#anyway if you haven’t already you should check out my ao3 page I write about jrwi and sometimes other things I have like three Angelstone

[valeovalairs]

People follow me for my fanart only for me to then remove my clown mask and reveal my second clown mask beneath it that says fic writer on it.

[thedeathdeelers]

Juke fluff, right this way (based on this post)

you’re music to me (now on AO3)

“So, how come you guys are always here?”

Julie was staring down at her latest doodle, contemplating adding some more purple to bring out the details, when the question popped into her head. She had been wondering for a while now why the boys weren’t using more of their supernatural ghostly powers to their advantage, and figured that now was as good a time as any to ask.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and both Reggie and Alex had disappeared off to wherever they liked to spend their free time. Whenever they weren’t practicing, the boys usually found ways to entertain themselves, mostly at the expense of the other members of the Molina family.

Luke on the other hand, could usually be found either in the studio cooped up writing new lyrics, or hanging out with Julie in her bedroom (although even then, he would still have his notebook on him, jotting down words and melodies as inspiration struck), as was the current case.

Julie and Luke were sitting cross legged across each other on Julie’s bed; Julie doodling on a school notebook, and Luke working on a particularly difficult bridge for a new song they were hoping to premiere at their next gig in a few weeks.

So when Julie had asked Luke her question and she wasn’t directly met with an answer, she had just figured that he was busy writing down new ideas in his song book. But when the silence stretched longer than was usual for Luke, Julie finally looked up and noticed him staring at her with an odd expression on his face.

“What? Did I say something? What’s wrong?”

“Do you- do you want m- us to leave? I- I mean we thought you were fine with us living here, what with the band picking up and- But of course, if you want us to leave, that’s completely fine. The boys’ll understand and-“

“No! No that’s not what I meant at all!” Julie’s eyes got incredibly large, as she realised how her words must have been perceived. She frantically shook her head, her ponytail whipping at her cheeks with the movement, as her hands, covered in smudges of colourful ink reached out to rest on his knees.

“No, Luke. Of course I don’t mind you guys staying here - I really do like- love having you guys around. I just meant- I mean you guys can literally teleport anywhere, do anything, and not have to worry about getting caught. But as far as I can tell, you guys just hang around here all the time, or meet up with Willie every now and then at some random celebrity’s house.” Julie pulled her hands back in her lap, shrugging. “I don’t know, I guess I was just wondering why?”

She could see him visibly deflating, the odd expression on his face having morphed into a more composed look. He let out a breath, tapping his pen loudly against the pages in front of him with one hand, while the other rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, we- I mean we just haven’t felt the need to do anything else, I guess? When we first got here, we explored all of our old haunts,” insert smirk here, “checked out some of the new music that’s been taking over the scene - we even went to a few concerts.” He shrugged, his hand coming back down to rest on his knee. “But nothing’s really pulled at us enough to seriously want to leave for any extended period of time.”

She found that quite strange. Here she was talking to the boy who told her that their instruments were attached to their souls, and he was simply shrugging at the idea of being able to go to any concert anywhere, for free, without any consequences.

“You’re telling me you’re not even interested in checking out some of the older bands you guys were really into? Attend some of the concerts you always wanted to go to but couldn’t because they were on the other side of the country? Of the world?” She could hear how dubious she was starting to sound, but she couldn’t help it. None of this made sense.

Luke tilted his head to the side as he looked at Julie with a look that made it seem she was missing the obvious.

“But you wouldn’t be able to come with us? Where would the fun be in that?” He smiled at her, a small glint in his eyes. She rolled hers at him in return.

“Ha ha, very funny. Seriously, Luke, aren’t you, for lack of a better word, dying to go see certain people, certain bands, live? For free?”

He shrugged again, seeming unbothered by her line of questioning.

“Not really. I haven’t really felt any pull to check out new music in a while. I’ve been more excited about the stuff we’ve been making anyway.” He paused, playfully tapping her knee. “Plus I’m not sure I’d be able to properly enjoy a concert if I knew you couldn’t be there. Not as fun.”

She stared at him, wondering if his sanity had been touched.

“Not as fun? Really? I hope you realise you’re not making any sense. You know damn well that having Reggie with you alone would be enough. He’s the life of every party, dead or alive.”

She heard him snort, his head bending back down as he prepared to refocus his attention on the song book in his lap.

“I don’t know, Julie. It’s hard to explain. I just-“ He stopped himself mid-sentence, suddenly seeming to be too engrossed by the words on the pages in front of him. Only she knew better.

She put her notebook aside, and crawled across the tiny space between them, coming to rest on her folded knees right in front of him. She put her hands on his, stilling the tapping of the pen, and covering the words on the pages. She patiently waited for him to finally look up, focusing his attention back on her.

“Luke, you know I’d never hold it against any of you guys if you were to go and have fun without me. You guys deserve it - all you do is hang around here, unless we’re playing a gig somewhere. You should be enjoying your afterlife, not spending it constantly practicing or writing new songs or worrying about our next gig. Live a little!” He was frowning throughout her speech, but she could see the corners of his lips twitching a little at her choice of words.

He stayed quiet though, just staring at her, his eyes searching for something on her face. What it was he was looking for, she couldn’t tell you.

But after a few minutes of silence, he took a deep breath, tilting his head backwards as he closed his eyes, his hands twisting around, threading his fingers through hers.

“It’s not that I- that we would feel guilty, Jules. We’re happy with the way things are here. And to tell you the truth, I haven’t really felt the need to look for new music for a while now - what we create, you and me and the boys, it keeps changing and shifting and surprising me everyday.” He sighs, bringing his face back down, his eyes opening as they centred back on hers. In a softer tone, he continued. “Why would I go looking for something else, when everything I need is right here?”

She had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about music anymore.

“Why would I want to go searching for something else Jules, when I’ve already found the best? Something that I have right here, right under my fingertips?” He let go of her hands as he reached for her face, hers falling limply into his lap. His fingers brushed her cheeks lightly, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind, before they settled under her jaw, cradling her face in his palms. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to.

“I have no desire whatsoever to go to concerts or look for new music, new talent, when you literally live under the same roof as I do.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks, his face moving closer to hers.

“You are music to me, Julie. As long as you’re in my life, my afterlife, whatever you want to call it, I see no reason in looking for anything, or anyone, else.”

He closed the distance between them, his forehead coming to rest against hers. She could do nothing but stare up at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open, her mind furiously trying to process Luke’s words.

You are music to me, Julie.

Her heart was beating so quickly, so loudly, it felt like it was about to burst out of her chest and take flight. She tried to focus on her breathing, taking deep breaths to center herself, before she gave up and threw herself into the stunned ghost’s lap. She wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. With the shock of the impact, Luke lost his balance, sending both teenagers tumbling backwards onto the bed. But even then, all Julie did was press herself closer against Luke, hoping he wouldn’t try to pull away.

To her delight all he did was readjust their position, tucking her head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tighter against him.

“What did I do to deserve such enthusiasm?” He chuckled, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Julie just shook her head, her lips moving against his neck. She felt him shiver beneath her, causing her lips to tilt upwards.

They remained in this position for a while, Luke rubbing her back, as Julie continued to breathe in his scent, enjoying this quiet intimate moment with him for as long as possible.

But then she felt Luke shift as he turned to his side, her head softly hitting the mattress beneath her. With their legs still tangled, and her arms still securely wrapped around him, she looked up at him, his face hovering a few inches above hers.

“I just want to try something,” was all he said.

And with that he moved down until his head cane to rest against her chest. His arms snaked around her waist, as he pressed his ear closer to where her heart was currently beating a mile a minute.

With a loud sigh, Luke stilled, remaining in that position. Julie tried to stay quiet, tried to keep her curiosity at bay, but she simply couldn’t.

“Luke, what are you doing? I mean, not that I mind but, is there a reason you moved?” She tugged lightly at his hair, her fingers finding refuge in his soft brown locks.

She could feel him shake his head under her fingers, as he quietly started to hum a melody she couldn’t recognise. His fingers then joined in, tapping along to an unknown beat on her waist. She shifted her head to the side, craning her neck trying to get a glimpse of Luke’s expression.

She could see a smile making an appearance on his face, and could swear she could feel his touch getting warmer, see light emanating from his every pore.

“Luke?”

A beat of silence. He opened his eyes, as he looked at her with a tender look and the softest smile gracing his lips.

“I’m just listening to my favourite song.”

“Oh? What favourite song? I heard you humming it, but I’m not sure I recognised it?”

“No, no. I wasn’t humming the song, I was just adding a little melody as an accompanying piece.”

Julie was thoroughly confused. “I don’t get it. Accompanying piece to what?”

“To my favourite song silly, I already told you. It’s more of a beat, really, but when I’m listening to it I swear I can hear the sweetest sounds in my head.”

When Julie still didn’t understand what in the world he was talking about, that frustrated look refusing to leave her face, Luke took pity on her as he started tapping out the beat on her waist again, demonstrating to her what he meant.

It took her a little while, but once she focused, she realised he was tapping along to her heartbeat. It stuttered at her realisation, and Luke’s fingers followed, not missing a beat.

Oh. Oh.

Her hands tightened their hold on his head as she tugged harder, guiding him back up towards her. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, refused to hold it in anymore. Once he was at her eye level, close enough she could feel his breath on her lips, she whispered-

“I love you.”

The brightest smile she had ever seen took over Luke’s face, his eyes shining as they competed against the brightness of his smile. His hands reached up, cradling her face again as he whispered back against her lips:

“You are music to me now, you are music to me forever.”

Forever. She liked the sound of that. If she could somehow manage to keep him for that long, it might just be enough.

FIN

[jaime-brienne-fic-exchange]

Exchange Posting Guide

Hello, friends and frenemies! We are less than three days away from the collection opening, which means I have a tension headache every morning I wake up and remember that I have to finish my exchange fic. The no-fault defaulting deadline has passed, but if you realise you will not be able to finish on time please, please let us know ASAP anyway so we can get a knight writer to write your recipient a gift.

On the other hand, if you have completed your exchange fic draft, please remember to tell us before the 1st! About a third of the participants already confirmed they’ve finished their fic, and we say:

Okay, now with the collection opening soon, here’s some FAQ on posting!

First off, how dare you?

Honestly, I ask myself that all the time, and the answer is there is no answer. We knew what an exchange would be like. Chances are, you did too when you signed up because many of you were here last year. We have no one else to blame but ourselves.

How does posting work?

The exchange portal will open on August 1st at 12pm AEST. Once it opens, use AO3 to upload your fic as usual:

Most of the upload process will be exactly the same as usual, but you need to fill in the following two fields:

Fill in the first with “JaimeBrienneFicExchange2021” (It should autofill, but please be careful to select the right collection! This one is the one we're using. Alternatively, you can go straight to that collection and click the “Post to Collection” button on the top right under the banner once the collection is open.)

Type in your recipient’s AO3 name in the second field. Double check your original prompt to ensure you have the correct name. A few people have different tumblr/AO3 names and we don’t want any fics to go awry.

If you've already made an AO3 draft before the 1st, make sure you add it to the collection and put in your recipient's username in the fields we mentioned above, and make sure you change the date when posting (or your fic will be buried). Be aware it can cause some shenanigans where the fic may not appear at the top of the page.

After that, it’s as simple as clicking post! Your fic will be submitted to the exchange and automatically be made anonymous. As the author, when you open your own fic, it will say ‘YourUsername (Anonymous)’, but to other users it will simply say ‘Anonymous’. Author’s names will not be revealed until August 21st, when we click the button to reveal them.

Feel free to reply to comments during that week. As long as you are logged into the account that posted the fic, all of your comments will also be anonymised.

If any of this process is confusing to you, PLEASE reach out to one of the organisers (nire-the-mithridatist/slipsthrufingers/firesign23/samirant/im-auntie-social)! We’re happy to hold your hand through the process 🤗

What about Lil’ Oathkeepers?

I’m glad you asked, imaginary exchange participant that’s totally not me talking to myself! A Lil’ Oathkeeper is a gift that can be any size and shape. It can be art! A video edit! A moodboard! A fic shorter than 1000 words! Or… a fic longer than a 1000 words, but you probably know that. Anyone (you don’t even have to be signed up to the exchange) can make and gift a Lil’ Oathkeeper. We’ll be releasing the prompt spreadsheet and posting instructions on the 1st!

Why is the exchange opening a day earlier than you said?

Because Slips has set the time on the exchange to suit her own timezone. She has to stay up till after midnight to watch F1 cars go vroom vroom and had to deal with being spoiled for every single episode of Game of Thrones on Tumblr and Twitter because it aired in the US while she was at work. This is her own petty little vengeance and she will not apologise for that.

Also it’s easier for her to keep everything straight in her head this way. Mathematics is not her strength. We’re kindly moderators though, so here’s a handy timezone conversion for you.

Why do I need to let you know by the 1st that I’ve finished my fic if I can post it anytime during the following week?

So we can find a knight writer ASAP. The sooner we know that you won’t be able to complete your fic, the sooner we can find someone to fill in for you. We don’t want anyone to be disappointed.

Do I have to post ON the 1st of August? I’ll be AFK for the day because my cat has a piano recital!

No, you can post it anytime between the 1st and the 7th. If you can’t or don’t want to post it on Sunday, then you can absolutely wait until later. We anticipate that the bulk of fics will be posted over the weekend, but if you want to post it on the 6th, then that’s absolutely your choice. Just be mindful that your recipient may be worrying why they haven’t received one.

Also tell your cat we’re rooting for them!

I really overshot the 1k limit and need to post multiple chapters. Should I post them together and drop my 40k prompt fill in the tag all at once, or can I stagger it throughout the week?

You must have a complete posted story by the 7th of August, unless you have reached out to us to make alternate arrangements. If you want to post your story over the week, you can. If you want to post it all at once, you can. As long as your prompter gets a completed fic in the posting window, we don’t mind.

(Also, look at your life, look at your choices! It was a 1k minimum!!! Buncha overachievers in this fandom, I swear 😂😂😂)

Can I thank my beta in the notes of my story?

Absolutely you can! The betas of the fandom be working HARD this week, they definitely deserve recognition. Just be mindful of including anything in your notes that might reveal who you are. You could choose to name your beta, or just thank them generally and add their name after authors have been revealed.

What if I don’t receive a story?

It might be because your author hasn’t posted it yet - they have the full week from the 1st to the 7th to post their story. It also might be because your fic needed a knight writer to write it. If this is the case, know that your knight is probably working very diligently to complete it, but might not be able to complete it within the window. If it looks like your fic will be significantly delayed (like until after authors are revealed) we will contact you directly to let you know what’s up.

What’s the etiquette around thanking my author?

A kudos and a comment is pretty standard. It’s up to you how long your comment is; we don’t write comments with our heads, we write them with our hearts. Just keep in mind that a person out there spent time working on something just for you and make sure you show your appreciation, even if the story isn’t exactly what you expected!

Can I promote my story?

Please don’t do this until authors have been revealed through the collection.

Can I rec my gift story?

Absolutely! Share the love! You can choose to rec it while it’s still anonymous, or wait until the authors are revealed. It’s up to you.

I’m not participating in the exchange, but I want to get into the spirit of the week. What can I do?!

Well firstly, read any of the 102 fics we expect to be posted that week! Read them and enjoy them! Leave a kudos! Leave a comment! Leave ten comments! Write rec lists and share them on Tumblr or Discord or TikTok, wherever it is that the cool kids hang these days!

What’s for dinner, nire?

Chicken, seasoned with my own tears.

I have another question that hasn’t been answered in the FAQs

Either send us a message through tumblr, or get in touch with one of the organisers privately. We’ll get back to you ASAP!

[shadowdianne]

Fic writer review [Or a fic writer tag game if you prefer]

I was tagged by @naralanis and I can already see her grin all the way from where I am xd Thank you, dear, for the tag, let’s see what are my answers, shall we.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

*bursts out laughing* Adding both pseuds I have… 535 according to the account info but by counting them all I’m reaching 541 so I’m guessing it’s counting some drafts I need to re-find.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

I seriously hated you for this one xd I was going to do it by hand by I decided one-third there that I value my mental stability a little bit more xd according to the stats page back at a03 that number would be 1257884. It may be wrong. I think there should be a few more numbers up there but the majority of my works are one-shots so *shrugs* There’s also the fact that counting my ao3 things only is shaving off like half of it Xd Anyway, can we laugh at the fact that I’m a pain in the ass and that I’ve written a lot? More than I should have, that’s for sure

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Trick question because I haven’t crossposted everything I wrote back in ffnet and I actually erased some fics from my account back there so the numbers are a little blurry there.

When I had the entirety of my work posted both in ffnet and a03 I had written for: Twilight (Bella/Alice) Glee (Faberry and there were a couple Pezberry and I don’t fucking remember the pairing name for Santana and Quinn), Harry Potter (Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Bellatrix) OUAT (SwanQueen and several oneshots focusing on the mad hatter and the blue fairy solely back at ffnet that were written in Spanish and never translated), I actually had a veeeery old au prompt of Frozen (Elsanna in where I wrote them as non sibilings), Rizzoli and Isles (Rizzles), Dishonored 2 (Emily Kaldwin/Alexi Mayhew), Lara Croft and Wonder Woman, Supergirl (SuperCorp/Supercat) I had a 100 one -or maybe two??- (Clexa), The Shannara Chronicles (Amberle/Eretreia [Or Princess Rover], Rwby [Blake Belladona/Yang], The Worst Witch (Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa Pentangle), The Half of it, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Madam Satan/Zelda Spellman) and… I think that’s it(?) I may be forgetting some but probably nothing important if I’m not remembering it lol.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Ah, we are going to go there, uh? Xd My works are not the kudos and comment getting type Xd So I was quite surprised when I went to check this.

1: Cracked it I wrote this one back in 2017, it was a prompt done by an anon: Lena is nerding with one of her projects at home, mumbling mostly to herself because she’s stuck and Kara casually mentions how to solve the problem like it’s nothing. I really had some fun with this. It was back when some us, SQeeners were fully doing the jump between OUAT and SuperGirl (I mean, there had already been some crossover as for fandom is related but this when the girls were actually getting their conjoined voice within the fandom)

2: Dateless I honestly needed to check what this one was about but I think I can see why this one shot has the amount of kudos it has. It’s a short and sweet idea and responds to the Teachers Au that went SO well with SQ. Everyone thinks they hate each other and try to set them up with other people whilst they, in truth, are dating. I don’t remember if I wrote them as married rather than dating but despite being from 2017 as well is one cheeky enough to be cool Xd I probably would edit some lines now *shudders*

3: After you I truly didn’t expect this one to be top 3. Makes me think of a lot of things, if I’m being honest Xd. After you was a one shot written almost feverishly as an answer to the fabulous drawings that Sejic did of both Lara Croft and Wonder Woman back at 2018 or something. It’s just Lara and Diana being himbos but not at all with each other.

4: How about… How about is one I remember perfectly, it was my answer to the ending of the Half of it film. I had SOME thoughts about it, let’s just stop there Xd I really liked the film itself but I think and I thought at the time that my response to wishing for a final scene at the very end of the credits responds to me being in a different personal moment than the characters. I really wanted to explore my feelings about it and so I wrote about them finding each other again after some time passes. It was also something I wrote after quite the hiatus so I took it as something I could write about without focusing too much on the why.

5: Come to me

Ahh, SuperCorp Xd I remember this one actually. A friend of mine and I were talking about descriptions, and she mentioned quite off-handedly how she wanted a fic in where Kara’s back was described. I complied… more or less.

Fun tidbit, despite the big volume of my work is obviously set in ouat there’s only 1 SQ fic there as you can see, the others are either SuperCorp or the random one shots I created for Wonderwoman/Lara Croft and The half of it. *sighs in deep thought* I’m also not going to look too much into how almost all of the fics were posted and written back in 2017. Nope, not at all.

*Small voice screaming you peaked in 2017 and everything else is garbage jumps back and forth*

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I tend to always respond, yup. I truly value comments. I might have gone for spells of time in where I didn’t have the mental capacity to check in old fics because I truly didn’t know what to answer but I treasure every single comment and you all who comment know that I can start to ramble in the answers xd -sorry about that- I really really REALLY love interaction.

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending:

Ok, Nara, come on, this one is a catch for me. I’ve written angst in far too many fics to remember the angstiest one :P I have the most recent one, though, that is the easy one to think about: Goodbye.Written for @delirious-comfort. I’m just going to say “Kisses with their last dying breath” as an idea of what awaits inside but I’ve written about death and loss and angst quite a lot. There were some I wrote back to SQ with Regina needing to kill Emma during the Dark Swan arc that, to this day, I still love and some others in where Regina is the one that dies, again and again, trapped by magic while Emma watches. I have the loss in mental destruction form and… I REALLY like my angst y’know xd

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not counting Lara and Wonder Woman not really! I think it comes from the fact that I loooove worldbuilding as a whole and some pairings would require all my focus into making the world perfect which in turn would make me self conscious on the OOCness of it all.

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

*snorts* I’ve received hate due to the pairing I’ve written about, how I’ve written about it, the amount I’ve written, how slow or quick I can be, the usage of some tropes, the lack of usage of those same tropes… Let’s just go with: yuuuup.

9. Do you write smut?

I’ve written smut, yeah! But I can already see the pointed looks of some so let’s elaborate Xd I write smut when asked and sometimes when not asked but there’s a part of me I like to call a terrible tease that prefers writing the beginning of a scene, taunt it, focus on what happens before the sex scene per se as I find it more enjoyable to write. The process of escalation is always the best for me to see what can I do it by using both dialogue and descriptors tbh, so I tend to tease more than show.

9. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

A few weeks ago I’d have said: Maybe(?) But trying to follow the trail of some other fics that had been stolen from some friends -I think it was me trying to find more about the page that stole something from your Nara!- I found some pages in where my fics had been reposted. In some it was stated that the person posting the fic wasn’t the author but I had never been contacted in order to see if I’d say yes to such a thing and in some others the page was locked up but I could still see someone was pretending to be the author. I did the thing and got some of those down.

Pointed note: Ask me if you want to post or translate or anything. I will look into you and answer you if you seem honest about the thing. But despite every joke and self-deprecating comment those 500 and then some fics represent MY time so very kindly I say fuck off to those who wish to steal from me and if I catch you… you don’t really want to see me angry, trust me.

10. Ever had a fic translated?

I’ve given permission to some, yeah, but never heard it back from them so I’m guessing it didn’t stick.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I’ve written series alongside other authors as @stregaomega for example. And some others that are unpublished -looking at you @carsonnieve - I’ve also done collabs… but fics co-written in the sense of two authors same chapters I don’t have anything posted I’m afraid :P

13. All-time favourite ship?

*snorts*, I guess the obvious answer is SQ uh? And I do think they were the ones that allowed me to read and write SO much. The one I feel more strongly about, however, is Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13.

14. WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

All of them counts as a valid answer? But if I only could finish one that would be Arcadia. With A forgotten Promise second and the one I did as an Assassins Creed AU third. (I don’t remember the name so there’s no link, sorry xd)

15. Writing strengths?

Uhhhh, you REALLY want me to say that? I don’t fucking know!! To me everything I write is garbage. I always try to go for the feelings so I guess. Dunno xd I’ve been told I’m good at worldbuilding and to be honest is what I enjoy the most.

16. Writing weaknesses?

Everything Xd Pacing? What I hate the most sometimes is dialogue, I would count it as a weakness but I’m always far too focused on description rather than dialogue. I don’t think it’s a bad thing per se but it’s something that I don’t do as much.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I’m conflicted. Always. Majorly because I think that having bilingual characters in fanfiction is portrayed and expected in a way that I don’t feel it’s honest with how bilingual people -us- talk. So if I go by what I know I do I think it’s not what readers hope to see when it comes to that and if I go for how canonically is hoped to be found I don’t think it’s logical. But that’s me and my overthinking Xd If I have the option I like to do it.

18. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Belice! Or Bella/Alice. Worst first fic ever but oh, well, I’m always saying that :P

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Uhh… Don’t make me do this XD Agh, I don’t know. I’ve always been very vocal about Metallic Ink because I let myself enjoy the process of creating a magic system almost out of zero and that was fun. Despite hating some of the writing process and that I’d do it differently now I think I’m going to stick with that answer. Or anything that had any steampunk-based undertone. To be honest I like more thinking of concepts, I had one in where Emma was a thief and it involved the robbery of a ring that was Regina’s one way ticket to freedom I then later repurposed that I adored thinking about so let’s go with…. Yeah, I love having the option of changing things up a little and focus on how characters would fit in different aesthetics for this one Xd

Annnd… these are four pages, gods. I’m just going to tag @waknatious @carsonnieve @stregaomega here and see what they do- Enjoy the questionnaire ladies :P

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 17

I tweaked the prompt a little :)

[AO3]

x

Before leaving the city for small-town Maine, Lacey had told herself she wasn’t going to spend every night drinking until the early hours, as she had in New York. Since moving to Storybrooke she had mostly kept that promise to herself. During the week, anyway. Weekends were a different matter. Ruby usually had Friday nights off from the diner, but that inevitably meant that she worked on Saturdays, and while Lacey wasn’t bothered by going to the Rabbit Hole by herself, it was much more fun to have Ruby’s company while she slowly went out of her mind. Saturday evening found her at the bar in Granny’s Diner, drinking her way through a few tall glasses of ice-cold oblivion and telling Ruby about her latest unsuccessful encounter with Gold.

