#and mind you in our previous interactions I have been very polite to them more that is warranted and you can see that in our community

[inanshalla]

Addressing @/slut-strut-satan

blocked by OP of course so I will post my response here thanks to @shoutydwarf for the reblog!

I'm the user OP is talking about and let me start off by saying as an abuse survivor myself, it is very problematic the implication that I am somehow engaging in any form of victim apologism and/or attacking an abuse victim as that is not ever something I would actively engage in privately or otherwise.

With that being said, the reason why the egg allergist community exists is specifically because of fans like OP, a self-appointed judge and jury who spends their entire 24 hours a day outright attacking, harassing and muzzling anyone who even so much as says anything slightly negative about a fictional character that they personally enjoy and have put their entire personality into defending online. Whew I wish black female characters had shooters like this... anyhow

OP has engaged in very problematic and racist behavior in the not so distant past and still today, that is likely why they deactivated their previous account where they spent their time being a pretty gross person in defense of a fictional white male character in just the screenshot below alone they implied that:

vivienne, a black woman, is a facist.. imagine calling a BLACK WOMAN a fascist because they think she actively put mages into concentration camps when no such thing happens if she is made divine--in fact morrigan says in the inquisition ending should she be made divine that mages flourish under her rule. She never even says that is something she will do anyway.

calling qunari and by extension the qun fascist when they are the only black/brown coded race... many forget this but gaider did refer to the qunari in the past as a "militant islamic borg" and OP just repeats that extremely islamaphobic rhetoric and anyone saying anything against that very problematic rhetoric is supporting fascism for some reason???

All in all, OP is not a good person and the way they hide behind buzzwords and specific types of rhetoric to trigger others all in defense of a white male character should very much illuminate that they are someone who does not actually care about abuse, racism, fascism etc because they only care about it when it is to defend a fictional white man against a few people who are even just mildly critical him in VERY SMALL invite only communities.

[evieismol]

Big Bend - Chapter Five - Introduction

Cw: language, mentions of giants harming/eating people (nothing comes of it)

Word count: ~1800 words

A/n: wattpad writers curse got me and I had a very chaotic weekend that included a cave, so my apologies this is late! Here's the next installment though

Previous

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.

.

“Ready to go?” Penelope asked. 

“Ready freddy,” I said, grabbing my phone from my dresser and putting it in my pocket. 

“You guys weren't kidding when you said he was gigantic,” Penelope commented as she opened the door to our shared room, stepping out into the hallway. I was close behind her. She'd finally - in her words, given that she'd only moved in four days ago - met Easton two days prior, towards the end of a shift he'd been working with Angie. 

“He really lives up to the ‘giant’ title, doesn't he?” I replied. I hadn't actually interacted with him again since we'd met on night I'd arrived. I had found my thoughts drifting back to the gargantuan alien on more than one occasion, though. That was probably to be expected; he was the first aphirial I'd ever met. 

“I wonder how people are going to respond at the press conference,” Penelope said. We reached the end of the hallway. The desert sun, constant and oppressive, poured in through the window in the metal door in front of us. 

I shrugged. I wasn't really sure. This meeting wouldn't be breaking the news that the park had hired an Aphirial. That had already been public for several months. In fact, I was apparently one of the few people who hadn't known prior to a few days ago - when I arrived - based on what I'd gathered from talking to Penelope and Angie. This would, however, be his first official introduction as a ranger at the park. 

Penelope and I headed up to the visitor center. We were still a good distance away when I saw that Easton was already there. Even sitting down, he was taller than the multi story visitor center. As we neared, I could make out a large crowd of people that were already gathered. The crowd was thrumming with energy, a mixture of excited and nervous chattering reaching my ears. I saw Angie standing to the side almost the same time she saw Penelope and I. We made a beeline over to her. 

“Hey!” She greeted us. To my surprise, I also saw Easton glance down towards us as we walked up. I wouldn't have thought he'd even notice what had to be relatively slight movement from his perspective. He met my gaze, recognition sparking in his eyes as he gave me a smile. 

“God, it's hot out,” Penelope said, drawing my attention back to her and Angie. She was right. I could already feel sweat trickling down my back. 

Another perk of the desert, I thought. My new environment couldn't have been more different than the urban buildings mixed with evergreen trees that I had grown used to. 

“Yeah. I don't think I've quite gotten used to it yet,” I agreed. The three of us continued to make idle small talk for the next few minutes. Truthfully, it was more like Angie and Penelope made small talk, and I occasionally added in a laugh or nod when it seemed appropriate. My mind was instead wandering to the giant next to us. There was a small platform in front of him. A podium sat at the center of it. I watched as two men climbed onto it. I recognized one of them as John. The other, an older man with dark tan skin and salt and pepper hair, was unfamiliar to me. 

The unfamiliar man approached the microphone. He greeted the crowd. “Welcome, everyone! I'm Daniel Perez, chief ranger here at Big Bend. I'm glad you all could join us today for this exciting day.” He continued to speak, explaining how the day marked a promising step for diplomatic relations between Earth and Aphiria. John remained a few steps behind him, hands clasped politely together. 

“Well, without further ado, I'd like to introduce Big Bend's newest interpretive ranger, Easton Parks of Aphiria!” Daniel looked over his shoulder as he spoke, craning his neck up to look at Easton. Easton gave a small wave. 

“I'd like to give Ranger Parks here a chance to speak, and then we'll open up the floor to questions,” Daniel said. He nodded up to Easton.

“Hi, everyone,” Easton said, giving the crowd a small wave. His voice was loud, but not painfully so, and I wondered if he was making an effort to speak more softly. 

“I'm super excited to be here today, and on Earth in general! It's such a beautiful planet, and it's an honor to get to work here. As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm a bit taller than most of the people around here.” That got some laughs from the crowd. “And as you’re probably all aware, that has something to do with where I'm from, which I've heard there's a lot of curiosity about, so I wanted to take some time to answer any you might have.” He looked down at Daniel. 

Daniel nodded. “Great! With that, do we have any questions?” 

Instantly, an array of hands shot up into the air. They ranged from general questions about Aphiria, like how long a day there lasted - roughly twice as long as days on Earth, I learned - to questions about Easton himself, like exactly how tall he was. 

“218’”, he said. There were a few that John quickly jumped in on to steer the conversation in another direction after giving a quick but firm denial. Mostly relating to the various rumors about Aphirials. Those included whether or not they'd been responsible for any Godzilla style rampages, and whether or not Easton ate people. I saw him visibly grimace at the latter. 

As questions began to die out, they were replaced by an equally large number of requests for pictures. Easton seemed happy to comply with most of them, though he politely turned down some of the more…bizarre requests, like a photo holding someone by their limbs, citing safety concerns. After what had to be at least an hour and a half, the crowd began to disperse. Reporters gave way to visiting tourists, who gradually filtered out to a much smaller group. 

“We should go say hi,” Penelope said. I was about to agree when a sleek black car pulled up, a song blaring loudly from within it. Loudly enough that almost everyone, including Easton, looked over. The music cut off abruptly. A woman who had what could be best described as “Cruella Deville energy” emerged. I saw Easton exchange a tentative glance with John. The woman made her way over to the platform. I thought she was going to climb onto it too for a second, but she stopped just before it, looking up at Daniel, John, and Easton. 

"I assume the press conference went well," she said, hands on her hips. 

“Perfectly smoothly. What brings you over here, Joy?” Daniel said. His tone was still professional, but guarded. 

"I thought I'd come give a warm welcome," she said flatly, tone seeming to imply she did not feel warm or welcoming. She looked over at Easton, then to Daniel and John. 

"You lot decide the normal wilderness dangers weren't enough of a liability?” She asked loudly. If her entrance hadn't already gotten the remaining crowd's attention, her question would have. 

"Ranger Parks isn't a liability. He's a respected member of the park team, just like the rest of the rangers,” Daniel said, tone even. 

“Really? Because I'd think his size alone would be enough to make him at least a little dangerous. Without even mentioning the…other facts about Aphirials,” Joy said. There were some uncertain murmurs in the crowd. I glanced over at Easton, trying to read his expression. It was frustratingly neutral. 

“I think much of what people may have heard about Aphirials are purely rumor,” John said. 

“Is that so?” Joy asked. She paused. “What about the ‘rumor’ that they have, shall we say, predatory instincts? That that's why hunting is such a popular sport on Aphiria? None of that's true?” 

I saw Easton glance away.

“What she's referring to,” John said, now addressing the crowd, “is that even though their world is fairly similar to ours, Aphirials still have something of a prey drive. Of course, like Easton here, there's aphirials that don't eat meat at all. It's just a matter of discipline and figuring out alternatively adequate nutrition." John continued, explaining as though it was a fun fact. 

“And for what it's worth, hunting is a population sport here in Texas as well.” 

While John was speaking, Daniel stepped down off the platform, next to Joy. 

“Is there anything else we can do for you today, Joy?” He asked, pointedly. 

“Not today,” she said. “I'll be seeing you, Dan. John. Ranger Parks.” She stressed the word “Ranger”, placing a mocking emphasis on it. And with that, she made her exit. John watched her return to her car for a moment, then cleared his throat. 

“Alright! Any other questions? Maybe about Easton's specialty, botany?” 

Thankfully, between Easton's soft spoken responses and John's cheerful steering of the conversation, most of the tension from Joy's interruption dissipated fairly quickly. A few more people left. 

“Okay, now we should go say hi. Unless that lady shows back up,” Penelope said. She was already pulling me up to Easton as she spoke. He looked down at us as we approached. 

“Hi! We met the other day! I'm Angie's friend,” she said brightly. 

“Penelope, right?” She nodded. He looked over at me. “And Zoey! I take it you found where you were headed?”

He remembered my name. 

“Yeah. Thanks for the help, again,” I said. 

“Of course,” he said. He shifted slightly. The small - from his perspective - movement was significant enough to block the sun where we were standing, offering some much appreciated shade. He almost certainly hadn't done that on purpose - I doubt he even noticed the change - but it was a welcome relief after having been standing in the sun. 

“How are you guys settling in?” He asked. 

“Pretty good!” Penelope said. She paused. “Not to be weird, cause we both work here, but can I take a picture with you? My mom really wants one.” 

Easton laughed. “Totally. What did you have in mind?” 

“Can you pick me up? And then I can take a selfie with your face in the background,” Penelope said. Easton acquiesced. As I watched her climb onto his extended hand, I wondered what it would feel like to literally be in a hand. I almost wanted to also ask for a photo, but social awkwardness won out, and I instead resigned myself to just politely watching Penelope. 

“You moved out here because of Angie, right?” Easton asked. He moved incredibly carefully as he lifted Angie up to almost eye level. For him, that was nearly a hundred feet off the ground. Tall enough that Penelope’s reply was no longer audible to me. 

After she'd presumably taken her photos, Easton lowered her back to the ground, just as carefully. She hopped off his hand. 

“Yay! Thanks!” She said. “Well, I guess we should stop bothering you now, but we'll see you around!” 

“Yeah. And thanks again for the help!” I said. 

“Any time,” he said. And with that, Penelope and I headed back to our room

[cubicle-eyes]

Hi hi would you be willing to write something where Moxxie had a little brother that stayed with crim (due to not having a safe way out) and they get to see each other again after years of thinking Moxxie abandoned him?

Platonic ofc

Find You

Moxxie Knolastname/ M!Brother!Reader

This is so sad I HATE it I must write it immediately.

-----

Y/N was two when their mother died. He blamed Moxxie, for being the one to actually push her, but he blamed Moxxie for taking all of Crim's attention. For years he'd been trying to track down that stupid asshole. Chaz was... there. He and Y/N were complicated. Crim specifically said for them not to interact. He didn't need two gay sons.

Y/N was practically attached to his dad by a leash. A very forceful one.l, that allowed little leniency. Y/N had been wearing that leash thin for years, eventually getting to the point Crim gave up on his chokehold and let Y/N do whatever he wanted! In the house.

When Moxxie showed up, Y/N hadn't even been told of the plan. Walking in on Crim slapping him, he didn't feel remorse. Instead, when his father looked up at him, Y/N was prideful.. and scared.

"Aha, there's a son that knows what he's doing. Y/N! Come over and say hello to our old friend."

"Y/N.."

"Moxxie. Long time no see." Y/N's voice is all venom, but his hands are shaking when he helps Moxxie up and shakes his hand.

His brother looks horrified and guilty, eyes wide and building tears.

"I thought you'd be-"

"Dead? You have such little faith in us, Mox. We can fix that for you."

"Gone. I thought you'd be.. safe, by now." His voice lowers, still holding Y/N's hands. He ignores the previous comment, but Y/N only grins wider. The hat on his head casts half a shadow over his face.

"Oh, Moxxie. There's nowhere more safe to be."

Crim let's out a laugh that makes his eyes shut, and Moxxie catches the genuine anxiety on his brothers face before it's quickly masked with a smug expression, so quickly Moxxie thinks he'd imagined it. Crim beckons Y/N closer and pats his back.

"You tell him, Y/N."

The silence is.. less than ideal. Y/N clears his throat, extending his arms to the side politely.

"May I show Moxxie my room?"

"Sure. Be quick, Chaz needs you in an hour."

"Got it."

Y/N walks off, waiting for Moxxie in the doorway. He hesitates, then follows after a noise from Crim. Y/N scoffs, rolling his eyes as soon as they're out of sight.

Moxxie clears his throat and Y/N makes the mistake of glancing over his shoulder as they climb the stairs.

"I.. I'm glad you're okay."

"Okay?" Y/N laughs. "Funny joke. Nothing is okay here."

".. then come with me. We can just.. leave. Right now."

Y/N stands at the top of the stairs while Moxxie rests two steps down. He extends one hand, and Y/N stares at it. Moxxie goes to lower it, defeated, but Y/N grabs it and twists his arm, wrenching him closer forcefully to snarl in his face.

"You're such a-" Y/N cuts himself off. "You're such a traitor."

He drops Moxxie's arm and the imp stumbles up the steps. "What?"

"Come on."

"What do you-"

"Follow."

Y/N hisses. Moxxie follows him down a hall then to the last door on the left. He steps inside, and locks the door behind him. Moxxie rests a hand on his brother's shoulder, and Y/N whirls his fist back and strikes him between the eyes.

"Hey!"

Y/N pins him on the ground.

"I have half a mind to kill you."

Y/N has the same, slight country accent their mother had. It's faint, but Moxxie does a double take. Y/N's eyes are cold, pupils shrunken in rage. He shivers and Moxxie realizes he's crying.

"You left me. Didn't even think about coming back!"

"Y/N-"

"Dad's been looking for you for years! I'm not even allowed to leave the house because he doesn't want me to run off."

"N/N.."

Y/N falters. Moxxie cups his face, brushing the tears on his cheeks. Y/N sits back on his knees, hands limp in his lap. Moxxie sits up carefully, just in case Y/N decides to bite at him again. Moxxie takes Y/N's hands, running his own up Y/N's arm to where the sleeves are messily rolled up. There's hundreds of scars just on his arms, years of doing all sorts of work for his father, and no doubt his abuse.

"You have no idea how long I waited." Y/N whispers. "It finally sunk in after the second month of waiting by the window for the car to drive up, drop you off. Run down the stairs.."

"I'm so sorry."

"No. You.." Y/N sniffled, a grim smile coming on his face. He grabs Moxxie's hands and keeps them still.

"I am. I'm taking you with me this time. When we leave, you're coming with me."

Y/N stands and Moxxie sits on the floor still.

"I mean more to dad now than you ever will. He only wants you here for the stupid wedding."

"What?-"

Y/N looks scared, beside himself, and.. defeated. Only now, in the moment of quiet confusion, can he properly study his brother.

His eyes are tired and weak, dull from years of manipulation and force. His skin is pale, like he hasn't been outside, and his fingers twitch mindlessly, on call to rip someone apart or rip himself apart. He's staring at Moxxie when he makes his way back to his face. Y/N's back straightens.

"Come on. Crim needs you back soon."

"I wasn't just trying to cheer you up."

"Mox. Please."

"I'm taking you back with me. Youre- You're too young to be put under so much."

Y/N sighs, exiting the room and going downstairs.

Moxxie stays still, frowning.

----

"Y/N!"

Crim shouts when he comes back inside. The Imp practically runs to his father.

"Yes, sir."

"That stupid bitch killed some of the strongest men here."

"Oh?"

"Mm. Now, you have to kill her."

Y/N practically stops breathing. He opens his mouth but no words come out. Crim isn't even looking anymore, sitting at his desk and writing in scribbled, messy lines that only he possesses.

"Uh.. no."

"What?"

"No."

Crim beckons Y/N forward, then grabs his shirt collar. Before he can say anything, Y/N climbing the desk and leaping him to jump from the window, knocking over his desk and chair in the process. The window shatters and Crim is dragged halfway out before letting go. His shouts fall on deaf ears, Y/N's no longer playing his game.

Moxxie. I'm coming to find you.

----

This is horrible I might rewrite it later 😀🔫

💙

[polyamorousmood]

Imma just vent a bit if you dont mind but also hearing your thoughts would be nice. So basically, theres this couple that i met a few months ago, and to put it bluntly, im very into them. I've only really been starting to get closer to them in the last few weeks and have been hanging out with them a lot lately. I have lots in common with them and I think they are both very attractive and I would like to date them.

But I dont know if they would be open to polyam. They have been together for a very long time, like theyve practically grown up together and they are very close. The last thing i would want to do in intrude on that or try to get between them or anything like that. So ive been thinking that I won't say anything about my feelings. I wouldn't want it to ruin a friendship I just started with them. If they ever approach me about, ofc i know what I'll say. But I think the smartest thing would be to enjoy the friendship i have with them and only change our relationship to a romantic one if they are the ones who ask me.

but mann is it rough out here lmao

I gotta break your heart here a little bit, sorry 💔knowing nothing else about them, they aren't likely to want to do a poly thing. Its just facts that its a pretty rare set-up. Maybe certain things about them make you think they're more likely than most. But even if we say people with X characteristic are several times more likely to be poly/open to poly, the odds still aren't in your favor. Which um. Been there, fucking sucks to be there. Hope I never go back, please do not bring me any souvenirs. 🔮(<pretend this is a snowglobe)

Having said that. Perspective like that is pretty much always going to be an outsider's perspective. While you're in it, things look pretty good. They both like you! They're both so cool, they could be poly! And if they are, isn't being their 🦄unicorn, like, every poly couple's dream? You would be doing them a favor! And anyway, isn't it at least worth a shot with how much you like them? I get it. So assuming that's where you're at, how do make moves without professing your undying love (risky! could ruin everything!!)

In my opinion? First step is talking about your own polyamorous tendencies and seeing if they're cool with it. How you do this is going to depend on how your personality and how you normally interact with these people. Maybe you can complain about the dating scene and how what you really want is poly, but that's hard to find. Maybe you talk about previous poly relationships. Maybe you formally Come Out™️. Whatever you feel is appropriate, idk your life.

If you've already done this recently, and they were polite but nothing more than polite: the dream is probably dead.

If you've done this recently, and they acted any level of uncomfortable: the dream is definitively dead.

If you did this recently and they acted excited or interested: start flirting for real immediately.

If you did this but its been awhile: bring it up again, start some plausibly deniable flirting, and/or drop hints that you'd like to date a couple and watch reactions closely.

Good luck out there🍀, and let us know if anything actually comes of it! I really wish you the best

[asherlockstudy]

Hey, it's me again (the only other person who fully agrees with you apparently, though I did see someone else kinda- sort of agree with you too a few posts back and it gives me hope for humanity) .

I don't understand this obstination with wanting to keep the head in the sand honestly.

These people really heard Rhett talking about ''missing puzzle pieces'' in rectums during the brolonoscopy video and went ''yeah, missing puzzles pieces in rectums, that's a tooootally normal thing to say, puzzle pieces is first thing that would come to anyone's mind if they wanted to make a joke like that''

...Seriously?

You think it's a ''coincidence''? well, it sure is a very peculiar one you at least gotta admit that.

It isn't though. The reason Rhett even feels comfortable slipping in these hints is because he now understood how clueless everyone is, and he is right, nobody got it.

You talked about the puzzle piece thing in realation to a specific act a long long time ago, before this happened, and that's was a very similar conclusion I had reached about it . Are we psychics? No.

We had indipendently reached a very very similar interpretation of this whole long overarching story present in their scripted videos before we even started speaking in DMs back then, and it's not by random chance, it's just a proof something is indeed there.

R&L are one of the greatest love stories of our generation and they are telling their story in a very clever self ironic and uinique way and people have no freaking idea, it's so frustrating. They must feel very frustrated as creative people, but it's not their fault. It's the audience.

It's not just fangirls fangirling over the though of two hot guys being romantically involved. There is something there. Ignoring the signs is not being respectfult to them, because you are glossing over how smart they truly can be as creators.

Hello again! I have been feisty too in the past but I am kinda in a mood that I don’t want to directly judge people with different opinions or perspectives (then again even though I thanked disagreeing anon for being polite, I chose to overlook that they called opinions such as mine delusional lol 👀). Not sure if it’s because I became wiser or simply I feel dead inside… In any case, you know I agree with you and I totally get your frustration and bafflement. I am only landing on the conclusion that people have the tendency to preserve equilibrium in their life and avoid what would disrupt that. There is a sense of safety and trust in the thought that Rhett and Link will forever be great platonic friends with happy families. I get that. I don’t agree with blinding yourself in order to keep the equilibrium but I understand why fans choose this.

But there’s more than us and the semi-agreeing anon here. Given the interaction in my posts, I would say there are like 5-7 of us overall (which is still too few 🥲) but I am by light years the most vocal / certain and now you too.

Btw heyyy you didn’t answer me last time what your previous username was! Given the clues you have given me I can think of two people.

[anonymousaccount1015]

Phillipa Anne Soo was sitting at the table for the promotional signing of her new book Piper Chen Sings, she was proud since it told a story about a young girl uncovering her passion for singing in spite of stage fright, just as she had and just as she knew would inspire many others, particularly in the Asian American community. Phillipa Anne Soo was smiling as she met her fans, she signed their copies of her book and talked with them for a short time, thanking them for their support. She knew her actions were a positive for society, for young girls who looked like her and others, and she loved using her platform for positive things.

A younger male fan stepped up next, and Phillipa Anne Soo smiled just as she always would, her public facing persona upholding her image, always positive and friendly and uplifting.

“Hello, you must be here to get yours signed? Thank you so much for the support.” Phillipa Anne Soo said, as he handed over his copy of Piper Chen Sings, she quickly opened the front cover and wrote her signature, these had almost become automatic to her with how many signatures she gave out today.

“Of course, Phillipa Anne Soo, I love the things you stand for and wanted to support your project.” The younger male fan said, giving her a smile back, though she noticed he was a bit nervous to make eye contact when she looked back up.

“That’s sweet of you to say, you know, it’s uncommon that I get a lot of male fans that understand the importance of something like this.” Phillipa Anne Soo says, wanting to be personable, sensing this was a perfect opportunity to personally resonate with this fan, which was her favorite part of her work.

