, feathers appearing on his back that grow into wings, having a strength greater than that of a giant's. His blood is golden and on clear nights, the Aurora Borealis in the sky is reflected across his skin. For Susan, her skin glints like glass in the sun and she can briefly glimpse the future. Her wounds are sewn shut with golden rays of light, her eyes are cracked but clear, and she seems to glow faintly in the night, a bit of the sun's radiance shining through her. Edmund has a bit of a star's power lodged in his throat, and can manipulate words, uses them to influence people and their actions. His skin is frostbitten in places, a side effect of ruling the Woods where the White Witch once held so much power, and in some spots his bones shine under the ice that spreads across his skin. Lucy has the stained skin from her stronger connection to magic, and when she speaks words from the Old Language (the one Aslan and Narnia used to shape the world itself), her voice echoes and rasps. Her teeth are too sharp, her smile too wide, and when she disappears underwater, she can stay for hours without surfacing. I want to get into Eustace and Caspian now too but this post is already extremely long and I've still got a bit to cover, so we're just sticking with the Pevensies for now. So yea, Narnia doesn't pick what she does to the Pevensies, she just connects herself to them and through that connection, they change. The magic that she is made of, that Narnia the world operates on, that's what changes them. However, as I stated already, she does call them her creations and feels extremely responsible for them.

Wrapping back around up to the beginning, this is the biggest source of conflict between her and Aslan as of the canon timeline. I like to believe that the lamppost incident was an accident, that Aslan didn't actually mean to send them back at the end of LWW and it was pure coincidence, wrong place wrong time stuff. That being said, it did happen and Narnia really didn't like it happening. The Pevensies did return to their (mostly) human selves in this AU in England, so when they came back in Prince Caspian, she felt disconnected from them again. She reacted to this by digging into them even harder on a spiritual level and essentially speedran them back to being inhuman throughout the timeline of PC, which generally takes place over a few months in my mind. I don't remember how long it was in the book, it's been quite a while since I read them, but it's only like a week in the movie and like eff that, overthrowing a kingdom takes a bit longer in my opinion. Now there are a few divergences here. 1. They all stay at the end of PC and yea that's it, they go back to being Kings and Queens and it's like a second Golden Age but with Caspian there as well. 2. Susan and Peter stay, Lucy and Edmund go back and it's a repeat of the human/inhumanity cycle for them + Eustace in VOTDT and then they stay. 3. Everything happens exactly as it does in canon and it's a constant cycle of humanity/inhumanity with the character's various trips and finally ends at The Last Battle. I like all versions and I tend to leave things a little open to the reader on what exactly happens, or I would if I could actually finish some of my drafts and post them. As you can imagine, Narnia likes 1 the best and 3 the least. She really wants her Kings and Queens to stay and rule her lands and like be awesome and stuff. However, Aslan prefers 3 the best and 1 the least. So again, neither of them is really good nor evil, they just have differing opinions on how the world should be run and what the Pevensie's fates should be. I do tend to side with Narnia, I really like exploring these concepts of inhumanity, but I also really like the concept of a cycle. That's very common in mythology.

So anyways, that's a bit of an overview on earth deity Narnia and her role in my Inhuman AU. If you made it this far, congratulations, and I give you explicit permission to use any of my ideas in your own writing/fanart/whatever, as long as you tag either my tumblr or my ao3 (lord-of-christmas-lights and ASkyOfKai) because I need more Narnia+Inhumanity content in my life. Thanks for reading all this and I'll probably be back very soon with elaboration on Eustace and Caspian's inhumanity!

- Kai