“So he wasn’t even dressed?” Ruby set a vodka and orange in front of her, leaning on the bar and resting her chin on her hands. “At that time in the morning? Not like Gold.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Lacey, stirring her drink with a straw. “It was weird, Rubes. I was all bracing for insults and sarcasm, and it was like he couldn’t even look at me.”

“You can’t tell me you wanted insults and sarcasm.”

“No,” she admitted. “But I think I’d choose that over being ignored.”

“Oh God…” Ruby shook her head. “Would you just ask him out already? Ask him to Zelena’s stupid dance.”

“I told you, he’s not going,” said Lacey impatiently. “And even if he was, it’s obvious he’s not interested. I mean it was obvious before, but now…”

“Maybe you just disturbed him doing something?”

“Like what?” Lacey stirred her drink moodily, and looked up. “Oh God, you don’t think he had someone there, do you?”

“Like a - a woman?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” She took a drink, enjoying the tart taste of the orange juice and the smooth heat of the vodka in her throat. “I bet he did. I bet he had someone stay the night and I woke him up from a round of hot morning sex, good God!”

“Lacey.” Ruby leaned on the bar with a patient expression on her face. “Apart from you, the only person lusting after Gold in this town is Zelena. And he would never.”

“Okay,” Lacey nodded, feeling a little better. “That’s a fair point. But it could have been someone from out of town.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” suggested Ruby. “You could have pulled him out of his death bed.”

“Hey, that’s a point.” She perked up a little. “Yeah, maybe that’s why he was off with me. Great!”

“There you go.”

Lacey groaned, slumping on the bar with her chin pushed into her folded arms.

“God, I shouldn’t wish ill health on the man, should I?” she said dolefully. “What’s wrong with me, Rubes? I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Yeah, it feels that way to me, too,” remarked Ruby.

“Why am I like this?” demanded Lacey, pushing upright again. “Past Lacey was never like this. Past Lacey would find a hot guy, have a good time, and move the hell on! Past Lacey would have been like ‘pfft, so he’s not interested, his loss’. That’s always how it was before.”

“So maybe it’s something more meaningful this time,” suggested Ruby. “Maybe present Lacey wants an actual relationship, not just hot crazy sex.”

“Oh no, present Lacey totally wants the hot crazy sex,” said Lacey, snickering as she reached for her drink. “I just need him to want me back, that’s all.”

“I told you, the ‘you seeing him naked’ thing put him off,” said Ruby. “Guys like Gold need to feel like they’re in charge.”

“Hmmm.” Lacey grinned widely. “He can do that if he wants.”

Her grin widened at the thought of Gold taking charge in a number of very delicious ways, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

“You got it bad, girl,” she observed.

“I can’t help it!” said Lacey, slapping the bar with her palms. “First time we met I saw his junk, and believe me, it was absolutely no hardship as far as I’m concerned. And since then I’ve been checking him out every chance I get.” She took a slurp of her drink to wet her throat. “I thought he looked pretty good full frontal, but did you see his ass in those pants? Biteable.”

Ruby’s eyes had gone very wide.

“Lacey, shh!” she hissed.

“What? It’s true!” Lacey waved a hand. “I always thought you’d need a big hammer to bang in a nail that size, but nope! Almost as cute and pert as mine.”

“Yeah, that’s a great point you just made about - uh - carpentry,” said Ruby loudly, and Lacey felt her brow crinkle.

“Carpentry? What the hell are you - it was a metaphor, Rubes!” she insisted. “I’m talking about how Gold should man up and nail me!”

“Hey Mr Gold!” said Ruby brightly, a somewhat desperate smile on her face. “What can I get you?”

Lacey felt as though a bucket of iced water had been thrown in her face, the shock of it making her catch her breath with a gasp. A ball of lead the size of a small watermelon appeared to have dropped into her stomach and was trying to drag her down through the floorboards and into the diner cellar. She was tempted to let it. He’s right fucking behind me, isn’t he?

“Miss Lucas,” Gold’s lazy drawl made her close her eyes in horror. “Just the rent, if you please. I leave minor - uh - carpentry jobs to those with more inclination for the task.”

Lacey wanted to die. She slipped from the stool, snatching up her bag and coat. Perhaps if she didn’t open her eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

“Later, Rubes,” she muttered, and almost ran from the diner.

Gold watched her go, slim legs moving remarkably quickly considering the height of her heels. Turning back to the bar, he favoured Miss Lucas with a tiny smile, but she was glaring at him, dark eyes flashing.

“Are you stupid?” she demanded, and he frowned.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, in a freezing voice, and she threw up her hands.

“That poor girl just said out loud how much she wants to bang you, and your response is to be all snide and cutting? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What are you talking about?” he snapped. “I know full well Miss French has no interest in me other than as an object of ridicule!”

Miss Lucas put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

“Don’t you have eyes?” she demanded. “You telling me you haven’t seen her staring at you?”

“Oh, I vividly remember our first encounter,” he said dryly. “I also remember hearing her discuss it with you afterwards. You’ll forgive me if I’m not turned on by mockery.”

Miss Lucas sniffed.

“Look, if you’re getting your cock out in public you have to expect a little teasing.”

“I did not get my cock out in public!” he snapped. “It was on my own property, and frankly it’s no more your business than it was hers!”

“Yeah, well she wasn’t mocking you, she was just - surprised.”

“Oh please!” he said, in a disparaging tone. “I’ve no interest in whatever game you two are playing.”

“She just said you should man up and nail her! You heard her!”

“Really?” he said dismissively, tugging at cuffs that didn’t need it. “Hilarious, if one understands the context, I’m sure.”

“Oh my God…” She shook her head. “Blind, deaf and stupid. I should have just talked to Neal.”

“What does my son have to do with this?” he demanded, and she shrugged.

“Just saying. Something tells me he’s not as dense as you.”

Gold glared at her.

“Are you gonna give me the rent, or do I have to consider raising it?”

“Fine, resort to empty threats all you like,” she sniffed, turning away.

She unlocked the drawer beneath the counter, taking out the envelope of rent money, and slapping it on the counter. She was still glaring at him, and Gold took the money with an unpleasant smile, opening it up and beginning to count out the notes.

“She likes you,” said Miss Lucas, making him pause. “Lacey likes you. Weird as it seems to me, and as much as I don’t want to hear about her many fantasies involving you, she likes you. She likes you a lot. As in she wants to have sex with you. Also a lot.”

Gold had lost count the moment she mentioned Lacey’s name, but there was no way he was about to admit it. He gathered up the pile of bills, stuffing it back into the envelope and retrieving his notebook from his pocket.

“It’s all there,” he said stiffly, flipping through the pages. 

“Just ask her out,” went on Miss Lucas. “Or go to that dance of Zelena’s if you’re gonna be a wuss about it. Then you don’t even need to ask her out. You could just - you would be there, and she would be there, and the two of you could - you know.”

Gold could barely see what he was writing, but he pretended that he knew what he was doing. He wrote the date out with such a flourish that it tore the paper, and slipped the notebook back into his pocket. The envelope of money followed it, his hands shaking a little.

“Thank you, Miss Lucas,” he said, his tone hollow. “Do give my regards to your grandmother.”

Turning on his heel, he fixed his gaze on the door and limped towards it as though it was the path to his salvation.

“Why are you both such idiots!” called Miss Lucas, and he flinched as he grasped the door handle.

Getting out into the cool summer evening, he let the door close behind him, and exhaled slowly, head rolling back as he let the soft breeze caress his skin. Surely Miss Lucas wasn’t being serious? Admittedly Lacey had said something extremely suggestive about him, but what if it was part of their banter, the joke that never got old. Gold and his naked body, forever an object of ridicule.

What if it wasn’t? A voice in his head whispered to him, a faint spark of hope igniting deep within him. What if she actually likes you? You could go to that tedious charity ball. By the sound of it, she’ll be there, no doubt reporting for the Mirror. You could ask her to dance. That wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions. Maybe not even hers. And if she does like you...

The idea of Lacey actually returning his feelings was too heady to contemplate, and Gold shook his head, striding off down the street. No. He would think about this intriguing possibility when he was in the safety of his own home and with a large glass of something strong. He definitely needed a little Dutch courage to plan his next move.

[jilliancares]

I’ve read all of your klance fics (😭) have you got any recommendations?

honestly read anything by @hiuythn​ (here on ao3), @noussommeslessquelettes​ (here on ao3), @melancholymango​ (here on ao3), @wittyy-name​ (here on ao3), @apvrrish​ (aknightley on ao3), @katranga​ (here on ao3), @thisgirlhastales (mytay on ao3), @speakswords (speaks on ao3), @starlightments (starlightment on ao3), 

ANYWAY here are some of my fav fics by these guys! i honestly love everything of theirs so what i recommend is just to get you hooked if you’re not already. after that, you should do yourself a favor and just go and read all their fics lmao. have fun!!

- hiuythn wrote there, nestled against his pulse and its incredible sequel, which you’ve probably already read (here and here), but if you haven’t, you’re really missing out. if you’re looking for something shorter, i highly recommend this adorable fluff: i killed sendak for this. anyway hiuythn’s writing is something i’m obsessed with just. the way they word things, and their characterization, and even the way they format their stories it’s just,,, every time they post a fic i’m like HELLO GREAT DAY

- noussommeslessquelettes wrote one of my favorite series ever. what first got me hooked on them was this series and the absolute Feels™ it gave me and just their unique writing style. it’s 55k all together and it’s a high school au and idk it just makes me feel so at home for some reason. god i fucking love this one aspect of the series where keith has to change a tire,,, YOU’LL SEE!!! they have a bunch of other fics too!! oneshots and chaptered fics! make sure you check ‘em all out they’re all incredible

- melancholymango has a BUNCH of fics. they’ve been posting a lot lately bc of commissions and their smut is *chefs kiss* i’m always a slut for any creature/monster au they write, so some of my favs to just dive into: from a dragon’s breath, where lance tries to sacrifice himself to the dragons near his village, my, what sharp teeth you have, which is a werewolf!keith/little red riding hood!lance fic, would you be so kind? asdkjf canon fwb!!, beast of burden okay. this fic. FUCK. it’s another werewolf!keith fic and,,, read the tags but Hello at that fic omg. anyway kali has fics ranging from like 8k - 100k+ so just go have fun

- wittyy wrote a lot of fics that are super popular in the fandom that i’m sure you’ll recognize!! shut up and dance with me and moth and flame and the mirror fics shadow of the future (by wittyy) / ghost of the past (by zizanni). but!!! they also have awesome fics that you might not have read yet, including from what i’ve tasted of desire (alpha/alpha shifter dragon fic) and a touch of magic which is vampire!lance witch!keith and i’m actually in love with it

- aknightley also has a bunch of big fics in the fandom. they wrote this one fic that i’ve read so many times ajsdlkf it’s fit the crown to my head. that story’s like a legit Novel i’m obsessed with it. also can you tell me is so good my guy, like,,, if you haven’t read it yet you better get to it. you’ve probably read a bunch of their fics already, idk if they have even a single fic with less than 1000 kudos, but make sure you scroll through their page and check out all their fics if you haven’t already

- katranga has it might not be that bad which i’m obsessed with ohh my god. basically keith mistakes jealousy for ~other feelings~. also audience of one and its awesome sequel. it’s where lance is captured by the galra and keith is there, having been raised with them (and the sequel where it’s keith joining voltron). SO GOOD

- mytay has this series that i’m fucking obsessed with. it’s where keith and lance end up stranded on this planet and become kickass cowboy boyfriends. it’s so fun to read and the way the story is told is nonlinear and i LOVE that. they also have a ton of other fics that you’ll want to read i don’t make the rules

- speaks also has a bunch of popular awesome fics!! if you want to start with something short, read the amnesia game. this fic just really stuck in my memory, like the premise of it is so interesting and like nothing i’ve ever seen before, i’m obsessed with it. also terminal velocity is this insane, incredible angst that inspired me to write something angsty at one point, i can’t remember which fic it was though asdkfj. basically check out all their fics lmao

- starlightment wrote read all about it where keith’s a star highschool athlete and lance is a reporter for the newspaper!!! it’s so fun aldsfjk. also something blue which eheueheu fake relationship. that’s all i need to say. and they have a bunch of other fics too which you should read obvs

TL;DW these are some awesome writers and you should honestly just click on all their profiles and read through every one of their fics. i promise you’ll be entertained and also obsessed

[galacticlamps]

Tagged by @the--highlanders​ ! Thanks!

How many works do you have on AO3?

13

What’s your total AO3 word count?

76,200

(oh what a nice even number - I should try to mess that up as soon as possible, shouldn’t I?)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Aw man is this intentionally worded to be really hard to answer? I get that it says ‘written’ and not ‘posted’ but then what constitutes a ‘fandom?’ I definitely wrote fics for stuff I was interested in long before I even knew the word ‘fic’ - I did it throughout my childhood, and then in high school, and while I didn’t do it as much in college, it still happened from time to time. So a lot of the books/movies/tv shows/plays/musicals I wrote things for aren’t really fandoms, and frankly, I had to check my old folder just now to even remember some of them existed. I’ll just list the ones that I know for sure had fandoms, since that’s more fun (and embarrassing), right?

Obviously Doctor Who, classic and modern, Torchwood, Sherlock Holmes (ironically more of these seem to be about the books, but yes, I will admit, some for that tv show too), Les Mis, a couple different Marvel comics & movies, Good Omens, hell, I even found a Night Vale fic in there just now.

And I know there are other older things not even in that folder, some of which never made it to a computer at all, so if I had to ballpark a number I’d probably say around 25ish but really, who knows?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Across the Gap

On the Spot

Expectations

Shards of Memories & Fragments of Glass

Itemized

(this was fun, I’d never noticed Ao3 even had a stats page until now lol)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes I take a long time to do so but for the most part, I usually get around to it. The rare exception would be if I first saw the comment when I was super busy/distracted and then felt like way too much time passed before I noticed it again, that it might be awkward if I said something at that point.

I do genuinely enjoy hearing what people think, but I’m also weirdly terrified of making anyone feel like they have to reply to my comments. I know that’s probably a little strange, but it’s actually a large part of why I made this Ao3 account in the first place - my original one, from high school, is followed by some long-time friends of mine who aren’t interested in this fandom, some of whom are involved in art & writing professionally. The thought of anyone like that reading something I wrote out of friendliness or even just curiosity and potentially having to pretend they liked it for the same reasons stressed me tf out, so I like having this virtually anonymous one because I can relax knowing that anyone who reads or interacts with something I wrote has probably done so only because they wanted to, rather than feeling obligated, and there’s no pressure on them to be nice to me about it if anything I write or post annoys them - so I really hope nobody who does just know me as an anonymous blog has ever worried about offending me by not replying to something, trust me, I’m perfectly happy with it!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t think I’ve really written any angsty endings? I guess the answer would have to be Reckless just because it involves the characters arguing about sad/weighty things and there isn’t really any solution to those issues - but even then I think I ended it with a kind of acceptance that stops it from really qualifying as angst? I also set it in the the same universe as other fics, so maybe that doesn’t even count as an ending? Am I that bad at ending things on angst? Lol

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Obviously none of the fics I’ve posted are crossovers but I’m trying to think now if any of my WIP’s are - I’ve definitely poached setting/premise ideas from other media, but in terms of actual crossovers . . . I’ve got a few cross-era or cross-Doctor, a few involving Torchwood, but that’s already the same universe, so the only thing that’d qualify as a true crossover would be some vague pieces of a fic where Jamie, Zoe, and Two end up on the Enterprise, since I think the 60s series of Star Trek and Dr Who feel kind of compatible, don’t they? In fact, aren’t there like officially licensed crossover comics or something? Or did I make that up? Idk, and the ideas are very loose, so it’s not much of a WIP either

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope, never

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I’ve never written smut, but I’m wondering if it’s possible that could change soon. There’s a longish multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and the plot does call for a sex scene at one point towards the end, but I can’t seem to make up my mind on how - uh, I guess the word is explicit? - it should get. I know I could easily do a fade to black/implication thing, but it’s kind of a source of contention and anxiety for the characters, so to skip over writing the actual scene and just revisit them afterwards rings of “and they slept together and now everything’s fine!” which feels kinda cheap to me - in this context, anyway - and not the right payoff for a long fic that’s otherwise more of an interpersonal drama/slightly a period piece, if I had to place it in a genre. I feel like my aversion to actually writing the scene might just be prudishness I should get over, or maybe just self-doubt, because I know I’d rather have a well-written, funny, character-development-supporting sex scene than nothing at all, but since I’ve never had any interest in writing a scene like that before, I don’t know if I can do it well, and I also don’t want to ruin a fic I’m otherwise proud of by doing it badly... ugh I have to figure this out

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I seriously doubt it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I mean, it’s gotta be Two & Jamie. I’ve shipped things before with varying levels of investment, but I’ve never been able to use the term ‘otp’ in a literal sense until I came across them, and now it’s already basically gone out of fashion, go figure!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’m not sure if I have one? My WIP doc is huge, but I don’t actually intend to get around to finishing everything in it, so I’d like to think that anything I’ve currently singled out to complete can actually get done.

That said, I do have a few AU’s that I don’t really plan to finish, but it might be cool if I could. Two of them are for all the main + some supporting characters of the Second Doctor’s era - one’s a modern day school teachers AU, and the other is a typical fantasy/fairy tale AU. Another is just Two/Jamie, based on Doctor Faustus (specifically the Marlowe play version) but right now there are two different versions of the ending coexisting in my head. I’ve written parts of scenes & some gen. backstory for all of those ideas, but I don’t know if I’ll ever try to finish them, or what form a finished product would even take - a series of one-shots set in the same universe? one long multi-chapter fic with some kind of overarching plot? And the amount of context/worldbuilding a big AU like these would require might not make them very appealing fics for people to read, so maybe it is better if I just keep them to myself, since in my head I already know what’s going on in those worlds lol.

What are your writing strengths?

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t had a creative writing class since middle school, and since then I’ve only ever shown creative writing to others in a fandom context, so it’s been a while since I’ve discussed it or gotten critical feedback. I suppose when I work in other arts or even academic writing contexts, people usually say I’m kind of insightful or at least detail oriented, which might just be another way of saying I overthink things, but I like to imagine I’m decent at finding little points of interest to expand upon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

If you’ve read this far I feel like you must know what I’m about to say: I do not know how to be concise.

Usually when I’m writing a fic, I put down the dialogue first on its own, leaving out the action of the scene and whatever plot/context led there, even if I’ve already figured all of that out. But then when I go to add those things in, they’re always longer than I wanted them to be. I don’t mind writing something long, but I don’t want my fics to be a slog to get through either, and there can be a point at which the stuff I’ve added for context overwhelms the stuff that I wanted the fic to be about in the first place, so it becomes a structural/proportion issue too. I haven’t completely given up on any fics because of this yet, but there’s one I’ve been struggling with for a couple months now - probably because I’m even second-guessing myself on which scenes need to be written out and which can just be referenced like a recap. Hopefully I figure that one out soon.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

((this is karma isn’t it? i posted a fic last week with two words of gaelic in it and was worried about that and now this is karma))

In general, I don’t want to do it. I feel like you’ve gotta have a really good grasp of a language to write dialogue & speech patterns for someone who’s a native speaker, and since I’m far from fluent in any language the characters I write for are, I wouldn’t feel confident writing any significant amount of dialogue in, say, Gaelic.

As a sidenote, though, I kinda love it when other people do it, particularly for Jamie. Irish (Gaeilge) and Scottish (Gàidhlig) are both languages I’ve wanted to learn for a long time, because my family’s fresh out of living speakers of either & I think that’s a shame, but I started with Irish and at the moment I’m still very much learning it. As different as they are, it still helps me understand parts of lyrics or texts that I come across in Gàidhlig fairly frequently, so when it comes up in a fic I get to feel like I’m being responsible and practicing, and it’s great when I can actually understand what’s being said.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m gonna go with Harry Potter even though that’s probably not a perfectly accurate answer - it’s almost certainly the first thing that has a fandom that I ever wrote for, but it was in a notebook when I was a kid and never something that I even typed on a computer, much less posted online or shared with other members of a fandom. But even then, I’m sure it wasn’t the first pre-existing fictional universe I ever set an original story in, because I did that a lot when I was a kid, it’s just hard to remember those clearly or on any kind of timeline.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m very partial to Across the Gap, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that ranked first on the kudos thing above - but I’ve also got a soft spot for So Merrily We’ll Sing. It’s so self-indulgent it feels silly saying ‘it was so easy to write!’ but I guess having a fic that’s already just 100% headcaonons and fluff tied together by a song you really love does prevent it from being much of a labor (I also managed to refrain from making that one unnecessarily long, so that’s another win there)

tagging @terryfphanatics and anyone else who wants to do it - sorry I’m bad at remembering whose tumblr goes with whose Ao3 account, but I really would be interested to read this if anyone else feels like answering them!

[jubilantwriter]

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 6: These writings on paper are all I have of you.

(AO3)  (First)  (Previous)  (Next)

Word Count: 7558

////

The Lady is aware of the loops.  She's aware of how the struggle seems endless - no matter how desperately she clings to the hands of those she loves, they're always forced from her grasp as she watches them fall fall fall fall fall each time.

They always fall.

Over and over, be it by her hand or some unforeseen force.

Always always always always always.

The girl in the raincoat falls.

Mono falls.

Even RK falls.

And she's left having to witness them each time.

The loops continue even as a new member joins the fray, and she's left wondering if dragging him into this mess was worth it, if it was worth trying to break the loops in a fruitless attempt of escape.  They can never escape - haven't they learnt this as children already?  The forces that control this world will always win out, and they will always remain trapped no matter how desperately they struggle.  

She's aware of the loops.  How she's always the last of them to die.  Each repetition takes its toll on her.  She never breaks as a child, not yet fully aware of the weight of the loops to succumb and break down when she sees her friends, but aware enough that she clings to their hands when she sees them, feels an uncontrollable urge to protect them and never let go.

The girl in the raincoat falls after the Pretender lunges at her, despite all that Six does to try and keep her alive.

She lets Mono fall after a hopeless feeling strikes her core, and she knows that dropping him is the only option she has.

And she watches as RK falls to his death as an adult, no matter how much she reinforces the railings, no matter how much she tries to race or teleport after him to try and catch him.

She's aware of the loops.  Aware that the tragedies continue to build and build and build despite all their struggling.  The girl in the raincoat dies, leaving behind the raincoat that Six inherits.  Mono becomes the Thin Man, relegated to helping from behind the screen and retainer of all their memories.  RK becomes the Caretaker, doomed to die in an accident before he reaches his true potential.

And she is forced to watch it all happen, powerless to truly stop anything.  

She is aware of the loops.

She is aware of the loops.

She stands in front of a television screen, wishing it would turn on.  She wants to hear his voice again.  She wants to know how he sounds as an adult.  But she can't.  His loop has already ended, and she can't reach out to him until the next one has reached its midlife.  Still, it doesn't stop her from placing her hand on the screen and wishing that it would turn on.

The Caretaker had already fallen earlier in the day.  She'd almost grabbed his hand before he slipped away, mere centimeters away from her own hand.  He'd fallen with a terrified expression, a look of realization that all his struggling to stay alive was for naught as the Maw jerked and jolted to keep him from taking any more steps forward in their plan.  She left his body where it laid - her one vase was already filled up with his ashes, and anyway, she could feel her time running out soon enough.

Her loop ends in blood and blood and blood.  When she looks up at her younger self, mouth covered in viscera, she can see so much of her own pain reflected back at her.  

"I'm sorry," she gasps out, the child looking more and more confused as she stares down at the Lady.  A boy in blue grabs her hand, dragging her away from the Lady as she lies there dying alone.  She closes her eyes and imagines a world where her hands are never cold.

She's aware of the loops.

But she's not the only one aware.

She opens her eyes, and Mono is running by her side, his paper bag still on his head.  Before she can say a word, he tugs her into a room that is empty of life.  They take a moment to rest, having little to worry about in the moment now that they have no one chasing them.  Mono looks around the room, taking in the strange paraphernalia littered around it.  A small statue sits on the ground, and he grabs it, dragging it to Six.  Six takes it wordlessly, a familiar destructive feeling surfacing up from... somewhere.

She picks it up and throws it on the ground, shattering the statue with relish.  When she turns to Mono with a smile, he's got his attention focused on the scattered posters on the ground.  He takes one, looks it over, and folds it up to put in his pocket.  She takes his hand and gives it a little shake, nodding to the posters and then to him.

He presses a finger to the front of his bag.  It's a secret.  Frowning, she bends down to pick up a poster herself, but he gets in the way and shakes his head.  Not yet.  But soon.  He pats his pocket and points to himself, and then to her.  He'll tell her soon enough.  She takes his word for it, nods as they continue to search the room.

Events continue, and she finds herself dangling Mono over the chasm beneath them.  He looks up at her with sad, sad brown eyes as she cries.  Don’t make her do this, don’t make her do this-

"Six," he whispers, because they're not used to speaking normally yet, and perhaps they never will, "it's okay."

"No," she gasps, and her tears fall faster when he smiles up at her.  Her arm hurts, and he’s already starting to slip from her grasp.  "Don't make me do this, please."