“I’m also from Illinois, so it’s especially nice seeing someone from our state succeeding.” The younger male fan said, slightly brushing over her previous point, which she immediately overlooked.

“Oh really, where from?” Phillipa Anne Soo said, pleasantly surprised, suddenly she was wide-eyed in intrigue, wanting to know if she had heard of the place before.

“I’m from south of the city, not like the south side, more rural, unfortunately not Libertyville. I’ve never been actually.” The younger male fan said, he looked off to the side a bit, somewhat unsure of himself, though realized this was his one chance for a social interaction with Phillipa Anne Soo and quickly looked back.

“That’s so cool. Thank you for coming all the way here to meet me like this.” Phillipa Anne Soo said, she had a pleasant opinion of this fan so far, given the rapport they were building.

“Of course. Actually, there was something I wanted to show you if you wouldn’t mind.” The younger male fan said, reaching into his pocket.

“Of course, I’d be more than happy to see. What is it?” Phillipa Anne Soo said, the younger male seemed polite and also passionate about a lot of the same issues, given what he said about his passion for her project and for Piper Chen Sings, not to mention flattering, so she had to admit she let her guard down a little bit.

She was expecting maybe it would be some picture she had forgotten having taken when she was doing rounds for the Hamilton stage shows, or perhaps he was pulling out his phone to show a video of a younger sister nailing her Eliza impression. She was so used to seeing those types of things and they always made her heart feel warm. What the younger male fan actually pulled out surprised and initially perplexed her.

It was a pretty golden pocket watch, shining and shimmering in the light, swaying from side to side gently of its own accord.

“It’s… very pretty… so pretty…” Phillipa Anne Soo said, her voice somewhat lower now, it just felt so soothing as it swung back and forth and she slowly followed with her eyes, it just felt so natural. She couldn’t help but study the patterns over the case, they were so ornate. But they kept moving so she had to follow them.

“Yes, it’s quite pretty.” The younger male fan said, studying her reactions, agreeing with her like this would likely help enhance the rapport.

“I’m… not sure if this is the appropriate time…” Phillipa Anne Soo said, suddenly realizing how she was being swept away into some kind of state of highly focused attention, reduced peripheral awareness, and heightened suggestibility. She put her hand up to her neck, clearing her throat elegantly, but she was still pretty enraptured.

The security guards started moving him on, he had overstayed his turn and it was obvious tell that Phillipa Anne Soo was uneasy. They were perceptive that her gesture was likely code for them to get involved.

The next fan, a young girl who looked like she was still probably in elementary school, her parents following closely behind, was up next. Phillipa Anne Soo shook her head, snapping out of the momentary trance, before smiling again.

[achilleanfemme]

Resisting DSA's Culture of Disposability to Win the World we Deserve.

It’s National Convention season in the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), the time when every caucus with 20 members and a twitter account pulls out the knives and the slander to win over the majority of delegates at the National Convention to their positions... only to have them promptly ignored. Accusations of bullying, harassment, targeted destruction of caucus literature are par-for-the-course if you want to be given the blessing of joining DSA’s National Political Committee (NPC) and have half the organization immediately hate you.

Obviously, I am being hyperbolic, but a nugget of truth resides here: DSA has an organizational culture problem. Many of our members enter into a democratically-run, working-class political organization for the first time when they join DSA, and when they do, they bring the trappings of our oppressive, exploitative, and hyper-individualistic capitalist society with them. We come to DSA with our axes-of-oppression and axes-of-privilege along with us: those of gender, race, class, disability, neurotype, sexuality, nationality, language, etc. We come to DSA with our past wounds and the harms that we ourselves have carried out, knowingly or unknowingly. Democracy is always hard because building and exercising collective power requires trusting others. The vast majority of people who come to the Left come to our side battered, belittled, and betrayed by our imperialist-white supremacist-capitalist-patriarchy and how it manifests in our day-to-day lives and interactions. Therefore, when we are wounded by someone, or someone’s, inside of our organization, we respond to that harm in the same ways that we are taught to respond to that harm in our dominant culture—in ways that dehumanize, violate, punish, belittle, shame, harm, and cage. This organizational culture of disposability cannot stand if we want our organization to persist, grow, and win.

I have been involved in my fair share of conflicts since I joined DSA in January 2017. Freshly 20 years old and full of revolutionary fervor, I was a queer kid who’d spent the better part of the previous 5 years being abused by adults in my community and my family-of-origin for being honest about who I was. I had no idea how the legacy of those very fresh inflictions of pain and isolation would manifest in my body-mind and in my relationships. Zero. I did not grow up in a home environment that encouraged emotional maturity and productive conflict. So, I did the best I could to cope and hurt a few people along the way, in my personal and organizational life. I have over-reacted and called people out on Twitter. I have gossiped about minor disagreements instead of approaching my comrade directly. I have guarded my heart from the pain of losing a difficult political fight by pointing fingers at the people organizing closest to me. I am sure that many of you have done similar things. These antisocial behaviors have never gotten me any closer to what I have ultimately wanted, which is personal healing, genuine connection, and the joy that comes from solidarity and collective action. They have lost me more than a few close relationships. They have soured promising organizing efforts. They have made me feel helpless and alone.

I have also experienced harm at the hands of people in DSA, sometimes immense harm that has lost me jobs, caused me mental anguish, and encouraged the darkest whispers in the back of my mind to grow louder. I am sure a lot of people in the organization have experienced these things too, and it sucks. I am sorry. There is no excuse. You deserved better and more. I deserved better and more, too. Ultimately, as I have moved between moments of movement activity and moments of personal rest, healing, and growth over my years in DSA, I have come to the conclusion that I am in this fight for the rest of my life. I am not, however, comfortable resigning myself to an organizational reality that our commitment to abolitionist principles of solidarity, anti-carcerality, universal dignity, and reciprocal care simply stops inside our general meetings, slack channels, signal groups, and comrade-to-comrade relationships. 

Practically this means that mandatory censure, suspensions, and organizational expulsions (including de facto expulsions), cannot be entered into without democratic oversight and under the most extreme circumstances of harm. It means that when you sign-up to join DSA that you are committing yourself to practicing transformative justice and swear to respect the rights and dignity of every person in the organization, including those you do not personally like or politically disagree with, as long as they are willing to do the same. It means committing to the work of processing your own pain and refusing to project your past onto others. It means swallowing your ego and admitting when you are wrong or you have made a mistake. It means that when you inevitably fall short of these principles, that you agree to doing the hard thing, having the tough conversations, attending the restorative circle, learning about the importance of believing that none of your comrades are disposable, and committing yourself to furthering the work of solidarity and liberation. If all of us do not do this, if we give in to the forces (state-sanctioned, societal, and personal) that seek to pit us against one another and tear our organization down (as has happened many times before on the Left in the USA and abroad) then we lose. 

Today, I invite you to lay down old grievances, dust out your mental cupboards of resentment, and recommit yourself to the work of reciprocal care, of loving your comrades more than you love being right, of embracing the blessing that is leaving that message or email in your drafts until you’ve had more time to reflect, of solidarity and liberation. We have a world to win after all. ------------------------------

Much of this essay was inspired by the work and words of the amazing folks who created or participated in the following pieces of media, please support them! 

https://truthout.org/audio/to-transform-conflict-in-movements-we-must-learn-how-to-stay-in-it-together/ 

https://www.haymarketbooks.org/books/1922-let-this-radicalize-you 

https://www.amazon.com/Break-Every-Yoke-Religion-Abolition/dp/0190949155 

https://www.haymarketbooks.org/books/1108-how-we-get-free 

https://www.amazon.com/Abolition-Feminism-Now-Abolitionist-Papers/dp/1642592587/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1686951405&sr=1-1 

[korrasera]

I think these are some great observations about the environment and influences that 20-somethings today have dealt with as they've grown up, but the conclusion is incorrect. It's not poorly thought out or anything, it's just trying to analyze the issue with limited data.

Or, in simpler terms:

Prior generations had their own versions of these same issues.

That's not what makes someone conservative. Although it's in the right ballpark.

To spare everyone, I'm going to put the rest of this under a cut.

In past generations, parents would invade the privacy of their own children. If your parents were really strict you might not be allowed to use the phone or leave the house save for rare cases and only then with a curfew.

Socialization has always been a problem because society has been transforming radically for the last couple of hundred years and community has been a very unstable idea for much of that time. The way you socialized as a kid might be radically different to how your parents did it and how your own kids do it.

While young people today get stuck being housebound because there's nowhere to go, previous generations would deal with getting grounded or punished in really weird ways. If you go back far enough, widespread corporal punishment was a thing. If you're unaware, corporal punishment is literally child abuse, only it's delivered by a school official with a paddle board.

And yeah, your parents and their parents and their parents weren't being taught any better. The public school system in the US is one example of an attempt to improve the general education level of the populace and look how well it's done so far. Schooling in the US has always faced a serious struggle. A struggle for good teachers to educate children and a struggle for children to find education from good teachers.

The observations above are great for helping describe how these problems manifest today, but the problems themselves aren't really new or different. They've always been there and they're not the things that really make people conservative. They're more symptoms of the underlying problem. That problem is called authoritarianism. Conservatism is what happens when authoritarianism is used as politics, and refers to the need to regress society to an earlier, more authoritarian state, and failing that, to keep society from changing at all. Because change is bad and makes people afraid. That might not make a lot of sense so I'll explain.

Here's the short version:

Authoritarianism is a cognitive bias in the human psyche, a direct response to fear. When you are frightened, your brain naturally prefers authoritarian responses to calm your fears. It encourages you to do a few things: Use emotional reasoning, because feels are more important than facts. Create an in-group, these are your people and you're going to police them to make sure they're pure, they're the good guys, they're just like you. Create an out-group, these are the bad guys, you need to attack them to feel better. And finally, put the strongest, most violent person in charge because that's mom/dad and they're going to protect you.

Children are naturally biased towards authoritarianism because it's a natural part of human psychological development. As part of the cycle that sees children go from being dependent to experimenting with co and counter dependency before growing into their identity and becoming fully independent people, authoritarianism serves a purpose in our biology. It helps you stay safe by encouraging you to rely on your caregivers for protection and sustenance.

As you gain emotional maturity (this is what 'growing up' really is) you're learning how to control your fear. This lets you discard authoritarianism as a coping mechanism, controlling your mind's natural bias. You gain emotional maturity by being socialized properly, by being allowed to interact with a diverse community, and by being supported as you challenge your own fears and learn how to manage them.

People who don't develop emotionally wind up becoming authoritarian adults. Instead of learning how to live without authoritarianism, they become dependent on it. They use violence and bigotry to create hierarchical power structures because they want to feel safe and attacking people who don't look like them or act like them is what they think will make them feel safe. Only they can't feel safe because they haven't learned how to manage their own fears, so it just creates a feedback cycle where they get increasingly authoritarian.

It's a simple path but also a difficult one, owing to the fact that there's no culture on Earth right now that really does a good job of meeting everyone's social and material needs. If they did, a lot fewer people would grow up to become authoritarians because a lot more people would actually, properly grow up. Sadly, authoritarian parents don't know how to teach their own children how to deal with fear, so they instead try to raise kids to be just as authoritarian as they are. And since society has been shaped in large part by authoritarians throughout history, well…as a species we're still working on getting over this particular hurdle.

But there is hope! The kids today are doing better than ever at overcoming fear, regardless!

Young people today are facing a lot of regressive attitudes in society. The economic issues and climate crisis caused by late stage capitalism are punishing. And yet kids today are less authoritarian than ever before. That tells me that more and more, children are seeing the problems and learning how to deal with them. They're learning how to control their own fears, because they have to.

When I was a kid you learned that recycling was important or that you needed to clean your plate because some kids somewhere didn't have enough food to eat. Today you can see a livestream of a city being knocked out by by chaotic weather events or a gofundme for medical bills. And instead of being terrified, children are learning how to stand up and be brave anyway.

To give you an idea of how hopeful this makes me feel, the Republican party might actually die out in the next couple of decades because of how much less authoritarian kids are today. Given that the Republicans almost brought about a new era of American fascism and look to be trying to do so again? That's awesome.

Sure, you'll be able to find younger people who haven't figured it out yet and are dedicated to being terrible people. Maybe someone told them that shipping is bad or that queer people are yucky and they're just too gullible to question it. But that's pretty normal and it's happening less and less.

Just remember, everyone starts out not knowing much and being able to do hardly anything. Some of them are just going to take a little more time in the oven is all.

here's my hot take about my generation and people younger than me (I'm 22 years old)

The reason current teenagers and people in their really early 20s are conservative on accident and have such shitty takes on the internet is because our generation was much more sheltered than previous generations and because we were raised to be ok with orwellian servailence and that is 100% the fault of our parents, Reagan Era kidnapping panics, and the rise of technology all coming together to prevent us from doing the sketchy shit that sends parents into panic mode but which is also completely fundemental to childhood development. If your parents had even a crumb of money to their name and even a shred of free time they started tracking your phone as soon as it was possible to. I did not experience this because my parents are actively trying to live like it's the 1990s and still have not gotten cell phones of their own, and did not let me have one until I was 18 years old and it was no longer their choice, but literally over half of my friends in middle and high school had their phones tracked by their parents at some point or other, and we would occasionally find this out, not because their parents told them, but when we were trying to do the aforementioned sketchy shit and their parent's car would pull up. And I would, like a reasonable person after finding this out, encourage my friends to just leave their phones at home, and their response would be "What if I get kidnapped" or "My parents are just trying to keep me safe"

This in my estimation has lead to a combination of kids being terminally online because they do have internet access and are better at deleting search history than their parents think they are, but don't have the freedom to go out and do shit without their parents' knowledge or consent, so they have the most privacy from the people who control their lives while they're on the internet, and kids not having the real world experiences they should have, not knowing how to connect with other people irl, not feeling comfortable leaving the house because of the horror story lies their parents told them to make them ok with the surveillance they were inflicting on their kids. Kids these days are growing up in the fucking panopticon when they should be out in the woods playing with knives or stealing cigarettes from their older sibling and going out to an empty parking lot to smoke them or whatever and that shit is sticking with them into adulthood. Things that were "tee hee we could get in trouble isn't this so fun and daring" in the 1990s and 2000s have become in the 2010s and 2020s things that are "If I do that without texting my parents some sort of lie to excuse where my location is my parent's car will pull up and I will get grounded for the next two weeks."

Like even when I was 19 I had a 16 year old friend who would volunteer their time at a food shelf and that's how we knew each other. We would talk about dungeons and dragons together, and the game store was 4 blocks from the food shelf. One day we left the food shelf earlier than they had told their parents they would and they got punished for that. We were literally just going to look at dungeons and dragons miniatures and dice, which was self evident if you could see where we started and how far we walked and where too. I have to assume that this isn't uncommon. It's wrong, but it's not uncommon.

[shelbystales]

Unhealed Love - Part Four

Tommy Shelby x Reader - Masterlist

Read previous parts: 1 - 2 - 3

Summary: You and Tommy have history… a long one but to cut the story short he pushed you away, shut you out of his life without giving you a chance to try another path… a path together, but you felt so angry at him that you didn’t want to try it either. Maybe it was better this way… more than ten years passed and you thought you’d had your time to heal but one day was all it took to destroy that idea of getting over Tommy Shelby.

Warning: Season 6 spoilers, swearing, angst, murder, anxiety.

A/N: comment and interact, tell me what you think! it means a looot thank you very much

English is my second language so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You played a few other shows after your last meeting with Thomas. luckily for you, you didn't see him in any of them but it didn't stop you from anxiously wondering if you would ever see him or if he would ever come again. not understanding whether it was a desire or a fear you felt, although it could easily be both.

you were rehearsing with your band after deciding to change a few things, adding a cello here and a piano solo there... little things that would make a difference and also take your mind off Thomas.

For the first time in a while, you were feeling good, feeling inspired again. you even started writing some new songs. None of them are good enough for you yet, but you were working on them in hopes of improving. trying to not be too critical and cruel to yourself, allowing yourself to take it easy as you deserved it after so much.

Oswald had invited you to dinner at his house today. a business dinner, he said. he asked you to prepare to sing a song or two with a piano solo, so you already knew it was going to be a busy dinner. probably all your opponents and allies in parliament would be there as this week was hectic in politics, much being decided about the future. you knew he had a number of measures that he wanted to get passed by parliament that you gathered from the parties you went to, maybe he wants to get them approved or something

you arrived at his house before everyone, as he requested. you had been here before, his house looked like a castle.

"Hello, miss. I'm glad you're here" he said appearing through one of the doors that led to the hall.

"Goodnight, Mr. Oswald. Happy to be here" you said with a smile.

"Let's see about that, darling. I have a request for you" he said and called you to follow him with his hands. walking through the immensity of his house, you arrived in what seemed to be his office "close the door, please" he said sitting in his chair.

"Everything is fine?" you asked worriedly, feeling like you'd been called to the boss's office after you did something wrong.

"Yes. It's all good. I just need your help with something. Whiskey?" he asked serving himself. you shook your head and you sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Where is Miss Diana?" you asked now realizing her absence

"Getting ready" he replied and took a deep breath "now, politics y/n. Sometimes we need to do something we're not proud of," he said and you frowned "tonight I'll have to do something I'm not proud of, but it's necessary for the good of our nation. And I need your help"

"As long as you're not asking me to kill someone," you said jokingly, but the seriousness in his eyes made you shudder "Mr. Oswald... I hope you're joking"

"No jokes darling. It's a necessity. This man for the last few months has been delaying all my requests for parliament. He is against progress, he wants to destroy us" he said and you could hear the hate in Mosley's voice

"No. I'm sorry" you said getting up

"Sit down. I'm not asking," he snapped. You sat, feeling the urge to vomit in your throat. "you're not going to kill him. you're just going to put it in his drink" he said handing you a bag with a white powder of some kind "and this will kill him"

"What if I don't?" you asked

"I would assume you don't agree with me Miss. y/n," he said getting up and walking towards you "Don't you? tell me, have I done something you didn't like since you arrived? since you started working with us" he leaned in your chair and bent over until his face was within a meter of yours, you could smell his aftershave making you gasp for air "we are people who love our country so much we would kill for it. we would kill everyone who stopped it from growing and thriving. got it?" you swallowed and nodded "good" he took your hand and placed the bag in it "I'll introduce you two when the time is right. Do what you have to do but don't let him die alone, it has to be in public. the poison takes around 10 minutes to kick in" he started to walk towards the door but he stopped and looked at you "ah and don't get caught. there's nothing I can do for you if you get caught" he left the room

you could feel your heart pounding against your chest. Looking at the bag in your hand you took a deep breath and tucked it into your bra.

you looked straight ahead at the bottle of whiskey you poured yourself a glass and drank it, wondering what you had gotten yourself into.

The guests arrived a little later. you tried to be nice and keep small talk with them, but you felt weak. You saw Tommy walking with Lizzie at times, but you always walked in the opposite direction. keeping as far away as possible, but all you wanted to do was to run to him and ask for help. 

Dinner was served, and you sang two lovely songs before handing the piano over to a random pianist hired to provide background music.

"Well that was beautiful," a man said approaching Mosley and Diana

"she continues to impress us," Diana said with a smile and hugged you "hi, dear"

"Hey, and thank you. very much" you said politely

"Y/n, this is Mr. Smith, this is the man I told you about earlier," he said and at that moment your heart sped up

"Oh, Mosley. I hope they were good things. I know we don't quite agree in some matters, but belittling myself to a woman like Miss. y/n wouldn't be fair," he said in a playful tone. he looked like a good man

"you don't have to worry about that. Mr. Mosley told me wonderful things about you Mr. Smith," you said smiling and he smiled back.

Mosley and Diana left with the excuse of needing to speak to the press. leaving you and the man alone. 

You knew what needed to be done and it was tormenting you. You held a conversation with him, he flirted with you, and you flirted back, allowing him to become even more interested in you. 

He seemed like a good man and he spoke with such pride and respect for his track record in parliament. He had done some incredible things for people in London, helped them, fought for women... you felt more guilty by the hour and you were sure if he went on telling you this you wouldn't be able to do what Mosley asked you to do.

"Oh, look at that your glass is empty," you said interrupting him "please let me take care of it" you leaned over to take his glass and he nodded "I'll be right back, don't leave here. I want to hear more about it," you said with a smile and left.

in the kitchen, hidden from everyone, you took the powder and poured it into the glass, along with the whiskey. Coming back to the living room the man was talking to the one you fought to avoid all night.

"Here Mr. Smith," you said handing him the glass "hello Mister Shelby, Hi Lizzie" you greeted them

"Thank you, I thought you ran away," he said jokingly

"I would never" you replied smiling and watching as he took a sip from his glass, nervous, afraid he might feel something wrong, a wrong taste, but nothing. he continued drinking normally.

 "The music, y/n. was beautiful," Lizzie said "I remember when you played in the garrison with that old piano and missing its keys," she said smiling making you smile

"and I don't miss it," you said

"I have to admit it sounds better on a new piano," she said, "well I was just leaving. I hate these events. good luck" she hugged you "have a good night everyone" without a direct goodbye to Thomas she left.

"Trouble in paradise, Mister Shelby?" Smith asked jokingly

"It's nothing," he said and the two of them started talking about politics.

Ever since Oswald told you what you needed to do for him tonight you've felt your stomach churn. the amount of alcohol you were ingesting just added to that feeling.

"Are you ok miss? got quiet all of a sudden" Smith said and you nodded

"I'm fine, just a bit tired," you said smiling

"yeah they've been putting you to work, almost every day now. I bet it can be exhaustive," he said referring to Mosley and his fiancée

"I don't care. It's good to be back, new beginnings" you said

"yeah, new beginnings are always good. for new beginnings," he said raising his glass and inviting you both for a toast.

"to new beginnings" you and Thomas spoke simultaneously and toasted.

you didn't expect the man to drink all the content in his glass after the toast and when he did you wanted to stick your hand down his throat making him vomit. 

Your heart raced, the hall suddenly seemed small and your lungs couldn't seem to fill with air. already familiar with your symptoms of a panic attack you spoke with some difficulty

"if you'll excuse me I need to go to the bathroom," you said and left before receiving an answer.

in the bathroom, you threw up everything in your stomach and sat on the floor hugging your legs hoping this would all pass soon. for this all to end.

you could hear the commotion outside, some women screamed and you assumed it was done.

You got up from the bathroom floor and wet your neck to calm down. In the mirror you saw how shaken you looked, you needed to get out of that house.

Opening the door you saw the confusion that was happening as people tried to help the fallen man. Mosley was one of them. It all seemed to go by in slow motion. Thomas was doing a heart massage on the man, trying to revive him. for a tiny second he looked at you and frowned as if he had read your mind.

Ignoring everything, you kept walking and asked the chauffeur to bring your car.

later that day you were in the living room reading. you couldn't sleep. just as you took a sip of your tea, you heard a knock on your door.

Standing up you opened it and saw Tommy Shelby himself.

"Oswald told you?" you asked and he shook his head

"I saw it in your eyes," he said

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the front door and let him in. Several years ago you killed a man for Tommy, but it wasn't like that, it was a millisecond decision that would decide he would either live or die. after that, he felt guilty for putting you in that position and never allowed you to enter a business meeting again. Killing a man broke you a little, you barely slept for weeks but he was there with you.

