#Twists in historical novels

[miharose84]

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[mariasont]

Ideas From a Book - A.H

a/n: im writing what i want !!!!!!!!!!!!! i have a gun kink SUE ME !!! if you don't like it don't read it !!!!!!!

anyhow HAPPY READING

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch comes home to find you reading and finds out you have a gun kink

warnings: 18+ MDNI, a lot going on here yall idk, gun going in ur vag, reader loves smut she's just like me fr, gun kink!, dirty talk, established relationship, yada yada

wc: 2.3k

When Hotch returned home from work, the ritual he had was comforting in its predictability: shedding his coat and shoes, setting down his briefcase, and locking up his gun. Then, he'd find you, as he always did, nestled into the couch, book in hand. 

It was something he could count on, as reliable as the sun rising in the morning. Your bookshelf was a spectrum of genres--science fiction, poetry, mystery, historical, fantasy--name it, you've likely read it. Among these, he had noticed a trend--your favoritism for romance. It was fitting, as you've always been an ardent believer in fairytales and happy endings. It was a belief he intended to uphold, a fairytale ending he was set on creating for you. 

The book you held today had a cover he didn't recognize. He cleared his throat, announcing his arrival. Your eyes met his in an instant, and he was struck anew by just how pretty you are. Effortlessly so. He told you as much, though you seldom accepted the compliment. 

"Hi, handsome," you said, infusing your words with honey as you folded the corner of your page and laid the book aside. Spencer would scold you for that. "How was work?"

A shrug rolled off his shoulders, fingers working to loosen the tie that felt like a noose after a long day. Stepping further into the living room, he sighed, "Heavy with paperwork."

"That's no fun," you said, lips curving into a delicate pout. 

It was an invitation he couldn't ignore. Leaning in, his hands found your face, and as your lips met, you giggled, pulling back just enough to study his face, the harsh lines under his eyes, reading the fatigue on his features like a well-thumbed novel. 

"What are you reading?" he questioned, easing down next to you, the couch dipping to his weight. 

You dodged his eyes, fingers absently fidgeting with your earlobe as you gave him a half-smile, tilting the book just enough so he couldn't catch the title.  

"Just some romance book," you admitted, with a slight uptick in your voice. "Garcia recommended it."

He regarded you with a contemplative frown. Normally, a book you would have gone on for hours, detailing every character, plot twist, and subplot, dissecting its layers and intricacies in exhaustive detail. 

Aaron watched as you placed the book on the side table, movements deliberate. You positioned yourself across his lip, a seemingly innocent distraction. It almost worked. Your soft thighs sinking into his calloused hands, as if they were crafted just for him. He recognized your ploy, though, giving your leg a squeeze a little tighter than necessary. 

You leaned in, your breath tinged with the minty traces of your afternoon tea, a detail as intimate as any secret shared between lovers. He nipped at your lip, a gentle diversion, as his hand crept towards the book.

You wriggled in his hold, vying to get there first, but he was faster. Much faster at that, although you loved to challenge him on that. He secretly loved when you did. He loved you. 

"What are you doing?" Your voice was rising in a panicked pitch. You stretched your hand out, trying to reclaim it, but he kept it just beyond reach.

Aaron's arm formed a band around you, effectively pinning your arms to your torso while you writhed within his grasp. A groan was stifled in his throat. "Quit that."

You smiled, a hint of tease in the curve of your lips and stilled. You were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it was a feat achieved with little effort. 

"Why are you being so secretive about this?"

He nodded to the book. The cover was unassuming, black with a smattering of designs that sprawled across it. It looked like any other book you read.

"I'm not being secretive," you insisted, deliberately avoiding his probing gaze. "You're just being nosy."

"Oh, am I?" He couldn't help but laugh, nose crinkling as he dismissed the notion with a shake of his head.

You nodded, not saying anything in response. He thumbed through the book, opening it to a random page.

"Wait--," you pleaded, but his attention was already glued to the ink. You wrapped yourself around him, your face buried in the folds of his crisp dress shirt as you murmured into the fabric, "please don't."

His arm shifted from your waist to cradle the back of your neck. "Gasping at the cool metal of the gun running across my belly, I want him press it into my panties."

Your breath caught, warmth flooding your cheeks as you pressed your face deeper into his chest. "Aaron, stop."

But he didn't, of course, he was far too intrigued.

"Parting my legs, I roll into the metal. He runs it back and forth across my pussy, wetting it against the barrel to my entrance," He continued, wetting the pad of his thumb as he turned the page, eyes meeting yours. 

He cocked an eyebrow as if waiting for your response. You didn't give him one, huffing a sigh as you plucked the book from his hands and flung it onto the cushions of the couch.

"Are you...into this?" He articulated each word with deliberate slowness, as if navigating a minefield. "This is a little intense."

You groan, tucking your chin down to your chest as you fought against the tingling sensation clawing up your spine.

"I don't know." The words tumbled out in a murmur, a feeble shield against the embarrassment flooding your senses.

It was the truth. You didn't know. Ink on a page was a far cry from reality. Nonetheless, your recent daydreams were filled with images of Aaron with his gun. God, forbid you see him on duty.

He shifted you off his lap, and you felt the corners of your mouth turn downward involuntarily. You watched his retreating figure vanish down the hall, your thoughts racing at breakneck speed, gripped by the fear that you had scared him off, that this was his tipping point.

The welling tears were poised to fall, but they paused as he came back into view. Holding his gun.

Your breath halted, a knot forming in your throat as you clumsily rose to your knees on the couch, your eyes wide and transfixed on him.

You watched, more like ogled, as he methodically removed the magazine, opening the action and ejecting the cartridges of the gun, putting the safety into place. Your throat felt dry. His advance towards you was predatory, a slow march that rekindled a well-known flutter in your stomach.

"Aaron?"

He stepped in front of you, the firearm dangling loosely at his side. You gazed up at him, peering through the shelter of your lashes.

"Do you want me to fuck you with this?"

You knew you said you didn't know if this was something you were into, yet here you were, retracting every syllable. Suddenly so incredibly turned on it almost hurt.

You nodded vigorously, your enthusiasm outpacing your self-awareness.

The look he gave you was one you recognized instantly, eliciting yet another soft pout before you gave in. "Yes, please, Aaron."

"Good girl," he said, making your heart skip a beat as he pressed the nose of the gun into your chest, forcing you backward. "Always so good for me."

You nodded again, even though there was no need to, but you weren't really focused on his words. You were focused on the gun pressing into your body, imagining it pressed against your clit, up your pussy.

"You're sure, um," you managed, trying to catch your breath, pausing in the middle of your sentence to clear your throat, "that all the safety stuff is on?"

You sounded dumb, you were aware, but all intellectual thoughts were out the window.

He let out a deep chuckle, the sound sending another wave of desire straight to your core. "Yes, baby, all of the safety stuff is on."

"Okay, good."

He pressed his lips to yours, the gun still flush against your chest, now grazing your nipple as you arched into him.

He pulled back only enough to speak into your mouth. "What's your safe word?"

"Mercy."

He hummed in response, fingers threading through your hair as he pushed the barrel of the gun down your stomach. You froze, a subtle gap forming between your lips as your eyes remained locked on the motion.

He brought his mouth to your ear, nipping at the skin lightly as he pushed the metal further down your body, lifting the hem of your shirt with it. You gasped at the feeling, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth as you tried to hide just how affected you were.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes." It was immediate. Without hesitation.

He kissed your lips, gentle and unhurried, as if he was savoring the sensation, like he thought I might crumble under too much pressure. He might be right.

"Take these off."

His gun pressed against the waistband of your shorts. You didn't waste a second, lifting your hips and shimmying out of the fabric. A sound of approval vibrated from his throat, his fingers entwining in your hair, gently drawing your face closer to his.

"Are you sure about this?"

A nod came naturally, followed by a yes breathed out like a prayer, as your eyes trailed down to in between your thighs where the gun was now sitting. 

"Aaron, I need it."

"Oh, you need it, huh?" He tsked his tongue, running the nose of the gun over your clothed heat. "I can tell."

You let out a sharp gasp, bucking your hips into the device as you met his eyes, willing him to keep going. You had never been more turned on in your life. His hand moved from your neck to the small of your waist, pinning you in place. With one hand. Fuck.

He laid the gun beside your hip on the couch in order to pull your panties off. You squirmed at the rush of cold air encompassing between your thighs. His eyes were glued to your pussy, tongue darting out to swipe across his lips.

"Christ sweetheart," he hissed, sliding one finger through your slit, showing you the moisture you had produced. "Needy girl."

"Aaron, please." You needed something inside of you.

He laughed, at your expense, but you didn't care, concentrated on his hand grabbing the Glock and repeating the action his finger just did.

You choked out a sound, stuttering against the touch. He in a merciful mood apparently, pushing the gun slowly into your sopping cunt. You were writhing against it, your mouth parted as you tried to get used to the foreign object.

"You okay?" He asked, pausing his motions, giving you a second to adjust.

You swallowed; gaze drawn down to where he was sliding the gun into you. You bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Yes."

"You can take it," he said, but the way the firearm was stretching you made you unsure.

It wasn't the size necessarily, but the way the groves and magazine were cramming into you was making hold your breath, which him being him he noticed immediately.

His hand rested gently against the pouch of your stomach. "Breathe."

The pent-up breath escaped your lips, and he rewarded you by sinking the gun further into your pussy. You fingers wrapped around his biceps, the tips digging slightly into the constellation of freckled skin.

One final thrust and it was fully in you. You could feel every groove and contour of it, cunt clenching and unclenching at the sensation. 

"Look at you," he drawled, beginning to fuck you with it. It transcended the prose of any book, a sensation that no array of printed words could fully capture. "You like that?"

Nodding was your only recourse, mouth hanging pathetically open as you moaned and whined. You were in a daze-like state, every sound and motion involuntary.

"This is the Glock 17," he explained, thrusting the gun faster, causing you to tighten your hands around his neck, bringing him so close his words were melting into your skin. "It feeds from a staggered-column magazine that has a 17-round capacity. It sends 115 gr bullets downrange at about 1200 feet per second."

You could feel your arousal leaking to your thighs, coating his forearm in the process, but that would never stop him.

"This gun has taken the lives of nineteen unsubs."

You know this should make you coil away, that it should feel wrong somehow, but all you felt was that growing tightness in your core, your legs shaking, your chest rising and falling at a more rapid pace.

"You don't even care, do you? All you care about is getting yourself off." His chuckles wove through his words, and his motions didn't falter, intent of ushering you to your peak. "My dirty girl."

You were so close, the edges of the gun managing to hit every spot just right.

"Come on, honey."

Fuck. You let out another strangled gasp, way louder than intended as your back arched like a string of a bow, and then suddenly you released.

A prism of colors exploded behind your squeezed eyes. A collage of musical notes falling over your ears. Your whole body was being ignited as you gushed around the gun.

"Christ." His new favorite word as of late. He withdrew the weapon from you.

You let out a subdued hum, propping yourself on your elbows, your eyes lazily rising to meet his with a tender flutter.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, the compliment settling on you like dew on morning flowers. Your gaze caught the gun, now bathed in a liquid gloss, cradled in his hands.

"Oh my god," you said, hand covering your mouth.

He laughed softly, placing it on the coffee table before his lips brushed against yours, a soft and measured caress that belied his previous urgency.

"You might need a new one," you said sheepishly, heat creeping into your ears as he pressed another soft kiss to your cheek.

"Absolutely not," he murmured into your flushed skin. "It just became my gun of choice."

You were going to give him the best head of his life.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[reidmarieprentiss]

Grass is Always Greener

Summary: based on this ask. Reader is in love with Spencer, he moves on while they're dating. Then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer has some monumental realizations.

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, typical CM violence, emotional cheating, bi-sexual Spencer, heartbroken reader

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: i really loved this prompt!! thank you for asking :) there will be a part two by the way don't worry heheh

main masterlist

For the past six months, you and Spencer have been inseparable, caught in the kind of love that novels fail to describe adequately. It isn't just affection—devotion, a deep-rooted adoration that feels like it has existed long before you met, as though you were meant to be intertwined from the start.

You love him in the way you always wished to be loved. You show it in every trim, thoughtful act—baking his favorite pastries just because, ensuring that breakfast is warm and waiting for him before he even wakes up, making sure dinner is ready when he returns home, exhausted but comforted by you.

You bring him flowers, because why shouldn't he receive them too? You find books you know will capture his mind, wrapping them in delicate paper just to see the soft wonder in his eyes when he unwraps them. You plan excursions he'll adore—museum dates, guided historical tours, moments where he can lose himself in the past while you stay anchored beside him.

Your love isn't just spoken—it's lived, woven into every gesture, every detail, every careful thought put into making him feel cherished. Because that's what he is to you—irreplaceable, essential, the other half you never realized was missing until he was there, filling every space with something more profound than connection, something that feels like fate.

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

Your heart stopped. Your lungs refused to work, your breath catching somewhere in your throat like a broken sob that refused to form. The room around you blurred at the edges, your vision tunneling in on Spencer—Spencer, the man you had given everything to, the man you had loved so deeply, so purely, that it had consumed every part of your existence.

"What?" The word came out strangled, barely audible, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him that power, but your body betrayed you.

Spencer still couldn't look at you. His hands, which you had held so many times, trembled at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. "I thought it was the right thing to do," he muttered, as though that was supposed to make sense, as if that explained anything.

Your stomach churned with nausea, fury, and disbelief. "The right thing to do?" Your voice wavered between a whisper and a scream. "The right thing to do was to fuck someone else?"

Spencer flinched at your words and their vulgarity, but he didn't immediately deny it. That silence spoke louder than anything.

Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I did not—" he hesitated, knowing every word he chose would dictate what happened next. "—I did not sleep with him."

Him.

It hit you like a freight train, a new layer of betrayal unfolding before you. You stepped back as if distance would protect you from the shattering of your heart inside your chest.

"Then what, Spencer?" You forced the words out, your entire body trembling. "What did you do?"

Spencer's face twisted in pain, in something that almost looked like guilt but didn't quite feel like enough. Not for what he'd done. Not for the way he was shattering you into pieces so small you weren't sure you'd ever be able to put yourself back together.

"I fell in love," he admitted, his voice quiet, like saying it any louder would break him too.

But it wasn't him breaking. It was you.

Your scream ripped through the room before you could stop it. "Spencer, that is so much worse!" Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding you against the overwhelming rush of devastation, betrayal, and fury. "How long?"

Spencer blinked at you, thrown off by the question. "How long?" he echoed as if he didn't understand or know what you were asking.

You took a step closer, the force of your heartbreak pushing you forward even as your body begged to run in the opposite direction. "How long have you been in love? How long have you been emotionally cheating on me like a pathetic, scared loser?"

His breath hitched, his mouth opening and closing like he struggled to find the right words, but there were none. There was no correct answer that would make this better.

Then he said it. "Is this because it's a man?"

You froze, stunned by how wildly he had missed the point. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped you, and you could barely recognize the sound of your voice when you spat, "I don't give a shit what mouth you want to put your tongue in, Spencer." Your hands shook, and you hated it, hated how weak you felt when all you wanted was to be furious enough to drown out the pain. "I care that you didn't respect me enough to tell me sooner! I'm not homophobic; I'm heartbroken!"

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you.

His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were just now realizing the gravity of what he had done. As if the wreckage he had left in his wake hadn't been evident from the moment he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled as he could barely hold himself up anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

"Well, congratulations," you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. "You did."

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he looked humiliated. "I'll have my things gone by the weekend," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something inside you snapped.

"Fuck you." The words tore from your throat, sharp and unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that no amount of time could ever truly erase. "Get it all out tonight and give me the key."

Spencer flinched. His eyes darted up to yours, desperate, pleading, as if something was still left to salvage. "Y/N—"

"Now, Spencer!" you screamed, your voice cracking, breaking under the sheer weight of the moment. Your body was trembling, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms, but you didn't care. You didn't care that tears blurred your vision or that your chest ached like someone had physically reached inside you and torn your heart apart.

Spencer didn't argue.

For once, he didn't try to explain, didn't try to rationalize, didn't try to make this something it wasn't. He simply nodded, defeated, and turned on his heel.

You watched as he moved through the shared space, the home you had built together, now nothing more than a place he needed to evacuate. Every step he took, every moment that passed as he quietly gathered his things, felt like a knife twisting deeper into your already shattered heart.

