#btw “nothing between you and the goods” would make a great book title

[theonevoice]

Also knowing these bits of fashion history is so priceless when you read old novels and stories. Like, once you know that a shirt was also underwear you really get how *bad* it is when in Anna Karenina Levin discovers the day of his wedding that they packed away all his clean shirts and he has no fresh linen to wear.

One very stupid thing that bothers me in historical romances and fanfic is the fact that male characters often take off shirts but stay in their breeches. The breeches aren’t the last layer of underwear, the shirt is. The shirt is the body linen— that’s the thing that goes against the skin and is the first thing to be put on and the last thing to be taken off— that’s the thing that is sewn by hand by wife/ sister/ daughter/ mother partly out of a lack of extensive manufacturing but because it is the most intimate layer of clothing and you don’t want a stranger’s work against your skin.

Is it just because to modern eyes it would look silly? Is this a case of “I got too interested in the material culture of body linens in the Regency era and now I know too much to enjoy myself”??

[cctinsleybaxter]

2023 in Books

I need to stop bragging that I’ve got this reading thing all figured out, because man if 2023 wasn’t a year of terrible books. I liked less than half of the 37 I read and nothing quite gripped me in the way it has in years past… but to put it more optimistically I liked a full third of what I read, and the ones I liked best were a fascinating and unexpected silver lining. Without further ado:

Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand, trans. Brian Hooker

Tell this all to the world- and then to me. Say very softly that… she loves you not.

I read a couple of plays this year for the first time since college and liked them fine, but there’s a reason this has been adapted five million times. Everyone go watch Megamind right now.

Wylding Hall by Elizabeth Hand

Of all the found footage-inspired horror fiction I’ve read this one makes the best case for existing in its chosen medium, as a 70s UK folk rock band are interviewed about the summer they spent recording what would become their final album [thunder crashes.] It reminded me of a Tana French mystery in its language and ability to make space feel lived-in; the character writing is so strong I realized that at some point I had stopped checking the interview headings to know who was speaking. Hand unfortunately distrusts her audience to read between the lines at a few crucial moments (and ruins what would have been a perfect ending and a deeply affecting scare by gilding the lily, or, in this case, photograph), but I love that she went from seemingly by-the-numbers American YA fiction to a meticulously-researched and truly unique horror novella. Puts other writers working in the genre to shame.

A Kiss Before Dying by Ira Levin

Reminiscent of the best kind of TCM suspense thriller (and was adapted into one), but could only exist as a book for the kind of narrative tactics it employs. Levin is brilliant at setting and character; I think any one of his contemporaries would have leaned into archetypes for this sort of story, and he instead distinguishes his proper nouns in subtle, clever ways that lend them the weight a noir needs. Can’t wait to read more of his stuff!

All the Names They Used for God by Anjali Sachdeva

I’d like to know why this anthology got hit with what a friend has termed a pottery barn throw pillow cover + a ‘the tiny things we know to be small’ title, because the eponymous story isn’t even called that! It’s just The Names They Used for God, and is, appropriately, about two women kidnapped by a religious extremist group. High risk-high reward; I think taken at their base premise the stories could have been insufferable and are instead strange, compelling, and fantastical. There’s a methodicalness and, I don't know, lack of whimsy? to them that’s unusual for fantasy, but also an absence of any one goal or moral in the way Le Guin speaks so highly of. It made me feel the way I did reading and adoring Kelly Link in middle school, and Sachdeva has a much different style that I guess works all the better on adults. My favorite was Robert Greenman and the Mermaid.

Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Lauren Hillenbrand

Someone recommended this to me via Tumblr anon over five years ago, so let me start by saying if that was you I’d like to thank you properly! This book rules! It was written in ‘99 so falls prey to a very specific kind of jingoism, but the mechanics of that are interesting in and of themself. Seabiscuit the animal is a lens through which to view turn-of-the-20th-century America written from the precipice of the 21st; his story told through the expertly-researched biographies of his owner, trainer, and jockey. Hillenbrand is not only a good pop nonfiction historian, but has been a sports writer since the 80s and I never imagined the genre could be so thrilling as I did reading her work. Horse racing is insane and no one should be riding these things btw.

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

It was one of the great livery-stableman’s most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

Wharton came from old money New York*, was deeply disillusioned with it and pined for rational (i.e., even more insane) social and political scenes, had myriad thoughts about women and gender relations, and held a love for interior design. I learned all of this after reading but it’s apparent on every page; deeply funny and perceptive, fantastic use of language, the moments where it lost me completely nothing if not interesting. What sticks with me the most are a flair for the operatic and an ability to voice both the feeling and consequences of losing oneself to imagined scenarios. Read the pink parasol scene.

*Ancient Money New York; the saying ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ is apocryphally attributed to her father’s side of the family

Owls of the Eastern Ice: A Quest to Find and Save the World's Largest Owl by Jonathan S. Slaght

We’d return to our camp to huddle in the freezing tent and wait for our owls in silence, like suitors agonizing over a phone that never rings.

One of the better pieces of science writing I’ve read in a long time, as Slaght frames rural communities as a quintessential part of ecology rather than a barrier to it. His style is amiable and matter-of-fact (sometimes overly so; the amount of metric GIS directions, help), but he's super engaging and clearly holds just as much compassion for people and history as he does animals and natural landscapes. The Blakiston’s fish owls he’s studying are described as unreal, with hoots so low and quiet it sounds like someone has thrown them under a blanket. You can listen to them here.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

Took my breath away and surprised me in a way a book hasn’t in years. I'd read Clarke’s 2004 novel when I was maybe fourteen and had vaguely positive but mostly neutral memories of it, and Piranesi being sci-fi-fantasy that came recommended by Tiktok had me very dubious. I ended up devouring it in the way I haven’t read books since I was fourteen; more of a mystery than the suspected high fantasy, with characters I would do disservice to in trying to describe in brief. While the mystery isn’t difficult to ‘solve’ (I’d argue the book also skews young!), the story ends in a way that’s both deeply unexpected and in the only way it could have.

Honorable mentions

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, trans. Peter Washington

[Jigsaw voice] Every man has a devouring passion in his heart as every fruit has its worm.

I spent so much time running my mouth about this one on Tumblr there’s really not much left to say. I think it’s a work of genius that was physically exhausting to read, and I’m sticking it with the honorable mentions mostly because I remember The Three Musketeers being the better book. If you want to read Dumas- and you should- start with that one.

Jonny Appleseed by Joshua Whitehead

I would’ve liked this more had I read it in my late teens/early 20s, but I still think it’s pretty good and would absolutely recommend to anyone in that age bracket. Things that normally annoy me about philosophical first-person lit fic didn’t matter under the weight of Jon’s narratorial voice. He reminded me a little of Lynda Barry’s Maybonne in his understanding and depictions of community and family; his stream of consciousness letting contradictions sit rather than trying to explain them away (Whitehead also makes sex very prosaic and pretty-sounding while still being frank and gross about it, which is a rare talent!)

The Seeds of Life: From Aristotle to da Vinci, from Sharks' Teeth to Frogs' Pants, the Long and Strange Quest to Discover Where Babies Come From by Edward Dolnik

This one fell in the rankings because the writing isn’t my favorite (think early days Vulture article rather than NYT), but I cannot stop referencing it in conversation. I want to read the whole thing to people and make them understand how truly unfathomable it is not only that every one of us is the product of 1 sperm and 1 egg, but that anyone ever figured out how that process works. When Western Europeans first started using microscopes they studied water; there were gross little bugs in there to watch and enjoy, so when semen was revealed to have its own bugs no one was shocked, but they also weren’t impressed. We would not see one enter an egg until EIGHTEEN SEVENTY-FIVE.  

Killer Dolphin by Ngaio Marsh

The Malaise of First Night Nerves had gripped Peregrine, not tragically and aesthetically by the throat but, as is its habit, shamefully in the guts.

Has made it into my top 5 favorite Inspector Alleyn mysteries. I’m not keen on Marsh’s theater settings (and there are a LOT of them), but a convoluted setup made this one all the more rewarding. The final revelation as to a point of blackmail is visceral and bizarre in a way I haven’t seen from her before.

The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon

We all have dirty hands; we are all soiling them in the swamps of our country and in the terrifying emptiness of our brains. Every onlooker is either a coward or a traitor.

Best read in conversation with other writers, I wouldn’t recommend Fanon as the end-all-be-all introduction to communist and socialist thinking (the fact that he inadvertently describes what was going wrong with the USSR at time of writing is fascinating), but he explicitly invites that conversation and the value and impact of his work really can’t be overstated. Our points of disagreement tend to be in regard to nationalism, not his condonation of violence.

Persuasion by Jane Austen

Fascinating to see how Austen was thinking about relationships near the end of her short life. I laughed to see the idea of preferring your brother-in-law’s family to your own was back in full force from my own favorite Emma, as well as an eleventh-hour ‘maybe I should ship the villains??’ My biggest issue is that, like Emma, Persuasion is written in third person limited narration, but Anne is fundamentally Good™ so doesn’t need to learn anything about herself or the world; critic Bob Irvine points out that she and her dashing, misogynistic sailor are beset rather than changed by it. That said I love a people being beset by people (concussed temptresses) places (Bath) and things (cars), and Austen's writing style is really firing on all cylinders here.

[reiding-writing]

hi author your writing is great btw i just wanted to see when you would post part 2 of copycat??

copycat [ s.r ] | 2 |

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn't work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: relationship between spencer and reader is not inherently romantic, sociopathic reader, graphic details of murder, graphic eye descriptions, mentions of spencer’s addiction and overdose, morgan and reader really don’t like each other, child abuse, childhood addiction, death by overdose, suicide

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 14.3k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: after a whole 22 days of writing this, it’s finally finished 😭 sorry for making you all wait for so long this one was a nightmare to finish-

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @devilsadvcte @marvellover98 @evvy96 @arlovesper @h3rt8k @pathologicalreid @sideshow-b0b @sunflowersndpeaches @mera3luna @madameparkerreid @fandom-mania @melaninsugababy @meyaareads

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The coroner's office, whilst not as bland and beige as the police station was still extremely muted, with light grey walls and a smooth tiled floor that was so shiny you're sure you could see your face in it if you focused enough.

“The second I see a change in your features I am booting you out of the mortuary understood?” Morgan’s tone held nothing but contempt for you as he walked step in step with you like you’d disappear if he looked away for more than a second.

“You keep speaking to me like that and I’ll shove the next rose I get down your throat.”

“Did you just threaten me?” Morgan’s contempt fizzled into a rising frustration, his eyebrows knitted into a tight line and his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to puff himself out like a peacock to look more intimidating.

“Threats hold no value,”

“We should go inside now,” Spencer’s voice was much less confident than either yours or Morgan’s, but it held enough volume to be heard over your argument.

He was seriously beginning to question whether inviting you to come along was a good idea. He knew Morgan despised you, and yet he’d asked you to come along anyway out of his own selfish want to crack open your brain like a book and read your neuron pathways like pages.

He just hoped you’d actually find something valuable in the victim’s autopsy so that all of your arguing with Morgan wasn’t in vain.

“Ah, you must be the agents working on the case, I’m Dr. Toth,” The doctor introduced herself politely as Spencer opened the mortuary door, and Spencer gave her a small nod of recognition as the three of you entered.

“That’s right, thank you for allowing us here,”

“Of course,” The doctor walked her way around the autopsy table, where you assumed the body of the most recent victim was lying, covered by a blue sheet from head to toe and leaving only the silhouette in its place. “I should warn you in advance, due to the damage caused to the eyes whilst removing the rose stems, we had to excise them from the body during the autopsy,”

“Do you still have them?” Your question seems to strike a nerve with Morgan, probably thinking that you want to see the victim’s eyes as a part of a sick fantasy running through your mind, but he bites his tongue to keep his mouth shut so that he doesn’t accidentally air the fact that they’d brought a serial killer into a coroner’s office and freak out the pathologist they’re talking to.

“We do yes, they were professionally removed and placed in hypothermic storage, I can retrieve them for you if you’d like,”

“That won’t be necessary for now,” Morgan’s interjection elicits a roll of your eyes. You weren’t interested in seeing them because it would get you off or whatever, you wanted to see what kind of damage they went through to the point where they had to be fully removed from the victim’s body.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, but if you need my assistance please don’t hesitate to ask,”

“Thank you,” Spencer, the peacekeeper that he is, gives the doctor a polite smile as he picks up a pair of latex gloves and pulls them over his hands, and you and Morgan follow suit after him as he takes place at the end of the autopsy table.

“You’re looking for differences, not entertainment.”

“Yes yes, I get it, Jesus Christ.” You scoff at Morgan’s tone, tugging the sheet down from the victim’s head until it was halfway down his torso.

“His name was Alexander Youlier, age 22, died of blood loss with the roses believed to be inserted post-mortem,” Spencer read through the autopsy file as you examined the boy’s face.

He was pale, much too pale for a normal person, but you suppose that’s what happens when you barely have any blood in your body, and the blood that he did have completely lacked oxygen. His cheeks were sunken, his lips almost blue from the lack of oxygen, and of course, in place of where his eyes would be, there were instead two holes lined with a dark reddish pink muscle that made it look like the cavity was much deeper than physically possible.

The minute you looked at his face you felt like you were going to throw up. So much for being ‘entertained’.

“Oi.” Morgan’s voice ripped you from your state of disassociation. “What did I just say, you’re here to identify the differences not get off to the victim’s body in your head.” He turned his attention towards Spencer with a disapproving look. “I told you we shouldn’t’ve brought them here,”

You didn’t respond to Morgan’s chastising with anything more than a tiny twitch of your eyebrows as you tore your eyes away from Youlier’s face.

“Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice was considerably softer than Morgan's, his eyes big and round, glistening with worry underneath the overhead light in the room, and his eyebrows furrowed in concern at the way you’d suddenly shut down.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” The end of your sentence is marked by you tearing the gloves from your hands and leaving them in balls on the floor as you retreat to the door of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re not allowed to just leave. You wanted to be here. You chose to be here. So you’ll do your goddamn job.” Morgan’s anger falls unrecognised as you open the door and slam it behind you after you leave, and he begins to follow after you only to be stopped by Spencer at the door.

“I’ve got it,”

Morgan’s glance is unconvinced, and Spencer reiterates himself once more. “I’ve got it, I promise, they’re less likely to get angry if it’s me and not you,”

Morgan doesn’t get the chance to argue before Spencer runs off down the hallway to catch up to you, leaving him alone in the mortuary to continue his analysis of the autopsy by himself.

“Hey!” Spencer calls out to you as he jogs in your direction, catching you right as you open the door to leave the coroner’s office. “Wait up a second-” You don’t stop at his callings, but he can tell that you’re also not trying to deliberately get away from him, your pace slow and even as you leave the coroner’s office with him hot on your tail.

He’s very clearly out of breath by the time he reaches your side, but he pays no attention to his lungs’ cry for him to take a second to breathe and supply them with more oxygen as he begins questioning you. “Are you okay?”

“I‘m fine,”

He’s not at all convinced by your statement despite your tone conveying genuity. You looked paler than usual, any natural flush was gone from your cheeks and your lips, and you were absentmindedly picking at the nail bed of your thumb with your middle finger, something he assumes is a self-soothing act for you.

People getting disturbed at the sight of a freshly dead body wasn’t exactly something for Spencer to be astounded at. It was a natural human reaction to the incomprehensible knowledge of death that your brain desperately tried to work out with no results.

But you didn’t exactly fit the definition of ‘normal’. You were a sociopath. So for you to be put off by the sight of a dead body was something for Spencer to be astounded at.

Sure he was aware that sociopaths could still feel things like dread and fear of the unknown, but you weren’t just a sociopath. You were a sociopath who killed eighteen people.

You’d seen your fair share of dead people, manic episode or not. So why was this body making you react like you were?

He supposes it’s just another layer he’ll have to peel from your mind like the skin of an onion.

“Did you know that sociopaths have heightened emotional pathways? Every emotion sociopaths experience is allegedly 3 times stronger in intensity than that of someone without it,” He didn’t exactly know what to say to you considering you’d shut down any attempt to talk about how you were doing emotionally, and so he fell back on what he always did, niche facts and statistics.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Your hardened expression didn’t falter, nor did the underlying monotony in your tone, but you did finally look him in the eye.

“I always feel more at ease when I fully understand whatever I’m dealing with,” Spencer smiles at you softly with a shrug of his shoulders, attempting to empathise with you the best he could.

“I already knew that fact,” You take a seat on the small half-wall lining the outside of the coroner’s office, gripping the edge of the brick with your hands. “And it doesn’t make me feel any different,”

“Well…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as he takes a seat next to you, running through things in his head that might hold some sort of value to you. “Did you know that roses symbolise different things based off of their colour?”

He was definitely grasping at straws now, but he didn’t want to end your conversation yet. He wanted to know what had you so perturbed that you felt the need to leave the minute you got a close look at the victim’s body.

If anything he’d expected you to follow Morgan’s accusation about getting some sick gratification from the body, not actually feeling sick because of it.

“Why do you think I used white roses? I’m not stupid you know,”

He’d never thought of that. “You used white roses for a specific reason?”

You shrug, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of the wall. “When I was younger we had a dog, and when it died my parents planted a white rose bush over where they buried it,”

Your tone is rather emotionally removed as you divulge this little snippet of your past to him, like you were recounting something you’d read from a fictional story rather than an event that most children would find extremely distressing. “Mom said that the roses were white because they symbolised mourning and new beginnings, something about how it would help him pass over into heaven or whatever, and I guess even in my episode I held that knowledge subconsciously,”

“You don’t believe in heaven?” Spencer’s eyes scanned your face as he tried to decipher your micro-expressions, noting the small softening of your eyes once you brought up your parents. Looks like you did indeed still have some humanity.

“Do you believe in heaven Dr. Reid?”

No. Maybe? He knew that once your brain functions stopped working your consciousness was permanently ended and that was it. “I thought I saw the other side once,” His admission shocked himself more than it shocked you. Great, he was spilling his traumas to a sociopath he’d known for less than a week. What a riveting social life he had.

He could see the flicker of intrigue in your eyes at his sentence, and he pursed his lips into a line before deciding to continue. “I uh- 11 months ago I was kidnapped and forcefully injected with Dilaudid, and I- was overdosed…”

He could see the cogs turning in your head as you connected the fragments of earlier conversations with him in your mind to form a cohesive story, and you nodded at him as if encouraging him to continue with his story.

“I blacked out first, but it felt… warm? and I could see the beginnings of a light and I honestly still don’t know what to think of it,” He could feel himself squirming from the recollection. He was a man of science. Someone who only believed in what he could physically see and test. But that brief moment where he was sure that he’d died and was experiencing an afterlife that he didn’t think existed had carved a hole into his brain and settled itself into the back of his mind.

“I hope there’s an afterlife,” Your tone continues to carry that same monotonous drawl, but he can see the genuity in your eyes and the way your hands clench around the edge of the brick wall.

“Me too…”

It’d be easy for Spencer to forget you were a serial killer in moments like this. Sure you were still extremely emotionally stunted, but you felt human. And he’s sure that that’s the real difference between a sociopath and a psychopath.

Psychopaths were born without human ‘defects’. Sociopaths were made.

“Were your parents good to you?” Spencer’s question was full of hesitation. He didn’t want to assume anything, after all, your parents were the one topic you seemed to treat with genuine care in your words, but he knew something had to have happened. Something had to have made you the way that you are.

“My parents were perfect.” Your eyebrows knit into a small line, as if defensive at the fact that Spencer would suggest your parents were anything other than the perfect model of what two caregivers should be.

“What about your biological parents?” He could feel himself retreating back into his own mind the further he pressed for answers out of you, his conscience begging him to just stop talking before he accidentally crossed a line and ruined any branch of communication he’d formed.

“I don’t remember them,” You shrug lightly and your expression cements your nonchalance.

“You’ve never wanted to… seek them out?” It wasn’t entirely surprising that you don’t remember your biological parents. Most children who get adopted really young don’t.

“They’re dead.”

Oh.

Right.

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly at the revelation.

By this point, he’s completely forgotten about the fact that he’s supposed to be convincing you to go back into the mortuary to continue looking at the victim.

You had a great adoptive family and a pair of dead biological parents. Was that what broke you? Was them dying what caused your mental state to shatter and rebuild itself as a fragmented version of its previous state?

Maybe that’s why you didn’t remember them. Maybe your brain had built a wall in your memories to protect you from your own trauma of losing your parents. But he wasn’t sure it was enough for you to have a mental break like you did. There had to be something more.

“I can do some digging on them if you want,” He airs the suggestion like he’s not going to do it even if you say no.

“I have no interest in learning about them,”

Oh well. He’d get Garcia to do it anyway. Maybe you’d find more interest in the topic once there was actually something for you to learn.

“Are you- feeling alright now?” Spencer knew he was going to have to bring up the topic eventually. They couldn’t stay out here for too long both for the sake of the investigation and because if they did Morgan would probably jump to the conclusion that you’d killed Spencer and run off somewhere.

“I told you I was fine,”

“I don’t think I believe you,” Spencer could see the small shift in your expression at his hesitant accusation. But it wasn’t anger this time, it was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Something caused you discomfort, and in order for you to be able to help us we need you to be relaxed,”

You turned your face away from Spencer as he spoke, eyes fixed on a bird flying overhead and then on the cloud that was behind it.

“What was it that caused you to feel like you didn’t want to be there anymore?” There was clear caution in Spencer’s tone as he questioned you, although that had essentially become a staple of every conversation you had with him by this point. “We can fix it,”

Spencer’s compassion for you left you feeling a little confused. You were a spree murderer. He was supposed to dislike you for that. That’s how the human mind works is it not? People are supposed to have a distaste for those who break the moral codes of society, and you did it 18 times over.

“I… don’t know,” It felt like every second you allowed yourself to be confused the feeling multiplied tenfold until you weren’t even sure that you could remember your own name if somebody asked you for it.

Your emotions were written all over your face, not like you really had the capacity to hide them even if you wanted to, but it was clear as day just how internally confused you were with your own feelings about the situation at hand.

“Let me help you figure it out then,” Spencer’s tone continued to carry that gentle compassion in it and it wasn’t helping you sort out your thoughts.

“I don’t need your help, I can figure it out on my own,” You knew enough about Psychology to be able to figure out your own thinking processes. At least you thought so. You didn’t go through three laborious years at university wishing during every hour of it to be doing something else to not even get anything useful out of it at the end.

Spencer took that as a direct invitation to shut his mouth and just let you think to yourself, although his eyes continued to scan your expression and your body language as he waited for you to come to your own conclusion on how you were currently feeling and what exactly made you feel that way.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Despite your gaze focused downwards towards the pavement your frustration at his lingering gaze made it sound like he was making direct eye contact with you.

“Sorry,” Spencer averted his eyes from you immediately after your order, flickering them around the parking lot of the coroner’s office and absentmindedly reading all of the number plates he could see from a distance so that he didn’t frustrate you anymore than he already had.

You gave up psychoanalysing your own mind after a few minutes, partly because it was an effort you didn’t want to expend and partly because it felt safer for you to just lock your emotions behind a wall of glass and leave them for another day.

Instead, you turned your gaze back to the doctor sitting next to you and watched him as he watched his surroundings.

“Your eyes are very alive,”

It’s an odd thing to say Spencer thinks. The concept of his eyes being ‘alive’. Of course, he’d heard the term ‘dead eyes’ before in reference to the lack of emotion shown on someone's face. He’d consider you to have rather dead eyes if he was thinking about it. Although he’s not sure if you’re referring to his eyes in terms of expressiveness or genuinely being ‘alive’ in a physical sense.

“Alive?”

You give him a short nod. “They have a lot of life in them,”

“Thank you?” He chooses to take your odd statement as a sort of compliment. Surely having ‘alive eyes’ couldn’t be a negative thing, right?

Now that he’s thinking about it you really did seem to have some sort of fixation on people's eyes. You constantly chased eye contact with the people you spoke to. You apparently had a habit of studying people’s eyes and how ‘alive’ they were. You pierced roses into the eyes of your victims.

Spencer’s gaze focused on you as he came to the conclusion in his head. You’d become uncomfortable in the mortuary because you couldn’t see the victim’s eyes. Because instead of being able to judge him based off of the look in his eyes you were instead greeted with a blank slate where they were supposed to be.

But why? Why was your judgement of somebody based off of what you could see in their eyes? Something had to have caused it.

“Why did you put roses in your victims’ eyes?” He could see the flicker of intrigue in your expression at his question, although he was unsure whether it was conscious or not.

From the way you’d spoken earlier about your discomfort, it seemed that your apparent fixation was unknown to even you, a subconscious thought process that even you were unaware of for whatever reason.

“I told you this already, I held subconscious knowledge about what they represented.” You furrow your eyebrows at his question, one that you’d answered a little over five minutes ago. Why was he asking you again? “I thought you had an eidetic memory.”

“I do-” Spencer’s not sure whether to be surprised that you remembered that small snippet of information or not. “I mean, why did you put them… you know, in their eyes specifically?”

A small amount of discomfort seeped into Spencer’s tone as he asked the question. As much as he’d become desensitised to the gruesomeness of what his job held, actively thinking about having somebody’s eyes being physically pierced with a blunt object was something that anyone with two functioning eyeballs would feel uncomfortable about.

“I don’t know, I just did,”

So it was subconscious. Something that the dark void in the back of your mind was aware of but wouldn’t let your conscious self have any knowledge of.

“Would you like to help me analyse the victim’s eyes? The pathologist said they were still being stored,” Your eyebrows turn from furrowed to raised, clearly confused by Spencer’s sudden fixation on eye-related things.

“They could be a useful asset to the investigation,” Spencer shrugged softly, lips pressed into a line, an awkward smile present on his face as if his suggestion was completely unrelated to the conversation.

You found yourself agreeing to Spencer’s suggestion despite that lingering discomfort in the back of your mind, and as the two of you stood up to re-enter the coroner’s office, Spencer pulled out his phone to send an email to Morgan.

‘Cover the victim’s face.’

Morgan had clearly read the message before the two of you arrived back at the mortuary, shooting Spencer a glance of confusion as you entered the room ahead of him, eyes already locked on Youlier’s body as if you were drawn to it by some unexplainable force.

Of course, with the blue sheet now placed back over the victim’s head, you couldn’t actually see anything, but you still had the image of his face in your head, causing a sense of unease to remain in your stomach, although not as bad as when you were originally presented with it.

Spencer gave Morgan a small shake of his head as if to shut down this conversation for later, leaving your side to seek out the pathologist so she could retrieve Youlier’s eyes from storage.

He returned not two minutes later, freshly gloved with a glass jar in hand, two vaguely spherical shaped objects floating inside it.

Morgan saw them before you did, his expression widening and then furrowing at the sight of just how ripped up these eyes seemed to be. “How on earth did they end up like that?”

Morgan’s question is enough to pique your curiosity and rip your gaze away from the victim's covered-up face, walking up behind Spencer to look at the jar over his shoulder.

“Dr Toth said the damage was from the thorns on the roses,”

You examine the jar as Spencer explains how they ended up in the state they were in, and you had to agree that Morgan’s bewilderment was right.

They barely even looked like a pair of eyes anymore. They were more ovular than spherical, with two gaping holes where the pupil and iris should be, and countless tear lines all over the scleras, presumably where the killer had struggled to push the stems through the eyes from the resistance of the thorns. Although, you couldn’t deny that seeing them somehow ailed any lingering discomfort in your stomach.

“Well that’s just stupid,”

Spencer jumped from your statement like he hadn’t even realised you were standing behind him, almost fumbling the jar out of his hands in the process.

“…maybe you’re just stupid…” Morgan’s muttering doesn’t go unnoticed, and you shoot a glare in his direction that he mirrors right back at you with just as much venom.

“What’s stupid?” It takes Spencer a second to regain his bearings, but once he does he turns his attention to you with round eyes and a slightly tilted head, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

He watches as your focus shifts back and forth between the eyes in the jar and his own as if you were trying to visualise what he’d look like with the ripped-up excuse for a pair of eyes instead of the ones he currently had.

“Obviously you should de-thorn the roses first,” Your tone carried your phrase like you were telling him that you shouldn’t put metal in a microwave rather than de-thorning a rose before piercing someone’s eye with it. “This guy’s on what, their fifth victim? You would’ve thought they’d figured that out by now,”

You take the jar from Spencer’s hand to get a closer look at the remnants of the victim’s eyes from a better vantage point.

“I mean come on, I figured it out after my first try,” You’re edging into a rant about the intricacies of how to most productively pierce somebodies eyes with rose stems now, and it was beginning to remind Spencer that you had in fact actually done all of these things and it wasn’t just hypothetical. “It literally takes like ten seconds per rose if you know what you’re doing and then saves you five minutes of effort,”

Morgan takes the jar from you like you’re a child with a bottle of bleach, a scowl still etched on his face as you give him an incredulous look.

“I’m not going to like eat them or whatever, god-”

“Knowing your track record I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Morgan places the jar down on the small table by where the victim is lying.

“One, that’s disgusting, two, what the fuck?” Spencer finds your bewilderment at Morgan’s suggestion that you might eat the victim’s eyes quite amusing on a surface level, your response sounding like something a high schooler would say rather than a prolific serial killer.

“What? You’re the type of sick bastard that would probably get off on that sort of thing,” Morgan shrugs his shoulders as he turns back around to face you once more.

“I was experiencing a manic episode, I’m not some weird sadist who has a fetish for eyeballs,”

‘Not a fetish, but something,’ Spencer chooses to keep to himself during your squabble this time, walking over to the autopsy table to hike up the blue cover sheet and check for other injuries lower down on the body.

There’s nothing truly substantial, with no defence wounds courtesy of the blow to the back of his head before the attack, another staple of your spree to keep your victims complacent. The only thing of note was the two gashes across each wrist, severing both radial arteries, the source of the bleeding-out portion of his death.

He had to give you props on that part. The average time it took somebody to bleed out was only 3 and a half minutes, meaning it was a pretty effective way to kill somebody with minimal effort and ensure they were completely dead before any first responders might have time to arrive even if they were called immediately after the gashes were made.

It was very controlled, much more of an execution than a murder if he was to really think about it, especially considering all of your victims were unconscious when it happened and therefore probably didn’t even feel anything aside from the original blow to the head.

For a serial killer, it was actually very humane. Even if you did go out of your way to desecrate their eyes afterwards. But was the real harm in that, they were already dead anyway, it’s not like they felt it.

It ruled out any sort of sadism from your spree, one of the reasons he thinks your story of a manic episode was so easily accepted in court. You weren’t killing people for the fun of it. You didn’t drag it out or make it unnecessarily painful. It was like you were just following the steps of how to kill somebody with as minimal effort as possible to satisfy whatever violent urges you had in your head at the time and then fulfilling the apparent subconscious fixation you had with eyes by covering them with roses.

“Wow, this guy really has no idea what he’s doing-” You again cause Spencer to almost jump out of his skin as you appear behind him once more, looking at the gashes over his shoulder.

You reach out to touch one of them, stopped by a harsh hand on your wrist from Morgan, who continues to glare at you like you’d set his house on fire. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking out the shitty incision work from this stupid ass copycat?”

“Put some gloves on you idiot,” Morgan drops your wrist with a scoff, walking across the room to pull out a pair of latex gloves from one of the boxes and shoving them into your palms.

You roll your eyes at his attitude but tug on the gloves anyway, making a show of raising your hands up in his face once you had them on. “Happy now?”

With a swat of your wrist away from his face Morgan concedes to stop antagonising you for now and let you focus on whatever you were originally doing, which you turn to do immediately like you’d completely forgotten about Morgan’s existence as soon as he exited your peripheral vision.

“What is it?” Spencer’s eyes follow yours down to the victim’s left wrist, and he watches as you prod at the gash with your gloved fingers as if trying to pry it back open.

“This is probably the shittiest attempt at bleeding someone out I’ve ever seen,” You bend down with narrowed eyes as you examine the wound. “It’d probably take like 20 minutes from a cut this shallow,”

Spencer can’t help but agree with your assessment. The cut was extremely shallow, so much so he’s sure that this victim probably could’ve survived it if he’d gotten immediate medical attention. He checks the other wrist just to be sure, and he’s granted with the same sight, an extremely shallow cut for somebody actively trying to kill people.

“So, what? He just sat around for twenty minutes whilst Youlier bled out so he could put the roses in his eyes?” Morgan furrowed his eyebrows at the revelation. “What sense does that make?”

Can they be sure that they were inserted post-mortem?

Spencer walked around the table towards the autopsy report to re-read the file in case he’d somehow missed that detail whilst reading it the first time.

Alexander Youlier. Age 22. Died of blood loss with the roses believed to be inserted post-mortem.

He hadn’t missed anything. But then that didn’t make sense. There was no way that the killer would just wait around for almost half an hour for somebody to bleed themselves dry, especially considering that Youlier was found under an open gazebo in a dog park. That would just be reckless. For it to work the roses would have had to be inserted whilst he was still alive.