"Do you want tea?" you asked sitting in your seat again and he shook his head.

"Why? Why did you do that?" he asked

"He said I would be in the way of making our country great and he would kill anyone who did that. I didn't feel like I had any other options available" you said

"Stop… stop working for him," he said crouching down in front of her.

"Do you honestly think I could do that now?" you asked "now that he showed me his true colors? I would you be the next smith. anyways, thanks for the concern or whatever it is that brings you here, but you can go home. go stay with your wife. she deserves better than to sleep alone"

"I know she does," he said "she knows, about you and me. She is leaving," he said "used you as an excuse to leave but I know she has been wanting to leave for years"

"Ok, then you can go home to an empty house," you said "I too deserve better"

he sighed "yeah" and got up "but I'm not leaving" he sat down in the armchair on your diagonal and lit a cigarette

"why?" you asked

"it's not easy to kill a man, Y/n. I remember what did to you" he replied, "why don't you tell me now, what scared you off the stage?"

you frowned confused "why don't you tell me why you left me?"

"no, you were the one who left" he fell out

"Because you broke my fucking heart!" you said annoyed "why?"

he looked around, took a deep breath, and thought about how to respond.

"you said it yourself. you deserve better" he replied

"fuck you, that's not what I want. I want the truth"

"you want the truth, eh?" he asked leaning forward and resting his two elbows on his legs "I was scared" he admitted, making you laugh "it's not a joke"

"yeah? so you really want me to believe you were scared? Of fucking what?" you asked sarcastically

"Losing you for good" he replied

"so you broke my heart after we moved in together? smart, that would make me stay for sure" you scoffed

"blame me all you want but I would rather not have you than be the reason you got killed," he said

"What aren't you telling me?" you asked and he looked around for a while, reluctant to tell you.

"I just... we got lucky. I never told you, but there was a bomb that didn't go off."

"Where?"

"our house. Do you remember how it was back then when we started expanding into London? It was very dangerous, we fought a lot and Sabini made a bomb. you would pay the price for my interference. He told me while I was in his office, here in London. I had to drive all the way home like a mad man, all the way thinking you were dead and it was my fault. So I thought no, I couldn't do it. Later I found the bomb, it was wired wrong so it didn't explode"

"so you just cut me off instead of improving our security?"

"I couldn't allow that to happen to you"

"You did a lot worse, you took my voice in the matter! Tommy, I was a wreck after that!"

"I don't regret it, ey. Look at Grace" he said "it could have been you"

"Oh, don't you dare use her as an example. You know I despise her" you said angrily "besides you chose to give her a chance and not me. It was nice to read about your marriage in the newspaper"

"I never meant to hurt you," he said rubbing his tired eyes

"You never mean anything, do you?" you asked impatiently

"Grace calmed and soothed me after you left. I needed someone you weren't the only one in pain you know," he admitted.

"Yes, thanks to whom?"

"I get it okay? I made a bad decision, but I stand by it, y/n. I didn't care if I died or lived, but if anything happened to you and it was me fault? I lost Grace and it broke me." But fuck if it was you taking that bullet... I'd put one in my head. Same day" you took a deep breath "I just assumed you had moved on, you were happy. I told myself you would be happiest with whomever you choose to be with"

"By the way, it's not true. The next man I had a relationship with was capable of being worse than you" you admitted

"How so?"

"Well, for starters I don't think he loved me...or cared about me at all... he, he was a piece of shit," you said, not really knowing how to form your sentences and explain to him what happened "He was the breaking point to make me hate the stage I guess. it's too complicated I don't know how to tell you" you shrugged

"I'm sorry," he said and you nodded

"It's not really your fault, but thanks"

"I'm sorry for everything I've done. I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. And for years I thought about what it might have been like if I hadn't done what I did. But these questions just resolved themselves. After Grace "

"Yeah, look at us now making up when you have something growing inside your head," you said and he looked at you tenderly

"better than not doing it, eh"

"is it?" you asked and unexpectedly tears started to build up in your eyes and roll down your face "I'm sorry I just..." you spoke cleaning the tears. he stood up and sat next to you, pulling you into his arms as he caressed your hair and back "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm sorry"

"Don't be, it's ok, ey" he said comforting you.

You were sad about what had happened today and now about what was going to happen to the man in front of you whom you've loved since being a kid.

You felt angry too, his reason to you seemed ridiculous, but you do remember how things were back then. he almost died too many times. He was young and inexperienced, he did not know what he knows now. he didn't want to gamble your life as he did his own.

You finally calmed down and fell asleep in his arms.

the next day you woke up lying in bed covered. Sitting you looked around your room, the blanket next to you was messy, as if a person was getting up and on the pillow, there was a note.

Wanted to wait until you woke up but I had to leave early. eet me today at noon at this address? 

Love, Thomas. 

You didn't recognize de address. looking at your clock it was almost 11am. 

You wondered what that meant. Were you guys ok now? did you want to be ok? was it worth it? it would be just too hard to lose him now, and you knew you would. Last night he held you, took care of you. You couldn't remember the last time someone did that, just hold you. 

fuck it, you thought, I deserve some fucking happiness even if it's just for a year. 

Standing up you started to get ready

when you arrived you were surprised by what you saw. it was a park... a park.

you were confused but after walking a bit you saw him sitting on a bench in front of the children's playground.

"hi", you said approaching him

"hey" he got up to kiss you on the cheek

"What are we doing here?" you asked looking around

"You do not like it?" he asked

"no, it's just. I didn't expect it" you admitted and he smiled

"I'll take you to a restaurant over there," he said "I just wanted to see the kids play" he started walking and you followed him

"how are you holding up after your kid? What was her name?" you asked

"Ruby. Some days are worse than others. But I can do nothing about it, they just disappear one day and that's it" he said. you saw he was hiding feelings from you he was clearly suffering.

"Must be hard, it was your only child, right?" you asked and he nodded

"I wonder, you have always wanted a big family. what happened to that?" he asked and you took a deep breath looking away

"Long story" you replied

"Well me time is ticking" he joked

"ha ha" you rolled your eyes as you entered the restaurant.

You had read about this place in the newspapers, it was supposed to be the new best place in town.

he said his name to the waitress and you both were shown to your table. He pushed your chair for you to sit like a gentleman.

"thank you" you smiled at him as you sat

"Now go on, tell me" he encouraged you as he sat and the waitress gave you both the menu

"My ex. he wanted a family and I did too. of course. but I couldn't do it I miscarried all the pregnancies I had, and believe me it was a lot... I went to all sorts of doctors and none knew what was wrong with me. He just became a nightmare when he noticed that I couldn't do it. he would put much pressure on me and I just had to deal with it all. I had to perform in such awful pain... that time in my life is just a blur because I was always high on painkillers so..." you shrugged "... I guess I can't have kids"

"I'm sorry," he said, holding your hand across the table. you smiled and nodded.

After you ordered you took some courage and asked "what do you want from me?"

"That's a tough question," he said as he blew the smoke of his cigarette out of his lungs "I don't know. I guess I just want to spend time with you. I understand if you don't..."

"I do and I don't," you said and he smiled

"Just today then. we spend the day together and if want I'll stay away. if fact I have to go to America this week. I have business there" he said "so we see each other until I go and you take the time I'm there to think, ey. what do you say?"

"Okay" you nodded and smiled "by spending the day together, should I assume we are going somewhere after this?"

"You should" he smirked

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[fernpost]

Cycle 0 - Interviews

[read on ao3]

[next]

Taako Taaco. 114. Elf. Wizard; Specialization in transmutation and inventive magical applications.

Previous experience: Top of class at Tredore, Academy of Magics and Technology; recently graduated.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of petty theft.

Davenport likes to think of himself as calm and composed. It’s hard to throw him off. He has to be in order to have gotten this far in his mission as fast as he has.

But when he turns around from shutting the door to see his interviewee with his feet kicked up on the table, twirling a wand through his fingers, he’s a little shocked. He’s been doing these interviews for two days now, and even the more relaxed and confident people have held a bit more sense for decorum.

It’s a bit rude.

It’s also a little interesting.

He sits at his desk, pulling the elf’s papers away from his boots (shiny, and though they look expensive he can see they’re worn down and well taken care of) and glances down. ���Tell me, Taako Taaco, what makes you want to explore the planerverse?”

“Bored.”

If the feet on the desk threw him off for a second, that floors him entirely. “Bored?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do on this plane, why not, you know?”

“No burning desire to go further than any being has gone before?” That’s one of the normal responses, the well-planned out speeches he keeps getting in response to his opening question.

The elf crosses his feet, leaning back somehow further into the provided chair. Davenport worries for a second that he may fall as he continues on, “that’s cool too, I guess. But I figure, why wouldn’t you want the great Taaco name aboard your ship.”

Davenport picks up a pen from his table and makes a small note on the paperwork, “no offense, Mr. Taaco, but you’re rather cavalier about this interview that determines whether or not you’re accepted into a program that may redefine our understanding of the world.”

The elf shrugs and takes his feet off of Davenport’s desk, flashing him a smirk, “you’ve seen my sister’s paperwork, yeah? No way you’re not going to accept her, and we’re a package deal. Says it right there in bold at the top of my application, my man.” It does, in fact, say that at the top. Cursive words noting how he refuses to accept any position on the ship if his sister isn't there too. When reviewing who he was interviewing today, he saw similar words on Lup Taaco’s paperwork.

“You’re very confident in your sister’s abilities.” Davenport begins, pausing for a second as he notes the way the elf begins to tense up before continuing, “however, I wouldn’t sell yourself so short. You also graduated top of your class, and excelled in the art of transmutation multiple times. One of your letters of recommendation even noted how you made many spells easier to cast, somatically speaking.”

“What can I say, I’ll find any short cut I can.”

Davenport makes another note on his paper. “Now, I do need to ask about your record of petty theft.”

“Oh, natch.”

Lup Taaco. 114. Elf. Wizard; Specialization in evocation and applied magic regarding planar research.

Previous experience: Top of class at Tredore, Academy of Magics and Technology; recently graduated.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of petty theft.

“Lup Taaco, it is nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain.” The woman in front of him smiles. The resemblance to her brother couldn’t be more clear, and though her demeanor is quite similar, she at least doesn’t have her feet on his desk.

Not that his desk is anything fancy, but the point stands. “I’m not technically the captain yet, you know.”

“Potato, potato.”

Davenport is fairly certain that’s not how that phrase is used. “You did research into the planes at Tredore, correct?”

“Quite a bit, yeah. I’m sure my brother told you?”

The slight tilt of her head and lit of her voice tells Davenport this is some sort of test, which is confusing and a bit disconcerting, considering he is the one conducting the interview. He checks a quick box on his papers. “He talked you up a bit, yes. But this is your own interview, and I wanted to discuss your own knowledge with you, personally.”

She smiles, a touch more warmth to it than her previous attitude. “Oh, of course. Did quite a bit of studying at Tredore. First real school we attended. Kinda boring at times, you know?”

“If you’re accepted into this program, it’s going to be four intense months of studying and teaching you the more complex workings of the ship. Plus the two months of actually being on the ship.”

“That’s the fun stuff. Not a third semester in a row of another language I already figured out most of years ago.”

“How many languages do you speak, Ms. Taaco?”

“Including common, five languages.”

“Impressive.” Davenport himself only speaks three. “Now, I would like to ask you about your criminal record, if you don’t mind?”

Her smile grew sharp as she laughs.

Honestly, he isn’t surprised. Her explanation is the same as her brothers. Grew up on the road, needed food and other items on occasion. Didn’t always run fast enough. Davenport can’t fault them, and certainly won’t hold it against them.

He glances down at her paperwork, about to ask another question about her education, when she speaks up. “I’ve got a question for you, Captain.”

“Oh?”

“The ship- we’re really going with the name ‘The Starblaster’?”

Davenport sighs. He knew this question was coming, but he was expecting it to come during a press conference from a reporter, not a potential shipmate. “Yes. To be fair, it was a communal name we put to a vote from everyone who worked on building the engine.”

Ms. Taaco smiles. “Dope.”

Barry J. Bluejeans. 37 years old. Human. Wizard; specialization in applied magic regarding bonds and planar research.

Previous experience: Current assistant professor at Duffman University of the Arcane, part-time employee at the Institute of Planer Research and Exploration.

Criminal Record: Previous altercations regarding necromancy; no crimes against the nature of life and death ever committed.

Mr. Bluejeans is an interesting man. By the look of him, you’d expect to see him fumbling his way through a PTA meeting for his two kids. Instead, Davenport is staring down the word ‘necromancy’ on his paperwork on an application regarding literal planar travel on a ship called 'the Starblaster.'

So far, the interview has been going well. He’d listened to the man explain his research into the arcane, and he’d understood planar travel as well as any of the current scientists and engineers at the Institute. He was called in often for conferences and meetings about the bond engine. He’d seen the man walking around on occasion. They’d never been in a meeting together before, but he’d seemed nice.

But he also had a history of necromancy.

Now, Davenport doesn’t like to judge people. However, being in an enclosed space with someone who needed to specify he had never technically committed “crimes against the nature of humanity” isn’t the most comforting.

But, he was a smart man. Easy to get along with, too. So far. Necromancy notwithstanding.

Best to get it over with, “so, Mr. Bluejeans. I do need to ask about your criminal record-”

“Oh! Yeah, I never killed anyone. Or un- killed anyone. Uh, resurrected, I mean. Just did lots of studying into the application of necromancy and necromantic spells. Got in trouble because I toed the line of ‘research’ and ‘bringing my cat back to life,’ but got a stern talking to. Didn’t try it again, and don’t plan on needing to deal with those types of authorities again.”

Okay, normal enough answer, far as the situation applies-

“My current research into it has stayed purely theoretical, and it won’t interfere with the mission at all.”

So the man is still into necromancy.

Davenport glances down at the man’s file, thick with it’s attached papers Bluejeans has done on planar research. He’s not even stuck up about his level of education, and that’s extremely rare for the field.

Holding back a sigh, Davenport asks, “Can you explain the paper you wrote on the outer planes interactions with the inner planes for me?”

It was a really good paper.

But the man is still into necromancy.

Lucretia. 20. Human. Chronicler; Specialization in journalism.

Previous experience: Due to multiple NDA, she is unable to give us the exact number and titles of books she has written, but she sent letters of recommendation from Duke Rensburg, Lady Norabelle, and Warren of the Seatree Clan.

Criminal Record: Acquisition and attempted use of a false ID.

“So, Ms. Lucretia, I understand you cannot provide us with most examples of your works, but from what you have provided, you seem to be very, very good.”

“I like to think so, yes.” The young woman in front of him seems polite. She’s quiet; he saw her waiting outside with a few others before her interview, and while most of them were engaged in some awkward small talk, she sat away from them. Likely partially due to her age- she is much younger than the people outside- but she also simply seems quiet.

Which wouldn’t be the worst quality in someone you would be sharing a small, enclosed space with for an extended period of time. But, if she couldn’t bond with the others sufficiently, the bond engine won’t work.

(Hell, the bond engine was already finicky, they figured out the tech only a month ago, and they only have four months to bond an entire crew to pilot it and-)

“Can you explain to me why you acquired a fake ID and tried to use it at a, uh,” Davenport glances down at the records in front of him, holding back a chuckle, “at the forbidden section of the Library of Runar?”

Lucretia looks uncomfortable for a second, and he’s sure if the lighting in the room were better he would be able to see her flush with embarrassment. She gives him a hesitant smile, “I can’t get into the explicit details, but I was working on a book for an older client whose memory was becoming patchy, and I wanted to confirm some details before I put their name to it. They wouldn’t allow me into the section without the proper documents, but my client refused to agree that I should double check his work, even though I was almost certain he was wrong, so I simply… found a way to get past their guard. I wasn’t going to steal anything and I was going to use the proper equipment to read through the documents.”

Davenport smiles, “pursuit of knowledge and truth is important to you, then?”

“I don’t think spreading lies, especially in that context, is very honorable, no.” Her hands are folded in her lap now, and she seems a bit more relaxed.

Considering the others he is planning on accepting, he may be wrong about her getting along with them. Anyone willing to break the law just to prove an old man wrong would at least get along with him. Davenport refuses to have any pushovers aboard his ship.

Magnus Burnsides. 19. Fighter; Specialization in protection fighting and mechanical engineering.

Previous experience: Current bouncer at Apex Club. Currently enrolled in Gallier’s Fighter Academy and College.

Criminal Record: One count of assault and battery, appealed for defense of another person present. One count of indecent exposure and public intoxication.

Davenport will be the first to admit it can be tricky to follow human aging patterns, but he knows he’s not mistaken in thinking the man in front of him is barely out of “child” territory. Nineteen is a very, very small amount of time to be alive. Also, a very, very small amount of time to learn important things, like how to run what is basically a ship right out of a science fiction novel- complete with breakthrough technology.

Despite this, it’s hard to not find the young man in front of him to be endearing, and mostly knowledgeable in the things they need him to be.

“Magnus. You’re very young, one of the youngest applicants we have. What makes you think you’re qualified as the head of security of the ship?”

The young man in front of him- Gods, he really is young- grins and lifts his arms to flex, a show of pride and ego almost unbefitting of an interview setting, “Have you seen my muscles? I’m very strong, and a very good fighter.”

Many of today’s interviews have been quite different than he was expecting.

“I was referring more to job experience.”

“Oh!” Magnus shifts in his seat, fingers drumming against the table as he thinks. “I worked as a bouncer for a club while I was in college and did, if I must toot my own horn, a very good job. You should have a letter of recommendation from the owner-” He leans forwards, reaching a hand out as if to look through his own files to show him the letter.

“Yes, I did read through it. She was very thorough in stating how eager you were to help.” Davenport glances down at the papers in front of him, holding back a sigh. It truly was a glowing review of this young man. While his grades from the aforementioned college weren’t the highest, especially in classes one might consider important for an institute of planar research, the two letter of recommendations he submitted from teachers of his explained how Burnsides was very persistent when he wanted to learn something he didn’t know. He also had taken quite a few classes regarding vehicles- not enough to claim the young man was an expert but enough to provide a solid basis to show him how things worked and could be repaired on the ship.

The kid’s attitude was something of a breath of fresh air in this place. However, there was one glaring concern.

“I was also a bit concerned about the criminal record we have on file for you. Assault and battery as well as the indecent exposure and public-”

“In my defense for the second one, I was drunk with some friends and maybe thought it’d be funny to streak in the lake. Who hasn’t been to a party that gets a little out of hand.” He holds his hands out as if to say “am I right?”

Off the record, Davenport is inclined to agree that he was right. On the record, he is choosing to ignore it. “And the assault and battery? The file says it was in defense of a young person.”

Burnsides grins, “that’s how I got hired as the bouncer!”

He waits a moment, expecting Magnus to continue. When it seems the young man is assuming that is enough explanation, he prompts, “by beating up a man outside the club?”

“Yeah! He was harassing someone outside, and I was walking home and passed by. I told him to step off, and he didn’t. So I decked him, and he was out right away.”

It lined up with the records he had, and honestly, seeing someone so ready to step up to the defense of a stranger was a good quality. Better than some of the older applicants who were much more… formal in their training. He wonders briefly how Burnsides would react to an altercation against someone with magic.

Glancing down at his records, he guesses he would run headfirst without thinking.

Stifling a small grin, Davenport continues, “Now, tell me. Assume we’re up in space, and something goes wrong with the bond engine. What would your course of action be, Mr. Burnsides?”

Merle Hitower Highchurch. 214. Cleric; Specialization in botany, religion, and medical treatment.

Previous experience: Current botanist at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration. Professor of botany at Narvick’s University for four years.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of loitering.

The door is pushed all the way open before Davenport can even call out the next person.

A short dwarf slides into the room with a wide grin, “hey Dav!” A mug of tea is pressed into his hands.

“Hello, Merle. You do know this needs to be at least a little formal, yes?”

“Formal schmormal. Ask me your silly questions already, bud.” Merle Highchurch, resident botanist at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration, plops right down in the seat he’d taken to commandeering once a week, for the past three weeks.

Davenport had seen him around before, but a botanist in an institute designed for exploring other planes that had little capabilities to actually go to those places yet was rarely busy, and even more rarely called upon. He still barely knew the guy, but after the day they’d gotten stuck in the elevator for ten minutes when it broke down, the dwarf had come to his office for tea each Wednesday.

It was a bit strange, but the tea was good.

“Tell me about your work experience.”

Merle laughs heartily, “they barely have me do anything around here, ‘cept tend to the couple of plants they’ve grabbed from the ground plane.”

“It’s the Elemental Plane of Earth, and don’t sell yourself short, Merle. This is basically a job interview, you know.”

Merle slurps loudly at his own mug, “aren’t you planning on nepotism hiring me, because we’re buds?”

“That isn’t even what that word means, Merle.”

“Isn’t it?”

Davenport stares into the tea, “is this made from the Earth plant?”

“Maybe?”

Davenport. 276. Captain and navigator; Specialization in mechanical engineering and arcane components combined with contemporary technology.

Previous Experience: Crewmate on the Lady Blue for twenty years. Graduated from Grensville University. Current staff at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration.

Criminal Record: Unlawful resistance of orders from captain, raising of commotion on board ship while employed.

Davenport handed the six files over to Selune, “These are them.”

The halfling woman flips through them, eyebrows raising higher with each one she sees. “You’re sure you grabbed the right ones? A few of these I understand, but you do know we had the Issaiah Broler apply.”

He folds his hand in front of him, nodding. “I also know that during the interview he made me want to pour my tea on his lap. There’s no chance of getting the bond engine going with him. These are the six I picked. They’re all qualified- and the ones that are less educated in the specifics in the field I’m sure will pick up on the important information quickly. The Taaco twins already will give the bond engine a huge boost. Ms. Lucretia will ensure we have everything chronicled, something I’m sure you can appreciate, Selune. Mr. Bluejeans previous work shows he will thrive given the opportunities awaiting us. Mr. Highchurch is an educated man, and I trust him to keep the crew healthy and provide ample information on anything botany related we encounter, and I’m certain Mr. Burnsides will provide ample help in any task we show him how to do.” He sighs, glancing out the window of her office. There were a few people lingering outside in the courtyard of the Institute. “We have been given a tremendous opportunity to explore beyond what we can imagine, Selune. The last thing I want is to be bogged down by people stuck in their ways, who have been working in this field long enough to have their preconceived notions about what to expect and who will react badly when they’re proven wrong. I trust my own judgement in picking a crew, and I hope you trust my abilities to get these people ready to set sail in four months.”

What he doesn’t say is that he doesn’t want a bunch of stuffy jackasses on his ship. He’s not even sure picking all the over-qualified people would pass through the higher-ups' inspection of the crew. The people he picked were qualified enough to get a quick sign-off, but not too much. Anyone “overqualified” would probably get rejected. The ship had been built in basically six months. It’d get them off the ground, sure. It wasn’t going to explode on them once they got up there, but it wasn’t safe. There was a reason Davenport was the captain at all.