You wanted to stop him.

You wanted to scream at him to stay, to tell him he could fix this, that you could find a way back to the love you had so freely given him.

But he had already thrown that love away.

And so, instead of begging or breaking any further, you turned your back on him. You wiped your face with shaking hands, steeling yourself against the overwhelming grief threatening to consume you.

When he returned, his bag slung over his shoulder, the key to your apartment sitting in the palm of his hand, you refused to look at him.

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him, you collapsed, sobs wracking through your body as you mourned a love lost.

—

It had been an ordinary evening. Spencer had been at the library, fingers trailing along the spines of well-worn books, his mind half-distracted by the text messages you had sent earlier—something sweet, something thoughtful, the way you always were with him. You had made dinner and were waiting for him. He had told you he'd be home soon.

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

It started with a discussion—something about Dostoevsky, of all things. A casual remark Spencer had made under his breath, something about The Brothers Karamazov and moral determinism. He hadn't expected anyone to respond, let alone engage with him in a way that made his brain spark like a live wire.

"You know," Robert had mused, leaning against the bookshelf beside Spencer, "it's funny how people always think Dostoevsky was just arguing for free will. There's a case to be made that he was just as much a determinist as Tolstoy."

Spencer had turned, brows furrowed in curiosity, and he had looked at him for the first time.

Robert had sharp eyes, the kind that saw too much. He was well-dressed but not ostentatiously so—just a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked like someone who belonged in the pages of the books they discussed.

The conversation had spiraled from there, shifting seamlessly from Russian literature to philosophy to quantum mechanics. It was effortless. Easy in a way Spencer hadn't expected, in a way he hadn't even realized he had been missing.

And then—then there had been the moment.

Spencer had laughed—actually, he had laughed, full and unrestrained. When he glanced up, he found Robert watching him with a warm, unreadable gaze.

"Do you ever have moments when you feel like you were meant to meet someone?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice quieter and more thoughtful.

Spencer's stomach had twisted—not in guilt, not yet, but in something else. Something dangerous.

He should have said no. He should have left then and there and gone home to you, to the person who loved him and was waiting for him with dinner, affection, and unwavering devotion.

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

"Who's Robert Nelson?" you asked absentmindedly, flipping through the stack of mail on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the envelope, the name printed neatly in the return address, unfamiliar but seemingly unimportant—until you felt Spencer tense beside you.

It was subtle, the way his entire body went rigid, but you knew him well enough to notice. The way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second and his fingers twitched before he suddenly snatched the letter from your hands with an almost defensive speed.

"A friend," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You blinked, startled by his reaction and voice, which sounded too tight or too careful. You tilted your head, studying how his fingers curled around the envelope as if he were trying to shield it from you.

"A friend?" you echoed, your curiosity morphing into something heavier, something uneasy. "Since when have your friends sent you letters?"

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

"Since—uh, since he moved out of state," he said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty, the effortless confidence that usually accompanied his explanations. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever silent questions you were beginning to form.

You frowned, your heart beating a little faster, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Spencer finally met your gaze, but something in his eyes unsettled you—a flicker of something unreadable, which looked a lot like guilt.

"You never asked," he said softly.

And just like that, an invisible wall settled between you.

—

"Spencer?" you called out from the living room, glancing at his buzzing phone. The name flashing on the screen sent a strange feeling through your chest. Robert Nelson. Again.

Your fingers hovered over the device before instinct took over, and you answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence. Then, a smooth, unfamiliar voice. "Oh—uh, hi. Is Spencer there?"

Before you could respond, Spencer was there. He practically ripped the phone from your hand, his grip too aggressive. His fingers nearly fumbled as he clutched it like a lifeline.

"Why are you answering my phone?" His voice was sharp, defensive, almost panicked.

Your breath caught in your throat, stunned by the hostility in his tone. "I—It was ringing. I thought it might be work," you said, your voice quieter now, weaker.

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Hi, Robert!" His tone was bright and warm in a way that you hadn't heard from him in weeks. His body relaxed, his posture unwinding as he turned away from you slightly as if shielding the conversation from your ears.

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

You didn't need to hear the conversation. You didn't need to piece together the puzzle. It was already evident.

Whoever Robert Nelson was, he had already taken something from you.

—

"Hey, Reid," Derek called out as he stepped out of JJ's office, stretching his arms over his head. The bullpen was winding down for the day, the usual chatter filling the air. "You gonna invite that little number of yours to 'team bonding' at O'Kieffe's?"

Spencer looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing slightly. "Robert?"

Derek's expression flickered with confusion, his head tilting. "Who's Robert?"

Before Spencer could answer, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—who's Robert?"

Spencer adjusted his tie absentmindedly, utterly oblivious to the way both of his coworkers were staring at him now. "My boyfriend…"

A beat of silence.

Derek blinked, his mouth slightly open as if he'd misheard. "What?" His tone was a mixture of shock and something else—concern, maybe. "Since when? What happened to Y/N?"

At that, Spencer finally hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen.

There it was—that fleeting look of guilt, so quick that anyone who wasn't trained to notice microexpressions might have missed it.

Elle's eyebrows shot up, catching on to the shift instantly. "Yeah, what did happen to Y/N?" she echoed, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze locked on him.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He hadn't prepared for this conversation and hadn't thought about how it would sound when he finally said it out loud.

That he had left someone who loved him more than anything.

He said that he had fallen for someone else while still wrapped in the warmth of Y/N's love.

Her name, which Spencer used to say with so much affection, now felt like a reminder of what he had destroyed.

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

"Round table. Five minutes." Hotch's voice carried across the bullpen, his usual no-nonsense tone making it clear there was no room for delay.

The team exchanged glances, some groaning about Monday morning's abruptness, others silently gathering their things and making their way toward the conference room. Spencer followed, clutching his coffee; the bitter taste ground him in the early morning haze.

Once they were seated, JJ took her usual spot at the front, but something about her demeanor was off. Her shoulders were tense, her expression pinched in a way that wasn't just professional concern—it was personal.

She clicked on the projector, and the screen illuminated with a digital map of Virginia. Red markers pinpointed locations across the state—too many markers.

"A string of kidnappings has taken place here in Virginia," JJ began, her voice steady but strained. "All within the last two months. The victims all match the same victimology."

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

A series of photos appeared on the screen. The faces were of women in their twenties with similar features and build. This pattern should have been just another set of behavioral data points in the grander scheme of the case.

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

His grip on his coffee tightened involuntarily, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs in recognition, dread coiling in his gut like a living thing.

The victims—they all looked like you.

It's the same hair color. Same facial structure. They have the same soft smile in some photos and the same sharp glint in their eyes in others. They weren't you, but they might as well have been.

His pulse pounded as JJ continued speaking, words blurring together as the room suddenly felt too small.

"The unsub is abducting women who fit this profile, holding them for an unknown period, and then—"

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

You—who had barely spoken to him since he left. You—who he had destroyed. You—who he no longer had the right to check in on, to protect.

But as his vision swam, his chest tightening painfully, only one thought cut through the noise.

Were you safe?

…

The answer came quicker than Spencer could have ever prepared for.

No. You weren't safe.

Once the team broke off into their assigned pairs, the case had already begun unraveling alarmingly fast. The latest victim's body had been recovered, their time of death recent—too recent. It meant the unsub was either already hunting for a new woman… or they already had one.

By the time Spencer and Elle arrived back at the BAU, the tension in the air was palpable. The office's usual controlled chaos had been replaced with something far heavier. He could feel the urgency with which agents moved in the hushed voices and sharp exchanges. Something had shifted.

Then he saw it.

His first clue was the woman sitting at JJ's desk, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. It took him a second to recognize her—your best friend.

His second clue was even worse.

His entire body locked up as his gaze landed on the case board. The details of the investigation had changed.

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

Pinned in the center of the board, more significant than any other victim's. A fresh missing persons report was tacked beside it, and the timestamp was barely hours old.

The breath left Spencer's lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

His vision blurred at the edges, the words and numbers on the board becoming nothing more than meaningless static.

His hands clenched, the phantom memory of holding you flashing through his mind. His brain, the same brain that could recall statistics, equations, and case files with perfect clarity, was failing him now, drowning him in nothing but cold, raw terror.

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

The room around him faded into a blur of voices, movement, and urgency—but none mattered. Only you mattered. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, pushing him toward JJ's desk, toward your best friend who was still crying into her hands.

"When?" The word tore from Spencer's throat, rough and desperate. "When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

Your best friend lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen. "L-last night. We were supposed to meet for brunch this morning, but she never showed up. She—she wouldn't just disappear. She wouldn't—" Her voice broke, fresh sobs wracking through her as JJ placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Her phone's off," JJ said, her face tight with emotion, her voice barely steady. "Local PD found her car still parked outside her apartment. No sign of forced entry. Her purse was left behind."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting painfully. He knew what that meant. She was taken from inside. The unsub had been watching you, had known your routines, and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Reid." It was Hotch. His voice was firm, grounding, pulling Spencer back into reality. "I need you to focus. We will find her, but we need to move fast."

Elle spoke up, flipping through the case file. "Unsub's pattern suggests he holds victims anywhere from 48 to 72 hours before…" She didn't finish the sentence, but they knew how it ended.

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to snap into place, to work past the terror and focus on finding you.

"Where was her last known location?" he demanded, stepping toward the board, his eyes locking onto your picture, committing every last detail of your presence to memory. He knew he would never forgive himself if he failed and lost you.

JJ pointed at the map. "Er, apartment. The surveillance cameras didn't catch anything obvious, but we're combing through traffic cams now. We need to figure out where he took her."

Spencer's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Then let's start there," he said, his voice steady now, ice-cold determination replacing the panic.

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

The search was relentless. The entire team moved unyieldingly, combing through evidence, footage, and witness statements with the desperation that came when one of their own was in danger.

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

He felt it in his bones, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest, an overwhelming tide of guilt that gnawed at him with every passing second. He should have never left you. He should have never chosen something else, someone else.

Because now, as he stared at the grainy traffic cam footage of your last known whereabouts, he realized the truth.

Robert was never going to replace you.

He had been a distraction, a fleeting novelty, someone new and engaging in a way that had tricked Spencer into thinking he was feeling something more. But what was new had worn off, and emptiness had remained.

You were never dull.

You were home.

And he had walked away from it—walked away from you.

And now, he might never get to tell you how wrong he was.

"Reid," Hotch's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Spencer turned sharply, his eyes burning, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"We have something," JJ said, her face tight with restrained emotion. She motioned to the screen. "Traffic cams picked up an unfamiliar van near Y/N's apartment. No plates, but it made three passes before stopping."

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

In the grainy footage, a dark-colored van sat idling just across from your apartment, a shadow behind the wheel. And then—a figure.

You.

You stepped out of your building, completely unaware. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, knowing precisely what was coming next but unable to look away.

The van door slid open. A person—the unsub—moved fast, grabbing you before you could react. You fought, your body twisting, struggling—but you were outmatched.

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

"We need to identify that van," Hotch ordered. "Garcia, get into the city's surveillance system—track that route. Find me where he took her."

"I'm already on it, sir." Garcia's quick and focused voice came through the speaker.

Spencer barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, on you, on the last moment before you had disappeared.

He had spent so much time thinking you would always be there, that there would always be time to fix things and make things right.

But time was running out.

And if he lost you—if he never got the chance to tell you how much he still loved you, how you were the only person who ever truly mattered to him—

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live with himself.

Garcia worked fast—she always did—but this time, Spencer could hear the urgency in her voice, the rapid clicking of her keyboard through the speaker, and the barely restrained panic beneath her usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Okay, sugarplums, I got something,” she announced, voice tense. "That creepy, unmarked van? It popped up on a traffic camera near an abandoned industrial site about fifteen miles from Y/N's apartment. There are no stops between the two locations. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Spencer barely waited for Hotch to give the order before he was moving, grabbing his bag and gun and shoving past the concerned glances of his teammates.

This was it.

This had to be it.

The drive was agonizing. His fingers twitched on his knee as he stared out the window, mind racing with every possible outcome. If you were there—if they got to you in time—he could still fix this. He could still tell you the truth.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life, confused comfort with monotony, and was a fool to think there was something better than the love you had given him so freely, so wholly.

That you were the only one he had ever truly wanted.

The convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the factory, tires kicking up dust and gravel. Guns were drawn, and orders exchanged in hushed, precise tones. Spencer's pulse hammered as he fell into formation with Morgan and Hotch, his grip on his weapon too tight, his breathing too shallow.

They breached the building in seconds.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Spencer's stomach twisted as they moved swiftly through the darkened corridors, his ears straining for any sound—any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

"Clear!" Morgan's voice rang out from another room, frustration cutting through the tension.

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

They only discarded debris, a few rusted chairs, and the lingering, suffocating feeling they had just lost time they didn't have to spare.

Spencer stood frozen in the center of the room, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The futility of it all hit him like a brick wall.

His knees felt weak.

"No, no, no," he murmured under his breath, his gun lowering as his vision blurred. "She was supposed to be here! He took her here. She—she was supposed to be here!"

"Reid." Morgan's voice was cautious, but Spencer barely heard it.

He couldn't—not over the deafening roar of panic, regret, guilt.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe, to focus, but all he could see was your face, your picture pinned to the board, the footage of you being taken—

And the realization that he might never see you again.

"Reid." This time, Hotch's voice was sharper, more commanding. Spencer snapped his head up, his breath ragged.

"We'll find her," Hotch said firmly. "But we need you to keep it together."

Spencer's breath hitched, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. They were wasting time. Every second spent standing here, every moment spent catching their breath, was another second you were still out there, terrified and alone, waiting for someone to save you.

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

"Oh, you need me to keep it together?" Spencer snapped, his voice shaking, his entire body shaking. His vision was blurring at the edges, rage and fear coiling so tightly in his chest that he could barely contain it. He turned on Hotch, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild, desperate thing. "Well, Y/N needs me to find her! She needs not to die!"

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly, JJ flinched, Elle turned away—but Hotch didn't waver. He stood firm, unyielding, his sharp gaze locked on Spencer with a kind of patience Spencer didn't deserve right now.

"And we will find her," Hotch said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But not if you lose control."

"Lose control?" Spencer let out a short, bitter laugh, his fingers digging into his arms as if to ground himself and keep from completely unraveling. His throat burned, his head spun, and all he could see was you. You, you, you. "She's out there, and we don't even know if she's alive! We don't know if we have hours or minutes before she—before—"

His breath caught.

Before you died.

The word sat there, a looming specter he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Morgan stepped forward, voice softer this time. "Reid, listen, man—"

"No!" Spencer cut him off, wild-eyed, frantic. "You don't get it! None of you get it! I—” His voice cracked, his body swaying slightly, the weight of his guilt pressing so heavily on his chest it felt like it was crushing him. He tried to steady himself, but he felt like he was drowning. "I—this is my fault."

A thick silence settled over the room.

Spencer's vision blurred with unshed tears, and his breath ragged.

"She loved me." His voice was quieter now, almost hollow. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, his nails digging into his palm. "And I—I walked away. I left her for someone who meant nothing." He let out a shuddering breath, his chest tightening so hard it physically hurt. "And now I might never get to tell her that she was—is—the only person I've ever truly loved."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I don't—I don't deserve to find her," he whispered, the truth burning as it left his lips. "But I need to. I have to. Or I'll never—I can't—"

He couldn't finish.

If he didn't find you and fix this, nothing else would ever matter.

Elle had been watching Spencer unravel since they returned from the failed lead, her sharp gaze tracking every minute detail of his breakdown—the frantic pacing, the erratic breathing, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. And now, after his outburst at Hotch and how he looked like he was about to self-destruct right in front of them, she had had enough.

She moved fast.

Before Spencer could react, Elle's palm cracked across his face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Spencer's head snapped to the side, his breath hitching in shock as pain bloomed hot and fast across his cheek.

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at her. "Get your shit together, Reid!" she hissed, her eyes burning with something more than anger—something more profound.

Spencer froze.

His chest heaved, his mind scrambling to catch up, to process what had just happened. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of rage, frustration, and unrelenting guilt that had been crushing him from the inside out.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, staggering back, touching his face like he wasn't sure the pain was real.