“Having an epiphany over there or something?” Spencer turns his eyes upwards at your comment, leaving the report on the side table as he walks into Dr Toth’s side office without giving you an answer.

You and Morgan share a glance at his sudden departure, probably the most civil interaction the two of you had ever had, fuelled by the joined want to know what was running through Spencer’s mind.

The door of the office opened less than a minute later, Dr. Toth leaving her office with Spencer hot on her trail. “-reports from the main office so that you can cross-reference them all,”

You only catch the end of their conversation as they enter back into the mortuary, and Dr Toth leaves the room to assumedly go and gather whatever ‘reports’ she was on about from the main office, leaving you and Morgan blankly staring in Spencer’s direction with confused expressions.

“I think that our unsub might be inserting the roses into the victim’s eyes whilst they’re still alive,”

The revelation that the unsub was purposefully dragging out the death of their victims made the team have to rebuild the profile from the bottom up.

Spencer took the opportunity to do some digging. Or more accurately have Garcia do some digging.

He had her pull everything humanly possible regarding your biological parents, their life, their death, and most importantly, how they treated you.

They were 29 and 32 when they died, you having been born when your mother was only 23. They both had a history of substance abuse, and according to their autopsies, both of them had lethal levels of diazepam in their bloodstreams at their time of death.

What was interesting about their deaths though was that they were dead for three days before they were found, rotting in their own house with a six-year-old left living with them. Now that was something that could cause a mental break. A six-year-old, left for three days with the corpses of their dead parents and only found when the neighbours complained about the smell.

The file Garcia had faxed over also happened to have images from the scene when the bodies were recovered, and they were just as disgusting as he’d imagined they’d be. The two were sat paired on a couch, skin pale and turning slightly grey with the beginning signs of decay, small insects roaming on their skin, and the clothes they were wearing.

But the selling point for Spencer was their eyes. Wide open and staring blankly into open space with clouded pupils and ruptured irises. It freaked him out and he was looking at it through a piece of paper. He couldn’t imagine how it made a six-year-old child who lived with them like that for three days feel.

There was the origin of your eye fixation, and he honestly couldn’t blame you for covering the dead stare of your victims so you wouldn’t have to relive that.

The more he read the more devastating the report seemed to be. When asked why you didn’t call for any help from neighbours or the police you stated that you “just wanted them to sleep for a while,” and that your mother would “give me the sleepy pills when she wanted me to go to sleep, so I did the same for her and daddy,”

In an effort to get your parents to go to sleep so they would stop presumably treating you horribly, you’d unintentionally overdosed them both.

You were in a paediatric rehabilitation centre for almost four months after you were recovered from the house. A six-year-old. Being rehabilitated for an addiction to diazepam because your parents would solve any blip in your behaviour by feeding you sleeping pills instead of treating you like the child you were.

All of a sudden forming an addiction at 25 didn’t seem all that detrimental anymore.

He supposes that’s how you knew right off the bat. Addiction recognises addiction and all that. Although by the look of it, you’d made a full healthy recovery by the time you were adopted into your new family.

You’d been diagnosed with ASD after you were removed from the house, and Spencer is surprised by the fact that the mental impact it had on you only seemed to be acute, although, he’s sure that in hindsight the psychiatrist that diagnosed you would’ve made sure to be more thorough in their examination of your mental state.

Still, what happened had happened, and although Spencer nor anyone else could do anything to change that, he could form a greater understanding of who you were and why you did what you did.

Except he still didn’t really know why, he knew the origins, but what was the trigger that caused you to deteriorate mentally until you were back at your lowest possible point?

That wasn’t important right now.

He needed to focus on the actual case at hand and not the closed case of a serial killer from four years ago. It didn’t matter how much of a fascination he’d formed with your psychology, he needed to focus so that no one else had to die.

It was insane to think about, just how distracted he’d get with uncovering your past like it was a mystery novel that required the reader’s involvement to solve.

But now he really needed to knuckle down and actually put his intelligence forward to help the team find the unsub they were looking for or else earn a chastising from Hotch and up to 13 more victims if they followed your pattern to a T.

Why you though? Why was this unsub following your crimes specifically? Sure some people were mentally deranged enough to want to gain the same notoriety as the killers they replicated, but your case was in a small city and didn’t even make national news. Not only that, it was new. Really new.

Most copycat killers replicated national or even international-level crimes that had decades to form a legacy and settle into the back of people's minds. Your case wasn’t like that. Not to the full extent anyway. The state of California had recognised you as a prolific killer but in any other state your name was unknown.

So why you?

Spencer watched intently as the team scribbled down notes and ideas on the whiteboards taking up most of the room, leaving him sitting at the head of the conference table with his files on your background and you engaging yourself in the pass-time of making origami cranes out of discarded bits of paper to stop yourself from getting bored.

A serial killer replicating your crimes almost step by step. Bleed out the victims, put roses in their eyes, move on. Same victim pattern. Same time frame. But still with distinct differences.

This unsub bled their victims out considerably slower than you did. They used red roses instead of white roses like you did. They left the thorns on the rose stems when you pruned them beforehand.

Why did this unsub not de-thorn the roses first? After five separate murders, why would they not make their process easier by discarding the thorns to stop them from tearing up the victim’s eyes?

‘I figured it out after my first try.’

“Hey uh-” Spencer turns his head up towards you, tapping his pen absentmindedly against the table. “Do you remember what happened to your first victim? After your parents?”

“What?” You furrow and then raise one of your eyebrows at his sudden question, especially because he’d been sitting in his own little cocoon for the last thirty minutes.

It was quite a long shot of a question if you had been experiencing mania at the time, but you seemed to be remembering select details about your spree, so your first victim surely should be present in your mind at least somewhat.

“How did you… You know-” Spencer’s roundabout question was half amusing and half frustrating from your viewpoint, and you take a break from your paper crafts to indulge in it.

“Well…” You drag out the word and you divert your eyes from him to stare upwards towards the ceiling like it’ll aid your memory. “I incapacitated her first, with a… brick I think? It might’ve been a regular rock I’m not sure-”

“Him.” Morgan’s venom seeps into his correction of your account. “You killed eighteen people and you don’t even have the decency to remember the gender of your first victim? Seriously?”

“I do know my own victim pattern thank you very much,” You override Morgan’s correction with just as much ferocity. “ And it was definitely a woman. I chose her specifically because she’d be easy.”

“That’s not what our files say.”

“Then your files are wrong? What do you want me to do about it?”

Spencer runs over your victims in his head. Your first filed victim’s name was John Brandy, found lifeless on a park bench after a woman walking her dog called it in to the police.

He tried to remember any other things he’d read about your case that might indicate that Brandy wasn’t your first victim. Nothing. John Brandy was the only thing he could affiliate with the identity of the first victim from your spree. And most notably, Brandy was very male.

“…What did you do after you incapacitated her?” Spencer slowly edges his way back into a conversation between you and Morgan, mind on full alert as it continues to run through all of the details he knows about you and your case.

“I moved her against the like wall of the street we were down and then did the rest of it,” You shrug your shoulders in mild scepticism of Spencer’s sudden interest in this specific kill of yours. “You know, cut the wrists, wait a few minutes, then stick in the roses. Although I’m pretty sure I got one rose like half in because the thorns were being difficult and I gave up when she started twitching,”

You exhale exasperatedly. ”That’s probably why she’s not ‘in your files’, because the rose I did try and do wasn’t even fully inserted and probably just fell out or something,” You glare pointedly at Morgan, tilting your head back and forth in condescension. “It was my first time alright? Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

Sure everyone’s gotta start somewhere. When it comes to working a job or starting a hobby. You don’t usually ‘start somewhere’ when it comes to murdering people.

It’s the fact that you say it so nonchalantly that gets to him, talking about your murder spree of eighteen people like it was you learning how to bake a cake. Nineteen people. You’d actually killed nineteen people in your spree, and your poor first victim probably didn’t even get given the light of day that the rest of your victims did when it came to justice.

“Morgan,” Hotch’s voice proved to pull Spencer out of yet another spiral consisting of endless questions surrounding your psychology, even if not directed at him. “Call Garcia and have her pull up any unsolved murder cases that involved two slit wrists and trauma to the eyes in Malibu during the time they were active as a killer,”

“On it,” Honestly, Morgan would’ve taken any excuse to get out of your presence for a few minutes, feeling the overwhelming urge to punch you square in your face grow stronger with every snippet of information about yourself that you shared out loud without a single care in the world.

Did it have anything significant to catching this copycat? No. But that victim deserved just as much justice as any of your others.

One profiler down, the rest of the team turned back to fleshing out the profile, and you turned back to your half-finished paper crane, muttering to yourself under your breath about something that Spencer couldn’t quite hear.

“Okay, so we’ve ruled out mania as a possible cause of the kills because of how long it took for them to bleed out, we’ve ruled out paranoia because of the victim pattern following the original to a T instead of being random, it could be some form of ASD but that doesn’t really make sense with the rest of the profile-” Emily scans over the notes of the whiteboard as she speaks, picking absentmindedly on the red polish covering her nails and leaving small flakes of it all over the table by where you’re sitting.

“Would you stop doing that?” You make a show of wiping the table with your hand, and Emily doesn’t respond to you with more than a glance as she stuffs her hands in her pockets.

“Alright babygirl thank you,” Morgan sends a kiss through the phone before hanging it up and putting it away in his pocket and you swear you almost gag at the sight of it.

“Nothing,” Morgan shrugs his shoulders half out of resignation and half out of frustration as he takes a seat opposite you on the table. “There are no unsolved murders matching the description you gave us,”

He glares into your eyes like he’s trying to burn them right out of your eye sockets. “So? What is it? You get a kick out of lying or what?”

“Do I look like the type of person who makes the effort to lie? Because news flash, I don’t, it’s not like saying I killed one more person than I actually did benefits me in any way,” You furrow your expression with a scoff, leaning back in your chair to rest your ankles on the table.

“Right, sure, because someone like you totally doesn’t care about how they’re perceived by other people,”

“Why would I want to say I’ve killed more people than I actually have, it just makes me look more crazy than you already think I am-” You weren’t backing down on this. You were adamant that this person was your first victim and that you weren’t lying to him.

“Then why isn’t there any file of her whatsoever?”

“What if she’s still alive?” It’s like all of the puzzle pieces fall into Spencer’s mind at once, and he interrupts your arguing with Morgan yet again, except this time it’s not about keeping the peace.

“You said you gave up because ‘the thorns were being difficult and she started twitching’, was she alive when you tried to put the rose in her eye?” Spencer turns his gaze towards you, a completely different air surrounding his expression than the mildly awkward and apprehensive one you’d gotten used to.

“I don’t know, maybe?” You shrug like his question was absurd, watching as he stands from his seat to look over the whiteboard detailing the autopsies of each of the victims.

“Reid?” Hotch’s raised eyebrow asked a hundred different questions, and Spencer answered every single one of them with a single phrase muttered under his breath.

“…PTSD by proxy-”

He takes a second to study the photos on the board before continuing. “It’s a psychological disorder where victims of PTSD will project their trauma onto others,”

He pulls a few of the images from the board to lay them out on the conference table. “Of those who develop PTSD from traumatic incidents, roughly 2% then go on to try and satiate their trauma by projecting it onto other people,”

“If what you remember about your first victim was true and she survived, then there’s a high chance that the new killer we’re looking for is that first victim,” He arranges the autopsy photos in two groups, with one of the wrist gashes and the other of the eye damage.

“The victims bled out slowly, which in a lot of cases with first-time murder or murder attempts happens unintentionally because the killer doesn’t know how deep a cut like that has to be for it to be fatal,” He points towards the photos on the left first.

“And then the eyes would be pretty self-explanatory,” He turns one of the photos towards where you and Hotch are sitting. “If your first victim was in fact alive when you tried to pierce her eyes then that could explain why these victims were also still alive when the roses were inserted,”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Emily chimes in with her two cents as Spencer gives his explanation. “We’re in a completely different city,”

“And it’s been three years since the original spree,” Rossi swirls the coffee in his mug with a furrowed expression.

“Well Las Flores is only an hour's drive from Malibu,” Spencer moves from the table to go back over to the annotated map on one of the boards, marking an invisible line with his fingers. “Maybe she decided she needed to get away from her trauma, 46% of individuals who experience life-changing trauma do,”

“But why now?”

Spencer’s eyes turn back towards you at Rossi’s question, as if you held all the answers to what the stressor was for this sudden murder spree. Your answer of course was nothing more than a shrug and an expression that asked ‘How am I supposed to know?’, which put a halt to Spencer’s theory.

That, and the fact that they hadn’t even confirmed if this woman was still alive let alone living in Las Flores.

“Alright,” Hotch cut through the team’s conversation with a wave of his hand. “Morgan, ask Garcia to track down women who went into the hospital for ocular injuries three years ago and have moved to Las Flores since then,”

Morgan gives him a determined nod as he leaves the room once more, Hotch then turning his attention towards you.

“What have you done in the last few months that would’ve been told to the public?”

“I don’t know?” You give him an exasperated expression and raise your hands in a defensive manner. “Why would I know that? It’s not like I have someone telling me when I’m on the news,”

Hotch furrowed his eyebrow at your immediate defensiveness, reminding himself to be patient and bear with your short fuse because it technically wasn’t your fault.

Although it didn’t make it any less frustrating either way.

He turned his eyes towards Spencer, gesturing towards the door and then towards you as a silent order for him to speak to you privately outside.

If anyone was going to be able to get a piece of information out of you, consciously or subconsciously, it would be Spencer.

It took him a few seconds to compute Hotch’s message, but as soon as he did he stood from his seat, mug in hand.

“I’m going to make some more coffee, do you want some?” Spencer gives you a small and slightly awkward smile as he looks at you, and you raise an eyebrow in his direction.

“You don’t know how to make my coffee,”

“You can show me,” Spencer raises his eyebrows enthusiastically, lips pressed taut into a line as he silently prays for you to take the bait. And you do.

You don’t respond with more than pushing your chair away from the table to stand, but Spencer follows after you as you leave the meeting room nonetheless, gaining a small nod from Hotch that he returns with one of his own.

In the break room, Spencer watches you prepare your coffee, taking mental notes of the precise amount of creamer and sugar you add. He's careful to keep the conversation casual, asking about your preferences and subtly steering you towards the topic of recent events.

"I got a new therapist a few months ago," you admit, stirring your coffee. "She recommended having me moved into psychiatric care." The implication hangs clearly in the air.

"Psychiatric care?" Spencer echoes, his mind eagerly piecing together the information.

“Mhm,” You give him a small nod and you leave the teaspoon on the counter, taking a sip of your coffee.

Now that was something that might’ve been made public. If you had been recommended by a specialist to be moved out of a high-security prison and into a psychiatric institute the local news was bound to know about it.

"You being moved to a psychiatric facility would definitely make the news," Spencer mutters, drawing your attention back to him. "That could be the trigger point for our unsub,"

“Me going to a hospital? Seriously?” You scoff like that being a motive is pathetic.

“Yes, seriously,” Spencer replies, his expression serious. “It could signify a turning point, a change in your situation that the unsub might interpret as you escaping justice. It could be the catalyst that pushed them into action.”

He abandons his coffee mug on the counter as he ushers you back into the meeting room with the rest of the team, and all it takes is Hotch getting a single glance at Spencer’s expression to know that there was indeed a trigger for this murder spree.

“A few months ago, their therapist recommended moving them to a psychiatric facility," Spencer shares the information as soon as you both re-enter the room, "That could have been publicised, potentially triggering our unsub-”

“We found her,” Morgan interrupts Spencer’s explanation as he hurries into the room, phone still pressed against his ear as he reaches over to scribble down the name and address Garcia had recovered.

Louise Nueves, aged 29 was born and raised in Malibu, never having left the city for more than a week her entire life. That was, until she was hospitalised for three days for a severe ocular injury to her left eye.

She left the city less than a week after she was discharged, and supposedly never returned as she settled down in Las Flores instead.

She settled down, got married, started working in a small bakery, and overall just seemed to have a well-rounded and stable life after the trauma that she had endured back in her home town.

Morgan knocked harshly on the front door of her house, gun held firmly in his hand just in case Nueves deemed the threat of their presence as an incentive to act violently. “Louise Nueves, this is the FBI,”

The silence from the other side of the door seemed only to heighten the adrenaline running through the veins of the team.

It didn’t take long before Morgan was looking for permission to force the door open, and once he gained a nod from Hotch that’s exactly what he did, kicking the door handle loose and forcing the door open as the team filtered into the house to search for their suspect.

You were an exception of course, being confined to the entranceway with Spencer as your personal babysitter in case you managed to get yourself into any trouble or think about running off.

You hear an echo of ‘clear’s from the group as they sweep the house, seemingly completely devoid of any human presence outside of the FBI team. Until…

“You guys might wanna come see this,”

Emily’s voice sounded from upstairs, and she backed out into the stairway as she gestured for the team to join her up the stairs.

You give Spencer a look before walking over to the stairs, and his curiosity overrides his need to try and keep you in the entrance as he follows after you with the rest of the team following closely behind.

“This little bitch-“ The sight you were greeted with would’ve been extremely disturbing under normal circumstances, a corpse of a man - presumably Nueves’ husband - lying in its first stage of decay on the bed of the house’s master bedroom, a red rose resting on his chest.

Instead, your response was more angry at the blatant lack of originality in the way he was killed.

"Copying my kills is one thing," you spat out, your eyes burning with rage. "But having no innovation or creativity of their own? That's just pathetic." You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze fixed on the lifeless body in front of you.

"Unique or not, it proves our hypothesis of who the copycat is," Morgan retorted, his gaze hardening at your callous words.

You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance. "Great."

Ignoring your sarcasm, Hotch spoke up, "We need to find Nueves before she kills again. Morgan, Reid, you're with me. We'll check her workplace. Rossi and JJ I want you to track down some of her friends, maybe they've noticed something off."

As they left, Emily turned to you, her eyes scrutinising. "What about them, Hotch? Do we just leave them at the station?"

"No," Hotch replied without missing a beat. "They’ll stay with you as you monitor the area. Keep an eye on them. We don't know how they might react now that their 'legacy' is being threatened."

With that, they left you in the company of Emily, the silence in the room amplifying the eerie sight of the corpse on the bed.

The tension was still very apparent despite you and Emily having no previous background, and you could tell that she wasn’t exactly thrilled with your company as the two of you left the house just as the authorities arrived, presumably called by Hotch as they left the scene.

“How does it feel to babysit a grown adult instead of doing something important?”

Emily shot you a sideways glance, her lips forming a thin line. "I'd like to think that keeping an eye on a serial killer counts as important, don't you?" she retorted, her voice icy.

“You’re supposed to be finding a serial killer, I haven’t done anything in years, what makes you think that I’m the threat?” You can’t help but scoff at her intonation as she speaks to you, it feeling oddly derogatory considering that you couldn’t even remember what her name was. “That’s some audacity alright,”

Emily narrowed her eyes at you, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "You may not think so, but your presence here is still a potential risk," she said, her tone sharp. "And until we know more, I'm not taking any chances."

She quickened her pace, leaving you to catch up as you followed her out of the residential area and into a nearby public park. Emily’s eyes scanned the area like a hawk as she walked, making you roll your eyes. “You really think she’s just going to be hanging around right next to her own house?”

Emily's gaze flickered toward you, her expression unyielding. "We're not looking for Nueves herself. We're looking for any clues, any signs of her recent activity or whereabouts," she explained tersely. "Every detail matters in a case like this."

She continued to lead the way through the park, her pace steady and purposeful. Despite your scepticism, you couldn't deny the intensity in her demeanour, the determination to solve the case weighing heavily in the air between you as you reluctantly tailed her like a toddler on a leash.

As you walked, Emily suddenly halted, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of a lone figure sat on one of the park benches with their back to the two of you.

“Oh come on, it’s the middle of the day, of course there are people in the park.”

“Be quiet.” Emily approached the individual with her words barked out between her teeth. As you drew closer, you could see the figure was a woman, her head bowed and shoulders slumped. Emily called out to her, her voice firm yet cautious. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you alright?"

The woman looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears. "I-I'm fine," she stammered, quickly wiping at her cheeks. "Just... just having a moment." Her eyes seemed to flicker downwards towards Emily’s vest in confusion but she didn’t make any move to mention it.

Emily studied her for a moment longer before nodding, her hand slowly retracting from her weapon. “Alright. Just be careful out here, okay?” she advised before motioning for you to follow as she continued on the path.

You glanced back at the woman, her eyes following you in a mix of her previous sadness and confusion, seemingly unsure of how she should feel at an apparent FBI agent approaching her out of nowhere and then advising her to ‘be careful’.

“It’s you.” The new voice turns both of your heads in its direction.

Standing a few feet away was a woman and her dog, her demeanour tense yet strangely familiar. She looked at you with a mixture of surprise and recognition, her eyes lingering on Emily’s vest for a moment before returning to you.

“Excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow at the bluntness of her recognition of who you were, furrowing your eyebrows dismissively like she didn’t have the right to have recognised you in whatever way she had.

“You don’t know me?” Her tone carried a clear betrayal, as did the furrow in her eyebrows as she took a step towards you, one which Emily retaliated to by forcing you behind her with a heavy grip on your arm, one which you did not appreciate whatsoever as you pulled yourself from her grasp.

“Mrs Nueves?” Emily’s voice held a mix of apprehension and concern as she spoke, and she reached into her back pocket to thrust her phone into your hand before holding her fingers ready over her gun holster.

“You don’t remember me, do you? The woman ignored Emily completely, her voice tinged with bitterness as she stared at you, her features filled with betrayal as she realised you weren’t even looking at her, too preoccupied with trying to figure out why Emily had given you her phone.

“Mrs Nueves, my name’s Emily, I’m with the FBI, I understand that what you’re going through right now is extremely difficult but-”

“Shut up!” Nueves’ voice was harsh and drenched in ice as she spoke, holding her hand up dismissively. “I don’t care about you or your FBI friends-”

You had your back to the two by this point, and after a message had come through from Spencer about Nueves not being at her workplace you figured that the reason Emily as given you the phone was to get backup from the team.

oh. Right.

‘shes in the park by her house’

Of course she was. Because she was continually proving to be one of the stupidest people you’d ever encountered. Who decides to take their dog for a walk in the park two minutes from their house whilst being actively pursued by the police? Stupid people, that’s who. God, couldn’t the person copying your crimes at least be a competent one?

‘We’ll be there in ten minutes. Hold tight.’

“Look at me!” Nueves’ raised voice caused multiple heads to turn from the people wandering the park, including your own, and you turn your eyes away from the phone screen with a furrowed expression of annoyance.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me? How much I suffered because of what you did?” Nueves’ outbreak was very quickly garnering an audience from passersby, and could could practically feel the tension rolling off of Emily in waves as she tried to figure out what to do.

“You lived, get over it,” You were not helping.

The look on Nueves’ face at your words was almost incomprehensible, like she didn’t know what emotion she was supposed to be feeling at your nonchalance about what happened. Like you hadn’t ruined her entire life and caused her eternal suffering.

“Get over it? Look what you did to me!” Nueves barked out her words as she brought her left hand up to her eye, pulling at it until the sclera fell into the palm of her hand, leaving a dark pink void in its wake.

Your eyes immediately widened at the action, eyebrows furrowed in clear distaste for what you’d witnessed and that uncomfortable feeling that you’d experienced in the coroner’s office rising in your stomach the longer you looked at her.

“This is my life now.” She held up the piece of glass in her hand. “This is what I have to live with because of you.”

“Mrs Nueves-” Emily took a small step forward in her direction with both hands raised to appear as not threatening as possible.

“Don’t move-” Nueves dropped her dog’s leash at Emily’s advance to pull a small kitchen knife from her pocket, similar to one that would be used to cut vegetables or peel a potato.

Emily’s shoulders tense at the emergence of the weapon lips pursed into a tight line, and you’re sure that you might’ve been mildly concerned yourself if the knife blade wasn’t smaller than its handle. It didn’t make her look as intimidating as you assume she thinks she is, more like a teenager who carries around a switchblade in an attempt to make themself look tougher than they actually are.

Then again, this woman had actually killed people. Just not very well.

Still, if she thought that was a ‘big’ knife then her husband must’ve not been very satisfactory when it came to the bedroom.

"Put the knife down, Louise," Emily's voice was stern yet calm, her gaze unwavering. "We can talk about this, help you get the help you need. But first, you need to put the knife down."

Nueves seemed to consider this for a moment, her grip on the knife wavering. But then, her expression hardened, her eyes filled with a cold determination. "No," she stated firmly, "I won't."

“Mrs. Nueves,” Emily tried again, her voice laced with a calm authority, “you're not a killer. You're a victim, and we want to help you.”

Nueves let out a bitter laugh at this, her gaze never leaving Emily's. “A victim?” she echoed, her voice filled with scorn. “I stopped being a victim the moment I stopped letting them control my life.” She thrusts her arm forward with the knife in hand to point it in your direction, thankfully too far away for it to actually be anywhere near harming you. “You left me alive and it ruined everything.”

“I had to live with the pain, the nightmares, the constant fear. I had to watch my life fall apart while you just moved on to your next victim and left me without so much as a footnote in your confession." Nueves continued, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. "You think I'm the one who needs help? You're the monster, not me!”

“You had a hard time. Boo-hoo. But guess what? You're not the only one who's had to deal with shit. You're not special, Nueves.” You replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Nueves' eyes flashed with anger at your dismissive words. "You don't get to talk to me like that. You don't get to belittle my pain. You don't get to decide how I should react to what you did to me."

"Actually, I do," you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm the one who put you in this position. I'm the one who made you who you are today. And you know what? I'm not sorry. Because without me your life would’ve been completely insignificant.”

“Maybe I am a monster. But you, Nueves, are just a sad, pathetic little girl pretending to be a serial killer.” Nueves' face twisted with rage at your words, her grip on the knife tightening. But before she could react, Emily stepped in, her voice calm and authoritative.

“Enough,” she commanded, her gaze fixed on Nueves. “This isn't helping anyone. We're here to bring you in, Louise. To make sure you get the help you need.”

“I don't want your help,” Nueves spat back, her eyes still fixed on you with burning hatred. “I just want them to pay for what they did.”

“They are Louise, they’re paying for their actions every single day in a high-security prison,” Emily stated, her gaze unwavering as she shook her head gently. “They’re getting their punishment, you don’t have to do this, please, just put down the knife…” Emily’s eyes caught the SUV that parked on the side of the road as she talked. Looks like she’d managed to buy enough time for backup to arrive.

For a moment, it looked like Nueves might actually consider following Emily’s suggestion. But then she glanced back at you, her gaze hardening at your stare of indifference. “No,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “I won't let them get away with this. I won’t let them have control of how I live my life anymore.”

Nueves’ ramble deemed her oblivious to the agents approaching her from behind, ushering the few lingering witnesses to a safe distance away so that they could contain the area, and your eyes caught Dr Reid carefully scooping up the leashed dachshund into his arms after it’d scampered away from Nueves in her fit of rage.

“You don’t remember me?” Her eyes turned from seething to desperate in the split second she looked at you, voice raised as she tried to force your attention back onto her from your seeming uninterest in the confrontation. “You will.”

Morgan didn’t even have time to un-holster his gun before Nueves utilised the knife in her hand. Not on Emily, nor on you, but on herself, impaling the blade of the knife directly into her operational eye and forcing it deeper by slamming the palm of her hand into the wooden handle until it was almost completely encapsulated into her eye socket.

The sight was ghastly, blood spurting out of her eye as she fell onto the ground, convulsing from the pain and shock. You watched, a morbid fascination in your eyes as Emily quickly called for medical attention, her gaze flitting between you and the dying woman on the ground.

As the medics rushed to stabilise Nueves, Emily looked at you, her face pale. “You-” She said, her voice barely a whisper, “stay here.” She then hurriedly joined the medics, leaving you behind. You watched as the medics tried to recover her, but it was clear that her chances were slim. The sight of her writhing in pain, the blood pooling around her, was oddly satisfying to watch. A small, twisted part of you felt a sense of triumph at the confrontation's results, if not a little discontented with just how dramatic this woman proved to be.

The rest of the team moved to properly secure the area now that it was officially a crime scene as Emily, still with the medics, was applying pressure to Nueves' wound, her hands smeared with blood.

As you watched the scene unfold, a bizarre sense of calm washed over you. This chaos, this pain, was a result of your actions, your legacy, and despite the horrific circumstances, you couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.

From a distance, you could see Hotch talking to Emily, his expression unreadable. Emily nodded, her eyes briefly meeting yours before diverting away. She looked shaken, the dark red of Nueves’ quickly oxidising blood on her hands a stark contrast against her pale skin.

You tried to imagine the emotions she was grappling with. After all, she was a part of a team that had sworn to protect innocents from people like you. And now, because of you, she had blood on her hands.

The medics finally lifted Nueves onto a stretcher, rushing her towards the waiting ambulance. Emily stood there for a moment longer, watching as the ambulance sped away, before finally turning her eyes towards you, unfocused on how Morgan was gently trying to usher her towards another pair of EMTs so that she could be checked over.

There was zero chance Nueves was going to make it to the hospital in time.

Emily’s gaze was hard, filled with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something you couldn't quite place. Fear, perhaps? Or maybe disappointment? Regardless, it was clear that the events of the day had left a deep impact on her.

As you watched them walk away, the satisfaction from earlier began to fade, replaced by a strange emptiness. You were alone again, left with nothing but the aftermath of your actions. And as you stared at the spot where Nueves had fallen, the blood still fresh on the grass, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all worth it.

But then, you remembered the look on Nueves’ face, the horror in her expression at her own pain. And you knew, without a doubt, that it was. Maybe she was right, you just might remember her for that stunt she pulled, although most definitely not in a positive light.

“Are you alright?” The ever-calm voice of Spencer Reid pulled you away from mulling over your own feelings, and you give him an animated sway of your head back and forth as a silent communication of you not falling in either emotional direction.

It truly was fascinating how removed you were from everything, and as twisted and convoluted as it might sound, Spencer wasn’t looking forward to your departure from accompanying the team. It meant that he didn’t get to speak to you anymore. Didn’t get to slowly peel away the layers of protection you’d built over your psyche so that he could pry at your inner workings.

And he didn’t exactly mind having you around. But that was something he was going to keep to himself for a multitude of reasons.

“It’s all too over the top for my taste,” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, stretching your arms above your head. “Here, it’s the one with the ponytail’s,” You hold the cell phone out between your thumb and index finger like it might give you a disease if you hold it properly.

“Why-” Spencer starts his question and is immediately interrupted by your answer. “She gave it to me to message one of you where we were,”

So it was you who’d messaged him then. He thought the punctuation was different.

“Right, that makes sense,” He takes the phone from you with an awkward smile as he puts it away in his back pocket. “Thank you,”

You give him a short hum in reply, crossing your arms over your torso and leaning back and forth on the balls of your feet like you were becoming bored with just standing around. You’d just been a potential hostage at knife point and then watched someone graphically commit suicide specifically to gain your attention and less than five minutes after it was over you were looking for something new to capture your attention.

It utterly fascinated him. You were fascinating.

And you were leaving.

Literally.

You were walking away, obviously having had enough of Spencer’s silence and wandering off to find Hotch and maybe experience something more enticing.

“Hey-” Spencer called out to you as you began to walk away, and you stopped with a glance over your shoulder and a raised eyebrow. “What are you feeling right now?”

You stuff your hands in your pockets at his question, turning 180 degrees to face him once more with a slightly furrowed expression as you tried to figure out the motive behind his question.

“I wonder if she saw the afterlife.”

Spencer’s shoulders drop at your admission, his expression morphing into a mix of understanding and confusion, contradiction written all over his features.

You seemed more objectively curious than humanly concerned, but you still were curious nonetheless.

That was another fascinating part about you, or just about sociopaths in general, he supposes. But he wasn’t speaking to every sociopath in existence, he was speaking to you. So it was less about sociopathy and more about you specifically.

“Do you think she saw the afterlife?”

“Logically, she didn’t have any eyes so she wasn’t ‘seeing’ anything, but metaphorically I’d like to believe so,”

Spencer has to stifle a surprised laugh at your morbid joke about Nueves’ condition, pressing his lips into a tight line with a small nod as he tried to focus on the second part of your statement. “Me too,”

There was a small sense of deja vu surrounding your conversation as the two of you fell into a mutual silence, hastily interrupted by Hotch calling the two of you to gather with the rest of the team now that the case was officially over.

You noticed the distaste in Emily’s gaze immediately, looks like you’ve gained yourself another detractor. She and Morgan stood side by side with matching expressions as the two of you joined them, although neither had time to make any comments as the team loaded up in the SUVs to head back to the station.

It was rather hard to believe it’d only been six days in Las Flores, but dates don’t lie, and by the time you stepped back onto the BAU’s private jet, it felt like you’d only left it for a matter of hours.

Nueves’ face was fading from your mind by now, as was her name, and as you plopped yourself down on the same seat you’d occupied on your flight from Quantico, you’d almost forgotten that she even existed.