The six candidates in those files didn’t have a name for themselves as “important” to any stuffy scientific group or noble family. These people he picked were just that- people. A group of people who he believed deserved this opportunity. If anyone was getting the chance to make a name for themselves- to have the chance to redefine everything they know about the planar systems, he wanted to make sure they deserved the chance. A dangerous chance, sure. But what was science if not a little risky.

She sighs, opening the file on top. Her hand reaches for her pen, “Davenport, I got the final say on the name of the ship, I suppose the least I can do is give you final say on the crew.” She begins to write ‘approved’ at the top of the file, flipping through each one before giving him a pointed look. “But when I get angry calls about how you approved a bunch of nobodies and two people not even old enough to drink, I’m transferring them straight to your crystal.”

“And I will not be answering a single one.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Captain.”

[intrepid-fictioneer-7]

Aaaaand I did forget to reblog it lol, even though we have more information now on Kayneth's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Slight spoilers for Fate/strange Fake:

"The biggest material damage to our property... was something not even the other Lords could easily obtain. It's for good reason that that item used to be El-Melloi's Supreme Mystic Code until the previous El-Melloi perfected Trimmau. [...] Yes... The previous Lord losing it in the battle of Fuyuki was the biggest of the 5 fatal losses we suffered." [...] "One of them can produce enough magical energy to maintain a whole building isolated from the world for weeks… and if you put the three of them to interact with each other, the natural recovery rate of their energy skyrockets. Centuries ago, the El-Mellois processed the highest-class Phantasmals taken out of the mines and completed the perfect magical energy reactor. It’s got nothing super outstandingly unique about it, but its sheer output can overwhelm anyone. It’s the ultimate symbol of ‘simple is best’, making it the perfect tool for the El-Melloi family, lauded for its versatility. Well, the El-Melloi’s current Supreme Mystic Code takes the opposite extreme, having a little too much personality." The girl spoke with joyful whimsy despite the lost items belonging to her. The mercury maid standing next to her was the aforementioned current Supreme Mystic Code of the El-Mellois—That is, a Mystic Code that symbolizes their status as one of the 12 Lord families of the Clock Tower. "Our esteemed predecessor said that an article that only makes magical energy lacks artistry, and created this here Trimmau, the Volumen Hydrargyrum, to be the new Supreme Mystic Code." Which means the item she described could match the ridiculousness of a hyper-advanced humanoid mass of living mercury with a mind of its own. "Well, if the previous Lord knew that my brother installed an ego in it to make it easier for me to use her, he would call it a downgrade." After this comment, Reines’s mouth twisted into a grin and she returned to the topic of the the previous Supreme Mystic Code. "You, of course, know about the Spiritual Tomb of Albion, no? The last dragon dug its way to the phantasmal land until it exhausted itself and its body remained as a giant labyrinth. In the golden age of the El-Melloi, people mined the underground maze the dragon created and, through their most clever political games, the El-Mellois obtained the several phantasmal materials used to make these reactors… We know that our previous Lord had lost himself to a woman’s charm, so honestly, the very notion of taking them out of the country for an East Asian ritual should have been a telling sign that he was completely out of his mind." [...] "Worst of all… when said otherworldly workshop…that is, when that Fuyuki hotel collapsed to the ground, someone stole the items. Our prime suspect died on us, and since then we’ve been completely out of information on the thief." That is where Reines stopped her exposition to ask the listener a question. "Since you have investigated Fuyuki’s Holy Grail War before, you might have heard about this case. The brutal murder of a mage couple in Kurokizaka’s Semina Apartments." Reines sipped her tea with a sadistic smile. "It's not as big a deal as the Holy Grail... but there are mages who would start a war for it.", she spoke as if she was dearly waiting for mages to start a stupid conflict over the items that are still around somewhere in the world. "For that set of three magical energy reactors."

Kayneth creating a whole new familial Mystic Code because he found the previous one ugly as sin is extremely funny.

And Kiritsugu doesn’t even care…

[kurowrites]

entigral or just super fluff gym meet cute - uh butcher nmj? Librarian lxc? Children’s librarian lxc?

BEHOLD, I WROTE A NIELAN.

---

The new guy had been coming in regularly for around two weeks now, and seemed determined to become another permanent feature at this gym. Which was… good.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t proud to admit it, but he too had been very sceptical in the beginning, assuming that this new guy would come two or three times, realise that this just wasn’t the thing for him, and then stop coming for good. But then, he hadn’t looked at him with disdain like some other members of the gym (never that), and so had actually been relieved to see himself proven wrong. It had been two weeks, and the new guy still came in every other day, ready for another workout, with a friendly smile to spare for everyone that crossed paths with him. 

Today too, the new guy was here again against all previous expectation, and Nie Mingjue redoubled his efforts lifting weights as he carefully resisted the temptation to turn his head after the new guy had walked past him with a polite nod of his head. 

It was rude to stare, even at a gym like this, where the biggest dudes occasionally engaged in friendly competitions to determine who truly was the biggest and strongest of them. 

(Nie Mingjue wasn’t always the biggest, but he definitely was the strongest. It wasn’t bragging if it was the truth.)

The new guy wasn’t like that at all. Though his workout gear revealed toned shoulders and strong arms, he lacked the bulk that made guys like Nie Mingjue look so imposing. This new guy was built along slimmer lines. Still fit, but clearly not aiming for a bodybuilder look.

Some of the other guys had taken this to mean that he wasn’t very strong, and had scoffed behind his back. But they had quickly been taught better when Mr. Newbie had started lifting weights. 

The man could certainly lift. Like, really lift. 

Even Nie Mingjue had been impressed.

Nie Mingjue didn’t really dare to approach the man, though he couldn’t help but be curious about him. He was friendly, with mild, polite mannerisms that seemed to be so at odds with the way he trained; an intensity and focus that spoke of determination and a clear goal that he must have in mind. 

Whenever the man passed him by, he would nod at Nie Mingjue, and Nie Mingjue would nod back in acknowledgement. That had been the total of their interactions at the gym so far. He didn’t even know the man’s name. 

But even though Nie Mingjue didn’t know the man or his name, he couldn’t help but keep looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. Nie Mingjue kept watching him, fascinated by the seemingly effortless elegance that he brought to exercises that looked very different when the bros at the gym did them. Nie Mingjue tried not to notice how nice the man’s hair looked in a braided ponytail, or how nicely his shirt stretched over his chest while he lifted weights. He wasn’t supposed to be watching at all, after all. 

It was ridiculous, really. He was here to work on his own fitness, not ogle other men while they were training. 

With a disappointed huff, he chastised himself for letting himself be distracted like this in the middle of a training session, and returned to his exercises with even more effort. 

---

After finishing an intense training session that left no more room for idle thoughts of pretty men, Nie Mingjue headed back towards the changing room, his mind now occupied with the thought of showering. He quickly slipped out of his training gear and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pour over him with a sense of relief and completion. 

He had just started to wash his hair when another person entered the shower. Looking towards the entrance, Nie Mingjue hastily averted his eyes, because the man entering the shower was no one other than the newbie, entering the communal shower completely naked (of course, it was a shower). He didn’t allow his eyes to linger, but one moment had been enough to ascertain that the man’s excellent physique extended to all parts of him. 

Now feeling distinctly less relaxed, Nie Mingjue hurried up with his shower and left hurriedly to get dressed. He was usually fine with being naked, and had no issue being around other naked guys, but being in the shower with a man like that… nothing to make you more self-conscious than a really attractive man. He was usually confident about his own appearance. Not right now, though. 

But Nie Mingjue didn’t have much more time than slip into his underwear and shorts. Just when he had sat down to slip into his socks, the new guy also returned to the changing room, now (thankfully) a towel slung around his hips. 

And Nie Mingjue, unable to check his impulse, looked up. And inadvertently locked eyes with the new guy, who was already smiling at him. 

“I think we haven’t been introduced yet,” the man said, and his voice was calm and smooth. Like one of these ASMR things that Huaisang had shown him once. “My name is Lan Huan.”

“Nie Mingjue,” Nie Mingjue replied, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. He fidgeted with his sock and added, “Nice to meet you.”

Lan Huan smiled again, as if there had been something amusing in his reply.

“You seem to be here rather often,” he observed.

“I like to let off steam after work,” Nie Mingjue answered. 

“Oh? What do you do?” Lan Huan asked. And then, as if sensing Nie Mingjue’s apprehension, he added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Nie Mingjue sighed. He didn’t really like talking about this topic, because there were lots of… unprocessed emotions still there. 

“I had to take over my father’s business at a young age,” he eventually replied, his tone more curt than he’d really like it to be. “The business is doing well, but it’s a lot of hard work.”

“Ah,” Lan Huan answered, and smiled a sympathetic smile. “That is quite a big responsibility.”

He nodded once to himself, as if he understood what he was talking about. 

There was something so earnest about it that Nie Mingjue found himself asking a question of his own, without really thinking about it. 

“And what do you do?” 

Lan Huan smiled again, and this time, it was a joyful smile. 

“I am a librarian,” he announced. “I specialise in children’s books.”

Nie Mingjue raised an eyebrow almost against his will. Sure, that kind of job fit perfectly with his mild character, but was totally incongruent with the training that he did. 

“My family has a holistic approach to personal improvement,” Lan Huan explained, apparently interpreting Nie Mingjue’s look correctly. As if that actually explained anything. 

Lan Huan noticed his evident scepticism and chuckled. 

“My brother and I were encouraged to excel both in our academic studies and in martial arts when we were younger,” he added, pronouncing the ‘encouraged’ in a way that suggested that there had been little choice in the matter. “It’s different now, but the training has become a habit. I don’t use it to hunt down people that have late fees. Generally.”

That had Nie Mingjue laugh almost against his will. Damn the man, he was not only handsome, but also smart and funny. 

Completely out of Nie Mingjue’s league. 

“My father had never much left for academics,” he offered. “But he took me to the gym as soon as I was able to lift a dumbbell. And here we are.”

“Here we are, indeed,” Lan Huan replied with the sweet smile that Nie Mingjue was becoming accustomed to far too quickly. 

They were silent for a moment, and Nie Mingjue looked up at Lan Huan, trying not to notice the low-hanging towel or the very nice, toned chest above it. 

This man was everything that Nie Mingjue was not. Technically, he should have resented him for it. 

If only things were so easy. 

“So,” he said awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Are you in a hurry after this? I could go for some coffee.”

Lan Huan smiled again, and this time, there was something in his eyes that glittered with what might be private amusement. 

“I am more of a tea person,” he said. “But as things are, I am free after this.”

And with that, he turned around and walked to his own locker, on the other side of the room. 

Nie Mingjue tried not to stare too much at that very nice back. 

But these shoulders were definitely worth a look. 

He should, he mused as he distractedly pulled on his second sock, probably go to libraries more often. Maybe Lan Huan would have a few suggestions for him. Over tea. Or something.

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 3

This fic assumes Mishima isn't a confidant, the reader is the Moon arcana instead, keep this in mind.

word count: 6.3k words, SFW

- Admin Myah

Over the next few weeks spent with Akira, or… Joker, as he seemed to be called when the situation demanded, you learned that the world was much more complicated than you ever could’ve dreamed. Sure, you praised yourself for being a little less of a sheep than the idle-brained teenagers of your everyday life who thought of nothing but gossip, status and appearances, but now you felt insignificant, like you’d been asleep all this time until Akira, Ryuji and Ann had placed six symbolic hands upon you, and shaken you to life. Layers upon layers, he explained the subconscious world that lay beneath, which ached to be revealed, only to those who’d open their eyes.

＊

It’d been a rush, your first time in the Metaverse. You’d insisted to Akira, though he protested, that you wanted to see what all of this near-unbelievable nonsense he was explaining was all about. He’d never taken non-Phantom-Thief confidants into the Metaverse, and he was hesitant, silent for a long while before deciding that your help was worth the risk. After all, he’d already told you everything, and they had no way to erase memories… yet.

You remember Akira taking your hand, the skin on skin contact. Up on the school’s rooftop with Ryuji and Ann flanking you, Akira had told you it was a precaution, to make absolutely sure that you transferred into the Metaverse with them and landed in the same place. You had to be touching one of them, for your safety, and he’d eagerly volunteered. With the cat in his bag seeming to smile at you over his shoulder (an occurrence which made you feel like you were going looney already) he tapped an app icon on his phone, some scary red little square, and with that, your body lifted, began to float, or so it seemed. Red completely consumed your vision, red and black ink like those blobs you’d seen the Phantom Thieves appear from when this all began. You gasped, stumbling back a step as if you could escape the all-encompassing wave, and Akira, sensing your trepidation, squeezed your hand slightly.

The rooftop faded, and you felt like a character from a videogame fast-traveling to their destination. Almost as fast as it appeared, the trippy red and black sludge subsided, and before you sat a dark, dreary scenery. A castle, one that obviously belonged to a malevolent ruler sat amongst a purple sky and the smell of despair.

“What the…” your mouth hung agape for a second, taking in your surroundings before letting your eyes trail down to where your hand met Akira’s. Assuming you no longer needed it, you shook him off gently, not even sparing a glance his way, and his eyebrows creased just the smallest amount, not that you noticed. You were too focused on the giant cat before you, knee-height, with a round, bulbous head. “Is… are you-?!”

“Much more handsome and dashing in this form, wouldn’t you say?” Morgana - now confirmed - gave you a sly look as you leaned down to his height to run your hand along the fur on his head.

“Wow… so cute!” You cooed.

“Hey! Stop it! Stop it! I am a warrior and to be taken seriously!” he whined, shooing away your hands, his fur on end.

“Ha!” a sharp laugh rang out behind you, and you turned to see that Morgana wasn’t the only one who’d made a drastic change. Ryuji was now clad in some kind of leather pirate’s uniform, his demeanor far more fearsome and a skull mask across his face. Ann donned a skin-tight body suit and cat mask, and Akira wore a lavish long coat, red gloves, and a masquerade mask. He looked like a magician from some fairytale, or perhaps the leader of some band of Robin-Hood-inspired band of vigilantes… although you supposed that was kind of what he was now… either way, he would make amazing source material for your main protagonist. Such swagger, a commanding presence… he didn’t seem to exactly be the same Akira you’d met earlier.

＊

The trip to the Metaverse was almost completely uneventful… almost. Just once, when you’d begged Akira to press forward and show you the inside of the castle, something called a “shadow” attacked, and you got to see the band of thieves in action. It was shocking, leaving chills running down your spine. Here were your classmates, people your age with ghost-like spirits materializing at their backs, flipping through the castle’s corridors, shooting guns and slingshots and magic at terrifying beasts. It was all so fast-paced, so stunning, that your body locked up witnessing the battle. A shadow spotted you in the background, defenseless and clearly not part of the Phantom Thief entourage, and taking the petty opportunity only a sore-loser on the ropes would take, struck out against you. You shrieked, your hands uselessly coming up to defend your face as if it would help. Akira’s eyes widened, his reflexes so much faster in this realm, and turned on his heel, diving in front of you to deflect the blast of frosty energy swirling toward you. It bounced off of the side of his large steel dagger and ricoheted back at the shadow. After assessing the situation and asking if you were okay, Akira decided it was time to return you back to the real world. It was too dangerous for someone without a persona to wander here. The thieves would return later, once you were safe at home.

＊

Anyway, now you believed him, you knew everything he was saying, about Kamoshida and his fucked up mind, about confidants, personas and metacognition was real and very much a serious matter. Now all that was left was to decide just how you could help them, what kind of deal you could strike with the clever leader of the Phantom Thieves. Of course, he didn’t expect you to get something and give nothing.

It was decided that you’d offer your knowledge as a writer to help with negotiation and charming shadows in the Metaverse. You’d turn those golden lines you wrote on the pages into real-life lessons, and Akira would learn to seduce shadows, to out-smart them, to persuade them to give up everything they had: their money, precious belongings, even their very selves. He would flirt, threaten, intimidate, any honeyed word or silver-tongued method he could use to make deals with shadows go along more smoothly. Perfect. It would help him out immensely. But, what did you want, he’d asked again.

It felt embarrassing, now that you were put on the spot, forced to disclose it, but although those “golden words” translated well into lessons for others, you found that you couldn’t as easily take your own advice. You struggled with human interaction in your real life, especially of the romantic kind. You could write a healthy relationship out on paper, create the ideal love interest from scratch for a story, but stumbled along words like some socially incompetent fool once it came time to apply that knowledge. As much as you hated to admit it, these days even getting true, realistic romantic moments down on paper was a struggle. The well was drying up, writer’s block, as you’d explained it to your online friends. It was near impossible to make something from nothing, and you had nothing. No real romantic experience. You couldn’t help but think this was the route of the problem. Your writing, your precious romance novel would flourish, if only it’s author wasn’t completely clueless.

“Date me…” You mumbled, surprised out how your long moment of pensive introspection had accumulated into this clunky statement.

“What?” Akira let out a breath he’d seemed to be holding the entire time, just watching you think on what method of reciprocity was worth your help. Losing your nerve at the incredulous tone of his voice and the raise of his brows, you shrunk back a bit, ready to defend your words.

“W-wait!” You held a hand out between you. “Not really. I mean…” how to word this…? “Like, fake!” He looked even more confused than before. You released a noise of frustration. “What I mean is, you take me on dates - fake ones - stupid little stuff couples do, for my writing, of course…” You looked toward the ground, suddenly extremely interested in your shoes.

“How does that benefit you in any way?” He smiled, a bit forced, a blush dusting his pale cheeks.

“Well I- I’ve been having writer's block lately. I mean sure, I can give you lines and lessons from my previous works, drabble and things I’ve learned, written down in the past, but I have no fresh material. Stagnation is every writer’s downfall, but I have no experience, I need more to go off of… and then maybe I can even transfer what I discern from our… interactions - er… dates I mean - to you. Does that make sense?” You looked up at him hopefully.

“Uh… no,” Yeah, you knew it didn’t, but that’s all you had for him. His hand shook, much less confident as Akira than Joker, and he shoved it in his pocket.

“It’s hard to explain, I just… that’s my deal. Will you take it?” You clutched your bag a little closer to your body. “We don’t even have to tell anybody. I just want to experience it… going out… with someone…” It sounded a little more pathetic now that you were actually hearing yourself. You both stood in silence, Akira contemplating your words. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you as a person… it was just… complicated…

“Give me a day to think about it,” he spoke quietly, giving you a polite send off before parting ways.

That night, anxiety set in as you rolled around in your bed restlessly.

Did you sound like a creep? Were you being unreasonable? Was this asking too much of him? Does he think you’re crazy? You’ll probably never hear from him again. He’d probably rather find a way in that crazy Metaverse to erase your memories so he can forget the awkward exchange ever happened. Maybe he’ll kick your shadow’s ass one day.

You debated going to school the next day.

＊

Akira’s night, though not as horrendous as yours, was not a peaceful one. Like so many nights, he found himself awoken to the clink of a ball and chain, dressed in striped rags as he stood and walked to the bars of his cell. The twins were waiting, as always, anger in their eyes.

“Look alive, prisoner!” Caroline spoke.

“Our master would have a word with you!” Justine chimed in. Akira looked up, meeting Igor’s large grin.

“You’ve forsaken a bond, Trickster. One must ask, why?” Igor’s hands splayed over a deck on cards on his desk.

“Huh…? What do you mean?” Sleep lingering in his mind, and confused as to why he was here this time, Akira replied.

“I’ve told you, the bonds you strengthen over time and the new bonds you form, they will be what wins this fight. You can only complete your mission, save all that is, through the support your confidants provide, so why have you abandoned this bond?” Igor’s fingers folded together, hands clasped, a show of disappointment. “Now is not the time to not try hard enough.” Was that a hint of frustration in his tone? If so, he didn’t show it.

“...I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Akira rubbed one eye lazily.

“You’re not trying to understand, worm! Wake up!” Caroline’s fist banged down across the bars, startling Akira slightly. He looked to Igor again, who held up a single card between two fingers. On its face sat two wolves, both howling up at a glittering moon.

“The Moon.” Igor stated plainly. “Illusion, fear, anxiety, intuition, uncertainty, complexity, secrets, the unconscious mind. A friend, a possible lover, someone unsure of themselves and others. Creativity, shadowed by doubt. Someone who supports others but not themselves.” As he spoke, images of your face flashed in Akira’s mind. Igor threw the card into the air, catching it upside-down, letting the wolves fall into the moon, swimming in its glow. “Reversed: release of fear, repressed emotion, clarity, misinterpretations overturned. Someone who can fix what was upright. But you’ve passed over the opportunity.” Igor swipes his free hand in front of the card, and it disappears.

Scenes play out in Akira’s head. Confrontation with shadows, confrontations with real people, but these aren’t real… or rather, haven’t happened yet.

He receives clarity.

The Moon has more to offer than lessons on charisma, seduction, trickery, persuasion. His intuition will grow, his ability to perceive things before they happen, the ability to read and understand people, and be understood in return. Other bonds will grow, empathy will grow. More friends, closer friends, a flash of blue hair, white uniform, red hair, headphones, then a tidy uniform, a Shujin uniform, gloves, a beige jacket, and finally bouncy curls and a soft, high pitched voice. With your help, the Phantom Thieves can grow. Bonds will strengthen. Complexity, Igor had said. More than meets the eye. Was there more to you? You weren’t too bad, obviously intelligent… a bit odd, but kind enough, and he did find you cute… but pretending, a fake relationship? How could a fake bond strengthen

The card reappears, as if out of thin air, and Igor points to one upside down wolf.

“Me.” Joker whispers, as if guided by an unseen force. Igor points to the other wolf.

You.

He awakens with a start, nearly knocking Morgana off the bed. He has an answer for you now.

＊

He finds you at school the next day, huddled in the library and not where you’d said you’d meet him. You’d been dreading this, waiting for the rejection, your hand trembling slightly on the book in your hands. He sits across from you, a look of determination on his face. Waiting for him to speak was torture.

“I’ll do it.” He holds out a hand, waiting for you to shake it, seal the deal. A contact has been signed.

＊

Your first date with Akira is clunky, unpracticed, unprecedented of course. He doesn’t know much about what to do, either, so he takes you to Le Blanc for dinner. Some coffee and curry, maybe a soda and some conversation on the side? It couldn’t be too bad, right? That’s what dudes do, he thought, bring their... pretend sweetheart somewhere for dinner, right? Sojiro is teasing, of course, wondering who this new person was, why Akira was holding their hand. He smirks like a dad proud of his boy, and Akira, too embarrassed under Sojiro’s scrutiny now to sit down and serve you curry, rushes you upstairs.

After being dragged by the hand up rickety old stairs, you end up in Akira’s room alone. You look around, taking in his sparse decorations, humble belongings. It then strikes you that you are, in fact, alone. Alone with a boy in his room, for the first time in your life. You didn’t know how you got here, and so fast. Maybe you were in over your head. Maybe you just needed to calm down. This was part of the process, right? Real couples did this, to get to know each other. He beckons you over, gestures for you to sit on his bed with him. You’re hesitant, but Akira isn’t making a big deal out of it, and you’re not really alone, with Morgana right there, so you sit, as far from him as you could be on the surprisingly soft bed. Struggling for words and new to dates himself, Akira decides to treat you first and foremost like his friend. That makes this all easier.