"That," Elle said, voice low and dangerous, "was me snapping you the fuck out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest, stepping closer, invading his space, making sure he couldn't look away.

"You're losing it, Reid. And you cannot afford to lose it right now."

Spencer opened his mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?" Elle seethed. "You think you're the only one who wants to tear this city apart to find her? We all do. But guess what? You spiraling like this? It's not helping. It's making it worse."

Spencer's breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I—"

"No, shut up," Elle snapped, cutting him off, her voice sharp enough to wound. "I don't want to hear you start whining about how guilty you feel, about how this is all your fault, about how you were an idiot for letting her go."

Spencer's throat closed up.

"You screwed up," she stated, flat and brutal. "You got bored. You wanted something new. And now you've realized you had something irreplaceable and threw it away."

His eyes widened slightly—because, fuck, she knew.

Elle saw right through him.

"But guess what, genius?" Elle leaned in, her voice dropping just enough that the words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"None of that fucking matters if you don't find her."

His stomach dropped.

Elle's gaze was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. "You want to feel sorry for yourself? Fine. Do it after we bring her home." She stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. "But right now, Spencer? You need to be the smartest damn person in this room."

Spencer exhaled sharply, still reeling, his cheek throbbing, his pulse raging.

But he understood.

Elle wasn't slapping him because she was angry. She was slapping him because she refused to lose another teammate. Because she refused to lose you.

Because she knew that he was the best chance you had.

Spencer straightened, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind to clear. His face still burned, his chest still ached with remorse, but for the first time since seeing your picture on that board, he wasn't drowning in it.

Elle watched him closely, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she saw the shift.

"Good," she said, giving him one last firm look. "Now, let's go find her."

Spencer nodded, jaw tight, mind finally sharpening into focus.

Because Elle was right. None of his regrets, self-loathing, orlizations meant anything if he didn't bring you home.

"Damn, Greenaway," Derek mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he shot Elle an amused glance. "What's a guy gotta do to get a little love tap?" His smirk was wide, teasing, attempting to lighten the crushing weight pressing down on all of them.

Elle, still standing firm after knocking some sense into Spencer, turned her head slightly, giving Derek a slow, deliberate once-over. "Keep talking, and it'll be a lot more than a tap," she shot back, a smirk of her forming. Then, with a playful wink, she turned back to the case, already flipping through files as if she hadn't just physically assaulted a coworker for his good.

Spencer barely registered the exchange, his brain already re-firing on all cylinders. The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the fresh surge of determination flooding through him. And so, the team buried themselves back into the investigation, working with precision, intensity, and the desperate, unyielding need to bring you back.

Morgan and Hotch went back through the victimology, looking for any deviation in the unsub's pattern that could hint at where he had taken you.

JJ and Elle were in the batcave, working with Garcia, pushing for more footage, leads, and anything else to tighten the search radius.

Spencer was at the board, staring at your photo, the location pins, and the scattered details. His mind ran every scenario, analyzing every variable. His hand hovered over the map, tracing each route the unsub could have taken.

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

Garcia's sharp victory cry rang through the speaker, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Oh, hell yes! Gotcha, you sick son of a—"

Spencer's head snapped up, his heart slamming against his ribs as the bullpen erupted into movement.

"Garcia?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his earpiece. "What do you have?"

"I have him, sir; I freaking have him!" Garcia's voice was a mixture of triumph and pure adrenaline. "Okay, listen up because I found this guy's most incriminating, unsub-like, foolish mistake—his utility bills."

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

"So, I was cross-referencing every possible known location the previous victims were held in—warehouses, abandoned buildings, private properties, all that jazz—but something wasn't adding up. All of those places had been searched already, right? So, I started looking at nearby structures that weren't in use but still had active utilities. Gas, electricity, even just running water, because let's face it—no creepy serial kidnapper is taking sponge baths in a rusty bucket."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, his patience thin, "where is he?"

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

"There's an abandoned farmhouse thirty miles outside town, just off an old service road. It's been off the radar for years, but someone's been paying the bills—sporadically, inconsistently, just enough not to raise alarms. And guess what, my sweet crime fighters?"

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

"The latest bill?" Garcia continued, triumphant. "It was paid yesterday."

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

Morgan was already reaching for his gear, his movements quick and efficient. "That's it. That's our guy. Let's move."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "Gear up. Now."

—

"Can you shut up for the love of God?!" the unsub snapped, his voice cutting through the cold, damp air of the farmhouse basement. His patience had worn thin, and the roughness in his tone carried more frustration than malice.

You hiccupped through your tears, your body trembling—not from fear, but from overwhelming exhaustion. Your wrists ached where they were bound, your face was sticky with dried tears, and yet, despite everything, you couldn't stop talking.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sniffling dramatically. "It's just—" Another sniffle, another watery gasp for air. "He left me, and then I get kidnapped, and now he's probably gonna save me, and then I'll go home to an empty house, and he'll go home to his stupid boyfriend."

Your captor's eye twitched.

"For the last fucking time," he growled, turning toward you with visible irritation, "they're not going to find you!"

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

"You don't know that," you muttered, your voice wobbly but oddly conversational. "I mean, he's like a genius or whatever. And his team is good at their jobs. They always catch the bad guy." You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the wooden beam. "So, yeah, I'd say the odds aren't exactly in your favor."

The unsub's jaw clenched. He paced in frustration, his hands raking through his unkempt hair.

"You should be scared," he spat, though there was less conviction now.

You sniffled again. "I'm too heartbroken to be scared."

Your voice cracked on the last word; it wasn't just for show this time.

The unsub laughed, a cruel, condescending chuckle that grated against your nerves. "You're pathetic," he sneered, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, bitter huff, your fingers twitching where they were bound. "And you aren't?" Your voice was steady now, sharper than before. "You have to kidnap women just to get one to talk to you."

The unsub's face twisted with rage. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of your head roughly, yanking it back so you were forced to look up at him.

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

"I could fucking kill you right now," he snarled, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You blinked up at him. Not flinching and not pleading.

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

For a long, tense moment, he didn't move.

Your heartbeat was steady, even as the seconds stretched between you. His grip was tight, his breathing heavy, the gun unwavering against your skin.

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. It could be the sheer emotional devastation of everything leading up to this moment. Or maybe it was the painful, gut-wrenching realization that even if Spencer saved you, he wouldn't stay.

That hurt more than anything else.

The unsub groaned, exasperated, and after a few lingering moments, jerked back, lowering the gun.

He paced, rolling his neck like trying to shake off whatever he had just felt.

"You don't fear death, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than you.

You let out a small breath, watching him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

As the team swept through the decrepit structure, their boots crunching against the dust-covered floorboards, the air grew heavier with every room they cleared. The farmhouse was utterly vacant—there was no sign of you, no sign of the unsub, no proof of where you had been taken next.

And then Spencer's world crashed down. Again. He didn't know how much more he could take.

His knees hit the ground before he could stop them, his whole body wracked with sobs. The grief that had been building inside him for hours, days, weeks—since the moment he walked away from you—exploded all at once.

Morgan was there instantly, his strong arms steadying Spencer, pulling him into a solid, grounding hold as Spencer fisted his hands into his vest.

"No, no, no," Spencer choked out, shaking violently. "We're too late, we're too late."

"Hey, hey—stop that." Morgan's grip tightened, his expression strained with worry. "We don’t know that."

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

Because the only explanation for an empty farmhouse was that the unsub had already killed you.

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

I never got to say he was sorry. Never get to tell you that he loved you, was a fool for leaving, and would have spent his entire life making it up to you if he could.

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

The team stood frozen, the weight of failure settling over them like a suffocating fog.

And then Spencer's phone rang.

His breath hitched, and his fingers clumsily fumbled for the device. His whole body felt numb, and the ringing pierced his grief. It was JJ.

He barely had time to answer before her voice rang through the line, breathless, disbelieving, urgent.

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

"Y/N just—she just walked into the precinct." JJ sounded just as stunned as he felt. "She's unharmed. She's safe."

Spencer felt his entire world tilt so violently that he nearly collapsed again.

He was on his feet in seconds, his head spinning, his chest heaving.

"She's alive?" The words tumbled out of him wild and frantic, like he feared saying them out loud would make them untrue.

JJ exhaled sharply. "She's alive, Spence. She's okay."

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

The team exchanged stunned glances, their exhaustion, and devastation shifting into something else entirely.

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

Hotch's voice cut through the moment, commanding but urgent.

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

Practically stumbling into the precinct, his breath ragged, Spencer's heart slamming against his ribs as he scanned the room in a frenzy. His eyes darted wildly, looking for you.

And then he saw you. Alive. Standing near JJ's desk, your arms crossed, your expression completely unreadable as you answered one of the officer's questions with a nod. No visible injuries. No signs of distress. Just… there.

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

The relief hit him so hard that he nearly forgot how to move, breathe, and function. His vision blurred, his pulse roared in his ears, and for a second, he could only process that you were here and safe.

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

His lips parted, and his feet moved toward you instinctively. His hands itched to touch you, feel you, hold you, apologize, beg, and break at your feet if he had to.

But before he could say anything, you exhaled deeply, turning back to JJ, dismissing him entirely without a second glance.

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

Spencer finally found his voice, but it was weak and hoarse. It was filled with exhaustion, guilt, and everything he had wanted to say to you but had never had the chance.

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

"I just want to go home," you said flatly, your voice drained, emotionless, like you had nothing left to give—not to the case, Spencer, or any of it.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because he had prepared himself for your tears, he had braced himself for anger, for screaming, for you shoving him away, slapping him, hating him outright.

But this? This emptiness? This indifference? This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Spencer stood there, stunned, feeling himself shatter in real-time as you sighed, rubbing at your tired eyes, before quietly saying to JJ,

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

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

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[it-was-summer]

The Very First... Second... Third Night

A/N: Hey guys, happy fall!!! Fun fact about me, I love Season one reid so much it's not even funny. That's pookie!!!!! Anyways, enjoy this little fluffy cute thing I wrote in a romance-infused haze (I saw that photo of MGG in that pumpkin sweater at knott's berry farms and I needed Spencer in a Halloween way). MAYBE some porn coming soon idk man. Love you all!!-Em <3

Link to the Ao3: The Very First... Second... Third Night ->Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Can't remember if I use any female pronouns for reader, but warning just incase. Season one reid, MENTION OF JEID, SPENCELLE, AND bisexual Reid, Spencer reid being critical of himself, Spencer's POV for the most part, jello mentioned guys, Overstimulated Spencer Reid at a football game, mention of a cemetery, mention of Nosferatu (1922). Kind of proofread, yippie!!!

Genre: Fluffy meet cutes. Pairing: Season One! Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader.

Plot: Spencer runs into you twice before but only manages to get your name (and number) the third time.

Word Count: 3,863

First Meeting

Spencer can’t remember the last time this bookstore was so crowded. Personally, he tried to go on early Sunday mornings to avoid the crowds– if any– that came into the shop. Maybe he was being overdramatic. There couldn’t have been more than twenty people in the store with him. But it was still twenty too many. He softly apologizes to the elderly woman as he squeezes past her in the narrow nonfiction aisle. 

Most of the crowd seemed to be hovering around the fiction area, which was fine with him– the further away, the better. With his head turned to watch the small crowd bustle about the store, he didn’t notice the person standing just inches from him in the aisle. 

You stared at him with a confused expression for a second, thinking surely this man would move eventually. But the moment never came. He was tall with brown hair and long eyelashes. He had the fashion sense of a teacher– correction, teacher’s assistant. You clear your throat softly, hardcover clutched in hand as you watch the man’s head snap over to you, his cheeks flushing red. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you. Not that you’re hard to miss– I mean in a good way, you’re–” He closes his mouth and swallows hard, looking into your gentle eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

You would have felt a little agitated if he hadn’t seemed so earnest, but this man oozes social anxiety, and your heart takes pity on him. Your lips move to a slow smile, and you whisper a sweet, “That’s alright,” 

Spencer’s sure he’s never seen kinder eyes, “It’s just so busy today. I was looking at the crowd,” 

Your head turns at that, allowing Spencer to take in your features. A light sweater to accommodate the cool air this early-October morning, some Halloween earrings that make Spencer smile, and stunning eyes. “Book signing pop-up, it’ll be crazy until three. At least that's what the stock girl told me.” You’re soft-spoken, too. Spencer can appreciate that.

He nods slightly, looking down at the hardcover in your hand and then over at the crowd again, “Are you not here for the book signing?” 

“Afraid not,” You sigh as you hold up a historical fiction novel, “Me and my historical fiction novel were going to take a gander at some biographies.” 

He can’t help his peaked interest as he licks his lips, “Regarding?” He’s a fan of history himself and is always happy to interact with someone who also shares a love for it. He feels slightly less anxious talking about something he knows.

You twist your lips to the side like you’re silently debating whether or not you should tell him. You look away for a second, your eyes scanning the bookshelves on either side of you. “Salem Witch Trials.” You answer him bluntly. 

Spencer nods like he understands precisely what you mean, “Ah, the more humane witch trials.” It's a funny joke… to him, at least. 

But then your lips twitch upwards as you let out a quiet chuckle, “No burning for us, just rope and intense torture.” 

He feels electric, which is stupid because he shouldn’t feel excited over something as simple as someone joking with him, but he does. He’s been working on it upon Derek’s sarcastic request, and he can’t help but wonder if it is finally paying off now. 

Spencer feels the overwhelming urge to partake in what Garcia describes as ‘info-dumping ,’ but he bites his tongue as he settles on a simple question, “How come?” 

You shrug slightly as you look up at him. The bookstore light keeps making his eyes a soft amber, and you’re having a hard time looking away now. “Halloween tradition.” You watch his eyebrow furrow, raising a hand to explain yourself quickly. “My best friend and I each pick a historical event that is relatively macabre, and then we base our costumes around it and throw a party with a related theme. It’s... It’s stupid.” You say with a smile and a wave of your hand dismissively. 

Meanwhile, Spencer’s too busy thinking you’re the most extraordinary girl he’s ever interacted with. For the first time in his life, he’s desperate for an invite to a stranger’s party—a pretty stranger who has yet to tell him her name. 

“That’s not-” 

A woman’s voice cuts him off as she barrels down the aisle with a grin, “There you are, oh…” Her blue eyes look Spencer up and down carefully, studying him. “Hello, there.” She’s direct and forward and speaks in a tone that tells Spencer to leave you the hell alone. 

He nods curtly, waving slightly at your friend. You sigh out with mock annoyance as you say, “He’s a friendly, put your gun away.” 

“I don’t believe in guns.” 

“They’re very real, trust me.” Is your sarcastic reply before looking at Spencer again. “Thanks for the company. I’ll see you around.” And just like that… you’re gone. 

Second Meeting

Spencer is sure he’ll never see you again, but here he is a week later, still thinking about you on a case. Or rather, he’s thinking about every woman ever and that he’ll never have a chance with any of them… ever. He’s feeling rather lonely, or maybe his self-esteem is taking a certain nose-dive this fine San Diego day. 

It’s not because it’s his birthday. He doesn’t hate his birthday like Elle hates hers– that’s what she told him once—the day started off great: the trick candles, the big birthday hat, his embarrassing crush on JJ. And now, they’re discussing the case, a routine he enjoys. 

His mind, always full of helpful information, quickly recognized the ballad from the 17th century– betwixt death and a lady. After his comment regarding what people could find by typing the word ‘death’ in the search engine, Derek’s laughing, “Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date.”

It sticks on him; he would love to let it slide off his back, but he’s not familiar with that kind of territory– dating, that is– so it hits a nerve. A nerve that Spencer didn’t know was so exposed. The worst part is that Derek’s not wrong. Spencer can’t seem to get a date. Not with the pretty intellectual at the bookstore, JJ, or Elle– though that last one feels strange to admit to himself. 

He’s too awkward, speaks too fast, and, according to Gideon, needs to relax more. He’s sure… he’s cute, actually, he doesn’t know if he is. All he knows is that his mind is brilliant, his skills involving women… not so much. 

He’s silently mulling it over as he approaches one of the bulletin boards, muttering lines of the ballad softly when JJ walks up beside him, “Creepy, huh?” Her voice makes him look at her, hesitating as he replies. 

“Actually, uh, conversations between death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance.” He’s staring at the bulletin for a second before glancing her away, and his cheeks feel hot when he sees the way JJ is looking at him– disinterest. “But, yeah, creepy.” 