Your mind was more preoccupied with what was going to happen next. You were going to fly back to Quantico, be recovered by California state officials, and taken back to the concrete hell of the California Correctional Institution until your appeal to be moved to an inpatient psychiatric care facility was considered and ultimately rejected because they still deemed you ‘too dangerous’ to be around vulnerable individuals despite sharing mental issues with a lot of them.

Spencer gave you an awkward wave as he walked down the aisle of the cabin and stopped at the seat opposite you, hoping the movement would grab your attention.

“Do you-” He half gestures to the seat facing you with his hand, and you dismissively wave him into it as you return your attention to the window. “Thanks…”

You give him a hum at his politeness but otherwise remain uninterested in his presence, fastening the seat belt over your lap as the jet pilots prepare for the five-hour flight back to Quantico.

“What’re you thinking about?” Spencer abandons his original plan to sleep through the entire flight the second he sees the pondering in your expression.

You glanced at Spencer, contemplating whether to confide in him about your concerns. Out of everyone, he was probably the one person you’d met on the team who seemed genuinely interested in your experiences. He was one of the few who could understand the complexities of your situation. With a sigh, you decided to open up a little, "Just thinking about what happens now. Back to the concrete hell of my enclosure I guess.”

“I thought you were appealing the decision? That’s why you agreed to help, isn’t it? So the officials are more likely to accept your appeal?” Spencer tilts his head slightly in your direction, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he curled his legs under him in his chair.

“You really think that it’s actually going to do anything?” Your voice is dripping in sarcasm as you let your head fall back against the seat. “They’re seething enough that I didn’t get the death penalty, there’s no way they’re going to cut my sentence,”

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” Spencer blinks at you with a mildly furrowed expression. “You’re not an active threat to anybody, and having the help that you need could greatly improve your quality of life,”

“Yeah well you’re not the person who’s going to be analysing my case, so your opinion doesn’t really matter in the greater span of things does it, Dr. Reid?” Your tone carries no malice in your statement, although it comes off much more rude than he’s sure you mean it to be.

His opinion could matter. He knows that as a part of the evaluation you’ll have to go through Hotch will have to write a report on how you acted during the case. Maybe he could put in a few extra things he’d experienced with you. He’s sure that the psychiatrist assessing whether you were actively violent would benefit from knowing how much you adored your parents, how you wondered if your childhood pet was in the afterlife and how you engaged in a genuine emotional conversation with him despite all of your social stunts from your disorder.

You obviously still had your humanity, so he didn’t see why they wouldn’t allow you to have the facilities to improve your mental state to a point where one day you could possibly be a functioning member of society, or at least be in a position to help researchers understand more about your condition.

“Having optimism about an upcoming situation has proved to actually affect the outcome of said situation, with 36% of people who had been optimistic about negative situations physically affecting the outcome of those situations based on their outlook alone,” Spencer presses his lips into a line, another one of those awkward smiles that you’d become used to over your time with him.

“I prefer realism, but I suppose I’ll take that into account,”

“That’s all I can ask,” Spencer gives a soft exhale at your inadvertent agreement to take his advice, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll visit you once your appeal has gone through,” The statement fell out of his mouth without any real thought behind it, simply a reflection of his brain deciding he wasn’t quite done with your company yet despite the case officially being over.

“Of course you will,”

Spencer gives a short laugh of mild embarrassment. “Of course I will.”

[anas-somewhat-blog]

Book review

Books read since the last time i posted

Things we never got over from tbr

Behind the net Kindle unliminted

The Cock down the lock KU

She was made for me KU

The Shrt second life of Bree Tanor tbr

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Things we never got over -⭐⭐⭐⭐

It's really gold. I loved it, but after reading some comments, I realized that the book really has some bih flaws, so icant to give it 5 stars, but 4 will do. Btw I loved the sex scenes. - GOODREADS

Esentialy the book was good and i did like it but i is very misogynistic and gives of asshole vibes. I didnt realise that the book is so much dipped into misoginy till i went trough the comments on GR. That really gave me an ick so i took 1 star away.

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Behind the net - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Oh wow this book was really good like my God. Big recomend. The sex scenes were really hot. I know its a hockey romance but i found it recomended as a smut book and trust me it delivered. NGL i was really surprised when they had a scene where he while he was eating her out started playing with her ass and then led up to her butthole and asked her if her ex ever did this, she said no and then he asked her if he could do it and her going PLEASE. Digga was?! I was genuenly like no way were getting anal at the end of the book, but no we didnt he just played a bit with the nerves and she came for like the 3rd time that day. What to say folks, what to say. Anyway im looking forward to reading the orher books, solid 10/10. I ahv nothuing to complai about, i was getting to the end of the book and i knew sooner or later there needed to be some kind of twist that would make them break up and then get back toether but surprise surprise - nothing. Which btw was very refreshing! Every time i read a book theres somekind of scene where something lifechanging happens that the lovebirds have to break up or go on a break but here , nope all is good, theyre a strong good couple and no issues or problems between them. Really refreshing. - GR

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The Cock on the block - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This book was just amazing i mean from the story to the characters. Ive really enyojed this one. Its a friends to lovers , he falls first, football, fake daring romance and its just wowza. The sexscenes were bomb. The representation of big girls deserve love too was good, not great, at times i found it a bit cringey but it didnt stop me from rating it 5/5. The titrl had me laughing and i didnt think it was going to be better that just that but honestly the book is a must read.

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She was made for me - ⭐

God was this bad. I picked this book up cause 1. It was on kindle unlimited so I didn't have to pay for it, 2. The description of the book was intriguing, not the title ( the title is misogynistic and something coming from wattpad) , age gap, fathers friend . I really thought and was hopping that the book would end with them going separate ways but no NO ! FFS THEY SATH TOGETHER IN THIS DISGUSTING RELATIONSHIPS! HE COULD BE HER FATHER. 20 YEARS AGE GAP. I thought it was gonna be like 10 at most cause her dad is a lawyer so maybe a lawyer friend , I was right and wrong , ex lawyer friend and gap 20 years. Ugh. The amounts of times I've gagged while reading this , the word sweetheart has officially landed on my black list and my husband isn't alowed to call me that till I forget this book exists. 🙃 Just some quotes that had me gagg are : -You take me so well. -You were made for me . -How can I become a good girl again. -Sweetheart -Best friends daughter -my seed driving down her thighs -she's clenching her thighs so my seed doesn't dripp out - (puts a finger in her ass ) you like that I swear all of these are 100x worse when the fact that he's 20 years older than her hits your head. How disgusting can it be. And the fact that he's convinced that it wasn't him who initiated all this but actually she forced him to have sex with her is delulu to its fullest. How delulu can you be to even think you resisted her but she kept pushing and you had to fuck her. All she did was go on a date with a guy and said she's go on a second one as well and you deciding no you won't and I won't let you and then fucking her ... not her fault. Yes she did want it but talk about DADY ISSUES MUCH . You can't tell me that in the 43 years that you've been alive you never heard of Daddy issues, you could have smelled them a mile away , even if she had been 30 when u met and thought she's 30 and not 24 , that woman would still have daddy issues . How delulu can one be. And her being desperate for that dick is comical, first man who shows interest in you in a long time and you jump on that train like there's no other connection. The only person with a smudge of a brain cell was her dad when he put 2 and 2 together , cursed Kyle out saying she's my baby girl, she's 20 years younger than you , how could you , etc. I swear the yurika I felt when I read that was HUGE, cause finally someone in this God damn book is saying that it's disgusting 🫣 and awful to be hearing that your best friend of so many years has fucked your daughter in the house that you own while he was on the job that you gave him. And all that goes for nothing cause the dad losses his final brain cell as well and 1 month later is ok with everything and even APOLOGISED to the man who fucked your daughter because it wasn't right. I swear all of the ppl in this book are extremely delulu. All of em. I swear I'm never picking up a book writen by who ever wrote this , I don't even wanna know what person could have written this and went yeah that's good , I'm proud of it. You're glorifying misogyny with all these , she's mine , she'll be mine , my seed driving down her thigh , DISGUSTING, not to mention relationships where the power dynamic is WAY OFF. Yeah a 25 yo is mature enough to be w a 43 yo, Def no power imbalance there , she's her own woman and can make decisions for herself, how mental can you be ?!?!?!?!?!? - GR

Only thing i can add to this is that i cant believe that this book has a rating of 4,16 on goodreads (4,19 before i gave it a 1/5). The coments were all positive, only 1 negative. I mean great for the author but eww. It really is a mess of a book and i feel if it stays i its designated demografic its gonna continue to thrive and shine but if it blows up it deff wont be because it so good, its deff gonna be because of the problematic toppics and in general everything.

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The Short Life of Bree Tanor - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This book just held me by my troath and didnt let go till the end. What do i say about a book where i knew that the mc was gonna die at the end. The book is read as a whole stry, no chaptors no nothing. Its very real, belivable , just really sucks you back into the twilight universe and as mentiond at the beginning it grabs you by the troatha and doesnt let go. The story was just amazing and emotional and raw, real and pure. We get to experiance what bree felt in those last few weeks of her life, explaining how she came to be, what got her there and how she managed to survive in a pack of newborns that only had the instinkt to kill. The very short , hopefull romace between Bree and Diego that def had a future but lasted roughly a few days was heartbreaking. I really hoped that diego didnt die and that he was actually still on the mission of spying on the cullens but as we get to find out , its a lie and diego died a painfull death . The last moments of brees life were intense and just torture, and once her death came it gave her what she so desperatly needed -PEACE.

[peachbear88]

The Greatest Love Story

A/N: Inspired by this lovely image I saw. I'm making this into a high school angst AU that takes place in like the 1900's. For the record, I know Steve isn't a bad person but this is an AU and I need one of those... You know, guys for this story so.... Yeah! Sorry! BTW, the second poem is not written by me, it's written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and I stole some quotes from Shakespeare.

Warnings: Angst, homophobia, swearing, character death.

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Reader

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You scale the ancient wooden stairs of your small school. avoiding eye contact with anyone. The stares you receive from others are painfully obvious as you speed walk towards the library, seeking shelter from the judgmental glances from your peers.

"Hello dear," the kind librarian greets you as you walk past her towards your corner of the library.

You don't respond, quickly ducking behind the massive shelves, hoping to spend as much time as possible in your safe space before the classes start. Placing back your old books, you scan the shelves, until a particular title catches your eye.

"Love Poems by Women?" You murmur, flipping through the worn pages.

----------

A giant dusty book lands on the librarian's desk, making her look up.

"May I take this out?" You ask, your tone emotionless, cold yet tentative. The librarian smiles gently at you handing you back the book.

"Of course dear. Happy reading." You give her a small, thankful smile before dashing out of the library door. The halls are partially empty, save for the kids that skip class, hanging around in the hallways and dark alleys after school.

You duck your head, avoiding eye contact as you pass the group leaning against the lockers, most importantly, the hazel eyed beauty that could snap your neck in half, Yelena Belova.

"Hey!" Your head snaps up. Big mistake. You lock eyes with the famed blonde and you drop your head immediately, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Y-Yes?"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She snaps. You peek at her from the corner of your eye, her sleek dress pants catching your eye.

"Interesting outfit choice," you note before you can stop yourself.

"What did you say?" She demands and you gulp, backing away.

"N-nothing." She slowly steps towards you, backing you into the lockers.

"Get to class. And don't ever let me see you again идиот (idiot)." You hurry down the hall towards your classroom, tripping in the process as you repeatedly look over your shoulder, watching as Yelena turns back to her friend group.

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"She was cute," Natasha points out as Yelena reclaims her spot leaning against the lockers. "Why do you feel the need to tease her so relentlessly?" Yelena rolls her eyes, grabbing the flask of vodka back from her sister.

"She's annoying. I don't like her." Natasha smirks.

"Sure. Whatever you say."

---------

You let out a sigh of relief when the bell rings.

Your classmates flood out of the classroom, jostling each other aside in their rush to get home. You quickly sprint out the door, eager to get home, safe and sound when a hand grabs you by the arm and pulls you into a dark alley behind the school.

"Hello there girly..." A deep voice says. You gulp. The boy steps into the light to reveal Steve Rogers. One of those people that take pride in hurting others, a bully, your tormenter.

"W-what do you want?" He smirks, stepping closer to you.

"Well, a little birdie told me that someone had an encounter with a specific blonde this morning." You flinch when he grabs you by the throat, pinning you to the wall. "You wouldn't happen to be... I don't know, one of those dykes would you?" Your eyes widen and you shake your head vigorously as he laughs. "Oh man," he sputters, choking through his laughter. "Wait till the school gets ahold of this-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence because a fist connects with his face, sending him reeling backwards.

"What the-" A strong hand wraps around his throat, pushing him backwards till his back connects with the wall.

"Listen to me you маленькое дерьмо (little shit), if you ever even think about coming near her again, I will sneak into your house at night, gut you like the fish you are and paint the school with them." Yelena warns in a surprisingly calm voice. Steve's eyes widen and he nods his head frantically until she lets go.

"Crazy bitch!" He spits, backing away quickly. You shuffle your feet, looking down at the ground as she watches him run.

"T-thank you." You mutter, not daring to look her in the eye. She sighs.

"This better not become a daily thing Y/L/N." You nod feebly. "Get out of here." You quickly pick your bag back up and sprint out of the alley, leaving Yelena by herself,

---------

"I'm home mom!"

"Welcome home sweetie!" Your mom pokes her head out of the living room.

"How's your book going?"

"As great as a woman writing a book can be." She chuckles forcibly. There's an awkward silence before she continues. "Your father came by today." She pauses as you swallow, feeling like something lodged itself in your throat.

"And what did he want?" She frowns at your tone.

"Sweetie, I know you don't like him but he's still your fa-"

"I don't have a dad," you growl, picking up your bag. "My dad died when he chose to abandon us." She watches as you climb up the stairs, sighing and rubbing her temple.

---------

You flop onto your bed, dropping the thick dusty buck onto the bed. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading through the poems until your mom calls you down for dinner.

It's an awkward dinner, quiet, only the sounds of dishes, chewing and utensils filling the room.

"I'm going to bed." You say after washing the dishes, not bothering to wait for a response.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of your room.

"Love poems by women." You mutter, an idea popping into your head. You quickly sit up, flicking on your lamp and pulling out the book and a pen.

----------

"Good morning dear," the librarian greets you like she does every morning.

"I'd like to return this book." You reply coldly, passing her the book once again. She smiles gently at you.

"I hope you enjoyed your reading." She says while passing you, returning the book to its original shelf.

-----------

"Hello hon, can I help you with anything?" The librarian asks the dirty-blonde haired girl.

"No, thank you." The girl sends the librarian a tight lipped smile before returning her attention to the shelves. A ripped leather cover catches her attention. Love Poems by Women. She smiles, pulling the book from the shelf. Flipping open to the title page, a neat cursive catches her eyes.

Love flows between beings Gift from the gods Curse from the demons The missing part of every person Destined to be opposites Love is flexible Yet some seek to objectify love Love is not for the weak willed. - Aristophanes

The blonde haired girl hums, pulling a pen from her jacket's pocket and discreetly writing in the book, right next to the poem.

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

Terrible.

That's the only way to describe your day. You received your essay back, ecstatic to see that you had received an A. Steve on the other hand had absolutely flunked. Instead of dedicating his time to studying, he decided to beat you up as a way of taking out his frustration.

You ended up limping out of the women's toilet, your leg flaring up whenever you moved, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

"Hi sweetcheeks," the librarian murmurs, her eyes trailing down your injured leg.

"'Ello." You quickly duck behind the shelves, pulling out the book you were looking for. Your brows scrunch together in confusion as you see a messier scrawl next to your handwriting.

Reality hits hard

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

- Orpheus

You smile letting a light laugh slip from your lips. A sweet titter revealing the little girl underneath your cold, traumatized exterior.

Quickly, you grab your pen from your pocket and begin scribbling.

-----------

The air is knocked from your body as your back makes contact with the floor.

"Listen here dyke. I don't like you alright," Steve growls into your ear as Tony cracks his knuckles. "So here's what's going to happen: Everyday you're going to meet us here and," he pauses, cracking his neck. "Help us relive some stress." He smiles wickedly before punching you in the stomach, making you double over in pain.

Your eyes flutter shut as they deliver blow after blow 'till they finally stop. You tentatively open your eyes to see Yelena tackling Steve to the ground as Tony stares at them, eyes wide.

"I. Told. You. To. Leave. Her. Alone!" She screams, pummeling Steve with her fists. He groans, unmoving. You watch in terror as Tony picks up a trash can lid, sneaking up behind her as she punches Steve in the face.

"Watch out!" You scream, taking Tony as well yourself by surprise. She looks up to see you slamming into Tony sending him flying into the nearby wall of the alley.

He crumples, unconscious.

"Are you okay?" You mumble, limping towards Yelena, who's clutching a blood gash on her arm.

"'M fine,' she grits out. You shake your head, grabbing her wrist. She flinches but doesn't push you away.

"You're not okay. Let me help you." You plead. She stays silent and you quickly take her silence as a yes, leading her to the front steps of your home. You rummage through your back pack, finding a large wrap of bandages that you kept after your daily beating from Rogers and his friends.

She winces as you wrap her wound swiftly.

"Gentle!" She growls and you stare back at her defiantly.

"Well maybe if you would stop moving, it'd hurt less!" You retort and she shuts up, staring off into the distance. You dab the cut with a small bit of alcohol before wrapping the bandage all around her arm.

"Thank you." She whispers, giving you a small smile. Reaching out, she gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you flinch back. You quickly, shovel the bandages and medicinal alcohol back into your pack, not noticing the hurt look on her face.

"No problem. The least I could do since you saved me." You reply bluntly, swinging the bag over your shoulder and slipping through the door.

"Wait-" She sighs as the door slams shut in front of her.

You exhale, leaning against the door as you try to catch your breath.

-----------

Yelena sighs exasperatedly, tugging at the collar of her dress shirt.

"What's wrong little sis?" Natasha smirks, plopping down next to her.

"I got hurt and Y/N patched me up." Natasha jumps up, eyes wide.

"You stained your new shirt?" She groans shaking Yelena violently. "God I'm going to kill you!" Yelena grabs her sister, stopping her.

"You're missing the point!"

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Nat challenges, flopping back down on to the couch.

"She patched me up!" Nat's eyes widen.

"Oh. Oh." She inches closer to her sister, nudging her playfully, much to Yelena's dislike. "So are y'all like," she winks at her sister insinuatingly. "A thing?" Yelena scrunches her brows in confusion.

"A thing?" Nat rolls her eyes, sidling closer to her.

"Yes. A thing. An item? Lovers?" She shrugs, missing the way Yelena blushes.

"In her dreams," Yelena snorts, leaning back into the couch.

"If you say so..."

-----------

"Morning pumpkin!" The librarian chirps.

The blonde girl ignores her, breezing past her towards the the shelves at the very back, peeking over her shoulder quickly before pulling an old, leather bound book from the shelf.

She flips the leather cover aside to reveal the title page. Next to her messy, distorted scrawl was a neat, distinctive cursive once again.

Speak low if you speak love

- Aristophanes

She smiles gently, chuckling as she shakes her head.

"Shakespeare of all people," she whispers, her accent thickening. Pulling a forgotten pen from the shelves, she begins writing,

-----------

The highlight of your day became going to the library and reading the little messages scrawled in between the margins of the book by Orpheus. Like:

If music be the food of love, play on

Or

Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love.

They made you smile on a daily basis, sometimes even eliciting a rare light laugh.

"Good morning sweetpea." The librarian greets you, not expecting a response. To her surprise and yours, you muster a small smile and a wave.

"Hello." You can feel the librarians shocked eyes following you as you round the bookshelf corner to find Steve, eyes wide, mouth open in shock as he stares down at something in his hands.

Your heart plummets. A book with a soft leather cover, yellowed pages. The book of poems.

You lunge for it but he step sides you swiftly, raising the book above his head.

"Speak low if you speak of love huh? I'm not surprised you know Shakespeare, you're such a nerd." He sneers, waving the book above his head.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." You stutter, backing up. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, lifting you into the air.

"Don't fuck with me!" He growls, dropping the book and kicking it to the side. "Who's Orpheus?"

"G-Greek hero. Musician." You stutter and he slaps you, hard. You can feel your cheek swelling under his fiery gaze.

"Don't even try me. Who. Is. Orpheus?"

"I don't know, I swear!" You mutter, wincing when you accidentally bite your cheek.

He drops you, watching as you scramble to your feet, backing away.

"This isn't over you little shit. I'll be back for you," he warns, giving your book one last kick for good measure before storming out of the library with Tony and Bucky on his heels.

You fall to your knees, silently sobbing as you crawl over too the book, dusting it off and hugging it to your chest.

Yelena sighs, her heart breaking as she watches you curl around the book protectively, lying on the floor.

-----------

"Where are you going?"

Yelena turns to find Nat, leaning against the school stairwell doorway, watching her.

"Just up to the roof. Need some fresh air," she lies, avoiding Nat's gaze. Nat lifts Yelena's chin up, staring into her eyes, boring into her very soul. Yelena squirms under her gaze until she finally lets go.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She smiles sadly at her little sister. "Just-" Her voice cracks as she pats her sister's shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry. I won't." She gives Nat a brief hug before hiking her pants up and starting up the stairs.

-----------

"Ah, well look who decided to join the party!" You look up from the ground to see Yelena, your eyes clouded with pain.

"No..." You croak but Steve pays no attention to you.

"Come to save your love Yelena?" He sneers, dropping you to the ground. "Or should I say... Orpheus?" Your eyes widen as you watch him advance towards her, pushing her closer to the edge of the roof.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She deadpans and Steve chuckles.

"Sure. If you won't admit, I'll just have to settle for destroying you from the inside out instead." He grabs her by the arm. "I haven't forgotten what you did to me." He points at a long thin scar along his jawline.

You watch as Tony sneaks up from behind Yelena, striking her with a metal bar. She crumples, falling to her knees.

"Hold her." Steve directs and Bucky dutifully grabs you by the arms. He holds Yelena's chin in between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "Now you watch as I destroy the one thing you love the most." Tony tosses his the metal bar and Steve prepares himself before swinging it like a baseball bat.

There's a sickening crunch followed by your scream as the bar makes contact with your ribs.

"Stop!" She struggles, her eyes never leaving your broken body as he hits you over and over again. "Please! Leave her alone!"

Steve smiles evilly, locking eyes with her before swinging the bat again. Another scream. Blood trickles down your face from your nose.

"Is that right? Did the famous Yelena Belova just beg me?" He smiles cruelly before pushing you down on your back, his foot on your chest. You scream as he increases the pressure, your broken ribs digging into your lungs.

Yelena screams, kicking Tony's legs out from under him before punching Steve in the jaw. She grabs the iron bar before it hits the ground, clobbering Bucky in the stomach before kicking Steve in the stomach.

"ты сука (you bitch)!" She steps on his face swiftly, taking satisfaction in the groan of pain he emits before turning to you, gently cradling your face.

"Wow... That was pretty badass," you mumble and she laughs, tearing up. You reach out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Don't cry." She frowns.

"I'm not crying."

"You are too." You smile, wincing in pain. "I didn't know you knew Shakespeare."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let this happen." You frown, caressing her face, forcing her to look at you.

"Hey, hey. It's fine. Don't worry. I'll be fine." You attempt to smile reassuringly but it comes out as more of a grimace. "Listen, if I don't make it-"

"Don't say that! You can't leave me!"

"Shush, listen you thickheaded poet. If I don't make it, go back to the book." You instruct her. She frowns but you can her off. "Promise me."

"But-"

"Promise me."

"I promise..."

"Good." You smile at her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, your eyesight blurring. "Wait for me okay?" Your eyes flutter shut.

"No! No Y/N! Come back!" She shakes you roughly, sobbing when you don't respond.

----------

Yelena watches as your body is carted off under a white sheet. Nat stands to the side, watching as her sister stares off into the distance, all life drained from her body.

Go back to the book.

She stands, slowly trailing towards the library, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks caked with dry tears.

"Hi dear," the librarian greets her, discreetly wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "What a shame. She was a lovely girl."

"She really was the best." Yelena agrees quietly, giving the librarian a small, comforting pat on the back before moving to the back of the library where she finds the book, lying on the floor.

Yelena,

I believe that we are the greatest love poem ever written. I love you always,

Y/N

A choked sob escapes her lips as she stares at the page. You knew. You knew the whole time and you didn't even say anything. A pair of soft arms wrap around Yelena's stomach as she lets go of the dam, her cries echoing throughout the library.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm sorry...

----------

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

[leviiattacks]

heyyy there, saw your requests are open. and i'm wondering maybe you could do a timeskip where everything is done and levi finally opened his tea shop. then there he met reader, and he treats them differently from other customers. thank you, hope you're having a good day.

author note :: this was kinda rushed as is most of what i post. the reader is a writer just bc i thought it would be cute and also ISTG. i wrote this entire thing thinking leviolas was such a cool name for a tea shop then googled it and saw it’s also the name of a spider so... ++ btw i have not yet double checked or proofread this because i wrote it at 2am but yeah it’s definitely not great :-) word count :: 2.4k??? somehow???

you’re sweet like honey when you first order from leviolas. you’re the same when you ask the owner for extra napkins and you remain exactly the same when you return with the intention to stick around for a writing session with a black tea by your side

something about you is attractive. that’s what levi thinks of you when you first walk into leviolas

you’re just incredibly wholesome poking your head around looking at all of the handmade pastries and confectioneries in admiration

you think the homely decor is cute and reminiscent of cottages in the countryside, the view outside the windows is beautiful and the scent of coffee alongside tea is heavenly

the pastries are beautiful and you find yourself eyeing the macrons pretty frequently. just EVERYTHING about leviolas is cute :-(

but one particular thing is especially adorable to you

and that would be the owner

when you hear his name for the first time you’re a little shocked

levi ackerman to be specific captain levi ackerman, the high ranking official who aided in paradis’ independence and freed the nation from the grip of titans

you read about him a year back in a paper or two and vividly recall the valiant title he held as humanity’s strongest soldier

he still holds the title that’s for sure but now he happens to own a tea shop

it’s slightly unusual it’s not every day you see a soldier retire and live such a plain life but you suppose the simplicity makes levi happy

honestly, if you had been through hell and back like him you too would wish to spend the rest of your days in the company of tea leaves and sweet cakes

today is a day like any other you’re sat by one of the windows and contemplating sitting in the outside seating area

the sun is shining and lands uncomfortably on your face at this angle and you may as well make your way outside

but before you can a shadow looms over you and a broad chest leans over to cover the window with dainty curtains

“you looked bothered by the light.”

oh god.

it’s him.

he’s standing there looking at you with an unreadable expression and all you can do is open and close your mouth not knowing what to say

humanity’s strongest soldier

levi ackerman

also known as the really really really attractive cafe owner you’ve been crushing on for the last few months now

seeing him up close is much more different to looking at him from the comfort of your seat or whilst you order

he’s normally got his back turned whilst collecting orders or another worker collects them as he prepares the beverages

that’s why the unexpected interaction has you nervous

you can always tell when he’s made your drink because he honestly has a way with tea leaves and you kinda want to gush about how much you enjoy it

but, no, no, no.

you’re panicking just looking at him

soft black strands of hair stick to his forehead, his undercut is oddly satisfying to stare at and he smells of pine trees which again is refreshing

“ah hahaha thank you for blocking the sun out!!”

why the fuck did you ha ha????

this is so awkward.

putting on your best front you beam up at him hoping your toothy smile doesn’t look stupid

then again it probably does because who the hell has a good toothy smile

nobody.......

levi’s gaze lingers on you but if he has anything else he wants to say he doesn’t make it known

instead he firmly nods and turns away

you’ve messed up,,

only!!! you manage to mess up even more....?

without thinking your hand latches onto the back of his blue button up and your face burns up realizing what it is you’ve done when he stiffens to a stop

as quick as your hand has grabbed onto his shirt it lets go and you awkwardly laugh again

hahahahaha

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to hold onto you so hard i was just...wondering if you could let me in on your secret.”

the random sentence is one you’ve made off the top of your head because you don’t have any real reason for holding onto him

but thankfully for you the saccharine of your voice is enough to sway levi

when he turns to see you with the same smile eagerly awaiting his answer something sparks in him

his chest feels a little funny but he ignores it

“secret?” he questions

“yeah!! your tea!! you’re really good at making it and aaaahhhh” you sigh contently thinking back on it.

“i remember when i ordered rose tea one time. you made it beautifully and the taste was infused so delicately it was incredibly soothing.”

hearing you ramble passionately about what he loves to do makes his chest feel funny again

he doesn’t know what the hell is going on exactly

but the only way he can explain it is his heart somersaulting and flipping despite him not wanting it to

despite that, it’s quite enjoyable

it’s probably got something to do with your kindhearted demeanor or the way you always manage to give him a smile when you waltz in

but levi finds himself fighting to touch you more and more as the days pass

your collar is always haphazardly done and he wants to lean in and fix it

sometimes you’ll have an eyelash on your face and he wants to lean in to swipe it away with his thumb

occasionally he stares at your hair and wants to sort it out. half the time it’s all over the place from the wind

he wants to lean in and smooth it out.

all he wants to do is LEAN IN but he sees no valid reason to

he’s lucky he’s always able to catch himself before his thumb reaches your cheek (you’re very oblivious and never notice how close he really gets)

ever since your first encounter at leviolas a few months back he’s been dragged into your world of books and lively stories

it doesn’t take you long to break out of your shell and you’re always telling levi something new

he doesn’t speak as much as you but when you coax out a story or two out of him he’s always earnest

you’ve learnt a lot through the conversations

you’ve learnt about his lost comrades, the horrible things he had to see on the battlefield, how he hopes he’ll live happy with what he has left

there are certain conversation topics he skips entirely and you respect his boundaries

you and levi are sat by a window and a comfortable silence floats between you two

it’s been four months

four months since you asked what his secret was

come to think of it he never told you what it was

he’s intently staring at you as you drink the lemon tea he’s just made you and his stare is a little too intense

feeling nervous you pick up your cup hoping for something to occupy yourself

recently the butterflies in your stomach have been increasing in number but you know it’s wrong to fancy levi

you don’t know why you think that but it’s the fact that you’re sure you’re not his type

he probably likes organised people, dependable people, funny people

not you.

you’re just an irksome author who spends your days writing in his shop

honestly he finds you annoying he has to. you’re always hanging around here

however, you do remember the one day you did choose to write in the park he thought you had died or something. that made you feel a little sad because he can’t really help but automatically worry if his routine is broken and you happen to have accidentally become part of his schedule

no, like levi’s literally said he has your name in his planner and whenever he thinks of a new thing to make you he’ll write it down with your name next to it

but still,, you’re convinced he has to find you annoying

there’s no reason for thinking it but you DEFINITELY think it’s correct

absentmindedly you haven’t even noticed levi still staring at you

“y/n?”

looking up at levi he’s clearly worried about something

humming in response telling him to continue he does

“i like someone.”

oh.

“...i’m not sure they’d return my feelings, that’s why i mentioned it.”

you smile at him warmly and you feel your heart sink, obviously he has to like someone. it’s probably someone in the corps, someone strong, someone capable. you’re not any of those things.

“well, you need not worry. if a man as good as you fancied me i’d be over the moon. i’m sure they would too!”

keep optimistic, don’t let him see you upset.

levi’s cheeks grow bright red and he bashfully tries to hide his embarrassment by covering his face with his hands

you laugh when he doesn’t budge and stays in the same position 

“c’mon levi, confess they’ll accept you have nothing to fear.” you coo persuasively

finally letting up after a few seconds he lets his arms drop to his sides.

“would you date me?”

the question takes you aback and you stare at him startled

soon realizing the idiocy laced in the inquiry he quickly retracts his statement

“nevermind, that was stupid.”

ignoring him you still want to answer

“uh well, i would. i have thought about it on occasion.”

he’s blinking rapidly trying to process what you’ve just admitted.

“you’ve thought about...?”

“dating you. yes i have.”

“and why the hell would you do that?” you can’t tell if he’s mad at you

“you’re capable, respectful. you’re considerate and quiet. i mean it you’re an amazing man really. also your tea!! imagine getting to drink it every day.”

you really have to add in the part about his tea because you know he loves it when you compliment it :-)

“ok, you drink my tea every day already.”

his short uninterested response stings and the dam of regret bursts open 

you shouldn’t have said all of that.

you and levi sit in an awkward silence for what feels like an eternity. you don’t dare look at him and your course of action is too drink your tea as quick as possible before dismissing yourself.

but before you can set your plan in motion levi breaks the ice.

“let’s date.”

you freeze and your eyes grow to the size of saucers

what did he just say???

he has to be losing his mind

“but levi what about the person you like?”

his eyebrow cocks upwards and an amused expression stretches across his face.

“i was talking about you.” he confesses boldly

this is a fever dream, nope, nope nope. you can not comprehend that this is your reality.

pinching your arm you hiss a little when you feel the pain

okay so, you’re definitely not dreaming...