He spends the next hour or so describing Mementos, his mentor Igor, the twins. He wants you to know everything, and it surprises him. His other confidants, save for the actual Phantom Thieves, don’t know anything about the hidden world their bonds are healing. He describes the arcana to you, the tarot, the way his soul resonates with The Fool, Ryuji The Chariot, Ann The Lovers. His doctor friend is Death, Sojiro the Hierophant. Morgana here is the Magician, and proud of it. He explains how he feels a bond with them, as he now does with you. They make him feel like he can do anything. You’re included in that now. You feel warmth rise to your cheeks. How could he say that so casually? It wasn’t like it was a love confession or whatever, but you had trouble seriously telling your online friends you appreciated having them in your lives without adding a joke or meme in there somewhere. Why did he even need your help? He seemed well spoken. You said so, voicing these opinions aloud.

“Huh.. you know, I actually don’t usually talk this much,” he smiled. “Must just be you.” He was only half teasing. You looked away nervously, feeling the need to change the subject.

“S-so, what am I?” You began to stroke Morgana’s fur, and this time he didn’t seem to mind.

“You mean your soul?” He scooted a bit closer.

“Yeah.” It didn’t go unnoticed.

“The Moon.” He replied softly.

He spent the rest of the night explaining the levels of Mementos, and some of the wicked people whose hearts he’s had the displeasure of seeing inside, but the absolute pleasure of changing. You say you aren’t surprised so many people are walking around so hurt inside or eager to hurt others. When the “date” ends - neither of you having even gotten that promised coffee or curry downstairs - you’re touching, sitting shoulder to shoulder looking at the moon outside his window with Morgana on your lap. The room seems a little warmer, a little less humble. Akira mentions with a sheepish grin that it’s getting late, and offers to walk you home.

Rank Up!

＊

You sit in your bed that night, Akira now having returned to Le Blanc, and think about if this will make good writing material or not. You had to have learned something, right? There was something to be gained from every experience… but you can’t help feeling like you’ve warmed up to the thought of Akira a bit more… not too much, however. You smiled to yourself at the thought of The Fool, tricked into dating the Moon, for all it can offer him.

He’d been so awkward at your front door when he dropped you off. You could tell he had no clue what to do. He was frantically looking around. People in movies kissed their date at this point, cheek or lips, depending on how the date went, right? He confessed that he’s one of those people who truly don’t know anything about romance, like you’d mentioned earlier in one of your conversations. You tell him it’s fine, that you didn’t expect anything, that you just met the other day. He thought he was being clear, dropping hints that he might want to peck your cheek, just a quick gesture to kick off your fake relationship, but maybe he wasn’t as slick as he thought. The hints seemed to go over your head. Maybe he really did need help.

＊

Your second date comes in the form of you begging to go back into the Metaverse for some inspiration. He fights you, bringing up the last time a shadow attacked you, but you are persistent. He gives in, taking you to the highest rung of Mementos, where the shadows are weak and he can keep you safe adequately on his own. It is a date, after all, no Phantom Thieves tagging along. Mementos is a bit more frightening than Kamoshida’s Palace, you mention, and he eases your fear, promising to protect you here, always. You take in his Phantom Thief uniform in more detail as you walk the long corridors of the realm of the subconscious and decide he looks quite handsome in it.

You watch him battle a demon that is the personification of lust, a succubus-like creature dripping with temptation and love, or so it thinks. Joker uses all that you’ve taught him so far, which isn’t much, and cons the false idol of love out of their money. It was quite comical yet a bit sad to watch the shadows expression fall from a cocky to a defeated one, but preformative love you’ve decided, is doomed to lose. The irony flies over your head.

From this experience, watching Joker fight with speed and grace, you settle on a genre for your novel. It will be a high-fantasy romance. Joker will inspire your main character, of course, but the love interest… was still undecided. You started drafting her to look like Ann, act like Ann, give off the energy and power Ann does. Ryuji was an option at first as well to inspire the love interest’s personality, but he was a bit too brash. You wanted someone strong, but soft and elegant at the same time. These characters were loosely based on the Phantom Thieves, anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

＊

When you leave the Metaverse, though Akira is a bit exhausted, he takes you to a local casual restaurant to make up for the last time at Le Blanc. There, sitting across the counter from you two is an older gentleman. Yoshida, Akira whispers, is a friend of his, another confidant. The Sun. Yoshida makes small talk, asking politely if you’re with Akira, and you feel your stomach clench. You knew this was fake, the agreement was clear, but hearing it aloud, the awkward ‘we’re just friends’ that was coming made you sweat. It still felt like rejection anyway. When Akira confirms that yes, you are in fact dating, your eyes widen, the coil in your stomach releasing. He smiles, taking your hand. This has to be an act, a show to play up the relationship. He’s just performing his duty, his role, holding up his end of the deal in order to simulate a real relationship and give you worthwhile source material… right?

Either way, you appreciate not being publicly humiliated, and smile back. That night, you write down everything, and what it’s like to not be alone.

Rank Up!

＊

Days pass, Kamoshida coming and going, justice being served, and you spend more and more time with your fake boyfriend. Your parents let him come over, and in your room you let him read some of the old poetry you’ve written, some lame pining drabble from your younger years, and some more recent things you’re proud of. He scours your room, digging up old hobbies and photos. You tell him all about them. He tells you he enjoys learning these things about you. You simply smile. It doesn’t seem to be the reaction he was looking for. Not liking the small frown that adorns his features, you pick the conversation back up, asking if he thinks you’ll ever have a persona. He smiles, maybe someday.

Rank Up!

＊

The Phantom Thieves are gaining fame, only more fodder for your writing. The more you hang out with Akira and his friends, the more real it feels. Your online friends can feel it, too. They sense you changing, talking less of writing and more of Akira. They tease you, of course, but they don’t get it. He’s just a main character… just a muse.

This time, Akira walks home to Le Blanc alone, wondering if he should tell you how he feels. He doesn’t like it, holding up this pretense of a fake relationship, pretending the glances and touches don’t matter. He wants to tell you…

...that he’s slowly falling.

You receive a little gift in the mail the next day. It’s a deck of tarot cards. The return address is blank. You call him to tell him all about it, and end up discussing the pros and cons of each card all night. What a coincidence that you should receive your own deck all of a sudden.

Rank Up!

＊

There are moments where you’re afraid you may be falling, too. There was the time that a blue-haired young man stalked you and your friends through Shibuya, turning corners when you did, always on your trail. When Ryuji finally got fed up and confronted the weirdo, asking why the hell he was following you guys, he’d revealed that his name was Yusuke, a student of a painting master, and that he was simply following inspiration where it lead.

“Your friend there, I was drawn to them,” he points elegantly, like some manga bishounen, past Ryuji and toward you. “I beg of you, allow me to paint your form. Something about your normalcy stands out. What I mean is, there is beauty to be found in not standing out, a silent grace in being so plain.” You could tell Yusuke meant no harm, that he simply may be a bit socially inept with his words, as well, but the way he was talking about you set something in Akira on fire. He stood in front of you, shifting until his body blocked yours from Yusuke’s sight.

“They aren’t plain.” He spoke with a dangerous edge to his tone, and you felt your heartbeat speed up. The hint of jealousy in his voice at Yusuke’s request for you to model for him, and anger at him calling someone he found so fascinating plain was evident.

＊

Yusuke seemed to be in denial in the coming days. Though your little troupe seemed to constantly be bumping into him, offering him sound advice and trying to awaken him to the mire of corruption that was the truth behind his mentor, Ichiryusai Madarame, he refused to see reason. He dove further into his art, but you could tell he was hurting. You used your time with Akira these days to teach him how art, much like film and literature, can reflect false truths and influence people. The deception, corruption and shallowness of the media extended to the art world, as he learned after one or two gallery visits with you.

It was then, in a gallery displaying Yusuke’s work, as you sat in a secluded corner alone discussing ways to take down Madarame, that Akira started to flirt incessantly.

He takes your hand, bringing up romantic tropes in movies he’s seen that seem so forced, one-sided, cliche, uncomfortable. He mentions that he would’ve done better, explains how those scenes would’ve played out if he had any say.

“Is that so?” Your brow raises, amused by how animated this usually quiet boy could be when he was passionate about something.

“Yeah! Of course! What, you don’t see me doing that?” he laughed breathily, going on about how the male lead of some high-school romance film Sojiro rented for him was clumsy, forceful, and didn't give his lover time and space to think about their feelings. “I would’ve treated them much, much better… “ his words trail off, as if lost in thought.

“...Is that so?” You ask again, studying his face and asking yourself how you didn’t notice before how beautiful the hue of his eyes were. You sure as hell were noticing now… steely grey, sharp, deep, purposeful. You’d have to write that down… for research purposes of course. When you pull yourself back to reality, no longer lost in the swirl of his irises, you realize he’s staring at you, and has been for some time.

“Do… can I-” he speaks, throat dry, and scoots himself closer. “May I kiss you…?” His voice is soft, so soft, scared.

“...Yes.” You answer, naturally, impulsively, voice just as soft. When Akira leans forward, and softly presses his apprehensive lips to yours, you feel like you’ve been set on fire. Your mind begins to go crazy, while your body is frozen. It’s not that you didn’t like it, some part of you did. You wanted more, but it felt wrong. This wasn’t real. You didn’t truly like him… right? This kiss was fake, for research purposes… to cure writer’s block…

...right?

You were frozen more from guilt than nerves. Weren’t first kisses supposed to feel like little butterflies in your stomach? Did he think he owed you this? Were you taking advantage of him at this point? Did he feel forced to kiss you to keep up his end of the bargain?

Akira deepened the kiss, a hand on the back of your neck, guiding you, begging you to reciprocate. When you didn’t, lost in your own head, he pulls away, a small frown tugging at his lips.

“W-we… we should head home. I’ll walk you…” he sighs. You both stand, make your way back onto the main street from the museum, and are silent the entire walk home.

You think he’s silent because you’ve forced him to think he needs to kiss you, and now regrets his decision. He thinks you’re silent because he’s just forced a kiss upon you, just like some Chad from a movie who can’t understand boundaries. Neither of you know your silence is for the exact same reasons.

Akira drops you off at home with a quiet ‘goodnight,’ and walks home, clearing his head in the cool night air.

“Stupid… jeez… fuckin’ stupid,” he huffs, repirmanding himself. This wasn’t real. You’d stated that from the beginning. This relationship was to benefit your writing, to help him in the Metaverse, nothing else. Nothing else.

Nothing. Else.

It was his fault he let himself develop real feelings. He has no right to be sad, to blame you, to get upset. You’d stated the terms from the very start…

Maybe he really was The Fool.

Rank Up…?

＊

The next few weeks are awkward.

Both of you think it’s your fault.

You go on dates like usual, but they are strictly business. You get writing material, he gets advice, no touching, and certainly no kissing. Yusuke joins the group. Things are great… friendly… strained, tense. Akira wonders what the hell he’s doing, if this bond is even worth it. Weeks pass. He feels your bond with him growing, but not in the way he wishes. It felt like all of his other confidants: visit, gain, rank up, gain power, learn. He wonders if he can keep this up. His heart aches. He wants to touch you more, but can’t, wants to tell you more, but won’t let himself.

＊

One rainy night, he calls you, like he often does when you can’t meet up in person, and tells you he can’t do this anymore. You lie, and say you agree. The guilt won’t let you tell him the truth, that you want to end the farce, move onto something more real. You can sense your feelings for him growing stronger each day, and it’s not fair to him. Without fighting, without the big “it’s not you it’s me you” you’re used to reading about in books, you tell him you respect his decision, and it’s over. When Akira hangs up, he finds himself a bit angry inside. You didn’t even try to fight for the relationship. There was a tiny little part of him that hoped you felt anything for him, that maybe it meant something to you. He cries that night, for the first time in a long time. They are angry tears, frustrated ones.

＊

In your bed, you find yourself sitting upright, dead inside, unfeeling, empty. You feel like a part of you is gone, but can’t pinpoint why. You don’t even notice the tears sliding down your own cheeks as you sift through the pack of tarot cards that mysteriously came into your life. You find The Moon, and play with it, twisting it between your fingers before sending it flying across the room like a paper dart. Did this mean you couldn’t hang out with the Phantom Thieves anymore? Were you losing your only in-real-life friends and… boyfriend(?) all in the same day?

You sifted through the cards and gently set aside the Emperor, the Lovers, the Chariot. Then your hand drifted over the Fool. You held it out in front of your face. A dancing man looking up at the sky with a jesters cap perched upon his head smiled back at you.

The start of a great journey, freedom from constraints. Each day is an adventure. Courage, anything can happen. There is a need to experience new things, to let yourself experience the love you deserve. Be willing to take risks.

A sad, thoughtful smile crosses your lips. You turn the card upside down.

If you disregard the repercussions of your actions, you are the Fool. You cannot see the position you’ve put yourself in. Is everything what it seems to be?

A breath catches in your throat, a wave of nausea hitting you. You scramble for your phone, and dial a number.

Silence, ringing, silence.

“...Yeah…?” Akira sniffles. He’s been crying???

“I want… can we talk… can I come over?”

“It’s late.”

“It’s not, we came home way earlier than usual. You’re just using that as an excuse.” You were feeling a little braver than usual, the spirit of the Fool within you. You heard him thinking, a sigh that came through as static.

“Yeah… fine, I’ll be waiting.” Relief washed over you.

＊

When you knocked on the door after speed-walking to Le Blanc, Sojiro let you in with a warm smile. He obviously didn’t know about your falling out with Akria, yet.

“He’s upstairs,” he gestured, exhaustion evident in his voice. You rushed past, thanking him with a small bow of your head. Only now was the inevitable fear starting to sink in. Akira heard footsteps creaking on the stairs. Sojiro never came up unannounced, and with that realization, his back stiffened. Morgana picked up your scent, excusing himself, passing you on your way up the stairs. He could take a hint.

He stood immediately, stepping toward you, stopping halfway. You shrunk into yourself, unable to meet his eyes.

“Akira… I wanted to talk…” you muttered.

“You said that… about what?” He was more than a little pissed, but he was always one to hide his temper well.

“Can we sit…?” You gestured to his small sofa. It didn’t feel right to sit on the bed. He hesitated, before shuffling over and sitting next to you. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Oh, there were so many things, but he wanted to know what you thought was worth apologizing over. Maybe he wasn’t being fair, he dialed back his attitude a tad.

“For… making you enter into the agreement in the first place. Someone’s affections, their love, their touch and body… it’s not something that can be forced. It should never be pretend.” You felt like the biggest hypocrite ever right now. His head shook a bit in disbelief, blinking hard.

“I wasn’t pretending!” His hands flew to his hair, mussing it. “That was the problem.” He sighed heavily.

“What?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“I wasn’t being forced… are you… you must be the most oblivious person I’ve ever met.” He laughed cynically.

“But-”

“Wait, wait, why did you think I ended our” he put air quotes up, “ ‘fake’ relationship.” He needed this clarification, now. For closure, for redemption, to fix things, whatever may come next.

“Because… because I was forcing you to date me! You were uncomfortable?!” You could feel your voice begin to break, tears clawing to escape. You’d never felt so disgusted with yourself as you did right now.

“Are you serious?” He took both of your hands, looking you in the eyes. You nod. “Answer truthfully. Do you have feelings for me? Real ones?” You bit your lip, that feeling of selfish guilt creeping like bile up your throat. You nod again. “This whole time?” Another nod. He releases you, turning away. “Sheesh, maybe I’m the oblivious one here…” he spoke more to himself than to you. You both sat in tense silence, not sure what to do, what to say.

“Akira…”

“It was real to me,” he moved closer, trapping you against the end of the couch.

“Really?” Your heartbeat was going crazy, and he leaned ever so slightly closer, his hand on the back of the couch for support. “I broke up with you because it was hurting me to pretend I didn’t have real feelings for you, and to think you didn’t want me back, not for real. I thought… that you’d always think of me as just some character for your book.”

“No… Akira… had I known you felt this way…” He leaned in further, your noses bumping slightly, clumsily. This time, he felt no discomfort, no hesitation from your side. His heart fluttered in excitement. You could feel his breath on your warm cheeks.

“May I kiss you?” He asked again, a secondary, unspoken question sitting beneath his words.

“Yes.” Your voice was shaky, but you were sure, for once, of what you wanted. His hand went to your back, cradling you into his chest to lay down flat against the couch. With a passion he’d been holding back, he pressed his lips to yours without reservation. You sunk into the warm, plush feeling, tilting your head at a better angle. He kept the kiss soft, shallow, low pressure, looking for you to give him the signal to stop. When your arms reached upward, snaking around his neck and pulling him harder down into you, he groaned softly, barely audible, before passing his tongue over your lips a single time. You parted your lips, allowing him access, and his hand, pale and trembling, came up and found its way under the hem of your shirt, splayed nervously against the smooth skin there.

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (ii)

word count: 3.3k

warnings: fem!oc, alcohol consumption, cursing

series masterpost: here

a/n: part two baby! thanks for all the love on part one, it means the absolute world. i have so much love for this story and i hope people are enjoying it :))

Life is settling into a comfortable rhythm.

After spending a good chunk of her young adult life being incredibly studious, Magdalene can finally have the social life of someone in their mid-twenties. Though she’s still spending a fair amount of time by herself in the basements of the University of Denver’s library, Bette convinces her to go out more. Magdalene tries to fight, citing extra work or a good book as an excuse to stay home, but it doesn’t work very often. The pleas of her friend are how Magdalene finds herself currently lounging poolside at Erik Johnson’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

“How’s the new career treating you?” Tyson asks. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in a while.”

Magdalene laughs. “I’ve seen Bette plenty,” she says, “She thinks I won’t take a lunch break unless she shows up.”

“Would you?” the blonde girl questions with a quirked brow.

“Probably not.”

“I rest my case.”

A small crowd gathers around as Magdalene begins to detail the specifics of her job, but she doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as she once would have. In the month or so since graduating school she’s found herself slowly being incorporated into the Avalanche family. It’s almost certainly because Bette and Tyson championed her case, explaining that she doesn’t have much of a support system beyond the two of them, but she doesn’t mind. A few of the guys ask her questions about her work, curious as to why someone would want to spend their life combing through piles of old things. Everyone stays engaged in the conversation until there’s a shout from the kitchen that dinner is ready.

Magdalene shuffles in line behind André, filling her plate with various pasta salads and a hamburger. Once situated with enough food for two meals she returns to the pool deck, sitting on the edge and dipping her toes into the cool water. Bette comes and finds her a minute later and the two of them begin to eat.

She’s still relatively new to the group’s dynamic, but Magdalene can’t help but notice that Ryan is never around. In fact, Magdalene hasn’t seen him since her graduation party. Taking a casual sip of her wine cooler, she asks her friend about the man’s absence.

“Why is Ryan never at these sorts of things?”

Bette shrugs. “Isn’t a huge one for parties. He was supposed to come today, but I guess something came up.”

“I’m not huge on parties,” Magdalene huffs, “But that doesn’t stop you from dragging me to every single one.”

“Unlike you, Gravy gets enough regular social interaction that his absence is permissible. If Tyson and I didn’t take you out you’d talk to your cat more than normal.”

She wants to fight back, but knows it’s pointless. Bette has a point – if it weren’t for her the only people Magdalene would interact with are her boss and her cat. Instead, she grumbles under her breath and changes the subject to the trip Bette is in the middle of planning. It’s coming up in a few weeks, and Magdalene wants to hear a bit more about it before she commits. Despite what she thought about taking time off so close to starting work, it was encouraged by June, but she's refraining from telling Bette that. If it doesn’t sound like she'll enjoy it, Magdalene is banking on being able to use the excuse.

Bette explains that she’s renting a large lake house that is perfect for a relaxing week away from adult responsibilities. The property has kayaks and a hot tub, which pretty much ensures that Magdalene will want to be in attendance. She’ll hold onto that information for a little while longer though, if for no other reason to make Bette squirm a little. At some point Tyson comes to sweep his girlfriend away and leaves Magdalene at the party alone. She makes polite conversation with some other players for a while before heading home herself. Ryan never shows up, despite how much Magdalene hopes he will. At the very least she wants to properly thank him for doing her a favour, though her hoping to see him is much more selfish. He intrigues her and she wants to know more about the tall man with the dazzling smile and a proclivity for wearing all black.

☼☼☼☼

Barn Owl Book Company is filled to the brim when Magdalene approaches the store from the side street it annexes. She should’ve expected it – it’s the first of the month and their newest books are hitting the shelves. However, Magdalene doesn’t exactly have time to wait in line. June gave her only fifteen minutes to run and grab them coffee before they continue the massive task of digitizing a private collection that has just been donated to the university. She estimates it will take almost a month of extended hours to get everything done, and Magdalene believes it. There’s so much to wade through but she knows the end result will be satisfying.

Luckily the café line is fairly short, and Magdalene reaches the counter in a timely manner. “Hey,” she greets the barista warmly, “Could I just grab two medium iced cappuccinos?”

“Anything else?”

“No, that's everything. It’ll be on debit,” she smiles. Magdalene reaches into her backpack to grab her wallet only to find that it’s missing. Shit. The barista has already left to make the drinks, completely unaware that her customer is unable to pay.

Magdalene hears a voice from behind her say, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” She turns around to find Ryan Graves standing there with a book tucked under his right arm.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she mumbles appreciatively. “I don’t know how my boss would take it if I showed up empty handed.”

Ryan laughs shyly as he pulls his card away from the machine. “I get it, everyone needs a little caffeine this time of year.” The barista comes back with Magdalene’s drinks, which she takes with a smile and a wish for a good day. The two of them head towards the exit, and Ryan pauses once they’re on the sidewalk. “Which way are you headed?”

“Back to work,” Magdalene says, nodding her head in the direction of campus. “I’ve got approximately five minutes to get there before June rips me a new one.”

“June?”

“She’s my boss,” she explains.

Ryan nods in understanding. “I’ll see you around Magdalene,” he smiles, turning on his heel and heading the opposite direction.

In a moment of bravery, Magdalene yells at his retreating figure. “Will you? We never seem to cross paths.”

“I’ll be at Bette and Tyson’s this weekend, and I’m counting on your company.”

Magdalene finds it incredibly hard to focus the rest of the afternoon. She keeps thinking about what Ryan said, which makes her a rather lousy archivist. June sends her home just after seven even though they had plans to stay until ten, citing the fact that she’s scanned the same photo three times before noticing. Caligula’s meowing for pets when she gets home isn’t even enough to distract her from the comment. The absentmindedness continues for another day or so, and it’s becoming so bad Magdalene is worried that June is going to fire her for incompetence.

It’s only when Bette calls to invite her over for dinner and drinks that her mind levels out. “I was wondering when I was going to get the call,” she chuckles absentmindedly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” is the response Magdalene receives.

“Well,” she explains, “I ran into Ryan at Barn Owl the other day and he paid for my drinks because I left my wallet on the table at work, and he said he expected to see me at your place this weekend. So if you never invited me I was just going to show up.”