"It's okay, I won't be mad.  I even left a surprise in your pocket."  When she doesn't let go, he yanks his own hand from her grasp with that sorrowful smile.  She yells and reaches for him again, but he's already gone gone gone into the abyss, leaving her to leave by her lonesome.  When she makes it to the exit, she checks her pocket just as her Hunger already begins rearing its ugly head.

A poster for the Maw.  Nothing as special as she'd imagine it would be.

"Turn it over," her Shadow whispers, and so she does.

A doodle of an ugly man in a boat with a face that sags and stretches until all that is visible are the long holes that could be his eyes.  And then the words written in a rushed, childish scrawl:

"Ask him to come back."

She's aware of the loops.

But she's not the only one aware.

The Caretaker carries around a notebook.  When she first asked about it, he'd shyly put it away and waved her away, saying it was full of notes he'd written down.  She'd shrugged it off, having other tasks to attend to.  It wasn't until after she (re)introduced him to the Thin Man that he revealed what it was he was carrying around.

Items on the Maw carry over from previous loops.  It's how the television stays in place, it's how her library remains untouched and the same no matter how often she dies.  The only things that change are the faces of the Guests and children.

...Well, for the most part.

The Caretaker pulls her aside after her conversation with the Thin Man ("Did you see my note?"  "Of course I did."  "Will he come back?"  "He said when the time is right."), and holds out the notebook.  "I'm sorry I didn't share this with you before but," he flips through the notebook, showing off page after page of scribbles and doodles, charts and diagrams, "I wanted to wait for the right time to show this to you."

She takes the notebook out of his hands and realizes.  Realizes that this was one of the many things on the Maw that carried over from previous loops.  The Caretaker is one of them now, and as a result...

"These hold your memories," she breathes out.

"Well, not quite, but close enough."  He takes it back, thumbing through each page carefully.  "Reading each word reminds me of something, but I can never quite grasp it.  Still," he taps at a diagram showing the outside of the Maw from the top down, "it looks like I've been planning this for ages.  This shows potential docking areas away from where the Guests usually board.  It gives me an idea."

"Just an idea?"

"It's something we can work with."  He shrugs while grinning blithely.  "And frankly, I think we all could use something to work with."

Of course, even after that one little spark of hope, the Thin Man still dies at the hands of Mono.  The Caretaker falls before her very eyes, bones snapping and head cracking on the cold, unwelcoming floor of the Maw.  And as she sits in her loneliness, humming her familiar tune, she waits for that bright, yellow raincoat to pounce upon her.

She is aware of the loops.

But how much longer can she take before she stops trying altogether?

She is aware of the loops.  

They scratch at her memories, drag her around like a toy, and her Shadow continues to watch and remember in her stead until they're one once again.  

She is aware of the loops.

Aware that they've done this song and dance over and over again with no end.  She doesn't understand how Mono can keep this up.  How RK continues to go along with this horrible reality, as if he's always been a part of their team.  Is he just as single-minded as Mono?  They truly would get along so well if that were the case.  

Six stays where she's lying on the ground, Mono hopping around on the piano beside her.

"Six, come help me."

"I'm tired."  Despite their journey having only lasted the day thus far, she's already feeling this deep-seated weariness that she can't place.  Mono must sense it too, for he stops hopping around and lands on the ground next to her.  He sits besides her, tangling their fingers together and humming the tune from her music box.

Something about it makes her want to sob.  But that's stupid.  Sobbing in a place like this is stupid.  It's what gets them caught by monsters - the noise, the weakness, the vulnerability.  In fact, she should be getting up right now so that they can continue moving.  

Mono rubs his thumb into her hand, humming to her as she lies on the ground.

"We can stay here for a little bit."

"Thanks."  He doesn't move from where he sits, and she's grateful for it.   "Can we just stay here?  It's quiet, and no monster can get in here easily."

"It's not that safe."  Mono looks away from her and sees something that she can't see.  "But there's somewhere else we can go.  Somewhere where there are no monsters, and we can laugh and run all we want.  I'm sure we'll get there soon enough."

"How soon?"  She's tired.  So.  Very.  Tired.  "I want to sleep."

"Soon," he says, and he holds out his hand for a pinky promise.  "But until then, I promise I won't leave you alone."

"Good."  She hooks her pinky with his and gives it a firm shake.  "I'll bite you if you do."

A silent laugh shakes his frame, and she can't help but smile up at him.  She wants to stay like this with him, where he can be happy and she can be happy and they can be happy together, like it's normal to be happy.

But they're not meant to be happy.  Happy means letting their guard down.  Happy means forgetting that they're in constant danger.  She's reminded of this when they're cowering in a child's room, and the Thin Man holds his hand out and grabs her.  A monster with gentle, gentle hands.

The world is cruel, with their moments of tantalizing happiness and monsters with gentle hands.  The world is cruel, because it lets her believe that there's a happy ending somewhere if she just tries hard enough.  But maybe that's where her failure lies.

In believing that her efforts are worth something, when really her efforts amount to nothing.

She presses a hand up against the glass.  It doesn't turn on, but that's okay.  She's gotten used to the loneliness long, long ago.

"What happened to promising to never leave me alone?"

No one answers her.

Her life amounts to standing in a puddle of blood, surrounded by the sounds of broken static.

The loop ends as it begins, and she closes her eyes with the hopes of never opening them again.

She is aware of the loops.

Every bit of her wants to give up, to succumb and let herself mindlessly follow the flow of tragedy, but her stubborn, stupid, terrible friends refuse to give up.  Sometimes, she wishes she never introduced them to each other, what with their antics giving each other hope.  But then something warm shakes her from her thoughts.  The Caretaker takes her hand and tugs her up topside of the Maw.  It's overcast, and the threat of rain looms overhead.  She closes her eyes and lets the cold air wash over her.

It reminds her of the Pale City.

"We're so close,"  he says, fingers intertwining with hers.  "We just need one more thing."

"What kind of thing?"  Rarely is she able to help.  Instead, she asks all these empty questions that do nothing but serve as a vessel for their thoughts.  It's the least she can do, when all she does is let them fall.

"I need... to find a place.  Away from all the adults, away from all the monsters."  He taps his chin, deep in thought as the clouds shadow their faces.  "But surprisingly, your library lacks maps of any sorts."

"Unfortunately."  She stares out into the vast sea.  Not a single landmass in sight.  Given that they just recently picked up their latest batch of Guests, it comes as no surprise to her that the Maw has steered itself so far away from any coastlines.  "The ship goes as it pleases, after all."

"And it doesn't surface often."  He tugs on her hand to swing it back and forth.  How childish of him.  "I thought maybe standing out in the open would cheer you up."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been... incredibly down lately."  A thoughtful hum.  "Lifeless.  You glide around the Maw, attending to every sort of business but your own.  Even when you talk to the Thin Man on those few occasions, I hardly hear you say a word.  He's noticed too, you know."  She can't help the little twitch she makes at the mention of the Thin Man's concern.  "He's worried about you.  Says that you've been getting more and more quiet."

Of course he noticed.  "It's nothing to worry about."

"I don't think so."  The Caretaker squeezes her hand lightly with a smile.  So much like his title, it's hard to see him as an adult.  How did he end up so normal?  "We'll get through this, dear Lady.  It's only a matter of time."

"How lucky are we then, to have so much of it?"  The waves start to breach the ground they stand on, and she begins dragging him back to the door.  "Though it seems our time here is up."

He looks around, taking in the sight of the sky before she closes the door on the outside.  "Only for now.  Someday, we'll see those blue skies I read about in storybooks.  The blue skies from your favorite stories."

"Hmm."  She doesn't say anything more as she takes him deeper into the Maw, away from railings as they continue on their day.

He dies six days later in a bloodied heap on the floor.

She kneels by his body, fingers carding through his hair as she hums her familiar tune, his head in her lap as she waits for the time to pass.

Soon, her time will be up and she'll have her moment of rest.

Her loop ends at the hands of a girl in a yellow raincoat, and she wonders if the girl knows just what kind of living hell she's walked into?

She tires of the loops.

The awareness stings at the corners of her mind as she's strung upside down, the feeling so hopelessly familiar that she wonders if being captured is the only thing she's good at.  The Bullies cackle beneath her, but the mocking only lasts so long until a familiar grunt is heard, and the sound of breaking porcelain echoes in the bathroom.  She's dropped unceremoniously from where she's strung up, and when she comes to, a familiar boy in a paper bag offers his hand to her.

When she takes his hand, she lets all of her weariness flop her around, and the boy has to support her until she gets her bearings.  Silently, he takes her hand and drags her around until they find a room with a piano.  She half expects him to start jumping on it (it's obvious that they need to use it to break the floor beneath it), but instead, he sits her down and... lets her breathe.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"No."  She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her face against them.  "Tired."

"...Yeah."  He doesn't say anything more and lets the silence reign between them.  It lasts for a total of two minutes before he pipes up again.  Mono was never really good at keeping quiet like this, after all.  "What do you wanna do if we ever get out of the City?"

"Dunno," she says, eyes drifting close.  She's so tired.  "Maybe find a soft bed.  Sleep forever."

"Sleeping forever sounds... kind of nice."  Still, he shakes his head, and the paper bag crinkles with his movement.  She crinkles her nose in response and flicks his bag.  He makes an affronted noise, which is enough to make her giggle.  "Meanie.  But okay, but like, what would you do after you slept?  Like, what would you do when you wake up?"

"Dunno," she repeats.  It's not really a thought process she tends to follow.  "Eat?  Maybe do something fun.  Like kick a ball around.  Or lie in the grass.  Maybe read a book."  She pauses for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as though she can see it.  "What would you do?"

"Hmm."  He lies beside her and folds his hands on his stomach.  "I want to see the sun.  Did you know there's something called the sun?  It's supposed to be bright and warm and dry."

She ponders his comment.  Has she ever seen the sun before?  Probably not.  "Where'd you hear about that?"

"I think the Teacher was scribbling about it on the board when I was sneaking around.  It's supposed to be hot and full of gas."  He gestures aimlessly in the air.  "I bet if she could talk, she'd say like, only good students get to see the sun, so they better study good or else!  And then she’ll whack a desk with her ruler."

"Ew."  Six crinkles her nose in disgust this time.  "I hope her ruler breaks."

"Yeah, she probably breaks them all the time.  She's just a big ol’ meanie."

"All monsters are mean."

"You're right."  They grow quiet together, listening to the pitter patter of the rain before Mono suddenly sits up.  "Oh!  I found this in one of the rooms I was trying to get through."  He searches through one of his stupidly big pockets (seriously, how does he fit an entire collection of hats in his pockets?) and pulls out a folded piece of paper.  He unfolds it, and unfolds it, and unfolds it...

She snatches it out of his hands and shakes it open impatiently.  

"Hey!"  He snatches it back out of her hands and holds it carefully.  "Don't do that!"

"You were taking forever."  She rolls her eyes and helps him straighten out the huge sheet.  The top and bottom are torn messily as the paper feels oddly fake and like a weird kind of plastic.  On it is a large, red scribbled eye that takes up most of the paper, but beneath that eye are shapes that she's never really seen before.  She points to one shape and frowns.  "Someone doesn't know how to draw a triangle."

"That's not a triangle, silly."  Mono straightens out the paper and points at all the different shapes on it.  "I think this is a map!"

"A map?"

"Yeah, it's supposed to show you all sorts of different places."  His finger traces all the shapes on the map, humming to himself as he does so.  "If we're gonna leave the Pale City, we gotta figure out where we should go from here."

"Where's here?"  

"Um..."  Mono squints at the map, but the entire thing is a mess of lines with red scribbles and confusing markings.  He sighs with defeat.  "I dunno.  There's no words on it."

"So how do we know where we are?"

"...We don't."

"...That's okay.  Maps are dumb anyways."

Despite her words, they both stare at the map in silence.  Six begins tracing over the shapes herself, wondering where each place could be, and how long it would take to walk there.  She points to a lonely blob in the middle of the ocean and wonders who lives there, and if they're just as lonely as the blob.  "What do you think is here?" she asks softly, gaining Mono's attention.

"Hmm..."  He taps his chin, making the paper bag rustle with his movement.  "Maybe more kids?  And no adults."

"No monsters."

"Clean water."

"And food everywhere."

"Maybe even toys!"

"Balls?"

"And blankets and pillows!"

"Music boxes..."

"Lots and lots of music boxes."  Six glances over at Mono, and even though his paper bag obscures his face, she knows he's smiling at her.  "I bet they all play different songs too."

"That'd be nice."  She smiles back as Mono begins folding up the map.  He folds it and folds it and folds it until the large sheet manages to be pocket-sized, despite how bulky it becomes.  After a bit of consideration, he hands it over to Six.  

"You take it."

"Why?"

"So that you can pick where we go once we get past the Signal Tower!"

"But I don't have any pockets."

"Huh."  He looks over at her shorts and cardigan and realizes that she's right.  "We should find you something with pockets."

"Yeah."  She watches as he pockets the map and stands up, offering her a hand up.  Once she grabs it, he easily pulls her up as they look over at the piano.  

"Guess we should start going, huh?"

"Yeah."

It was nice while it lasted.

They continued their journey, Six getting her raincoat along the way.  Somehow, when she wasn't paying attention, Mono must have slipped the map into her pocket.  He probably meant it as a surprise, maybe a last minute, "Watch this, a magic trick!" sort of gimmick to make her smile that he never got to use.  After all, she dropped him to his doom.  She'd forgotten all about the map, too focused on growing into her role as the Lady that when she'd packed away the yellow raincoat, she'd almost missed the strange bulge in the pocket.

Taking it out was surprisingly difficult.  It amazed her that she never noticed the tightly folded up sheet until now.  However, she had little use for it - the Maw steers itself, and therefore, she never needed to learn how to read maps.

But.

She knew someone who could make use of it.  

Quietly, as she walks past him, she presses the wadded up map into the palm of his hand, so small that it’s impossible to see being passed along the two of them.  The Caretaker didn't so much as glance at her, closing his fist around it immediately and shuffling off to his own quarters.  There was little she could do with the map, but with what he'd shown her of his notes from previous loops... maybe... just maybe...

The Maw laughs at her with its mocking groans as her hope quickly turns to despair.  As it turns out, she'll never know what he figured out with that map this loop.  Having any sort of hope means that any sort of means can be used to squash it before it can bloom.  And who else to pay for her crime than the man who gave it to her in the first place?

He barely even shares a single conversation with the Thin Man before she finds him toppling over into the drop between the Janitor’s workspace and the kitchen, meathooks dangling above and below him as the Maw careens yet again into another obstacle.  All because he wanted to chat with one of the Chefs on their break, standing so close to the edge that she should have known better but instead was too busy watching the other Chef prepare their meals.

So of course she hears his scream too late, the Chef’s startled cry echoing her own as he too fails to grab the Caretaker’s hand.  Crashes and bangs ring out as both Chefs hold her back, keeping their Lady from following the same fate as she screams for him over the ledge.  It’s one of the few times she can’t find his body no matter how hard she searches.  The Thin Man could only do so much to comfort her before he too disappeared from her company.

And again, she was left alone.  Always so alone.

She waits for her loop to end, only for it to begin just as quickly the minute she closes her eyes.  All she wants is a break.  A small reprieve.  But even that is too much to ask.

Events played out as they should.  Little divergences are made here and there, but nothing so drastic that it feels like it matters.  A hand is pressed against the warm glass of a television.  Quietly, she asks, "Why do we keep doing this?"

He answers back, "So that we may have a future where we can all smile together."

And she asks him, "Didn't you want to quit long ago?"

And he responds, "Didn't you want these to continue long ago?"

And she laughs.  Cries a little when she replies, "How the roles have reversed."

His head bows.  "I'm sorry."

Her fingers curl.  "Don't be."

So he asks, "Why did you want them to continue so long ago?"

To which she explains, "I thought it was our only method of survival."  A pause.  "I was wrong."

"Not entirely," he says.  "As terrible as they were, it made me realize something."

"What was it?"

"I wanted more than just survival, to live to see another pointless, repetitive day."  His head tilts back up, making her believe that he's looking at her as he speaks with the words on the screen.  "I wanted us to be free."

"That's quite different from my reasoning."

"A bit."  She can see him lean back in his seat with his hands folded in his lap.  "But sometimes, it makes me wonder if our reasons are really that much different from each other."

"Perhaps," she says with no follow up.  The two of them stay in silence, basking in the other's presence.  She misses holding his hand.  Her forehead presses against the screen, porcelain mask clinking delicately against it.  "I want to see you again."

"Soon," he soothes, because that's all he can do. 

Their conversation ends with a flurry of static as the Thin Man is taken away by the Signal Tower to do some tasks.  Her sigh is heavy as she turns away from the screen.  "Soon" is such a finicky word, she decides.  It's been used so often that she thinks that it no longer means "a short wait".  How often has he told her "soon", only to have her suffer through loop after loop?

(Though, didn't she used to do the same to him?)

A blue blur barrels into her as she makes her rounds, interrupting her thoughts as hands grasp her arms.  

"Lady," the Caretaker says breathlessly, "there's something I need to tell you."

"Did you read something about vegetables again?  I told you, I'm not eating them-"

"No- though, we still need to have a talk about that at a later time but- it's something more... groundbreaking."  His hands splay out in the air with dramatic fanfare before taking her hand, tugging her along in a manner that has her gripping his tightly.  They travel down the halls at a brisk pace, shuffling past Guests that lumber aimlessly through the passages until they take a quick turn into the back paths of the Maw.  He thumps towards the engine room, veering off into a secluded area that has the nomes shuffling past him anxiously once they see her in tow.  A little side room is uncovered as he pulls open a loose panel and steps into it.  Inside is... a map.  With a large red eye scribbled over it.  Lines and words are written in black to stand out against the red drawing, arrows pointing this way and that, X's made to mark specific areas, and scribbles scratching out areas unwanted.  Little writings litter the map, notes made of certain areas until her eyes are drawn to a teeny, tiny island circled excitedly in black ink.

("What do you think is here?")

"Caretaker?"

"Six, look."  He drops the title as he points at the island with a bright grin.  "I found it.  A place that's devoid of any life!"

"...Sounds peachy."

"I mean- I mean there's no one who lives there.  It's deserted, out of reach, completely uninhabited."  He picks up a pen and circles some notes and draws arrows leading back to the island.  "My notebook tells me about these... these conversations with someone named the Ferryman.  There's not a lot about him, but from what my notebook has recorded, he doesn’t seem like a horrible person.  He cares about the children and wants them to be safe.  Granted, he tends to drop them off here, but the notebook says he’s nice, if a bit weird.  It also seems like he knows his way around the ocean.  I'd say he might even know where this island is."

"I know of him.”  Memories of being dragged aboard a wooden rowboat repeat in her mind as the saggy faced boatman stays silent during their trip.  She never saw him again after that.  “I can only assume it'd be near impossible to reach him."

"Not for me.  Not for the Caretaker."  A nome wanders over to them, allowing the Caretaker to bend down and pick them up.  He cradles them in his arms as he looks at the Lady expectantly.  "I take care of the children.  I ensure they remain safe and relatively alright.  If he were to entrust the children to someone, he'd have to entrust them to me."

Slowly, she makes the connection.  "You've met him before."

He nods, holding the nome closer to his chest.  "And according to my notebook, countless times before.  It looks like there's a meeting spot somewhere on the Maw where he drops off any children he finds in his journeys.  If I meet him there, I can ask about the island.  It'd be a place where children can not only survive, but thrive."  A glance is shared between the two of them before they focus on the map before them.  "Somewhere where no child will have to step foot inside the Maw."

"...Or be taken to the Tower."

The Caretaker nods solemnly.  "I had to tell you this soon, before my time runs out."

She turns abruptly to him as he shares a sad smile.  "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."  He puts down the nome and takes out his notebook.  Thumbing through the pages, he hardly looks up as he speaks.  "Each time a discovery is made, the entry stops there.  Nothing continues until I pick it up again.  Each day is marked with a tally, see?  Even if I have nothing of note, I always mark down the day."  He brings it towards her face to see the little tally marks that line the borders of the pages.  "Each new start begins when I find the notebook, and I start to dig.  Not a lot of time spans between start and finish.  It didn't take me long to figure out why."

"...RK-"

"If my guesses are correct, I think I’m going to die soon."  

"RK, please-"

"Six."  He stows away his notebook and gently takes her hands.  When had she started wringing them?  "Listen to me."

She stills, all of her attention on him as she memorizes as much as him as she can.  How his bangs still fall over his eyes no matter how often she trims them for him.  How his gaze always tends to look sleepy until he's around something that demands his attention.  How his feet are covered in calluses because he forgets to wear his geta frequently after a life of running barefoot as a child.  How the scarring on his right leg remains prominent after all these years even after they managed to get that awful manacle off his leg.

She memorizes all this and more.  Like how his hair looks when it's coated with blood.  Or how his eyes glaze over as they loll in his head.  Or how the blue of his haori both blends and clashes with the red soaked up from his broken body, a shade she still struggles to put a name to despite seeing it so often.  

RK squeezes her arms, drawing her out of her head.  Quietly, he removes her mask and gently dabs at her cheeks.  Ah, she forgot she can still do that.

"It's going to be okay."

"No it's not."  Her mind spirals at the thought of having to watch him fall again.  How many times does she have to watch him fall?  "You know you're going to die, how is that okay?"  

"Because."  He presses his forehead against hers, solid and reassuring.  "It gives us some time."

"For what?"

"To make sure we don't waste whatever moments I have left."  

She closes her eyes as she focuses on his warmth.  "What do you need of me?"

"I just need you to leave this bottle at one of the drop sites for the Ferryman."  He pulls away just enough to retrieve a bottle stashed away in his clothes.  She takes it without complaint, rolling it between her hands like a toy.  "After a few days, return and see if he's left a response.  Whatever you find, write it in my journal and sign it with your real name."

"That's it?"

"Small actions can go unnoticed," he whispers, pulling her in for a tight hug.  "And that's what we need in a world where we're always being watched."

Her eyes close as she leans into his warmth.  How she ever managed to get through previous loops without his constant support and comfort is beyond her.

(The thought of eating a nome revolts her more than the thought of vegetables.  It only makes her despise the Hunger even more, with how it digs its claws into her and makes her crave living flesh, making her the monster that she is now.)

They part not long after that, her drawing away from her dear friend reluctantly as he shoos her off, making sure the bottled message is safe in her clutches before disappearing to do whatever he needs to get done.  It comes as no surprise to her that after she places the bottle where he asked, safe and secure in a nest of rope, that he tumbles before her very eyes once again and lands with a sickening crunch just a few days later.

Once she's grieved over his body for what scant minutes she possesses, she rushes off to the drop site and looks for the answer he needs.  

Another bottle sits in its place, innocently out of place as she retrieves it.  The message inside is released and she reads the response in RK's place.  When she finds his notebook, she quickly scrawls down the answer to his message:

"Aye, but it won't be easy."

It's the last thing she manages to do before her loop ends violently.  Closing her eyes has never been easier, and it makes waking up even harder than before.

She is aware of the loops.  Anyone who lives constantly in them must hold some level of awareness regardless of how much they desire to live in blissful ignorance.  Does it help that each loop is a promise that she can reunite with Mono, even though it will always end with her betraying him in the end?  Does it help that each loop is a promise that she will get to meet RK again, even if it's at the cost of his untimely death?

Does it help that she gets to see that girl one last time, get to see her smile of gratitude before she ends up like every other child in this wretched, despicable world?

Maybe.

She's still not sure if it's enough to have her push through with each iteration.  But when Mono offers his hand to her, she still takes it.  When RK follows her around, she allows it.  And when the girl stops to help her up, she still moves to push that same, useless boulder.

Quietly, she hums to herself.

The world is loud and frightening, with monsters at every corner waiting to kill her as a child.  When she grows up, she becomes another monster at the price of survival.  Her eyes open, as they always do, to the sight of the loop unfolding all around her.  Little changes create large ripples, that’s what they tell her.  She watches these ripples passively from a distance.  That's all she can muster nowadays.  Passing along messages, carrying around items to give to the other recipient, always acting the willing messenger.  It helps that she always dies last.  

The scribbles on RK's map grow by the loop.  Mono's determination only grows stronger as he passes along the things he finds to RK.  And what does Six do, besides be their messenger?

She blinks, and words flit across the screen just for her eyes to see.  "You're the key to all of this," he states.  "Don't doubt your importance."

"As a porter?" she scoffs. 

"No, as our last fighting chance."

"Against what?"

"Against all odds."  His hand reaches out from beyond the screen to cup her face tenderly.  It strokes just beneath her mask's eye, presenting a comfort she doesn’t think she deserves before reluctantly pulling back into the screen.  "You're the spiteful spitfire who will last the longest out of all of us.  And we're depending on you to bare your teeth and fight when we can't."

She blinks, and the television is gone.  A hand rests gently on her shoulder in the library, a soft hum coming from the other.  "This wouldn't work without you, you know."

"Flattery gets you nowhere."

"It's the truth though."  He squeezes her arm with a smile.  "Who else would be strong enough to strongarm a change like this?"

"Not me."

"You're lying to yourself."  His touch is soft as he holds her hand in companionship.  "How else would I be here?  I know these loops have lasted longer than my existence."  He grins brightly at her without a hint of malice.  "Somehow, you dragged me into this mess through sheer will.  It always feels oddly surreal being here. I always feel like… I was never meant to live this long.”  A distant look settles in his eyes, and it’s one of the few times where she can’t figure out what’s going on in that mind of his.  With a quick shake of his head, he clings tighter to her hand for reassurance.  “But somehow, you made it work.  Who am I to not return the favor?"