“i, you, me. you...you like me?” the sentence is a jumble of words but you manage to sputter out something that makes sense

“yes. i like you.”

he’s being so blunt you can’t tell if he’s being serious but when you remind yourself that this is levi you relax, a blunt straightforward confession is meaningful coming from him 

BUT THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT

HELLO???? HE LIKES YOU BACK?%^%^”*

you get all blushy and flustered and you let out another one of your awkward hahahahaha’s but it’s a good hahahahaha

cautiously testing the waters he grabs your hand from across the table intertwining his fingers with yours

the gesture is adorable. the buzzing sensation that travels through your laced fingers makes you giggle to yourself giddily

“leviolas suddenly a matchmaking agency now? ;-)” your joke is dry and unfunny and levi rolls his eyes at it 

“you’re not funny.”

“but you still like me.” you tease

“yes. i still like you.” he admits

a few days have passed since then

you and levi have been the talk of the town 

humanity’s strongest soldier finally found his flame???

the chatter and rumors spread like wildfire, both you and levi aren’t fans of being in the spotlight but nothing negative has been said so there’s no complaints so far

levi places a cup of tea in front of you, it’s a herbal kind because you’ve been complaining about a headache

today you’re explaining why you dislike the plot of beauty and the beast and how there’s so much wrong with it. from the weirdly toxic relationship to the power imbalance. levi stands listening attentively whilst waiting for you to take a sip of the tea

just as you’ve paused to take a large breathe and prepare yourself to continue explaining how unbearable that book is levi uses it as his chance to say what he’s been wanting to 

“drink up before it’s ice cold.”

following his instructions you interrupt yourself and take a gulp of the herbal tea

your eyes glimmer in approval. it tastes of strawberries and you’re delighted already feeling your mood slightly raise in response

“it’s GREAT?? what did you put in it?? it doesn’t even taste medicinal.” once again, you’re fawning over his tea

“so levi ackerman, what really is the secret to all these perfect cups of tea?”

and without a seconds hesitation he responds.

“i was making the tea for you. that’s the secret.”

it takes a while for the gravity of his words to sink it but when the meaning does you cup his face in your palms and peck him everywhere. he whines a little but you can tell he enjoys the attention

you find that you’re more than happy you’ve found a home in levi and his shop

and levi’s more than happy he’s found a home in you and your books

:-)

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, jbsaucy!

Happy belated Birthday, @jbsaucy​! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 16th, and that you celebrated in style! To bring your party back around, the lovely @mega-aulover​ has written a story just for you!

For this year, I am recently divorced and trying to get the nerve up to get out there. So I would like to request a 30/40s Everlark, post divorced meeting

Jbsaucy

Dear Jbsaucy I hope you had a wonderful birthday. I apologize for the lateness, and I hope you had a wonderful day. This prompt BTW was amazing and I had a great time writing it. It was a blast. Thank you to Norbertsmom for Betaing 

Rated T 

Title:  OFF THE MARKET

-kpkpkpkp-

Divorce sucks. SUCKS.

Getting divorced sucks, being divorced sucked.

But nothing, not the tedious nature of dividing unwanted movies, the fear of root canals, or getting a speeding ticket, compared to dating. Dating, ladies and gentlemen, after being married for ten years sucked royally. 

ROYALLY!

After my divorce, my attorney suggested I get a hobby or join a club. I really wasn’t a social person. Not much of a talker, and avoided any and all spotlights. It was this fear of the spotlight that originally brought me in contact to my now ex-husband, Darius.

My best friend Gale pushed me to do one of those karaoke nights. I panicked and ran straight into Darius. He thought I was cute, and I was grateful he went up with me to the karaoke microphone. He sang and I laughed. The rest is history; the marriage only lasted ten years. But I knew we weren’t right for one another, partially because Darius was a very sexual person, for me sex wasn’t important. I got more enjoyment out of getting my teeth cleaned. He found someone who revved his engine and I got the fica and dates. 

Yup Dates.

How did that happen you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you I followed my divorce attorney’s suggestion. Preface-OUTSIDE OF A COURTROOM NEVER EVER FOLLOW YOUR DIVORCE ATTORNEY’S ADVICE.

With that warning sign, I digress. Taking a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Wait for it... I joined a book club. 

It was the only natural course of action. After our divorce I got all of the books. You see one of the things Darius and I loved to do was go to bookstores. We’d buy all of these books with the intention of reading them, and we never did. We had bookshelves filled with books from the 100 Must-Read Classic Books by Penguin. So after my divorce, I sat in my newly minted apartment with a box of wine and all of these books. 

I was looking at the boxes, my divorce papers jutting out. Amongst them there was a note - with the name of a book club, the real 451 book club, with an address. I called them the Squad 451 or the Squad. The women were a hodgepodge of personalities; the right blend of sweet and crazy. There is Mags, the motherly type. She has boatloads of grandchildren. Then there is her neighbor Greasy Sae  who runs a diner in town. I used to go to her diner as a kid and consume her mystery meat soups. The older woman is bawdy and half of the things she says makes me blush redder than a red bean. Next is Annie, a shy, slightly mad girl who is a librarian. Delly has the personality of the southern bell who wears pink and believes in romance. I’ve known of Delly forever; she and I went to the same high school. 

Foxface,  has one of those names with multiple consonants and vowels but prefers to go by Foxy or Foxface. She is freakishly smart and sometimes, I think she has blackmarket dealings because she’s so secretive. Then there is Effie, the middle aged, tightly wound woman whose book choices are as repressed as she is, like Jane Eyre. And last, but not least, is my divorce lawyer, yes the very same one who suggested I get a hobby, Johanna Mason who is, well, a sex fiend. 

I started meeting up with them, and six months after my divorce, that’s when the ladies conspired against me and set up my profile on one of those dating websites looking for men, for me. I had no idea, and on my birthday, they presented me with their “gift.” 

It was the gift you didn’t want, like a pimple on your wedding day or the runs before an important interview, or bad breath before a first kiss. 

Greasy said that if I didn’t use my, well, feminine - looks around - petals. That they’ll dry up and turn into ugly petunias. I announced sex wasn’t important, and even friged Effie said a lady needed to literally, figuratively, and metaphorically, occassionally let her hair down. 

 I said NO.

I demanded.

I scowled.

Nothing helped.

They created a profile based upon themselves, and yet through describing themselves they pegged me. I was nurturing. I had a sexy edge. I was introverted, and yet mysterious. I was smart, honest, loyal and a closet romantic. But if you tell anyone that, I’ll hunt you down, even after I’m dead. 

They split me up like a kid of divorced parents being schlepped from one house to the other. They set themselves up in teams and each team got to pick my dates. And everytime we met for a book club meeting, I was to dutifully report on the date. Based upon their success, a second date would be permitted. 

It was a simple proposition. 

I was naive. A stupid idiot, or as Bugs Bunny say’s, a maroon. 

Because I hadn’t really ever been out there. 

To be honest, I met Darius right out of high school, at my first college party, and we were married - okay it wasn’t a big wedding. It really wasn’t a wedding at all. It was a spur of the moment, we got drunk and ended up at one of those Elvis chapel impersonators. Annnnd bada-bing. 

I never really dated, so I agreed with the book club’s plan, because how hard could dating be?

 And thus began my nightmare.

I must state, or emphatically note, not all of my “dates,” were catastrophically bad. To be fair, most of the time I wasn’t interested. Delly said I wasn’t romantically pulled. Johnna said my engine wasn’t revved up. Greasy said if the man didn’t make me want to orgasam with a look, then he wasn’t worth my time. I posed this question to the universe: How in blazing blue inferno does a man make a woman...well you know, with a look? Was that even possible?

A hazy yellow fuzz enters my head and my mind wanders. I conjure up blue eyes and translucent lashes that never tangle.  

Sigh.

…. (my brain just short circuited at the thought of large hands)

Earth to Katniss. 

Okay sorry, I spaced out for a little bit, and their words spurred me on to continue my journey. And one year after my divorcce I had stories, no I have battle scars.  To prove my point, the following are my top three worst dates. In no particular order.  

Date Disaster # 1 was with an artsy type at a chique Italian restaurant. He arrived late, and was drunk, high, or both. Then fell asleep on his plate of bolognese. Yup, in his plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. I paid for my half, tucked my tail between my legs and left.

Date Disaster #2 was with a small man with glasses and a massive intellect who didn’t stop talking about flamingos. FLAMING PINK FLAMINGOS. My brain shut down. I didn’t hear the music in the jazz themed restaurant. I didn’t even taste the heat in the gumbo. The only factoid I remembered when we said goodnight was that flamingos were gray when they were born. I couldn’t even tell you how they became pink. The man was the human form of anesthesia for my soul. 

Date Disaster #3 was a nice man. We laughed. And everything was going well. We ordered drinks, a cranberry and soda for me, the bartender special for him while we waited for our table. Turns out he has a milk allergy and the bartender special had milk. When we sat down at the table and we were talking about our hobbies, his stomach began to grumble loudly. He became pasty and then as the waiter brought out our appetizers, he threw up all over the place. It was a good thing that throwing up didn't bother me, but it bothered our waiter who gagged. Needless to say, I burned the outfit I was wearing.  

Those were the top three...but there were more, just simmering to become the top one. And for a time I thought I wasn’t made to date.  But the ladies had faith and they were really trying to choose nice, interesting guys. However, nothing, nothing that I could ever imagine could top my latest date. 

I’m rushing along the sidewalk. I don’t want to be late, but at the same time, I don’t want to tell them how much of a calamity my latest date was, but to be completely honest, I don’t want to miss it. Tonight is also the night the group meets at Mellark’s. The friendly cafe style bakery with its rich and yummy pastries, both savory and sweet. It is my favorite place to meet. Squad 451 meets twice a month in different locations, including one of the two meeting rooms in the library, one of the community rooms in the Justice Building, and on our birthdays, we meet in a restaurant, but the bakery on Main Street is our favorite location. The Mellarks owned several locations. The flagship store was always managed by one of the original family members.  

If George Senior, or the middle son Ryan Mellark is at the helm of the bakery, they allow us to cavort in the shop until close. When his older brother George Junior or their Mother Muriel was in charge, we tended to be quiet, relegating our conversations to the books. When Peeta is in charge, there are free cheese buns and chaos. 

Please, stomach gods, let Peeta be there. I skipped lunch today because I had a deadline. I also forgot my wallet at home. Thankfully, my license was at the bottom of my backpack. I need food before my stomach eats itself. I am starving when I walk into the bakery. When I see Peeta, I stop. His blue eyes meet mine and my stomach flip flops. He gives me a slow sweet smile, before his eyes slide back to the customer who is ordering.

“Katniss,” Delly squeaks, waving frantically.

Somehow, my feet carry me over to the table and there is a plate of cheese buns and I thank every celestial being in the universe. His buns are heavenly. Sitting down, I take a napkin and snatch one.  My mouth waters and my lashes close as I bring the cheese bun to my mouth.  The smell of melted cheese, fresh bread, and the hint of dill, assuage my nose, before I bite into one of Peeta’s coveted flaky concoctions. The combination of the oozing cheese, the herbs and the buttery bread elicit a moan from deep within my being. These freaking cheese buns will be the death of me. 

“Wow.” Peeta’s voice causes my lashes to fly open. 

Peeta is standing near me with a cup of tea; his face and neck splotchy and red.  

My mouth is full of delicious food, but I forgot how to chew. 

Delly is looking between us. Her pale blue eyes quizzical, like when she’s trying to understand a concept or theme in a book.

 “Okay, bitches,” Johanna says, slamming her brief down. “Where’s the rest of the motley crew?”

“Mags and Greasy just arrived,” Delly answers absentmindedly. 

“Hey, Peeta, I need a strong black coffee.” 

“Sure,” Peeta says, all the while staring at me. I finally remember to chew. “Here Katniss, your tea.”   

Taking the paper cup, I can’t help feeling bashful. “Thank you.”

“Peet,” the girl behind the counter calls. 

Whenever Peeta is here, the business is brisk. He is charming. He was always charming, even back in high school he was the most popular guy, not only because of his looks, but because he was genuinely nice. I, like all of the other girls, had a mini crush on him. 

Looking over his shoulder he says, “I’ll be right back with your coffee, Jo.” 

Now Jo is looking between him and me, but hers is a wicked grin, like right before she nails a sleazebag who doesn’t want to pay for his children. I quirk an eyebrow, clueless as to what has Johanna showing off her predatory gleam. 

“Oh, it’s chilly outside,” Mags says.

“It’s colder than Rudolph’s balls outside,” Greasy says, her gruff voice is booming. Several patrons look at her. Greasy does not care. She’s well past her sixties and it’s her motto that she should live each day as if it was her last. 

In walks Effie, Annie, and Foxface, and they all say, “Hello,” in unison. 

The book of the month is actually a YA fiction called, The Fault in Our Stars, about teens with a terminal illness. I cried when Gus...I tear up once more...at the memory. But I know we aren’t going to discuss Hazel’s predicament with her parents. 

“So,” Delly says, bouncing in her chair.

I can’t help but grimace.

“How did it go?” Foxface says. She has an accent, but I can’t place it. 

“He looked like he belonged on one of those erotic books Johanna loves to read,” Greasy says, grabbing a cheese bun.

She’s not wrong. Gloss was a blond adonis, with slate blue eyes. And abs that have a flipping twelve pack, I ought to know, I counted them. The words are out of my mouth before I am aware of what I am saying.  “He really does with a twelve pack,” I say drinking my tea.

“Did you say twelve pack?” Johanna sat up. 

My eyes widen. 

“Wait, why are you blushing Katniss?” Foxface narrows her eyes.

“Did you and he…” Annie trails off. Her doe eyes are wide. 

“Did you have your first sleepover?” Effie leaned in. 

“Or did you dry hump him like a horny-toad dog?” Greasy’s voice bounces in the bakery.

Peeta’s pauses , wiping down the counter and looks directly at me. 

“NO!” My voice sounds half strangled.

Jo and Delly exchange a look. “Peeta,” Delly calls him over. 

Oh, no, no, no, I say to myself, eyeing how quickly I can get from the back corner to the exit. It is one thing to tell the squad, it is another to have Peeta know. I think I can sprint around the chairs and clear the table near the door like an olympic hurdle jumper. 

Peet walks over. “Hey Dells, can I get you ladies anything?”

“Katniss was going to regale us with her latest date,” Delly says.

“She’s going to tell us how she knows her date has Thor’s body.” 

“You’re dating?” Peeta asks, looking at me intently.

He doesn’t know I am dating or rather, being raked through hot coals.

“Oh,” Foxface chortles. “She’s dating.”

“Remember the guy who was texting with his mother during the entire date,” Effie said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mags saids grinning.

“Only the part when he had Katniss talk to her, and it turned out she was psychoanalyzing her to make sure she wasn’t an ax murderer,” Annie said laughing.

“Or what about the guy who kept on mentioning his ex and cried through the crème brûlée,” Greasy slaps her knee, laughing.

I can’t help but laugh. 

“Man, those are pretty bad,” Peeta says.

I hold up my finger. “No, those are tame.”

“Tame?” His blue eyes are sparkling. “You mean there are worse dates?”

Delly snorts. “Oh there are worse. I am so glad I am out of the dating pool.”  

“Yeah, Gale just loves you,” Annie sighs. 

Delly and Gale met when I joined the book club. And while I floundered, they fell in love and now Delly was pregnant.  

My eyes shift to Annie. “It’s so much easier when you fall in love.”

“Oh?” I say.

“I met someone,” Annie says softly. “He wants to meet all of us.”

I wonder what type of guy would date quiet, shy, introverted Annie who sometimes says things that remind me of that song from those Freddy movies from the 80’s. I shake my head.  Then I narrow my eyes. “Bring him to the next session,” I hear myself say. I want to meet this man, and make sure he will take care of my friend. 

“Really.” Annie clasps her hands.

I nod, but I notice Peeta is looking at me with this strange gleam in his eyes.  “Ah...yeah.” My voice sounds breathy. I frown, wondering why the heck I sound like one of those girls. You know the ones that always appear in the music videos washing cars and dancing on super yachts. Darius was fascinated by those girls, heck, his new girlfriend looks like one of those girls.

The women are chatting with Annie about the new guy in her life.  

“We'll discuss Annie’s beau later,” Mags holds her hand in the air. “I want to hear about Katniss’ date.” Her white hair spills over her shoulder as she fixes me with a look. “So tell us, how do you know Thor has a twelve pack?”

Somehow or another I knew the scrutiny on Annie would be short lived. My time to shine would come, but when I open my mouth to speak I can see a conspiratorial glance between Mags and Annie. And it hits me that they chose this man, because he looked like Thor. I scowl at the women who set me up on this one. Mags and Annie both have a pink tinge to their faces. I would have expected this from Jo or Greasy, but Mags and Annie, well it’s INCONCEIVABLE! 

I begin to speak. “He asked me to meet him at the edge of town, near route twelve.”

“Isn't that where Ripper’s place is?” Effie questioned, and she couldn’t hide her revulsion. 

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘P’, thinking of the bar that disguised itself as an eatery. It was a seedy diner with cracked linoleum floors, yellowing formica, booths that had patches, blinking lights, and rickety chairs. 

“That’s where he asked you to meet him?” Mag’s sounds outraged. “That place is…is-”

“- a bedhaven for unsavory characters,” Foxface finishes. 

“You're brainless,” Jo mutters darkly. "Ripper's isn't the type of place you can go to Katniss. You should have called me."

As protective as I am about my friends, so is Jo. She's tough on the outside but has a really soft center. It's what makes her a perfect shark in the courtroom. Not that Darius was a jerk during our divorce. He actually wasn't. Johanna was present at the restaurant where he announced he wanted a divorce. Johanna later said it was my face, the vulnerability I tried to hide was why she took my divorce pro-bono. 

“I drove and brought my bottle of mace.” I know what everyone was thinking. The area in town where Ripper’s is located at, made the bad side of town look like a tourist destination. I didn't mind meeting my date there. I was looking forward to a basket of fries. Ripper's had amazing beer-battered fries. 

I've been to Ripper's once. I was with Gale and Thom who needed to score fake IDs. I ordered the fries, since I wasn't there for an ill gotten identification. But let me tell you, those fries. Oh! Holy mother of fries, no other fries can compare. 

Shivers!

I love food; it's why I'm a food critic now. What's so funny is that it was those fries that began my career as Buttercup, the elusive food critic. Back then I was Buttercup, the fussy eater. I blogged about them, no, I lavished them with love. I love my job. I can go into any restaurant, order anything on the menu, blog about it and get paid handsomely. And, most importantly, I can do it anonymously. Not even Darius knew I was Buttercup. He thought I was a boring housewife. Getting back to the fries, I wasn’t deterred from getting my fries.

“So then what happened?” Annie asked.

“He was there waiting for me. He stood up and smiled. And he's massive-"

"Just like a book cover," Foxface mutters.

 "He said his name wasn't Anthony, it’s Gloss.”

“Gloss?” Everyone said at the same time.

“Yup.” I sighed. “It was a sign. I should've left." Damn those fries! 

“So Gloss…" Peeta's sparkling eyes are on mine, his are an amazing hue of blue, like the indigo milk cap mushrooms. "Looks like Thor."  He frowns. "Thor with the long hair or short?"

"Long." The women around me answered as one.

Peeta turned those gorgeous eyes back to me.

Thor isn’t my cup of tea. I shrugged to show my indifference. "Gloss was sporting the Ragnarok look, short hair with facial hair."

 I swear I watch Peeta mouth, "short hair."

"Anyway, we sat at a booth. It was packed, actually." That should've been clue number two. Men at a joint like Ripper's at 8:30 on a Friday night, it was by the highway, plausible. But packed with just as many women. "The waitress who took our drink order could barely hear me."

"Was he nice?" Annie asks.

"He was sweet." Truthfully Gloss was a sweet guy.  He talked about his mother in a positive way, even if she gave him the name that was another descriptor for shiny objects. "He was attentive too. He told me his mother worked in the makeup industry. "

"That doesn't sound too awful," Delly says.

"He sounds delightful." Mags pushes her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.  The gang is getting tired of the story and I hope they will move on to the reason we are  gathered, discussing the book we were reading. I begin to reach into my backpack because I really hate purses.

"If he's so delightful, why did he ask you to meet him at Ripper's?" Johanna says in her cross examination voice.

I wince as I take out my book.

"Yes, you must explain." Foxface demands.

"It's not nice to leave us dangling." Effie levels a look at me that has me squirming, feeling like I was being summoned into the principal's office. 

"I wanna know how you know Gloss has a twelve pack," Greasy says.

Peeta looks at me expectantly. 

Anndddd were back. I sigh. Will he run for the hills when I tell him? Most likely.

"We were talking about dancing.” My voice loses all it’s warmth. “I don't dance."

This causes a rumble of laughter and giggles amongst the women. Peeta looks confused. Finally Delly wipes the tears from her face and gasps, “You should never dance. Ever!” 

"That poor man’s toes,” Mags says, her shoulders shaking.

“Do I need to know?” Peeta looks between them. 

“I don’t dance!” I growl. The group erupts into another bout of laughter. 

“It was a scheme, a dirty underhanded scheme,” Effie says. 

The guy I was supposed to date was a dance instructor. He used the dating app as a way to drum up business. When the women meet him, he pairs them with guys who were there for a lesson. He paired me with a poor man named Harry. My nerves got the better of me, because I don’t like to be touched. Harry’s hands were sweaty. Harry tried to dip me as per my date’s instructions. I tripped, and in the process his toes were crushed, and I ended up with a sprained ankle. 

When I arrived in crutches to the next book club, well, that was one of those dates that simmers at the surface vying to be in the top three. 

“Gloss didn’t believe me. He said anyone can dance. I told him no, and explained that there are people who are predisposed to fly in airplanes, and some who get motion sickness in a car. “

“What happened next?” Foxface asks, moving to the edge of her chair.

“He went to the jukebox.”

“Oh no,” Johanna mutters. “Did he end up in the hospital?” 

“Is that how you know he’s got a twelve pack?” Greasy questions. The ladies, and Peeta are all staring at me. 

I shake my head. Why couldn’t there be a rush of customers right now? It is calm and I know the odds are against me. 

“Spill it!” Johanna demands. 

“Well, he queued up a song and waited a beat, and then Lenny’s Kravits’ American Woman started blaring. Gloss started sauntering and spun and did the splits on the floor. Next thing I know, the women in the place go nuts. They surround him, like a rabid pack of wild dogs.”

“Wait, what!” Delly exclaims her pale eyes bright, she grips the book in her hand. 

“That doesn’t happen,” Peeta says.

“It does to her,” Foxface said, her eyes shining with ferocity, like the eyes of those women at Rippers.

“Shut it blondie,” Johanna orders. 

“Yeah,” Annie says.

Taking a deep breath I continue. “He started dancing...hips…” my brain flashing to his hips gyrating. “...jutting out and…”

“Ohhhhh yeah,” Greasy cackles.

“Gyrating, his hips gyrating,” Foxface gasps.

With eyes closed I nod. “His hips were doing that all over the place. He then jumped on the table and proceeded to rip off his shirt. He shouted my name and told me his next move was his favorite. He spun onto his knees and slid up in my face before dropping his drawers.” I lower my eyes. 

“What,” Delly squeaked. “His pants?”

“It’s like Magic Mike,” Mags whispers.

I know the movie Mag’s is referring to. I’ve never seen it. “Yes.” 

“Was he naked-” Foxface began.

“-or was he wearing-” Annie cut Foxface off only to be cut off herself. 

“A G-String!” Greasy shouted excited.

I shook my head no. He wasn’t wearing anything, I can feel the heat burning my ears.

“Well don’t stop! What happened next!” Even Effie has lost her sense of propriety. 

“As I looked for an escape. It’s then I noticed  the poster on the wall, for the Slag Heap.” I pause and sigh, “Men’s Magic Friday Night Extravaganza, and Gloss was the headliner. I realized he’s a stripper.” 

And the place erupts in laughter. 

“What did you do?” Peeta asks.

My eyes connect with his.

“I slunk down to the floor and crawled my way out...drove to the hospital and made my sister administer a tetanus shot.”

 “Can I have his number?” Johanna says laughing but her eyes are dead serious. 

Peeta is smiling at me and I grab a cheese bun because they are as delicious as the man staring at me. 

Eventually we do get to the book, and it’s a pretty good discussion. Peeta let us stay until closing. Mags and Greasy are the last of the ladies to leave. It’s just me and Peeta since he let the staff go home. I’m loitering because I feel like I need to explain to Peeta why I let the ladies talk me into dating. 

I’m putting up the chairs on the tables when Peeta comes out. 

“You’re still here?”

“Yeah.” I look down at my feet.

“Katniss.”

“Peeta.” We both say at the same time, followed by a nervous chuckle.

“You first,” Peeta insists, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Dating wasn’t my idea.”

“It wasn't?” He raised an eyebrow.

I shake my head. 

“So what happened?”

“The ladies, they got me a year long subscription for my birthday, and knowing I wouldn’t go through with it, they choose who I date...until I find someone,” I can feel the heat rising from my neck and reaching my cheeks, “I like.”

“Really?”

I nod, incapable of speaking.  I cannot stop watching the way he blinks, those darned translucent lashes that never tangle. 

“Dating is pretty brutal.”

“Yeah,” I snort because dating is horrible. 

“My family is constantly setting me up. I went out with a girl who sang through the entire meal. She chose the pasta and sang On Top of Spaghetti.”

“What?” I laugh.

“That was my dad’s doing. My mom’s choice was a lot scarier. She made me do an obstacle course and made me do it three times until I beat the time she wanted me to reach.”

“Wow.”

“I was dressed in dress slacks, a nice shirt, and a tie.” He deadpans, “I even had on dress shoes.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he shrugs. 

I couldn't help but smile. 

“Dating sucks until you find someone who makes you laugh, someone who makes dancing easy.”

He approaches or maybe it’s my own feet that carry me to him. But it doesn’t matter because when his arm slides along my waist, and the other cradles my hand, I have no fears. There is something familiar with him as I dance with him. A slow shuffle, that has the room spinning but none of it matters because I feel at home.

“Will you dance with me Katniss?” His voice rumbles in my ear and my heart is pounding in my chest.

His scent is a warm heady mixture of spices, dill, vanilla, and cinnamon. 

“Would you go out with me Katniss?”

“Yes,” I answer, and just like that my dating profile goes up in flames. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially off the market.

[otakumagicmusicgamer]

Spoilers Ahead for the first season of My Next Life As A Villianess <3

Oh where to begin. First of all, when the summary said it was a comedy of misunderstandings, I got scared. I have really bad second hand embarrassment and it’s a very fine line of Dense Misunderstandings For Comedy and A Cringefest of Pain For “Comedy” (even playing an anxiety spiral itself for laughs). But oh! How I was happily surprised! It really goes with the flow and doesn’t rely on ridicule or anything. There’s just Catarina, dense weird wonderful Catarina, and everyone in some fashion accepts her for her. So this is actually pleasant to watch!

Now, Catarina- what a delight. What makes her interesting is she takes Fortune Lover Catarina and humbles her. Takes selfish and mean and spins it 180. If she puts out mean into the world, it comes back at her in the end. She knows she has the potential for a ‘scary face’ and actively chooses not to use it. And her feelings on the matter are not just for survival, theyre genuine too. But what makes this fascinating is her lack of accounting for things *not* in the game. She doesn’t consider, by blazing a new path in the game -where Catarina is nice- that new ‘routes’ form. She focuses on Maria’s pov so much, she doesn’t see her own. She doesn’t see the good she’s put out, cuz she’s supposed to be the antagonist. She’s so focused on the doom flags, she doesn’t realize there *are* no doom flags. There’s nothing for the game to doom, no punishment for cruelty. What’s more, even by taking the place of ‘The Suitors’ in scenes with Maria, she doesn’t consider /any of them/ having feelings for her. (Geordo kisses her neck for crying out loud.) Why? Because Catarina Claes is not a romanceable character in Fortune Lover. There are a lot of paths, but she is not one of them. She has no successful romantic relationship, nor any. Which makes this whole anime downright Fascinating. By taking out the antagonist, there is no doom. By inserting a reborn earnest friendly kind tree-climbing high school girl in her place, there is no Fortune Lover. The fact that she is aware of Fortune Lover makes her almost omnipresent, and putting all her points into Survival and Durability and Craves Sweets and nothing else, makes her human. No high marks, denser than bricks, but damn if she ain’t the prettiest embodiment of a Nokia phone. She’d be an apocalypse survivor. “How did she survive a landslide in a volcano? Idk it’s Catarina.” Oh, and the last scene? The friendship ending? Yeah, she’s not wrong. It is a friendship ending.... for Maria. She ends up with none of the interests and stays good friends with them, no bad blood or nothing. Cuz again, Catarina isn’t a love interest. It just so happens that the entire company present in the area is so fucking in love with her that they say the Line Of Romance to her and, while they may bicker, they do not hold bad feelings for each other. If all of them could be married to Catarina and live in a big ol house together, they’d be so fuckin content. And best part? None of this is condemned. No “ya gotta pick one and only one”. They saw a harem and went ‘ya know? Let’s embrace this’ and now the characters r so chill with their plant growing, tree climbing gf. (I’m sure her mother wishes *something* good could rub off on Catarina lol) You hear that? That’s the sound of a Polyamorous nerd feeling validated. (It’s me, I feel validated by this Polyamorous romcom anime, this is my home now)

My thoughts on the rest of the cast aren’t going to be as long. The anime does a good job of going through each characters thoughts and arcs. And I adored Anne’s POV on things as well, how she is also moved to tears by Catarina’s good heart. Even her mother, who is harsh but only because she cares. (I would have loved to see the look on her mother’s face when she was in the coma, how she would have grieved, what she would have reflected on. Her father is a bit more transparent in emotions, but he would have been great to see too). I also would have loved to see Mary and Maria in the book of desire. I figure Maria would kinda be like Alan, but oh, what would Mary have done? (Guess I need fanfiction to answer that lol.) Keith’s role as a love interest for Catarina is the only least liked thing I have on here. And honestly it’s cuz they keep *calling* them brother and sister. I know they’re not actually siblings, mostly that’s left over from Fortune Lover, and “distant relative” can and is shorthand for a lot of things so like it’s even possible they aren’t related at all. And the characters don’t find it horrible that he loves her, and probably know he’s a Distant Relative so they’re like whatevs. So like, it’s not incest. It’s not even as potently close to incest as anime can get. But it’s the only thing that could be deemed a Flaw about this anime, so it stands out. I do wish the ending couple of eps could have been a little more Maria, and her having a bit more importance in general. Also her light magic having an effect a bit in the ‘fight’ with Sirius. Although I do want to think the green glow of hope was Maria, tho I’m pretty sure the assumption is Acchan.

Which btw can I say was an absolute treat? I suspected something was up with Sirius but I did not suspect that. I wonder what his base magic is, if it isn’t dark magic? I had thought he saved Sophia and Catarina and thus also had wind/light magic. But oh man, when he started lashing out on Catarina cuz he thought she was also faking kindness? That she was purposely saving people? That a part of his resentment of nobles was being projected? That somewhere he also caught Feelings and thus the mage doubled down on his control? That when Catarina looked at Sirius and touched his hand and face, her (Nerd™️) instincts kicked in and pieced everything together and also saw him in such pain and misery? That she holds herself to the antagonist title, that she’s there to ruin and thus can’t *save* anyone, (a bittersweet sentiment) so she’s not intimidated by the burst of dark magic and just honestly wants his friendship and sit with him through his pain? MY HEART! IT SCREAMS! (I love this sort of dynamic yes Ive loved Fruits Basket for years don’t look at me like that).

What else.... the little peppering in the fact that Oh Yeah She’s Dead hit like a truck. The little bit with her family, of her past life? Yeah, ouch. Got me crying. Don’t think to much into that rabbit hole, you’ll get sad. I fucking ADORE the twist of Sophia being Acchan, or at least part of her. Her being so scared of loosing her best friend (and love of her life) again? Yeah, tears man. Catarina accidentally mending the relationships between Geordo and Alan and Maria and her mother was great. Having Mary and Sophia dance with Catarina at her birthday party was a delightful touch, as was not having all the romance novels be m/f, and none of it was a joke or negatively placed- just *there*. I do enjoy the interests butting heads with each other over private time with Catarina. It was mostly Geordo and Keith (“they’re such good friends” girl if they had a tenth of lil Alan’s Fight Me energy you’d have to put them on leashes) but I loved the little bits of Geordo vs Mary and Sophia cheering on Nicol and I reeeeally hope to see more of that. To provoke subtle sass from Alan and Maria would be a great sight, and more of Raphael joining the ranks. I laugh at all the times they mutter “gotta protect her, she’s seduced another one” cuz like, girl ain’t doing shit but running into people that happen to be Moron-sexual, holding their hand and refusing to leave. And they KNOW that. And it’s great. edit: HOW COULD I FORGET HER MAGIC! God I want Catarina to get better at magic. More than just Earth Bumps pls

All in all? I love this anime. 9.5/10. Tis good stuff. And if ya read all my late night/oops it’s 4am ramblings, good on you! I feel bad tagging this cuz it’s long but I’m also on mobile so god knows what this actually looks like but I needed my thoughts down so hey, thanks

[theyearsiturnedintoaghost]

Hello, Is This Thing On?