Bette is smiling, that much Magdalene can infer by the lull in conversation. “I haven’t got the time to call you yet,” she concedes, “But consider this the official invitation to our house for a small party.”

“Anything we’re celebrating?”

“Nope. Have you ever needed a reason to party?”

Magdalene laughs. “Yes. Need one almost every time actually.”

The rest of the week passes fairly quickly. To make up for her blundering earlier in the week Magdalene offers to work a full day on Saturday, by herself, to get the project back on track. June accepts the proposition eagerly, and Magdalene lets Bette know she’ll be coming directly from work. Saturday rolls around and she spends most of her time getting lost in the past lives of the artefacts she’s dealing with. If someone were to ask Magdalene what her favourite part of archiving is, that’s the answer she’d give. There’s nothing more satisfying to her than holding a piece of history in her hands and imagining all the stories it would be able to tell if it could speak.

By the time she’s put in a full work day and finishes locking up the basement floor her department occupies, Magdalene is pretty sure they’re ahead of schedule on the project. She genuinely feels terrible about her misperformance and hopes June will be able to forgive her. On the way to Bette and Tyson’s Magdalene listens to the Leonard Cohen greatest hits cd that came with her car. The previous owner was presumably a big fan, and over the years Magdalene has come to appreciate the folk singer. She never got to see him in concert before his death but turns to his music when she needs to relax. Right now is the perfect time to listen to ‘Hallelujah’ on repeat because she’s seriously freaking out about the idea of spending the night talking to Ryan. Though she still wants to properly thank him and possibly become friends, something about him makes Magdalene nervous.

There’s no way for her to tell if Ryan is there when she parks in front of the house. She doesn’t know what kind of car he drives, or if he caught a ride with someone. Magdalene debates texting Bette to see if he’s there already but decides against it, knowing she’s an adult who is more than capable of pushing down nerves.

She doesn’t bother knocking and just steps into the respectably sized home. The music is loud enough that no one would have heard her anyways. It’s much more of a party than Magdalene was expecting – Bette invited her for dinner and drinks, not a gathering that could pass as a frat party. There are bodies everywhere, and she isn’t sure if she’ll ever catch a glimpse of her friend.

“You seem to be dressed for the wrong kind of party,” a voice chuckles from behind her.

Magdalene turns to see Ryan leaning against the wall, eyeing her business casual attire. “I came from work,” she explains, “And didn’t know it was this kind of party to begin with. I would’ve at least brought a change of clothes.”

“You look terribly out of place,” he agrees. “Can I grab you a drink? The hosts are too busy playing beer pong to, you know, be hosts.”

A giggle escapes Magdalene’s lips at the comment. Ryan seems to have a similar sense of humor to her, which will be beneficial for passing the time if Bette is already on her way to being wasted. “A glass of red wine would be nice.”

Ryan pushes off from his perch and heads towards the kitchen. The crowd parts for the six-foot-five hockey player, and Magdalene follows in his wake quite easily. Knowing the space as well as her, Ryan grabs a wine glass from the cupboard Bette keeps them in and pours the dark red liquid into it. He waits until Magdalene has situated herself on the island before handing her the cup. She takes it with an appreciative hum and waits until he’s grabbed a beer for himself before raising her glass in toast. Ryan does the same, and their glasses clink before each of them take a sip.

“What exactly is it that you do? I bet it’s something super cool and studious, but I seriously don’t know what the hell being an archivist means.”

Magdalene explains her job to Ryan, who is extremely interested. He asks nearly a hundred follow-up questions that she answers sincerely, throwing in a few jokes that luckily crack him up. Conversation moves to his career and then life. Magdalene learns that he’s from Nova Scotia, though he stays around Denver these days, and that if he wasn’t playing professional hockey he’d like to have a career in publishing. Ryan doesn’t press too hard when Magdalene refuses to open up about her family, which she appreciates. It’s a delicate subject that she keeps guarded close to her chest, and a friend’s kitchen in the middle of a party isn’t the place for her to divulge her deepest secrets.

The two of them get refills before exiting the room. Even more people seemed to arrive since Magdalene walked through the door, and the kitchen is no longer an empty safe haven. The music is so loud she can feel the bass thumping in her chest, giving the living room a club-like atmosphere, and it’s too much. Magdalene tugs at the hem of Ryan’s sweater to catch his attention. “Want to go somewhere quiet?”

“I doubt there is such a place,” he yells over the crowd going crazy over some early 2000s hip-hop track.

“Follow me,” she says with a smile, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the staircase to the second floor.

It takes a minute for them to wade through the throngs of people, but it goes much faster once Ryan takes Magdalene’s hand and splits the crowd. A few boys, who don’t look older than twenty-one and almost certainly snuck into the party, notice where the pair are going and shout congratulations. Ryan shoots them a glare so sharp it could cut stone but doesn’t drop Magdalene’s hand. Once safely on the much quieter second floor, Magdalene makes a beeline for the bathroom.

“Are you coming or what?” she asks when there doesn’t seem to be footsteps following her.

Ryan hesitates. “I, uh, can just wait out here while you’re in there,” he stammers.

Magdalene’s laugh rings out through the empty hallway. “I’m not going to the bathroom. We’re going out the window.”

He isn’t sure how that’s any better, but Ryan follows the brown-haired girl into the room. It takes considerably more work for him to fit through the frame, but after some directions from Magdalene he makes it onto the roof. She sits down and pats the space beside her, encouraging Ryan to do the same. They stay out there, discussing anything that comes to their heads, until the party’s numbers dwindle drastically. Magdalene makes sure to properly thank him for both attending her graduation and spotting her coffee money, and she thinks Ryan might blush a little when she offers to get the next round. He asks about her love of The West Wing, and they launch into a long conversation about the show and cast. The sun fades to black and the cold sets in, and Magdalene finds herself wrapped in Ryan’s sweater without asking. It’s only when she notices it’s approaching midnight that Magdalene clues into how tired she is.

“I think I’m going to head out,” she yawns. Ryan nods in agreement and holds the window open for her to slip in through. Once downstairs, Magdalene goes to lift the sweater from her frame but Ryan stops her.

“Keep it for drive home. I’ll get it back next time we see each other.”

Still feeling bold from the alcohol that left her system hours ago, she reaches out to poke him in the chest. “And when will that be, hm? You seem to enjoy leaving our meetings up to chance.”

It’s Ryan’s turn to laugh. “Think you can swing an extended lunch break on Wednesday? I’ll be at Barn Owl all afternoon. Maybe you can join me for a coffee.”

Magdalene likes the sound of that and agrees. She leaves without seeing Bette or Tyson once, but she doesn’t mind. They’d be happy for her blooming friendship – or at least she’s pretty sure they will be once she calls to fill them in on the details.

☼☼☼☼

Wednesday rolls around without incident, and Magdalene is given a full hour to eat instead of thirty minutes. Walking time has to be accounted for, of course, but she should have nearly forty-five minutes to spend with Ryan if she plays her cards right. There’s no crowd this time, and it’s incredibly easy to spot Ryan sitting in the window she loves to claim as her own.

“Hey,” Magdalene greets, “Did Bette tell you to sit here?”

He shakes his head, perplexed at the question. “No, why?”

“It’s just my favourite seat in the store, that’s all. I thought she told you how to gain some extra brownie points.”

“Should I be concerned about the amount of points I have?” Ryan teases, sliding a cup and pastry bag across the table and into her hands.

Magdalene shakes her head, smiling widely. “You’re doing alright so far. Keep up the good work.”

They eat at a comfortable pace, taking breaks to engage in interesting topics of conversation or take sips of their drinks. Ryan insists his life is boring, but Magdalene is enthralled by the stories he tells. It’s completely different from hers and she feels as though she can live vicariously through the tales of walking through the historic downs of the east coast and swimming in the Pacific Ocean on days off in California. After squeezing every story possible from the man Magdalene shifts gears slightly.

“So, are you going on the trip in a couple of weeks?”

“It’s looking that way,” Ryan shrugs with relative indifference, “Nate doesn’t think he’ll be able to come back, something about a development camp he’s running having the dates switched. He’s asked me to take his spot.”

His neutral mood confuses her. When Bette mentioned his probable attendance months ago, it sounded like he was enthusiastic about spending a week with friends doing nothing to swimming and drinking. “You don’t want to go?” Magdalene probes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but sometimes the group parties a little harder than I like to,” he sighs, raising a hand and running it through his hair. That’s something she understands completely, having spent a few too many nights being the sober one out.

“I’ll be there.” It’s Magdalene’s turn to shrug, but the comment holds an incredible amount of hope.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

Was Ryan flirting with her? She spends the rest of lunch thinking about the possibility, and truthfully, it occupies her brain for the rest of the day. However, she keeps her focus and June is none the wiser to the butterflies in her stomach. Work finishes without much fanfare, and her dinner is silent save for the few meows of conversation Caligula offers. It’s late by the time Magdalene falls into bed, cat snuggled into the pillow beside her. On a whim she decides to check Instagram and sees a message request from none other than the man who’s smile has been replaying in her mind. A follow request accompanies it.

Thought that maybe we could quit leaving our meetings to chance and plan something next time :)

He has to be flirting. There’s no other explanation for the witty banter they’ve shared this week, or why he’s reaching out to her on social media. The butterflies in her stomach multiply tenfold as Magdalene types out a reply.

I don’t know, it’s kind of fun being shrouded in mystery. However, I now have the opportunity to stalk your profile ;)

Before she can overthink her use of the emoji, Magdalene shoves her phone in the drawer of her nightstand and rolls over. A slight smile can’t help but appear on her features as she falls asleep, already curious about what his reply will be.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds (add yourself to the taglist!)

[lochnessies]

@cockati3l the church isn’t ruling people from behind the scenes. even the devs confirmed that. the church in adrestia doesn’t exist, the church in the alliance is ‘toothless’ and nobody pays attention to them as said by lorenz, and the western church is in open rebellion against the central. also, when does the church control anybody in the game? nobody is forced to follow them and they even take on nonbelievers as staff.

once again, what corruption are you talking about? it can’t be what edelgard mentions in her speech because that’s been proven false.

it can’t be killing the western priests because they attempted assassination more than once, grave robbed, and attempted to kill students. not to mention are racist af

it can’t be changing history a little because in your own words “what the fuck so u want her to do?” humans killed her race when they found out the amount of power stored in their bones, blood, and hearts. at that time in fodlan’s history clans were fighting for power with the relics of her family and she had to find a way to broker peace as said by intsys: “seiros and co. meddled with history not in order to rule over humans, but to quell the flames of war and chaos as much as possible, and to also keep a steady balance about humanity.”

also yes, rhea was about to step down. she says so herself. even calling herself a “mere proxy” for byleth.

tell me how claude piggybacked off of edelgard’s war to further his own aims? the game tells and shows that he’s spending his time trying to just keep the alliance together.

she’s literally called the hegemon. there is no freedom under her rule. she centralizes all power onto herself and makes herself the supreme ruler. what she says goes and in order to achieve that result she murdered, lied, and stole.

she literally said “i have no regrets.” why? because she doesn’t. she may feel kinda bad about all the dying but obviously not enough to stop what she’s doing and find another path.

also her words about the followers of seiros are far from kind. she calls them “mindless” multiple times (even in her s-support). the faithful are forced to flee from her. people even lose contact with the believers in the empire, and it’s not even allowed to be one in the first place. not to mention in hanneman/manuela’s ending the church can come back but only under the empire’s supervision. so we have a state controlled church. look at all the freedom!

when does dimitri leave crestless people to get fucked? he literally talks at length that he believes that people with crests and people without need to work together and recognize each other’s strengths.

also the church isn’t the one behind the “crest system” (if you can even call it that since the way each house interacts with it is so different). crests/clans became noble houses because of their strength (aka the empire’s meritocracy in the beginning) and the strong aka crest bearers rose to the top bc in the 91 years it took to kill nemesis his elites had already started their own bloodlines and families. the nintendo interview says that rhea lied about the origin of the crests and relics bc she wanted the wars to end and the only way to have gotten rid of the crests humans had would be to genocide them.

with nemesis gone and the adrestian empire now in charge of the continent, a meritocracy started to form among the nobility. hanneman in his support with dorothea says this about the founding of the empire: “consider this. at its inception, the concept of nobility assumed that the greatest among the populace would rise to power. in my mind, i believe that those who value knowledge, those who strive for more, and wish to protect and guide their fellow man. however, in practice, nobility often serves to keep those deemed commoners down, segregated from those who, by chance, were born to a noble family.” this is also paired with ferdiand’s support with edelgard: “certainly, we must recognize the common folk who strive for greatness and attain it. but for those of us born into nobility, things are more complicated. from birth, nobles must excel. if we do not, we will be forced out of our houses. this environment breeds superior individuals, and they, in turn, recreate the rigorous environment for their own children. without that cycle, there would be no political elite guiding the world towards prosperity.” so from these supports we learn that the empire was founded on the idea of the strongest shall rule and they would be replaced if they didn’t reach a standard. however, over time, the nobility started to abuse this power of theirs and the idea of meritocracy was forgotten. which, ironically, is how it always works in the real world as well. that’s where the concept of nobles often bearing crests comes from. it’s comes from the empire not the church. and when faerghus and the alliance break off from it they kept the tradition. also, if you talk to rhea in verdant wind when she talks about zanado you can tell she hates crests. at the very least she hates the fact that humans have them due to how they were acquired. you know, through genocide. it’s also in the book of seiros that the reason the goddess left was because people were abusing crests and it saddened her and she went back to the blue sea star. so no, the church isn’t propagating anything. and they can’t force the noble houses to adhere to their religion so they don’t.

i’m not sure what you mean by “squander any rebellion”. i think you mean squash/stamp out? well the only rebellion we see in the game is from the western church and as i said previously, the priests were punished because they attempted assassination more than once, grave robbed, and attempted to kill students. not to mention are racist af. the church wasn’t the aggressor and only stopped the rebellions because they were dangerous and were also attacking innocent people. however, we do know that in crimson flower there are rebellions under edelgard’s rule and they are put down as well by the empire secret police aka hubert.

the devs also mention that azure moon was written to be a counter to crimson flower. and that is the route where dimitri has to learn to rely on his friends and work together with his people in order to usher in a bright future. in crimson flower edelgard berates people who lean on anybody else for support (all while taking some from byleth) and believes humans need to stand on their own two feet. in azure moon she says: “if after all of this you believe the weak will still be weak, that is only because they are too used to relying on others instead of on themselves.” to which dimitri responds: “yes. perhaps someone as strong as you are can claim something like that. but you cannot force that belief onto others. people aren't as strong as you think they are. there are those who cannot live without their faith... and those who cannot go on once they have lost their reason for living. you path will not be able to save them. it is the path of the strong, and so, it could only benefit the strong.” so yes, there is someone who represents human unity in the game: dimitri.

edelgard doesn’t make fodlan better. she’s the game’s hegemon (called this in three routes). there are rebellions under her. her people are starving (ashe says on cf), she attacked two nations she had no rights to, and defamed an entire race/religion.

crimson flower ends in flames and darkness. this is made VERY clear by the ending mural. unlike the others, which all show a very joyful scene; am has dimitri being loved by the people with archbishop byleth at his side, ss has byleth being held up in the crowd of people as it talks about how they are now the arbiter of every soul and mother of all life (which are the exact words used to describe sothis), and vw has claude talking with the people and the almyrans are visiting; which infers peace between the two nations. however in cf, we have edelgard standing on the flags of the nations she has conquered. she holds a napoleonic staff in her hands, and the mural portrays people with their heads bowed in obvious sadness and defeat. the biggest indicator that this is not an ending to be celebrated, but rather lamented, is the border. In all the other endings, the border is white and is accented by the color of the route. in cf you can see that the border is black. black and red: colors synonymous with evil or darkness. the epilogue also mentions rebellions against her rule that she has put down.

edelgard’s role in the story is that of nemesis 2.0. someone that is manipulated by twsitd and is fed false information to lead her to finish what nemesis started over a thousand years ago - the extinction of the nabatean race.

another massive red flag is what the devs have said about crimson flower being the supreme ruler route. “edelgard in "crimson fower", or rather known as the, "supreme ruler (hegemon) route" is something we honestly meant to be much more difficult to enter.” (they were talking about why it is harder to enter cf than ss). let’s focus on the word ‘hegemon’. the direct definition is ‘a supreme ruler.’ in another interview they mention the ‘hegemon’s path’ which is a chinese philosophy that goes along with the mandate of heaven that the devs have said that they based cf off of. there is a rule of the mandate of heaven: the right to rule is only granted if the ruler cares about his people more than he cares about himself, and if this is not the case, then the people rise up to overthrow the tyrant. we know for a fact that edelgard is this ‘tyrant/hegemon’ because she is called this in the game.

the devs have also said: “due to all the previous titles in the series, the thought/impression that the empire = antagonists is left upon the playerbase. when you think about the "empire", you usually get some sort of "bad/evil" image, i think. and as for the story, it really feels like it started from the romance of three kingdoms, but we force them all to take part in school life. In other words, a period in which there was peace must exist, before starting the fires of war. and because of that, someone evil (villain) has to exist, and so we had the empire bear that burden.” this interview also blew the common argument pro-empire fans had of fodlan not being at peace at the start of the game. they said themselves that the three countries were at peace. even the game states at the start that ‘these three ruling powers now exist in relative harmony.’

also even if other characters did some things wrong that doesn’t suddenly let her off the hook for her actions just like her’s don’t nullify theirs. if she wanted to peacefully change how things worked in her nation then fine. i don’t care. however, she invaded two other independent nations in order to change their systems and put them under her control. that isn’t morally gray no matter how you spin it. it’s tyrannical.

actually it was humans as a whole who fucked up the earth first. the agarthans are a race of humans that have been around for over a thousand years at the start of the game. when the goddess sothis came down from her home on the blue sea star she arrived in fodlan and took on a form that resembled humanity and lived among them. she used her blood to birth a race of children called nabateans. in the beginning, these two nations lived in harmony.

sothis and her children helped the humans advance their technology and weapons over time until the humans’ hubris grew to the point that they began to wage war on each other and eventually the goddess herself - the one who gave them the technology to do so. as confirmed by seteth, (who was there during that time) some of the weapons they used in the war are also seen in the game, such as the missile of light that destroys fort merceus. so basically, it was a ye olde nuclear war that almost completely destroyed the land and the humans. during this, a faction of humans left the surface to live below ground. they built a city called shambala and officially became known as agarthans. back on the surface, sothis used her godly power to try and heal the earth. however, due to the incredible damage done by the weapons, so much of her power was used that she fell into a deep sleep to try and recover. so no, sothis didn’t fuck shit up. it was the arrogant humans that took her kindness and decided they wanted to try and kill each other with it.

yes, dimitri and claude do have the rest of fodlan under their command at the end of the day. however, they way they achieved this was nothing like edelgard’s. they had no intentions of starting a war to unite the three under their rule. dimitri was given the alliance (the round table came to an agreement and willingly became part of faerghus) and when he kills edelgard the empire is now, by default his whether he likes it or not. same with claude. he defeats the empire which by that point had taken the kingdom. both are now without leadership and he doesn’t even stay. he fucks off to almyra. edelgard on the other hand started the war to put all of fodland back under her rule. it’s not comparable.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The Reward of Suffering (Part Six)

previous chapter

Summary: Spencer comes face to face with a ghost from the past.

A/N: Hey... how y’all doin? Long time no see, huh? Sorry about that - hopefully this extra long update will make up for my absence. This has definitely been my favorite part thus far, and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. You guys know the drill by now: SPOILERS for season 12. Also, shoutout to @zhuzhubii​ for posting the absolute best set of gifs right in time for this update - you’re the coolest.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, mentions of rape, mentions of mental illness, kidnapping, choking

Word Count: 10.3k

           With every clack of my heels on the concrete floors, the nervous feeling in my gut grows into full blown nausea. It’s been nearly two months since I last walked these halls, but somehow it feels like a lifetime has passed. Considering everything that transpired in the last forty-eight hours, it makes sense that I feel that way.

           I hadn’t been on the team when Lindsey Vaughn first came into the picture ten years ago, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t familiar. At the time, I thought nothing of the kind neighbor that I sometimes passed in the stairwell on my way to Spencer’s apartment. I mean, why would I? I had no reason to be suspicious. Our interactions never went beyond the usual pleasantries – polite smiles and the occasional greeting – and I never gave her a second thought.

           Maybe if I had, Cassie wouldn’t be dead, and Spencer’s mother wouldn’t be missing.

           I shake my head at the thought. Now isn’t the time to ruminate on what ifs. I would have plenty of time to blame myself when all of this is over. Instead of torturing myself, I focus on trying to steady my breathing as I come to a stop just before I reach the interview room of the Milburn Correctional Facility.

           I know what lies beyond that door, and I’m equal parts excited and worried. Excited, because I’d finally be able to see Spencer after two long months of daydreaming about when I’d finally hold him in my arms again. Of course, it was very possible that Spencer wouldn’t want to see me. After all, I promised to keep his mother safe, and instead of doing that, I let myself get swept up in moving in to my apartment, and now Diana was God knows where.

           I was so sure that he wouldn’t want to see me that I’d initially suggested that Emily be the one to go to the prison and get him. My idea was met with a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder.

           “I think that if it was anyone but you standing there when they open that door, it’d break his heart.”

           Her reassurances did little to assuage my nerves. I spent the entire ride here running over every possible scenario that I could imagine, scrambling to form some kind of game plan. But now that I was here, any semblance of preparedness left me the second the guard reached for the door handle.

           “You ready, ma’am?”

           Yes.

           No.

           I don’t trust my voice, so I settle on nodding my head. The door opens with a groan, rusty hinges creaking in protest, and with shaky legs and a heart that threatens to beat out of my chest, I step into the doorway.

           It’s like the world stops turning on its axis when his eyes meet mine. Those familiar pools of caramel stare back at me with such an intensity that I force myself to look away, petrified at the prospect of seeing disappointment in them. 

           I trail my eyes over his frame, drinking in every inch of him - every bruise and every scrape feeling like a dagger to my heart. My eyes linger on the bandage adorning his left arm, before trailing down to the one on his leg. Emily had warned me about happened, about Spencer injuring himself in order to secure his safety. It was smart of him - that I knew - but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t horrified. 

           His hair has gotten longer, and his curls hang limply around his face. The usually clean-shaven Spencer I once knew was a thing of the past - replaced now by a more disheveled, scruffier version.

           Clean-shaven or not, he still looks just as breathtaking as always. 

           I hesitantly raise my eyes up to his again. He’s staring at me still, mouth parted in shock. He doesn’t look angry, just confused, and that fills me with a tiny sliver of hope.

           “Hi, Spence,” I murmur, voice thick with emotion. It’s not until I speak that I realize I’m crying, and I hastily wipe at my cheeks with my shirtsleeve.

           The dazed look in Spencer’s eyes washes away when he hears my voice and he blinks hard.

           “What… H-How are you…?” he trails off, eyes moving up and down my body.

           It feels so fucking good to hear his voice again, and I find myself unable to hold back a sob.

           “M’ here to take you home,” I choke out.

