#but i also imagine them being perceptive enough to realize that something must have happened to suguru in your timeline

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

what if . stsg/reader isekai au except reader gets sent from the canon universe to a fix-it fic :3…. where they’re married to satoru and suguru…..

[spider-xan]

I decided to go back to the May 8 journal entry regarding the shaving mirror incident and re-read it in light of how Jonathan expressing annoyance at not being able to shave properly after Dracula went into beast mode right in front of him gets read by some people as a moment of extreme obliviousness on Jonathan's part, but this is literally the first paragraph of the update that immediately precedes his account of what happened:

I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. I wish I were safe out of it, or that I had never come. It may be that this strange night-existence is telling on me; but would that that were all! If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he!—I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place. Let me be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help me to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I stand—or seem to.

The epistolary format can be tricky to parse sometimes in terms of chronology, but the paragraph above, though appearing before the account in the text, would be Jonathan's thoughts after the incident had occurred and the lens through which he is later recording what had happened, so he is very much aware that Dracula's behaviour was fucked up and not normal at all, and that he is in danger - but what can he really do in his circumstances but focus on an immediate mundane, yet pragmatic concern where his daily routine, one that affords him a sense of normalcy even, is disrupted?

Also, while he hasn't identified Dracula as a vampire yet, which is understandable, he's perceptive and open-minded enough to consider the idea that Dracula is not a living being or even of this world; only three days ago on May 5, he had written down the following after listening to the locals:

I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd; so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out. I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were "Ordog"—Satan, "pokol"—hell, "stregoica"—witch, "vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire.

So far from oblivious and dismissive, not only is he very aware that he's in a dangerous situation, but he already suspects there's something supernatural going on, even if he struggles to believe it - and honestly, who wouldn't? This is a major paradigm-shifting realization that would completely upend and destroy his understanding of the world as he has always known it.

[evelhak]

KnB 30-day challenge

19. Favourite Friendship

Already kind of mentioned it.

Canon did so dirty on them. But Kuroko and Momoi can always talk on the same level without effort. They always have a similar perception of what is going on. They understand each other from a lot less words than some other characters. In a social sense their positions in the Teiko team are way more similar than the story gives credit for, because they're both slightly outsiders and are always observing the people around them. Imagine if Momoi's supposed crush was based on that and not OMG HE WAS NICE TO ME ONCE MUST NOW INVADE PERSONAL SPACE EVERY CHANCE I GET DESPITE OF HIM CLEARLY NOT RECIPROCATING. I still like their platonic friendship too much but I might be more sympathetic towards their shipping if the whole thing had been portrayed differently.

I think it's cool how it's pointed out that Takao and Midorima have a light and shadow situation going on as well when their play, and it makes sense, they are similar enough to Kagami and Kuroko and Takao occupies enough of the same space as Kuroko to be called a shadow. I like these comparisons. That's why I would've liked it if another side was acknowledged better. Because to Kuroko being a shadow is so much deeper than that, there's a social aspect that will always be connected to the Teiko team as a whole and not just Aomine, and Momoi gets that aspect better than anyone else, especially because she is also the most focused on Aomine. I wanted it to be explored too, how you might say that there was another shadow in the team and it was Momoi. Which is SO fitting and SO ironic, considering how much the fandom keeps ignoring her existence. (One way to look at my fics is definitely as a feminist reading of KnB, haha.)

Also I just think Momoi and Kuroko are the kind of friends who, once they truly realize how much they have in common, just talk and talk and talk about everything. Which is my favourite kind of friendship. They're just going to stay up all night talking every chance they get. And it's going to be so satisfying for both and they're going to get so much energy from each other. Yes, they might also not see each other's blindspots very well because they have similar blindspots, at least until they become more self-aware, which is when they won't hesitate to call out each other's bullshit anymore, which is something they consistently fail at in canon. And that's not because they don't understand each other. It's because they have similar patterns. Anyway, it's the kind of friendship that is based upon sharing experiences and similarity, and not so much the kind of friendship that relies on challenging or changing each other. Not that it doesn't happen but that's not the foundation. They'll talk, vent, have sleepovers and do some crafts with Kuroko's granny and talk some more and each time after they meet they'll feel so recharged. And I'm so here for it.