He feels like a teenager, and all those years spent in college and not high school are coming back to bite him. He liked girls and boys, too. He should be better at this, he has an IQ of 187 and five degrees to prove it. Spencer walks away from the conversation quickly, his feet carrying him away from the embarrassing moment as quickly as possible. He needs to focus on the case. 

And focus he does. He’s happy to analyze the meaning of the ballads at the crime scenes, his anxiety calming as he settles into the sweet caress of facts. Feelings, beauty, and tastes were all subjective. The objective was his comfort zone.

So it stands to reason that he feels lighter after conversing with Gideon about why the UnSub would start to use the ballad if it wasn’t a part of his signature. However, after the team delivers the profile, his lightness returns to his ruminating thoughts surrounding his lack of social skills. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels the icy breath of repressed memories breathing down his neck. A jammed locker, missing gym clothes, a dark bathroom bolted shut. As the team waits for the UnSub’s suspected phone call to the tip line, he reaches for his bag to pull out a Rubix cube. 

His fingers quickly twist and turn it aimlessly until he feels like it’s mixed around enough for him to solve it again. Elle is sitting in a desk chair in front of him as he solves it. He wants to ask her if she’d ever consider dating him, if she thinks JJ would, or if she feels any self-respecting woman would. He doesn’t, though, the question sounding too desperate in his head to say it out loud. 

Instead, he asks, “Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” His eyes don’t stray away from the cube for too long as he asks it, scared of what Elle’s gaze might tell him. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when she chuckles and says, “I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.” 

Spencer feels insecure when he speaks again, but he has to know the answer, “Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?” He looks up at her now, waiting for the brutal blow, which is her answer. 

Elle looks slightly amused. “You ever ask anyone out?” She smiles a little, seeing the genius look genuinely dumbfounded for a second as he thinks about it. 

He never had the confidence to walk up to someone he found attractive and say something interesting enough to warrant a ‘yes’ if he asked them on a date. “No,” 

She gives him a slight shrug of her shoulders, “That’s why you can't get a date.” And Spencer seems to nod at that, and his lips tighten for a second as he nods before he looks away from her again. His focus is pulled back to the case when the UnSub calls, and for a little while, he feels better. 

On the flight home, he’s almost completely forgotten about his spiral as he plays chess with Gideon. When he hands Spencer a small present, a little smile plays on his lips as he says, “But you don’t give birthday presents.” When he finally gets the present open, he feels a little confused as he thanks Gideon for the generous gift– two VIP box seat Redskin tickets. 

He’s excited, nonetheless, to experience something new with Gideon, and Spencer believes him when he says that Spencer will love it. 

“We are. You’re coming with me, right?” Spencer asks with a slight grin.

Gideon smiles, “No.” he doesn’t let Spencer’s confusion build for long as he quickly adds, “Someone else on the plane is a huge skins fan.” 

“Who?” 

“Only person in the world who calls you Spence.” 

Speaking of the only person in the world that calls him Spence, the date was going terribly. She had invited Penelope; she thought it was a group thing. He begged Hotch and Gideon for some pointers, anything. They reminded him she was already his friend, but that wasn’t very helpful. He knew how to talk to her on a typical day. On a date? Not so much.

Then, she invited Penelope. Now he’s stuck on a date where only one person in the group knows it was supposed to be a date, and he feels nauseous. He’s trying to keep a conversation going, but every time it picks up for a second, he feels himself fumble the metaphorical ball, and it dies again. 

Eventually, he excuses himself to get some air. He’s debating calling Gideon and updating him on how it’s going. His feet pace on the concrete stadium floor. He’s near the elevators, and he can barely hear himself– it’s auditory overload hell. He shuts his eyes tight, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he covers his ears, leaning against the cool wall beside the elevators. 

It’s all muffled, barely helping, but the feeling of the cool wall on his back through his clothes helps relax him slightly. His shoulders relax briefly before he feels two fingers lightly tapping his shoulders, and he’s rigid again. 

Rigid until his eyes snap open to see that it’s you. You from the bookstore, with that same kind smile, same dazzling smile, it is you. You’re yelling over the shouting, but he can barely hear you. You laugh. He can only tell by your facial expression as all the sound falls deaf to his ears over the crowd's yelling. 

Once it calms down, you repeat yourself, “Are you alright?” 

He nods, then you’re giving him a skeptical look, and he slowly shakes his head. 

“Is it the noise?” 

A part of him wants to tell you that it’s everything he is experiencing today, but instead, he whispers a soft “Yes.” 

You twist your lips to the side, looking upset for him. Your empathy is so sweet and pure for him that he feels the knot in his chest unraveling slowly. “Let me buy you a water?” You offer, motioning to a concession stand a few steps away. 

He doesn’t remember saying yes, but you’re grinning as you walk with him to the stand and buy the two of you a bottle. After a sip or two, you say, “I’m not the biggest fan of football games either. My dad loves em’.”

He nods along silently, feeling so socially overwhelmed that he barely has the energy for more conversation. You seem happy to fill the gap: “I ran into you at that bookstore on 8th, right?” 

Spencer’s beaming as he pulls the bottle away from his lips, nodding, speaking for the first time in a while. “Yes.” 

You let out a happy hum, “Small world,” And Spencer agrees with you silently. 

It's the most comfortable he’s felt all week, and he wonders if maybe this failed date of his was a strange blessing in disguise. He’s about to ask for your name when Penelope approaches the two of you, blinking starstruck at Spencer and you as she introduces herself when the crowd begins to cheer again. Any noise he can hear is drowned out, frowning as you shake Penelope’s hand and say your name– a name he cannot hear. Some more words follow, but it's all small talk until you excuse yourself to return to your father in the stands. 

Then he’s the one being dragged away from you, convinced once more that he’ll never see his pretty stranger ever again. 

Third Meeting

It’s the night before Halloween. Ask anyone who knows Spencer; they will tell you he genuinely loves Halloween. It’s a part of him, always has been. He likes that you can dress up as anyone you want to be without judgment. He loves the build-up, the history, and the scents that fill the air. 

So, when he manages to get the night off, he’s quick to try and convince someone from the team to head over to a cemetery not too far from headquarters. Even when he explains how it is for a classic horror movie showing on the graveyard’s lands, everyone declines. 

Now, he’s setting up an oversized quilt on the soft grass, smoothing out the edges of the oversized quilt with his hands before sitting down on it. His hands move to his bag, pulling out a few of his favorite snacks, drinks, and so on as he watches the cemetery slowly fill up with people. 

He’s happy. He feels a little strange at the thought, but he’s happy– even if it is in the middle of a cemetery. 

A gentle voice cuts through the soft quiet of the graveyard, “I knew I was going to run into you sooner or later,” 

He turns his head to look at you, picnic basket and blanket in hand. You smile down at him. He trips over himself as he stands, his cheeks flushing as you laugh at the sight. He rubs his suddenly sweating hands on his button-up as he reluctantly offers you his hand to shake, only to realize that you don’t have a hand available. 

“Can I—” he says softly, “Would it be alright if I—" he swallows hard, his voice cracking lightly. Do you need help with your things?” 

You glance down at your hands, smiling slightly as you shake your head politely. “I’m sure I can find a good spot soon. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

“You’re not, honest. I’m, uh, I’m here alone, and it doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.” You silently debate his offer, and then Spencer feels a wave of confidence surge through him, “You can always sit with me if you’d like. I promise I’ll try to be quiet.” 

You seem to think that’s funny as you nod, “Well, it is a silent film.” 

“You don’t have to say yes. I just have a big blanket, and I’m in a good spot to see the screen and–”

“I’ll sit with you,” You cut him off softly, bending down to gently get the picnic basket on the edge of his quilt. Spencer moves out of your way, awkwardly shuffling for a second before he decides this might be a good time to introduce himself. 

“I’m Spencer.” 

You glance up at him as you move to sit on the blanket, smiling as you tell him your name. He licks his lips nervously, nodding as he sits beside you. His nervous eyes dance over your figure as you set your blanket, which he now sees has little cartoon ghosts all over it, to the side of your basket. 

You’re frowning slightly as you reach into the basket, pulling out a small cup of jello and a spoon. “I’m sorry. If I had known I was sharing a blanket with someone, I would have brought another cup.” 

Spencer finds it funny as he leans over to his satchel and pulls out his own cup of jello and spoon, “No need,” 

You laugh lightly as you raise your jello cup to his. “Cheers, then. " Spencer smiles lightly as the two of you tap the edges together for a moment before falling into a comfortable silence while eating jello. 

Spencer’s spoon digs into the jello, and he asks, “Is this your first time seeing Nosferatu ?”

You let out a soft hum as you pull your spoon out of your mouth and quickly nod, “Yes!” You say after swallowing, “What about you?” 

“Third.” 

“Didn’t remember it well enough the first two times?” 

He lets out a shy laugh at that— it feels strange for someone to be unaware of his eidetic memory, and he wonders how long that’ll last. “Not exactly. I guess just like Halloween.” 

“A man of good taste,” You quip back softly, taking a smiling bite of jello. 

Spencer laughs as his eyes watch your lips close around your spoon before he pulls them away to look into your eye, hoping you don’t notice as he stutters lightly. “That’s debatable.” 

You’re looking down at your half-eaten Jello cup. “I’m the judge here. I deem it a fact that you are a man of good taste. You’re wearing a cardigan. That’s how the judicial system works, don’t you know?” You look back at him with a smirk, and Spencer can’t help the chortle that escapes his throat. 

“That is not how the United States judicial system works, but thank you.” 

“Yeah, you look like someone who would know all the inner workings of the judicial system.” 

Spencer can feel his cheeks getting red at how your voice sounds—teasing and a little flirty. Oh my god, were you flirting with him? He’s sure he’s all smiles and red cheeks as he looks at you, changing the topic. “None of your friends wanted to come with you tonight?”

“No, not their scene. It’s okay, though. I’m making a new friend right now.” 

Spencer’s finishing off his Jello as he steals a glance at you again, stars in his eyes. “You don’t even know me.” 

“Sure I do. Your name is Spencer. You like jello, nonfiction, Halloween, and dressing like a teacher’s assistant.” 

Spencer doesn’t want to say you’re wrong, even though he knows you’re just being nice, but he doesn’t want to spend another week without seeing you. He wants to be your friend— he’ll be anything you want him to be. “Could I–” He licks his lips, eyes searching yours nervously. 

You watch him carefully, tilting your head to the side as you look into his brown eyes. The sun is gone now, but the rising moon is shining down on him. He seems so… gentle, like a deer in a quiet forest.  A part of you just wants to scoop him up and bring him home with you, as inappropriate as that is. 

“You wouldn’t have to– It’s alright if you say no. I was just thinking I could give you my number sometime, maybe.” He manages with a gentle huff of air. 

You nod a little, “Sometime, maybe.” You repeat with a slight grin forming on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the projector starting to play the movie, and a hush falls over the cemetery’s lawn. 

Spencer’s voice is a little too loud as he rushes to say, “I mean, now. Would it be alright if I–” A shush cuts him off, and his back straightens quickly as he shuts his mouth. His eyes meet yours for a second before darting over to the projection. 

You’re watching him again, how he’s staring at the screen like his life depends on it. You scoot closer to him, grabbing your folded-up blanket in the process. Once you reach his side, you drape the folded blanket around his shoulders carefully before doing the same to your own. 

His fingers gingerly grab one of the blanket's edges, casting you an apologetic glance for a second as your pants graze against his. You seem unbothered as you lean toward him. “I would love your number after this, " you whisper, looking up into his doe-like eyes before turning your head to watch the film. 

He’s beaming now as he stares at you, and his chest tightens slightly when you lean close to him again. You’re so close he can smell your perfume, the scent tangling with the sweet smell of crisp fall air. “You like costume parties?” Your voice is barely audible. 

He signals that he does silently, his head moving up and down quickly. The sight makes you grin as you mouth a silent, ‘Perfect’ at him before your attention is fully pulled back to the movie. 

Spencer feels warm all over for the rest of the night, and three months from now, he’ll start to believe three is a lucky number as he picks you up for your third date with him and just how perfect everything feels when he kisses you. 

[deception-united]

Let's talk about writing fantasy.

Fantasy is one of my favourite genres, to read and to write. But the worldbuilding required and the existing tropes can make it difficult to craft a unique, compelling novel. There are a number of less-discussed nuances that might not always be at the forefront of writing discussions. Here are some tips to help you out:

Ground it in reality. Even though fantasy allows for boundless imagination, grounding your world in elements familiar to readers can make it more relatable and believable. Making it too otherworldly can make it difficult to understand or follow, and will likely make it much more difficult to interweave the explanation of your world and its society into the text seamlessly.

Consistency: Fantasy worlds can be complex, with their own rules, magic systems, and histories. Ensure consistency in your worldbuilding, avoiding contradictions or sudden changes without explanation. I find it helpful to keep a world bible or notes to track details and maintain coherence throughout the story.

Character-driven plots: While epic battles and magical quests are exciting, don't forget that compelling characters drive the heart of any story. Develop multi-dimensional characters with strengths, weaknesses, and personal arcs that resonate with readers (see my post on character development for more).

Avoid clichés and stereotypes. Fantasy often draws from familiar tropes and archetypes, but try not to rely on them too heavily. Subvert expectations and breathe new life into old conventions by adding unique twists or exploring lesser-known mythologies and cultures. Make it your own!

Magic has consequences. Magic adds wonder to fantasy worlds, but it should also have limitations and consequences. Consider the societal, environmental, and personal impacts of magic on your world and characters. A well-defined magic system can enhance the depth and realism of your story.

Worldbuilding through storytelling: Instead of dumping large chunks of exposition, reveal your fantasy world gradually through character interactions, dialogue, and plot progression. Show, don't tell, and let readers piece together the intricacies of your world as they journey through your story (check out my previous post on worldbuilding for more tips).

Embrace diversity. Fantasy worlds should reflect the diversity of our own world. Include characters from various backgrounds, cultures, and identities, and explore themes of inclusivity and acceptance within your narrative.

Conflict beyond good vs. evil: While the battle between good and evil is a classic fantasy trope, consider adding layers of moral ambiguity and complexity to your conflicts. Explore themes of power, redemption, and the consequences of choices made in the face of adversity.

Research is essential. Even in a world of imagination, research plays a crucial role in grounding your story in reality. Whether it's drawing inspiration from historical events, cultural practices, or scientific principles, thorough research can enrich your worldbuilding and add depth to your narrative. Even fantasy worlds and elements require some sort of basis to make them more believable.

Revise: Like any genre, writing fantasy requires extensive revision and polishing. Be prepared to revise your manuscript multiple times, seeking feedback from beta readers or critique partners to strengthen your story, characters, and worldbuilding.

Happy writing!

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[angelsdreamm]

Bound by Fate: The Tyrant’s Reluctant Bride (001)

↳ gojo satoru/reader

short summary: when you encounter a twist of fate by dying in an act of unintended heroism, you awaken as the doomed bride of Gojo Satoru, the tyrannical male lead of a trashy romance novel you once read. Determined to escape your fate, you plan your end—only to discover that the tyrant is obsessively protective, annoyingly clingy, and hiding a curse that might rewrite both your stories.

genre: angst with a happy ending, referenced/implied suicide attempt, temporary character death, enemies to lovers, historical au, 18+

series masterlist ↳ episode two

You ran your palms over the absurdly expensive wedding dress, the silky fabric bunched between your trembling fingers. It didn’t matter how much you smoothed it out; the dress felt foreign and heavy, suffocating even. The layers of lace and embroidery that were supposed to symbolize elegance now felt like a weight dragging you deeper into the nightmare. You glanced around the ornate room, the grandeur of it all only making your chest tighten further. None of this felt real.

Except it was. Every bit of it.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself, but the breath caught in your throat. Today, you were to marry a man known far and wide as a tyrant. The thought alone made your stomach churn. And worse, you already knew how this story ended. Five months from now, you’d be dead. Not figuratively, not metaphorically—just dead. Slowly, painfully, and irreversibly.

You bit the inside of your cheek. How did it come to this? You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be her.

Your life—your real life—had been nothing special. Twenty-eight years as a contract worker, with no family waiting for you and no friends to keep you grounded. When your last job ended, you had finally decided that would be it. Your plans had been straightforward: step out onto the bustling streets of Seoul and fade away quietly. No one would miss you.