           It’s like all the tension in Spencer’s body is expelled at once and his shoulders slump in relief. I open my mouth to elaborate, to explain how Emily had managed to pull this off, but I’m stunned into silence when Spencer’s body collides with mine. I hadn’t even had time to process that he was moving before his arms snake around me, tugging me forward until there’s no space in between our bodies. Spencer’s hands collect fistfuls of my shirt, clinging desperately to the fabric as he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck.

           Once I get over the initial shock, I’m hugging him back, arms locked around his torso in a vicelike grip. He doesn’t smell the same – the usual fragrance of cinnamon and vanilla is long gone, replaced with that of some generic detergent – but the way his broad shoulders feel underneath my palms is something so familiar that I can’t help but smile against his chest.

           This is still my Spencer.

           Spencer lets out a shaky breath against my skin and I let out an involuntary shudder at the feeling.

           “Missed you so fucking much,” Spencer whispers. “I-I can’t believe you’re here. Thought I was imagining it.” Spencer takes a shaky breath in, nuzzling further into my neck. His next words are muffled from the way his lips press against my skin, but I’m still able to make out the quiet ‘I’m sorry’.

           “You’re sorry?” I hiccup, eyebrows scrunching up in disbelief. I attempt to pull away so that I can look at him, but Spencer only tightens his grip on me. Something about it makes my chest feel incredibly warm, but I push that feeling aside for now. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I should’ve done more – I should’ve visited more often. I let myself get busy, and if I’d just been more careful, then your m-mom… she wouldn’t be-”

           “Stop that,” Spencer interrupts, and this time he’s the one that pulls away. He holds me at arm’s length and those beautiful brown eyes lock with mine. “This is absolutely not your fault.”

           Spencer’s hands come up to cup either side of my face and his thumbs wipe away at the tears on my cheeks. “You’ve done so much for me – for her. I’m sorry that I took you off the list. Things were getting so bad here, and if something would have happened to you…” Spencer pauses, closing his eyes and leaning down until his forehead rests against mine. “It was never because I didn’t want to see you, I promise. And… And your letter - I can’t even begin to explain how much that helped. I’m sorry that I couldn’t write back. I didn’t know what to say. Especially not after…”

           He doesn’t elaborate, but I’m able to fill in the blanks myself. I bring my hand up and rest it on top of his.

           “S’okay, Spence. I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand.”

           Spencer hums and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

           “Time to get you out of here, Doc.” I remove his hand from my face and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go get your mom back.”

           Spencer opens his eyes and for the first time in two months I’m on the receiving end of my favorite smile in the whole world.

           I lead him from the room, never once removing my hand from his. Now that I have him back, I don’t ever want to let go.

--

           For the second time today, the clacking of my heels against the concrete floor is the only sound that can be heard. Spencer moves silently beside me, his face pulled into a somber expression as we stalk down the long corridor. His hand brushes against mine, and I long to reach out and intertwine our fingers like I had only hours before. I suppress the urge, stealing one last, poorly concealed glance at him before I settle my gaze on the door at the end of the hall.

           In the last several hours, the entire case had been flipped upside down. We’d been wrong all along – Scratch wasn’t to blame for the shit show that had transpired over the last three months. It’d been an easy enough mistake to make. After the incident with Tara’s brother, Scratch was the obvious choice. Pair that with the fact that Spencer had been drugged and we had no reason to suspect anyone else.

           Cat Adams was the last thing on everyone’s mind when Mexico happened. It’d been over a year since Spencer outsmarted her in that restaurant, and she was very much out of sight and out of mind. She was in a maximum-security prison, for fuck’s sake. That alone should have rendered her unable to carry out a scheme this convoluted.

           But apparently that meant nothing, because Cat had somehow managed to be the mastermind behind this whole ordeal, perfectly orchestrating the entire thing from her cell in solitary confinement – using Lindsey Vaugh as her metaphorical puppet on a string. We’d sorely underestimated Cat, and our arrogance had come back to bite us all in the ass.

           A guard that stands at the end of the hall opens the door for us, and I feel an intense rush of foreboding as we step into the room. The sound of the guard closing the door behind us brings a sense of finality to the situation; there is no turning back now. Either we walk out of here knowing Diana’s whereabouts, or we miss the mark completely and loose Diana in the process.

           I cast a worried look at Spencer, whose eyes are trained on the double-sided glass. The tension has returned to his shoulders, and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides. There’s a sort of fiery determination in his eyes – a sort of menacing resolve that I’d never seen in him before.

           Spencer looks intimidating, and nothing like the Spencer that was led from the courtroom three months ago. I pull my eyes away in favor of looking through the glass.

           Reid had been able to see through Cat’s mind games the first time, but the Cat that sat on the other side of that door is a far cry from the one he encountered a year ago. If she’d looked cold and calculating before, she looks downright deranged now.

           “Are you sure you want to go in there alone?” I ask after a moment. “I could-”

           “No,” Spencer cuts me off. His tone is hard and definite, warning me not to argue. “I can’t ask you to do that. Emily shouldn’t have made you come in the first place.”

           “Emily told me to come with you because she knew that there was nothing she could do to make me stay.” I pause long enough to shoot him a weak smile. “Hope you enjoyed your three-month break from me, because I’m going to practically glued to your side from now on. You’ll be dying to get rid of me in a month’s time.”

           Spencer’s lips twitch, threatening to turn up into a smile.

           “I sincerely doubt that.”

           “We’ll see,” I breeze. “But I’m serious, Spence. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the whole time – I’m not letting you go in there alone, and I’m not going to leave you.”

           “Promise?” Spencer asks, finally pulling his eyes away from the window in favor of looking at me. There’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and the weight of his gaze is so heavy that I worry I might buckle under it.

           I reach for his hand and hook my pinky finger around his, lifting our intertwined hands to eye level.

           “I promise.”

           Spencer’s pinky finger squeezes mine and he closes his eyes.

           “I don’t deserve you.”

           “You deserve the world, Spence.”

           For a moment I think he’s going to say something else, but then Spencer’s lips press into a tight line and he only nods in response. He releases my hand and I let it fall limply at my side. Spencer rolls his shoulders back, and that stony expression returns to his face. He reaches out and pulls open the door, and I follow closely behind him at he steps over the threshold.

           It’s as if I’m invisible; Cat doesn’t even spare me a glance when I enter the room. Her eyes, narrowed and sparkling with amusement, hone in on Spencer immediately.

           “Spencie,” she greets, smiling deviously up at him.

           “Where’s my mother?” Spencer asks, completely devoid of emotion.

           “I missed you.”

           “What did you and Lindsey do to her? How did you-”

           Cat raises a hand, effectively cutting him off. She points a finger at him, and the smile that she previously wore is replaced by a grimace.

           “Now, stop. You don’t get to walk in here and hiss at me like I’m the criminal. No – we’re going to do this my way.” Cat kicks the chair that sits on the opposite side of the table and Spencer reaches out to grab it. “Have a seat.”

           Spencer complies and Cat’s smile returns.

           “How was prison? Did you like it?”

           “No.”

           Cat hums.

           “It’s not fun, is it?”

           “Unlike you, I didn’t deserve to be there,” Spencer retorts.

           Cat leans forward, crossing her arms before resting them on the metal table.

           “How did you stay sane? A brain like yours needs stimulation in such a gray place.”

           “I worked in the laundry room and I played chess.”

           “That’s three, maybe four hours, tops. What about the other twenty?”

           “I read.”

           Cat shakes her head. “That’s still not enough. You have to… go someplace.” She taps the side of her head. “Up here. Or else you go crazy. Do you want to see where I go? I’ll show you.” Cat crooks a finger at Spencer, and I tense at the gesture. The idea of that psychotic bitch getting any closer to him makes my skin crawl. I clench my fists together and the feeling of my nails digging into my palms is enough to ground me.

           Spencer leans forward, mimicking Cat’s relaxed position. She reaches a hand out towards him, and before I can think better of it, I speak up.

           “Hands off,” I warn.

           Cat halts her movements and fixes me with an irritated expression, looking me up and down distastefully before turning her attention back to Spencer.

           “Close your eyes,” she instructs him. Spencer complies. “Good. Now keep them closed. Sit back and relax. When you open your eyes, I want you to look at me like I’m the first woman you’ve seen after being in prison for three months.”

           I clench my jaw at that. Something stirs in my chest – something foreign and possessive that has me bristling. I tense, watching closely as Spencer opens his eyes and smiles that beautiful smile at Cat. My stomach turns painfully at the sight.

           “Hello, Cat,” Spencer greets her, and all the contempt his tone previously held is gone – replaced with a neutrality that bordered on happiness.

           Cat lets out a pleased laugh.

           “You’re here!” she exclaims, throwing her arms out as she gestures about the room. “You’re really here.”

           “There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Spencer replies, sounding startlingly genuine.

           This is all an act, I remind myself. Spencer’s just playing a part. None of this is real.

           Cat crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him.

           “You’re good at this. You’re so good at this that I almost believe that you don’t want to kill me.”

           “I don’t want to kill you,” Spencer says with a shake of his head.

           “No?”

           “No.”

           Cat narrows her eyes at him.

           “What if I let your mother die?” she inquires. “Then would you kill me? Or would you just…” Cat trails of as she leans forward. “… Hurt me? Would you pin me down and leave bruises that don’t go away?”

           I swallow hard against the bile that threatens to crawl its way up my throat. Spencer might not want to kill her, but I do.

           “Is that what you want?”

           Cat shrugs her shoulders.

           “I guess I just want to know if you would – if you could.”

           Spencer gives a small shake of his head.

           “No.”

           “No?” Cat taunts, cocking her head to the side.

           “It’s not the kind of man I am.”

           Cat’s face drops and her eyes narrow into slits.

           “Do me a favor and tell your little chaperone over there to step aside, because we’re going to play another game. And this time, we’re going to find out exactly what kind of man you are.”

           Spencer’s eyes flit to me and he nods towards the door. I open my mouth to argue, but the pleading look in his eyes has me clamping it shut. It’s okay, his eyes seem to tell me. I know you promised, but I’ll be fine.

Cat waves at me as I reluctantly move towards the door. When the door clicks shut behind me, Spencer takes it as his invitation to continue.

           “Let’s play,” his voice sounds through the speaker to my left.

           “Let’s!” Cat exclaims before resting her head in her hand.

           “So, is it the same game as last time?” Spencer inquires. “I answer every question you ask honestly?”

           “No,” Cat sighs out. “This time you get to ask the questions.”

           Spencer raises an eyebrow at her. “About what?”

           “Well, I know a secret about you. And you can ask me as many questions as you like to figure it out. But you only get one guess as to what it is. If you guess correctly, I take your phone, I call our friend Lindsey, and I tell her to release your dear mother unharmed. If you don’t…” Cat trails off, before mimicking bringing a gun up to her mouth and firing.

           Crazy fucking bitch.

           “Is there a clock?”

           “There’s always a clock.” Cat holds out her hand, eyes flicking down to Spencer’s watch. “Give it to me.”

           I cringe when Spencer hesitates – I know what he must be thinking. That’s Gideon’s watch. The only thing he has left of him. I’d never seen Spencer without it in the two years I’ve known him.

           Spencer reluctantly slips the watch off of his wrist and hands it over.

           Cat smirks and slides the watch onto her arm.

           “Now, you’ll have four hours.”

           “Do you want to give me a hint before we start?”

           Cat chuckles. “Do I look like a girl that gives hints?”            “Actually, you do.”

           Cat takes pause, looking Spencer up and down before speaking.

           “Okay, how about this; it’s a secret you’ll never admit to.”

--

           “I know what the secret is.”

           Cat quirks an eyebrow up at Spencer.

           “You do?”

           He nods. “Why else would you put me through all this?”

           “Ooh, phrasing it in the form of a question that way it doesn’t count as a guess. Very smart, Doctor.”

           “I’m gonna walk you through a scenario, and your face is going to tell me how close I am,” Spencer murmurs, an amused smile on his lips. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. “From the moment I arrested you, you watched and waited for the right time to take your revenge. When you learned I was going to Mexico, you took it. You and Lindsey framed me for murder so I’d be put in a prison and treated like a criminal, and then you kidnapped my mother so I would know how it feels to have a parent manipulated, because you want to prove that you and I are the same. Am I right?”

           Cat feigns a yawn in response.

           “Mm. Sorry, I couldn’t hold that in any longer. What were you saying?”

           “Psychopaths tend to get bored easily.”

           “You’re right. Let’s speed this up,” Cat sighs with a roll of her eyes. She pushes away from the table, standing up and walking over to Spencer’s side of the table. I fight the urge to barge in when I see her take a seat on his lap. Cat runs a hand down Spencer’s chest before she continues. “Shall we? What do you think about all the pain you’ve suffered in your life? What would I capitalize on, do you think? Is it… the death of your mentor, SSA Jason Gideon?”

           I can see the way Spencer’s jaw clenches and it makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest.

           “No, because we caught the man who killed him.”

           “What about Agent Morgan and your guilt over not visiting his little boy?” Cat whispers in his ear as her hands fiddle with the collar of his suit.

           “I was in prison.”

           “Yeah, but you had time before that. Why didn’t you go?” she presses as she grazes her nails down the length of his throat. I see red when her hand loosely circles around his neck. Spencer absolutely loathes being touched by anyone other than those closest to him, and I’ve no doubt that he’s horribly uncomfortable.

           “Truthfully, I got distracted. I was trying to figure out a way to help my mom. She didn’t have time. Morgan, Savannah, and little Bobby did. So, there’s absolutely no shame in admitting that. Morgan would understand.”

           “I agree. That’s why that’s not the secret,” Cat divulges, brushing her nose against the side of his face before pulling away and standing up. I let out the breath that I’d apparently been holding and allow myself a moment to run a shaky hand through my hair. If I was getting this frazzled from being a bystander to this conversation, I can only imagine how Spencer must be feeling.

           When I look back up at the mirror, Spencer’s looking over his shoulder at me through the glass. I know he can’t see me, but I can’t help but feel guilty for losing my cool.

           “Good job, Spence,” I murmur to myself as I pull out my phone. After a few rings, Rossie answers.

           “Go ahead, Y/N. You’re on speaker.”

           “Cat has an extremely deep background on Spencer. She knows about everything – Gideon’s death, Derek leaving the team, his mom’s condition,” I inform them, tapping my foot nervously against the concrete.

           “She’s throwing him off-balance.”

           “Yes, but Spencer also purposefully gave the wrong name of Derek’s son and she didn’t correct him,” I point out.

           “She must’ve gotten her hands on Reid’s confidential FBI file,” Emily chimes in. “It would mention pertinent team information but it wouldn’t name Morgan’s son for confidentiality reasons.”

           “We were thinking she’s been getting help from someone inside the prison. This goes deeper than that,” Rossi sighs.

           “Call us if she says anything else of any importance,” Emily signs off. I mumble a quick goodbye before pocketing my phone and turning my attention back to the window.

           “Working deductively, the secret wouldn’t be any of the topics you’ve already volunteered, because you wouldn’t want to make it easy on me,” Spencer reasons. He clasps his hands together and sits back in his seat before raising an eyebrow in challenge.

           “Genius, truly,” Cat taunts sarcastically as she twirls the watch around her finger.

           “So, what is left that I wouldn’t want to admit?” Spencer muses, eyebrows drawn together in contemplation. Cat shrugs her shoulders at him and another moment of tense silence passes.

           “Love,” Spencer utters, and Cat’s incessant twirling of the watch comes to an abrupt halt.

           Got her.

           “Is that what this is all about – love? For my mother?” Spencer whispers, and when Cat fails to respond, he shakes his head. “No, not for her. For you. You want me to admit that I’m actually in love with you.”

           Cat purses her lips together.

           “Don’t get me wrong – I love my fairy tales as much as the next girl – but I’m not delusional,” Cat says as she crosses her arms.

           “Are you sure about that?”

           “Very sure. So sure, in fact, that I had Lindsey leave a clue for you in that little scrapbook in your apartment.”

           I scrunch my face up at that. The clue in question had been a message inscribed on the back of an old photograph;xx-xy. We’d originally deduced that the message, the female and male chromosomes, was to confirm that Lindsey was working with Scratch. But now? Now I didn’t have a clue what Cat was talking about.

           “I couldn’t have you come all the way down here and make a guess until I was positive. That is…” Cat pauses for dramatic effect, a sly smile on her lips. “… until I tested positive.” Cat punctuates her words by placing both hands on her stomach, and the action makes me raise a hand up to my mouth in shock.

           No. There’s no fucking way.

           “What, you’re pregnant?” Spencer asks, confused.

           “No, we’re pregnant.”

           I feel my knees buckle upon hearing the admission and I blindly reach for the chair to my left.

           This cannot be happening.

           “No,” Spencer says, shaking his head adamantly.

           “Oh, yes,” Cat replies. “Mazel tov.”

--

           “Here you are, ma’am.”

           I reach for the file, my movements stilted and awkward.

           “Thank you,” I mumble to the guard, who gives me a peculiar look before leaving the room. I waste no time in flipping through the file, heart pounding wildly in my chest as my eyes skim over the page until –

           Positive.

           I slam the file down on the table.

           “Fuck!” I yell out in frustration. I’m thankful then for the thick, concrete walls, because neither Spencer nor Cat show any sign of having heard my little outburst. I place both palms down on the cool metal of the table, my breaths coming out in haggard puffs as I try to rationalize it all.

           “- not possible,” Spencer’s voice coming through the speaker snaps me out of my thoughts. I cut my eyes to the window to find Spencer pacing the room. “Even if you are pregnant, the baby’s not mine.” Spencer comes to a stop behind his chair and shoves his hands in his pockets.

           “Except for the part where it is.”

           “That’s completely preposterous. You’ve been in prison,” Spencer points out as he once again takes a seat across from her.

           “So have you.”

           “And we’ve never-”

           “I know. We’ve never…” Cat trails off with a suggestive waggle of her brows. “Ask me how I did it. Come on, ask me.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes, but he indulges her nonetheless.

           “How did you do it?”

           “I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instruction on how to get you in the mood,” Cat admits.

           “What?” Spencer snorts cynically. “Did she pretend to be you?”

           “Why, would that have worked?”

           Spencer leans forward and shoots Cat a cruel kind of smile.

           “No.”

           For a split second Cat’s face falls, but only for a moment and then she goes right back to smiling that wretched grin.

           “Yeah, I know, I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid hot or not list,” Cat sighs. “So, ask me again.”

           “How did you do it?”

           “I told her to pretend to be Y/N.”

           For a second I think that I misheard her – the blood rushing in my ears almost overpowered her admission – but the way Spencer’s entire body tenses before he looks back at the window tells me that I didn’t.

           Why me?

           Spencer gulps hard before he turns back around. I find my way to the chair nearest me and collapse into it.

           “How do you know about her?”

            Cat gives him an unimpressed look.

           “It wasn’t hard, seeing as she’s your very best friend in the whole wide world,” Cat teases as her eyes wander from Spencer to the glass behind him. She waves at me, endlessly amused, before turning her attention back to Spencer. “But that isn’t all that she is to you – is it Spencie? At least, Lindsey didn’t think so. At first, she thought the two of you were tangled up in some kind of sexy little tryst. But then I had Lindsey do a little digging, and, well, that’s when we found out about the boyfriend.”

           “Stop.”

           “Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve!” Cat trills gleefully. “Shall we call her in here to join us? I know she’s just on the other side of that glass. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about how pathetic little Spencer Reid pines after her like a school boy with a crush.” She pouts her bottom lip out in mock sadness. “There’s just something about unrequited love that really tugs at my heart strings.”

           Oh.

           For the second time since arriving here, my hand comes up to cover my mouth as I struggle to process Cat’s words. She can’t be right, can she? Spencer had never done anything that eluded to him seeing me as any more than a best friend. Perhaps she got it wrong. Lindsey saw me come and go and she just assumed it was something that it wasn’t. There was no way that Spencer -

           “I said stop.”

           The underlying plea in his voice is enough to make tears well in my eyes. If what Cat is saying is true, that means that Lindsey . . . 

           “All it took was Lindsey saying she was Y/N for you to crumble like a house of cards. You really made it too easy.”

           “You’re lying.”

           Cat chuckles. “Listen to you, you’re not even trying to deny it.”

           “It didn’t happen,” Spencer argues, voice so quiet that I have to strain to hear it.

           “Hey, I was thinking, if it’s a boy, we should definitely call him Spencie Jr.”

           Spencer pushes back from the table so abruptly that both Cat and I flinch, and he’s almost out the door when Cat delivers one final dig.

           “-But if it’s a girl, I think we should call her Y/N. I mean after all; she played such a huge role in in her own conception!”

           The sound of the door slamming behind him as he trudges into the room is enough to make me bolt up from my seat. Spencer comes to a stop at the center of the room, eyes wide and full of remorse as he looks over at me.

           “I-I… I’m…”

           I try my best to muster up a smile but I worry that it comes out more as a grimace.

           “Later,” I murmur, and Spencer winces before nodding his head in defeat. I walk over to the table and open up the file. “She’s not lying about being pregnant.”

           Spencer joins me at the table, eyes skimming over the document.

           “She’s three months, and the timeline matches, but that doesn’t mean-”

           Spencer yanks the file off the table and hurls it at the window, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

           I take a step back and Spencer curses under his breath.

           “I’m sorry. It’s not you,” he sighs. “I just… need a minute.”

           I press my lips together and nod.

           “Take all the time you need. M’gonna go call Emily,” I murmur.

           Spencer closes his eyes and lets his head hang low.

           “Yeah, okay,” he whispers dejectedly, and the despair in his voice is enough to stop me in my tracks.

           “Spence?” I call out. He looks up at me from underneath his lashes, more than a little bit timid and scared. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m not leaving you.”

            I open the door and step out of the room, but it doesn’t close before I hear the quiet ‘thank you’ drift from within.  

--

           Spencer waits until the door clicks shut behind her to push away from the table and head back into the interrogation room. He couldn’t bear the thought of her overhearing any more than she already had. As far as Spencer was concerned, Cat had just singlehandedly ruined the one good thing he had going for him, and at this point, he had nothing left to lose.

           “Let’s pretend you’re telling the truth,” Spencer starts. “That means I guessed it, right? The secret, the one I don’t want to admit to? It’s my child?”

           Cat looks up at him with bored eyes and Spencer feels his unease begin to give way to rage.

           “Is that your guess?” Cat asks. “You only get one, remember?”

           Spencer takes pause, before shaking his head.

           “No. It’s too easy,” he decides.

           “Believe me, getting pregnant with your baby was not easy,” Cat mutters, and Spencer’s lips press into a tight line. The implication of it is enough to make his skin crawl. He feels violated and absolutely disgusted, but still he tries to school his impression into one of indifference. Spencer thinks about his mom, scared and confused, and that’s enough incentive to make him focus on the task at hand.

           “You misunderstand. It’s too easy emotionally,” Spencer explains in a clipped tone as he sits down. “Because I can take your child from you. The child I had absolutely no role in creating, but a child that I would care for better than you.”

           “That’s rude,” Cat seethes as she slowly lifts her head from off of the table.