Hi! (as mentioned above). Do people still use this thing? I have no idea. Years ago, and I do mean YEARS ago, I had one of these. I didn’t use it for much, just reposting things, following humans I’d met in online communities, a ‘celebrity’ here or there, sometimes screaming about shit I couldn’t control into the void that is the endless scrolling interweb, and being pointless in wasting my time between classes, work, and twenty-something. Regardless, my previous tumblr had minimal followers, made minimal impact, and that was okay. It was honestly just a nice place to sort of hide in plain sight. Still be part of a social world without actually having to do much. This was also pre a billion other apps and social media outlets to express yourself or scroll mindlessly at a million other pointless things that people were posting to make you giggle or even just stop for a second and think.  

Clearly, the point of this, back then, felt like something I would use to help propel my writing career. Turns out, it did not. I did not write much, if at all. And most of the time I think it was because I was scared nothing was as good as any of the other stuff I was reading from people I liked, and thought were so much cooler and smarter than me; I still feel this way all of the time, but I do realize this was me being nervous, small minded about myself, and completely unconfident.  

Unfortunately, I am still most of these things a lot of the time, but recently, after getting fired from a job, having my heart broken by pretty much everyone on the planet, especially a few specific people, cancelled by all of my friends (?) - this is a thing btw. (It’s not as awful as being cancelled publicly, but it does still ruin your life, mindset, confidence, and overall physical and mental wellbeing) Getting a new job, hating it and feeling like I was going no where, and missing out on living a life I felt proud of and that I was actively participating in, I decided maybe I should just try to write it all out and see what happens. 

To be frank, I expect nothing of this. I can’t fathom a world where anything I have to say truly matters to people because lets be real - everyone has this own shit and everyone is going through so much all of the time.  And we all think we have something new, quirky, interesting, and important to say.  And in a world that constantly shoves perfection down our throats and works so hard to make each of us feel completely inadequate to every Kardashian, Beyonce, Grande, etc., it’s hard to really think that anything I have to say will matter to anyone; at all. 

(I also hate that all of my ‘perfectionist’ people were female, but maybe it’s harder to compare to Golden Boys when you are a female. Either way, there are many boys/men/theys/thems that are put on a pedestal and made out to be perfect out there, as well, and they deserve that notation as well. I just have no points of reference off the top of my head, so please forgive me; I am trying to do this in a stream of consciousness type thing.)

I mean, the truth is, I’m a fucking mess. I’m 33, single, living at home, afraid of my own shadow most of the time, and spend about 98% of my time alone. I pay for a phone plan that I literally only use to send memes to my two sisters, and that’s about it. I rarely receive texts, invites out, or even calls to make plans for something.  And while a lot of this is my own doing - again, I did cut off most of the world after I realized I was sort of the joke to a lot of people - it’s still kind of pathetic, and entirely uncool.  I am not a socialite, or someone cool and trendy, and to be honest, I kind of never want to be.  

Which is a semi-false statement, because years ago, when I had one of these previously, I sort of hoped it would work out and that I could write and be ‘cool.’ Whatever the fuck that means.  But now, years later, I’m honestly beyond glad I am not cool; not in the slightest. Maybe that’s making it to your 30s? Maybe the trade for having to create a daily routine of lathering up my body with like 9 different versions of FDA-Approved-Vampire-Juice on my skin to prevent me from looking any older than I already do, you in turn get to have a brain that finally realizes... having a ‘normal’ life is honestly pretty cool? Normal is clearly subjective here as everyone is normal, famous, notoriety, or not; They’re all still humans and people with feelings, thoughts, and emotions. This is a hard thing to realize when you see stadiums full of people screaming at Harry Styles (Boom! found a male perfect in this scatterbrain) or hundreds of paparazzi lined up to take photos of every person on a red carpet wearing clothing that costs as much as my student loan debt (Which sidenote, is VERYYYYYY much). It’s hard to fully realize that maybe some of those people who became ‘icons’ never really knew what they were getting into when they signed that deal with the Devil to make them seemingly immortal; especially in a world with the internet where everything can exist forever (or until the world explodes, clearly).  But maybe getting into my 30s and removing myself from most social media outlets, even listening to the news, or caring about whatever fucking popular haircut was in this season (it’s always bangs, and I’ve already made that mistake. No thanks), that I learned to realize - the truly most important people in your life are the ones that stick with you when it’s tough. When getting out of bed is so hard your limbs ache and you cry every morning on your way to work, at your desk behind your computer screen hidden in a corner, or in a bathroom stall during your lunch break. The normalcy that comes with realizing your prayers to ‘just make it to five o’clock,’ are heard and that you are just so thankful for that that you don’t even desire the innate feeling in most of our egos to stand out, be seen, ‘Make it’ in a way that lets people notice we ‘succeeded.’ Maybe this only comes with the realization of how nice it is to go to a grocery store braless and unnoticed. 

Maybe this is also something I, and so many of us in this point and shoot viral world, are trying to still learn. 

Sure, a lot of days I still crave being able to make a perfect Pintrest project, practice my Late Night interview with Letterman where I sound funny, charming, and likeable to all walks of life, or recreate a recipe from the New York Times website so great that The Barefoot Contessa finds out through word of mouth, and comes to my basement hide out, and offers to give me, a fellow barefoot loving bitch, her title and crown along with a glass of wine and a kiss from her husband, Jeffery. We’ll both laugh at how lovely it feels to be Barefoot ladies who understand that wanting ‘fame’ or ‘recognition’ in your twenties is only really a pathway to destruction by your 30s. 

And this is not exactly something that I learned easy.  In fact, I spent most of my twenties destroying my body with drugs - plenty of hard ones - and alcohol - various kinds of the same things - in order to numb my brain from the sadness that is just... being young, lonely, scared, unsure of yourself, and nervous that all of your hopes and expectations for yourself in your ‘dream life’ are too much for what you and your actual self will ever be capable of ever becoming. That I would never become the comedian I dreamed of being, or sing the perfect song in front of a crowd of admirers, or write that best selling book to tell everyone who thought I was nothing they could go fuck themselves. It’s something I still have to remind myself, and my brain and ego, that are most likely things I will never do because those are lottery dreams.  And people you know don’t actually win the lottery. And at the end of the day, I am people you know. And sometimes it breaks my own heart to realize I may never feel that rush of making a crowd laugh, or creating a piece of art that makes someone feel seen, but as Pam, from The Office said, and I am paraphrasing, ‘there is beauty in ordinary things.’ And I think reminding myself of that as I sat on the beach this summer and watched a dad teach his son to surf, and how happy they both were when he got up, gave me that brief feeling of... being okay. I won’t lie, I did cry a little at this realization at that moment, and I am slightly teary now as I write it, but I think I’m not ashamed of that because being normal means I get to feel things as I do, in that moment, and that is something I think I lacked in my desiring-bigger-flashier- twenties; actually being present in the world and your place in it. Even if that is just as small as being kind to a random person on the street.

I think that is why everything I felt I wanted to write never came out correct.  It never came out ‘Perfect.’ And that was my problem for most of my life, even up until today, I’m afraid that I am a perfectionist in the ways that are preventing me from becoming... me. I’m still fearful that I am too late in ever ‘accomplishing’ anything I ever dreamed. I doubt I will ever actually write a book. I’m unsure I’ll ever make a decent living. I am beyond doubtful I am ever going to be loveable to someone whom I also want to love back. And maybe I’m a little scared that I’ll never have a kid, or that if I do have a kid, I’ll never be a decent parent. And I’m still working on breaking the cycle of thinking something has to ‘sound’ or ‘be seen as important’ to be meaningful. There is beauty in the ordinary. I’ve started to make it my mantra. Spoken in my head every time I see a teenage couple holding hands walking in town, a father holding their baby close to his chest, a woman dressed in a power suit striding through an office building or city on their way to make their own careers or push equality further. I’ve started to dream of how actual normalcy makes the real changes. How every 4th grade teacher has a chance to change some kids life.

Clearly, a lot of these personal fears I have about myself not being ‘enough,’ or doing something good enough to become successful at it and build a life out of it, are monotonous fears and privileged middle-class complaints. I’m aware they may not resonate with anyone, anything, or mean much more than just being an online public diary entry to my own meandering thoughts, but, still - I finally felt like I had to try.  

So here it is, the whole truth on how I let myself become a ghost for years. 

I hope someone will stick around while I just... try to explain it all, figure it all out, and hopefully make sense out of even being whatever a human who is hoping to grow even means. Hopefully, something here will resonate with someone else and we can create our own little weirdo corner of the world where we’re not seeking more than just trying to be honest with ourselves and what it means to be human.  Even if that means just posting a recipe for banana bread (thank you Gwen Steffani for keeping me able to spell Banana), reposting random memes about how we all want to scream for 30 seconds and feel better, or sad-girl diary entry posts about how I ruined my own life a million times over.  Oh, and maybe I’ll give you tips on how to stain your wood deck, because I spent my day doing that yesterday and basically, Home Depot is calling me to be in their ADs. 

But at the core of it all, lets be very real, it’s hard to be human in so many ways. And I’m just hoping this connects with anyone. Especially any of us who wished we were different - in any way.

xoxo

-K

[team-free-will-oneshots]

No Through Road

Title: No Through Road (part eight of the ‘Buried Secrets’ series) Summary: When a new hunt crops up, you and the boys decide to put your feelings aside and prioritise the case. If only it were that simple... Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader Warnings: pining, angst, light swearing, canon-typical violence Word Count: 6,000ish (whoops)

note; merry christmas/happy holidays!!! i’m so sorry!! for the lack of updates !!!!! it’s been killing me too i swear!!!

while writing this i got rly deep into threads debating whether the impala is an automatic or a manual (it’s an automatic btw), just a fun fact. enjoy!

Buried Secrets Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Y/N - I wasn’t aware that you were home.”

Castiel’s voice dragged your attention away from the book in your lap, and you glanced up in surprise to see the angel in the doorway, throwing you a surprised smile that you hadn’t realised you’d missed during your time away.

“Hey, Cas. Yeah, I’m back,” you replied, offering a weak smile in return.

“I take it Dean has apologised?” Cas said sternly, his boots thudding on the timber floor as he stepped into your room. Sighing, you closed the book, tossing it to the side as you nodded glumly.

“Yeah, he has,” you informed him. “Things are… hopefully on their way back to normal.”

Cas beamed. “That’s wonderful,” he said sincerely, but his smile faltered as he recognised the despair etched into your features. He glanced to your bed, eyes darting to yours questioningly, and you nodded. He took a seat next to you. “You don’t seem pleased,” he observed, and you offered a weak smile.

“Things are complicated,” you mumbled, and Castiel’s wide eyes found yours, imploring you to continue. You leaned back against the bedrest, eyes dancing around the room as though, if you looked hard enough, you’d find the answers you so desperately sought hiding under the desk, or in the closet. But alas, the words you needed were nowhere to be found, and so you let your lips spill what they may.

“Before I left… Dean and I had a thing,” you began. “Like… romantically.” Cas nodded.

“Yes, he mentioned that while you were gone,” he affirmed, and you raised an eyebrow in interest. 

“He talked to you about me?”

“Yes, of course,” Cas said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “On several occasions, in fact. He was very upset - mostly about hurting you, I believe.”

It took a few moments for this new information to settle, but once it did, you put it aside to dwell on later. “Oh,” you said. “Well, when I left, Sam and I kind of… developed a thing as well,” you said slowly. “But I hadn’t sorted things out with Dean yet, and now… now I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m meant to do. I feel like I’ve hit a dead end - like I’m trapped. I could never be with Sam if I don’t get closure with Dean, but if I get closure with Dean, I don’t know where that would leave Sam and I. I just- I’ve hit a wall,” you grumbled. Cas frowned, observing you thoughtfully as he mulled over your words.

“Who do you want to be with?” he asked, and you sighed loudly.

“I don’t know, Cas, that’s the thing. A part of me thinks I should choose Sam, because he was there for me, y’know? He was so sweet, and- and I felt safe with him,” you said. “He’s practically the perfect guy.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Cas said, and you sighed, shaking your head.

“But Dean… Look, he has some shit to make up for, that’s for sure, but… I feel so drawn to him. Being with Dean, it just feels… right. Like… almost like we’re two sides of the same coin, y’know?”

Cas frowned.

“Oh. Well, that is a bit more complex,” he allowed. “But it seems to me, you already know what you want,” he added, and you bolted upright.

“And what’s that?” you asked. Cas hesitated, and you cast him a pleading expression. “C’mon, man, I’ll take any advice I can get.”

“Well-”

But before he could finish his sentence, Dean was at your door, laptop in hand as he rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. Castiel fell silent, whatever answers he might have bestowed fading out of your reach - at least for the moment.

“Hey, Y/N, we’ve got a case- oh, hi, Cas,” he greeted in surprise. You sighed.

“Raincheck?” you murmured to Cas, who nodded warmly. You walked to Dean, peering over his shoulder and frowning at the computer screen. “What are we looking at?” you asked. You were stood close enough to him that your chin was all but resting on his shoulder, and the warmth of his body next to yours sent a pleasant tingle of electricity down your spine that you forced yourself to ignore. Dean tensed at the slight brush of your body over his, taking half a step forward as he cleared his throat.

“Uh, three victims in the past month - corpses looked like they’d been ‘ravaged by an animal’, all missing hearts,” he said. You mulled over the information.

“Okay, what, we’re thinking a werewolf?” you checked, and Dean nodded.

“Seems like.”

“How far?”

“‘Bout three hours.”

“Great, I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” you said decisively. Dean’s eyes met yours and held your gaze a moment longer than necessary before he nodded, ducking his head and leaving the room. When you turned back to start packing, Cas shot you a pointed look that you couldn’t quite deconstruct with the scent of Dean still in your nostrils, the phantom warmth of his body still grazing over your own - you couldn’t get your own thoughts straight, let alone try to decipher someone else’s.

“What?” you challenged, and he shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “Be safe,” he told you, resting his hand on your shoulder for a moment as you nodded.

“Thanks,” you replied, and you finally managed to untangle your thoughts enough to recall the conversation the two of you had shared.

“Hey, wait, what were you gonna say befo-” you began, but when you span around, the angel was already gone. 

---

“So the next victim will either be Sara Aplin or Barry Smith, if we’re right about the co-workers thing,” you mused, exchanging glances with Sam and Dean. The motel room was cramped with the three of you, each bed littered with papers and research whilst the walls were adorned with a myriad of pins and criss-crossing red string. Your gut had been right about the werewolf - you’d narrowed it down to a twenty-seven year old male, Marshall Cooper, who’d had several public disagreements with his co-workers who all turned up dead only a few days later, minus their hearts. He’d had two such rows in the past few days - one with a girl, Sara, who was barely pushing twenty-five, and another with twenty-nine year old Barry.

“Looks like it,” Sam remarked, licking his finger as he leafed through a pile of pages in his hand. 

“Great, well at least it’s fifty-fifty,” you muttered, pinning both locations on the map you had stuck to the wall - they were on opposite ends of town. “It’d be handy if they were neighbours - three of us could stake ‘em out together. Why are things never easy?” you moaned, and Sam chuckled.

“Tell me about it,” he replied. You stared at the map a moment longer, smirking as you trailed your finger over the glossy paper.

“Hey, I might’ve found a shortcut between the houses,” you mused, and Dean raised an eyebrow as Sam snorted.

“No offense, Y/N, I’m not taking your directional advice. Remember what happened last time you thought you found a ‘shortcut’?” Sam teased, and you giggled at the memory.

“Yeah, pretty sure a branch hit you in the face - you shoulda seen yourself, you looked so shocked,” you laughed, exchanging knowing grins with the youngest Winchester as you elbowed him fondly. He shook his head, smile lingering on his lips as your skin brushed over his. He pressed closer to you, holding contact a moment longer than he should have.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he chuckled, shaking his head to himself as he watched you fondly, a sweet smile tilting the corners of his lips.

Dean stood, unable to tear his eyes from you as Sam brushed up against you, both of you so casually comfortable in one another’s presence as you rattled off inside jokes he could never hope to be a part of. Just how much had you and his brother shared during your time away? How could he ever compete with the easy conversation and affectionate gestures the two of you so readily exchanged? Maybe he should just give up - maybe he’d forced any hope of a relationship between you towards a dead end the moment he’d sent you packing. Maybe there was no coming back from this one.

Dean grimaced, forcing the thoughts away as his green eyes wandered over the faded newspaper clippings pinned to the walls.

“And if we’ve got the pattern right, he’ll strike tonight,” he interrupted. You and Sam mellowed, stepping apart and falling back into business mode as Dean took on the authoritative role. “Alright, Y/N and I will stake out Sara’s house, you handle Barry’s. We good?” Dean checked. Sam glanced to you, eyes questioning, and you cast him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah. Sounds good,” you replied firmly, and you saw Dean throw you a tentative half smile as his eyes met yours. He held your gaze for a moment before it quickly flickered away. The moment, however brief, held a level of intimacy that half-frightened you, but simultaneously sent a warm kaleidoscope of butterflies dancing in your stomach. Though intense, the feeling was familiar - and for a moment, things were almost back to normal.

You were jolted back to reality when Sam cleared his throat, the magic of the moment dissipating as the gravity of your situation crashed back down on you, an anvil weighing heavily on your shoulders. When you looked at the tall Winchester, his eyes betrayed a hint of jealousy that he quickly hid behind a smile. 

“Alright. You’re sure you wanna go with Dean, Y/N?” he checked. “I mean, we’ll probably be waiting awhile.” You nodded.

“Yeah - Dean and I probably have some catching up to do, anyways,” you conceded, casting Dean a half smile that brought a grin to his face.

“Besides, we’re practically the hunting dream team - no offense, Sammy,” he said with a chuckle, and you shook your head in amused exasperation.

“It’s Sam,” the younger Winchester corrected with a roll of his eyes. You ignored their bickering, glancing out the cramped motel window to see dusk rapidly descending over the small farming town.

“We should get going,” you interjected, snatching Baby’s keys from where they sat on the bed. You jingled them tauntingly. “I’m driving,” you added with a wink. Dean’s cocky grin dropped quicker than a bag of stones into water.

“Oh, hell no,” he objected, but you shot him a smirk, tucking your gun into your waistband as you left the motel, tossing an amused Sam a wave over your shoulder. Dean hastily followed, lunging for the keys that you quickly protected in your closed fist.

“Sorry, Dean!” you teased in a sing-song tone, and the eldest Winchester pouted.

“C’mon, Y/N! You always ride the curb!” he all but whined, and you grinned.

“Shoulda thought of that earlier, slowpoke,” you shot back, and though he rolled his eyes, there was no malice in his act.

“I’m so sorry, Baby,” he whispered, patting the roof once before slipping into the passenger seat. You cranked the engine the moment the door clicked shut, pulling out from the motel parking lot and merging onto the main road as the passing scenery faded into a vague green blur. 

“Hunting dream team, huh?” you remarked, and Dean shrugged, smiling wolfishly.

“Yeah, you know we work well together. Remember that wendigo case a couple years back?” he prompted, and you laughed.

“The one in Minnesota? When Sam had the flu, and we went in totally unprepared?”

“Yeah,” he said, face falling a little at the mention of Sam’s name. He brightened as he continued. “We mighta been unprepared, but we found that damn thing’s hideout in record time. Ganked that son of a bitch before it knew what hit it,” he reminded you, and you raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Really? I seem to remember you ‘finding the hideout’ by literally falling over into the cave, being attacked, and then I had to come save your ass,” you responded, and Dean shrugged.

“Potato, potahto… got it done, didn’t we?”

You smiled. “Yeah, we did. I guess you’re right… we are pretty awesome,” you said, winking at him and feeling a knot of butterflies rise in your stomach at his resounding chuckle.

“Yeah, we are,” he said, his eyes lingering on the smile curving your lips when you glanced back to the road. A comfortable silence settled over the car, and you felt your neck prickled as his gaze didn’t leave you. When you glanced over at him, of course, he jostled himself away from you, eyes glued a little too intently on his phone.

“Whatcha doing?” you asked, and his eyes darted over to you in surprise.

“Uh- looking at directions,” he stammered. You glanced at his phone screen - blank. 

“Right. Well, google maps is for losers who can’t read street signs,” you said firmly, and Dean rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“Ha, ha,” he said dryly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his jeans. The Winchester settled back into the passenger seat, folding his arms behind his head. “Fine then, I won’t tell you the street,” he said stubbornly. “I’ll bet ya five bucks that you’ll miss it.”

You snickered. “You’re on,” you replied. A few minutes later a smug grin was etched over Dean’s face, and you shot him a hard look.

“What?” you demanded, and he chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Nothing, nothing…”

“This is the right way!” you insisted, nodding to the road before you. Sure, it looked a little unfamiliar, but that was just because it wasn’t broad daylight, unlike your last visit to the house… right? Dean forced a straight face.

“Sure, this is the right way…” he allowed, before sniggering. “If you’re looking for a dead end,” he tacked on, nodding to the ‘No Through Road’ sign glinting in the fading light. You released a guttural noise of irritation - yet another dead end. You seemed to be hitting a lot of those lately. Dean released the laugh he’d been biting back.

“Good try, sweetheart. Street was two blocks back,” he said, and you scrunched your nose up at him.

“Thanks, Alexa,” you snapped back, though you couldn’t restrain the grin that split your face when you threw the car into a three-point-turn, “accidentally” reversing straight into the gutter. Dean’s mouth fell open in horror, and you feigned innocence.

“Oops!” you cried dramatically, tone ringing with exaggeration. “Sorry, Baby… this never would’ve happened if someone had told me when the turnoff was…” you continued, stroking the steering wheel and shooting Dean a sweet smile.

“Very funny,” he replied, his annoyed expression quickly melting into one of bemusement as his lips spread into a nostalgic smile. “Hey, remember that case with-”

“-the haunted maserati?” you finished easily, and he nodded, whistling.

“We really totalled it, didn’t we? Damn shame, too, did you hear her engine? Never heard a thing run smoother,” he remarked wistfully, and you bit back a laugh.

“Careful, Dean, Baby will hear you,” you taunted, swinging into the side street that Dean pointed out. “Shame that Sam missed that one, too. Where was he again?” you asked, brow furrowing as you thought back to the long-forgotten hunt. You saw Dean swallow at the mention of his name, and his wistful smile collapsed into a solemn expression as he tensed his jaw.

“Still dealing with that fractured ankle, wasn’t he?” he asked gruffly, and you nodded as the penny dropped.

“Oh, yeah, poor guy,” you tutted, and Dean grunted in agreement, busying himself with scanning the houses dotted evenly along the street.

“This one, right here,” he said suddenly, pointing to a nondescript white house with a garden that needed a little more love than it was receiving. Large bushes obscured much of the lawn, the shrubbery casting shadows that swiftly lengthened as the sun continued to dip below the horizon. You pulled in close to the curb, throwing the car into park and flipping off the engine.

“Well, now we wait, huh?” you remarked, glancing over at Dean. He sighed, nodding as his eyes fell to meet yours. He held your gaze for a moment longer than he ought to, and you couldn’t help but notice the flecks of amber embedded amongst the green of his irises, smouldering like tiny embers in the fading light. The orange sunset glowed on his skin, though dappled shadows danced over his face as the leafy trees overhanging the house swayed in the light breeze. Dean tried a small, crooked smile - just a curve of his full lips, there one moment and gone the next. You released a shaky breath as you flashed a smile in return. Dean tore away his stare, turning stiffly to observe the house once more. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Now we wait.”

---

Dean was bored.

The moment the Impala’s engine had cut out, the two of you fell into a semi-comfortable silence broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind and the steady beat of rain on the roof. The occasional stutter of a motor and the splashing of wheels across puddles pierced the quiet as cars rolled down the street, headlights beaming over the slick black tarmac. He’d busied himself at first by studying the leafy garden plants, before turning his gaze to the peeling white paint of the crumbling fence, counting each stripe of brown wood flickering between streaks of yellowing pigment. But as darkness descended the scenery fell into an indistinguishable grey blur, and Dean could no longer pick a distraction from the outside world.

He shifted in his seat, wincing at the stiffness of his legs. You glanced over at the sound of movement, raising an eyebrow at his evident discomfort. He flashed a sheepish smile, swallowing the lump in his throat spurred on by the glint of your eyes in the dim lighting, the warmth of your body so close to his in the cramped confines of his car.

“You got the time?” he asked weakly. You glanced at your phone.

“Nearly midnight,” you informed him, and he nodded slowly.

“Right. Great. Maybe this thing’ll end up on Sam’s end,” he mused, and you shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe - he hasn’t had anything on his end yet, either, though,” you replied offhandedly, turning back to your phone.

“Oh? You’ve- you’ve been talking to him, then?”

“Just a text here and there,” you said, smiling tightly as you nodded to the phone in your hand. Dean nodded slowly.

“Right. Of course. Good,” he said. Silence once again fell over the vehicle, and having come to a dead end as to alleviating his boredom, Dean spared another glance your way. His breath fell into an uneven patter as he admired the slanting of the low light over your cheek, illuminating the gentle flush of your skin, the gentle parting of your lips as you read something on the screen before you. When a small smile stretched over your lips as you read something amusing, Dean couldn’t help but mirror it as he found himself imagining being bestowed the honour of putting that smile on your face himsel-

You looked over at him, and Dean hastily flicked his eyes back to the house, shaking away the languishing thoughts that tormented his mind and ignoring the pit of yearning that burned in his stomach. You deserved far more than what he could give you. Although he would always be the first to admit such, it didn’t stop the pang of pain that hit his chest at the thought. He busied his mind with other ponderings.

“Hey, I… I don’t think I ever thanked you,” he said eventually, voice stammering and breathy with nerves. He pulled apart his twiddling thumbs, moving to grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. That seemed to surprise you - your eyebrows darted upwards as you shot him a questioning expression.

“For what?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “For- for trying to help me. With the hex bag, I mean. It… you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty clear,” you chuckled dryly, and Dean swallowed thickly as his yearning was overridden by guilt.

“I just mean… I appreciate the thought, is all,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you about it, I just… I’m used to dealing with that stuff on my own. It’s… easier that way.” He refused to meet your eyes, his jaw tight as he fixed his gaze on the empty road before him. You half smiled.

“I’ve noticed. Y’know, it’s okay to reach out when you need to. You’d be amazed how much easier it is to deal with things when you have someone to vent to,” you prodded, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. He chuckled.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he replied. You lifted an inquiring eyebrow, and his smile melted into a somber line. He swallowed, biting back a smirk, a joke, anything to deflect his inner turmoil, and instead allowed his eyes to find your own. “I will. Promise.”

You nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer as you patted his knee once. The thoughtful action stoked the slow burning longing in his chest, but the comfort and safety your touch brought was gone as quickly as it came as you folded your arms into your chest and adjusted in your seat. Dean felt the cold air creep over the empty space you had occupied, the chill sinking into the hollowness in his heart, squeezing it in an icy grasp. He took a shaky breath, his clenched fist falling over the place your hand had occupied. Neither of you spoke.

“Hey, what day is it?” you asked suddenly, and Dean shot you a perplexed look.

“Uh, Monday, I think,” he said. “What, you got an appointment or something?”

You smirked. “No, just thought it’s fitting that we’re hunting a werewolf today.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “Why?”

You shot him a wolfish grin. “It’s Moon-day, Dean.”

The eldest Winchester closed his eyes, tongue in cheek as he fought back a laugh. “Y/N, that was pathetic.”

“Don’t you mean pack-hetic?” you challenged cheekily, and Dean snorted.

“C’mon, though, really? Moon-day? You could’ve at least somehow slipped Howl-a-ween in there, instead,” he shot back, and you smirked.

“Oh, I know, I just wanted to see you in pain at my terrible puns,” you said. Dean rolled his eyes fondly.

“At least you’re a-were that they’re bad,” he replied offhandedly, and you groaned, though you seemed unable to keep the grin off your face.

“Okay, truce,” you said. “I’m out of puns.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart, we can just hit paws on it for now.” He threw you a wink, and you chortled. Dean grinned at your laughter - carefree and genuine, woven with snorts that you futilely tried to disguise with a cough. The so-called ‘ugly’ laughter was music to his ears, a score perfectly composed by the delightful ringing of your voice. He couldn’t name a single melody he favoured over that which was your joy, a noise so pure it had him giddy on the idea that he was the lucky man who had invoked it.

Dean’s own laughter died as he recalled your similar exchange with Sam only hours prior, and he was crushed with the reminder that he wasn’t the only one with whom you had shared such buoyant moments. The cold heaviness crushed him again, and it was all he could do to force a tight half-smile in response to your wide grin. You didn’t seem to notice his dejection, however, as your eyes focussed on something over his shoulder.

“Well, I think our werewolf just turned into a there-wolf,” you remarked softly, cocking your gun and nodding towards the subtle movement in the darkness outside, followed by the rustling of the bushes. Dean snapped into solemnity, twisting around to squint into the darkness. Sure enough, you were right.

“Alright, follow my lead,” he whispered, loading his pistol with a round of silver bullets as he slowly creaked open the door of the Impala and let his boots crunch onto the footpath. You slipped out behind him, letting the door hang silently open as you readied your gun and crept into the overgrown garden. Ankle height grass brushed over Dean’s jeans, leaving tiny seeds clinging to the stiff fabric. He paid them no heed, every last drop of his attention focussed solely on the hunt as he kept downwind of the crouched wolf. He watched as you took position by it’s flank, exchanging nods as he carefully aimed - if all went well, one shot would end this hunt.

But then, when did things ever go well for Dean Winchester?

He cursed as he stepped on a twig, of all things, the thin brown stick hidden in the grass that couldn’t muffle the snap as it splintered under his heavy boot. The wolf shot around, snarling, it’s yellow eyes reflecting thin shards of light as it leapt towards him.

Dean shot - once, twice, three times, before the heavy body landed atop him, screeching and howling, it’s writhing claws digging into his arms before it finally slackened, weighing heavily on his chest. The gun flew from his hand, settling in the grass a few feet away, and he groaned as he shoved the body away. 

“Shit, are you okay?” you demanded, eyes branded with concern as you rushed over to help him to his feet. Dean nodded, wincing at his wounds but forcing a steely mask over his face - he’d had worse.

“Yeah, fine,” he grunted, hissing as you slipped off your jacket and held it against his wounded shoulder. He had half a mind to push you away, insist that he was fine, but something about the tenderness of your touch and the gentleness in your eyes had him putty in your hands. For once, Dean let himself relax into your warmth, the tension seeping from his muscles as you rested a hand on his chest and began to guide him back from the car. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but neither of you had mind to mention it - you let it ring out.

The two of you had almost made it through the gate when the other werewolf attacked.

It sprung up from behind, it’s body concealed amongst the large bushes so conveniently dotted around the yard. You felt it’s hot, reeking breath on the back of your neck as it slammed into you, dislodging Dean from your grip and sending him stumbling, dooming him only to watch with wide, helpless eyes as its claws dug into your side.

Dean’s hand shot for his gun only to grasp at empty air, and he felt his chest constrict in panic as you struggled against the wolf, unable to free your arms to defend yourself as it’s snapping jaws inched closer to your face. There was only one thing he could do.

“Hey, Fido!” he bellowed. The wolf hesitated, glancing up with a growl as it’s eyes locked on Dean. “Yeah, you fugly bitch! Come on - want a piece of this?” he roared, throwing open his arms despite the screaming in his shoulder. The wolf leapt at him, and Dean barked a curse as he threw himself to the side, a bush breaking his fall, the sharp twigs digging through his clothes as he rolled to the ground. He scrambled through the grass, catching sight of the glint of his gun a few feet away. The wolf was hot on his tail - he wasn’t going to make it, he realised. Shit - this was it…

That was when he heard a heavy thud and whimper as the wolf was slammed against a tree. Dean risked a glance, pausing with wide eyes and mouth half open as he saw you kneeling with your arms outstretched, pinning the wolf against the trunk with your magic. Your face was glistening with blood and sweat, hair matted and strewn with leaves after your tussle, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t the beautiful sight he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“Get the gun, idiot!” you snapped, visibly straining as you struggled to keep the wolf contained. Dean nodded, snapping back to the task at hand and quickly retrieving the gun, emptying the round of silver bullets into the wolf’s chest. It yowled and twitched, but finally stilled. You released a sharp breath as you let your arms fall, the wolf mirroring them as it thumped to the floor.

Dean sprinted to you, collapsing to his knees beside you as he frantically scanned your weary body for wounds. “Dammit, Y/N, are you okay?” he demanded, and you chuckled dryly as you nodded.

“Yeah, just some scrapes and bruises, same as you,” you muttered, wincing and pressing your hand against your blood-slickened side. Dean didn’t relax until he had examined your injuries firsthand, but once he realised you really were fine, he found himself frozen with his hands on your hips and your heaving chest only centimetres from his own. Your eyes met his, wide and sparkling and breathless from the fight, and maybe it was the adrenaline or the fact that you had both almost died, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from crushing his mouth to yours.