(Also just look at them, come on that's totally the look of besties.)

[michaelbranch]

A Brief Summary of Ideas: Beyond Order

*These summaries are kept intentionally very brief, just hitting what I consider some of the important/interesting takeaways, most word-for-word or paraphrased. My goal is also to stick to ideas/principals that might guide others (or my future self) in deciding the value of a read (or re-reading). T = takeaway, Q = Question

Beyond Order: 12 More Rules for Life

Author(s): Jordan B. Peterson

Neither the state of order no chaos is preferable, intrinsically, to the other.

A life without curiosity, that instinct pushing us into the unknown, would be a much diminished form of existence.

Rule 1: Do not carelessly denigrate social institutions or creative achievement.

People depend on constant communication with others to keep their minds organized. We all need to think to keep things organized, but we mostly think by talking. We must submit the strategies and tactics we formulate to the judgement of others.

People are social beings, and there is no shortage of wisdom outside of us, embedded in the social world.

Necessity limits the universe of viable solutions. Plan must solve some real problem, must appeal to others, and it needs to work today in a way that doesn’t make tomorrow worse.

“How should you act?” is just the short term version of “how should you survive?”.

It is useful to take your place at the bottom of a hierarchy. It can aid in the development of gratitude and humility.

If there is a problem to be solved, and many people involve themselves in the solution, a hierarchy can and will arise. It is not power; it is the authority that properly accompanies ability.

A responsible person decides to make a problem his or her problem.

Must strike a balance between reasonable conservatism and revitalizing creativity.

Rule 2: Imagine who you could be, and them aim single-mindedly at that.

Everyone has a sense that there is more to them than they have yet allowed to be realized.

We can code and represent that in the stories we tell about those we admire (and hate). And that is how we determine who we are and who we could become.

The hero is the embodied principle of action and perception that must rule over all the primordial psychological elements of lust, rage, hunger, thirst, terror and joy.

Who dares win—if he does not perish.

There is a development of character that adventure inevitably produces.

The change necessary to adapt when terrible things emerge is therefore a solution to the potentially fatal rigidity of erroneous certainty, excessive order, and stultification.

As time changes all things, every specific, value-predicated story may fail, in its particular incarnation and locale, and need replacement by something newer, more complete, but different.

Aim at something. Pick the best target your can currently conceptualize.

You need to map your path. You need to know where you were (so you don’t repeat the mistakes of the past), where you are (or you will not be able to draw a line from your starting point to your destination), and where you are going (or you will drown in uncertainty). 

If you can find a better path along the way, switch course. Be careful, it isn’t easy to discriminate between changing paths and simply giving up.

Discipline and transformation will lead you forward.

Rule 3: Do not hide unwanted things in the fog.

T = Always communicate. Even if its uncomfortable.

The fog that hides is the refusal to notice - to attend to - emotions and motivational states as they arise, and the refusal to communicate them both to yourself and to the people who are close to you.

Every ideal is a judge. No ideals, no judge. But the price paid for that is purposelessness. This is a high price. 

We use our past effectively when it helps us repeat desirable – and avoid repeating undesirable – experiences. We want to know what happened but, more importantly, we want to know why. 

If you pile up enough junk in your closet, one day, when you are least prepared, the door will spring open and bury you. 

Rule 4: Notice that opportunity lurks where responsibility has been abdicated.

What is left undone is often risky, difficult, and necessary. 

It appears that the meaning that most effectively sustains life is to be found in the adoption of responsibility. 

Paradoxical fact that there is a reciprocal relationship between the worth of something and the difficulty of accomplishing it. 