But fate had other ideas.

It started with a little girl tugging on your sleeve, her big, scared eyes silently asking for help crossing the street. You hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t thought twice. After all, what was one more minute when you had nothing to lose? But that single act of kindness had turned into chaos. An angry voice, an accusation, a knife—it all blurred together until you were lying on the ground, bleeding out. The girl’s tear-streaked face had been the last thing you saw before the world went dark.

You thought it was over then. It should’ve been over.

But instead of finding peace, you woke up in this gilded cage, surrounded by strangers who acted as if you were made of glass. The realization came quickly, too quickly, and it hit you like a freight train: you’d been thrown into the pages of a trashy romance novel you’d read years ago. A novel so poorly written it was laughable—except you weren’t laughing now.

The name Gojo Satoru had burned itself into your memory long before you arrived. He was the male lead, the man with impossible looks and power to match. He was arrogant, manipulative, and utterly indifferent to anyone who didn’t amuse him. And now, somehow, you were his bride. The woman who, according to the book, would suffer for the crime of being tied to him.

The sound of footsteps outside the door jolted you from your thoughts. A tall man entered, his expression neutral as he gestured for you to follow. “It’s time,” he said simply.

Time. The word echoed in your mind as you stood, your legs feeling like lead. The veil they’d placed over your head made everything blurry, but it couldn’t hide the towering spires of the castle or the overwhelming weight of what awaited you. You trailed behind your escort, your heart pounding as you walked through the grand corridors.

You worked up the nerve to speak, your voice barely audible. “Who am I marrying?”

The man glanced at you over his shoulder, his expression briefly softening into something close to pity. “You’ll see,” he replied.

Before you could press further, a sharp voice echoed down the hall. “Where is she?” The tone was low but commanding, each syllable precise and brimming with impatience. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Your breath caught as he came into view. White hair framed a strikingly handsome face, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as they locked onto you. He looked every bit as untouchable as you remembered from the book, but the weight of his presence was far more crushing in real life.

“Well?” he said, his tone clipped but calm. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

You froze. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, tangled with the growing panic threatening to spill over.

You couldn’t find the words to answer, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood frozen as he reached out, his gloved hand lifting your chin. The veil fluttered back, and for the first time, you saw him fully. He was strikingly handsome in a way that felt almost unreal, but his presence was suffocating, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

“Interesting,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “They didn’t tell me my bride would be this… intriguing.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the fear clawing at your throat. “Do you always inspect your fiancées like livestock?” you snapped, your voice trembling but defiant.

His smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something that looked disturbingly like amusement. “Oh, so you do have a tongue,” he said, leaning in just enough to make your pulse race.

You clenched your fists, determined not to let him see how much he rattled you.

"I'm not here to entertain you."

Gojo chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. "We'll see." He turned then, motioning for you to follow as he strode toward the grand doors leading to the chapel. You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Every fiber of your being screamed to run, to fight, to do anything but follow. And then an idea struck-a terrible, impulsive idea, but the only one you had.

Her jaw tightened, but she refused to look away, meeting his gaze head-on despite the warning thrumming in his tone. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, a mix of defiance and fear she couldn’t suppress.

He straightened, brushing off his gloved hands as though the conversation were merely a formality. “Now then,” he said lightly, his tone returning to its usual playfulness, “shall we proceed?”

With an almost lazy flick of his hand, Gojo gestured toward the doorway, his commanding presence making the air feel heavier. “Let’s not waste more time,” he said, his tone light but carrying a clear edge of finality. “It’s time for you to fulfill your end of the deal.”

She hesitated, her chin lifting as though to steel herself against the inevitability of it all. But after a moment, she stepped forward, the faint rustle of her dress echoing through the otherwise silent room. The veil felt like a prison over her face, but the weight of Gojo’s presence ahead of her was even more suffocating. She forced herself to match his steady stride, ignoring the tightness in her chest with each step.

The grand hall stretched before them, its opulence somehow amplifying the dread knotting in her stomach. The details of the novel came flooding back, every word now a cruel script she was forced to follow. Five months, she thought bitterly. Five months until death.

Her steps slowed, her mind racing. No. If she was going to survive this, she had to act. The script wasn’t unchangeable—not if she could seize some control.

“You’ll regret this,” she muttered, her voice low but cutting, as much to herself as to him.

Gojo didn’t even glance back, though she caught the faint curve of his smirk. “You’re welcome to try, my dear.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The calm dismissal in his voice lit a spark of frustration. She scoffed without thinking, the sound sharper than she intended. “Or what?” she bit out, her voice louder now. “You’ll kill me? Let me save you the trouble.”

Without hesitation, she turned and stepped toward the open window nearby. The cool air rushed in as her dress flared out behind her, the veil fluttering free from her face. She didn’t glance back. The shock rippled through the room like thunder, and for a split second, she thought she might actually escape—not just the marriage but the story itself.

But before she could tip over the edge, a strong arm encircled her waist, yanking her back with an ease that left her breathless. Gojo’s laughter filled the air, rich and mocking, as though the whole thing had been a performance just for him.

“Dramatic much?” he drawled, his tone laced with amusement as he swung her into his arms like a child. She thrashed against his hold, her fists colliding with his chest, but he didn’t so much as flinch. “If you wanted attention, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

“You—let me go!” she snapped, twisting against him. Her frustration only seemed to amuse him further, the glint in his eyes bordering on predatory.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he replied smoothly, turning on his heel and heading straight for the chapel. “Suguru, fetch another priest. It seems this one won’t last long enough for the ceremony.”

Suguru blinked, momentarily stunned before he sighed and muttered, “Yes, Captain,” disappearing down the hall. Even as his footsteps faded, the bickering between Gojo and his reluctant bride echoed through the space.

When the new priest finally arrived, Gojo’s grip remained firm, as if daring her to make another escape attempt. Her glare was fierce, but the subtle tremble in her form didn’t escape his notice. As the priest began the ceremony, his focus never wavered from her face. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let her fear show, though she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking slightly as she spat out her “I do.”

By the time Suguru returned, a faint red handprint was visible on Gojo’s cheek, though it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. In fact, the smug satisfaction on his face made it clear he’d enjoyed every second of her rebellion.

Suguru sighed again, watching the new couple leave the chapel. He wasn’t sure what sort of chaos the two would unleash on each other—or the world—but at least his captain looked genuinely entertained for the first time in years. That, he supposed, was a start.

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: “Fantine” (posting here because it got popular on TikTok)

Every character in Les Mis has a name with a deeper symbolic meaning— here’s a video I made for the official @barricadescon TikTok about the meaning behind “Fantine!”

Transcript and Digressions I left out of the video, under the cut:

Every charcater’s name in Les Mis is either a pun, a reference to a historical/mythological figure, or had some deep symbolic meaning — and sometimes it’s all of them at on.

The name “Fantine” comes from the french word “enfantine” or “childike, infant-like.” Her name basically means “Baby.” And obviously this speaks to her innocence and niavetee. But also “baby” is kind of,.,, well it sounds more like an informal term of endearment than an actual legal name?

And that’s because– Plot twist– Fantine isn’t her legal name! What is her legal name? She doesn’t have one.

And the reason she doesn’t have one is directly tied to political turmoil of the era she was born into.

Fantine grew up an orphan living on the streets, without a family without parents. Hugo tells us the origin of her name:

“she bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the unknown. (...)She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She had never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory still existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal name; the Church no longer existed. She bore the name which pleased the first random passer-by, who had encountered her, when a very small child, running bare-legged in the street. She received the name as she received the water from the clouds upon her brow when it rained.”

This moment is adapted beautifully in the Manga adaptation by Takahiro Arai, which I recommend to anyone who loves Les mis, manga, or any combination of those things.

But now let’s talk about the Directory.

To wildly oversimplifly a lot of complex history: Before the French Revolution, the Catholic Church’s records of baptismal ceremonies were often used as a registry of people’s legal names. During the French Revolution, the Revolutionary government– including the Directory– put in place a series of policies we now call “dechristianization,” where they attempted to dismantle the power of Catholic church.

Fantine was born during the age of these dechristianization policies. So she was never baptised, her baptismal name was never recorded, so she has no recorded legal or family name. She’s slipped through the cracks of the legal system, and ended up completely anonymous.

It sets Fantine up as this anonymous child of the Revolution– a stand in for everyone who was left behind when the Revolution was left behind, and kings were restored to the throne.

Fantine’s namelessness is meant to show atomized . How she has NO support system. She has nothing to connect her to other people, nothing to connect her to a support system.

Finally, the way Fantine tends to “slip through the cracks” is something that follows her throughout her life. When she’s fired from her job at a factory, Maroy Madeleine never learns of it– Fantine has this tendency to overlooked and forgotten. She is born anonymous and she dies anonymous. At the end of the story, she is buried in an unmarked grave, with not even the name “Fantine” on her headstone.

It ties into novel’s questions about which people we consider worth remembering, whose lives are worth being records.

And obviously Fantine is not the only character in Les Mis whose name has a deeper symbolic meaning. If you have any other Les Mis character names you’d like to explain, leave their name in the comments below.

Thank you for watching!

From the description of the original tiktok, here are some things that were left out of the video for time:

How this all relates to Cosette’s name(s)

Fantine’s nickname “The Blonde,” and how this relates to the way she’s dehumanized by Tholomyes

How the 2018 Bbc series fundamentally misunderstands Fantine’s character, and how one sign of this is that they give her a full legal first and last name

How Fantine’s name shows up/is revealed is significant parts of the story (like when Valjean reveals her signature on a letter to Thenardier, allowing him to take Cosette away)

How Fantine’s inability to write ties into the way it’s difficult for her to record her own story

How some of Valjean’s last words are revealing Fantine’s name to Cosette

Thanks again for reading!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Psychological Fiction

Psychological fiction - (or psychological realism) is a genre of literature in which writers delve into the interiority (or “inner person”) of a character’s mind and motivation rather than focusing on external actions or motivators.

In psychological novels, the characters’ mental and emotional state drives the story forward rather than outward forces.

It is a broad genre that includes several other subgenres, including psychological drama, psychological thriller, psychological suspense, psychological horror, and psychological science fiction.

Elements of Psychological Fiction

Deep interiority: The key element of this type of fiction is the focus on the psychology of the human mind or the mental and emotional states of the characters. Authors employ different techniques to achieve a more realistic picture of a person’s psychology, including stream of consciousness, interior characterization, fragmented storytelling, and flashbacks.

Internal conflict: In most psychological fiction, the story’s main conflict comes from the inner turmoil of the main character or characters rather than an outward pressure.

Representational characters: Characters that represent specific ideas, values, or ideologies are common in psychological fiction. Authors may use psychological fiction as a way to explore many facets of a societal issue or public debate.

Notable Authors of Psychological Fiction

Agatha Christie: This British novelist is well-known for her psychological page-turners and plot twists, especially her true crime thrillers written through the mind of her famous detective character Hercule Poirot. Notable works include And Then There Were None and Murder on the Orient Express.

A.J. Finn: His debut novel, The Woman in the Window, became a best-seller.

Alex Michaelides: Michaelides’s debut novel, The Silent Patient, is a psychological thriller that centers around a psychotherapist working with a patient who refuses to speak.

Anthony Burgess: A Clockwork Orange is a biting satire that includes elements of psychological science fiction and psychological horror.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky: This Russian writer is well-known for his extensive psychological novels, including The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment.

Gillian Flynn: An author whose work deals with psychological intensity, trauma, serial killers, and horror, Flynn’s suspense novels include Gone Girl, which chronicles the disappearance of Amy Dunne on her fifth wedding anniversary, and Sharp Objects, her debut novel. Both rank among the best psychological thriller books of the twenty-first century.

Henry James: An author of novels, novellas, and short stories, James was born in New York but lived in England at the end of his life. His notable works include The Portrait of a Lady and The Turn of the Screw.

Liane Moriarty: This contemporary Australian author’s hit novel, Big Little Lies, dives into the psychological interiority of characters dealing with domestic abuse.

Margaret Atwood: This contemporary Canadian author’s psychological work deals with themes of gender roles, identity, society, and speculative historical fiction. Atwood’s notable works include The Handmaid’s Tale and Alias Grace.

Murasaki Shikibu: One of the earliest pieces of psychological literature is The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu.

Patricia Highsmith: The author introduced her recurring character Tom Ripley in the psychological thriller The Talented Mr. Ripley.

Paula Hawkins: This contemporary British author’s novel The Girl on the Train uses unreliable narration and interiority to create a feeling of psychological suspense.

Samuel Richardson: Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded is an early example of psychological fiction. Richardson’s Pamela tells the story of a young girl trying to adjust to her new life as a wife and deals with themes of sexual assault, domestic abuse, and class struggle.

Stephen King: A well-known author working in the psychological horror genre, King’s books include the best sellers The Shining and Carrie.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[manikas-whims]

Do you know any mangas that have that Gojohime couple dynamic?

sorry for such a late response anon..i’m not even sure if you check my blog these days but here's some mangas that remind me of GojoHime arranged in the order of most to least similar:

♡ Namaikizakari

• Similarity: its quite like GojoHime in that the female lead is older than the male lead. They are senpai-kouhai just like Gojo and Utahime.

• This is a Sports Shoujo Manga. There's gonna be a lot about basketball as the male lead is a basketball player at his school and the female lead works as a manager for the team.

• Boy likes the girl and decides to pursue her.

♡ The Apothecary Diaries

• Similarity: LITERALLY GOJOHIME IN A HISTORICAL SETTING. the amount of times I've heard people call them gjhm coded. Plus all the crossover fanarts I've seen as well as the fact that Gojo’s ENG VA also voices Jinshi.

• This is a historical, seinen drama. It will revolve around the concubines of the emperor and the royal court politics and conspiracies a lot. Female lead is an apothecary and the male lead’s position in the royal court is somewhat ambiguous but he definitely holds a high position. (DO WATCH THE ANIME)

• Boy develops an interest and later on, a crush on the girl. She dgaf about him. She's very much like Utahime in that 😆. The girl realises her own like for him slightly later. “Hissing Black Cat GF + Happy Golden Retriever BF”

♡ Kaichou wa Maid-sama

• Similarity: very similar because the male lead seems to be good at (and better) at everything, and is quite insufferable. Female lead does not bother with his shit 😆 “the one who easily gets Annoyed + the one who loves to Annoy” dynamic.

• This is a famous classic Shoujo and it’d be surprising if you don't know it already. High School Romance with a lot of comedy, and the occasional heavy moments. The development of the female lead and male lead, and the conclusion is one of my favs.

• Boy develops an interest in the Girl and slowly falls for her. Girl too, slowly begins to see the better sides of him and begins falling for him.

♡ The Script

• Similarity: the hair color? lol the hair colors are similar but aside from that the male lead and the female lead have similar dynamics as the above mentioned.

• Fantasy Romance Manhwa. It also has a light novel (right cover pic) which imo is better. The male lead shape-shifts into a white tiger. The female lead is a shaman and an exorcist. She helps undo curses on people. Love the plot!

• Boy fell first when they met during their childhood. The girl has forgotten him but soon remembers and her feelings reignite as well.

♡ Dreaming Freedom

• Similarity: just like the rest above. Sly Guy and Naive Girl who slowly becomes equally sly 🤭

• ⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING: Yandere Male Lead, Toxic Relationship, Self Harm, Physical & Emotional Harm to others. This is a psychological, sorta surreal manhwa. It's about lucid dreaming and it's long term effects with a magical twist added so please do look that up if you don't know already.

• Boy fell first is obsessed with the Girl. Boy is possessive and jealous. The Girl becomes equally jealous and possessive of him so if you're into that you'll enjoy.

Hope at least one of these recommendations is to your liking and you have a great time reading! 🥰

[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~A New Arrival~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1293

Chapter 1 --- Chapter 2

The biting chill of the wind gnawed at your skin as you stumbled through an unfamiliar landscape, its vastness stretching out before you. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when the world around you had shifted, but the change was undeniable. Your memory still clung to the familiar buzz of the modern world—the sound of car engines, the hum of streetlights, and the constant tap of your shoes on concrete. But now, all that was gone, replaced by a stark silence that only heightened your disorientation. The horizon before you seemed endless, filled with tall hills covered in thick mist, and in the distance, a looming structure—a castle—stood proudly, its towers piercing the dreary sky.