How did she end up with two wonderful, lovely, amazing, brilliant friends?

They believe in her.  For whatever profound or idiotic reasons they may have, they believe in her.  To fight, to continue surviving, to refuse to step down - that's what they claim they need from her.  So she continues what she does best.  When she wakes up, she puts one foot in front of the other and continues forward.  She survives, in spite of all the hardships and monsters that block her path.  And as she survives, she keeps seeing them again and again and again.  Perhaps it's her selfishness at work again.  Dying to wake up to be found and chased and found again.  Waking up to run and fight and see them again.

Waking up to see the girl in the raincoat still alive, still radiant and doing her best to help any child she comes across.  Kind until the very end, when she perishes due to no fault of her own.

Waking up to see an axe drive itself over and over again into a wooden door as a boy forces his way into her life, and she grows less and less resentful, and more and more grateful for his presence.

Waking up to find food presented to her in hopes of staving off her hunger, a tentative but hopeful smile on the face of a boy still getting used to the idea of helping other children.  He grows up beside her, knowing of her antics and behaviors and being the only one exasperated yet fond of her actions.

She wakes up again and again just to see them over and over.  She wakes up because despite how the world seems intent on taking them away from her, she refuses to let things be until she sees them again.

Her hands are cold, but she refuses to let them stay that way.

A part of her hurts knowing she can't save them all.  Her selfishness rears its head again as she desperately tries finding a way to twist fate, allowing another of them to live - another of her precious friends to stay alive.  But nothing goes her way for that one moment; there is no rope to dangle down, not another boulder, no tree root she can tear out, no amount of reaching down to save the girl in the yellow raincoat.  A terrible thought plants itself in her mind as she watches her die for the umpteenth time - perhaps her death is what makes her so much more desperate to see that her two other friends stay alive until the very end.

Six clutches tight to the yellow raincoat she wears.

She has to make sure they survive.  If she can't save them all, then she can save as many as she can.  

Her resolve blossoms anew, and she thinks that maybe she understands what Mono finally discovered after suffering loops upon loops of disappointment.  When she presses her hand against the warm glass of the television, complete understanding is finally shared between the two of them.

"So, when will you come to get your meal?"

"Soon, I promise."

"I’ll hold you to it."

But of course, nothing goes her way.  It never goes her way.

The first time she realizes something's wrong with the Thin Man is when she attempts to reach out to him like normal.  She is met with a hazy sort of static, his visage distorted and broken before the screen did something it never did before - it lost signal.

Multicolored bars appear, surrounding a single image of an eye as it leers at her before shutting off.  She (hopes, prays, begs, refuses to acknowledge) assumes that the television is finally meeting the end of its long, beleaguered life and asks the Caretaker to help her find a new one for her quarters.  But even with the new television set up in her quarters, the television still says that there is no signal.

"...Something's wrong."  The Caretaker places his palm against the screen with a newfound horror in his eyes.  "They're finally making a move."  Their gazes meet for a moment before drifting towards the Eye insignias that have followed them through each and every loop.

She’d forgotten that they were a warning as much as they were decoration.

The true horror of the situation is made apparent to her when she faces down her tiny successor.  Her form is rigid, stiff, but not with the desperate strength of a child trying to survive and conquer.

No.

The little brown bag that threatens to fall from her pocket is more than enough for the Lady to understand what the Tower had done.

She dies at the hands of an angry, grief-stricken little girl, and the only thing she could do is hope that her new iteration clings to that rage as she grows up.

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Beginnings (3/9)

Mammon x ace gn!MC x ace!Leviathan

NOTE - read the content warnings listed in Part 1

[ AO3 | Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 ]

Levi almost dropped his DDD in shock. IT WAS TRUE. ITWASTRUEITWASTRUEITWASTRUE.

But wait. Now what was he supposed to do? He needed to confess! He needed to tell you how he felt! But how? Should he do some big romantic gesture? Make you a bento box and write “I love you” in ketchup on your omelette? No, that would take too long. He needed to tell you now, before you changed your mind.

A LETTER. That’s it. He could write a letter. That was still romantic, right? It would be more personal than a text message, that’s for sure. But would still let him make sure he got out everything he wanted to say, unlike a phone call or talking to you in person. And he wouldn’t need to be around while you read it either. A letter would be perfect.

After picking out the perfect stationary, Levi immediately set to work. It surprised him how easily the words flowed. But, if he thought about it, he had kinda imagined telling you all these things before, countless times really. How much he loved hanging out with you, how your smile always made him feel better, how he wished you’d hug him all the time, how one day he hopes he can just hold your hand while out on a date, how he wanted to cuddle with you in his tub…

Levi’s pen stilled, mid sentence, as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

He had never really talked to you much about relationships before, had he? He had no idea what your views were on those sorts of things. What were your expectations? Were you going to want him to spend the night in your room? How did you feel about kissing? How did you feel about…?

He felt his throat tighten. Right. That. You were with Mammon, so it was only logical that you both felt the same way about it. He couldn’t imagine his horny, clingy brother settling for anything else, really.

And then there was Levi. Levi who had known for a few centuries now that sex just didn’t appeal to him. He still found you plenty attractive, that wasn’t the issue. He wanted to touch you, and hold you close, and feel you touch him too. But that’s where his fantasies typically ended - the two of you cuddled up in his tub, a warm blanket tucked around you both, as you whispered sweet nothings to each other, like a scene ripped straight out of a shojo manga.

Once that small doubt started to creep in, so too did Levi’s other insecurities. He wouldn’t be a very good boyfriend after all. He’d probably forget important dates. Or neglect to pay attention to you when he hyper fixated on something. What did he even have to offer you anyways? He wasn’t particularly skilled, or attractive. Sure he could sew a bit and was somewhat decent at drawing, but those weren’t exactly the sorts of things you could build a relationship on.

Suddenly, writing a letter seemed like a very tall order indeed.

His initial reaction was of course to crumple it up and throw it away. But...he still loved you, even if he didn’t think he’d make for a very good boyfriend. And you had already told him how you felt. So shouldn’t he, as your friend, at least give you a response?

And shouldn’t he also, as your friend, encourage you to do what was best for you?

Even if “what was best” happened to be make up with his scumbag of a brother?

The thought made him feel sick. He couldn’t believe he was actually jealous of Mammon. He was fine to hang out with and all, but jeez. Having to admit that you were probably better off with him really stung. He knew it was true, though. He knew how well the two of you got along. He obviously made you happy. And even if Levi desperately wanted to be the one that was by your side instead, he knew he was no match for Mammon and all his charisma and charm.

——————

Ever since Levi had stopped replying to your text messages, you had been laying in your bed trying to go to sleep. But your over active imagination had other ideas, and your anxiety kept you awake. Maybe in the morning you could go apologize to Levi? Though you weren’t even sure what it was that you would be apologizing for.

You let out a sigh as you rolled onto your side, just as a slip of paper slid underneath the bottom of your door. You stared at it for awhile, wondering what it could be, before deciding to get up and check.

The envelope itself was a pastel pink in color. You immediately recognized it as belonging to a special Ruri-chan stationary set you had bought for Levi on a whim. Carefully you tore open the envelope, pulling out the letter enclosed inside. The page was decorated with cute little doodles and Azuki-tan stickers; it was obvious how much thought and care Levi had put into writing this. Not wanting to wait a moment longer, you began reading right where you stood by your bedroom door.

Dear Henry,

I decided writing a letter would be the best way to tell you how I feel, since talking to you face to face would be way too embarrassing.

I love you. A whole lot. More than Ruri-chan, if you can believe it.

I am so glad I got to meet you. And I’m glad you took the time to get to know me. I know I’m weird and awkward, but you still spent time with me anyways, and that meant a lot!

I really like playing games with you. Maybe someday I can make a game just for you? It probably wouldn’t be that great, but it would make me really happy if you were to play it.

Every time I hear about a new anime, I always ask myself if you would be interested in it. I love getting to try new things with you. Even if the things turn out to be terrible, it’s still more fun when we can watch them together.

I’d really like to take you out on a date too. I know of a coffee shop nearby that has the best drinks. I’ve been too nervous to go on my own yet, but maybe I could go with you? We could also go to an aquarium together! You haven’t been to a Devildom aquarium before, right? They’re a million times better than the ones in the human world! We would even be able to hold hands, and no one could see.

But I know none of that really matters. I’m still me, and you deserve someone better. Someone who will make you happy, who can take you to exciting new places. Someone who won’t forget important dates or ignore you when you come to hang out. I wouldn’t be good at any of those things.

As much as I hate to admit it, you and Mammon are really good together. You should go talk to him and try to work things out. He might be a scumbag, but he obviously loves you.

I hope you will at least still be my friend after this, but I can understand if you wouldn’t want to be friends with someone like me. Or if you would feel uncomfortable around me now that you know how I feel. I really made things awkward, didn’t I?

Love,

Levi

Levi had spilled his heart out to you, in a way you didn’t even think possibly from the shy demon. He talked about how much he loved you, all the ways that you made his life better just by being there, and all the things he was looking forward to doing with you, specifically several cliche date ideas from his favorite manga, the thought of which had you smiling.

But then somewhere around the middle, the tone of the letter shifted dramatically. It was no longer the excited love confession you had started with. It was like someone had zapped Levi of all his confidence, and in a matter of moments he was back to his usual self deprecating ways.

When you finished, you flipped the letter over, hoping to find more on the back. But that was it. A single sheet of paper that started out as a heartfelt love confession, and then ended, ultimately, in a rejection.

You wanted to run to Levi’s room immediately, demanding an explanation. You also wanted to assure him that just because you were with Mammon, didn’t mean you were going to be giving up on him either.

But before you did any of that, you would have to talk to Mammon. You needed to figure out where things stood with him, and why he told Levi about how you felt. Was he intending to break up with you? Or maybe there was a slim chance that he’d changed his mind?

Determined to get some answers, you wrapped a light robe around you, tucking the letter from Levi into one of your pockets, before silently slipping out of your bedroom.

You had put this conversation off long enough. It was time for you to settle things with Mammon.

[forestwater87]

I'm screaming. I just realized this was the legendary Forest Water from Ao3, the creator of the fandom last names Santos and Greenwood, and I didn't know all this time?! What?! I can't actually believe it. Your stuff is legendary! I really enjoy your fanfiction, and you're a great creator. Any advice for a fanfic writer who starts to write a Gwenvid longfic? Any tips on how to become a sucessful fandom memeber? Sorry this is so long, I just really enjoy your work!

These two happened to dovetail really nicely, so I wanted to respond to them in a single (very long) post. I’ve talked a little about getting started writing in the past, but specifically about writing Gwenvid? That’s a little different, and interesting to explore.

I think, anyway. But I always find Gwenvid interesting.

1. Thank you! 

I don’t consider myself especially famous or special -- certainly not anymore, when my updates to my flagship fic are annual at best -- so it’s a little weird that there are people looking at me like that. However, it’s also really touching and encouraging, so I’m at a loss for words. Not sure how to respond to such kind comments, so . . . you know, thanks.

2. Writing Gwenvid -- especially longfic

Here’s the thing: There isn’t a single fic I’ve written that I expected to become long. The first “Tigger & Eeyore” was supposed to be like 5 chapters and then ballooned into 14 and a sequel (which it’s now looking like is going to explode into its own sequel, so yikes). 

There’s a reason they’re called plotbunnies: they multiply like crazy. So if you have a single-shot idea or shortfic that you’re not sure will have legs, just start writing it. It might end up wrapping up rather quickly and you can move on to the next idea without it hanging over your head, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it becomes something much larger totally organically.

Also, keep your plots kind of . . . vague? At least, in my experience I’ve found that helps. A generic idea of the world you want to build and a couple set pieces (i.e., major conflicts or story beats) gives you room to play around without pressure to make it “add up to” something. I’ve never written a fic that had a story in the first 4-5 chapters, and that’s how I like it. It’ll . . . just sort of materialize, while you’re exploring the world.

I mean, if you want to write a tightly-paced epic with a twisty, intricate plot, then you’re going to want to find an author who does that sort of thing. My stories tend to be a lot more meandering.

OH! Also get really flowery with your language. Eats up word counts like Wheaties.

Okay, but Gwenvid specifically: if you want to be mostly canon-compliant, the big thing is that we only see them in the context of this one improbably long summer. There are years of story before and after that point that we’ll never get to see, and I think it’s really interesting. (Especially the before part; I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone write a “prequel” to Camp Camp, but how fun is that idea???) When it comes to “fill in the blanks” fanfic writing, it’s really nice to have a story, relationship, and world with so many blanks. There’s a lot you can do just by writing about what they’re up to the rest of the year.

As for AUs: go nuts. Fucking go wild, you funky lil person. Groundhog Day. Ghostbusters. Lost in Translation. Movies that don’t star Bill Murray, probably. Find a straight couple and make them Gwenvid, and go goddamn bonkers with the possibilities. Find a world with Gwenvid-like characters and make them Gwenvid. The possibilities are literally endless. 

3. Fandom engagement and being a BNF

Huh. Not sure where to go with this one.

Like I said, I don’t consider myself much of a BNF (that’s “big-name fan,” for those of you who might have a life outside of tumblr) -- certainly not anymore. And honestly, becoming “popular” in this economy fandom isn’t . . . necessarily going to be super easy.

I mean, don’t get me wrong! The fandom isn’t dead by any means; people are still writing, and still being read. But if you look at the track record over time:

Average kudos counts of Forestwater’s fics by year:

2016: 574

2017: 277

2018: 79

2019: 60

2020: 50

(if you ever wondered why I had a serious emotional crisis about the quality of my writing and general popularity in 2018 and 2019, that drop should tell you a lot)

Now, some of this is certainly my fault. The most important thing when it comes to fandom success is engagement: the more you write, the more attention you’re going to get. If you can stick to a regular update schedule, you’re going to be on the front page and in the top of the tags, and people will see your stuff and be more likely to read it. And attention is self-generating, because the more kudos and hits you have, the more people are going to check out your work just to see what the big deal is. So getting laid off and deeply depressed, then not updating at a time when the fandom was already beginning a pretty steady downward trajectory anyway . . . was not my best move in terms of relevance.

And engagement doesn’t necessarily have to mean updates, by the way! (Though you should update regularly if you want the attention.) Sharing headcanons, answering asks, starting fandom drama and ship wars . . . that’s all the kind of thing that establishes you as an authority; even if people think you’re wrong, they’ll think you’re someone whose opinion is worth disagreeing with, if they see you mouthing off in the tags enough. 

I’m not confident this is a good call, but Snowqueens Icedragon didn’t get massive fandom success by not starting flame wars, is all I’m saying. 

If you have the spoons to answer questions, people will want to ask them. No one wants to talk to someone who won’t reply to them. The most popular artists and authors are always going to be the ones who interact with the fandom the most. Higher output, more attention, more praise. I’m not saying it’s fair -- in fact, it very well might not be -- but that’s the nature of the beast.

Also, play to the fandom. Camp Camp fans want to see dadvid. They want to see dan/vid. They want to see Max-centric content, and they probably want it to be angsty. They want to see self-inserts dating David. If you can give them some of that stuff (none of which is inherently bad, to be clear, nor is it inherently good; it’s just what’s popular, and tbh if you can cram it all in one fic that’d be amazing), you have the benefit of giving people exactly what they want. 

To be clear, don’t write about things that don’t inspire you; aside from it being a soul-crushing endeavor, it’s noticeable when someone’s heart just isn’t in it, and it’s even harder to keep those regular updates. But if the things you’re passionate about happen to be the things the fandom really wants to see at the moment, then you’re much closer to riding the kudos train, my friendo.

But here’s the thing: even if you do everything right, you might still get screwed.

Some of this is just due to the fact that Camp Camp is always a dead fandom in the off-seasons, and we don’t know how long this current off-season is going to last. Hell, we don’t have to look at me for this:

This is “How to Foster an Asshole” by emiartse. It’s one of the fandom’s most popular fics, with a whopping 962 kudos. Hot damn, look at that engagement. That’s a fucking fic right there!

This is the sequel, which has 122 kudos. Nothing to sneeze at, to be sure -- I think we’d all be delighted to have 122 kudos -- but even the general tendency of sequels to have less attention than a series debut doesn’t entirely explain such a precipitous drop. And emiartse is doing everything right! This is dadvid! And momgwen! It’s just as well-written as the first; it’s not like we suddenly experience a decrease in quality or anything. It came right on the heels of the first one ending, and the updates have been more or less like clockwork, in keeping with the previous story.

So what changed?

Well, HTFAA was first published in 2019, right on the heels of Season 4′s finale and when fandom hype was pretty high. HTAAA was published in September 2020, during this whole “world pandemic and every political disaster all at once” thing that’s got us all fucked up -- and especially, during a period where we all knew Camp Camp wasn’t coming back for the year, and maybe not ever.

It’s . . . not a great time to be a writer for Camp Camp if your goal is popularity. I mean, it’s never a great time to be a writer if your goal is popularity -- consider the tragic difference in notes between ellohcee’s gorgeous art and their equally-excellent writing just for comparison -- but it’s especially tough now. If you really want to be a huge name in the fandom, my suggestion is to travel back in time to 2016 and establish yourself as the pioneer of something (seriously, it can be anything; there was basically nothing in the fandom at that time. Every idea was a new one). 

So . . . what do we do when we can’t be popular? Maybe you don’t want to chain yourself to a strict update schedule, or write the twelve-thousandth iteration of the most popular fandom tropes, or you exist in 2021 when everything is terrible and no one cares about a web cartoon series. What happens then?

4. Do it anyway.

I know, I know -- that sounds hella cheesy. “Write because you love it, not for attention” is one of those statements that everyone rolls their eyes at, because seriously? Please. What’s even the point of sharing something you write if no one reads it?

Well . . . because you made it. Because it’s something that wouldn’t exist without you, and because even though there are such a tiny number of readers in a very small, very dead fandom -- those people still exist. And seeing what you wrote will make them happy. And if they have the spoons, they’ll let you know that you made them happy, which will make you happy.

I haven’t updated my major fic in a year -- haven’t updated any writing in several months. But what keeps me going is the excitement that my ideas bring me, and the pride I feel in watching them come to life. It’s like giving a gift to someone; I get really nervous and giddy whenever I post a sentence.

And does it suck when it feels like your present goes unappreciated? Yeah. If you write the first chapter of your awesome long-form Gwenvid fic and it gets like 5 or 3 or even zero notes, that’s a huge bummer. That hurts a lot, and it can crush your self-esteem worse than even the most vicious hate. But your fic isn’t going to just be around for the few hours or days that you’re watching the engagement. It’s going to be there, growing as you update it or just sitting happily in its tags, and someone is going to find it.

Your story is going to be someone’s favorite fic. I promise. 

And hell, let’s make it my favorite fic! 

If you post something -- you know what, even if you post something in a trope or ship I hate, or a fandom I’m not in, doesn’t even have to just be Camp Camp; times are hard right now and we gotta support each other -- send me the link in a personal message. (Don’t tag me, I won’t see it. I never see anything on this terrible, terrible site.) I’ll like it; I’ll give it kudos. I’ll probably even share it*, because we’re going through the lean times in this fandom. And we’re writers, so the lean times are extra lean; it’s the bone-and-dust times. 

*Okay, but I reserve the right to not support someone’s work that makes me very uncomfortable. I’ll share things I don’t personally stan, but I’m not gonna platform your “why Hitler was good, actually” essay disguised as a fanfic or anything. My 6 followers deserve better.

Write something that excites you, and then tell me about it. If you need help brainstorming, tell me about that too. 

I might not have the spoons to keep this up for a prolonged period of time, but I’ll do what I can and you’ll do what you can and together we’ll . . . idk, do something. I’m losing the thread of my great inspirational speech here.

Uhhhh TL;DR let’s just do the dang thing. If we fail we all fail together. Yay team!

[clumsyclifford]

hi! idk if you're still doing the prompts but if you are #47? whatever pairing you're vibing with atm 😊 -🦥

HELLO! first of all, the pairing bot gave me malum after it gave me cashton twice but i didn’t feel like doing this for cashton so i wrote it malum, hope that’s cool. ALSO. one day i am going to write a real proper epistolary fic, mark my words, but for now this is all i have to offer you. i know it’s rather different from like. a Normal fic. but i had fun writing it so :)

read on ao3

-

Dear Calum,

My mum suggested I write you a letter because of the whole data thing in Brazil. I don’t know what that really means but apparently calling would be extremely expensive so I’m doing this now. Maybe it’s weird. Don’t really care. Deal with it.

So how is Brazil? I don’t know the time difference. Wait, I can look it up. Google says 13 hours. That means you’re a day behind me half the time. I’m in your future! It doesn’t look good for you, Cal. Future is pretty grim. If I were you I would stay in the past. Although by the time you get this it will be way in the future for both of us…oops. Oh well. I tried.

Anyway. What was I saying. Brazil? How is it? Hot, I bet. Probably playing loads of football. Luke and I have been playing FIFA but it’s so not the same. He sucks at it and he doesn’t even cheat because he’s boring I guess or has “morals” or whatever (his words not mine). I miss playing FIFA with you. Always beating Luke is not fun. Okay it’s a little fun. But I still miss you. As soon as you’re back you’re reclaiming the player 2 controller. Did I mention that I miss you? You probably get it.

What can I update you about here? There’s not a lot to say. Nothing has really happened. At least not in my life. Oh! I can tell you a secret but don’t tell Luke I told you because he will definitely kill me. Not that you have any way to reach Luke. Don’t go behind my back and write a letter to Luke telling him I told you this. Anyway: Luke fancies Ashton! I totally got him to admit it during one of the FIFA games I mentioned. It was almost cute if I’m honest. He turned really red and got all blushy and stammery. I am now wondering if I should meddle or not. On the one hand, Ashton must like him back, right? Have you seen the two of them? I don’t want to deal with intra-band sexual tension. Unless it’s ours. We’ve already claimed the “insufferable band boyfriends” role though, so do we really want this to happen? I don’t really know what I’m arguing anymore. I don’t think I’ll do anything for now. Will keep you updated in case anything dramatic happens. Then again I have no idea how long it’ll be before you receive this. Something very dramatic might happen while this is in the post. Let me ask my mum. Okay she says it could be two weeks. That’s fucking long. You might just have to come back and get the Luke/Ashton updates in real time.

Besides from that there isn’t much to report. Everything is the same. Except I’m a lot lonelier now. This is what you’ve done to me Calum. I’m returning to my natural introvert state. I need you here, Cal!! Otherwise I’ll just have to become a turtle and by the time you’re back it might be too late. 

I’m joking by the way. I hope you’re having a good time at football camp. Making new friends and learning Brazilian(?) Portuguese and kicking everyone’s arse and showing them up. I’m sure you are. I just miss you lots. :( Counting down the days!

Sending you lots of kisses and cuddles through the post,

Mikey

~

Dear Michael,

I don’t care either! I think writing letters is cool. We’re like lovers at war. Except neither of us are going to die. Probably. (Some of these footballers are CRAZY good. You never know!)

Actually, Brazil is pretty nice. It’s winter so the days have actually been not too hot, thankfully. It’s exhausting enough playing as it is. If it got any hotter, I might actually pass out. Forever. They’d have to ship me home in a body bag. (Are those only for dead people? Maybe not a body bag.)

It’s been almost two weeks since you sent your letter (I assume you sent it soon after I left?) which means there’s a good chance this one won’t get to you until I do, but in case it does I’m going to write and post it anyway. I hope by now you’re getting on better with Luke. If I’ve said it once or a million times, you guys have a lot in common and I really think you could be best friends if you weren’t both such stubborn shitheads. Which I say in the nicest way possible!

Of course Luke fancies Ashton, he’s liked Ashton since…honestly I don’t know when. Months and months at least. And Ashton clearly likes him back. I’ve never seen two people less capable of hiding their feelings. I’m surprised you didn’t notice before. Please tell me you decided to meddle in the end. You’re right, we can’t handle more sexual tension in the band. Don’t worry, they can’t possibly be more insufferable than we are. We are the most annoying boyfriends on the planet. We’re writing each other letters. Basically, it’s best for everyone involved if they get over themselves. Suck it up and kiss already! My friend Gustavo agrees with me. Also he says hi. (Well he says “oi” but I translated for you. See, I can do stuff like that. Kinda cool, right?)

I miss you too, you know. Very much. This might sound weird, but I keep having dreams about you? Like…I’ll be dreaming about whatever (usually football these days) and then you’ll just be there. Clearly my subconscious also knows I miss you. You know Ashton says that when you dream about someone, it’s because they’re thinking about you, so I hope that’s true. It’s kind of a cute idea. I hope you’re thinking about me. I’m thinking about you. Obviously. A lot. A lot.

There is one thing I want to tell you, though. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this, and the more I think about it the crazier it feels, but also more right. So…I think I’m gonna do the band. Not football. This is cool and all, but everyone here is so scary good, and…I don’t know. Maybe this is stupid but I don’t like the idea of a future without you when I could have a future with you. Like with the band, I mean. And I know it’s not the most practical dream, but imagine how cool it would be if it actually worked out. You know I like a challenge. So, anyway…that’s kind of where I’m at now. I’m going to keep thinking about it for the last two weeks here, but I don’t think I’ll change my mind. Don’t tell anyone, please. I just wanted to tell you as soon as I knew. My parents are going to be soooo mad. Not excited to tell them, but this feels like the right decision.