It is impossible to hit a target unless you aim at it. 

There is a potential within you that will emerge when circumstances demand and transform you into someone who can prevail. 

We become stronger by voluntarily facing what impedes our necessary progress. 

When you face a challenge, this makes you more than you are and increasingly into who you could be. 

There is little difference between how you should treat yourself and how you should treat others. 

If the cost of betraying yourself is guilt and shame, the benefit of not betraying yourself is meaning. 

What is the antidote to the suffering of life? The highest possible goal. What is the prerequisite to that pursuit? Willingness to adopt the maximum degree of responsibility. 

Your life becomes meaningful in precise proportion to the depths of the responsibility you are willing to shoulder. 

Rule 5: Do not do what you hate.

If you are called upon to do what makes you contemptuous of yourself, work towards placing yourself in the position where you are capable of saying no.

Rule 6: Abandon ideology.

It might be that the true meaning of life is available for discovery, by each individual alone—though in communication with others, past and present.

Idealogues are the intellectual equivalent of fundamentalists, unyielding and rigid.

A world where only you and people who think like you are good is also a world where you are surrounded by enemies bent on your destruction, who must be fought.

Rule 7: Work as hard as you possibly can on at least one thing and see what happens.

Without clear, well-defined, and non contradictory goals, the sense of positive engagement that makes life worthwhile is very difficult to obtain.

Very often failure is a consequence of insufficient single-mindedness, elaborate but pointless rationalization, and rejection of responsibility.

Those who do not choose a direction are lost. The worst decision of all is none.

Proper discipline organizes rather than destroys.

The master, who is the rightful product of apprenticeship, is no longer the servant of dogma. He is now served by dogma, which he has the responsibility to maintain as well as the right to change, when necessary.

Rule 8: Try to make one room in your home as beautiful as possible.

Beauty can help us appreciate the wonder of Being.

Rule 9: If old memories still upset you, write them down carefully and completely.

When we decide, we actively confront the future.

An unsolved problem seldom sits there. It grows new heads.

Rule 10: Plan and work diligently to maintain the romance in your relationship.

Why would you possibly assume that something as complex as maintaining a marriage could be managed without commitment, practice, and effort.

There must be a broader, relationship-wide strategy in place to maintain romance with your partner across time. Regardless of what the strategy might be, its success is going to depend on your ability to negotiate.

The chance that you will get what you want if you fail to aim for it is vanishingly small.

The vow that makes marriage capable of preserving its romantic component is first and foremost the decision to not lie to your partner.

Couple can decide that each and both are subordinate to a principle: the ideal union of what is best in both personalities should be constantly regarded as the ruler of the marriage.

Both should be oriented toward the most positive future possible, and agree that speaking the truth is the best path forward.

You do not find so much as “make” the optimal person (for you).

The part of you that claims you desire “freedom” really just wants to avoid any permanent responsibility.

There are tricks that people use to avoid negotiation: “I don’t know” is not an acceptable  answer in a discussion that cannot in good faith be avoided.

Do not foolishly confuse “nice” with “good”.

Your life is mostly composed of what is repeated routinely.

Romance is play, and play does not take place easily when problems of any sort arise.

Rule 11: Do not allow yourself to become resentful, deceitful, or arrogant.

We naturally think of our lives as stories, and communicate about our experience in that same manner.

Chaos is not of less value than order. There is nothing but sterility without unpredictability, even though a bit less unpredictability often seems eminently desirable.

Invite the evil queen to your childs life. If you fail to do so, your children will grow up weak and in need of protection.

If you shelter young people, you destroy them.

It is no easy task to determine when something needs to be preserved or when it needs to be transformed.

It is often the people who have had too easy a time who adopt the role of victim and the hold resentment.

The fact that unfortunate things are happening or are going to happen to you is built into the structure of reality itself.

The more voluntary confrontation is practiced, the more can be borne.