This couldn’t be real. It felt too surreal, like a dream pulled from the pages of some historical fantasy novel. You had always been fascinated by the medieval period and Westeros in particular, but that fascination never prepared you for this. And yet, everything felt too vivid to be a dream—the sharpness of the cold, the heavy scent of damp earth, the distant call of gulls swooping down from the cliffs nearby.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a familiar panic began to rise. You could almost feel your heart pounding, each beat growing louder in your ears. Logic screamed that this couldn’t be happening. You were walking home after a long day, when—there! That light. The blinding flash that enveloped you and carried you here. You clenched your hands into fists, grounding yourself, and let the question form properly: Where am I?

Slowly, as you took in your surroundings, the faintest flicker of recognition sparked. That castle, those towers—it looked eerily familiar. The realization hit you hard, and your knees weakened. This was not just any castle, but one you had seen countless times in books, on screens. Westeros. You had somehow, impossibly, been transported to the world of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and the Seven Kingdoms.

"Gods…" you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were calling to them or cursing them. How could this be possible?

Panic began to bubble up in your chest, but you bit it down. Now wasn’t the time to lose your head. Whatever force had brought you here, it clearly didn’t care about your confusion. You were stranded in a world you had no right to be in, with no clear path home. But you were nothing if not resourceful, and survival instinct kicked in fast. First things first: you needed a cover story.

You looked down at your clothing—your jacket, jeans, and shoes entirely inappropriate for this world. You’d stick out like a sore thumb if you didn’t do something, and quickly. And then, as if fate wanted to test you immediately, you noticed a figure making their way toward you—a villager, maybe, wrapped in furs, their weathered face twisted in confusion at the sight of you.

Without hesitation, you pulled the hood of your jacket up, hiding as much of your appearance as possible, and let an idea form. You needed to be someone important, someone with a skill that would grant you entry into the castle ahead. You thought of the people in this world—superstitious, often lacking in medical knowledge, and prone to reverence for those who claimed to possess sight beyond the ordinary.

A midwife. A seer.

That was the way in. You straightened up, quickly rehearsing a story in your head. You could remember enough of the history of this time—enough about the impending conflicts and players involved—to convince someone of your abilities. And if you could do that, you might just survive.

The villager had reached you by now, his eyes flicking over your strange attire, suspicion evident in his gaze.

"You… you lost, stranger?" His accent was thick, the words harsh against the wind. He looked you up and down, frowning deeper as he noticed your modern shoes.

Clearing your throat, you adopted the air of someone who belonged here, someone important. "I’ve come from far away," you began, your voice steady, "I am a midwife, and a gifted seer. I’ve been summoned—by fate itself—to serve the realm."

His eyes narrowed. "A seer, eh? And who exactly called ye?"

You squared your shoulders. "Not who. What." You let the pause linger, allowing the weight of your words to sink in. "There are things at play in this world that go beyond your understanding. I see them—glimpses of what’s to come. And I’ve come to ensure the safety of those in power, to warn them of the dangers that await if they do not heed my counsel."

The villager hesitated, doubt still clouding his expression, but he seemed unsure now, weighing your words. Superstition held great power in this world, and the idea of turning away someone who claimed to have foresight was a dangerous gamble. Finally, with a curt nod, he motioned to the road leading toward the castle. "You’ll want to speak to the men at the gates, then. They'll decide if yer needed."

You gave a small nod in return, keeping your expression controlled, though relief washed over you. You began to walk, your thoughts racing. You had taken the first step, but getting into the castle was just the beginning. Once there, you would need to convince people far more powerful and skeptical than a simple villager. Rhaenyra, Daemon, the Velaryons… the very people who would shape the future of Westeros.

As you approached the castle’s towering gates, the sheer size of the fortress became overwhelming. The walls stretched upward, casting long shadows over the ground. Your breath quickened as the guards came into view—men clad in armor, their hands resting on swords as they watched you approach. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

One of the guards stepped forward, his face stern beneath his helmet. "State your business," he demanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

"I am a midwife," you repeated, keeping your voice steady. "A seer. I have been sent here to serve the realm, to offer counsel to those in power." You met his gaze directly, hoping to convey confidence. "I see things—glimpses of what’s to come. And I know that there are dangers on the horizon. I must speak with those who rule, for their own safety."

The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "A seer, eh? You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word at face value. We get all kinds at these gates."

You expected resistance, and you had your response ready. "I understand your doubt, but let me offer you this—" You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "There will be an attempt on the life of someone in power here soon. It will come from within, not without. If I am wrong, you may throw me to the wolves. But if I am right, you will have failed in your duty to protect this castle."

The guard’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his features. He glanced at his fellow guards, then back at you. Finally, with a curt nod, he stepped aside. "I’ll let the master-at-arms know. If you’re lucky, you’ll get your audience."

You stepped through the gates, your pulse quickening. Inside, the castle was a maze of stone corridors, each more imposing than the last. Servants moved quickly through the halls, and you kept your head down, trying to appear as if you belonged.

Your mind raced with the enormity of what lay ahead. You needed to get close to the right people—people who would believe your story. And the first name that came to mind was Rhaenyra Targaryen. The heir to the Iron Throne, a woman of strength and ambition. If you could win her trust, you’d have a chance.

[valy-gc]

Game Idea - now a novel

Well... originally a dating sim game idea that will be a novel because I don't have any programmation skills nor the money to pay some developpers, but I like it and got lots of ideas for it so let's just share it.

If you want to make a OC and/or your MC from it, then have fun, I would love it ^-^ (list of existing ones at the end ^^)

It's a dating sim, mix between "Twisted Wonderland" and "Obey me!"

This is mostly ideas thrown like this in a messy way. But you can now read the novel version here:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 -All other chapters will only be on the other plateforms, always free to read

whole on my Tapas, Toyhouse, Ao3 or wattpad

I also introduce all the characters on Toyhouse, UnVale or Deviantart and regularly post here on tumblr about it

And to not have to search through my tumblr, you can find every single infos about Scriptoria, on my Toyhouse as well.

everything under the cut

As a new student at Fablewood Academy, you are mysteriously invited after stumbling upon an ancient storybook. Among peers who resonate with legendary characters from fables and folklore, you stand apart—unable to resonate with any historical figure. Instead, you uncover a profound connection to the mysterious Writers.

Navigating the competitive dorm dynamics and building relationships with students and teachers, you begin to unravel the secrets of Scriptoria, the world of stories. With your unique bond to the Writers, you hold the key to saving it from an ancient force threatening to rewrite history itself.

~~~~

World

"Scriptoria" A magical world shaped by the memories and writings of the legendary Writers, who recorded the lives and deeds of its inhabitants.

~~~~

The Writers :

The authors of fairytales we knows, they are called the "writers" not because they have wrote the tales (since it's supposed to be all real stories in this world) but because they were keeper of memories, noting everything that was happening in the world, which permitted the actual characters to knows all about the stories.

The Writers and Their Origins

Connection to Their Stories and Cultures:

Jean de La Fontaine (Beastman from Beasthaven): La Fontaine, a fox beastman, had a knack for observing the social structures of Beasthaven’s vibrant and diverse communities.

Hans Christian Andersen (Mer from the Seafoam Dominion): Andersen was a merman with a melancholic streak, deeply inspired by the beauty and sorrow of the sea. His ability to capture fleeting emotions and weave them into poetic tales was unparalleled.

The Grimm Brothers (Goblins from Myrcadawn): Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were goblin-faes, an unexpected yet fitting revelation. The magic of the Writers kept their mischief in check, channeling their keen wit and curiosity into recording humanity's most primal fears and hopes. Their goblin heritage explains the darker, more visceral tone of their collected tales.

Charles Perrault (Human from Austreim): Perrault was a human writer from the cobblestone streets of Austreim. Known for his elegance and refinement, he focused on moralistic tales that resonated with high society while still appealing to common folk. His work emphasized transformation and perseverance, ideals he believed could bridge social divides.

An so many more… In short, every single race and country had one or multiple Writers.

The Omniscience of the Writers

The Writers weren’t ordinary historians—they were endowed with a unique form of magic called Storysense.

Storysense Explained: Writers could sense when someone was destined for a life-altering story—one that would leave a profound impact on their world and become a tale told for generations.

When they encountered such an individual, their magic activated instinctively, drawing them to observe and record the person’s journey.

This connection allowed them to witness events in real-time, ensuring no detail was missed.

The Rule of Non-Intervention: Writers were forbidden from interfering in the stories they recorded. Their role was to document, not shape, the fates of those they observed.

Consequences of Breaking the Rule: If a Writer intervened, their Storysense could fracture, leaving them unable to detect new stories. Worse, they might accidentally unravel the tale they were meant to preserve, altering history itself. (e.g. Helping Cinderella to escape her abusing family would prevent her from meeting her prince and she would not become the Great queen Austreim had known)

The Role of the Writers’ Magic

Memory-Keeping: The Writers’ magic extended beyond mere observation. They could project their memories into enchanted quills or scrolls, creating flawless records of events. These documents became powerful artifacts that resonated with the essence of the stories they contained.

The Grand Archive: All Writers’ works were stored in a magical repository known as the Grand Archive. The archive it a living entity, capable of organizing itself and occasionally revealing forgotten tales to those in need of their wisdom.

The Grand Archive’s real position is unknown and is hidden in its own pocket dimension. This dimension open slightly for the Resonance Ceremony.

The Writers’ Legacy

Unique Perspectives: Each Writer brought their cultural background and personal perspective to their work, enriching the world of Scriptoria with a tapestry of diverse stories.

La Fontaine’s fables emphasized cleverness and morality.

Andersen’s tales highlighted emotion and transformation.

The Grimms’ stories embraced the primal, magical forces of nature and humanity.

Perrault’s narratives bridged the elegance of court life with the struggles of common folk.

~~~~

Locations

Austreim: Inspired by European fairytales (Germany, France, Scandinavia). A realm of picturesque forests, cobblestone towns, and grand castles. Home to tales like "Cinderella" and "Little Red Riding Hood."

Beasthaven: A country inspired by La Fontaine’s animal fables. Predominantly inhabited by beastmen. Features different biomes in different part of the land, from lush forests and rolling meadows to savannah or thundra. The country is known for their lively markets in every biome.

Seafoam Dominion: An underwater kingdom of mermen and aquatic fae. Draws inspiration from Andersen's stories. Has shimmering underwater cities and shores dotted with mythical artifacts.

Ebony Sands: Inspired by African folktales such as "The Man Who Never Lied." A sun-drenched land of deserts, savannahs, river deltas and ancient temples.

Celestial Plains: Based on East Asian folktales, blending Chinese, korean, Japanese stories among others. Features rolling hills of bamboo, cherry blossoms, and mystical shrines guarded by spirits.

Myrcadawn: A borderland filled with ancient ruins, magical storms, and creatures from forgotten tales. Mostly inhabited by faes.

~~~~

"Fablewood Academy" An all-boy institution dedicated to preserving the legacy of the writers and their stories. Located at the heart of Scriptoria, blending all cultural styles. Where the Writers’ legacies are studied and the world's future is shaped.

~~~~

The Resonance Ceremony

When a student enters the school, they undergo a Resonance Ceremony, a deeply symbolic ritual that determines their connection to an Historical Character (a character from fairytales and myths).

Ceremony Description:

The Setting: The ceremony takes place in a grand, mystical chamber called the Hall of Echoes, a circular room lined with glowing murals of countless legendary figures. In the center, on the ground like a pond, is the Ethereal Mirror, which shimmers like water and reflects not the student’s image, but fragments of their potential resonance.

The Ritual:

The student steps up to the mirror, guided by a faculty member.

The mirror reacts to their essence, glowing brighter as it identifies the Historical Character whose moral compass and essence most closely align with the student’s.

The chosen figure materializes as a spectral image above the mirror, accompanied by a brief vision of their story, morals, and defining characteristics.

The student receives an Artefact Sigil, a magical mark on their hand, symbolizing their connection. The sigil also acts as a key to their dormitory.

Outcomes:

The character determines the student’s dorm assignment. Dorms represent shared principles or traits rather than region or story type, which creates unique diversity within each house.

The student begins to develop their Legacy Arte, influenced by their resonance.

~~~~

Dorm Names & Founders

Astraquartz (Inspired by Cinderella, Charles Perrault): Represents perseverance, humility, and transformation.

Scarletfang (Inspired by Little Red Riding Hood, Grimm Brothers): Represents courage and cunning.

Everswell (Inspired by The Little Mermaid, Hans Christian Andersen): Represents sacrifice and curiosity.

Mousetrail (Inspired by The Lion and the Mouse, La Fontaine): Represents cleverness and loyalty.

Obsidianspire (Inspired by Mamad in "The Man Who Never Lied", unknown Writer (African tale)): Represents honesty and wisdom.

Verdance (Inspired by "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter", Minamoto no Shitagō): Represents grace and adaptability.

~~~~

Resonance Dynamics

Living By Their Resonance: Students are expected to uphold the values and morals of their Resonance Character. Deviating too far from these principles leads to a Resonance Crisis, where the bond becomes unstable.

Resonance Crises: In a crisis, a student’s personality and abilities are warped by the unresolved conflict. They might embody the antithesisof their Historical Character, becoming a distorted, corrupted version of their story’s ideals.

Example: A student resonating with The Happy Prince may hoard wealth selfishly, spiraling into greed, causing their Legacy Arte to malfunction.

Resolution: To restore balance, the student must confront their choices and find a way to realign with their character’s core principles, often with the help of peers or the protagonist.

The Nature of Resonance

Resonance is not a rigid set of rules that dictate a person’s every thought or action. Instead, it represents a core essence—a reflection of the Resonance Character’s archetype, personality, and values. When a student resonates with a character, it means they share a similar foundation, but they are free to interpret and act on that foundation in their own unique way.

Core Principles of Resonance

Guiding Influence, Not Control: The Resonance doesn't force someone to behave exactly like their historical counterpart. Instead, it provides a general blueprint of traits, preferences, and tendencies that align with the character’s essence.

Example: Coach Garrick’s Resonance with the Big Bad Wolf doesn’t mean he must terrorize pigs—it means he shares the wolf’s gruff, bold, and predatory nature. How he channels those traits is entirely up to him. For Garrick, they manifest as a tough love coaching style.

Freedom to Choose Actions: While Resonance shapes a student's instincts and inclinations, their choices define their character. They can act in harmony with their Resonance without being confined to it.

Example: Elric, resonating with Cinderella's Stepmother, naturally enjoys luxury and attention. However, he can choose to respect others while enjoying these things, rather than mistreating them like the original stepmother did. If he strays too far—say, by shunning luxury entirely—it might destabilize his Resonance, but small acts of kindness wouldn’t harm it.

Resonance Crisis Is About Extremes: A Resonance Crisis occurs when a student goes against their core nature to an extreme degree, causing an inner conflict. This doesn’t happen because of minor deviations but because of a deep misalignment.

Example: If Elric started wearing rags and actively rejecting his love of luxury, his Resonance would destabilize. But respecting servants or treating them kindly, while still enjoying the finer things, would maintain balance.

Here are clear, narrative-driven examples to help clarify how Resonance works without feeling restrictive:

Garrick “Grizz” Wolfin (Big Bad Wolf): Garrick’s Resonance gives him traits like gruffness, strength, and an intimidating aura. He embodies the archetype of the wolf, but how he uses those traits is his choice. He could easily become a bully, but instead, he channels his gruff demeanor into being a demanding yet caring PE teacher. His choices define him, not the wolf.

Elric Briarthorne (Cinderella’s Stepmother): Elric shares the stepmother’s love for luxury, beauty, and a touch of laziness. However, he is not bound to repeat her cruelty. Elric can enjoy being pampered and commanding attention without mistreating others. If he rejects his natural affinity for elegance entirely, he risks a Resonance Crisis, but respecting a servant while maintaining his love for luxury keeps him in balance.

~~~~

Resonance Crisis: The Fractured Legacy

What Happens?

When a mage’s bond with their Resonance Character destabilizes, their Artefact Sigil fractures, and their inner conflict manifests as a dangerous, externalized force called a Fractured Legacy. The Fractured Legacy represents the mage's core identity spiraling out of control, with tangible consequences for the individual and their surroundings.