Anyway…this got weirdly deep. Sorry. Here’s something super not-deep to make up for it: one of the football coaches here has a dog whose name in English is pasta! PASTA! (It might be apple. Apparently they’re the same word just spelled differently and the Brazilians here can clearly tell the difference. I cannot. But I think it’s way funnier if the dog’s name is pasta so I’m going with that. Not that apple is much better? Imagine seeing any dog at all and thinking, “You know what this dog’s name should be? A common food item.” LOL.)

This letter is so long and I’m running out of space on the page and I also really need to go to sleep! The boys are telling me to turn off the lights. I miss you so much. Football camp is fun, but I can’t wait to be back. Counting down the days!

Thank you for the cuddles and kisses I am sending them right back to you,

Cal

~

“Oh my God,” Michael mumbles into Calum’s shoulder, “you smell.”

Calum laughs, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on Michael. “Seriously? I haven’t seen you in a whole month and that’s the first thing you say?”

“Ugh, I missed you so much, but that’s boring to say, you already knew it,” Michael says, drawing back to kiss Calum for a second. Then he buries his face in Calum’s neck. “Seriously, I’m not joking, if you ever leave me alone for that long again, I will die.”

“You had Luke. And Ashton.”

Michael groans loudly and overdramatically. “Ashton is busy with family stuff all the time and don’t you dare compare yourself to Luke.”

“We’re going to talk about this,” Calum says. “You’re going to be friends with him if it kills me.”

“Then prepare to die,” Michael says. Calum laughs, pressing a kiss to the slope of Michael’s neck. “I tried, okay? I promise I did. I said in my letter we were playing FIFA! Did you get my letter? I didn’t know how to check if it ever actually arrived.”

“I got it,” Calum says, stomach lurching with nerves. Ignoring them for the moment, he squeezes Michael and then steps back to give him a full once-over. “I loved it. It made me laugh. God, I really missed you, you know?”

“Join the fucking club,” Michael says, smiling. He’s been smiling this whole time, Calum realises; he’s just good at sounding like he’s whining even when he’s smiling. That’s probably the most Michael thing Michael can do.

“Alright, boys,” Mali says from a ways away. “Come on. Let’s go. And seriously, Calum? You hug Michael but not me?”

Calum throws his arms around Mali, and Mali wraps him in a hug. “Missed you,” Calum says sweetly in her ear. “Thank you for coming to get me. And for bringing Michael.”

“You’re welcome,” Mali says drily. They separate and Mali just gives him a small smile. “And I missed you too, you punk. Come on, you both. Baggage claim awaits.”

Mali takes off and Calum lingers behind until he can throw an arm over Michael’s shoulder. Michael leans heavily into him. It’s been so long since the last time Calum had Michael in his arms, but it’s so immediately familiar that it almost knocks Calum off his feet. 

“So…” Calum bites his lip. “Did you get my letter? I sent it just after yours arrived, but I don’t know if it got here before me.”

Michael shakes his head. “Nope, nothing.” Something in his voice tells Calum he’s making no mistake. He’d probably checked the mail every day, just to see. There’s a pang in Calum’s chest, all mixed up with the anxiety flitting out to his fingertips from inside his rib cage. 

“Oh,” Calum says. “Well, there was something in there that I wanted to tell you, but I guess I’ll just tell you now. Um.” He drops his voice to a half-whisper, clears his throat. “I don’t want to tell Mali or anyone yet, but…I decided I’m not going to do football.”

Michael jerks. “What?”

“I want to be in the band,” Calum says quietly. His heart is racing, but at least it’s racing towards the finish line instead of away. This is the right decision. He’s…ninety-five percent sure. That’s enough to know. It has to be enough to know. “I just, you know, football is fun, but music is more fun. To me. And anyway, um.” He rubs the back of his neck. “If I have a choice between a career that has you in it or one that doesn’t, I choose you. Obviously.”

“You’re gonna be in the band?” Michael repeats lowly, looking over at Calum like he’s seeing something he’s never seen before. “Seriously? You’d give up football?”

Calum shrugs, nods. “Yeah. I know my parents are going to kill me, but I don’t care. This is what I want.”

Michael stares at him. “I love you,” he says, and then kisses Calum too fiercely to give Calum adequate time to process that. 

By the time they break apart, he’s processed it. And as he inhales to catch his breath, licking his lips, he knows with one-hundred-percent certainty that this is the right choice.

“I love you too,” Calum says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Where Michael is concerned, it usually is.

[thathopelessromantic]

Reckless Good (3/?)

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Fic Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Midoriya Izuku 

Note: Thanks so much for the great response so far! And if you haven’t already, please check out some of the other great pieces for the TDDK Big Bang this year!

Todoroki Shouto had accepted his fate as a public figure when he became a pro-hero, but there are some parts of his private life he would like to stay private. When he gets invited to be a speaker in a college lecture series, he goes to the meeting with one goal: to give the coordinator a piece of his mind and finally put an end to people hounding him for information about his family.

The last thing he expects is the curious, and quirkless, hero- and quirk-study professor, Midoriya Izuku, who has no interest in his family’s history, and, somehow, even more ties to the hero industry than Shouto. Intrigued by the professor, Shouto tentatively agrees to the lecture series, unknowingly intertwining their futures.

But the more Todoroki sees of Midoriya, the more questions he has. When a villain attack leaves them living together until the culprits are apprehended, maybe he’ll finally get some answers.

AO3: (x) Chapter One: (X) Chapter Two: (X)

Shouto is, regrettably, not unfamiliar with the process of checking into the hospital, or the protocols in the burn unit, but things seem to go surprisingly quick with a doctor at his side, explaining not only the extent of his injury but the cause. Just a few moments after they’ve arrived, Shouto is whisked away from Dr. Midoriya and Kou to have his burn cleaned and dressed. They run the usual battery of tests, poke him for blood what feels like a dozen times, and after about half a dozen reassurances to various doctors and nurses that, yes, he does know how to care for a burn at home, he’s told he might be able to go home later that night.

The room he’s put in is, admittedly, one of the nicer hospital rooms that he’s visited. It’s part of a private wing made specifically for pro-heroes to get a little peace from fans and the media while recovering, but it doesn’t make him hate it any less. He’s only been alone in the room for twenty minutes or so, but he’s already contemplating a prison break. Let Momo handle the paperwork for his unconventional discharge on her next day at the office and call it good. But the risk of being put on some extra mandatory leave is too great. His doctor and Momo have been on his case about taking care of himself properly for months now and they’d love any excuse to bench him for a few extra weeks, instead of the couple of days he’ll need for the burn to heal enough that he can cover it securely and get back to work.

There’s a short knock on the door. Shouto starts to mentally prepare himself for another argument with a doctor when the door inches open and Kou peeks in. Surprised, Shouto waves to her. Kou smiles back, turning to motion at someone behind her. A moment later the door opens the rest of the way and Kou rushes in, followed by Dr. Midoriya.

“Dr. Midoriya and I are on a secret adventure.” Kou announces in a whisper. There’s a Uravity-themed spacesuit sticker on her cheek and she looks as if she’s recovered from the evening’s events, but her clothes have been replaced by a colorful hospital gown and fuzzy bathrobe.

Dr. Midoriya hasn’t changed his clothes, but he has a white lab coat on over top.

“Oh? What is your secret adventure?” Shouto asks. He shifts to the side and makes room for Kou to climb onto the bed besides him.

“Visiting you!” She announces, happily. “It’s a secret because I’m not supposed to leave the quirk ward, but Dr. Midoriya snuck me out. This is for you. Dr. Midoriya said you were friends!” She pulls two more stickers out of a pocket in her robe and hands them to him; a music note that says Earphone Jack and a nesting doll in Creati’s costume.

“Thank you,” Shouto says genuinely, though he has no idea what he’s going to do with the stickers. But his mind is distracted by Kou’s other words. The quirk ward? Obviously there was a reason the villains had targeted the girl, but that detail had gotten buried in the chaos of everything else. Now he’s reminded of the villain’s words…something about her being the key.

He looks up but Dr. Midoriya meets his eye with a subtle shake of his head.

Shouto lets the subject drop for now, but he’s determined to stay a part of this investigation. He’ll get his answers eventually.

Turning back to Kou, he tries a hesitant smile. “Would you still like that autograph?”

Her whole being lights up. “Really?” She reaches into the pocket of her robe again only for her face to drop. “Oh. I forgot my notebook.”

Dr. Midoriya taps her on the shoulder, holding out a small, heart-shaped notepad and a glittery gel pen.

Kou gasps, taking the items from him with excited thanks. She flips through the notebook quickly looking for a blank page, and Shouto is surprised by how many signatures she’s already amassed. Satisfied with the location, she hands the notebook and pen to him. She’s practically vibrating in excitement as he writes a quick note to her, trying to make it sound a little more personal than his usual scribbled signature.

Just as Shouto finishes his note, there’s another knock on the door. Yet another doctor steps into the room, reading through something in a folder. Her long, silver hair is draped over her shoulder in a thick braid and there’s a sharp horn coming out of her forehead. She seems faintly familiar to Shouto but he can’t place why he would recognize her. At the very least he doesn’t think he’s ever had her as a doctor before. She stops in her tracks when she sees Dr. Midoriya and Kou gathered around his hospital bed.

“Izuku!” she scolds, crossing her arms over her chest.

It takes Shouto a moment to remember Izuku is Dr. Midoriya’s first name. He glances up at him.

Dr. Midoriya leans close to Kou, covering his mouth with one hand to stage whisper to her. “I think we got caught.”

Kou copies him with a quiet giggle. “Oops.”

Shouto closes her notebook carefully and slides it across the bed. Kou covertly slips it into her robe.

“What are you even doing here?” The new doctor asks, exasperated. There’s no way she didn’t hear the two of them whispering, but she seems to be ignoring it.

“Kou just wanted to thank Entropy for saving her!” Dr. Midoriya insists, apparently choosing to take no blame in their “secret adventure.”

“Dr. Aizawa has a quirk kind of like mine,” Kou tells Shouto in a hushed voice while the two doctors argue. “She and Dr. Midoriya are really nice. And funny.”

Dr. Aizawa makes it all click. The light hair and the horn. She was the same little girl Aizawa had adopted during Shouto’s first year.

“We were just leaving, Dr. Aizawa!” Kou chimes in suddenly, sliding off the bed and grabbing Dr. Midoriya’s hand. “Bye!”

Dr. Aizawa shakes her head as Dr. Midoriya is pulled out of the room by a girl a quarter his size. “This isn’t over just because you have a patient protecting you, Izuku.”

Dr. Midoriya sends a bright smile back at her just as the door closes on the two of them.

“I hope they weren’t bothering you too much,” Dr. Aizawa says as she comes over to Shouto’s bed.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m glad I got to see her again. I was worried she’d be a little more upset after everything.”

“Kou’s a strong girl. She’s going to be okay.” Dr. Aizawa says with certainty. “Anyways, I’m Aizawa Eri, I’m part of the hero staff here.”

“Aizawa, er...Eraserhead’s daughter, right?”

Dr. Aizawa smiles and it looks so shockingly like Dr. Midoriya’s, Shouto can’t help but wonder about what their connection to each other is. Especially with how casually she spoke to him. Could they be related? It seems like he would have known if his homeroom teacher had also had or adopted a son his age, wouldn’t he? “That’s right, you were one of his students! Nice to see you again.”

Shouto bows his head in acknowledgement. He knows he met the young girl Aizawa adopted a few times, but his memories of her are fuzzy at best.

Dr. Aizawa checks him over again, asking him a few questions about how he’s feeling and what’s been done already. Finally, she gets to why she’s here to see him. “I’m not sure if you would remember, but my quirk is Rewind. It’s delicate but helpful for healing, especially for many pros. If you remember about how long ago you were burned, I should be able to heal your arm so that you can get back to work without too much fuss.”

“Really?”

Dr. Aizawa nods. “I can rewind your body back to before it happened, but it will rewind your whole body so the closer to the exact time it happened the better, otherwise too many things could change. Do you have a good idea of when it happened?”

“What time is it now?”

Dr. Aizawa glances at her watch. “Almost ten.”

Shouto is briefly surprised by that information. He hadn’t realized how long he had been in the hospital already. “I left the agency after the first alerts came in around 6:30, so it was probably around 7 that I made contact with the villain. I can’t be more exact than that, unfortunately.”

“That should work alright. Would you like to be rewound, or would you prefer to let it heal naturally?”

Shouto shakes his head. Anything to speed up the process. “No, please rewind it if you can.”

She smiles. “Okay, it will be just a moment then.”

Dr. Aizawa pulls on a pair of gloves and takes his arm in her hands, gently, mindful of the injury and the loose bandages protecting it.

A moment later the horn at her temple begins to glow, Shouto has to look away as the warm light grows brighter and then, just like that, it’s over. When he looks back at the doctor, her horn has shrunk a little, losing some of the sharp edge at the top.

“Okay! You should be good to go. How does it feel?”

Shouto moves his arm a few times, relieved that there’s no pain as he moves it. Carefully he peels off the bandages. It looks as if he was never injured, not even a small scar left behind.

Dr. Aizawa looks pleased with the results. “Perfect. Unfortunately it doesn’t work on non-living things so you will have to have your costume repaired separately.”

“That’s fine,” Shouto says. He was more worried about being forced to take some sick leave than repairing his costume to begin with. “Thank you.”

Dr. Aizawa smiles again. “Of course. I’m happy to help.” She pulls a few papers out of her folder and hands them to him. “If you are ready, you can take these to the desk out front and you’ll be discharged.”

Shouto hesitates as he takes the papers from her. An hour ago he was ready to run at the first chance, but now…she was someone who might have some answers…

“Kou mentioned that the two of you had similar quirks,”

“I’m sorry. If you become a part of the investigation I’m sure you’ll find out more information, but for now I can’t disclose a patient’s information.”  Dr. Aizawa says before he can even finish figuring out exactly what he wants to ask.

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I don’t blame you for being curious, not after everything that’s happened.”

Dr. Aizawa looks ready to leave, but there’s one more thing Shouto has to ask. At least while he still has a chance.

“Can I ask about Dr. Midoriya, then?”

Dr. Aizawa stops with a puzzled look. “Izuku? What about him?”

Shouto's mind goes blank. Everything doesn’t seem like a plausible response. At least not one that would get him anywhere. “Uh, I…I was just surprised to hear you call him Izuku. Are you close?”

Dr. Aizawa studies him for a long time as if she could determine whatever ulterior motives he had for asking just by staring him down. Maybe she could if even he knew what he was doing asking these questions.

“I’ve known Izuku for a long time,” she finally says. “He’s like family.”

The answer is careful, guarded. With the slightest undertone of a threat.

“…Right.” Shouto replies awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Dr. Aizawa inclines her head to him. “Have a nice night, Entropy.”

 After checking out with Dr. Aizawa’s discharge papers, Shouto heads back to the agency. Sunspot practically tackles him in the lobby.

“Entropy! You’re okay! I thought you were just going to check on the kidnapped civilian, but then Ingenium told me his friend was taking you to the hospital and that I had nothing to worry about so I should just go back to the agency but I didn’t know why you were going to the hospital or what was happening,” she stutters over her words for a moment, taking a breath. “Was it okay to leave? I didn’t know what else to do but I didn’t know what hospital you went to or why. Were you injured? You don’t look hurt. Is that how you damaged your costume?”

Shouto lets her run on while he goes to his office. He knows she’ll follow. And that it’s pointless to try and get a word in until she runs out of breath.

Sunspot sinks into one of his office chairs as he goes to turn his computer on. He lifts a brow at her slumped form in the armchair.

“Are you done?”

She opens her mouth to speak again but after a moment shuts it again and nods.

“The villain who took the hostage burned me. I hadn’t realized the extent of the injury until later. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you personally so that you knew it was okay to come back, but it was fine that you came back. It wasn’t serious.” Shouto explains calmly. “You said Ingenium told you to come back?” Shouto thinks back to Dr. Midoriya texting in the ambulance and he wonders if the two know each other.

Sunspot nods again. “He came and found me and told me a friend was taking you to the hospital. I assumed he meant one of the paramedics. I didn’t know he was friends with the paramedics. Was that part of U.A. training? Getting to know first-responders closely? Or just a coincidence?”

“I think it’s just a coincidence on Ingenium’s part. Not something you’re missing out on.” Shouto says. “You did good tonight. Go home and get some rest.”

“But-”

Shouto gestures to her before she can argue. “You expended a lot of your reserve helping the rescue crews with civilians trapped under the rubble and then helping me melt the ice. It’s okay.”

Sunspot looks down at herself. The faint glow she normally gives off as a result of having excess energy saved up by her quirk is almost completely extinguished. At the late hour, she wouldn’t be able to get any more energy even if they needed to go out into the field again. Not until the sun was up again.

Sunspot pushes herself out of the chair. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help tonight.” She says with a short bow.

Shouto waves her off. “It’s okay.”

“Good night, Entropy.”

“Good night, Sunspot. Good work tonight.” Shouto says. He catches just a glimpse of her relieved smile as his office door closes quietly behind her.

Alone, Shouto settles into his desk chair, already mentally preparing for a long night. He considers going against doctor’s orders and getting some coffee but just barely resists the temptation. Caffeine might end up making him too jittery to focus and this is important. Writing up a more in-depth report of the event for the police and the agency records is the first priority of the night. But after that, Shouto has some research to do.

 X

Momo finds him like that in the morning. Sometime in the night the combination of the late hour and bright computer screen got to him and he went in search of his rarely-worn glasses to take some of the stress off. His final report and the accompanying paperwork are tucked in a folder for safe keeping, but the rest of his desk is a disaster zone of scattered pages, printed news reports of the attack last night with any information he might have missed, any police reports on the matter he could get his hands on with his current clearance, his own compiled notes.

He doesn’t even realize someone else is in the office with him until Momo clears her throat, placing a paper to-go cup of tea in the middle of his desk, on top of the latest piece he’s reading.

“Shouto,” she says seriously, crossing her arms over her chest. “ When did you last take a break?”

Shouto tries to come up with an answer but his brain is fuzzy at best, street names and potential identities floating at the forefront of his consciousness. “Uh, what time is it?”

Momo sighs, rubbing at her temple with one hand. “ Go home, Shouto.”

“I just need to-"

“No.” Momo comes around the other side of his desk, pulling him up and out of his desk chair by one arm. “It’s almost eight o'clock. You need to go home and go to bed.”

Momo might have had a point, his shift was supposed to end at six that morning and he hadn’t even noticed the time, but he digs his heels in, resisting being dragged from the office to the best of his ability. Unfortunately, Momo is stronger than she looks, and has the advantage of a full-night’s sleep on him.

“Go home. Go to sleep. Don’t come back until Saturday.”

“But-”

“You were injured! You should have called me as soon as you were taken to the hospital,” Momo scolds.

“I got better.”

Momo looks at him curiously. She comes to a stop, scanning him over. Shouto’s sure he looks a mess, still half-dressed in his damaged hero-suit, the top unzipped and tied around his waist. His hair has started to escape the braid he had it in for work and he can see the loose hair floating in his peripheral vision. Not to mention how exhausted he probably looks after spending the whole night scouring the police database. But – he’s not injured.

“What do you mean you ‘got better’? You weren’t really injured?”

Shouto sighs. “No, I was. There was a doctor at the hospital with a quirk who fixed it. Aizawa’s daughter, actually.”

Momo’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t realize she became a doctor. That’s wonderful.” She pauses. “But not the point. You still should have called someone. Though I suppose I should be grateful you went to get help, at all.”

Shouto rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well…there was a doctor on the scene when I was talking to the girl who was targeted who saw my burn.”

“A doctor?”

“Uh…Dr. Midoriya.” Shouto explains. He isn’t sure if Momo will recognize the name, not entirely sure if he wants her to remember or not.

“The professor from the lecture series?” Momo asks in surprise. “What was he doing there?”

“Apparently he’s not just a professor.”

Momo studies him for a few moments, trying to figure something out. Shouto doesn’t blame her. He’d like some answers about his behavior too. He just hopes she comes to an easy conclusion, like Shouto cooperated with Dr. Midoriya because he sort-of knew him, and not anything else ridiculous. Or revealing. Or uncomfortable.

Finally, Momo shakes her head, brushing off whatever conclusions she may have come to. “I don’t care. Go home. Sleep. Eat something. I’ll finish submitting your reports to the police and I’ll make sure they know you are interested in joining the case searching for the villains who escaped last night, but other than talking to anyone who contacts you about the case, I don’t want to hear about you working again until this weekend.”

Shouto wants to keep arguing, he’s not even hurt anymore, but he knows this is the best he’s going to get from her. He is also unbelievably grateful for all the years they’ve known each other and how Momo knows exactly what he needs to hear to relax, even just a little.  “Okay. Thank you.”

Momo nods. “We’ll get whoever it is, Shouto. But you don’t have to do it alone. And you can’t do it in one night. So please take care of yourself. I’ll see you on Friday for dinner.”

Momo waves to an intern, instructing them to escort Shouto to the exit. Shouto wants to protest being babysat the rest of the way to the door, but Momo pins him with a hard look before he can even open his mouth and he lets it happen. Admittedly, now that he’s not pouring over his research to keep himself moving, he can feel exhaustion settling over him.

Though he could still find the way to the damn door himself.

 Shouto stumbles into his dark apartment twenty minutes later. He leaves the lights off as he comes through the entrance. The morning sun has started to fill the front room with light, and its enough for him to make his way to the bedroom without tripping over anything. His bed is cool, the sheets still ruffled from the previous morning. Shouto just barely remembers to strip off his ruined hero-suit before he drops into the bed, using his left side to warm up the sheets quicker. In a minute, he’s asleep.

When he wakes again, warm golden light pours into the room from his half-open window. He runs a hand over his face, trying to will away the strange, disorienting feeling of waking up. He reaches to his bedside table, knocking a few things to the side until he connects with his alarm clock. Pulling it close, he squints at the lit screen. It was almost five in the afternoon. Shouto tosses the offending thing away. He takes just a few moments to reorient himself before he forces himself out of bed and into the shower.

He only remembers after stepping into the spray that half of his hair is still twisted into a braid. He swears as he tears the now-wet strands free of the stubborn rubber-band, tugging at the knots there unhappily. He doesn’t mean to stay in the shower for long, but after fighting with his hair for who knows how long, the heat and relaxing pound of the spray against his shoulders eases some of the tension from his body and he wastes time under the comforting water until it starts to run cold. The temperature change doesn’t bother him much, but he figures he’s wasted enough water like that and climbs out.

After drying off a little, Shouto brushes his teeth, and that, combined with washing off the grime of the previous day, helps make him feel a little more awake. A little more human.

Shouto dresses in casual civilian clothes. He finds his phone, dead, in a pocket of his hero-suit before tossing the ruined thing in a bag to give to the support team. They’ll probably just have to make him a new one, but he feels bad throwing it away without trying to salvage it.

His charger is plugged in near the bed, so he goes to grab it so he can charge his phone in the kitchen while he makes something to eat. But in fumbling around looking for the charger, he spots his forgotten glasses in the mess of sheets and pillows on his bed. The ear piece on the right side is bent at a strange angle and one of the lenses is cracked. Shit. Well, he supposes, that’s what he gets for wearing them for the first time in months while running on fumes. He tosses the damaged glasses on his side table and leaves for the kitchen.

Finally, he switches on a few lights.

His apartment is mostly bare, plain white walls with just a few basic pieces of furniture, mostly just there to fill the empty space. The occasional dirty glass or dish that gets left behind if he’s in a rush on his way to work are the only signs of the life in the otherwise dull place. Those, and the three picture frames hanging on the wall in his living room; one of his mother and siblings, one of his graduating class with their teachers mixed in with the colorful crowd, and one of the day he and Momo started their agency. They’re the only decoration he needs. They represent all the important people in his life.

There are a few containers of leftovers in the fridge, and while it would be easier to warm something up and leave it at that, Shouto takes the time to pull out some fresh ingredients. Washing off the vegetables and prepping them while rice cooks is a simple, familiar routine and it helps ground him.

He starts a simple stir fry with chicken just as his phone finally comes back to life, chiming with a number of missed notifications. Lowering the heat slightly, Shouto lets it simmer for a minute while he checks his phone.

A few of the notifications are basic news reports he usually dismisses, though today he saves any about last night’s attack incase there’s been any updated information. There are two texts from Momo asking if he got home safe and if he ate anything. He shoots of a quick reply to her, apologizing for not letting her know right away and reassuring her he’s making food now. He takes a picture of the pan and sends it as an after thought, just in case she doesn’t believe him. There are also a few texts from Kyouka telling him to stop worrying her wife and to stop being an idiot. He responds to those with a few choice emojis and nothing else. She’ll get the message.

Finally, he looks at the emails he missed. There’s one from an Officer Uchida he doesn’t recognize, confirming he (Momo) submitted the right paper work to join the case against the villains from the night before and once the task force has been officially formed he would be contacted with more information. Relieved, Shotuo saves the contact information and sets it as a priority so he’ll be sure to get any future notifications right away. The only other missed email is from Dr. Midoriya.