The right attitude to the horror of existence is the assumption that there is enough of you, society, and the world to justify existence.

Rule 12: Be grateful in spite of your suffering.

Human beings have the capacity to courageously confront their suffering – to transcend it psychologically, as well as to ameliorate it practically.

Suffering can be of sufficient gravity to make bitterness an option. BUT, there is no good in that option, and plenty of harm.

The giving of thanks is an alternative to bitterness.

To manifest the two virtues of love and courage simultaneously, you decide that you are going to work to make things better and not worse.

Grief is an uncontrollable manifestation of your belief that the lost person’s existence, limited or flawed as it may have been, was worthwhile, despite the limitations and flaws of life itself.

Gratitude is the process of consciously and courageously attempting thankfulness in the face of the catastrophe of life.

[lollytea]

Gus: It's been a wild week. Willow and Hunter are dating now. Well, I mean, okay, they're not like dating dating but they're....they're trying to, y'know? They're making an honest attempt and I'm proud of their efforts, bless their hearts, but it's...okay here's where it gets complicated. They make me come along on all their dates. All of them. And I get it. Gus the Illusion Master is in very high demand around the Boiling Isles and nobody is crazier about me than those two and I'm just plain awesome to hang out with. But....I think there's something deeper going on here and they're not self aware enough to realize it. See, I'm a buffer. I'm their good ol' buddy Gus. I'm familiar. I'm a comfort to have around. It doesn't feel so much like a date when I'm standing right between them. Cause like, they want to date, they really do, but they're terrified of what will happen if they take that leap. And I understand. That way of thinking is normal.

First of all, you can imagine how jittery Willow must be, with her severe abandonment issues n' all. She's also got this huge imposter syndrome and worries deep down that all the people she cares about are gonna get bored of her one day.

And Hunter, man, where to begin with him? Dude's got an inferiority complex the size of the Titan's butt. What do you expect when he was raised with the ingrained belief that he's replaceable and he feels the need to break his back just to justify his existence?

Like don't get me wrong. Both of their confidence has skyrocketed. Willow’s improved a ton since she switched to the plant track and Hunter is NOT the hot mess he was when I met him. They're ready for this. I know they are. But here's the thing. Navigating your first romantic relationship can really put you in a vulnerable position, and that in turn makes your biggest insecurities flare up like a rash.

The trauma the two of them have endured is effecting the way they approach their relationship. They're so desperate to hold on to each other that their brains are playing tricks on them. They're magnifying a perceived notion that this thing between them is fragile. It's not. They should know it’s not. But being scared out of your mind can really warp the perception of logical people like Willow and Hunter.

In their eyes, it's as though even the tiniest mistake could shatter their friendship beyond repair. They're terrified of that happening. They can't fathom losing each other. They want this so bad, they really do, but they're so afraid of what could go wrong that they're still using me as a safety net. As long as I'm around, it's just like always, right? When it's the three of us, it's just a bunch a pals and they can actually perceive their bond with each other through a clear lense.

It's only when I'm out of the picture that they get their jitters and it causes them to spiral. It's a barrier. New relationships should be experimental, right? It's all about figuring our boundaries and what aspects you want to explore. But this here is preventing them from doing that. Because experimentation is risky. Titan forbid they take a risk. I can't even decide which one is more likely to make the first move.

I know, Willow's always been braver in the romantic department. But here's the thing. When she sets her mind to something, she can be really really stubborn. She's never done something like this before. Once that half-a-witch mentality of hers rears its ugly head, she's a goner. She becomes paralysed by hesitation.

And man, don't even get me started on how much Hunter is struggling with this. As I said, relationships are experimental and Hunter is a very by-the-book guy. Especially if it's a subject he doesn't know a lot about. Then he holds on to that book like a life line. There's no book out there written about how to date Willow Park. And you can tell that it's really bugging him.