He could taste the salt of your sweat tinged with the metal of your blood as your lips met in a bruising kiss, his hands instinctively pulling you closer as you melted against him. Your hands were in his hair, scraping delectably against the nape of his neck as he poured every drop of passionate relief into the rough motion of his chapped lips over your own. His tongue found yours, hot and desperate as his arms caged around you, clutching you to his chest as though you’d never be safe anyplace else…

...and then he was pulling away with a start, detangling his limbs from your own as he guiltily ducked his head and cleared his throat. He didn’t meet your eyes, only allowed himself a sharp exhale as he pushed to his feet, eyes scanning his surroundings for any other threat as he silently berated himself for losing control in the way that he had.

You didn’t speak either, only huffed as the sound of your ringtone pierced the air once more. His gaze finally found yours as you tugged out your phone, and you offered him a tight smile as you held it to your ear. 

“Sam?”

The single syllable sent Dean’s stomach plummeting. What was he thinking, kissing you like that? What the hell was he doing? He’d seen the way you’d looked at Sam - the jokes, the coy smiles and flirty banter. He didn’t stand a chance - and yet there he’d gone, kissing you like there was no tomorrow, like none of the past week had ever happened.

God, what kind of a hole had he dug himself into now?

---

Your mind was still reeling from Dean’s kiss - it had been all too easy to lean into it, to lose yourself in the pressure of his lips, the heat of his skin as he held you like he’d never again have the honour. Your skin still burned from his touch, your lips still buzzed from the taste of him - he’d consumed all your senses, his presence wrapping itself around you even though the only thing against your skin now was the cold night air.

Your phone rang, and you snapped from your trance as you pulled it out with shaking hands and accepted the call, eyes skimming blindly over the ID as your thoughts were drenched with the press of Dean’s body over yours, so passionate and warm, but so right.

Dean’s eyes finally met yours, and the guilt so deeply set into his expression had your brow creasing in confusion as you sent him a tentative smile that he didn’t return. Did he… regret it?

“Y/N!” a breathless exclamation sounded on the other line. You blinked, flipping back to reality as you registered the owner of the voice.

“Sam?” you gasped.

“Yeah! Listen, I think there are two wolves - I can’t believe I didn’t see it before! I’ve been reading over the case, and Marshall had a roommate who seemed a little too closely involved in-”

“Yeah, we know,” you replied dryly, shaking your head once to clear yourself from the lingering traces of Dean’s affection. “We-uh- we got it. Them. Both of the- look, both werewolves are dead,” you stammered eventually, and you heard a sigh of relief on Sam’s end.

“Great - are you okay?” he asked, voice heavy with worry. 

“Fine,” you managed. “We’re both fine. Bit worse for wear, but fine.”

“Okay - okay, well, good. Let’s meet back at the motel, then.”

“Yeah - get the first aid kit ready if you beat us there,” you replied tiredly.

“Yeah, of course. See you soon,” Sam bid, and you sighed, tucking away your phone as he hung up. You glanced up at Dean, who was stubbornly avoiding your stare.

“It was Sam,” you told him, trying to coax his eyes back to you. They flashed to yours for a brief moment but left just as quickly. Dean grunted.

“Yeah? What’d he say?” 

“Just that there were two wolves.”

Dean snorted. “Better late than never, I guess,” he muttered, and you allowed a short laugh as you both limped back to the Impala, sliding into the seats and nursing your tender wounds as the adrenaline faded from your systems.

“Yep. Turns out Marshall had a roommate. Two man pack. Guess you could say he was a werewolf in sheep’s clothing,” you said cheekily. That pried a smile from the eldest Winchester, finally brought a hint of a gleam back to his green eyes.

“Good one,” he chuckled, cranking the engine and pulling away from the curb. You half-opened your mouth, ready to approach the subject of the adrenaline induced act you had shared, but the look in Dean’s eyes had you second-guessing yourself. His jaw was tense, his fists tenser as he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. 

He regrets it, you realised, feeling your heart sink as you released a sharp breath.

“Right,” you said eventually. “Let’s get patched up and get the hell outta this town, huh? I bet the cops’ll be here any second, after those gunshots,” you mused. Dean squeezed the wheel tighter.

“Right,” he said tersely, relaxing slightly as you leaned back into the seat and rested your head against the glass of the window. The car was stiff with tension that slowly dissolved as the scenery shifted and blurred outside, and you winced at the throbbing headache that had flared up behind your eyes. Of course your short reprieve from it had been too good to last - how fitting that it should spring up alongside the aching in your chest as you recalled the heat of Dean’s mouth on yours, and the downcast guilt etched into his expression afterwards.

You couldn’t erase the kiss from your mind - couldn’t forget his touch, his scent, his… everything. And it was then that you realised;

You hadn’t reached a dead end, not at all - just the opposite. You’d found a fork in the road, a crossroads, and now you were faced with a glaring choice.

Two paths, each just as tempting as the other - and now you had to do the impossible. For their sakes, for your own sake…

You had to decide.

__________

Part 9 coming soon !!!!!

Buried Secrets tags: @clarinette07 @demonsofhunting @carryon-doctor-lock @coupleofgoons @colie87 @non-exclusive-trash @txnii-hxrdyy @spaghettiwoes @supersouthy @bee-happy-buzz-on @lolmkaythen @defenderrosetyler @sammykb1994 @cocklesbelli @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @witch-of-letters @lilasundari @aquaastrid @deathofmissjackson @officialmarvelwhore​ @imdoingathingmom​ @thebookisbtr​ @sideblogsmutting @keepcalm-and-beyou​ @stormnightsong​ @spopovich​

Forever tags: @babygirloreo​ @calaofnoldor​ @lmpala97​ @sebastianshoe​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @castieliswatchingoverme​ @kina666​ @liviaolivia​ @simplyxparker​ @helpmeluci​ @demonsofhunting​ @lilulo-12​

Dean tags: @polina-93​ @justagirlinafandomworld​ @justanotherwinchester​ @shadowkat-83​ @teenwaywardasgardian​

Sam tags: @sammys-dimpless​

Let me know if you wanna be added to any tag lists !!

[ngame989]

“Brew” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 6

Writing: @ngame989​

Art: @toxicpsychox​

Editing: @toxicpsychox​, @seddm​, an IRL friend

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: After close to a year on Earthni, Tom's been dragged back into the princely life, and it's a lot less exciting than he'd expected. With Star and Marco away on urgent business, can Janna help him turn a boring errand into a fun adventure?

Comic Page

Masterpost

This one’s a nice change of pace from the last two chapters, I think. TGG’s still a Starco-focused work, expect these to be the exception not the norm, but I think it’s important to strike a balance. See below for the text, hope you enjoy!

“No results.” Huh? Three eyes narrowed at the screen in frustration. Maybe a different search term? “No results.” Alright Tom, no big deal, man. Maybe you just spelled something wrong. Annnnnd… there. “No results.” How could there be nothing?

Tom leaned back in the chair and sighed, exercising restraint over the little anger demons inside him as he’d trained himself to do. In the past he’d needed a physical bunny to pet if he wanted even a hope of keeping his cool, but at this point suppressing the urge was such reflex that most would think he just had a regular Mewman quick temper and nothing more in all but the most extreme of conditions, but he was getting pretty close to that point now. Grandpa Relicor’s study had everything, or so he thought, but this was the first time he could ever remember being here where it come up short. He’d checked every shelf, everything he could think in the computer, had even fireblasted a few of the shelves just to see if there were any hidden switches or anything. Even Relicor had been at a loss and had been screeching in distress on the floor for long enough that Tom’s brain had graciously tuned it out. What could be so important about this book his mom needed? He hadn’t even had time to change his casual graphic tee from a cartoon he liked, simply tossing his maroon jacket over it before heading out at his mother’s behest. He wasn’t one to say no to her, but it had been hours since he’d shown up here and he was no closer to figuring this out than he had been this morning.

Suddenly his phone buzzed, displaying the familiar beaming face of his ex-girlfriend close up to the camera. A toothy grin erupted as he picked it up, holding the phone up for a video feed. “Heya, Starship.”

“Hey, Tom!” Star beamed into the camera. “How’s it hanging? Long time no see. So,” she rambled out in one breath, “I may have a teensie weensie wittle problem.” She backed up to reveal her hair in complete disarray, sans horns, and black marks all over her light blue dress. Before Tom could even ask the question, her other hand held up charred fragments of her headband. “Someone still hasn’t learned how to use an Earth oven properly!” she forced out through gritted teeth.

“Look, gurl, I said I was like, so sorry! All the Cloud Kingdom kitchens are powered by glitter and horn blasts, like that’s just how ovens are supposed to be, that is all I am saying here,” Ponyhead’s indignant voice chimed in from behind, punctuated by a snort.

“Anyway, we just finished putting out the fires and I need a new headband and their website says they’re almost out of stock and I’ve wanted to show Marco around the Underworld for a while and- wait, is that screeching in the background? Where are you?”

Tom shuffled away from the elder demon still writhing on the floor and cleared his throat. “Just in Grandpa’s study trying to find something for my mom, she really wants it today. I don’t know if I can go- but I can still send the carriage for you guys, if you want.”

“Do you need help with that?” Marco inquired as he peeked his head into the frame, casually wrapping an arm around Star.

“Naaaah, no big deal,” Tom shrugged. “You two should go, though! I can just fly over whenever I finish this.”

Star and Marco looked at each other hesitantly. “Alright,” she said. “Carriage to our house in maybe five minutes?” A fire alarm went off behind her followed by a scream from Ponyhead and an even girlier one from Marco. “Maybe ten,” Star sighed, burying her face in her free hand.

“You got it,” Tom chuckled.

“OK, bye!” Star said with relief before hanging up. He rolled his shoulders from inside his jacket and ran his hands through his hair before stepping into the main foyer, taking advantage of the space to summon the carriage and its horses, the incantations coming effortlessly to him. Demons had been fortunate enough to retain their powers on Earthni, but the location underground and the relative lack of portaling methods available left them even more isolated than previously. While most of the other kingdoms had dissolved or integrated into a loose coalition of government covering all of the Echo Creek area, the Underworld had been content to stay completely under the banner of Lord and Lady Lucitor, and Tom found himself pitching in more and more in his role as Prince. In truth, he would have appreciated the company his friends were offering, but he knew how much it had meant to Star to be able to give this life up, and he didn’t want to drag her - either of them, really, considering Marco had earned an official title on Mewni himself - back into the boring thick of regal errands. Was Prince Thomas Draconius Lucitor really going to let some stuffy old book collection get the best of him? Hah, as if.

With a flick of his wrist, the half-demon shuttled the carriage to the surface in a pillar of flame, barely looking and instead pulling out his new phone. He was still getting the hang of the new and improved Reflectacorp’s Earth tech integration, but he’d at least learned how to open yesterday’s text conversation thread from its new message notification.

Janna: anti-gravity potion attempt 4 failed. affected bottle glass itself and launched into sky. note to self: work under roof. star and marco’s suggestions didnt work either. not all bad though, it went towards cloud kingdom lol

Tom: careful, don’t hit pony’s ego and make it fly even higher ·;) btw pony + starco are going shopping in underworld soon. im stuck working for mom though.

Janna: stores r lame. even in underworld. and srsly dude u gotta stop using starfans dumb name for them. otoh it bugs them so actually nvm go 4 it

Tom: it was mine first >·:( it saves letters when they’re together!

Janna: which is always

Tom: exactly. speaking of which, they’re here ttyl

Star stepped out of the carriage in a nice white polka dotted green dress, quickly followed by Marco, the pair’s fingers remaining intertwined until they gave him a hello hug, and Tom honestly wasn’t sure they’d stopped holding hands even then. Ponyhead burst out a moment later with her phone floating in front of her pointed at herself, and she was in the middle of a monologue to no one in particular.

“-so yeah anyway as you all can see we have now arrived in the Underwoooorld. So yeah this is, like, basically the best place on all of Earthni to go shopping as I’ll be showing you today. Oh yeah, I guess some demon boys live here too. Oh my goodness, say hello you guuuys,” she rolled her eyes as she butted in between Star and Tom, side-eyeing him for a split second before grinning back into the camera. After all this time Pony still hadn’t dropped the passive aggression over his and Star’s messy history; Tom had to admit it was a bit understandable, but did she really have to keep it up in such an annoying way? He rolled his eyes - it was Ponyhead he was thinking about here. “OK, the Ponyhead Experience will be taking a short break. Tune back in soon! Love y’all, buhbye!” She snapped the phone shut and caught it with her tongue. “Ugh, why do all of my vlogs with you dorks get like ten times as many viewers? Tom, you were in the shot for like three seconds and do you know what happened? 2000 more people tuned in! What the heck! It’s like, just because I have one less horn and one less eye I’m not exciting to you? But I can’t stay mad at my adooooring fans.”

“Must be the Lucitor charm.” He flashed a toothy smile and a pair of finger guns at her, accidentally flinging his phone across the room in the process. “Totally planned,” he blurted out with a much less authentic grin. Marco chuckled and picked it up, handing it back and patting him mock-sympathetically on the shoulder while holding back a smirk.

Star giggled but tapped her foot impatiently, looking around the room nervously. “OK, great catching up, but on the way here I checked the website and the headband shop is almost out of stock! We have to go, now! Let’s move it, people! Tom, can we borrow the carriage for the day?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine by me.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re the best!”

“You sure you don’t need anything?” Marco inquired again.

“You heard the girl, Marco, my audience wants to see us get our shop on!”

Tom blew a raspberry, pushing them towards the carriage. “Relax, it’s nothing. I’m practically done already! Tooootally almost done!”

Marco finally relented, nodding his assent. Star was bouncing up and down so much that she looked ready to launch around the room. He giggled as she wrapped both her arms around his middle and kissed his cheek before hauling him the rest of the way into the carriage. “C’mon boo, mama needs a new pair of horns. Plus we can get whatever you need, too! I saw a few things in the catalog that would look preeeetty good on you,” she sing-songed, walking two fingers up his chest to boop his nose after they plopped down onto the seat together. Ponyhead mimed vomiting at Tom, who silently laughed in response; they were so engrossed with each other that Tom was fairly certain they wouldn’t have noticed even if he’d shouted his laughter, though. He blankly stared at the spot the carriage had been for a few seconds after it exited in a blaze.

“Pretty gross, right?” Tom started and launched a fireball in the direction of the voice, hovering away from the intruder. A split second after, his vision caught up with his instincts and saw Janna in her usual green shirt and beanie and yellow skirt, sans jacket, nonchalantly sidestep the flame. “You do the same thing every time, you really need to work on that,” she chided with her arms crossed and a devious smirk on her face.

He rubbed his temple and gestured at her in sullen disbelief. “How did you-”

“Roof of the carriage.”

“Huh.” An eyebrow up in surprise, studying her expression. “You never usually, you know, answer that.”

She shrugged, kicking a boot into the hard stone floor. “Whatever, guess I’m just bored. Besides, half the reason I do that is to get a rise out of Marco,” she slyly snickered, and Tom couldn’t help but join in. “Alright, demon boy, what adventure are we going on today?”

Tom crossed his arms apprehensively. “Just trying to find a book for my mom, not really much of an adventure.”

“Like I said, dude, I’m bored and shopping is dumb. I don’t mind hanging out here for a study session or whatever, your family’s got great taste in decor.” She picked a skull off the ground and tossed it back and forth between her hands. He grinned back at her, grateful for the company. “So what kind of creepy curses are in this book?”

The pair started walking back into the study as their conversation continued. “Don’t think there are any. It’s called ‘Historia Homewnum’, according to my mom, so it’s probably a history book but that’s all I know.”

“Darn. Demon history’s bound to be pretty cool, though.”

“You’d be surprised how little actually happens down here, it’s just a lot of maintenance. Last month the most important thing I did was a ribbon-cutting ceremony at a new boba cornshake shop, it’s really caught on here since the Cleaving. But man is it good! Marco was right, the little pearls are just so tasty, I like the creamed corn version best.”

“What is it with you and corn, seriously...” Janna shuddered.

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.” He knew he’d gotten distracted thinking about the delicious creamy beverage, but that didn’t seem like an adequate reason to look so horrified, especially coming from Janna. Not able to figure out any other reason she might be disgusted by his comments, he got his thoughts back on track. “Really don’t know why she wants this thing so much. Anyway, I already checked the entire study for it, and the search archives don’t have anything either. Oh well, what can you do, might as well just give up and-”

“Found something,” Janna piped up, somehow already in the computer chair with her feet on the desk.

“Really? How?” he asked incredulously, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.

“OK, I didn’t actually find the book, but maybe we should check this place out.” He leaned into the screen to see a Mewgle search for ‘how to find weird book in underworld’ on the screen.

“I already tried that, Janna!”

“Yeah, but your antivirus was blocking this link to some place called the ‘Librarinth’.”

Tom slammed his palm into his forehead. “Of course, the Librarinth! How could I not think to look there, that’s where all the oldest books are. Why was it getting blocked?”

She clicked on the link and both recoiled at the sight: an abhorrent patterned background with almost unreadable randomly colored text and low quality cartoon images scattered all around the page. “Yeah, it’s awful,” she said in response to his obvious horror. “Seriously, whoever must made this website must be, like, a thousand years old.”

“Probably , yeah, but why does that have anything to do with-” His eyes widened in realization as he clapped his hands together in contemplation. “Right, humans and their lifespans. Go on.”

“Look.”

She scrolled past the despondent, blurry faces of demons of all shapes and sizes in the staff section until she arrived at the catalog, folding her arms triumphantly. Tom excitedly butted in, typing into the search box and being greeted with a loading wheel. “Uh, Janna? It’s not working.”

“Pfft, yeah, I might actually be dead by the time the search finishes. But that doesn’t matter because they have our book. It’s the header image for the whole catalog.” He squinted and brought his face closer to the monitor, and to his surprise the title was clear as day on the cover of the book, although all the other information was too difficult to make out. “Alright, let’s go. Main page says the Librarinth is on Floor 216.”

With a snap of his fingers, the demon elevator was summoned into a bookshelf much as it had been the day they had dealt with the Blood Moon. Relicor’s shrieking, which had slowed to a whimper since they’d left, resumed in full; fortunately they began descending, which quickly put them out of earshot. Tom awkwardly stretched his arms, unsure what exactly to say. She was his friend, yes, but he was never the best at small talk, and Janna being Janna didn’t make that any easier. After long, messy years of broken hearts and misguided feelings, he finally felt comfortable forging friendships, but even though they got along quite well there was something about Janna that made that vibe a lot less effortless than with Marco or even Star. Thoughts of his other friends reminded him of something. “Uh, by the way… how did you even know about the carriage earlier?”

“A girl’s gotta keep some secrets.”

“Pony was posting about it every 15 seconds,” he guessed, calling Janna’s bluff.

“Touché. Every 10, though,” she coolly responded. “Ha, now she’s just flipping out because Star and Marco have way more likes than her selfies.”

“Figured you’d have him bugged or something,” Tom chuckled as he scooted over to get a look at Janna’s screen, and sure enough there was a picture collage of Star sitting in Marco’s lap with tens of thousands of likes and comments already. They were laughing their butts off at themselves in a mirror in front of them with novelty sunglasses, fake mustaches, goofy props, and even a few absurd full-body costumes; Ponyhead joined the fun for a few but just as often butt in trying to take over the mirror by herself.

“Ew, no, I disabled it all months ago. Boyfriend Tom was already too cutesy for me, and you two just had a little flirty fling. Do you think I’d really want to see or hear whatever Star and Marco have going on? They’re, like, deeply in love, or whatever, and it’s gotten even worse in the last few weeks.”

He murmured in tacit agreement. Now that he thought about it, they had seemed even more affectionate than usual, but he wasn’t too keen on uncovering why that might be. The ding of the elevator saved him from any further speculation, and he and Janna stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, which was empty with cobwebs coating most of the weathered stone walls. Janna looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Anyway, so the Librarinth is basically a combination of a library and a labyrinth-”

“Right, I got that,” she curtly retorted.

“The legends say that some ancient librarian demons wanted to challenge any who sought knowledge, so they hid all the books in a giant maze that only the worthy could navigate. But everyone who made it still decided to organize it thoroughly for some reason, and you still had to check out the books and bring them back and all that.”

She ran a finger over the dust on the front counter, and the surface of the desk sizzled in response, causing her to pull her hand back before poking the bubbles that formed with a curious smile. “So why is it completely empty?”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Weeeeeeell, after a few people went missing or insane, everyone realized it really wasn’t a great way to, you know, run a library. Grandpa actually started collecting books to try and get them away from this place. No one really knows what goes on in there, but as far as I know it’s still maintained even though no one uses it. The kingdom stopped staffing the lobby but they could never just shut it down because anyone who tried, well-”

“Went missing or insane. Sounds cool, I’m in.”

“You sure?”

“Dude, you brought me to a wicked hell maze filled with psychotic demon nerds. Maybe there’ll be bottomless pits or a wicked dungeon boss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re flirting with me, Mr. Lucitor,” she purred, running a finger up his chest and flicking his nose.

“Haha, very funny. And it’s Prince Lucitor,” he sarcastically chided, poking her arm in response before crossing the room with her following, but he couldn’t help but hide that he was flustered. Seeing Star and Marco’s relationship in the past year had reinforced his already-firm convictions about romance: he wanted someone with whom he could be life partners in all ways, not just handholding and rooftop picnics. Otherwise, what would be the point? He’d made that mistake enough times, and even just a light jab at the notion of him casually flirting struck made him feel self-conscious about that past. Finally his reflection was halted when he found what he sought: a large wrought iron door furnished with ornate demonic symbols and various carvings of mythological creatures dwarfed them both. With a soft, steady flame for light, he brought his hand up and ran it over the rusty engravings. He jumped back with a gasp as the fire spread into the lines of the door, lighting up the patterns on it and causing it to creak as it slowly opened.

“Nice,” Janna muttered in awe before strolling inside, with Tom hesitantly following. She was the most eager of their little group to dive headfirst into the unknown, even more than Star most of the time, but he trusted her gut.

They started walking down the long, cramped hallways, hearing only the sound of their own footsteps on the cold floor. Janna peeked her head into a small doorway that appeared to their left, earning herself an explosive blast to the face and getting knocked onto her butt. Tom slammed the door shut and leaned in to read an inscription next to it. “Incinerator for any books too damaged or damaging for further use. Probably not the right place.”

Janna huffed, brushing herself off and finding scraps of paper among the char. “I can see that. Seriously, what kind of labyrinth labels its doors?”

“Maybe one run by book nerds,” Tom offered, gripping her hand to help her up.

“So it’s just as bad at being a labyrinth as it is a library. Neat. Great adventure.”

Tom pressed on, keeping his focus ahead of them. “Hey, I’m just here to help my mom. You’re the one that said you were fine with anything.”

“Fine, fine. Just saying, I could be working on my potions or something.” She pulled a glass bottle full of purple liquid from her skirt pocket and casually tossed it at a wall. Janna snickered at Tom’s yelp when it shattered, but found herself joining him in backing away when a chunk of stone quickly deteriorated and slammed into the ground at incredible speed. She went over and carefully kicked a pebble, finding it impossible to even budge. “See, this was just a stupid pro-gravity potion. Worthless.”

He leaned against the stable wall opposite the hole, sighing. “I’m sure there has to be something interesting here. What if we, I dunno, make it a competition or something?” His frustration with both the situation and Janna were there, yes, but he still wanted to try and get something fun out of the day.

“Go on,” Janna said, eyes flickering up from the bottle that she was tossing between her hands nonchalantly.

OK, maybe he should have thought further ahead. His arms flailed as he scrambled to come up with an idea. “OK, so, uh, whoever finds the weirdest thing in this place in the next hour wins. Just call them out if you think you found something. Or whoever finds the book, whichever comes first, yeah. Mom still needs it.”

“Momma’s boy. I respect that. You’re on, Tom.” Janna cocked an eyebrow, staring at him for a second before pushing off the wall into a sprint, opening the first door she could find. “Empty. Another empty. Three empties, dammit.”

Tom used his flight to travel more smoothly from door to door on his side of the corridor, but still found himself losing ground as he took the time to read the sign posted by each threshold. The ‘Demonic Studies’ room had a very ornately ghoulish aesthetic, with macabre skeletal models throughout. Definitely something to show Janna on the way out just for the aesthetic, and it’d have been weird for most humans, but it wasn’t any more abnormal than what the two of them were used to as a daily routine. Another room for astronomy had an exquisite planetarium dome, but it turned out to be rather useless as the Underworld did not, in fact, contain any stars since it was underground. There was, however, a plentiful selection of guides to stalactites stocked on the shelves. The next four whole sections were devoted to anger management self-help books, which only made him waste precious seconds cringing at old memories.

His pace picked up as he kept going from door to door finding nothing but normal library fare, although he had to admit it was certainly well-maintained. On any other day he might actually enjoy some of the things here, but today he was on a mission to get out of here so they could actually have fun elsewhere.

‘Bookworms’... now that had potential. What sorts of hybrid creatures could lurk behind the inches of wood? “I think I might have found something!” he shouted, throwing open the door only to receive a harsh shushing. Within were only elderly demons in cozy sweaters reading by candlelight, all now glaring at him with an intensity that reminded him of his mom’s own rare reprimands. “Never mind,” he loud-whispered back out into the hall as he gently closed the door and found Janna in a nearby corridor. “Ugh, why is there nothing interesting here?” Sparks trailed behind him from his mounting anger as he paced.

“Tell me about it, even ‘Wormbooks’ was just a bunch of regular novels, somehow,” she sighed. “I was hoping for a big long chain of open books slithering around on the ground, now there’s a party.” She slumped down against the wall next to the streak of flame he’d left on the ground, idly stamping it out with her boot until Tom sat down beside her.

“Wouldn’t a wormbook be the opposite? A big fat worm in the shape of a book?”

“Nah, it’d totally be a book made of a bunch of little flatworms all working together, duh. Still pretty lame.”

OK, now he knew something was up with her. “Janna, is- is something wrong?”

Her body slouched further down until she was almost horizontal on the cold floor, staring ahead of her like a zombie. “Being weird has just felt so pointless lately. Everything’s weird now, all the time! I’m wasting all my time trying to brew potions when there’s a shop that sells them on every corner. I got so bored that I even passed that same dumb test Marco did and now I’m done with high school, like, for real this time.”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, that’s pretty impressive.”

“It’s easy if you know who to blackmail.” Tom blinked a few times, not sure why he’d expected anything different. “Everyone else is moving on with their lives, but I’m still feeding the same old possums and picking up the same old tennis balls. The whole point of my routine is that it’s different, it’s me, it’s my Jannanigans or whatever Star calls it, but it’s just not the same. I’m still into all that stuff, and Earthni’s actually really cool, but… ugh.” With that, her head fully sunk to the ground.

Tom brought his palms together over her head, opening and shutting his hands while wiggling his fingers around. “It’s a wormbook,” he said hesitantly, not really sure what he was doing. It was silly amusement, but perhaps that was just what she needed right now. Janna frowned and rolled her eyes, so he snapped at her arm with his hand puppet wormbook a few times.

“Alright, I get it,” she barked out, but her sullen demeanor slowly cracked under the onslaught of frivolity as she sat back up with an unusually ponderous look at him.

“Remember that time you took me bootsledding?” She nodded. “You told me that I needed to find a life outside of Star, and- and it was really great advice. Didn’t mean I still couldn’t like spending time with Star or anything, heck, I still do! But I just needed to get out of that rut of depending on it. Maybe you just need to do that, too. If doing your weirdness by yourself is normal, then adding something normal might be kinda weird.”

“That’s it.” Janna leapt to her feet, looking very suddenly invigorated. “That’s it!”

“Well, uh, glad you liked it. It was nothing, really, just trying to be a good pal-”

“Yeah, yeah, that too,” she waved dismissively, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit scorned. “If weird is normal then normal is weird. We were looking for the craziest things we could find here, but everything that should have been weird was normal, so we should be looking for the most painfully boring room here!” All three of Tom’s eyes blinked a few times as her words sunk in. Could it be…? “Tom, over here!” He hustled over to a particularly plain wooden door. Janna pointed at the plaque on the wall, which was far more faded than the others had been. “Look. ‘Government Records’.”

A burst of energy coursed through Tom’s blood, sparking life in him once more, and he could see the same reflected in Janna’s determined brown eyes. “And the book Mom wanted has something to do with history. Maybe it’s political history! Janna, you might be a genius!”

“Pfft, ‘might’. Now we just gotta…” She grabbed his arm, aiming it at the door, and he looked at her incredulously. “C’mon, dude, who knows what’s behind there. We’re gonna bust in with a demon blast, duh. Pew-pew!”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lip turning up in a begrudging smile gave away his agreement. The pair aimed at the door and blew it off its hinges before charging in through the smoke.

“I see you two have finally solved the grand riddle of the Librarinth!” A deep, booming voice greeted them from the smoke. “Janna Ordonia, Thomas Lucitor, you certainly took your time. I expected you to book it here much more quickly. No matter, for this room shall be your tome!”

“How do you know my-” Janna stammered.

“Uh, don’t you mean tomb-” Tom started at the same time before realizing the wordplay and groaning in misery. Wait a second… Epic threats, an obvious personality quirk…

“Dungeon boss!” the teens cheered together, glancing back and forth between each other and the remainder of the room in front of them obscured by shadow.

“It is I, the bookkeeper of this place. I guard the most sacred treasure of all… knowledge!” Paper rustled loudly, echoed throughout the cavernous space, far taller and wider than Tom had noticed when they first entered with a massive array of bookshelves many times taller than him in a single row near the back wall. The ground beneath them began to shake and Tom tossed a puff of light in front of him, exposing the wide chasm that had just opened up in the ground, swallowing all the shelving in the room. Neither were prepared for the sight that greeted them: a coiled mass unfurled from the abyss and slithering with purpose along the ground, finally raising itself up to stand at fifteen feet tall, swaying back and forth with enough force to create an artificial wind within the space. A closer look showed that the body was made of some peculiar segments of… books, of all shapes and sizes. The volume at the top of the chain was much larger and far more ornately embossed than the others, and on the blood red surface of the cover Tom could make out a set of eyes. As the picture became more and more clear, he could finally see what they were up against. Now THIS is a bookworm.

“Aren’t libraries supposed to be, like, public and free?” Janna blithely inquired.

“You are correct, child, but perhaps try reporting that to your friend there! The Lucitor family is the sworn enemy of this great Librarinth! That fiend Relicor pilfered our collection for his own use for millennia, and the rest tried to shut this place down for good. But worst of all, in the most egregious display of contempt I have witnessed since the dawn of writing itself… Prince Lucitor and his ilk have amassed twenty-six dollars in unpaid fees!”

The tension in the room nearly evaporated in a heartbeat as Tom and Janna paused momentarily before bursting out into raucous laughter.

“Seriously, dude? I could just, like, repay it.” He fumbled in his pockets for his wallet for a moment before being interrupted once more.

“Do not condescend to me, children! It is far too late to make up for these sins with mere currency. Revenge is my fee most overdue, now prepare to meet… Overdoom! I shall harness the power of the written word to spell your demise!”

Books were hurled from the depths of the crevice en masse. Tom stepped in front of Janna to blast them away, but they had taken on a life of their own and homed in on him, covers flapping in the air like wings. Behind Tom, Janna snatched one out of the air to thwart a flank attack. She grabbed his left arm and pointed it up, tapping his elbow frantically. He spared a glance and saw the paper tornado coalescing, and understood her intention. Demon flames surged out of both hands with Janna calling the shots for the left side and Tom focusing on his right. They used the opportunity to back up to a wall, letting them cover every attack vector but creating a stalemate they were sure to lose in time as the seemingly endless offense droned on. Overdoom for the time being simply floated out of the abyss, glaring harshly at them as more and more papers kept emerging.

“Wait, Tom, look…” Still using his hand, she pointed to a shelf that had fallen at an odd angle and hadn’t collapsed into the abyss. There was a large, torn-up poster on which he could barely make out the word “Historia”.

“That might be it,” he breathed out, starting to feel the burn from minutes of nonstop vigilant defensive demon blasts. Oddly, none of the books in that corner were joining the assault. Almost as if...

“It’s making them magical in the chasm.” Tom’s heart leapt up in his chest at the revelation, hope and adrenaline mixing in his veins to keep him fully alert. But charging in was a suicide mission and they clearly couldn’t win on raw firepower.

“Have you had enough? Are you children yet ready to come scrawling on your hands and knees to a-tome for the sins of your forefathers?” the imposing figure growled, bristling impatiently.

“Did it seriously just use the tome pun again?” Janna griped, running her hands past her eyes and down her cheeks in disgust. “For a word nerd, that’s just awful.”

“Yeah…” Tom absent-mindedly responded. He knew she was right, though. Book, tome, scrawl… even if the creature’s summoning powers were off the charts, and it wielded them with calculated ease, its cocky wordplay taunts left something to be desired. It struck him then: what if they’d been approaching this all wrong? If the battle couldn’t be won by blows, then they had to find another option, and Tom was ready to put his plan into action.