Shouto goes back to checking his food, stirring it for a few minutes and adding a few more ingredients. His attention goes back to his phone a few times, but he resists going back to it. He’s not sure why, he’s been waiting for this stupid email basically since he left the professor’s office, but suddenly he’s nervous about opening it. He’s not sure what to expect once he opens the list of the professor’s topics. What if he imagined all of this and the professor still wants him to talk about his family? What if Shouto can’t answer any of his questions about how his quirk works? Is it even a good idea for him to talk publicly about how his quirk works? Couldn’t someone use that against him?

Shouto turns his phone upside down, hiding the blinking notification.

He’ll look at it after he eats.

He finishes cooking a little while later. Scooping out a generous serving of rice into a bowl and getting a plate for the stir fry he settles in the living room. He has a perfectly good table he could eat at in the kitchen, but there’s something satisfying in breaking the rules and eating on the couch. Out in the open, casually. He hasn’t lived with his father since he was a first year, but he still takes satisfaction in all the ways he can defy him and the rules he kept in that house.

Shouto turns on the local news channel to watch while he eats. Unsurprisingly, the attack from last night is still the focus of the station. There’s a reporter discussing the widespread damage through downtown on the screen. In the background, heroes and clean up crews are still working to clear the rubble. Shouto recognizes Uravity’s bright pink costume amongst all the grey and black. She’s moving two giant pieces of concrete overhead, some kind of broken metal rods coming from one look particularly dangerous.

A scrolling banner runs across the bottom of the broadcast, asking anyone who might have information about the villains to call in to a hotline, and a separate call for anyone with quirks that might help in fixing the damage done to the roads. There are also short headlines for stories meant to air later that night and a small graphic with the weather.

The camera view changes suddenly and the report comes back into view with a police officer, answering questions about the attack.

What did they know about it? Not much yet, but they don’t think it was random.

Was anyone seriously injured? Thankfully most casualties were only minor injuries and the paramedics on scene took care of most of the civilians who were hurt.

Who were the villains? No one in particular. They don’t think this is an organized group starting attacks. Not like in the past. No one needs to worry.

All safe answers that tell them basically nothing about what happened. Shouto learned more in the two minutes he spent on the radio before pursuing the villain than the news report. He changes the channel. A talk show re-run is showing an old interview with Hawks. Shouto hesitates changing the channel again.

“So, Hawks, it’s no secret that you’ve been a fan of Endeavor’s basically since your debut, and the two of you made a good team as Number 1 and 2 for a while,” the interviewer says in a fake cheerful voice. Hawks gives a stiff smile, placating but revealing nothing about how he actually feels about the subject. “What are your thoughts on the rumors brewing about a civil trial after the allegations against Endeavor from his family?”

‘Tis the season.

Shouto clicks the TV off before Hawks can reply.

Not hungry anymore, Shouto puts his plate down. He ate most of what he had taken anyways. The rest will be fine for leftovers.

Getting up from the couch, Shouto goes back to the kitchen for his phone. The same ignored email is still waiting for him with that mocking, blinking notification light. Taking a deep breath, as if preparing for a fight, he opens it.

Entropy,

I hope you are doing better after Dr. Aizawa’s visit with you at the hospital. Sorry I couldn’t see you off. Here is the list of possible topics we discussed the other day. This is just an abbreviated list of some basic things to talk about. You can obviously go into more detail about anything that might interest you or that you think might be important information for anyone with two or dual quirks to consider.

Thank you for considering being a part of the Hero Talks Series.

Thank you, also, for your help with the attacks last night and with Kou.

Midoriya

 Shouto isn’t sure what to focus on first. The dropped title from the professor’s name? Midoriya thanking him for doing his job of all things?

Making the executive decision to focus on none of them for the time being, Shouto opens the attached document with the lecture topics. Dr. Midoriya’s “abbreviated list" is still two pages long.

Somehow, it’s exactly what Shouto was expecting.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 7: The Gatekeeper

Previous Chapter |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,044

Chapter Summary:  A trip across the Rainbow Bridge seems in order.

Thanks for reading! :)

TW: mentions of child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

if you want to be tagged, just send me an ask! :)

Read it on Ao3!

“It doesn’t mention anything about him leaving at all?”

Teki shook her head. “No, nothing.”

She and the prince were huddled in one of the back tables of the library, flipping through the pages of her father’s journal in search of some kind of clue. Teki had wondered if Loki would even be interested in continuing to help her—her life was such a mess, she didn’t see why anyone would want to willingly jump in—but he seemed just as eager to find her father as she was.

Although, neither of them had any idea as to where to start.

Loki had suggested beginning with the journal, since that was their main lead. “If he wrote in it every day, then he probably mentioned something about leaving, right?” he asked. “That couldn’t have been a decision he took lightly.”

Teki thought so as well, but the more she looked, the more it appeared that her father had done nothing of the sort. When he wasn’t writing ballads, it seemed the only thing he wrote about was her.

Teki and I went into town today to watch the parade. She was ecstatic—especially fascinated by the violinists. She’s been dancing around the room, pretending to play violin all night long. She says that she wants to learn, and I have half a mind to start teaching her. After all, she’s picked up the piano like it was nothing. Such a musical heart—I’m so proud of her.

Seeing her name—her nickname, that is—written in her father’s handwriting took her back to the letter he had left behind, the one that dissolved his marriage and rejected her as his daughter.

My dear Tekla…

That letter had been in the box too, along with several other letters he had exchanged with her mother before they were married. Rereading it for the first time since he had left, Teki was once again struck with the belief that there was something dubious about her father’s message. The whole thing was so stilted, so emotionless. It felt… it felt scripted. As if his hand was only transcribing another’s words.

And he called her Tekla.

Next to her, Loki sat straight up. “Why, we don’t have to look through all this!” he cried. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of this before!”

She frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Heimdall!” Loki stood, grinning. “He sees everyone in the universe. We can just ask him where your father is.”

Teki’s heart stuttered. The Gatekeeper stood at the edge of the Bifrost, eyes that protected Asgard from the threats that lurked beyond. Asking him to check for her father seemed… disrespectful. “Are we—are we allowed to do that?”

The prince laughed. “Why wouldn’t we be?” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go!”

“I—now?”

“Why not?” He hesitated. “Unless—if you’d prefer, I could just—”

“No.” Teki inhaled. Loki was right. This could be the best way to find her father. It was time she got over her fear of … everything. She took his hand. “Let’s go.”

…

They rode out to the Rainbow Bridge together on Loki’s horse. It was… a bit odd, to be sharing the reins with someone, but Teki didn’t have her own horse and wasn’t keen to wait for the stable hands to pick one out for her. It wouldn’t have even mattered anyways, because they didn’t have any sidesaddles on hand, and Teki knew that in the time it would have taken her to change into slacks, she would have talked herself out of going at all. Instead, she found herself perched awkwardly in the front of Loki’s nightmare black mare, Brynja.

“You—you can still see, right?” she asked as Loki shifted in the saddle behind her.

He hummed in affirmation. “Um—I think—” his hand fluttered stiffly at her waste. “Would it be alright if I—if I held on to you?” Teki twisted around to see his cheeks were bright pink. It reminded her of the night of his Nameday Feast, when she had to ask him to lace her dress up, and her face flushed as well.

Loki coughed. “Just so you don’t fall off,” he added quickly. “Apologies, it’s just that I’ve never ridden like this, and—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted quietly. “You can… hold on to me.” For a moment, Loki didn’t move. Then, very slowly, he brought his arm to rest across her stomach, holding her to his torso. Teki forgot how to breathe.

“Ready?” he whispered, the little puff of breath ticking her hair. She giggled, nodding. With a click of his tongue, Loki spurred the horse forward. Teki was soon grateful for his arm at her waist, because she was certain that without it, she would’ve gone flying when they shot forward like a cannonball.

“Oh!”

She had never ridden across the Bifrost before. Teki could only cling to Brynja’s mane and try not to scream as colors whizzed across her vision, speeding high above the rolling waves of the Asgardian ocean. Loki shouted something, but she couldn’t hear him above the wind roaring in her ears.

By the time they had reached Himinbjorg, she was panting as if she had been the one racing for miles. Loki laughed.

“Have you never galloped before?”

She bristled. “I’ve galloped.” But riding horseback had never been one of Teki’s favorite hobbies, and she felt Loki could tell.

Smiling, he jumped to the ground, helping her slide down as well and offering her his arm. “Let’s go.”

She took it haltingly. “We—we just go in?” she asked. “Don’t we have to… announce ourselves?”

Loki laughed again. “He sees everything! He already knows we’re here.”

“Wait.” Teki froze. “Everything? He sees everything? Even—” Even Osvald?

For a moment, the prince seemed confused, but realization flashed across his face.

“Yes, but Heimdall doesn’t interfere with what he sees, not unless there’s significant threat to Asgard,” he reassured her. Something dark passed across his face. “Not even when he should.”

Teki swallowed. Loki had so far honored his promise to keep what he knew of her family’s dynamic to himself, but he made no secret of the fact that he thought she should tell some higher authority. He was convinced that Osvald could be stopped by someone like his mother. Teki wished she shared his optimism.

Walking into Himinbjorg was like stepping into a whole other world. The spherical walls glowed with an archaic power that seemed to vibrate through her every fiber. The very air seemed to have a different taste, as if flavored by the intricacies of the cosmos. She needed no knowledge of the Bifrost to understand this was sacred ground.

In the middle of the room, a figure stood on the raised platform still as a statue, a golden silhouette cutting through the multicolored stains of the galactic skyline. The curved horns of his helmet glistened in the starlight, completely motionless as Teki and Loki entered.

The prince inhaled. “Good Heimdall,” he said. His voice had taken on a very grandiose tone, and Teki had to suppress the urge to laugh. “We wish to ask a favor—”

Heimdall turned, and the urge died almost instantly. The watcher of the worlds was an imposing form. His helmet cast his face in shadow as he stepped forward, his intricate golden armor echoing the design of the hilt of the giant sword he clutched in his hands. But it was his eyes that sent shivers down her spine. His deep orange irises bored deep into soul, as if he was seeing things about her that she didn’t even know herself. She quickly dropped her eyes to the ground.

When he spoke, it was in a deep baritone that boasted of ancient wisdom. “I know why you’re here.” Even when she wasn’t looking, she felt the weight of his stare. “Lady Tekla. I cannot give you that for which you search.”

“We only wish to know the whereabouts of her father.” Loki interjected. “Steinn—” he looked to Teki questioningly.

“Kjellson,” she whispered. “Steinn Kjellson.” She pulled her gaze from the metal floor, forcing herself to meet his piercing eyes. “Do—do you know where he is?”

He was still looking at her, studying her intently as if she were a piece in an art display. Teki realized suddenly that he had not looked at Loki once since they arrived at Himinbjorg. She squirmed.

“I know of whom you speak,” he said finally. “But it is not my place to speak on the matter.”

“What do you mean?” Loki demanded, frowning. “Is your place not to serve Asgard, and her royal family?” He motioned towards Teki. “She is to be your Queen.”

Heimdall’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re not asking the right question,” he said directly to her.

“I—what?” What right question? Flickers of irritation began to burn at her nerves. “Can’t you see him?” she asked.

Heimdall only stared.

She scowled. “I haven’t seen my father in years!” she snapped. “Can you at least tell me if he’s safe?”

“You’re not asking the right question,” he repeated.

With a huff, she turned to Loki. “This is a waste of time. He’s not helping us.” The prince nodded, glaring at Heimdall.

“It’s time we left,” he agreed. He held her hand as they stormed out of the building together.

Even as Loki helped her back on to Brynja’s back, Teki felt the gatekeeper’s gaze entrapping her in its scope. She turned around to find that Heimdall had not budged an inch from where they left him, orange eyes piercing hers. She balked.

You’re not asking the right question.

But what other question was there to ask? All she wanted to know was where her father had went. What other way could she ask that? Teki glowered as Loki pulled himself into the saddle.

“I’m sorry Teki,” he was saying. “I really thought he could help.”

“You were right,” she mumbled bitterly. “He could help. He just didn’t.”

Loki sighed, urging Brynja forward, but not too fast yet. “We’ll have to try something else,” he mused. “You said your father used to work as a court musician?”

“Yes. He quit when he married my mother.” Teki pulled at her sash. When she was little, she had always imagined what it would be like to be the daughter of a court musician, what it would be like to not have to worry about curtseys or tea time, to spend her days helping her father prepare for his performances. She had always felt he wished he hadn’t had to leave the musical troop, picked up on the longing even though he did his best to mask it.

“It’s a good thing I’m not in the troop anymore,” he had joked wistfully with her once, after she had finished playing one of his piano pieces without sheet music for the first time. “You’d have me right out of a job!”

Back in the present, Loki seemed to be engrossed in some idea. “Do you know any of his fellow players?” he asked.

Teki frowned. “No. By the time I was born he wasn’t involved with them anymore.” She turned around to face the prince. “Why?”

His face was scrunched up in thought. “Well, maybe they know something,” he said. “If they were close enough, they may have some idea as to where he went. We can check the court records, figure out who was with him when he was working.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You know, there might be something there.” The bitterness in her throat from their visit with Heimdall begin to melt away. She smiled shyly at the prince. “Thank you.”

Loki let out an embarrassed chuckle. “For what?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Everything. Helping me.” Her cheeks were burning. Why was she always such a failure when it came to speaking?

But Loki didn’t seem to mind. “Of course.” He leaned forward to wrap his arm around her waist once more. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded, unable to hold in her squeal as they shot out once more across the Rainbow Bridge.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Five:Sensory Integration 1

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: A Friday full of teasing for Shane ends in a steak dinner with a blue-eyed beefcake. If you don’t finish this chapter hungry for one or the other, if not both, I haven’t done my job! Lol! (For inspo on Sy’s date outfit, think back to that one Men’s Health photoshoot Hen did and just imagine his hair shorter. That’s what I did. lol!) 

Click me to catch up on the story and other stuff by Hannah!

Word Count: 4k (This date got away from me! Lol! And it’s only half over!)

Warnings: Mostly this is utter fluffy fluff, but I’m gonna put the following warnings on, anyway. Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, borderline food worship (Shane may have a problem, I definitely do! Lol!) Also, pretty much every Sy fic I’ve read says that his given name is Logan, so...should his given name be used henceforth, that’s what I’m going with because it seems the most cannon and I like it and if it’s good enough for Wolverine...

Author’s Note: So, guys, this is crazy. First off, the reaction and love Sy and Shane’s story has been getting has taken me completely off guard and utterly made my day/week. (I’m serious. Every note makes my heart do a happy dance. A like, a reblog, a comment. It all means the world to me. Thank you for your feedback and for sharing this story.) Second, YOUR FEEDBACK MATTERS TO ME! Because initially, idk what I was thinking. I was going to skim over their first date and like…not write it…and I kept getting notes as I worked on further chapters to the tune of “can’t wait for this date!” and I thought…hmm…well, the date must be written! So, here it is, the first half-ish, of Shane and Sy’s first date. I hope it’s all you were expecting…or at least half of all you were expecting! Lol! More to come in part two of Sens Integ! (BTW, fun fact, these chapter titles are all named after treatments that therapists actually use on their patients sometimes! Lol!)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira @oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland @speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby @suavechops

Friday morning. She was up with the sun. And a bit before, really. Today was the day. Her first date with Sy. She’d taken extra care in the shower, less clumsy, thank God! She shaved her legs because she had chosen to wear a knee-length blue dress with a scoop neck and cap sleeves in wrinkle-proof Jersey knit since it would be in her tote bag all day. She was not shaving because she thought anything would happen tonight with Sy. She didn’t think she was ready.

That is, she was ready, but, only physically. Emotionally, mentally, she would need to prepare for him a bit longer before taking him as a lover. She hoped he was on the same page.

He had an appointment in the early afternoon. He greeted her with his warm “Hello, sunshine.” Following it up by telling her how pretty she looked today, causing blush to burn in her cheeks. She’d reciprocated, even though he was in his typical tee and shorts look. It was still true. They got on their usual bikes to warm up for about 15 minutes, and then took to the leg press to try to advance his strengthening.

“I’m really proud of your progress! You wouldn’t have been able to do this much weight two weeks ago!” She encouraged him.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Now, we are going to do some drills next. Simple ones, but they aren’t going to be fun for you. I’ve chosen to do them on your last day of the week for a reason. You may be sore. Ice and whatever you take OTC if you must. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen. But try the ice first. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Okay.” He conceded, dejected.

“Stretching afterward.” She promised.

“Okay!” He pepped up. She knew he just loved an excuse to have her hands on him.

Later, as he lay on the mat, sweaty from the exertion of the drills, with her up there with him having to use her whole body to leverage the proper stretch out of his hip flexors, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. She tried to look anywhere but those sapphire eyes below her. They were too vulnerable. She couldn’t handle that right now. Not here.

“Shane?” Dammit, he was gonna make her.

“Hmm?” She looked down at him, smile meeting smile.

“I just…” he couldn’t seem to get out the words. But she thought she understood what he was feeling.

“I know, Sy. I know.” She gently patted his outer thigh where she had been bracing her hand for the stretch, and let his leg back down, while dismounting the mat, as well.

“Well, that’s about the hour. Any questions before I let you go?”

“Are you as excited for tonight as I am?” He asked. She chuckled. She couldn’t imagine him being more excited than she was!

“Yes! Hehe! But I still kinda meant about therapy, Sy.”

“Oh, right. Are you excited to finish up with your therapy patients at therapy today so I can pick you up from the therapy clinic and take you on our date?”

“Just because you say therapy 20 times doesn’t make it about therapy.” She laughed.

“Okay, I do have a question for you, since I’m here.”

“Shoot.” She encouraged.

He stood and held her face, taking it into a kiss so devastatingly and painfully tender, she could not process what to do next. She was leaning toward fainting. But then tackling him onto the mat again seemed an attractive option. She settled for placing her hands on his waist, ready to control the situation as need arose. But after a brief moment of slight deepening, he broke away, still holding her face in his large strong hands.

“Ahem. That’s a good question. Why don’t I have you a reply later this evening?”

“Sounds good to me, sunshine.” He grinned widely, and waved a quiet goodby to her.

She walked to the doorway of the small room to watch him walk out…his gait still uneven from his injury but improving enough that she could tell he once took very…confident strides. She could almost picture it. She sighed, forgetting herself for a moment until Anita came up behind her walking her elderly patient with a gait belt and front wheeled walker.

"Is that a bit of drool on your chin, Shane?" she said quietly, but still startling the younger therapist from her reverie.

"Oh, uh, hey." she checked her chin, absentmindedly, late in getting the joke, and rolled her eyes. "Funny, Nita. Do you need anything?"

"Nope, Gladys and I are just headed to the gym for a few minutes on the NuStep to round out her treatment." Nita grinned at Shane.

"Who was that handsome young man that just left, Shane?" Gladys asked her, as women of her…demographic tended to do.

"He's just one of our patient's Miss Gladys. But I can't tell you his name. It's against the privacy policy." She explained.

"Oh, okay. Well, if I was a few years younger, I'd let ya give him MY name…and my telephone number." she smirked with pride in herself. All three ladies giggled.

"I'm pretty sure he's spoken for, Gladys." Anita broke the news to her randy patient, smirking at her coworker.

"Shame! Well, that's one lucky young lady!" Gladys hobbled on with the walker as Anita cued her not to let the device get too far ahead of her feet. Shane was beet red from the whole interaction. At least she wouldn't have to wear blush tonight.

Her day finally finished, notes done, and final communications sent,  the most important (in her opinion, probably not her employer's) message of them all was next. The text to Sy that he could head toward the clinic to pick her up.

She touched up her eye makeup, applied another coat of mascara, and dabbed on some of her favorite lipstick in a deep red that complimented her skin tone. She also spritzed on a bit of her favorite Armani perfume before slipping on her dress and black ballet flats and sliding on a pair of simple hoop earrings. She'd had her hair pulled up all day in a clip, so it should be pleasantly wavy when she took it down…and with a bit of flipping, shaking out, and finger diffusing, it was.

She looked in the mirror. She was ready.

Was she ready? She examined herself in the full length mirror in the empty locker room at the clinic. The dress and the shoes suddenly seemed all wrong, both together and as individual pieces for the occasion. She looked great, it wasn't that…but…was it right for tonight? Should she cancel? Was she being ridiculous? Clearly she was, as she'd already sent the message telling Sy he could come get her. But the closer she got to being ready to go, the less ready she felt. Those butterflies were suddenly clawing at her esophagus, disrupting the bile in her stomach, and threatening to choke off her air supply. They were no longer pleasantly fluttering. She felt like she had a boot against her windpipe.

She was snapped out of the panic attack when she heard her phone go off. A message from Sy.

Your chariot, m'lady. Should I come in and get ya?

She grinned like a lunatic. How could she have considered calling tonight off?

Nay, m'lord, verily the gates be locked. I shall use the rear exit and meet thee around yonder forsooth.

Wow, you ran with that one. *laughing in tears emoji*

I have that tendency. Lol. *monocle wearing emoji*

She grabbed her bags, walked out the back door, and tossed the one that wasn't her purse into her vehicle, which was parked nearby and walked around to the front. He was standing on the sidewalk near that edge of the building.

The sun was just setting, and the light from it hit him so bewitchingly that it took away her breath. Not in the frightening way of the panic attack she'd just had, but in the nice way, like right before you surface from a deep dive and you know the sweet relief of oxygen is imminent. She assessed his ensemble with approval. Black books, sleek dark blue jeans, and a sapphire v-neck polo that even in the low light of near dusk made his blue eyes dance with vibrant intensity against his fading tan. His hair was starting to grow out ever so slightly, but it was still very close cropped. His beard, she could tell, had been finely groomed, combed, and styled. He looked…well, she'd never looked up the word "handsome" in the dictionary, but she imagined it would describe the image before her quite succinctly. And alternatively, Sy's image could be used as an illustration in the reference book, itself.

The best part, though, was the look on his face when he saw her.

She felt like he'd never properly looked at her, perhaps. Maybe he wasn't expecting a dress, or loose hair, or red lips. Or maybe it was a combo of the whole Date Shane package he was seeing before him. As his eyes beheld her, he almost looked confused. As if she was a stand-in. Or maybe an alien. Some body-snatcher. Only he wasn't frightened. She was having a hard time working out his expression as she'd really never seen it before, and particularly, never aimed in her direction. He said one word.

"Wow." It was reverent. Not a whisper. But barely a decibel above.

Again, her cheeks required no artificial pigmentation.

"Hey. You look…you certainly scrub up good, mister." she giggled nervously, feeling immensely awkward at her inability to properly compliment the chiseled image of Adonis before her. His every muscle hugged to perfection by the fabric covering it. How did you even begin to tell such perfection how perfect it was?

"You…Shane, I don't remember the last time I saw anyone look so beautiful." he frowned, as if trying to recall, then giving up with a smile, and leaning in to kiss her cheek. He lingered a moment to hug her, hold her as the day faded, breathe her in. She did the same. He was freshly showered and wearing cologne, as he often did, but it rarely hit her so solidly as it did tonight. She loved this scent. Woody, but earthy, with notes of bergamot, a kind of musky scent similar to amber, but more masculine, and something spicy that she loved. The combination exploded like an olfactory fireworks display.

The shirt was an unthinkably soft cotton (blended she thought perhaps with kitten, she could not stop touching it.) and the warmth of him radiated into her as his chest rose and fell over the course of his numerous breaths as they stood there holding each other and enjoying this feast for the senses.

"You ready for supper?" he asked, a faint but distinct rumble from his abdomen indicating that he most certainly was.

"Yes." she smiled up at him as he took her hand in his and led her to his truck. A Ford F150, the same sapphire blue as his shirt and his eyes. She was sensing a pattern, here. It wasn't the newest vehicle, but he had taken immaculate care of it. She felt shame for her own treatment of her Explorer, Bessie, which often functioned as storage shed, trash can, and sometimes, hotel, when she felt like a road trip on a shoestring budget. He walked her to the passenger side, opened the door for her, and helped her in, as the truck sat a bit higher than what she was used to.

"So, I have us a table saved at this great steakhouse just down the road. And then, it's supposed to be a nice night, I thought we could take a walk by the lake?"

It sounded perfect to her. Quiet and simple.

"Amazing. As long as your knee is up for a walk?"

"I've got all weekend to rest before getting tortured again." he smirked at her as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot and on the main road toward the interstate. "B'sides, who better to have with me if I start hurtin' than my PT?"

The emphasis he placed on the possessive pronoun, claiming her as HIS PT sent a delighted shiver through her that she blamed on the AC, which he promptly turned down.

He had his Spotify shuffling Kings of Leon at a low volume as they conversed lightly and pleasantly. Since it was an earlier model, even well equipped as it was, it wasn't quite ready for auxiliary or Bluetooth sound, so he'd bought one of those radio receivers that tune into an unused frequency and connect to your phone or iPod. She'd retrofitted her 2003 Ford Explorer in a similar fashion.

They were both caught a bit off guard when "Sex on Fire" came on, and tried valiantly to keep talking. But it was hard to hear anything but those lyrics. Singing of exhibitionism and dangerous sex acts that were definitely moving violations…and simply the sex being on fire. She was thankful, for once, that this song that she'd always found catchy without paying much attention to the actual lyrics, was now fading into the night as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

She remembered to wait for him to get the door for her, even though it had been ages since she'd been on a date or had any kind of romance whatsoever. He helped her down from her perch, giving her a gentlemanly moment to adjust her skirt before taking her hand and leading her into the building.