Mechanics of a Resonance Crisis

Stages of the Crisis:

Warning Phase: The Artefact Sigil dims or cracks subtly, signaling instability. The mage exhibits heightened emotional extremes or behaviors contrary to their Resonance Character.

Example: A Cinderella Resonance becoming tyrannical and dismissive, echoing the stepmother’s cruelty.

Threshold Event: A traumatic or critical moment causes the bond to fully destabilize. The mage’s Artefact Sigil shatters, triggering the Crisis.

Transformation:

The mage transforms into an Echoed Antithesis of their Resonance Character—a distorted, exaggerated version of their worst traits.

Example: A Little Red Riding Hood Resonance becomes a wolf-like beast, embodying predation and fear instead of courage.

The environment around them twists to reflect their turmoil—spreading corruption, illusions, or chaotic phenomena tied to the Resonance.

Manifestation:

The Fractured Legacy takes a physical or semi-physical form—either merging with the student or manifesting as external entities they must face.

Example: The transformed mage might summon spectral versions of antagonists, or their minions, from their Resonance Character’s tale, or their surroundings could morph into a warped, nightmarish version of their story.

Consequences

Prolonged Crisis states can cause lasting damage to the mage—mental, physical, or magical.

If unresolved, the bond with their Resonance Character could sever entirely, leaving them vulnerable to permanent loss of their Arte and magical abilities.

Resolving a Resonance Crisis

Core Resolution:

The mage must confront the internal conflict driving their instability.

Example: A Happy Prince Resonance consumed by greed might need to realize that hoarding wealth doesn’t bring joy or fulfill their true essence.

This confrontation often requires the help of others, especially the protagonist, who serves as a mediator or guide.

Reformation:

The Artefact Sigil repairs itself, often evolving into a stronger form, symbolizing the student’s personal growth.

The Legacy Arte might gain new abilities tied to the lessons learned during the Crisis.

Designing the Fractured Legacy

Visuals:

The Crisis should have a haunting yet poetic visual style that reflects the student’s Resonance Character.

Example: A Cinderella Resonance would look more like a deformed version of the stepmother or the stepsisters, surrounded by jagged shards of broken glass and spectral pumpkin monsters.

Themes:

Each Crisis explores the darker side of the Resonance Character’s traits.

Example: A Little Mermaid Resonance, consumed by jealousy, might suffocate others in waves of magical water, symbolizing their suppressed longing for acceptance.

Combat Dynamics in Resonance Crises

Fractured Legacy Boss Fights:

The mage undergoing the Crisis transforms into a formidable, story-inspired boss.

Example: A Big Bad Wolf Resonance could manifest as a towering wolf-like monster with powerful wind attacks, symbolic of their huffing and puffing.

Emotional Mechanics:

Incorporate dialogue or cutscenes mid-fight to remind players this isn’t just a battle—it’s an attempt to reach someone in pain.

Example: As the protagonist deals damage, the Fractured Legacy might shout distorted lines from their tale or reveal their inner turmoil through flashes of memory.

Combat Objective:

The goal isn’t necessarily to defeat the character in a traditional sense but to weaken their Fractured Legacy enough to restore clarity.

Player Options in Combat

Artefact Sigil Powers:

The characters used can use their own Legacy Arte abilities, which align with their Resonance Characters, to counteract the Fractured Legacy’s powers.

Example: A character resonating with the Little Mermaid might summon tidal waves to neutralize a fire-based Fractured Legacy attack.

Special Techniques:

Introduce a Breakthrough Strike mechanic where players can charge a special attack tied to the Resonance Character of the opponent.

Example: Against a Red Riding Hood Resonance, a teammate resonating with the Woodsman could unleash an axe-cleaving move that counters the wolf-like powers.

Group Synergy:

Peers with similar values or with a character from the same story to the Resonance Character in Crisis might deal bonus damage or have abilities to calm the Crisis state.

Emotional Impact of Combat

Hitting Hard With Purpose:

The protagonist struggles with the morality of fighting a friend or peer. Dialogue options or animations could reflect hesitation and determination.

Example: “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let you destroy yourself!”

Each successful attack might shatter parts of the Fractured Legacy’s appearance, revealing glimpses of the real student underneath.

Dynamic Reactions:

As the player weakens the Fractured Legacy, they could start to show signs of clarity—stammering, pleading, or showing flashes of regret mid-battle.

Example: A Cinderella Resonance Crisis might sob, “Why am I acting like this? This isn’t me!” as their Fractured Legacy starts to crumble.

~~~~

Legacy Arte

Each Legacy Arte is tied to the unique essence of the resonated Historical Character. These are not static powers—they grow and evolve as the student’s connection deepens. It can be an offensive or defensive ability, a practical one for everyday or even a constant unseen ability (enhancing strenght, magic powers or anything else)

For example:

A student resonating with Princess Kaguya might have an Arte called Moonlit Grace, allowing them to summon moonlight to shield themselves and others. As they grow, the Arte might evolve into Celestial Radiance, granting healing and offense.

~~~~

Artefact Sigil

The Artefact Sigil serves as both a resonance stabilizer and a channel for magic, directly tied to the student's connection with their Resonance Character. It appears on the student's hand during the Resonance Ceremony.

Key Features of the Artefact Sigil

Appearance:

A glowing, dynamic symbol or glyph that reflects the essence of the Resonance Character. Its design evolves as the bond deepens, becoming more intricate and vibrant.

Example:

Astraquartz: A delicate glass slipper.

Scarletfang: A bold wolf’s paw print, with thorny vines wrapping around it.

Everswell: A flowing wave, centered with a small pearl-like dot.

Mousetrail: A small mouse.

Obsidianspire: A tall spire with rays of light radiating from its top.

Verdance: A crescent moon embraced by bamboo leaves.

Functionality:

Magic Channeling: The Sigil channels the student’s magic, focusing and amplifying their spells. It glows or pulses during use, with colors and intensity varying based on the magic type.

Legacy Arte Activation: The Artefact Sigil is the key to unlocking and evolving Legacy Arte abilities. As the student grows, the Sigil adapts to better support these powers.

Resonance Stabilization: The Sigil detects and moderates Resonance Crises. If a student strays too far from their Resonance Character’s core ideals, the Sigil dims or cracks slightly, serving as a warning. It also emits calming energy to help realign the connection.

Personal Connection: The Sigil is an inseparable part of the student, growing and changing with them. This deep connection makes magic feel more instinctive and intimate, as it’s literally a part of their body.

~~~~~~~~

Lore Tie-In

Origins: The Artefact Sigil was created by the Writers, using fragments of their own memories as the foundation. This ensures that every Sigil is a direct link to the archives of Scriptoria.

The Resonance Bond: The Sigil embodies the merging of the student’s essence with their Resonance Character. Its visible state reflects the health of this bond, making it both a tool and a representation of their inner journey.

~~~~

Scriptos Currency System

Coins (for smaller transactions):

1 Scripto:Copper coin

5 Scriptos: Bronze coin

10 Scriptos:Silver coin

50 Scriptos:Gold coin

Bills (for larger transactions):

100 Scriptos

200 Scriptos

500 Scriptos

1,000 Scriptos

10,000 Scriptos

Design Details

Coins:

Each coin feature an emblem of a quill or an open book to symbolize creativity and storytelling.

The coins shimmer faintly or show shifting patterns when exposed to light.

Bills:

The bills have holographic text or illustrations that animate briefly (e.g., a bird flying off a quill or ink drops forming a picture).

They feature famous Scriptoria figures, mostly the Writers, with each having different possible figures. -the 100 could feature Pu Songling or D. O. Fagunwa, -200 feature Don Juan Manuel, Alexander Pushkin or Giovanni Francesco Straparola -500 feature Charles Perrault, the brother Grimm or La Fontaine, -1000 feature Al-Jahiz, Hans Christian Andersen or Valmiki, -10 000 feature Joseph Jacobs or Alexander Afanasyev …)

The bills and coins are waterproof. Coin will not get rusty if used by merpeoples.

Practical Conversion

1 Scripto = 0.01 USD

100 Scriptos = 1 USD

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maps

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Classes taught, teachers and staff:

Lorecraft: Liora Scheh

Fairmagic: Ozwell Puzzlereign

Mythic Combat: Thorne Evenshade

Alchemy & Potionmaking: Neige Snowveil

Transformation Arts: Hans Wilderkin

Astronomy & Prophecy: Beaumont Nocturne

Musical Resonance: Lino Minuet

Beastcraft: Swan Ellisar

Tactician’s Lab: Malvyn Frostthorn

Magic Application and Arte Development: Lucan Galehart

Ancient Curses : Mordain Grimm

Runic Engineering : Aldric Fenwick

PE: Garrick “Grizz” Wolfin

Flying Arts: Zephyr Gale

Aquatic Mastery : Merrick Tideborn

Art: Caspar Dorne

Maths: Mikhail Sabirsky

Other staff members:

Headmage: Solon Arclight

Ethics and Resonance Guidance Counselor: Anton Silkthorn

Nurse: Eamon Wellspring

Shopkeeper: Percival Trinket

Chef Cook: Goldor Hearthstone

Keeper of the Grand Archive and librarian: Dorian Ashthorn

Farm Manager: Rustan Featherstone

Are in relationship: Solon x Liora Swan x Beaumont x Lino Merrick x Malvyn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Classes and Seats :

First Years

1-A 05 – Tsuki Laito 1-A 09 – Rune Spindlewick 1-A ?? – MC 1-B 02 – Hatterick Marchhare 1-B 04 – Lyricis Farahdein 1-B 07 – Imperius Wovengale 1-C 08 – Elric Briarthorne 1-C 10 – Archer Verdain 1-D 02 – Kadar Serpenscale 2-D 07 – Ren Chisora 1-E 01 – Imran Frosham

Second Years

2-A 06 – Marinus Tideshade 2-A 08 – Minwoo Kinsei 2-B 06 – Tressari Manarah 2-B 08 – Cygnus Downwood 2-B 11 – Noel D'Orveil 2-C 03 – Porcus Huffsbrick 2-C 05 – Thatcher Squeakefield 2-D 03 – Mahdi Alclaris 2-D 17 – Éponine D’Orveil 2-E 04 – Caspian Willorun

Third Years

3-A 02 – Faylen Charmwright 3-A 16 – Khamari Duneshade 3-B 03 – Lupin Vardred 3-B 04 – Ambrosine Forrant 3-D 07 – Chester Marroway 3-D 15 – Jin Haruto 3-E 05 – Lazlo Quickstride

Fourth Years

4-A / 4-B / 4-C 02 – Gael Lumespring 4-D 08 / 4-E /

Fifth Years

Intership

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MCs:

@iylenne - Betty

@whynotread4fun - Ravi Connor

OCs:

@another-twisted-wonderland-fan - Nova Escher

Urubu - Zarachios A. Salubelair

[rpgchoices]

do you have any recs for rpgs with lesbian romance options? i've played the big ones already (mass effect, dragon age, bg3, pathfinder) and was hoping you knew of some others

YES!! I have a list to update here and a steam group for any queer romance here, but here are the WLW ones I know (in bold: I have played them) and I added some I know and I have not played yet in italics. My favorites are in pink!

RPG: isometric

Rogue Trader: it has two wlw romances, Jae and the new DLC with Kibella. I also found Rogue Trader easier than Pathfinder (as gameplay and lore) and no need to know anything about Warhammer.

Divinity: Original Sin 2: Lohse and Sebille (and you can romance them together as it is exactly like BG3 so you can play one or the other). Great characters and story, much more humorous than BG3.

Expeditions: Rome: I have not played this one! But Deianeira can be romanced.

Expeditions: Viking: Another historical isometric rpg. I remember little of the story, but I enjoyed the characters and Roskva can be romanced by a female player character too.

Pendula Swing: This is more of a rpg adventure, no combat. You play as a female character who used to be a big hero and is now retired and is mourning her wife. You will start living again when someone steals your legendary weapon and in the game you can date different characters (the romance side is not too big).

Pillars of Eternity Deadfire: Sequel of the first game, amazing rpg and two of the female companions (Xoti and Maia) can be romanced.

Knight Bewitched: This is a JRPG inspired game, pixel game too. You play as a female knight and there is only one romance story (with the witch).

RPG: Action

Enderal: ENDERAL!! It has two romance options and one is Calia (f). An amazing free rpg, it is a mod of Skyrim (so you need pc) but it has its own story, lore and combat. One of my favorite videogames, and Calia has the most interesting story in game.

Jade Empire: Silk Fox! This is an old Bioware game which in my opinion still holds up very well. The story is wild, with a lot of unexpected twists and turns, and Silk Fox is probably the most interesting companion.

Cyberpunk 2077: I have not played this but heard good things

Greedfall: Siora. Although I really hated this game and never finished.

Starfield: I have not played it but I know there are two romancable female characters (out of four total) and they are not gender locked.

Visual novel: non dating sim/rpg with or without combat

I was a teenage exocolonist: mix of visual novel and isometric rpg, this is an AMAZING GAME. Do not let the title trick you, it blew my mind and made me actually cry. You can play as nb, male or female, and there are multiple romance options (m, f and nb). The female characters who can be romanced are (SPOILERS), Tang, Marz or Nem.

Loren the Amazon princess: This is more of a classic old style game, I would say the quality is nothing like "I was a teenage exocolonist" but still fun. It is a mix of visual novel, dating sim and combat (jrpg turn based). As a female wlw protagonist you can romance Loren, Chambara or Karen.

Cursed Lands: Same universe as "Loren the Amazon Princess", but I found this one kind of tedious. Still, multiple romances. As a female character you can romance these female characters: Sylrissa, Nuala or Leena.

Tales of Aravorn: This is a sequel of "Loren the Amazon Princess", I am currently playing it. You won't be able to carry over any wlw romance (or mlm romance), but you can romance a new female characters.

These last three games are from WinterWolves company which usually adds wlw and mlm romance in all their games. They also recently published a wlw only game.

Stray Gods: This is a full on visual novel, kind of detective story, with music. You play as a Muse (Greek mythology) and there are two female characters you can romance.

Visual novel: dating sim

Salting the Earth: Okay, I usually don't play dating sims but this is worth it! Lesbian orcs daring sim! There are three romance options.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

I’ve reached the conclusion on why “Nosferatu” (2024) is being misunderstood by the majority of the audience. And the culprit is what we, historians, call “historical revisionism”, a phenomenon which has become extremely popular in last decade thanks to social media.

“Historical revisionism” is what we call theories that twist and bend historical facts to fit the person’s own bias. This has no academic value, it’s not peer reviewed (mostly) and is considered “pseudo science” or “pseudo history”. And it can go from journalists writing historical novels with little research to actual so-called “academics” who try to “rewrite History” but their thesis have no historical ground nor any arquive research. Nowadays this is very common on the Sociology field, who decided they can do our jobs without the actual preparation for it. We historians are used to it, to the banalization of our area, even though we spent years studying, struggling to earn scholarships and investment, and a lot of own money, to become historians. We are not Indiana Jones, but I’ve been to some nasty archives. First, it was the “hard science” folks who look down on us (and still do because they think “Humanities” are not “real science” like Physics and Chemistry), and now it’s the content creators (of every kind) who think they can do our jobs. What we have to deal with on a regular basis is amazing.

There’s also a trend among Gen Z to glamorize corsets and the Victorian era (which was the worst of everything when it comes to women, people of color, etc., as every possible medical essay justifying the inferiority of women and “races” existed; the Nazis didn’t come out of nowhere, the origin of their beliefs is in the 19th century). This topic alone deserves a published article. This is the very definition of “historical revisionism”. Corsets were not glamorous (not matter how many try to bend historical facts, they are very well studied and documented by actual historians with academic authority on the subject), and I don’t even know what to say about the glamorization of the Victorian oppression of women. You won’t find this discourse on Women’s History classes (at least in Europe) because it’s ridiculous and offensive, even.

I took Women’s History and Feminist studies classes in college, and I have done research on Women’s History (mostly connected to Heritage and women’s roles in healing and medicine, historically a female dominated field), and I never come across this glamorization in actual historical academic research. My area of expertise are the 19-20th centuries (you can’t study the 20th century without that background). Because no historian, in their right mind, would ever say things like this. Being a “history buff” doesn’t make you an historian. I’ve spent the last decade working really hard to become one, I’m now taking my PhD and I have published research, and my opinion in academia setting is not as valid as that of a PhD or of an established historian. Because that’s how things work in real life; you have to earn your place and your “intellectual authority” among your peers.