He quickly shook off Janna’s rather tight grip on his arm and stepped forward, mustering up a confident expression masking any fears he still had left. “Nice try, Overdoom. Your words aren’t scaring us. Learn to read the room!”

Its “body” immediately began wiggling violently in the air as it crawled a bit forward towards them. Tom paid careful attention to its back end, which had climbed a few feet out of the ground in the move. “How dare you! Petulant brats!” Literary fire and brimstone rained down upon them with more fury than ever, and the two backed up into a corner which was the best they could do in a room largely devoid of any cover.

“What the hell-” Janna whispered through gritted teeth. Tom wriggled his tail out and waved it in front of Janna’s face momentarily. “Now is not the time to-” She was cut off when a barrage of index cards launched at them with enough force to somehow chip the stone behind them on impact. Tom forcefully nodded his head towards the worm’s tail, waggling his own once again. Her eyes lit up much like his had and she nodded in understanding.

“Come on, is that the best you got? I’ve heard them all before, at least give us something novel!”

Janna stood beside him, and her grimace even managed to spook Tom a bit. “I’d alphabet you couldn’t do better even if you tried!” Not what he would’ve gone with, but hey, if it helped tick Overdoom off then who was he to say no?

“You can talk up a storm all you want, but no matter what volume of air you blow, all I feel is a not-so-rough draft!”

“ENOUGH!” Overdoom’s tail launched out of the chasm faster than either could follow, crossing the room in a heartbeat. Tom shoved Janna out of the way before it wrapped itself around him, dragging him much more slowly towards the abyss. His jacket and jeans mercifully protected the paper edges pressing into him, but it was still a painfully tight squeeze that left him gasping for air. His arms were uselessly pinned inside the embrace as he was dragged headfirst, but their hypothesis had been proven correct as all the books around them had dropped to the ground lifeless.

“Tom!” Janna called out. He strained his head to see she’d removed her beanie and had something purple in her hand that she lobbed at that moment. Through the haze of pain he recognized it as another of her potions. The arc was due to miss until he summoned his energy reserves and redirected it with a weak burst of flame from his boot. Though the glass was durable enough to not melt or shatter, the demonic heat changed the potion into a bubbling olive green milliseconds before it contacted a random segment of the behemoth they were fighting. All at once, its hold on Tom and the rest of its body went limp as it began floating lazily into the air before bouncing off the ceiling a few times like a balloon. Janna ran over and helped Tom up as Overdoom screamed inarticulately from many feet above. They traversed the chaotic mess towards the pile they’d spotted previous. After some digging around, he found ‘Historia Homewnum’ miraculously unscathed and protected by a large, sturdy slab of mahogany that had fallen flat on top of it. “I got it!”

“Cool, potion is wearing off. We need to go.” Janna calmly stated. Twin jets of fire erupted from his feet as he swiftly passed the book to Janna and scooped her up in his arms, carrying them across the room towards the door. After setting Janna down, he hesitated for a moment as she stood in the doorway.

“Do you think I should still pay the late fee? I feel kinda bad and-”

“TODAY MAY HAVE BEEN YOUR VICTORY, BUT TOME-ORROW WILL-”

Tom sighed in resignation with a very unimpressed expression. “OK, yeah, never mind.” And with a quick slam of the door, they were both out scot-free. They didn’t stop running until they arrived back at the elevator. Once inside, they slumped down onto the ground as they began the journey back up to the main surface of the Underworld.

“Woo!” Tom was caught off guard by Janna expressing visible joy, and it was immediately infectious. “Now that’s an adventure. Of course, demon fire is what makes the potions work. Makes a lot more sense. Stupid ink smudge, I burned all those lemons for nothing.” He belly laughed, falling over to the floor and clutching his gut as Janna kicked him in the arm.

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t help it.”

Her foot backed off after one last good hit. “So now you just have to give that book to your mom?”

“Yeah, should only take a minute. Want to come with?”

“Dude, she’s half a story tall and cries lava. I’d be honored. Oh crud, Pony’s current stream title is ‘WHY Y’ALL CARE MORE ABOUT EARTH TURD AND B-FLY THAN ME?!?!’” Janna showed him the notification on her phone. “That can’t be good.”

Tom pulled out his phone and called to see what was up. Pony picked up after only one ring and didn’t even bother with a greeting as she screamed so loudly that he lost hearing for a moment in his right ear. Her voice carried through the elevator car even without being put on speakerphone. “Yo Tom, why do all my Pony Pals just want to watch those two idiots kiss and cuddle? What is up with that? I even gave my fanbase a stupid nickname, they eat that stuff up, so why won’t they looooove meeeeee?” Business as usual with Pony, it seemed. “An-y-way, this whole shopping spree was amaaaazing, I am all kinds of extra fabulous now. B-Fly and Earth Turd took over the stream cuz the viewers, like, wanted a Q&A sesh but I’m only giving them twenty minutes! Hmph!”

“Might as well just make a whole show about them,” Janna chimed in, rolling her eyes a few times for good measure.

“Wait, demon boy, is Janna there? What the heck have you two been getting up to? Don’t tell me you too are getting your freak on too, I could not handle that T.M.I.-”

Yeah, there was nothing more to gain from that conversation. Tom flipped his compact shut, disconnecting the call. Wait, ‘too’? Did she mean- he shuddered involuntarily. You know what, nope, just not going to think about that one.

“So glad I turned off the cameras,” Janna mumbled, curling up into a ball on the floor, clearly not wanting to touch that whole situation either.

He opted to make contact with the other group via Marco instead - why he hadn’t just done that in the first place, he’d never know - and sent a quick text. “Marco wants to get dinner at the Waterfolk Kingdom in, like, an hour and a half. Apparently Star found some earrings she wanted at the last minute, and Pony got arrested for shoplifting three seconds after I hung up.”

Janna cackled in response. “Let’s just meet them there. My jacket got ripped to shreds by the possums last week, might as well get a new one while I’m down here. Been thinking about changing it up. I kinda like that style.” She lifted up his arm and poked at a button on the sleeve of his own.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I can show you where I got it.” He stumbled over his words, still caught off guard by this new normal-person-Janna. The elevator dinged and the teens began their trek through the Lucitor castle in search of the queen. “So, the Librarinth... we’re definitely going back there at some point, right?”

“Totally, bet’s still not over. We should do this more often, you’re not so bad a friend.”

“You too, and yeah, we should.” Looking back on the day, it had honestly been one some of the most fun he’d had in a while, despite almost dying at least once. Tom still wasn’t sure what to make of this friendship brewing between them, but if it meant more days like this to look forward to? Maybe he could get used to that.

[sleepycoffins-and-benhargreeves]

Yes! Steven rilling Andrew up is an daily thing tbh. I loved your observations on the last 3eps of worth it. The sounds they made in the savory pie ep were WILD, get a room (with only one bed lol, classic theme that i enjoy even if it's cliche❤️). Btw do you know this fic called sweet stuff? I rec it, Steven + dress is *chef kiss*. Also off topic i love those AU in which Andrew is a history teacher and Steven is an engineer and both are basically nerd af but in the cutest way possible

Steven, no matter how innocent, is just too naive at times to resist! He does things that are so innocent, and tbh, it sometimes flies by me as well, but Andrew always always notices so tbh, sometimes Steven doesn't even have to try and rile Andrew up lmao bitch gets riled up on his own

And Worth it’s last three ep’s? We all can just clearly see the heart eyes Steven and Andrew give each other. IT’S THAT STRONG. QUARANTINE CAN’T CONTAIN THEM lmao Also, I remember that part with Steven talking about soulmates and such, him calling him and Andrew soulmates and that’s just *sighs dreamily* they truly do love each other that much (PS: I keep forgetting to gif that part, I’ve been so busy recently lol)

AND YES YES, I KNOW THAT FANFIC IT IS FUCKING AMAZING UGHHHHHH  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ It’s one of the few fics I always re-read (most of the fics I reread are either smut or age-regression tbh) Steven is a dress iss sooooo good, especially when he’s in his cute pastel fluffy element. That fanfic was an amazing mixture of fluffy and smutty and goddddd, the author really delivered to us! THEY MADE A MASTERPIECE *chef kiss as well*

AND DID YOU JUST SAY ENGINEER STEVEN!? *whips out a couple of my unfinished fanfics*

If I could direct your lovely attention here Anon lol, I made this promo post before for my Standrew Tenshibyou AU. This one is gonna be long as well and I haven’t finished it yet lmao but a bit of spoiler, Steven is an engineer here and while Andrew, not really a history teacher, is a dietician. I wanted him to have a job that still involves food, but more on research and I decided on this uwu  ❤️

tbh, that fanfic doesn’t even have a title yet lmao Can’t decide whether to name it as Angels & Demons or Angel Sanctuary tbh will think of more soon lol

I have another Engineer!Steven, but it’s also in the gothic-horror genre lmao It’s a Doctor Sleep AU, and more of a Stadamdrew rather than just Standrew  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

but hmmmm History teacher Andrew and Engineer Steven is also a very good AU e.e I do love the idea of them being such nerds together e.e Anon, how dare u give me another idea lmaooo THIS IS A VERY GOOD IDEA THO

Okay, so let’s start it off like this:

Shane and Andrew work at the same university, they’re both history teachers so let’s just make this a huge university (idk how it is in America, but my old uni had double professors at times lol). Shane is trying to invite Andrew and Adam to one of their outings because Shane wants his fellow professor to go out and enjoy, he thinks Andrew is too focused on his work needs to loosen up a bit.

Andrew, begrudgingly, finally agrees as long as Adam goes along with him (Adam didn’t need to be persuaded, because he had a very healthy social lifestyle thank you very much). 

They meet at this swanky bar where Shane is off to meet his boyfriend Ryan. Ryan, incidentally, brought along his bestfriend Steven who just RECENTLY CAME OUT AS GAY. Ryan is trying to show his bestfriend a good time and maybe *nudge nudge* set him up with someone cute while he’s at it.

OH OH I WANT A LOVE TRIANGLE BETWEEN ADAM AND ANDREW AND STEVEN.

Adam really, only went along cuz he’s actually been pinning on Andrew for a while now, but Andrew hasn’t really noticed because too busy with work duh.

So the three of them meet at the bar and Andrew is actually pretty interested at Steven, he thinks he’s cute, he’s funny, and he has that bubbly personality that draws Andrew in... Too bad he looks like he’s more attracted to Adam though.

Adam flirts a little with Steven and they get along swimmingly well and it only adds to Andrew’s sour mood because hey he’s supposed to be having a good time, but the only guy he’s interested in doesn’t seem to notice him that much

So, the night ends, Adam gets Steven’s number and Andrew is just pissed off

Days pass, Steven and Andrew meet by accident!

Well, not entirely, because Shane actually invited Steven over to his class because he wanted Steven to demonstrate the history of chemicals when it came to the revolution of man and who better to explain chemistry than a chemist himself! 

So, Steven asks Andrew if he could help him find Shane because he got lost since the university is big and Andrew, seriously, Steven is cute and Andrew is a decent guy so he helps Steven out and they get to talking and one thing led to another, they’re getting coffee after work hours! Andrew is really not trying to get his hopes up, this is just a simple coffee, Steven just wants to take a break and all that.

So they get coffee, they talk alot, Steven is a big nerd with history as well and Andrew is all the more intrigued with him. Steven explains more the history of chemicals and such, and he’s so passionate and knowledgeable in his field that Andrew just can’t help but listen to him babble on and on about it. 

Then, Steven stops, looks at Andrew shyly and says “Sorry, I sometimes get carried away, hope I’m not boring you.” 

And Andrew’s all like shaking his head and saying “No, I love listening to you talk.” And Steven gets all blushy and happy and woah, Andrew loves seeing that.

By the end of their coffee “date”, Steven ends up inviting Andrew to a  convention. And to both of their surprises, it’s a CAT CONVENTION THAT THEY BOTH PLANNED ON ATTENDING. They both end up showing pictures of their cats, Steven with Simba and Andrew with Riceball and Wellington.

So Andrew is just really charmed, he really likes Steven and he can’t wait for their next ehem, “date”. He’s so excited he tells his bestfriend Adam about it.

Adam, although he did like Steven, has been pinning for Andrew for a long time now. So on the day of the cat convention, both Steven and Andrew meet Adam there as a surprise, Adam ambushed them lmaooo

Adam makes up some bullshit excuse about coming here because he was in the neighborhood and he thought he’d drop by, Andrew is suspicious because why would Adam suddenly come here? What is his ulterior motive here?

So the three of them hang out and Steven is a bit flustered because he likes BOTH Andrew and Adam and this is a bit awkward and there’s some tension here and there so yeah

So the convention ends and they all bid their goodbye’s, and Steven is a tiny bit upset because he wanted to really hang out with Andrew but, he was feeling shy around Adam. Yet at the same time, Adam didn’t really even call him back after that night at the bar.

So lo and behold! Andrew suddenly texts Steven on his way home, he wanted to know if Steven wants to hang out again and this time, maybe just the two of them? Andrew isn’t going to drop the date word yet, he wants to say it face to face cuz he’s that type of guy and Steven happily agrees!

SOOOO THEY GO ON “DATES” , Andrew hasn’t really dropped the date word yet, but Steven is always taking him on so many different places and good restaurants to eat at and the more Andrew spends time with Steven, the more he actually think that he may be falling in love and fuckkkk

wait, I want this to end in Stadamdrew

So, let’s develop Steven and Adam’s relationship this time.

Steven gathers up his courage and contacts Adam, he was planning on just telling Adam that it was nice to see him again after the cat convention. Adam decides to entertain Steven for now and they talk through text and woah, they actually really have a lot in common as well!

Steven is into photography and good books, they also have the same music tastes so they exchange and give recommendations to each other a lot. Steven told Adam that it’s okay if they’re just friends and he just wanted to hang out with him. Adam sees that there’s nothing wrong with giving the guy a chance so they go on book “dates”  together and go to music stores and laugh a lot and watch shitty movies together to make fun of and oh

oh no, Adam is actually genuinely starting to like Steven and fuck, this was not how he was intending for this to go but like, Steven is really great and he loves his smile, his laugh, and he is such a smart and talented person and fuckkk Adam got so whipped over Steven that he doesn’t even know why he didn’t bother to call Steven again after that night at the bar!

Meanwhile, Steven is having a crises! Oh no!

He likes both Adam and Andrew and they’re both bestfriends and fuckk!! Okay, he thinks that maybe they’re both just really nice and they aren’t really interested in him but, Steven really likes both of them and gosh, this is not how he wanted things to go down in his life right now

I’m thinking Andrew would make he first more here, like he would officially ask Steven out and Steven would be really ecstatic because like YES!! He does really like Andrew and gosh, he is so so happy to be dating him and they’re both having a great time together and Shane and Ryan keep teasing them and well...

Everything is great, but they both notice that Adam has become really distant and quiet recently. He’s been cancelling on hanging out and he doesn’t really talk to them that much anymore and Andrew is more concerned because Adam is best friend and he’s never seen Adam be like that, not since, he ehem got his heart broken so Andrew wants to make his friend happy again

Steven comes along to help out and they annoy Adam almost every day until Adam SNAPS and he gets pissed at both of them and then all confessions break out that Adam is actually really REALLY happy for them but at the same time he’s really not?! Because he likes both Andrew and Steven, and he’s really been pinning over Andrew for the longest time now and now that he’s seeing both Steven and Andrew together, two guys he really likes, he’s just really sad and jealous and he walks out and Andrew and Steven are stunned.

The boyfriends do a sleepover at Andrew’s place and they talk about it and Andrew realizes that oh fuck he really likes Adam as well and wow, Steven also really likes Adam and he was having a crisis before because he wanted to both date Andrew and Adam and damnnnn

So the ending is basically Steven and Andrew woo-ing Adam to become their boyfriend and it becomes a happy OT3 Stadamdrew  ❤️ The End  ❤️

jfc this got so long I am so sorry, I am supposed to be updating my fanfic but this happened lmaooooo hope u like it tho anon, this was a wild ride for me XD

[svtntntn]

crazy rich asians (1/?)

traveling all the way across the country for a wedding wasn’t too hard of a task, but meeting your boyfriend’s mother and finding out he’s a multi-million dollar, sought after bachelor was another

inspo: CRAZY RICH ASIANS aka when I wrote this last summer!

a/n: REPOST bc tumblr did something weird when I edited the title on my phone! this is gonna be either 2 or 3 parts btw! this has been in my drafts for aGES 

Something is wrong, something is very very wrong.

Or it's about to be wrong.

You can feel it.

But you're drinking champagne from a crystal clear glass overlooking the gorgeous city skyline from a rooftop decorated with white silk ribbons and twinkling lights everywhere, the delicate glow of each bulb reminding you of fireflies gathering along a grassy field.

People are abuzz with laughter and giggles as more and more bottles of champagne are popped open and couples glide across the dance floor in a poised fashion.

Your eyes catch the gaze of another's across the rooftop, his brown eyes twinkling under the white lights as he makes small talk with an elderly woman at the food table. She nudges his side when he gestures over to you with the plate in his hand, a bashful smile on his face as he shakes his head to something she says.

You smile at the scene and turn back to sip on your champagne, your eyes sweeping over the clear night sky again.

Nothing should be wrong.

"Another plate of strawberries for m'lady." Minghao sets down the plate on the table and just like that, your doubts are cast away from your mind in the blink of an eye as he smiles at you, "I almost lost these to Junhui's eldest aunt, right over there."

Minghao holds out a strawberry for you, "How'd you manage to get them away from her?" You bite into the juicy strawberry, the berry's red color tinting your lips.

"How do you think I got them?" Minghao steals a bite from the very berry in your hands, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

You begin humming in thought, "You told her these were for me and seeing me across the room, she just had to give them up to you?"

"Nope." He shakes his head incredulously, scoffing at your idea, "not everything is about you."

"And yet," you steal back the strawberry from him with a coy raise of your eyebrows, tossing the pit to the side, "here you are, feeding me strawberries on the rooftop overlooking an entire city in a nice suit."

You pull him closer to you by the lapels of his overcoat and bring him into a curt kiss on the cheek, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shoulders right after.

The wind sweeps over you in a cold shudder, making goosebumps appear on your skin as you tense up. His cheeks warm up slightly as he removes his coat from his body, draping it over your shoulders and buttoning the middle.

Your arm slink into the sleeves of his jacket as you lay your head on his chest, looking over the city and studying each of the windows. Office workers running between floors in a haste, important businessmen and women pacing their offices—working overtime—doing exactly what you should be doing to afford a trip like this with the love of your life.

Instantly, you can feel the price of the entire trip, of Minghao's expensive jacket weighting you down.

"What's wrong?" Minghao brings your hair behind your ear, his hand traveling over to your shoulder. His touch is comforting and yet, it conjures butterflies in your stomach all at once, "You have this look, like you're distracted by something… or something's bothering you."

You pause because you know he's right; Minghao can read you like an open book, "Minghao, how are we here?"

"How are we here?" He repeats your question with a suspicious voice. "By plane. If you want to be more specific: we took a car from our apartment, then a flight all the way to Seoul—"

"You know that's not what I mean." You cut him off.

Your voice becomes a hushed whisper, "Minghao, how are we able to afford coming here? I know it's your best friend's wedding and all, but coming to Korea for one wedding ceremony and then going to China next weekend for another? How Junhui and Hana can afford this i-is beyond me, a-and that flight on that luxury plane last night costs us almost an entire year's salary, we can't be traveling like this if we want a future together—"

Minghao chuckles at your rambling, his heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of a future together. "Junhui and I have it covered, promise."

"Xu Minghao, you know how I feel about stuff like this." On your first date, Minghao was ready to cover the entire tab but was persuaded to split the bill after hearing you rally off reason after reason on why you two should split the check for nearly half an hour.

The last reason to fully convince him was the threat of no second date with you.

He pauses before shrugging, "My family has a deal with the airline and the tickets were a gift for doing business with them for so long."

"So your family just casually does business with a luxury airline that just gives away tickets like they don't cost hundreds of dollars?" You raise an eyebrow, "So you're saying that your family is rich?"

He nods unconvincingly, "We’re comfortable."

You smack his shoulder with your hand, "No no no no no, that’s something only a super rich person would say."

Minghao shrugs, not denying the words but not explicitly confirming it. "You know my family owns a successful photography company and they're the curators of a couple of art museums around Asia. To some people, they’re boring positions, but to my family, it means the world to us."

"Which also means..."

"Which also means that my family takes great pride in knowing and recognizing art... even making it their entire career and devoting their life to it." He shrugs, your hands over and over again. "We're rich in happiness."

"Just in happiness?" You repeat, your boyfriend nodding along. "I was worried you were holding some sort of big secret, like your family's involved in dealing something or something shady."

He laughs with a small chuckle, "If I was, would you still be with me?"

"Well," you feel Minghao's hand wrap around your waist as you think about the situation at hand, a teasing hum coming from your lips, "if you answered a few of my questions and offered me a slice of the deal, then yes I would."

"A slice of the deal, huh?" Minghao snorts, looking over at the skyline before his eyes concentrate on your eyes alone, "What, an entire lifetime with me isn't enough for you?"

No it is, it's more than enough, you think in your head.

Ever since the moment you met Xu Minghao, you knew you wanted a lifetime and more with him.

"That sounds like a proposal, Mister Xu." You don't dare to look away from him, the hint of a smile creeping up at the word 'proposal' on your lips.

You dreamt of the whole nine yards with him—marriage, kids, dinners surrounded by friends and family till you and him were wrinkled with age.

Minghao leans in closer to you, his lips hovering right above yours, "If you think that was your proposal, just you wait. I can't wait to call you Mrs—"

"Xu!" He's cut off by the sound of another person shouting his name, the bubble of the moment broken by two figures walking over to you, one of the two clapping your boyfriend on the back with a wide smile, "Xu Minghao! Happy to see you living and breathing fresh air instead of inhaling paint fumes inside your studio all day long!"

"Chan, I am not inhaling—"

"And you must be the lovely (y/n), I’m Chan." He studies you as he shakes your hand with a small wink. "And this is Soonyoung." The second figure gives you a polite smile as he sips on an amber-colored liquid before being carried away to talk to another group of people. "Or was."

"Nice to meet you, Chan." You return his kind smile as Minghao hugs his old friend, "I've definitely heard stories about you two and Jun and Hao from college, and I can gladly tell you that Hao hasn't been breathing in paint fumes in awhile."

"He hasn't, has he?" Chan laughs, "What's the newest thing you're working on now, Hao? Claymation?"

"Ha ha," Minghao playfully rolls his eyes at Chan's remark, "I'm still working in photography, showcasing local photography and portfolios from local artists. I still paint from time to time."

"That's good to hear, I can finally answer everyone's questions on what you've been up to since you dropped off the face of the planet three years ago." You raise an eyebrow at the sound of Minghao going MIA for three years, but don't say anything. "But I'm happy you and (y/n) are here tonight! I can finally tell (y/n) all the embarrassing stories from grade school to university, like that one time we snuck into the game room and painted—"

"If you tell that story, then I'm telling Seungcheol that you were responsible for the power outage that took out the entire dorm and the west wing of the library."

Chan glares back at him, "I wasn't even at the dorms that night and you know it."

"Seungcheol doesn't know that." Minghao retorts with a smirk.

"Can I get a say on wanting to hear this story?" you ask aloud, nudging Minghao's shoulder with your own. "Because I really want to hear everything." Minghao pulls a face and Chan avidly reminisces about the college years with you, leaving no detail out as Minghao corrects him on what actually happened years ago.

As Chan entertains you with story after story, Minghao watches you listen with a close ear, watching the way your eyes crinkle with amusement, the way you smile and grin in shock and awe at the stupid, college mishaps he found himself in.

Soonyoung and another friend of theirs, Seokmin, stop by your group and listen in on Chan's storytelling, filling in the blanks with their own versions of what happened, making you laugh with the four different versions of the truth.

Yet, with the group of Minghao's friends surrounding you and bombarding you with their loud personalities, you don't back away from them, if anything they help put you at ease, knowing you're immediately accepted into their world.

Minghao seems to notice your relaxed demeanor and squeezes your hip, bringing your attention up towards him. You begin to lean more into Minghao and he takes the moment to wrap his arms around you, placing his head on your shoulder as his friends barely even notice beyond their bickering.

"Lee Chan, is that you!" A female's voice yells across the rooftop, interrupting Chan's storytelling with an abrupt cliffhanger. All the guys turn to see a stunningly beautiful woman waving at him, but Chan's face contorts into displeasure, "Oh! Well, would you look at the time! I have to go," Chan begins a hasty round of goodbyes to you all. "It was great seeing you all again, especially you, (y/n)."

"I'll see you all at the wedding on Friday!" Chan quickly ducks behind you before backtracking, "Wait, are you both flying to Hong Kong for Junhui and Hana's second wedding?"

"Yes," Minghao answers immediately for the both of you and you nod your head in agreement, "yes."

"I'll see you all this Friday!" Chan disappears into the crowd and you turn to Minghao and the rest of the group with a questioning look.

"Let's just say that Chan has a way with women that many of us do not understand." Minghao explains, chuckling at the younger's escape. "And it typically ends up with someone screaming one way or another."

"And on that note, I'm going to find Junhui and Hana, I think they're going to be making their last toasts of the night." Soonyoung nods towards you and Minghao as Seokmin follows his lead, "I think I saw Seungcheol and Jeonghan by the bar, it was nice meeting you, (y/n)! See you at the wedding!"

The two leave your presence and you're left with Minghao lazily yawning by your ear, swaying you side to side as he closes his eyes. You peer around at him and nudge his chest, "Hey sleepyhead, you can't fall asleep on me just yet." He pouts and you can't help but nudge him again, "I'm pretty sure you owe me a dance."

"I do?" Minghao scratches his head before grabbing your hand and twirling you out of his arms. "Well, if my lady demands a dance, then a dance, she gets."

He pulls you back into his arms and you can't help the smile pulling at your lips, "I did not demand," you scoff, feigning insult. "I requested."

Minghao hums in thought, "How about strongly requested? I think that's a better way of phrasing it."

"Well then, I strongly request that you kiss me."

"I think I can strongly agree to that." He presses his lips over yours and there's that unmistakable parade of fireworks in your stomach just as your heart flutters over and over again in your chest. Once you pull away, you can't help but place another kiss on his lips before resting your head on his chest, feeling Minghao tighten his grip on you warmly as he smiles in content.

"Hello, attention everybody!" Junhui and Hana stand above everyone on a stage with microphones in their hands, blissful smiles on both of their faces. You and Minghao pull apart from one another and stand side by side as the happy couple thanks the party in a cheerful and raucous toast.

Off to the side, you don't seem to catch sight of two women talking with half-full flutes of champagne in their hands, disdain in their eyes and ruby red lipstick marring their lips. The priceless jewels adorning their ears and necks only serve to remind everyone of their wealth and power as they mindlessly scan the rooftop.

One woman prods the other with her elbow, pointing in you and Minghao's direction, "Is that Xu Minghao? He hasn't made a single appearance at parties since he fell off the map, was it two? Three years ago? He's still so handsome," she gushes.

"Who is that with him?" The woman glares daggers into your head, but you barely even notice as you whisper something to Minghao with delight in your eyes. "I've never seen her before."

"I don't know, but we'll find out soon enough." Where you and Minghao stand, you don't even notice the way she angrily taps away on her phone, the way she turns with her back to you two and raises her camera to snap a photo of you from afar.

"This is so going in the groupchat."

*sent 1 photo to groupchat*

I didn't know Xu Minghao had a girlfriend?

What? How do you know Xu Minghao has a girlfriend?

He has a girlfriend?!

OmG he does??

I'm at wen junhui's pre-wedding party in korea, xu minghao is here too and so is kim mingyu and kwon soonyoung and lee chan

what does she even look like?

They must be serious if she's at a wedding party with him

I don't see them lasting long

What family is she from?

not sure, she looks to be friends with wen junhui and lee chan

DOES HIS FAMILY KNOW??

I mean he's at a wedding party in seoul, so they must know!!

But do they know know her??

My auntie's visiting the Xu's tmrw, I'll ask her if his parents know;)

what's his gf's name? I'm gonna look her up

I don't know, let me ask around

Just as the woman begins to stalk her way over to someone to dig dirt on you, there's a special shoutout over the speakers, "and to my best friend, Xu Minghao and (y/n)! Thank you for coming out all this way to celebrate one of the happiest days of my life with me!"

(y/n), her name is (y/n)

(l/n) (y/n)? what family is she from?

I've never heard of her in my life

*received 1 photo from groupchat*

found her;)

.

[rwbyconversations]

Why Oscar’s writing has been disappointing

Stories rely on their characters. You can tell a grand, sweeping narrative that spans continents and timelines but if you don’t give a rats ass about the people at the center of these events, viewers won’t care. Stories with high kill-counts like Walking Dead, Game of Thrones and Attack on Titan rely on audiences forming an attachment with characters very quickly, so that the possibility of their sudden death is all the more painful for the viewer. Long story short, if you can’t make an audience care about your character, it can be hard to keep them interested. 

RWBY has overall done a fantastic job at getting people to fall for its cast; I’m a case in point with how hard I’ll go to bat for Emerald and Mercury. But be it the obvious choices in the main cast, the wide array of villains to obsess over. The fandom even has a few eccentric folk who stan for people not seen in years! (shoutout to CFVY fans, who knew you’d get rewarded over the whole Coco in Chibi thing by getting a book?) But rather unfortunately, while one character has managed to earn a fanbase happy to see them get content, the writing has consistently failed one particular character, through constant refusals to allow them the screentime they deserve and often putting it in the wrong places when they do get morsels of time to shine each year.

Oh no, not you. I’ll get back to you before this hiatus is out. 

... actually why are his gloves orange of all colors? And what’s with the banages, is he planning on cosplaying Dazai from Bungou Stray Dogs at an Atlas convention during the off-season?

Yeah, no, I’m talking about Oscar Pine. First introduced in Volume 4, Oscar has now been a part of the main cast for half of the show’s runtime. In that time Oscar has developed psychosis, met a ticket-punching man, got stuck in a house for a month, fought a teleporting staircase man, was involved in a train crash, bought new clothes, and stole military property. 

Notice something? Nothing in there mentioned Oscar getting character development. Or rather he does... but it’s always offscreen. Oscar is infuriating in the sense that he has a lot of wasted character potential to be one of the best characters in the show- a simple but efficient design, great voice work from Aaron Dismuke and a charming personality that makes him a likable hero. But in spite of that all, Oscar constantly get the shaft when it comes to his screentime showing him developing from his problems, and each volume so far has had Oscar be faced with a trial that would make for a truly fascinating character arc, only for him to get over it while the camera’s focused elsewhere. And that’s what I’m going to focus on in this essay- I’m going to go over why I think Oscar’s writing has been consistently mishandled, and my hopes for the character in Volume 7. 

God damn I don’t like doing this, I want to like the farm boi most of the time 

1) Volume 4: All these voices running through my head, I’m on fire, face burning red

Oscar is introduced very early in Volume 4- as in, he’s in the first episode and is the eighth character we see onscreen after the villains. Oscar is in fact, if you don’t count Ruby’s character short, present in Volume 4 before the title characters. His first episode is... a lot of nothing, mostly just Oscar doing some farming. Oscar’s introduction does a good job telling us a bit about his character without him saying much- he’s prone to daydreaming while working on the farm, clearly not enjoying himself and his work. It matches up with what we learn later, that Oscar dreams of becoming a hero. It’s a stock motivation, and a stock background, but a simple and effective way of setting up a hero who desires the chance to prove himself in the wider world. His intro scene is a nice, quiet beat between the dark opening of Evernight and Salem, and the more frantic action of RNJR fighting the Geist. But overall the time the fandom was wondering what was up with Oscar- he wasn’t in the OP and nothing had set him up before now and yet here he was, getting focus before the main girls.

It takes until Oscar’s second appearance, three episodes later in Family, that we get the real reason for his importance- Ozpin’s in his head, but it would take another three episodes, in Punished, for this to be elaborated on in an unintentional Christmas gift from Rooster Teeth; Ozpin’s in his head due to their Auras and souls merging thanks to Ozma’s pact with the Archangel Asshole a few centuries back, and now Oscar is starting to act like an Assassin’s Creed character with all the memories that are in his head that he didn’t create. It’s a cruel irony for Oscar- Ozpin plays on how Oscar wants to be more than just a farmhand to try and get him to go to Mistral, but Oscar’s body language and face make it clear that this wasn’t how he saw himself getting some new life choices. Rather tragically, Oscar finally gets the chance to be part of something bigger but the manner in which it’s offered to him is anathema, as it’s coming from a literal voice in his head who claims to be a dead headmaster, and more importantly, he was never offered a choice- this was thrust upon him, a young 14 year old child who never asked for this burden of responsibility. And the last shot of Oscar in this episode already has him cracking under that burden, stuck on his knees and unsure what to do. 