He opened the door and led her in by that lumbar lordosis that made everyone tremble and swoon. She was no exception just because she knew that part of your back was not actually called "the small" and she got perturbed when she heard it referred to as such.

"Welcome to Mark's, how can we help you?" the host greeted warmly.

"Reservation for Syverson." Sy piped up. She was used to being the voice in these situations. She was thankful not to have to for once. It was a small thing, but it was still nice.

"Right this way, folks." he grabbed two large menus, a mid sized one, and a small one, and led them to a cozy but still spacious two-top in a quiet corner of the dining area. The warm light was low and ambient, and there were real kerosene lamps on the tables, which she loved. It had the rustic ambiance of a cabin with all the refinement of any four+ star restaurant she'd ever been to. Not that she'd been to many.

"Here you are, the table you requested, and your menus. Have a look at them, and Katie will be out soon to answer questions and take your orders."

As he walked away, Sy pulled her chair out for her, and aided her sitting. His gentility was so refreshing to her, because it was so sincere and kind, and in no way oppressive or domineering, as some men seemed to use such gestures. Wielding them like a club rather than a feather. She was just used to seeing a certain side of him, teasing and silly as he was in therapy that this side of Captain Syverson, or as she may end up calling him one day, Logan, his given first name, if it pleased him, had taken her off guard.

"Nice place." she approved, looking around at he exposed beams of the ceiling and the iron and copper chandeliers and light fixtures on the wall. She also noticed quite curiously a copy of American Gothic by Grant Wood on one wall and The Kiss by Gustav Klimt on another. Such different styles to be displayed in one room. She really liked it though.

"It's one of my favorites. I try to come in every couple weeks or so." The fact that he liked steak on the regular was definitely a point in his favor. She loved it but rarely went out for it on her own. Eating out alone wasn't so bad, but it was hard to enjoy a steak dinner by one's self.

"What's your favorite cut?"

"Oh, I've tried most of them, and you can't go wrong." He assured her.

They had a crazy selection. Ribeyes, filets, sirloins, prime rib, all seasoned, smoked, topped and wrapped in every way you could imagine…it was like staring at the Netflix menu of steak. And much like she tended to do with Netflix, she relied on a classic favorite. After all, who goes for an obscure choice their first time at a new steak house?

"I'm keeping it simple and going for their prime rib and a baked potato."

"Ah, that's a perfect choice. We're getting some of their lobster mac and cheese to start, though. Unless you're allergic or something?" he added the disclaimer when he saw her eyes widen.

"Not at all, that sounds…"she was thinking "sexual," but decided instead on "heavenly."

Soon, Katie, a peppy, slender young redhead in black jeans she'd been poured into and a white T-shirt she had outgrown some time ago, descended upon their table with gusto.

"Howdy, I'm Katie and I get to take care of you fine folks this evening. What drinks and appetizers can I start y'all off with?"

Sy looked at Shane to prompt her to start.

"Sweet tea?" she half stated, half inquired. Katie nodded and jotted.

"Sure thing! Sir?" she thought her eyes sparkled when she looked at Sy…she couldn't blame her. But…she thought she could take her if she tried anything. She was certain there was a very sharp knife in the black napkin set-up at her right hand.

"Same for me, Katie. And we are also gonna need an order of your lobster mac to start and a bottle of your house cab."