           “It’s true. You can’t be a mother, Cat. I’m not trying to insult you – it’s your psychological makeup. You literally do not have the emotional skills to care for another human being. You’d lose interest in your own baby the way a six-year-old loses interest in a pet hamster. This baby is simply a means to an end, which is to keep me here and playing your game, guessing like a fool and assuming something that I never should have assumed in the first place.”

           “And what would that be?”

           “My mother’s already dead,” Spencer says, and the words taste positively foul in his mouth. “She was dead before I walked in here”

           Cat’s lips pull into a frown.

           “She’s not dead-”

           “Yes, she is,” Spencer reiterates as he rises from his chair.

           “No, because that would be cheating and I don’t cheat. You cheat!” Cat panics, voice growing louder the closer Spencer gets to the door.

           “I’m done playing,” Spencer says as he turns away, reaching for the door knob.

           “Get back here!”

           Spencer pulls the door open. “Goodbye, Cat.”

           He has one foot out the door when;

           “I’ll let you talk to her!” Cat yells out as she slams her fist down on the table.

           Spencer lifts his eyes up from their spot on the floor, and it’s with a jolt of surprise that his eyes meet Y/N’s. It feels to him like it always does when he sees her – like some great relief that floods through his entire body in an instant. He feels guilty for it, now that she knows, but that doesn’t stop him from basking in it. The feeling grows when a triumphant smile graces her lips, one that says you’ve got her, Spence. You’ve got her right where you want her.

           Spencer is positively rejuvenated by that smile.

           He reluctantly pulls his gaze away from her and focuses back on Cat. He’s come too far now to fuck it all up.

           Spencer pulls his phone from the depths of his suit pocket and hands it to Cat. He watches on as she dials the number, and his heart beats so fast that he wonders if she can hear it. The sound of the dial tone ringing fills the room, and Spencer can only hope that the call will be long enough for Penelope to trace.

           “You’re early,” a voice that’s unmistakably Lindsey’s calls out. Spencer lets out a shaky breath of relief.

           “Yeah, I know.”

           “Did he guess?”

           “No, not yet,” Cat sighs. “We need proof of life.”

           “All right, hold on,” Lindsey says, exasperated, and her words are followed by several seconds of muffled rustling and what Spencer deems as some sort of liquid being poured.

           “Spencer!”

           His heart practically bursts out of his chest as he lunges forward, yanking the phone out of Cat’s hand and bringing it up to his ear.

           “Mom - mom, are you okay?”

           “I don’t… know-”

           Spencer opens his mouth to reply when the gut-wrenching sound of an explosion rips through the tiny phone speakers, distorted and so loud that it makes Spencer’s ears ring.

           “Mom!” Spencer desperately yells into the phone, but all he gets in reply is a ‘gotta go’ from Lindsey before the line goes dead. Spencer growls out a string of swears, throwing his phone down on the table before leaning over the table.

           “What the hell was that?” he yells, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening, but he can’t focus on anything other than his own rising panic.

           “I don’t know,” Cat replies, opening her mouth to continue but Spencer cuts her off.

           “Lindsey said you were early. Was that a signal?” he bellows.

           “Spence, come on,” Y/N tries to interject. Spencer feels her hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off before bringing his fist down on the table.

           “Was that a prearranged signal to kill my mother?!” Spencer snarls, eyes wide and teeth barred. He feels positively feral, images of his mother in all sorts of terrible states of distress flashing through his mind like some grotesque picture show. “Tell me the truth!”

           “No! I am!” Cat shouts back.

           “Tell me the truth!”

           “I am!” Cat spits out, eyes flashing angrily. “You wanna know the truth? Your mother is an Alzheimer’s-ridden moron who’s getting dumber by the day and if she’s dead, it’s your fault!”

           Something comes over Spencer then, and in an instant, he’s shoving the table out of the way and pushing Cat against the wall. His hands find purchase on her throat, not dissimilar to how hers had on his hours before, but instead of dragging his fingers against her neck, Spencer’s clamping down on it as hard as he can, taking great pleasure in the way she gasps for air as his hands tighten. Everything around him fades away until all that he can focus on is that way that her pulse feels under his hands – the way it starts off strong, before tapering, slower and slower until he can barely even palpate it anymore.

           “I’m going to kill you,” Spencer hears himself whisper as he presses down hard on her windpipe. “M’gonna fucking kill you.”

           Cat’s eyes are fluttering closed now, and Spencer shouldn’t enjoy the way the light in her eyes starts to dim. He shouldn’t but he does – in fact, it prompts him to press harder and harder and –

           A harsh yank pulls Spencer away from Cat, and as soon as his hands begin to loosen Cat splutters in an attempt to catch her breath.

           “Spencer, she is pregnant,” Y/N yells in his ear, and just like that his tunnel vison fades away and Spencer feels the adrenaline leave his body. He only realizes that his hands are still on Cat’s throat when Y/N yanks at his arms again. “Fucking let her go, Spencer!”

           His entire body goes limp and he allows himself to be drug away from Cat and out of the room. Spencer’s heart still pounds and his blood is still roaring in his ears, but the satisfaction has given away to shame. He steals a glance at cat as he’s being pulled from the room, and despite her ruffled appearance, she’s grinning at him – smiling as if to say see? I told you that you were just like me.

           Spencer stumbles into the other room, steadying himself on the wall to keep from faceplanting onto the cold hard floor. Now that the adrenaline has expelled itself from his body, he’s left shaky and panting and ashamed.

           The feeling of Y/N’s eyes on him as he braces himself on the wall only exacerbates his mortification. What will she think of me now? Will she think me to be some kind of monster? Spencer wouldn’t blame her - he’s held that same opinion of himself for months now.

           Spencer stands there, face turned downwards as he catches his breath, and when he can take the weight of her gaze no longer, he darts out of the room and down the corridor.

           Being alone is preferable to being a disappointment, Spencer thinks as he flees the room.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to find him sitting in the floor, knees to his chest with his face downturned. Spencer hears her before he sees her, and he prepares himself for the yelling that’s surely to come.

           She surprises him when she slides her back down the wall until she’s sitting beside him, legs sprawled out in front of her. He doesn’t look up – fearful of what he might see when he looks into those beautiful eyes of hers. There had been love there, before all of this happened. Not the kind of love that was reflected in his own, but it was love just the same and Spencer thinks that it might kill him to see that love replaced with disgust. So he doesn’t look. Instead, Spencer just sits there, slumped over and pathetic, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that his hands are shaking.

           “Richmond County police just reported a gas station explosion. One victim – male. Whatever Lindsey did, we have to assume that your mom’s still alive,” Y/N murmurs. Spencer lets out a shaky breath and his grip on his knees tightens. It’s good news, and he’s grateful, but it does nothing for the overwhelming guilt that’s eating away at him.

           “Hey,” she whispers when he doesn’t reply. “Can you look at me, Spence? Wanna see those pretty brown eyes. Please?”

           Spencer chokes down the sob that threatens to come out. He shakes his head. 

           “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened in there. That… That’s not me. At least, I don’t want it to be,” Spencer whispers. “Emily should’ve sent someone else with me. I never wanted you to see me like that.”

           Her small, incredibly soft hand comes to rest on his own and Spencer closes his eyes at the feeling. Y/N flips his hand over and intertwines their fingers and Spencer can’t help but think that’s she’s showing him way more kindness than he could ever deserve. But he’s selfish, unable to deny himself of the feeling of her hand in his, so he clings onto her hand for dear life.

           “I’m so scared that this is who I am now,” Spencer mumbles, prompting her grip on his hand to tighten.

           “No, Spence. Don’t say that,” she chastises him. “You’re the best guy I know. Everyone has a breaking point – Cat just knows how to bring you to yours, is all.”

           “You… You don’t know…” Spencer trails off, still unwilling to look her in the eye.

           “I do know, Spence. I may not have been able to visit, but I asked about you every day,” she says as she shuffles closer to him. Spencer can smell her perfume now, subtle and sweet and comforting. “I know that two inmates, Frazier and Duerson, killed your friend in front of you. I know that they wanted you to move heroin for them, and I also know that if you didn’t, you would’ve been next. Anyone in your spot would’ve done the same.”

           “You wouldn’t have.”

           “Hell yes, I would have,” Y/N persists, and Spencer can’t help but to look up at her from behind where his unruly curls fall into his face. “I would have, Spence. If someone was threatening my life, you bet your ass I would have done the same thing. It doesn’t make you a bad person – doing whatever it takes to survive does not make you a bad person.”

           She must pick up on the hesitancy that lingers in Spencer’s eyes, because she decides to continue.

           “You know who does think like that? That – that in you doing what you had to do in order to survive somehow makes you a psychopath?” Y/N pauses long enough to point her thumb towards the direction of the interview room. “She does.”

           Spencer watches the realization wash over her face, and for a split second he’s terribly confused. It isn’t until a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips that he catches on, and when he does, he has to stop himself from doing something terribly stupid like kissing her.

           “She does,” Y/N reiterates when she sees that Spencer finally caught on. “Because she knows.”

           “That’s the secret,” Spencer thinks aloud. He pushes himself to his feet and begins to pace down the corridor. “The one that I don’t want to admit about myself.”

           “Hold up, Spence. Let’s talk through this, because she will not lose to you twice. She already said that this wasn’t about the two of you being the same.”

           Spencer scratches the back of his next, nodding to himself.

           “Then she’s all about the game. She thinks that I cheated the last time because I lied about her dad, so it’s integral that she beats me by following the rules.”

           “But, Spence, she’s the one that makes the rules. She can change them to ensure that she wins.”

           “-Which means that I’m locked in-”

           “Like she is.”

           “She needs me locked in, playing by her rules, a game I can’t win, so she-” Spencer pauses then, and an actual, honest to God smile creeps its way across his face – the kind of smile that was only reserved for Y/N. “I got it.”

           Spencer doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to. He can tell with one look that she understands, because somehow, she always does. Spencer offers her a hand and hoists her to her feet. 

          Spencer almost laughs as the two of them step back into the room. Of course, she would be the one to figure it out. It seems like she’s always saving him, these days.

--

           “Guess that’s one way to get you to put your hands on me.”

           Spencer feels a twinge of guilt, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he holds a hand out to Cat.

           “Dance with me.”

           Cat lifts an eyebrow at him.

           “Why?”

           “Because I don’t want the people watching to hear what I’m about to say.”

           Cat is still suspicious, but she takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet anyways. Spencer puts his arms around her and the two of them begin to sway back and forth. Spencer suppresses the urge to pull away when her hand lowers and intertwines with his own. It’s rough and calloused and cold – a direct contradiction of Y/N’s – and Spencer positively loathes it.

           “You had eyes on me while I was in prison, didn’t you?”

           “Spencie, don’t ruin the moment,” Cat groans.

           “I don’t want to, but I’m on the clock. Answer my question, am I right?”            Cat places her head on Spencer’s chest, her hair smelling of some generic bar of soap, and Spencer wishes more than anything that he was smelling the familiar notes of honeysuckle and vanilla instead.

           “Yes, you’re right. I wanted to make sure things were just as uncomfortable for you as they were for me.”

           “That’s how you timed everything so perfectly. Like sending my mom and Lindsey to visit me when I thought I was at my lowest.”

           This piques Cat’s interest and she lifts her head up until her eyes meet Spencer’s.

           “Thought? You’re sure you weren’t?”

           “No, I wasn’t. Because I didn’t feel bad – I felt scared at how much I enjoyed poisoning the other prisoners. I had a hundred ways of getting myself out of that situation, and I picked the one that would cause them the most pain.”

           “Well, look at that,” Cat hums. “You might end up saving your mother’s life after all.”

           A moment of silence passes as Spencer contemplates his next move. Before he can get the words out, Cat breaks the silence.

           “They won’t get there in time. They must be on their way, right? Your team is too good to wait around, but you know me. I always have a contingency plan,” Cat murmurs, hands dipping under Reid’s suit jacket. She rubs her palms across his chest in slow circles and Spencer tries hard not to squirm. “They’re walking into a trap, and the only way out is if you give me your phone and you guess – right now.”

           Cat removes her hands from Spencer’s chest, crossing her arms and fixing him with a pointed look. Spencer reaches down and pulls the phone from his pocket, passing it to Cat who wastes no time in taking a seat at the table once more.

           Spencer’s skin tingles, half from anticipation, half from fear. They’ve come too far for him to misstep. He thinks of his mother – of how the next two minutes will determine her fate, and Spencer clenches his hands into fists at his sides.

           Here comes the moment of truth.

           “When we first sat down, you said you were going to show me what kind of man I am. And you have.”

           “Every time I dial a number, you’re getting warmer.”

           “At first, I was furious, because the secret had to be the baby inside you. How could it be anything else? But then I realized that somehow, you knew I liked hurting those men.” Cat dials another number, prompting Spencer to continue. “Now, I know it’s both things.”

           “So, which is it, Spencie? Come on, don’t fumble it now. You’re at the one-yard line.”

           “You’re not pregnant with my child. You got pregnant with Wilkins to put me in as compromised a position as possible. But it should be mine – I wish it were mine. Because you and I… we deserve each other. That is the real secret.”

           By the time Spencer finishes speaking, tears are steady falling down Cat’s cheeks. With a shaky hand she presses the call button, and Spencer watches on with bated breath as the phone rings.

           “Kill her.”

          When Cat receives no reply, she pushes out of her seat and begins to pace around the room. “Lindsey, I said kill her.”

           “You bitch,” Lindsey curses, sounding positively heartbroken in the way only a jilted loved could. “You’re pregnant?”

            “Lindsey, sweetheart, it’s complicated, okay?”

           “No, it’s not,” Lindsey whispers, and then the sound of the dial tone is all that’s left.

           Not a second later, Y/N bursts through the door; the figurative light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

           “We’re clear.”

           Spencer snatches his phone from Cat’s hand before turning to face Y/N.

           “Is my mom okay?”

           “Yeah. She’s fine.”

           “We do deserve each other, by the way,” Cat calls out, prompting Spencer to pivot and face her. She slides back into the seat and shrugs her shoulders. “You guessed right.”

           Spencer falters for a moment, but then a voice in his head is reminding him that he deserves the world. And that voice sounds a lot like Y/N.

           “You lied, by the way. You were going to kill my mother regardless.”

          “Yeah, I think you really liked hurting those men. Once you cross that line, you can’t ever go back. And you’ll never get her to love you, either. You and I are too fucked up to be loved.”

           Spencer takes two steps forward before he bends down, reaching out and clutching Cat’s forearm in a tight grip. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his watch off her wrist and back on to his own.

           “Watch me,” Spencer whispers, and without so much as a parting glance at the broken women sitting at the table, Spencer walks towards the light.

--

           The elevator ride up to the bullpen is a quiet one, not unlike the jet ride before it. I had about a million questions that I was dying to ask, but I thought it best to let Spencer stew in silence. The poor guy had been through enough in the last twenty-four hours – he didn’t need me hounding him on top of all of that. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure where to start in the first place.

           So, Spence – how was prison?

           I heard you got the shit kicked out of you. How interesting, so did I! Wanna trade war stories?

           I hate to put you on the spot like this, but was that little tidbit about you being hopelessly in love with me true? Just curious.

           As wonderful as all of those conversation starters were, I didn’t really think that now was the time to breech any of the aforementioned subjects. So, instead, Spencer and I communicated in stolen glances and shy smiles, and that more than sufficed for the time being. We had all the time in the world to talk later - there was no need to rush.

           I can practically feel Spencer shaking with anticipation when the elevator ride comes to a close, and the two of us share one last, longing glance before the doors open and Spencer steps out and into the arms of his mother.

           There’s not a dry eye in the house when Spencer and his mother reunite, and it takes Emily ushering us all away to keep us all from devolving into sniveling messes right in front of the elevator. We all scatter about the bullpen, and after a quick trip to the bathroom I meander to Emily’s office.

           “Derek Morgan – you are a sight for sore eyes,” I whistle as I walk into the room, not stopping until I’m pressed up against two-hundred pounds of rock-hard abs.

           “Ah, little bit. I sure have missed you,” Derek laughs as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

           “To what do we owe the pleasure? I’d be hard pressed to believe that you just decided to drop in at three o’clock in the morning.”

           Derek lets out a sigh and the smile drops from his face.

           “I wish I was just here to say hello, but we may have bigger problems. I got a text from Penelope saying that Reid was out of prison and that he wanted to see me. And that he was staying in an FBI safehouse where he was putting his mother up for the night.”

           I cast a glance at Emily, who shakes her head.

           “I didn’t approve of that,” she explains, and just like that, a weary feeling settles over everyone in the room.

           “I think we all know what this sounds like,” Derek says.

           “A trap.”

--

           “I know we’re all tired, but we may have a new lead on Scratch.”

           “Somebody did a bang-up job of cloning my cellphone to send Morgan a text luring him to a nonexistent safehouse. And whoever that somebody is has mad skills,” Penelope explains.

           “The kind of skills Scratch has,” Stephen mutters, earning a round of murmured agreeances.

           “Were you able to trace where the hack came from?” Luke inquires, earning an affronted glare from Penelope. She shakes her head at him before turning to Derek, who’s watching on with a shit-eating grin on his face.

           “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

           Derek chuckles and gives Luke a pointed look.

           “Alvez, you’ll always get a location with this one.” Derek reaches forward and rubs Penelope’s shoulder, and it’s impossible to miss the way Luke’s eyes zero in on it.

           “Down boy,” I whisper at him. “Green isn’t your color.”

           “Shut up.”

           I roll my eyes good-naturedly before turning my attention back to Emily.

           “Obviously, Morgan can’t come with us. He’s a civilian now.”

           “We’ll miss you out there,” JJ chimes in.

           “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it out there in the field with you guys. I think about it every day. But between my old friends and my new friends, you guys are gonna go out there, you’re gonna handle your business, you’re gonna make people feel safe, and then you’re gonna go home. And that’s all that matters.”

           “Civilian life has turned you into a sap,” I tease.

           “Is it just me, or has this one gotten mouthier since I left?”

           Penelope pats him on the arm.

           “Someone had to fill the silence.”

           After everyone has the opportunity to tell Derek their goodbyes, it’s a mad dash to get everything we need to roll out. I pull my hair into a ponytail and shuck off my blazer, only to replace it with my Kevlar. I’m in the middle of securing the last strap as I hurry down the hall when I come in harsh contact with the front of someone’s chest.

           But it’s not just someone – it’s Spencer.

           “I thought you left already?”

           Spencer lets out a strained chuckle.

           “Uh, yeah. I was on the way out when Penelope texted and said Derek was here. Mom’s sitting with Anderson while I go talk to him.”

           I nod in understanding.

           “Good ole Anderson,” I manage to say, trying hard not to cringe at my awkward choice of words.

           “Yeah,” Spencer mutters, shuffling his feet as he looks anywhere other than my face. “There’s a case, I’m assuming?” he says, gesturing to my vest.

           “We think we have a lead on Scratch, actually.”

           Now, that gets Spencer’s attention. His eyes finally settle on me, and his brows furrow.

           “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I need to go with you-” Spencer makes a move to brush past me, put I stop him with a hand on his chest.

           “Back it up, Spence. There’s absolutely no way Prentiss will sign off on that, and even if she did, I’m still saying no.”

           “And I’m supposed to listen to you?” Spencer tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch as he fights back a smile.

           “Mm. What I say goes, and I say that you need to go home and not even think about work for at least a month. You certainly could use the break.”

           “A whole month, huh?”

           I nod, looking up at him with a faux serious expression.

           “I better not see you around here for at least that long, or there will be repercussions.”

           Spencer finally does smile at that, and I can practically see the way he’s mulling over his next move in his head.

           “Does… Does that prohibition extend only to the work place?”

           I tilt my head to the side.

           “I’m lost.”

           Spencer scrunches his nose up and his eyes dart across the hall before eventually settling back on me.

           “It’s just that, well, I don’t really know where this leaves us. Will I still see you outside of work, or is that all messed up now?”

           “Why would that be messed up?”

           Spencer closes his eyes and he lets out a haggard breath.

           “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

           Even though he can’t see me, I smile up at him anyways.

           “On any other day I absolutely would, but things are a little… hectic right now. How about we put a pin in this conversation until things slow down a bit?”

           Spencer slowly opens his eyes and they roam over my face, searching.

           “You’re not uncomfortable? Considering everything that, uh, she said about me? Especially the part that pertained to you?” Spencer asks, meek and unsure.

           I shake my head.

           “I think you’ll find that I am very much the opposite of uncomfortable,” I reply. We stand there for a moment longer, just basking in the fact that after three long, miserable months, we’re finally together again.

           Spencer opens his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by Emily calling my name from further down the hall.

           “Duty calls,” I chuckle, pulling away from Spencer. “Tell you mom I said hi, and I’ll be by to visit once you have time to get settled in,” I call over my shoulder.

           I make it a good ten feet down the hall before Spencer’s tugging at my hand and pulling me flush against his chest. He hesitates for a moment, and a flash of uncertainty clouds his eyes, but then he’s pushing it down and pressing his lips to mine.

           Spencer’s lips are slightly chapped, but so, so warm as they move against mine. My response is instantaneous – I don’t hesitate for a second before I’m kissing back. The kiss is slow and tentative, as gentle and tender as it is intoxicating. It’s everything that a kiss should be and it ignites a fire in me that has me grasping at Spencer’s shirt, desperate for more. The hand that isn’t cupping the side of my face presses firmly against the small of my back, urging me forward until absolutely no space is left between us.

           Every drag of his lips against mine acts as gasoline to a flame, and I can’t help but think that Ray Bradbury said it best. It is a pleasure to burn.

           I’m the first to pull away, but it isn’t because I want to. What I want is to stay just like this – entangled in Spencer Reid – until not an inch of our bodies lay unexplored by the other. But when Emily calls out my name yet again, I force myself to stop.

           “I really need to go,” I murmur regretfully, and Spencer nods.

           “Yeah, I know.”

           But that doesn’t stop him from going in for one last, delicious kiss. This time when we break away, it’s his doing. I don’t have the self restraint to pull away twice.

           “Pinky promise you’ll come back to me in one piece?” Spencer says as he lifts his pinky finger up in offering. I link mine with his, and I smile a dopey grin at him.

           “Of course, I will,” I reply. “After all, you and I are due for one hell of a conversation.”

           I shoot him a wink before I’m running down the hall and slipping into the elevator just before the doors close. My teammates all shoot me curious looks, but I pretend like I don’t see and I lean against the wall, trying and failing to slow the rapid beating of my heart.

           It’s Stephen who approaches me when we all file out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

           “Spencer Reid wouldn’t have anything to do with that love-sick look on your face, would he?”

           I attempt to school my expression, but one pointed look from Stephen has me devolving into a fit of giggles like I’m a goddamn school girl.

           “Possibly.”

           “Possibly my ass. When we get done with this case, I expect a full explanation,” Stephen chuckles as he climbs in the back of the SUV.

           “You gossip like a teenager, Walker,” I tease as I climb in after him.

           “What can I say? You kids keep me young.”

           I let out a loud laugh at that.

           “Best shrink a girl could ask for.”

-

-

-

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

           - Unknown

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