(also btw Oscar’s Aunt tells him to clean his hands but Oscar’s model has gloves on all the time, so... how would he clean his hands? Or does he read books with dirty gloves? Eww)

It’s an interesting place to leave Oscar, at the metaphorical and and spiritual crossroads, and means the viewer wants to see Oscar’s next actions and the deliberation between the easy, boring life he knows or risking everything on a voice in his head telling him to try his chances in the big city. Sounds pretty interesting, right?

Not to the writers, unfortunately. Because when we next check in with Oscar three episodes later during Kuroyuri, Oscar’s already on the road to Mistral with his backpack all ready to go. That deliberation, the consideration, Oscar eventually choosing to trust Ozpin and go along with his plan? All done offscreen. Similarly, Oscar goes from treating Ozpin’s voice as an irritating thing to be annoyed has been chucked out a window- now out on the open road, it doesn’t “feel crazy” anymore. It just feels like such a cheap way to handle Oscar’s writing- rather than show his development naturally, it just fast-forwards until it reaches a point where it skips all that. And unfortunately, this isn’t the first or last time Oscar is victim to the writers fast-forwarding through his development moments. Given how much of Oscar’s arc hinges on this crucial first step, it just seems inane to me that of all of the potential Oscar scenes to cut... him coming around on Ozpin and making the call to leave was what got the cutting room floor. Especially since nothing in his Kuroyuri scene was all that essential for Oscar in contrast, barring setting up the the mystery Hazel and Ozpin’s past.

Oscar doesn’t appear again after his encounter with Hazel until the finale, when during the montage of Ruby’s letter (that consists of half her dialogue this season) we see Oscar on the train to Mistral, which really only caused a problem thanks to all the people who used it to ask why RNJR didn’t take a train. He also appears in the post-credits scene, meeting Qrow at a bar and asking for his cane back, the volume ending on Oscar extending the cane experimentally. 

Being blunt, I feel like Oscar should have been cut from Volume 4 and just introduced in Volume 5 with the bar scene. Volume 4 already had to juggle far too much in RWBY and Cinder’s plots, and adding Oscar to the mix unfortunately meant the screentime for some characters had to suffer- especially Yang. His time this season ultimately goes nowhere and only gives him a basic background that most fans would have already guessed from his character design, and the already wobbly Jenga Tower that was Volume 4′s screentime didn’t need more blocks thrown on top. I like a fair few things in Oscar’s arc, but it’s content that ultimately I’d have been fine having left on the cutting room floor. Hell, if nothing else, Oscar’s first scene should have ended with Ozpin’s reappearance, that these are two separate scenes is mind-boggling and left the fans wondering what the hell was Oscar’s purpose for weeks. 

Oscar’s debut arc has its ups and downs, much like the volume itself. His intro scene and argument with Ozpin are both well-executed and show the viewer the vocal dynamite of Dismuke’s performance or just set up his base character, but for every good thing to come of Oscar’s arc, it’s fraught with issues- most notably, his scene of choosing to leave his home being omitted and beginning the unfortunate tendency for Oscar to get the short end of the stick when it came to development and agency, which undermine his choice to leave. But overall, Oscar built himself a small but dedicated fanbase with his debut volume, even immediately shooting up to become a potential target for Ruby’s affections in the fandom shipping wars. It was a rocky start, but surely now that Oscar was going to have his plot merged with RNJR, he’d be able to handle his screen-time more effectively, right? 

Right? 

Volume 5- Two for one on meatsacks

Volume 5 is Oscar’s worst volume so far, being blunt. It’s a lot of people’s worst volumes though (Cinder, Ruby, Weiss, Mercury, Adam, mine) that at least he can share the load. It doesn’t help that he’s not in half the damn thing because his body is being used by Ozpin to regale the audience with expositon that makes them actively yearn for the sweet embrace of death... or just the return of the World of Remnant shorts. Oscar’s first scene in Volume 5 is just a recycling of the Volume 4 post-credits scene, which raises the question of why the scene was used in Volume 4. I don’t think it’s even touched up, they literally just copy-pasted it. Much like his first scene in Volume 4, his intro scene this volume is intercepted by comedy relief- last time it was Jaune’s miserable attempts at being a strategist, this time it’s Drunkle Qrow.

... You know, this scene ages poorly in hindsight given how just one volume later Qrow’s alcoholism is treated with ice-cold severity. 

Episode 3 follows up on this and gives us Ozcar’s first major scene of the volume, and unfortunately also sets up their dynamic this volume. Oscar gets some awkwardly charming moments with Ruby but overall the scene is dominated by Ozpin taking over for the first time and explaining his reincarnation powers alongside setitng up RNJR’s plot for the season- “training.” An episode later sees the entirety of this training, with Oscar and Ruby engaging in hand-to-hand combat and Oscar getting a lore dump from Ren (in hindsight this is novel not just because they’re outside during it but Ren’s the one delivering the infodump and not Ozpin). Ozpin barely even factors into the episode barring some fisticuffs and a generic speech at the end. But the scene is overall just pointless to the narrative beyond loosely setting up Jaune’s own Semblance unlocking, and this is the last we hear of RNJR “training” for the upcoming trials at Haven. Hell, even though the story makes a point of noting Oscar still hasn’t unlocked his Semblance, that still hasn’t come up two years later. This scene really only pays off in one immediate way:

This is Ruby’s sole contribution to the Battle of Haven after getting KO’d by Emerald outside of just yelling orders for offscreen fights, and all this helped do was begin to convince people that “MERC’S A BAD FIGHTER WITHOUT EMERALD.” 

Lighting the Fire’s training scene is one of Oscar’s only major scenes where he interacts with RNJR to boot for the entirety of Volume 5, and it’s quite sad that nothing really comes of it. It just serves to highlight how little Oscar interacts with the other kids, as most of his dialogue this season is just as Ozcar.

Necessary Sacrifice then, should be great on paper. It’s an entirely Oscar and Ruby scene with Ozpin only chiming in at the end. It has Oscar confronting Ruby and himself on his fears and how Ruby can put up a brace face, and Ruby finally gets to open up a little about losing Penny and Pyrrha at Beacon. But the scene just falls flat on its face and botches the execution. Putting aside Ruby’s own problems in this scene (her speech feels incredibly pre-rehearsed, as if she spent hours practicing it in the mirror to ward off anyone actually prying into her life). Oscar’s anger and fear come out of left field with nothing setting this up in his prior scenes this volume. Ruby needed a scene where she talked about losing Penny and Pyrrha, but it should have been during Volume 4, with Jaune. Having it now with Oscar feels like the writers apologizing for having Ruby get shafted for screenitme during Volume 4... during the volume where she gets shafted by literally everyone else. The scene is frustrating to me, it could and should have been a lot better (musically at least I love the reprises of When It Falls and Lets Just Live), but it just feels like a hasty patch note. Oscar doesn’t really develop from the situation and his fears are just forgotten for the rest of the volume. 

Oscar then proceeds to basically sit out Volume 5 barring Chapters 11 and 12. I still don’t get why he wasn’t part of the dinner scene with RWBJNR, since it would have been so very easy for him to be part of the dinner and get the chance to interact with the rest of the kids. Oscar wants to be a hero, so let him... actually interact with heroes his age. Have him brought up to speed on the crazy adventures the team have, let them get to interact with Oscar without having to deal with his backseat driver. You could even make something tragic of the scene where Oscar is forced to go away so Ozpin can take over, and the team’s faces fall flat when Ozpin gets right to talking shop which leads to the YOU TURNED THEM INTO BIRDS exchange. But otherwise, the rest of the House scenes revolve around Ozpin talking. The kids talk past Oscar, and again, you can very easily make something tragic of that as Oscar could grow to resent Ozpin because none of the others see him as himself, just a puppet on strings. But again... Oscar’s just not allowed to develop onscreen in this show.

And perhaps the worst thing about all this is that whenever Ozpin actually is called out on his tactics, one of the most pressings ones in his possession of Oscar,a  14 year old boy, is never used as fuel. Granted, yes, Ozpin has no control over who’s his next host but surely someone, somewhere is going to opine how morally bankrupt it is that Ozpin essentially conscripted a child not even old enough to get a learner’s permit into his eternal shadow war. It’s times like this that my theory that Jaune was going to be Ozpin’s original replacement before the backlash to Jaundice made them backtrack looks more and more possible. 

The Haven Battle episodes quickly have Ozpin force control away from Oscar, but it’s not like Oscar did much before then anyway other than serve as the conduit for another lore dump on Hazel’s backstory. He doesn’t try and learn why Leo defected and manages to trounce the headmaster so well one wonders how the hell Leo got put in charge of a combat school. After that, Ozpin takes over (and we admittedly get some of the coolest fighting in the actual Battle of Haven in Ozcar vs Hazel) and Oscar only briefly returns in the last seconds of the finale to drop the sequel hook that they need to get the lamp to Atlas.

Volume 5 is just a bad season for Oscar- this is the one time we don’t get his eternal phantom of offscreen character development because it’s not fair to say Oscar has any development in Volume 5. He’s immediately forced to the back to serve as a projector through which Ozpin can put the audience to sleep, most of his actual scenes are irrelevant or just feel like a waste of time and he basically sits out the entire finale. It’s just infuriatingly incompetent writing- we’ve gone from Oscar being a waste of time in Volume 4 to just being a waste of a character in Volume 5 who barely gets to express himself. Little is done with Oscar that could not be achieved by putting a tape recorder beside a lampshade and calling that Ozpin’s new host. Volume 5′s bad for a lot of characters, but at least most of the rest of the cast had good seasons beforehand to show how well they could be handled or written. Oscar didn’t have that, and while ultimately the blame was placed more on Ozpin for hogging the time, Oscar’s critics began to grow and he was derisively seen as just a plot device to let the writers bring Ozpin back and serve as a mission marker for the heroes. One more bad season for Oscar could spell the end to his character ever having a warm reception among the fans and critics. Drastic action would need to be undertaken in order to regain trust in Oscar. 

3) Volume 6- Tossing out the baby with the water

So the big plan to give Oscar some screentime... was basically cut Ozpin out of the story entirely. Oscar is almost entirely himself after the fourth episode, it’s the longest run of episodes with Oscar as himself that we’ve gotten in the show to date and Ozpin doesn’t even surface until the finale. There’s a lovely line of Oscar’s in episode 4 that finally lets him address some of the fears and concerns he should be rightfully worried about- “I’m just going to be another one of his lives, aren’t I?” Oscar’s tone is just so bleak there, it works super well and it was nice to finally see Oscar expressing human emotions. It even my cynical heart hope that Volume 6 would finally see Oscar get the limelight he had been denied for two years running.

But then the ball is just dropped hard. Oscar’s left in a background role for the Brunswick episodes, stuck working on a tire while RWBY encounter the Apathy. What’s already a somewhat rushed resolution to the whole plot of “RWBY express concerns about going onward to Atlas in light of Jinn’s revelations” now leaves Oscar, the guy carrying Ozma’s soul in him, out of the moment. He just gets to be tired and tell Blake to make food if she’s hungry. 

Argus at least alludes to putting Oscar in the driver’s seat for his own solo arc where he explores the city alone after Jaune physically assults him (why didn’t anyone stop Jaune from hurting Oscar two people saying Jaune’s name with all the concern of someone stubbing their toe just feels cheap). Even though I was cold on the episode as a whole, Dead End did set up the wonderful idea of an Oscar episode, one where he maybe forces Ozpin to come out so they can talk frankly for the first time in two volumes. Maybe they could even rip off Avatar (some more) and have Oscar meet Ozma himself, using his conversation with the two as his own chance to rally onwards and decide to bring the fight to Salem.  It could have been a really sweet moment of him backing Ruby up in her desire to keep going, the two forming a mutual bond of bolstering each other’s hopes as they carry the burden for their team. 

But no. Because I can’t have nice things, in an otherwise near-perfect episode where I actually got Mercury and Emerald screentime and the lovely Pyrrha statue scene (which I low-key feel like Oscar should have been a part of but that’s a subject for another day), Oscar just gets over his issues, buys a new outfit and dodges past his problems, getting to develop past them, off-screen, for the third time in a row. 

As far as I care, Oscar stole the money for this costume from either Qrow or Jaune and I don’t care if Miles says to my face he earned the money legit, I’m keeping that headcanon. Also, why are his gloves still orange? They don’t fit the rest of his costume.

If there was anything that got cut from Volume 6′s final half, I’d bet money on it being Oscar’s solo arc. Kerry himself has admitted during the RWBY Rewind for the finale that stuff got cut, and it’s very likely (going off comments from Miles that The Lost Fable was a huge resource drain) that this content was going to be part of the entire episode that was cut (Volume 6 initially had 14 episodes but around Christmastime this was remedied down to 13). It’s actually downright insulting and infuriating that Oscar got the shaft again, especially when Volume 6 finally seemed to be addressing the issue of Oscar never getting growth or focus. He was free of Ozpin, and with Ozma’s history revealed it was the perfect time for him to embrace the past forced upon him and resolve to become a hero. But no, the episode count went down so we had to wave goodbye to Oscar’s agency again. 

Just think of how beneficial it would be for Oscar to actually confront his sorta-not-really ancestor, who may have had to watch as soul after soul gets consumed for him. Has Ozma ever had someone tell him none of this was his fault? I feel he needs it. 

If I was a more suspicious person I’d say it almost feels deliberate, that someone on the writing team doesn’t like Oscar and is purposefully keeping his growth offscreen out of childish spite. But three volumes in a row now, Oscar’s growth has felt artificial and fake, and leaves him feeling like an afterthought. I know it’s not a problem of RWBY not being able to write new characters well, just look at how fleshed out and beloved Maria was after just her debut season. But Oscar just can’t catch a break and it’s frustrating to watch. In a volume that otherwise made huge strides in solving many of the pre-existing issues in Volumes 4 and 5, that 6 still refuses to treat Oscar with anything other than mild apathy is just mind-boggling. 

Like, what was even the point of having Jaune say Ozpin was just pretending to be Oscar? To make Jaune look irrational? To plant the red herring in the viewer’s minds?  The rest of the volume itself shoots the idea down hard, and it feels like it was going to be used during Oscar’s potential cut scene, but again... it was cut. I can only go off what’s in the volume and unfortunately, Oscar in Volume 6 is only marginally better than he was in past Volumes. Bless his heart, Aaron is trying to save this character but the writing itself is dragging Oscar down every chance it can get. 

4) Volume 7- The potential breaking point

Oscar’s character is currently in a make or break spot, and Volume 7 will either finally solve his growth issues or this will be it and his fandom will reach a boiling point. The worst thing is, it’s a very easy solution to fix Oscar.

Just put his character development onscreen. 

That’s it, the golden answer to all of Oscar’s problems is to just stop cutting his development and agency short. Oscar has potential to be the most tragic character in RWBY- someone who wanted to be a hero, only for the responsibilities to be forced on him without his consent. He’s someone who the rest of his companions oftentimes don’t see as a person, just a walking telephone to their boss. Imagine how dehumanizing it would be, especially after Qrow’s “Don’t lie to him, we’re better than that” line? Imagine being someone effectively living on borrowed time because sooner or later, your consciousness will be absorbed what makes you you will be but a distant memory? Oscar could easily be a shining example of character growth, he could easily have a great arc of learning to deal with the burdens of Ozma’s struggle, of being the target of Hazel and Salem’s ire when he did nothing to earn it. But it needs to be soon, or all the potential in the world won’t be able to save Oscar. 

Perhaps Volume 7 will have a flashback to Oscar in Argus having that confrontation with Ozpin and getting his new outfit. Perhaps Ironwood will be mistrusting of Oscar claiming to be Oz, and Oscar will have to step up and prove he is who he says he is. Qrow never apologized to Oscar for punching him, so an apology would serve both Qrow and Oscar’s arcs as Qrow reignites his spark to fight. A potential confrontation with Salem where Oscar may try something the previous Oz lives didn’t could work wonders for Oscar. Volume 7 could still easily have Oscar get spotlight, but with how many plates the season is already planning to spin (Tyrian and Wattts going to Atlas, Cinder and Neo going after Ruby, Weiss dealing with her family, Ruby learning about the Silver Eyes with Maria, a likely return of Faunus racism for Blake and Yang, Atlas class warfare, the token reminder that Pyrrha died so Jaune, Ren and Nora can be sad, etc.) I’m already accepting that Oscar is the most likely candidate to get the boot again. It’s happened before, and I try to avoid being a sucker who falls for the same thing over and over. Definition of insanity and all that. 

5) Conclusion

Oscar is... I hate to say this again, but infuriating to me writing wise. He has so much potential as a character in terms of his growth but despite having had main character status for half the show’s runtime now, it’s hard to really care. Oscar keeps getting the short end of the stick, and if it turns out that the whole reason he got shafted for years was because of M&K’s mystery fetish, I might actually throw a chair out a window.  

What makes it worse is that Oscar is not a character with no hopes of being salvaged! There is a very easy way to remedy the problem and it’s just to let him have his time to shine and develop offscreen. Flashbacks covering the lost events such as his leaving his farm or gaining confidence in Argus (or even giving Oscar a character short specifically to address these issues) might be belated and feel like damage control- let’s be fair, after Adam’s short this wouldn’t be the first time they resorted to doing damage control in their shorts- but it would be a step in the right direction and show the team are committed to working to salvage Oscar. But they want to do it, it has to be now. If Oscar leaves Volume 7 suffering from the same problems, he might as well get killed off in Volume 8 because that will be it for his character, no one will defend him and Oscar will fully become the heroic Cinder in that no matter what, you can rest assured they won’t get onscreen development from anything that happens. In the meantime, all I can do is hope that this time, things will work out for the farm boi. There’s a goldmine of a character here guys, someone’s just gotta put the work into finding the first nugget. 

In short, Oscar can be a great character, if the writing lets him become it onscreen. But until then, it’s going to be a frankly depressing journey to get there.

Thank you for reading. 

[witchylittlefox]

My Thoughts and Feelings About Star Wars as of 2019

I held off sharing my complete feelings on this franchise/fandom because I wanted to wait for TROS to be out. since I have seen it now I’m ready to share how I feel about disney owned Star Wars, the fandom war, reylo, and TROS. Heads up these are my opinions and if we disagree that’s okay! But I would appreciate some respect when it comes to nasty comments because some of the things I’m going to say can be..... controversial in the reylo community.

Preface: I have been a Star Wars fan since I was 4 years old. I somehow figured out how to used a VHS machine and I would insert Return of the Jedi and rewind to watch it over and over again. To this day that movie is my favorite out of all of them. Star Wars was something my brother and I shared together and he would lend me all the EU books. I loved all the stories about Jacen and Jaina Solo at Luke’s jedi academy. I grew up with the prequels and yes, I am a prequel defender but they were corny as hell. So not to toot my own horn but I was very much invested in the lore and commited to the series before Disney bought it.

Disney Star Wars: Disney had absolutely no idea what they were doing with the movies (atleast when it comes to the Skywalkers + everyone related to the OT trio). They spat on the OT character’s legacy. They turn Luke into a character who seems to care nothing about helping his sister. No way in the world would Luke just throw a lightsaber off a cliff. Han and Leia are treated a little better (more so Leia), but Disney is passive agressive with them and make them out to be these horrible parents that decide to send away their son because they’re scared of him. No wonder Ben turned out the way he did. Rey, well......they could of written her better and don’t get me wrong I love aspects of her but this should of been Ben’s time to shine. HE should of been the main character of all the movies. Finn? Would of been cool seeing more perspective from an ex stormtrooper but nahhhh let’s just make him fawn over rey in the first one and then in the second give him this whole arc making us think he’s getting somewhere and then another badly written character ruins it. Poe? Well he atleast got more of an arc than Finn but he’s still so flat.

The Fandom Menace And the Fandom War: I decided after TLJ came out that I was not going to label myself in this fight. It seemed like (or atleast on Tumblr) that you couldn’t be a Reylo if you hated Rian Johnson. Rian was made out to be this “savior” of some sorts, just because he focused the movie to be more Reylo centered. YES he is talented. YES I’m thankful he gave us more of a Reylo plot, But jeez that guy is an ass (I didn’t want to cuss in this but oh well lol). Calling out fans on Twitter? Calling them names? Ridiculing Mike Zeroh? Which say what you will about Mike (not a huge fan of him tbh) but god he’s a fan of the series why are you making fun of him? But those people who are apart of the Fandom Menace are not innocent. A lot of them (NOT ALL, but most) only make videos on Youtube hating on Star Wars because it’s cool. They use the hate to get attention. I’m just not all about that. I agree with them on a lot...but seriously at what cost do we have to allow this. Both sides are annoying and immature and I choose not to take a side. I will like what I want about Star Wars and dislike what I want about Star Wars. I am not going to be a sheep. So yes... I am a Reylo, hardcore since TFA came out in 2015 and yes, I think Rian Johnson is a crappy person and I won’t be seeing any of his movies ever again (besides rewatching TLJ) because I don’t want to give money to someone who fuels the fan war. That being said, I dont support (whether that be my viewership or money) anyone who is in the “Fandom Menace” and does the same for the other side.

Reylo: The only thing I really cared about in this sequel trilogy was Reylo. I honestly started to care less about the other characters like Finn and Poe, which in my opinion is sad and just goes to show how bad Disney was at writing these characters. What got me so choked up about their relationship was how raw it was. It wasn’t some unrealistic clean romance. There was no love at first sight (at least on Rey’s end.. can’t say for Ben). It felt so real to me. They reached a level of intimacy that honestly in my opinion reached higher than sexual intercourse. Unconditional love is something that I hold close to my heart, it may be because of my faith, but the fact that Rey saw through Kylo and could see that at his core he was just Ben, emotionally hurt and lost, just wanting someone to believe in him. And she did! she believed in him when his uncle and mother easily gave up hope for him (again horrible character writing bc uhhh sry but isn’t hope supposed to be a theme with them???). And Ben loved her in return!! He protected her and not this stupid patronizing crap that Finn does (Which side note: THAT PISSES ME OFF SO MUCH LOL. John Boyega was wasted with this stupid character). Ben knew her strength and worth and only did what a man should do in a relationship, not overstep, not take control but add his part to the relationship, creating symbiosis. If you look up the meaning of “Dyad”, this comes up:

specifically, sociology : two individuals (such as husband and wife) maintaining a sociologically significant relationship

They are equal. No one is better than the other. They are two sides of the same coin and they complete each other.

And at last....

TROS: Well crap. This movie was...... not amazing. I will have to say that I have only seen it once at this point and may make an edit to it if I change my mind. Honestly though... I can’t see myself changing my opinion but it may happen after a second viewing. I had been following the leaks and yup pretty much all true. And yep... Ben dies. Not only does he die but he barely gets any time to shine when he is redeemed. I am grateful we finally got the Reylo kiss we all waiting for but did he really have to die??? I know lots are saying he didn’t die because we didn’t see him show up as a force ghost in the end but obviously there is no confirmation from Disney on this. The fact that he died for her to live just supports everything I have said above. But where was her emotion? I expected her to be crying? it seemed to appear like she couldn’t care less, yet she was the one who went in for the kiss first and then she seems to be fine when everyone is rejoicing and hugging in celebration? Why didn’t they add him in as a voice in her head or something (ooh fanfic idea! :) ) Why did Rey call herself Rey Skywalker?! I’m sorry but she DOES NOT desserve that title plus she is still a Palpatine! That does not change anything. Don’t get me started on Palpatine.... bringing him back was the dumbest decision ever and undid everything that Anakin did. Now I would of been slightly okay with it if they got Anakin in to help to defeat him but we only got his voice and a bunch of other jedi’s voices sharing words of guidance (which ngl it was nice hearing Ahsoka) but holy heck you could of atleast added ben to the mix. They could of both heard the voices and ended Palpatine together? Also what happened to Rey and Kylo fighting through the various scenes of the past movies? I thought that was a leak? They did absolutely NOTHING to tie up the OT and PT. It has no ties to PT, besides Anakin’s voice and some of the other jedi in the mix (Mace Windu, Ayala Secura, Yoda, Ahsoka Tano, etc..). I know I’m nitpicking but I am atleast grateful we got their voices I just wish we actually got to see their faces. That’s a lot of negatives though so here is what I did like:

Babu Frik.

Rey’s kind heart ( you see that when she greets the little girl on Pasaana, helps D.O. and the snake creature)

The banter between Finn, Poe, and Rey

C-3PO ( they really did him justice)

Ben (just all of him everything about him)

Lando was pretty good

Seeing Wicket at the end with his child ( I think that’s his child?)

Wedge Antilles showing up for like one second ( although that could be a negative because I thought he was going to be in it more because of the book Resistance Reborn. WHICH OH YEAH..... this movie retconned that book btw! So not only was it a horrible book but everything in it doesnt matter)

Conclusion: So yeah, I am not happy. But in the end I will always love Star Wars no matter what. This franchise has taught me so much about hope, love, and even redemption. It was such a fun ride on here. There were ups and downs ( anyone remember that Reylo discourse a while back lol) but we made it. Even though as Reylos, it didn’t end the way we wanted it... we still were proved right. We fought hard against the antis when they kept trying to tell us Reylo wasn’t a thing and boy were they wrong..... they were very wrong. I don’t know what the future holds in store for Reylo’s story or even Star Wars but all we have to do is look forward and have hope for Ben because just as the great Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker once said:

"No one is ever really gone."

May the Force be with you all.

[crowsent]

👶,⭐,💘, and💻. Love you!!

thank you for ask anon! writer ask game is here if yall wanna send in something. still taking asks for these btw

👶- advice for new writers =

yall this is hella fucking generic but PRACTISE. theres a reason almost literally every writer on tumblr gives the advise of “practise practise practise” and that reason is it works. practise doesnt mean ‘oh just write bc youll automatically get better over time’ it means ‘write bc if you dont, you wont figure out what you need to improve.’ did yall know that i literally had no sentence variation in the past? i started every sentence with [character name] or [character pronoun] and i didnt realise until i was 15/16 and i only realised bc i started writing a lot.

i think there’s a fear of failure with new writers. there’s this lingering doubt of  “what if its not good?” and boy howdy i will answer that question right fucking now. it wont be good. when i compare my current work to my earlier work, my earlier work sucked fucking shit. i spelled soldier with a fucking ‘j’ and i had no idea what the hell a point of view was. and thats okay. whoever tells you that youre going to perfect writing is a fucking liar. there is no perfecting writing. 20 years from now, imma look at the writing from today and im gonna think it sucks shit. writing is a process. its a craft. you get better and better over time and the way you get better is by experimenting w different styles, different genres, different ways of writing.

and the only way you can experiment and improve is through practise. in video games, especially rpgs (which are my favourite kind of video games), you struggle in the early game. youre at a low level, you dont have good equipment, you have a hard time moving to the next area. but the only way you progress is by grinding, gaining levels, and getting stronger. same w writing. if youre a level 1 writer, just starting out, no idea what to do, just experiment. fuck around a bit. write crackships, write rarepairs, write niche self-indulgent reader/character fics. at the end of the day, you should write for yourself. its good and cool if other people like your stuff and validate all your hard work, but at the end of the day, the one who should enjoy your writing the most is yourself.

you WILL mess up and you WILL struggle, but thats the only way you can improve. i struggle with pacing the most. still do. but others might have pacing down pat and struggle instead with word choice or pov or something else. cant figure out where you need to improve if you dont write, so just practise and worry about all the fine print later

⭐️- how do you get your inspiration? =

this is definitely not universal, but i just sit on my bed, close my eyes, and meditate. cycle through all my emotions and thoughts and filter them out. then i just toss everything out the damn window. like. id just meditate for a while, focus on breathing, on experiencing the present, picture a field and a tree and myself and breathe. thoughts fly by and i let them happen but dont focus on it.

meditating gives me some semblance of emotional control bc i normally have none, and it gives me kind of this space. this safe space that only exists for me and me alone. so i use that space to let the world drift away. just me and my thoughts and sometimes, those thoughts end up being good writing ideas. but i usually meditate for a set amount of time. like 15 minutes or 30 minutes so i dont write until i finish meditating.

then when i get out of my headspace, i open up my laptop and see what i remember. thinking too hard about something causes it to muddy up. same with art. in digital art, artists flip the canvas to refresh their eyes, see if there’s anything weird or wonky about the illustration that they normally dont see bc theyve gotten used to it. flipping the canvas is like giving our eyes a jumpstart and lets us see what we could do better. in traditional art, its turning the canvas this way and that or repositioning yourself. meditating is like that. a break. a cleanse. a kind of pause where you dont think about anything and just try to process what you already have. you relax and kind of let yourself float down a river of thoughts and sometimes, a fish would jump out of that river and youd go “hey, thats a good idea. i should try that” so when you get out of the river, youre refreshed and ready to go.

same principle with showers. more ideas come to you in the shower when you dont have anything to write with bc youre not thinking about it. youre not focusing on finding inspiration or motivation so ideas naturally flow through you. you know that feeling when you want to do x then someone comes along and says “hey you should do x” and suddenly all motivation to do x leaves? same w your brain. focus too much on “i should be writing” or “i want inspiration” and its never gonna come. just let things happen. at least, thats how i do it. some people might get inspiration by reading or watching tv. everyones different so if thats not what works out for you, dont feel pressured to try my method

💘- what’s your favorite AU? Least favorite? =

magic au. specifically fantasy au set in like a pre-modern era. shows like avatar where theres all this magic and fantastical beasts and so on and so forth. semi-modern like six of crows and nevernight are great too. i want that magic to be woven into people’s lives. harry potter is okay but there’s like this separation between magic and muggle. there’s this feeling of “magic” but like as a tool. like a spoon or a gun or a shovel. i want magic au’s that are INTEGRATED with the world its set in.

like in atla, earth kingdom people have trains they move with bending while fire nation people have machines powered by heat and steam. both correspond to their bending and makes sense for the world they live in. but if your plot is like harry potter and its less worldbuilding and more action, then there’s this book series called seasons rising (read it. so good) where there’s a bunch of spells but the spells have character. the people using the spells GIVE it character and it feels much more intimate. pokemon does the whole fantasy mixed w reality better. give two trainers the exact same pokemon and by the time that pokemon reaches lvl 50, its gonna have a different moveset, different fight style, etc bc it was shaped by the world and people around it. i like harry potter but tbh it could have been so much better

for the least favourite au, it’s A/B/O i dont like the whole “omegas are only good for breeding hurr durr” and “alphas are violent and aggressive and cant control themselves around omegas” thing and it squicks me out. major squick. i read the original harry potter squick (THAT one. yeah. you know the one) and i still hate a/b/o more. i get why people like it, and there are one or two fics set in a/b/o au that i enjoy reading, but as a whole, i severely dislike a/b/o fics.

the themes are squick, the character dynamics get so messed up, and shipping dynamics (bc a/b/o fics usually have shipping) just get so blown out of proportion. there are so many a/b/o fics that turn ooc or the character interpretations radically change or something else. no hate against a/b/o fans bc yall are amazing for writing/drawing yalls au. there are things that you can only do in this setting and exploring those things can be incredibly fun for people, but for me personally, its not an au i like to visit.

💻- three works of yours that are must reads =

i. dont know what fandom youre in anon or your genre preferences. so ill just rec you one fic for a different fandom each with kind of different genres. ts masterlist is on my side @hufflepuff-deceit and regular fanfic masterlist is on my writing blog @crownonymous 

(BNHA) Viper. its my first serious attempt at fanfic in YEARS and its my baby. currently has 7 chapters, i havent updated it in a while bc im hyperfocused on ts rn, but i love it to bits. its just all of my fav bnha fics crammed into one fic. quirkless kind of villain izuku with stain as a mentor as they work together to bring light to the injustices of hero society and where bakugos bullying has visible and long-lasting repercussions? sign me the fuck up. you can read it on ao3 HERE bc its not on tumblr. kind of fast-paced, has a lot more action scenes than anything else ive written. heavy plot-wise but has a lot of humour and comedy to break things up

(Kimetsu no Yaiba) I Pray To God He Hears You. not related to my other kny fic oleander which is a multichap retelling au. iptghhy is a standalone one-shot and kind of a character study on one giyuu tomioka. i love him so much. giyuu is my baby and i adore him. so of course i wrote a sad fic focusing on him. well technically, the fic focuses on giyuu AND his relationships.  SPOILERS for chapters 130 and 131 of the manga. focuses mostly on giyuu and sabito, but there’s a fair bit of giyuu and tanjiro and urokodaki.  you can read it HERE bc this is also not on tumblr. also deals with heavy things but more emotion-wise since it doesnt have that much of a plot. loss. grief. moving on. survivors guilt. that kind of stuff.  very sad. hurt but with comfort, especially at the end.

(Sanders Sides) Logan’s Birthday Fic: Logicality. just what the title says. i wrote 5 different fics and published them all on logans bday but the logicality one received the most feedback and honestly? the cutest of the bunch. its gonna be crossposted onto ao3 but for now, you can read it HERE on my ts sideblog. theres no plot since its literally just domestic and relationship fluff. and puns. patton is in the fic, theres gonna be puns. nothing but good things and warm feelings bc logan deserves it.

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thank you so much for such interesting asks anon! i enjoyed answering these. have a lovely day!