"Fantastic. I'll be right back with the teas and wine after I put in for the lobster mac for ya, and then I'll take your meal order." she smiled brightly. Sy looked at Shane, though, as he replied "Wonderful."

~~~~~~~

Her instincts about the lobster mac and cheese had been spot on. She couldn’t contain her yummy noises of enjoyment which amused Sy to no end. She couldn’t imagine the steak any better.

About that, she had been completely wrong. It was so succulent, tender, and flavorful, she debated on whether or not the provided au jus and horseradish were even needed. They were also too good to resist, though.

Her potato, twice baked to the perfect tenderness had a salt brined skin, and a garlicky butter that just sung with the sour cream and chives. She was in food heaven, and even if that meant she was dead, it was fine.

He’d ordered the same entrée as she had, but took his baked potato…a bit differently.

“You don’t like sour cream?” She asked, nonplussed.

“Nah, I mean, I can eat it, but…it feels weird in my mouth. I prefer the au jus and butter, instead. It’s much more tasty.” He said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” She laughed.

“You’re welcome to try mine when I get it all doctored you how I like it!”

She did, right from his fork. And he was right about it being so flavorful, but she preferred the mild, creamier texture of her own side with the savory notes of her steak.

They ate and enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.

“Ya know, Sy, I totally had you pegged as a beer man, instead of a wine guy.” She said, as she brought her own glass of the deep red liquid to her mouth and nose, inhaling the bouquet before she took her sip.

“Normally, you’d be right. With a burger, pizza, sometimes tacos or what not, definitely. But I can’t do beer with steak. It’s gotta be wine. Red. And full-bodied.” He held her gaze as he drank from his own glass. Why did he have to look at her like that when he said those kinds of words? Her cheeks were warm from more than the booze.

For desert, they shared a decadent marbled brownie/blondie a la mode. He’d had the idea to slide his chair so he was sharing a corner of the table with her, rather than looking across it at her. Purely so they didn’t have to keep sliding the dessert…not so their knees would brush against one another now and then, or so they could feel the heat radiating from one another’s bodies…but actually, exactly for those reasons.

“Last bite is to you, Sy.” She set her fork down, full to bursting.

“Are you kiddin’? My mama’d tan my hide if she knew I took the last bite from my date.”

“You’re being gallant, actually! Rescuing me from a certain belly ache.” She patted her small but slightly rounded tummy. She did like her food, and was no gym rat, after all. He didn't seemed to mind. Yet.

“How 'bout we share the last bite?” He suggested.

“Technically that’s not physically possible. Becau…”

He interrupted what was going to be an intellectual explanation of why no matter how small you cut up a bite, the remaining bit was still technically one bite, and couldn’t be shared.

“No. Shh. I know you’re smart. You got nothin’ to prove here. I’m gonna cut what’s left in half until I get a bite you’re willing to take. Okay?” She nodded.

He only had to take the fork to it twice before she conceded, also letting him feed her, feigning paralysis from the food coma. She held the fork tightly between her lips, making him work to pull it from her mouth. She looked innocent, but she was an intentional little shit.

“You're so cute when you eat.”

“Said no one ever!” She held her hand over her face.

“You are, though. You enjoy the food. Experience it. It’s like you’re…getting a story from it, or something. Like it’s…almost like it’s entertaining you, I don’t know. It’s just…beautiful.” He leaned his elbow onto the table, supporting his head in his hand as he looked at her.

"Well, sometimes I think I like food a little TOO much for my own good." she lamented, reaching for the cabernet only to have it snatched by her date. He uncorked it and dispensed a generous pour for her, and topped off his own glass, killing the bottle.

"No such thing. Like I said about the wine, full bodied is the way to go. Nothin' wrong with a little cushion." he winked at her. She could not resist finishing a rhyme she'd always heard about the desirability of curvy girls…for the pushin,' and hoped the flush in her cheeks from the wine was enough to disguise the deepening color from the current blush she was feeling thinking of Sy…pushin' her cushions…but something tipped him off to her distraction.

"What's on yer mind, sunshine?"

"I'm wondering if you're prepared to carry me on this walk we're planning, actually." It was possible to think more than one thing, after all. "I don't know how I'll ever even walk again."

"Ah, give it fifteen minutes. Finish up your sweet tea, and by the time we're done with our walk, you'll want an ice cream cone."

"Ha, doubtful." But she was ashamed to admit, ice cream already didn't sound bad. Vanilla…maybe pistachio….no, coffee! In a waffle cone…with fudge drizzle…and almonds…maybe she had a problem.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded. He flagged down Katie and gave her cash, and what one might call a benevolent tip. They left the warm steakhouse, and entered the breezy late summer evening, the humid air seeming thick with promises.

Up Next: Chapter Six-Sensory Integration 2

[rexisnotyourwriter]

by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming​

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

Read on AO3

Catch up: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*

Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab​

Chapter 3: Could You Be The One

The bell rang. Her peers bolted from their desks and flooded the hallway, grabbing at their coats and bags, before running down the hall, towards the door. Towards freedom.

She waited, at least until there were only a few remaining children gathering their belongings, before getting up from her desk. The teacher gave her a smile, but it felt off somehow in a way she couldn’t quite place. She smiled back anyways.

By the time she reached the hall, her coat had been knocked to the floor. A partial footprint was left on the arm. She picked it up and brushed the dust off. The tread marks were still visible. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and went to the washroom.

The stall doors were all open. Empty. She lifted the sleeve of her coat near the sink and ran the tap slightly warm. Then, with a wet paper towel, she gently dabbed at the dirt until it was no longer visible. The sleeve was damp, but she reasoned she should be able to conceal that from her mother until it dried. She pressed a dry paper towel into it as best she could. It would have to do.

She stepped outside into the courtyard, arms crossed to hide her sleeve. Her mother was waiting in the car, ushering for her to hurry. She walked quickly to the car and got in.

“Finally,” her mother muttered. “I was able to switch my hair appointment to,” she looked at the time, “well, now. So, you’re going to have to come along.”

She said nothing, having no choice in the matter. It wasn’t exactly fun, but there were worse things. The dentist, for one. Her arms remained crossed for the remainder of the car ride. Every few minutes, she checked her sleeve. Each time, the dark patch of wet fabric was lighter and lighter.

Her mother turned into a different person as soon as they exited the car and went into the salon. Outside Mother. Outside Mother is attentive, always smiling (except when inappropriate), and does not raise her voice. Outside Mother also never smokes.

The salon was an onslaught of pastel from the pink cushioned chairs to the lime and cream colored walls. Outside Mother gave her name to the woman behind the front counter and apologized for her tardiness. She turned around.

“You can have a seat and do your homework while you wait, okay sweetheart?” Outside Mother told her in her sickly sweet voice.

The girl nodded and took a seat in one of the pink chairs. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it looked. She inspected the magazines spread out on the coffee table.

How to make two outfits out of one.

She passed on that knowledge.

There were only a few other people in the salon. Three employees including the woman behind the counter, who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. She looked like Ingrid Bergman - warm, soft. She glanced over at the girl and smiled. The girl returned the smile, but looked away quickly, embarrassed, but unsure why. There was a sadness behind the woman’s eyes, despite the smile. It was the same way she saw anger behind her mother’s. Fear behind her father’s. She wondered what people saw behind hers, if there was anything to see.

Outside Mother was settled in her chair, the large cone-like contraption hovering above her head, next to another woman. They each casually flipped through a magazine while chatting.

“So, how are Harold and the boys doing? Your eldest must be, what, twelve now?” Outside Mother asked.

“Almost. Johnny will be twelve next month and Simon turned nine in August.”

“Just a year older than our little angel.”

Outside Mother nods towards “her angel”. She could feel their gaze and didn’t look up to meet it.

“Harry got some exciting news recently,” the other woman said.

“Oh really?”

“It’s not public yet, but it’s as good as done. I’m not really supposed to talk about it though.”

Outside Mother gave her an understanding look.

“But -” the other woman continued, “if you can keep a secret.”

“Of course.”

“Well…”

Her voice went softer than could be heard from across the salon. The girl gave up on eavesdropping and took out her notebook and a pencil. She flipped past the pages of her homework to the last clean page of her book and began to draw.

The bell above the door chimed, announcing the entrance of another patron. Her fitted dark blue dress popped out among the soft pastel setting. She didn’t fit the scene, but it was the salon and everyone else in it that suddenly felt out of place in her presence. The woman at the counter acknowledged her. She appeared to be a regular. She turned around and took a seat next to the girl revealing a bold, deep red lip.

The girl continued her drawing. It was an open field with a few flowers. At the center stood a penguin. In the sky, far above the penguin, an assortment of birds were flying. She finished the final details of the wings, added a couple more flowers to the field, then swapped her pencil for her container of colored pencils. The woman in blue watched her as she pulled out a light green pencil and began shading the grass.

“Hmm,” the woman pondered out loud.

The girl paused her coloring briefly, then resumed without looking up.

“I thought penguins lived in the North Pole,” she mused.

“No,” the girl replied. “They live in Antarctica.”

“I see.”

The woman took off her white gloves, plucking the tip of each finger like petals from a daisy.

“Isn’t there snow in Antarctica?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The woman smiled. She was amused.

“This penguin is from Antarctica, but she’s not in Antarctica,” the girl explained.

“Ahh, okay. Why?”

The girl thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“I think she was taken from there when she was very little and doesn’t remember it. She just knows she’s from there and supposed to be there.”

“Couldn’t she go back?”

“No. She can’t fly. Penguins are flightless birds.”

The woman took in the drawing once more, understanding it a little better.

“Is that why she’s all alone?”

The girl didn’t reply. Instead, she switched her green pencil for a yellow one. She colored the insides of the flowers.

“Why don’t some of the other birds come down?”

The girl let out a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because they can fly,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Surely they don’t fly all the time. They must need to rest.”

“They do,” she confirmed. “But they never stay.”

“That must get lonely.”

The girl carefully filled in the penguin’s beak with her yellow pencil.

“It does.” She traded the yellow for a black. “She’s used to it.”

The young woman from the counter approached the woman in blue. They were ready for her. She gave one last look to the girl, who looked up this time.

Their eyes met.

They smiled at each other - a real smile, with nothing behind it.

The girl watched the woman in blue follow the hairdresser to her station.

She took out her regular pencil again and added to her picture.

——————————————————–

Wendy spent an inordinate amount of time over the past few weeks sorting through resumes and cover letters for the new secretary position in the BSU. There was more interest in the position than she (or Gunn, for that matter) had anticipated. She was able to get Gregg to help weed out some of the applicants, but he wasn’t as discerning in his decisions as she would’ve been, and found herself having to make further cuts to his “approvals”. The list was narrowed down to eight. Half of them were coming in later that afternoon for interviews, conducted by Wendy and Bill. The rest would be completed the following morning.

Bill sat hunched over a file, cigarette in hand, when Wendy knocked on his partially open door. He looked up at her with tired eyes.

“What are your thoughts?” she asked.

He stared at her, his brow furrowed.

“The applicants,” she clarified.

He let out a deep exhale.

“You haven’t looked at them yet, have you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Bill shook his head in response to his own forgetfulness.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do that right now.”

“It’s alright. I have questions prepared. It’s more for your benefit.”

“Still.”

He shuffled the stacks of papers and files around his desk in search of the resumes Wendy had given him last week.

“I can make another copy of them,” she offered.

“No, no. I’ve got them here. Somewhere.”

She scanned his workspace, her eyes landing on a familiar looking folder in a tray.

Wendy cleared her throat. Bill looked up.

Her eyes flicked from Bill to the tray. He opened the folder, confirming its contents.

“I’m reading these right now.”

“Okay. Our first interview is at 1pm, so we should be in the meeting room by quarter to. Someone from HR will bring them down.” Wendy saw the look on Bill’s face and… “You forgot those were today.”

“Wendy - ”

“It’s okay, Bill. Really. Like I said, I’ve already reviewed the candidates and prepared questions for the interviews. You just have to show up.”

“I appreciate it, you know. All the work you do.”

She left him with an understanding nod and a polite smile.

Bill snuffed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one.

Holden walked quickly past Wendy, who politely acknowledged his presence, on his way to Bill’s office.

“Bill.”

He exhaled the long drag he just took of his cigarette.

“Yeah?”

“Gunn wants us to help out on those freeway killer cases in California. They found another body a few days ago in the San Bernardino Mountains. He wants us out there tomorrow morning.”

Bill groaned.

“What?” Holden asked.

“Wendy’s not going to be happy.”

“Why?”

“We have those interviews today and tomorrow for the new position.”

“The secretary? Do you really need to be there for those?”

“I’m head of this team, Holden, so yes, it would be good if I was involved in the hiring of a new member.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand. I can talk to her, if you want.”

Bill gave him a look that very clearly said no.

“Those freeway killings. The victims were drugged, raped, and beaten, right?” Bill asked.

“And bound.”

“Another BTK.”

“Not exactly, though. There are distinct differences between them.”

Bill looked at the folder under Holden’s arm.

“Is that -”

“Oh. Yes.”

Holden handed the folder to Bill. It was thick.

Wendy entered the meeting room at 12:45pm sharp with two glasses of water and the tape recorder under her arm. With Bill busy preparing for the last minute trip to California, they both figured it wouldn’t hurt to record the interviews.

Her notebook and list of questions were already on the table. She placed a glass of water at each side in front of the respective chairs, with the tape recorder on her side to the right. She popped open the recorder to double check that there was a blank tape inside. There was.

Wendy had done a fairly good job at screening the applicants. They were all (so far) more or less capable of doing the job, but each with their own weak points.

The first two candidates of the day were internal - both obscene stenographers, women about ten to fifteen years Wendy’s senior. Sandra was up first. She had passable answers to Wendy’s questions, but didn’t seem to fully understand what the BSU was or why it was important. Sharon, the second, was four minutes late and very rattled by it. It could’ve been coincidental, but someone who flusters easily was not the best fit.

The third was a young man named Peter. He was barely old enough to drink, but his resume was strong and he had work and volunteer experience. When asked about his comfort level with disturbing topics, his face went visibly white and clammy as Wendy listed off, in some detail, a few of the types of victims they deal with - those who have been dismembered, raped pre or post-mortem, mutilated, etc. She stopped before he got to the point of gagging and quickly wrapped up the interview.

The final candidate of the day was a much older man, at least sixty, if not older, named Thomas. He reminded Wendy of Gregg in twenty odd years. He was intelligent and experienced, but he had the same air of naivety as Gregg. That lingering aura of having been sheltered from the “evils” of the world as a child, or as they called it, a good Christian upbringing. Thomas was sweet and polite, but showed clear signs of not being able to keep up with the pace that the position would require.

At the end of the interview, Wendy thanked Thomas for his time and walked him to the elevator on her way to Bill’s office. His face was buried in his hand, his elbow resting on the desk.

She knocked softly. He revealed his face.

“I can come back if now’s not a good time.”

“No, now’s fine. I could use a break.”

“First round of interviews are done.”

“And?”

She waffled her head side to side.

“They weren’t bad. Not ideal in varying ways, but some are more...workable than others.”

“It’s a unique gig.”

“I think tomorrow will be better. There are two in particular that should be more promising. Frank Tyler, late 20s, some military experience, so he’s probably not squeamish. He has a degree in philosophy, so he’s educated -”

“And jobless.”

Wendy smirked.

“The other one is Ruth Cairns. She’s a bit young. But she has secretary experience and recently finished her degree in sociology.”

It was Bill’s turn to smirk. “The Boston girl.”

“So you did read the files I gave you.”

“No shame in rooting for one of your own,” he replied, still smiling.

“There’s no nepotism here,” she countered. It came out more defensively than she intended.

“She wasn’t one of your students?”

“No.”

He believed her. “Okay.”

“How’s the studying,” she asked.

Bill sighed.

“It’s a mess, honestly. They’ve gathered every case where a body was found near a highway thinking they must all be connected going back almost ten years. There’s dozens.”

“Better to have more to work from than less.”

He knew she was right. It didn’t make it any less work, though.

“Half of them don’t even remotely fit the MO. They’ve got women, gunshot victims. Some were disposed of in pieces in trash bags. Some appeared to have been thrown out of a moving car.”

Wendy processed the information.

“And the MO is based off of the most recent victims?”

“Starting in ‘79. An unidentified male, 20s, found his head, torso, and left leg in a couple of trash bags behind a gas station in Long Beach. He’d been sodomized with a sock. A couple weeks later, the body of Gregory Wallace Jolley, 20, was found at Lake Arrowhead, emasculated and with his head and legs severed.”

“Pre or post?”

“Post. A few months after that, the decapitated body of 19-year-old Mark Alan Marsh, a Marine, was found near Templin Highway. He was also missing his hands.”

“So, there is a definite pattern of young male victims, late puberty to early adulthood. All white?”

“Yup. Another 19-year-old Marine was found September of last year near the El Toro Marine air base, also in trash bags. Then four months ago, Michael Cluck, 17, was found on the side of Interstate 5 near Goshen, Oregon. Sodomized, beaten, kicked. Cause of death was thirty-one blows to the head with a blunt object. The back of his head was completely destroyed.”

He let out a long breath.

“I’m not even sure this latest one is part of it all.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

“Well, he wasn’t dismembered. We’ll know more of the details from the autopsy tomorrow, but they said they found tissue stuffed deep in his nose and rectum.”

“Could we maybe be dealing with a pair? Or perhaps even more than two killers, working together to some extent.”

“Maybe. If we are, they clearly have the same ‘type’.”

“Well, best of luck.”

“Thanks.”

Wendy lingered for a moment in the doorway. Bill could tell why, but all he offered her was a small smile. She nodded, understanding, and left. There was no word from Nancy.

Holden and Bill were relieved to find California not as unbearably hot as Georgia had been, but it still didn’t take long for their previously clean and crisp shirts to become nearly drenched in sweat.

They had studied the crime scene photos on the plane. Christopher Allen Williams, 17, had been missing his socks, shoes, and underwear. There was nothing that indicated any staging in the body placement, and lack of significant animal activity made it unlikely that it had been dragged from anywhere.

An officer was waiting for them when they got to the station. He was somewhere between Holden and Bill’s age with a moustache from the 70s.

“Agent Tench, Agent Ford.” He offered his hand to Bill first, then Holden. “Officer Eddie Zott. Thank you for coming out here.”

“Happy to help,” Bill replied.

“I’ve just got the autopsy report. Here, why don’t we -”

He led them down the air conditioned hall and into one of the empty interrogation rooms. It was not air-conditioned, but there was a single fan in the corner blowing warm air around the room.

Zott put the report on the desk and gave it a read, his lips mouthing along silently. Bill and Holden gave each other a side-eyed glance while they waited for the news.

Zott’s lips stopped moving, and his brow furrowed.

“Well?” Holden asked.

Zott looked up at their expectant faces and slid the report across the table.

“Cause of death was pneumonia induced by aspiration,” Zott explained.

“The tissue paper in his nose. He choked to death on his own mucus,” Holden added.

“And he had phenobarbital and benzodiazepine in his system,” Bill said.

Holden inspected the report for himself, looking particularly at the amount of benzodiazepine detected. It wasn’t an exceptionally high amount. More than what he had been prescribed, but not enough for an overdose. It was the combination of that with the phenobarbital that would cause more of the sedative effects.

“Do we know anything else about the victim?” Bill asked.

Zott smoothed out his moustache and cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he started.

Bill and Holden waited.

“It, uh, “ Zott continued. “Well, when we were asking around about him, it came to light that he was, a...a working man, if you know what I mean.”

“You mean, he was a prostitute,” Holden confirmed.

Zott nodded.

“What about the other victims? Were any of them prostitutes?”

“Not that we know of. But we didn’t ask specifically about that. As I said, this just happened to come up.”

“See if you can find out,” Bill suggested. “It could be an important factor in finding a motive or pattern.”

Zott nodded, clearly not thrilled at the prospect of going down that rabbit hole.

“Yes, sir.”

Wendy once again prepared for the second day of interviews. The water, her questions, and the tape recorder were all set up with six minutes to spare.

Frank was up first, and he was brought down to the basement at exactly 10am. He wore a well-fitted ochre nailshead suit with a light pink tie that reminded her of something Bill would wear. His hair still had some semblance of a military cut, but grown out and groomed.

“Miss Carr,” he said.

“Dr. Carr,” she corrected.

“My apologies, Dr. Carr.”

She stood up to shake his hand and noticed a copy of Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche under his other arm.

“I always bring a book with me,” he explained. “I always give myself plenty of time to get places, which leads me with some free time, so.”

Wendy nods in acknowledgement.

“Have you read it?” he asked.

She smiled as they sat down.

“Yes, I have.”

Many times, in fact. But none for pleasure.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he beamed. “I’ve been taking German classes so I can read the original text.”

A real Nietzsche fanboy.

“Jenseits von Gut und Böse,” Wendy replied.

“Sorry?”

Clearly he needed more practice.

The rest of the interview went fairly well, the glaring issue being his devotion to philosophical concepts, and rather basic ones at that. It wasn’t exactly the worst thing, but she could already anticipate him interjecting into psychological conversations with philosophical “well, actually”s. He also made a point more than once to mention that he had no issues with the potentially graphic nature of the position, nor did he feel uncomfortable about the topic of twisted killings in general. In fact, he ended the interview by once again reasserting his comfort level.

Wendy looked at him with a small smile.

“‘He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster’,” she responded.

His eyes beamed at her like a love-struck puppy.

That’s when it hit her. He had reminded her of someone the whole time, but she couldn’t figure out who until he got that look in his eyes.

Holden. He reminded her of Holden.

She thanked him for his time and sent him on his way.

The interview had ended early - he was a fast talker - which gave her enough time to make a cup of coffee before the next candidate arrived.

Interviewing the candidates reminded her of when she was actually able to talk to the inmates for their study. She missed it. There was no way Gunn was going to let her do that again. At least not willingly. Maybe with more secretarial help at Quantico, Bill could convince him of her value in the field.

Her coffee break went by quicker than she thought, and she was soon interrupted by the arrival of the next candidate, Jenny Simms. Her application was unremarkable in the sense that nothing exceptional stood out, but she had all the basic requirements. She had secretary experience, was first aid certified, and volunteered at a homeless shelter since she was a teenager.

Jenny’s answers were all satisfactory. She had a calm demeanor, but was by no means fragile. She didn’t even bat an eye when Wendy described, in detail, some of the more graphic cases they had dealt with. Jenny took it one further and responded with an almost equally grotesque story of a man coming into the shelter with a gangrene leg that he tried to amputate himself with a pocket knife, heavily under the influence of multiple drugs. Plus she referred to her as Dr. Carr right off the bat. Wendy was pleasantly surprised, and marked her down as a front runner.

There was a larger break between interviews this time to account for lunch. She went upstairs to the cafeteria to grab her usual salad. A couple times, when she needed a break from the windowless basement, she stayed in the cafeteria to eat. On more than one occasion, she was approached in her solitude by a man, noticing the absence of a ring on her finger, asking if the seat across from her was taken. They would sit down before allowing her to answer. The daylight wasn’t worth the bother.

Back in her office, she kept a close eye on the clock as she ate her lunch. Today’s salad was half wilted spinach with almonds and blueberries and too much dressing. It was better than the bitter romaine they sometimes had that was drowned in what they called a caesar dressing, but tasted more like ranch with garlic powder. It hardly even qualified as a salad.

Wendy’s phone rang just as she was finishing her lunch. It was Bill.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d answer,” he said. “How’s round two going?”

“Better than yesterday.”

“Sounds hopeful.”

“There’s still two more to go, but I’ve already got a good idea of who I think would fit. I’ll let you listen to the interviews when you get back before I give you my thoughts.”

“Afraid you’ll influence my decision?”

“When have I ever been afraid of that? How’s California?”

“Hot. I’ll take it over Georgia, though.”

“And the case?”

“We thought we had an angle, but it didn’t pan out. The latest victim was a male prostitute, so we were thinking maybe that’s who he’s targeting. Local cops looked further into the other victims and it doesn’t appear that any of them were involved in that.”

“Hmmm. Were any of them suspected homosexuals? Even if they weren’t formally prostituting themselves, there could have been some form of covert sexual exchanges.”

“I can suggest that.”

Wendy heard the ding of the elevator from down the hall.

“I have to go,” she said. “You’re back tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a safe flight.”

She hung up the phone and quickly dabbed her mouth with a napkin. She poked her head out into the hall. It was empty. False alarm.

As she walked across to the interview room, a woman who she recognized from the HR department, but not the usual one who had been bringing candidates down, turned the corner at the end of the hall with another woman whom she assumed was Ruth Cairns.

“Oh, I think it must be this way,” the HR woman said. “I get so turned around down here.”

Wendy quickly snuck into the interview room. Thankfully, she had made sure to have it set up before her lunch break.

A moment later, the woman came in with Ruth. She was wearing a red plaid suit with a pleated skirt and double breasted blazer, her auburn hair pulled back in a neat, but loose, bun.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Carr,” she said, holding out her hand.

Wendy shook her hand.

“Please, have a seat.”

Ruth looked at Wendy as though she was about to say something. She sat down and closed her mouth, but her eyes still had that look.

Wendy tilted her head and looked back at her.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

Once again, Ruth opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first.

“It’s just,” she started.

Wendy signalled for her to go on. Ruth brought a finger up to her mouth.

“You’ve got a little something in your teeth,” she said.

Wendy felt her face grow warm and hoped it wasn’t showing.

Fucking spinach.

She ran her tongue across the front of her teeth.

Ruth opened her purse and pulled out an ornate silver compact.

“Here,” she offered.

“Thank you.”

Their fingers brushed as Wendy took the compact from her. The soft, innocent touch only made her blush more.

She hid her face behind the compact. It wasn’t as red as it felt, thankfully. She had successfully dislodged the spinach, and gave the rest of her mouth and face a thorough look over before handing the compact back to Ruth, holding it in a way that ensured their fingers would not touch accidentally.

“I know some people don’t like it when you say something, but if it were me, I would want to know. Rather get it dealt with right away then find out later you had a whole conversation with someone like that,” Ruth explained.

Wendy nodded in agreement, despite still being somewhat embarrassed.

She jumped right into the questions to get herself back on track. Some of her answers felt rehearsed. Not wrong, but definitely planned. Others, she seemed surprised by, but answered them acceptably.

“Why do you want this position?” Wendy asked.

“Well,” Ruth started. Wendy could already tell this was one of her prepared answers. “I am hoping to earn money so that I can continue my studies in psychology at grad school. Ideally in Boston, of course. This really seems like the perfect position for me.”

“And what makes you perfect for this position?” Wendy countered.

Ruth looked puzzled by the question.

“I should’ve thought that was obvious,” she replied.

Wendy raised her eyebrows.

“I mean,” Ruth continued. “I have the education. I have the job experience. I spent my summers on my grandfather’s farm helping him slaughter pigs and chickens, so I’ve got a strong stomach.”

Ruth went silent. Wendy looked at her. Both of them waiting for the other to speak.

“And,” Ruth continued. She took a deep breath. “I lied on my application form.”

Wendy sat upright.

“Just about my address. I said I lived here, but I don’t. I’m staying at a hostel. But I’m willing to move here because that’s how much I want this job. That’s how much I wanted a chance at an opportunity to work here. With you.”

Wendy’s eyes narrowed. Did she know this woman?

“I never formally took one of your classes. I didn’t get into any of them while you were still there. But I...I snuck in the back just so I could listen.”

She’s flattered, and a bit in shock. She wasn’t aware her lectures were that high in demand, especially based on some of the lackluster students she’d had over the years.

“‘Time and tide wait for no man’,” Ruth quoted. “Or woman, as the case may be.”

Wendy smiled.

“And wouldn’t you want someone who could not only do the job, and do it well, but also who could take the knowledge they’ve learned and apply it? Can you honestly say any of the other applicants would use this experience to further the work you’re doing even after they’ve left?”

They looked at each other - Wendy still smiling, Ruth worried that she’d blown it.

“You make a good case,” Wendy admitted.

She stood up. Ruth waited a moment before doing the same.

Wendy held out her hand.

“We’ll be in touch.”

Ruth shook her hand and gave her a sad smile, her eyes not meeting Wendy’s. Wendy gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and Ruth looked up to a reassuring smile.

[peanutbutterworm]

i love you

here we go!! here is my moreid secret santa fic! 

click here to read it on AO3

warnings: none, light angst at one point but it is mostly tooth rotting fluff

word count: 4196

summary: Penelope begs and begs Hotch until he finally lets her have a BAU secret santa party. There is a small problem for Dr. Spencer Reid however when he is set the task of giving a gift to his best friend and crush, Derek Morgan.

“Hotch please?” Penelope drew out the last vowel of the word, as if it would make him say yes.

“I told you, Garcia, it’s out of my hands for now. It sounds like a great idea, really, but I don’t think that Strauss nor the director would approve of it.”

“It doesn’t have to be a work thing! Just, as friends, as a family.”

“And I already told you, Garcia, as long as we’re using company time it is a ‘work thing’.”

“God why does everyone have to be so boring. It’s a bonding thing!” Penelope checked the date on her phone. “It’s November 29th, if we’re not allowed to do this I’m going on strike.”

“Mhm,” Hotch was already moving on to something else, and Penelope left in a huff. She ran into Spencer on the way back to her office.

“Hey Penelope,”

“Hi, Spencer.” She said curtly, storming past him.

“Woah, what’s going on today?” Spencer said, stopping her by grabbing her arm. Penelope sighed, realizing she wasn’t being her cheery self and someone was bound to notice, may as well be him.

“Walk with me, boy genius.” Penelope explained her current predicament on the way to her office, huffing and using her hands to talk the entire way.

“And I don’t get why Strauss won’t allow it! It’s a great team bonding activity, and we would have so much fun!” She finished explaining.

“Garcia, we have fun without ‘team bonding activities’, I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Because, I’m tired of being ignored. I just want one of my suggestions to go through and I’m starting to think Strauss doesn’t like me.”

“I’m pretty sure Strauss doesn’t like any of us,” Spencer said, sipping his coffee from a company mug.

“Yeah I know,” Penelope put her head into her hands and sighed. “Why are they so against us having fun?”

“They think it ‘interferes with the job’” Spencer said, quoting a seminar they were forced to go to.

“Yeah, bullshit.” Penelope half scoffed into her hands, half laughed. “How is it going with Derek?” She asked, smirking up at Spencer. Spencer couldn’t help but turn a little red whenever she asked about him. He had told Penelope about his crush on her best friend in September, and even though it had been going on for much longer Spencer was reminded every day why he didn’t tell her sooner. However Spencer never missed a chance to talk to her about it. Even though Penelope was a huge gossip, she would never tell Derek something this important without asking Spencer for permission first. And anyways, it was nice to get stuff off his chest.

“Nothing has really happened, just still lying awake at night thinking about him instead of doing something productive with my chronic insomnia.”

“How can you be productive with chronic insomnia anyways?”

“I don’t know… do things?” Spencer giggled and then paused, recalling something. “Wait, I do recall, I saw him at the grocery store.”

“No way, you two shop at the same place?”

“Unfortunately. I was too awkward to say anything anyways, and I looked like a mess too.”

“I’m sure he didn’t care. This is the man that saw me almost die and I need not remind you that he has seen you in the hospital. Multiple times.”

“I try not to remember.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No.”

“You are so boring,”

“It was late, Garcia. I don’t think I had the patience to deal with anyone, including him, and if you were to ask him I’m pretty sure he would say that feeling’s mutual by how he looked.” Spencer sighed. “He was so pretty though. Like sleepy pretty, not the way we see him at work.”

Penelope was just sitting there, sighing.

“What!” Spencer said, playing with a piece of dirt that was caught between his nails.

“Nothing. You are just so, so fucked.”

“I know!” Spencer dropped it and threw his hands to his face. “He’s just so… AH! I feel like a teenage girl.”

“Considering your looks, you might not be far off.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding, but really, you need to tell him. It’s gotta happen eventually.”

“No, I don’t want to ruin our friendship for my own feelings, it’s selfish.”

“Have you ever considered he might feel the same way?” Penelope asked, and Spencer just stared back at her. “You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“I just haven’t thought about it, of course it’s a probability but the chance that he likes me back is just so low. Did you know the chance of your crush liking you back is-” Spencer was cut off when Derek walked into the room, right into the middle of a conversation he had no idea was about him.

“Thank you for saving me from that,” Penelope said.

“Hotch needs you both at the round table,” was all Derek said, smirking at both of them.

“We’ll be there soon.” Spencer said, staring as Derek left the room. “Do you think he heard any of that?”

“You talk too fast and I wasn’t really keeping up very well, but no, I don’t think he knows it was about him at the very least.”

“Thank god.” Spencer sighed. “Come on, I don’t want to be yelled at by Hotch again.”

“Guess whatttttt!” Penelope said, with everyone mingling around their desks on a chilly December morning, having not been called in on a case yet for the day.  

“Did someone die?” Emily asked, taking a headcount of everyone there, all BAU team members accounted for.

“What? No, oh my god Em. Unrelated to death, we get to have a secret santa!” She exclaimed, and everyone's faces lit up with smiles.

“Strauss thinks it would be good for us to bond over the holidays,” Hotch said, cracking a small smile.

“Yeah yeah, anyways write your names on these,” Penelope all handed them a torn piece of paper, “and put it in the magic hat.” She held out a small colorful beret she sometimes wore to work and mixed up all the names that were placed in it. “Now who wants to go first?” She asked, looking around the room eagerly.

“Can I go, Pen?” JJ asked, walking up to the hat.

“Why of course my dear,” Penelope said, dropping into a bow but making sure none of the names spilled out.

This went on for ten minutes until everyone had someone picked out. Penelope then took the last name out of the hat for herself before snugly fitting the hat back onto her head.

Spencer looked at the slip of paper he had gotten, and in all caps was the name Derek . He reminded himself that there was a 1 in 7 chance. A one in SEVEN chance. Maybe the universe just hated him, he mused to himself, trying to keep a poker face while slipping the paper into his pocket. He would tell Penelope about this later, because even though they were supposed to keep it a secret, she would want to know about this.

Derek did the same as everyone and glanced at his small slip of paper but did a double take when he saw the name scrawled on the parchment. Spencer Reid, was all it said in black ink. Great, of course he got his best friend, whom of which he was inconveniently in love with at the moment. He tried to keep his facial expression neutral, as there was a team full of profilers watching and if he even showed the slightest amount of emotion right now, it might give away who he had drawn.

“Now as per the rules of our lovely unit chief, no gifts above $20, and no telling who you got, as it would ruin the game. We will exchange gifts on the 24th and our lovely Rossi has agreed to let us use his home for the gift exchange.” Penelope described the rules, gesturing over to Rossi.

“Not home, mansion” He corrected, smiling.

A few days later, after agonizing over whether or not he should tell Penelope about his crush on Spencer, Derek texts Penelope. Everyone is asleep on the jet home except for Spencer and him. Spencer is reading a book at a million miles an hour, and Derek is on his phone. However every few seconds in between texts he would look up at the doctor, who always looked so peaceful and serene while reading.

New iMessage from: Garcia

You’re kidding me.

Derek smiled at his phone and typed,

No, I’m not. And I got him for secret santa too. I am so fucked, aren’t I?

He finished typing and set his phone on his lap, glancing at Spencer again while waiting for a response. Well, he thought, less of a glance, more of a stare. He zoned out looking at the younger man, memorizing the way his hands ran over the page. Suddenly the doctor looked up, and they looked in the eyes for a moment before they both quickly looked away. He felt a buzz on his chest and feeling grateful to have an excuse to look at something other than him, continued his conversation with Penelope.

Garcia: First of all you weren’t supposed to tell me the secret santa thing, second of all,  I can feel you staring at him from here. You are so in love it makes me sick.

Penelope rummaged around her office in Quantico, cleaning up before the team arrived and they all got to go home. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and took it out, Morgan again.

Derek: I know, but I had to tell somebody because I’m going crazy over it. I don’t know what to get him. He deserves something better than some random book.

Garcia: My sweet, I promise you he will love anything you get him.

Derek: You sure?

Garcia: I am sure.

Garcia: And if you don’t go to sleep right now Derek Morgan I will strangle you when you get back.

Derek: Fine fine, we’ll be back in an hour. You should get some rest too, go home.

Garcia: Like hell I’m leaving before you all get back here safely. I’ll wait.

They landed in Quantico about an hour later, and as promised, Derek was asleep for about 30 minutes when the jet landed and jolted everyone awake. They all walked back into the building together, tired as all hell even though most of them got sleep on the plane.

“Hey, kid,” Derek said, walking with Spencer to his desk. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Nope,” Spencer said, packing up his things, avoiding looking Derek in the eye.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, and Spencer froze in his tracks. There were a million things he could’ve said at that moment, but he just continued packing his things after a muttered ‘yea,’. “You know you can talk to me, right?” Derek asked, but Spencer just started thinking about how no, actually he could not talk to him because talking to him about the particular thing he was feeling at the moment would ruin their friendship and Spencer didn’t know if he could take any heartbreak at the moment considering he was tired and about to break down into tears.

“Please, just go to your office, Morgan. I don’t want to talk.” Was all he said, and as Derek walked away a single tear slipped down Spencer’s cheek, which he aggressively rubbed away. The rest of the team was either too busy wrapping up or too tired to notice the distress Spencer was in at the moment.

Derek walked to his office, trying not to burst into tears. When he closed his door he immediately started crying, though. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He hated seeing Spencer in danger, which is exactly where every case put him. And he was always so cold to him, like working with him now was a pain, a formality that must be gone through with. The glance on the plane was a spark of hope before, that maybe Spencer felt the same way, but it was put out by the way he acted earlier. He didn’t know anymore.

He knocked on Penelope’s door, hoping that the technical analyst hadn’t gone home yet. And she hadn't; she was sitting in her chair, knitting when Derek came in. She jumped up, giving him a kiss on the cheek when he arrived.

“God I am so happy to see that you are safe and well and a million other good things.”

“Actually, safe and well might be the only two good things I feel at the moment, Pen.”

“Alright, talk to me. What happened.” She said, moving her way over to sit down with Derek, rubbing his back.

“I don’t know. There was a moment, on the plane, while I was texting you that I thought maybe, maybe he felt the same way but when we got back he was so cold. It was like he was trying to distance himself from me in every way.”

“Ok, well you’re the profiler. Tell me exactly what he said.”

“Babygirl I don’t remember-”

“I think you do.” Penelope said, crossing her arms at him.

“I do. He said, ‘Please, just go to your office, Morgan. I don’t want to talk.’ He sounded sad, and he said please, which means he was probably expecting me to stay.” Derek had a moment of realization before putting his head in his hands. “I should’ve stayed, oh my god I should have-”

“Hey, hey there is nothing you can do now. Deep breaths. And you’re right. Those sound like the words of someone who is trying to push you away for their own good. And I’ve heard them before,” She said, punching Derek softly in the shoulder. “I don’t think he wants you to leave, Der. I think he just needs some time to figure out himself, first.”

“Do you think he likes me?”

“I can’t say for sure,” (She definitely could) “But I’d say he does.”

“About the secret santa,”

“Hun, I don’t care that you told me.”

“No, not that. What should I get him?”

“I already told you. He would love a ‘random book’” She did air quotes around what Derek had said over text earlier. “But you should make it special, write a note inside or something.”

“You know what…” Derek started, getting an idea. “I think I will.”

“Great, glad I could be of help. Now if you will excuse me, I have to be back here in 6 hours now, and I would like to go home for at least 4 of those.

“Well don’t let me get in the way.” Derek said, smiling at her and backing out of the office.

Spencer spent the rest of that night overthinking, trying to sleep but only falling unconscious for 3 hours before his blaring alarm woke him up. Did I push him away? He thought to himself, lying awake.

Spencer texted Penelope on his way into work, and even though he wasn’t much of a texting person, he didn’t have the time to make a call right now. All his text said was: I really messed up this time, Garcia. She replied as he was walking into the office, What did you do? Although Penelope, of course, had some inkling of what the young doctor was talking about. They had a few minutes before work officially started for the day, and Hotch hadn’t given them a case yet so he strode directly to Penelope’s office, not bothering to set down anything.

Spencer knocked on the door before coming in, and closed the door before sitting down.

“Alright, so spill.” She said, crossing her legs. Her office was becoming less and less of a technical analysis space and more of a therapist’s couch.

“I pushed him away. I was tired and angry and I pushed him away.”

“Slow down, slow down. I’m sure he didn’t take it that way, all of you were feeling that way last night.”

“No but he seemed angry with me too and I-”

“I can promise you. He probably was angry at first and regretted it, and now he’s thinking the same thing you are. Make an effort today to reach out to him, you’ll be surprised.”

“You sound like JJ reading my horoscope.”

“Maybe I can just see into the future.”

“Yeah right, and anyways that isn’t the end of it. I know I’m not supposed to tell you but I got Derek for the secret santa thing.” Spencer sighed into this coffee that was pressed against his lips, and after taking a sip, said, “I’m starting to really hate you for putting this together, because I have no idea what to give him.”

“Maybe get him something he likes,”

“Yeah, but what does he even like? Music?” Spencer asked, setting his coffee cup on the table beside him. “But I don’t even know what or who he listens to. All I know is he likes music and I feel like I don’t know anything about him right now.”

“Football. He likes football.” Garcia said, also trying to think of things her best friend would enjoy as a present.

“Ok that’s a start, what about football is there…”

“No, no scratch that. Do you know how to make a mix of music on a CD?”

“Garcia, you know I can barely work a printer.”

“I’ll help you. I made his playlist that he listens to on the jet so I know what he likes. All you have to do is give it to him.”

“Wow, thanks Penelope. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t. Say anything that is, just go catch a serial killer and I’ll have it ready by the end of the day.”

As promised, at the end of the day Spencer walked into Penelope’s office and she had a CD ready for him. It was a relatively short case, a local one that had the team home before 8pm. Everyone was in a good mood, but decided to go home early while they had the rare chance.

“Ok here it is, loverboy. Just so you know you can write on it with Sharpie and it won’t mess up the disc.” She winked and handed it to him, Spencer blushing and turning around to make sure no one was at the door.

“Thank you, Penelope. Really.”

“It’s nothing. Thank me when you finally confess your love to that himbo.”

“What’s a-”

“You know what, I’m not explaining that to you. Go home, try and go to sleep early tonight.” She said, pushing him out the door with his new CD. As the door closed in his face, Spencer started to say,

“Have a nice-” But it closed before he could say “-night.” He sighed and walked down the hall, carrying his CD and bag with him towards the elevator. He didn’t expect to see anyone else, but lo and behold Derek Morgan walking towards the elevator at the same time.

“Hey, Reid.” He said, stepping into the elevator with him.

“Hey,” Spencer replied, glancing everywhere but into Derek’s eyes. They were about level, height-wise, and this made it harder for Spencer to avoid his gaze, so he just stared down at the ground.

“Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I just want to know why.” Spencer’s face heated up in shame, and he looked to Derek.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so cold lately. I’ve been having a hard time, but Garcia helped me realize I shouldn’t be shutting people like you who care about me out.”

“Garcia helped you realize-” Derek paused, thinking. “How long have you two been talking?” He asked, curious.

“Pretty much every day since September.”

“Ok ok, I see.” Spencer didn’t question the way Derek asked how long he’d been talking to Garcia, and switched the topic of conversation.

“Four days and counting until the Secret Santa party.” He said, glancing back at Derek.

“Yeah, you excited?”

“Mostly excited to see who mine is.” Spencer said, staring at the elevator doors, which had just opened. “Have a good night,” He said, walking out the doors of the building, rushing towards his car.

“Yeah, you too.” He said, but Derek knew that Spencer was long gone by now. Derek left the building and walked towards his car, starting it and leaving the parking lot as quick as he got here this morning.

The day of the Secret Santa party, Hotch had one case for them. When they got to the round table, everyone was pretty disappointed, because cases often meant that they came back late and in a bad mood. But it turned out that this one was just an hours drive away, and even quicker on the jet, so everyone hopped in, hoping that this wouldn’t take long.

The case only ended up lasting the day, as the killer was sloppy and left behind an extensive trial. The BAU team boarded the jet wondering why they were even called in to help in the first place.

“Hey, at least this means you all can still come over tonight.” Rossi said positively.

“Yeah, everyone’s coming, right?” JJ said, scanning the plane, but no one spoke up. Just nods of heads to confirm that they were all going.

They all took their seperate cars to Rossi’s, with Emily riding with JJ because she left her car at her apartment and took the subway.  

When Spencer got there, the house was lit up. Rossi and Hotch had been the first ones to arrive, and shortly after Spencer the rest came filing in the door, joking and laughing with everyone. Spencer caught sight of everyone holding their gifts, wondering which bag or wrapped box was for him. Penelope was the last to come in, taking off her shoes at the door like everyone else and smiling at him with a wrapped present.

“Not for you,” She said, seeing the look on his face “That comes later.”

They all ate good food and talked and drank wine that night, and everything seemed perfect for that moment in time.

“Ok, ok. It is time for the event that we all came here for to take place!” Penelope said, a little wine drunk, standing up and grabbing her present. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, everyone stand up and go find whoever you were assigned. That’s it, good luck.”

They all rose from their seats to go find their assigned person. Spencer just silently waited. He knew he had Morgan, but he wanted to receive his present first and then find Derek because he was a little more… personal, and he didn’t want anyone getting in the way. Just then Derek made his way to him . No, no way is this happening, he thought, terrified and excited at the same time.

“Spencer Reid,” He said, handing the doctor a poorly wrapped present “I believe this is for you.”

“Oh my god,” Reid said, eyes darting between the present and Morgan.

“What?” Derek asked, visibly confused.

“Here. You were who I was assigned.” Spencer said bluntly, shoving the small present towards him.

“What are the odds,” Derek said, and then added as Spencer opened his mouth “please do not actually tell me the odds,” and they both laughed, unwrapping their gifts to each other. Spencer, since he got his gift first, unwrapped it faster and found a book.

“Derek, I love this,” It was a book he had never read before, and from the many books Spencer Reid had read, there weren’t a lot of those left. “Thank you.” He said, looking at him. He thumbed through the pages as the scent of the new book filled the air around them.

“Look at the inside cover.” Derek said, with a hint of shakiness in his voice.

“Only if you look at the CD.” Derek was holding the case in his hands, not taking the disc out itself yet. He was going to listen to it on the car ride home, he had told himself.

“Ok,” Derek wondered what was written on the CD. Probably just a funny playlist name or some fun fact about music, he thought dismissively. At the same time he pulled the disc gently from it’s casing, Spencer opened the cover to the book. In Spencer’s scrawled handwriting, Derek made out the words ‘I love you.’ written in black sharpie on the disc. As Spencer opened the book, he found Derek’s bold lettering on the cover page, saying ‘I love you.’

At the same time, they both looked at each other and came to a realization that this was not platonic. This wasn’t the way friends said they loved each other. And they both realized that the other felt the same way that they had been feeling for months.

“I love you too,” They both said at the same time, both letting out a laugh and realizing what happened.

“My place after this?” Derek asked under his breath.

“Most definitely.” Spencer replied, leaving Derek with a kiss on the cheek to go talk to Penelope.