And what’s worrisome about this phenomenon is that the general audience will come across this content and think it’s actually true, these are actual historical facts. They aren’t. They are historial revisionism easy to digest and ready for mass consumption. This is a mockery of atual historians work, an absolute banalization of our area. I’m not applauding any “influencer” efforts here because they read a couple of books, when they are trashing mine and my colleagues work. You should actually be ashamed of yourselves for deceiving the public with your arrogance and ignorance, because you are spreading actual misinformation. You don’t have the preparation, the baggage nor the intellectual authority to do what you are doing. Some of these creators are really out here saying my colleagues are wrong. Sit down, your opinion is irrelevant. You don’t have the authority to “problematize” or attempt to contradict actual academics. The internet just gave you the illusion you have and this is peak anti-intellectualism.

And this is also a cautionary tale for every historian out there. We need to get off our high horse of academia and make our work know to the public. Our research can’t be trapped inside close doors of research centers, congresses or field publications. The type of history the public is consuming is problematic (and I hate this word) and incorrect. Robert Eggers is one of the few directors who actually hires historians and researchers, and for that he has my admiration. One would think this is bare minimum when creating historical dramas, but it isn’t. The majority of “historical” movies out there are pure rubbish, and completely historical inaccurate. “Bridgerton” is out here glamorizing women as their husbands’ properties, after all. And this is why the public can’t understand an historical accurate film when they see one.

[writers-potion]

Different Genres, Different Fight Scenes.

Romance

No real gore; write entertaining fight scenes with an illusion of reality

Avoid excessive arobatics or feats of unbelievable strength. Stay realistic - describe the weather, how the ground feels.

Add a layer of erotic tension.

Use injuries as opportunities to test the hero and heroine's relationship, for displaying touching and tender care.

Fight scenes in romance tend to be short (<700w)

Where there are several fight scenes: (1) he comes to her rescue - (2) she comes to his rescue (3) together they fight in the final showdown.

Fantasy

Fantasy fight scenes will primarily be enertaining, but have considerable grit.

Since readers needs to retain their suspense of disbelief in dragons, fairies, unicorns, etc. it helps to keep fights realistic.

Heroes will be skilled in using the weapon of their choice, and he climax of the fight will be prolonged, detailed and technically precise.

Science Fiction

Invent a special weapon for your book. To make it plausible, take a real-life weapon and extrapolate.

To make it interesting, the weapon will have a critical flaw or have consequences to the user which will make the plot more interesting.

Thriller

Fight scene in thrillera are very gritty, with real violence and gore. There will be several injuries and death.

However, the hero will also show off his skill in prolonged fight scenes, making it entertaining.

The suspense section is typically long

The hero will often have advanced level fighting skills.

Horror

As long as the blood is plot relevant, readers will want to see gore and grit.

The suspense and aftermath sections will be long, with unexpected twists that gets the hero behind his back.

Cozy Mystery

Cozy mystery won't have too much fighting involved, but if it does it will be be short.

Focus on how the hero struggles towards the next clue as a result of the fight rather than on the fight itself.

Historical

Fight in historical novels can be anything between entertaining and gritty.

Consider the periodic background, tech level, and relative wealth of your fighters before you give them weapons and armour.

In period where life expectancy was shorter and violence was more commonplace, your heros will be less bothered about seeing death, gory gutting, or having children in battle. Less qualms about killing.

In most periods and societies women didn't fight, and you must come up with a plausible backstory for her.

Literary

Either the fight takes place off stage or it is shown in all its realistic brutality.

Literary fight scenes are gritty and short.

You will choose to focus on the aftermath - play up the tragic, sinful, meaninglessness, etc. of violence for the reader and how it affects your hero's psyche.

Young Adult

YA fight scenes are entertaining, but it can escalate to be very scary.

he plot often revolves around he protagnoist performing implausible feats of fighting, often with exceptional martial arts skills.

Choose whatever martial arts teenagers find "cool" and build up your knowledge about it.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[wearethekat]

Best Books of 2024

All of my favorite reads from last year!

The Tainted Cup, Robert Jackson Bennett. A Sherlock Holmes-style political mystery about a woman investigating a murder in a truly original secondary fantasy world.

The Warm Hands of Ghosts, Katherine Addison. Haunting story about a woman looking for her missing brother who's trapped in a pocket realm on the battlefields of World War I.

The Square of Sevens, Laura Shepherd Robinson. An ingeniously twisted historical fiction thriller about a woman who was brought up as a fortuneteller in the 1730s recounting her past.

Someone You Can Build a Nest In, John Wiswell. Sapphic body horror gore monster romance that commits to the bit while also somehow being cozy.

Necrobane, Daniel M. Ford. Bisexual necromancer and all-around menace Aelis engages in pulp DnD like adventures as the protector of a rural village. Book 2 of a series.

The Reformatory, Tananarive Due. A Southern Gothic where the real horror is racism about a young boy sent to a prison reform school in the fifties.

Triple Sec, TJ Alexander. Poly romance about a bartender falling in love with a woman—and then realizing that she's into the woman's partner too.

Lady Eve's Last Con, Rebecca Fraimow. Space opera romcom heist about a woman getting revenge on the man who jilted her sister.

Running Close to the Wind, Alexandra Rowland. An absolute souffle of poly pirate shenanigans. Strong character voice a la Gideon the Ninth that you'll either love or hate.

Rakesfall, Vajra Chandrasekera. Let me be honest, I'm not sure I have any idea what happened in this fever dream of a novel, but it was really good.

The West Passage, Jared Pechacek. A deeply strange and original monk book along the lines of Susanna Clarke's Piranesi.

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. The most devoted hater of a popular webserial dies mad about it and ends up in the world of the book. A masterpiece of dramatic irony, made me feel insane for at least four months.

Asunder, Kerstin Hall. Another excellent installment in the guy stuck in your head genre in a wild and original fantasy setting.

Dark Breakers, CSE Cooney. A gorgeous collection of interlinked fairy tale novellas set around the same Gilded Age mansion.

Swordcrossed, Freya Marske. An absolute delight of a gay romcom with a large amount of detail about the fantasy wool industry.

[glasswinggames]

Visual Novel In Progress

Discord || Ko-fi || X

Dear Reader,

Congratulations! You have been selected for a chance at a new life in another world!

Archelia is a place of magic, mystery and more! This city may have many Twisted Secrets, but it's a place where dreams can be made reality... though of course, all things come with a price.

So, complete your missions, trigger the Catalysts to change the world, and maybe, in the midst of it all, find your Ever After...

You, our beloved Reader, have been brought over from Earth by a mysterious being who only seems to communicate with you through a blue screen that only you can see. You've been chosen as the representative of the God's who wish for change to the story of a world that has long since gone stagnant.

If you succeed in unlocking your power and creating change with the help of the Catalysts, beings at the centre of change identified by the God's, you can have anything you wish for...

But only if you give a satisfying ending.

As the screen disappears, you're left to your own choices, to shape your new life in this fantasy world, where magic and mystery exists around every corner, and to become whoever you want to be. Will you stay as a reader, letting the story pass you by? Will you be a supporting character, helping the hero or villain as you choose? Will you become a protagonist, bringing change by your own hands?

... Or will you become something more?

Features

Ever After: Twisted Secrers is a dark fantasy Visual Novel set in a historical fantasy inspired world following eight different stories exploring a variety of themes.

🦋 Customisable MC 🦋

The MC of Ever After: Twisted Secrets is completely customisable. There is a customisation screen to choose name, pronouns, gender, sexuality, and physical appearance, including disabilities and much more. You can set preferences for physical touch, and personality is defined through optional flavour choices.

🦋 Different Relationship Dynamics 🦋

When you meet each interest, you will get to choose how you feel about them, whether it's dislike, disinterest, friendliness, or attraction, and there will be options to deepen these feelings throughout the stories. This gives more opportunities to give depth to your MCs personality: dislike a character but want to be nice to their face or even manipulating them to love you? There are options for that.

At the start of each route you will be asked whether you want to play the platonic or romantic route, this will determine your potential relationship statuses in the endings. For platonic you can become best friends or even be in a queerplatonic relationship.

In Jedreks route, there is the option to be in a poly relationship with Jedrek and the side character Oliver. You can choose the dynamic, whether it's a V or a triangular relationship. It is not possible to be in a relationship solely with Oliver.

🦋 Choice Driven Stories 🦋

There are three types of choices:

Flavour Choices: Don't impact the endings but dictate your characters personality and influence how people react to you. These choices are optional, if you turn these off then it will follow [redacted]'s selections throughout.

Relationship Choices: Impacts the endings for whether the interest likes/loves or dislikes you.

Catalyst Choices: Impacts the endings for whether you were successful in triggering enough change within the world.

There are four different endings per interest, not including bad ends throughout the prologue and routes and additional epilogues, which are unlocked once you meet the requirements.

🦋 Extras 🦋

CGs - There are 16 CGs in the prologue alone! Each route will have several CGs which you can collect and view in the gallery.

Compendium - Throughout the routes as you discover more key terms and information will be stored in a Compendium which you can access at any time to learn more about the world and its history!

Original Music - For the prologue, there will be an original song written for idol group Boo-K, with plans for the full game to have even more music for you to listen to!

Achievements - There are several achievements you can get throughout each route! Maybe something will happen if you unlock them all...

As you can choose to play platonically and define your own relationships, I refer to the different route options as Story Interests!

Meet the Catalysts of change below!

'I'll have my own following with blackjack and hookers--'

Pronouns: They/them

Sexuality: Demisexual

Age: 30

Height: 6'2"

Cairen is known as being the irresponsible, frivolous rake of the Palace, the fallen second star of Archelia, the charming elven heartbreaker of the city. When they aren't gallivanting around the city and avoiding their royal duties, they can be found tending to their butterflies in their private greenhouse... also avoiding their royal duties.

Perhaps it's a good thing that their uncle still holds into the throne? That the position of heir has gone to their war hungry cousin?

However, as you will see with Cairen, things aren't always as they seem in the floating Palace, and the one who has long since been underestimated has poisonous plans of their own to take back what has been stolen from them, with interest.

Despite Cai's playful, frivolous demeanour, they are smart, cunning, and very ambitious. They know their worth and believe the crown may not be enough to showcase it anymore: they need to ascend even higher and create a new world where they stand above all else.

Will you join them at the peak? Or will they push you off along the way?

'What's a historical fantasy without a cold Northern Duke?'

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 28

Height: 6'

As the ArchDuke, Helios is the leader of the most powerful family outside of royalty, though even they have little control over him since he became the Shayan, the head of the magic tower and the most powerful mage in the Kingdom.

Helios has used his magic and intellect to contribute to the Kingdom, advancing technology through magic stones that are widespread in transport and improving medical care to reduce dependency on the church.

However, his sharp tongue, impossibly high standards and stubbornness haven't earned him many friends, even if his criticisms come from a place of care. Though this doesn't seem to bother him, as he still has what is truly important: his family, his reputation and his magic.

But, when Helios stands to lose everything, and the world he helped turns against him, will he be able to stay true to himself, or will he be driven to revenge?

'Do you want to get magically stuck together? Cause that's how you get magically stuck together!!'

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 35

Height: 5'6"

The Witch of the Forest of Yulis is a mysterious woman. Though she visits the city often with her beautiful seeing eye dog Orion leading the way, she maintains enough of a distance that not too many know much about her.

Nature, animals, and the souls of the dead wander by her side now, but there was once a time when the forest was a haven for others in the city. But as technology has taken over, and more of nature has been destroyed to expand the city walls, the forest and its resident witch have been affected by some strange unknown force and nobody has been able to get close.

Farren is a kind woman, with a tendency to do her best to help others, especially those who can't help themselves. She is gentle, but firm in her boundaries, and a woman with a strength underneath her softness.

However, in the face of death, how long will her gentleness last, and will she take matters into her own hands to save the nature she loves the most?

'[J.Jonah Jameson voice] GET ME PICTURES OF THE BOOGEYMAN!'

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: [Redacted]

Height: 6'3"

At some point or another, everyone has either heard or told stories of the Boogeyman. Parents who tell their children to behave lest they be whisked away, friends who hunt for him as a test of courage, and rumours that spiral whenever somebody goes missing. But everyone knows this is just a myth, a legend of a monster that doesn't exist.

Or does he?

Despite his notoriety, nobody knows the face of the Boogeyman, or the fact that he is back.

He feeds on fear, finding joy in their panic, and with his laughter filling the streets as he claims another, it may just be that the title of monster fits him better than you realise.

You've taken a job as a reporter, alongside your new friend Oliver, to hunt him down for the latest scoop, and when you get close enough to snap a photo you find that the playful monster of a killer enjoys the limelight.

Will you be able to keep him entertained long enough to find out what he's doing with the bodies? Or will you end up just another victim on his path?

'Spencer Reid if he was the unsub... and an idol'

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 24

Height: 5'10"

A previous otherworldly traveller like yourself brought the concept of idols to Archelia, giving it a classical twist to fit in with the worlds tastes.

Illium is part of the five member group, Boo-K, an incredibly popular boy group inspired by flowers, with Illium the red flower member alongside his brother, the yellow flower, Zephyr.

He's known as the Prince of the group, the untouchable idol who keeps everyone at arms length with his universal kindness and gentle smile. Fans have pictured him rescuing animals, especially fallen birds, with a soft smile that matches his gentle voice.

But behind his pretty words and soft demeanour, he is still searching for a reason why he exists and something to be truly passionate about. As you spend more time together, he believes you may have the answer to his prayers.

However, you start to notice a trend to a string of attacks and murders... they are all people who have wronged you no matter how small the altercation. Surely the sweet, with his princely charm, Illium could have nothing to do with it... right?

'Your flirting mind tricks don't work on me, only money!'

Pronouns: Dependent on presentation, he/they when masc and she/they when femme.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 48

Height: 6'2" (Masc)/5'9" (Femme)

A large building towers in the city's shopping district: the Bedisa Lounge, home to a large casino, and the Bedisa Family led by the one and only Eos.

On the surface they are a legitimate business and entrepreneur, who supports all the businesses in the city, providing protection, preventing crime and making profits for all. Underneath though, the Bedisa Family is a large criminal organisation who manage the black market, the flow of information from the Underworld, and work under the eyes of the law to steal and con nobility to line their own pockets.

It's so easy when the short tempered, cocky leader can shapeshift and become anyone, even those you think you know well.

Unfortunately for yourself, you make an enemy of Eos when you walk on their turf, and if you want to win this war between the two of you, and even change your status from enemies to lovers, you're going to have to bring all you have.

Though, when they start dabbling in darker businesses, will you stand by them on top of your shared riches... or will you be swept up in their shadows.

'You like heroes? You like himbos? Excellent /breaks him'

First Locked Route

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 25

Height: 7'

The first person you see in this chaotic world and the one who will support you above all else, Noah is the true hero, and not only to yourself. He is known for being a walking ray of sunshine, helping others and protecting all from danger, not even realising when he gets hurt himself.

It's the 'everyday heroics' he likes to say, believing that no matter how small the action is, you can do something to save someone.

A member of the church, he is your rock in the midst of political arguments and infighting between factions. Noah wants to make your dreams come true above anything else.

But underneath that happy go lucky demeanour are anxieties he cannot squash on his own, and a darkness that threatens to swallow his and your light.

What lengths will Noah go to be a hero? Will you be able to save him before he ends up losing himself?

(´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

Second Locked Route

Pronouns: She/they

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: [Redacted]

Height: 5'7"

Ranked to determine strength, S class mercenaries are few and far between. Fortunately for Archelia however, one resides within their lands. Though unlike others who seek fame and coin, the Mercenary Queen only accepts payment in the form of books and stories.

The quiet Athanasia can always be found with her head in a book, losing herself in the pages regardless of it's contents.

But a life lost in the world's of others is often a lonely one, and they have become no more than an observer, a reader of reality, rather than a main character.

However, as you join this mercenary as she experiences her very own horror, fantasy, romance and more, revealing secrets of the world that have long since been forgotten, what role will she play in this story?

And who is she to you?