So now we're here and I'm kinda stuck in the middle of it so like....what do I do? Do I sit them both down and force them to confront the psychological root of their reservations? Break the news to them that their pal Gus can't keep coming on all their dates? I know it's bound to break their hearts but TITAN I have my own life.

Buuuuut then again every time we go out they buy me candy and eyescream. I do have a good thing going here. Maybe I.....no I gotta tell them. Hmmmmm unless....you know the carnival is coming to Bonesborough next week? If they bring me with them they'll buy me a ticket, I know they would. They'll probably buy me whatever I want. Heck, Willow will probably give me a piggy back ride when my legs get tired. Man they're such good friends. So...okay okay maybe I'll hold back on their intervention until after the carnival is over. That seems reasonable, right? But...hm. is that a jerk move? Maybe that's a jerk move. I dunno, I'd have to consider it a little more. Anyway. Thoughts?

Hooty: Can we talk about my uvula warts now?

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity

Three months, two days and seven hours.

That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:

Prisoner.  

You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.

Probably Daniela.

It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.

Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.

You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.

You hadn’t believed it, at first.

Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.

Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.

May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.  

It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.

Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.

Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—

The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.

The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.    

“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.

You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.

“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.

Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.

What.

“Uh—”

The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”

How can you not, when your life depends on it?

“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.

“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.

You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.

The door shuts.

...

Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.

She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”

To which they have no answer.

They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.

The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.

And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.

A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…

Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

Her face is so… serene.

She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.

Now onto the hard part.

“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”

She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.

Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.

“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.

A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.

“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.

How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?  

But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.

“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.

“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.

Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—

But she stops you.

“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You won’t. You know what’s good for you.

Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”

“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.

Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.

Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.

It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.

By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.

The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.

As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.

Minutes roll by.

You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.

Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.

“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?

“No, it’s good.” she husks back.

“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.

Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.

You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.

...

At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.

You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.

But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.

“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.

“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…

And she’s right.

“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.

Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.

Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.

Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.

So much for your anonymity.

Ko-Fi

[crimsonophelia]

Could I get a fluffy and maybe flirty Childe imagine set during his story quest? Instead of the Traveler and Paimon accompanying him, the reader (who works at the Northland Bank as one of Childe’s subordinates) gets slapped with the duty of babysitting Teucer and covering for Childe and his façade as a toy seller in Liyue.

"I must say that your brother is quite cute, sir."

"...I guess it must run in the family."

"Hm? Did you say something, comrade?"

"Oh. Um. Nothing, sir."

Of course, being the perceptive man he is, Childe heard all of what they said. What he ends up doing or saying to the reader? Seeing the magic you’ve worked when anon previously gave you the liberty of it, I leave it entirely up to you. :)

featuring: childe x gn!reader

warnings: a teeny bit suggestive at the end

published: april 27 2021

form: imagine

a/n: i’m gonna be real with you, i was stuck on ar35 for the longest time because i was too cowardly to level up my world so i finally did it today and i jumped from 35 to 41 T_T and now my enemies are stupidly strong. but anyways i just started the childe quest today so im just gonna stick to the part when they’re still in liyue and there’s no fighting wwww

“teucer, i swear to celestia-” you muttered under your breath, as the little redhead slipped from your grasp yet again, running ahead to go look at some kite vendors. “come back here, kid! otherwise you’re gonna be in a heck of a lot of trouble!” 

earlier in the day, you were out running errands for the bank, under tartaglia’s orders, when you had come across rumors of a ruin guard running amok. figuring you would use your spare time and save some local liyue citizens the trouble of having to deal with the feral robot, you defeated the machine with efficient ease. however, in the vicinity, you discovered a lone child showing great excitement at a deactivated ruin guard, jumping and leaping while calling it “mr. cyclops” with a strange elation. 

you figured the boy was snezhnayan, what with his features and clothing reminiscent of the cold climate of your homeland. but why in the world was he out by a ruin hunter all alone? he kept mentioning his brother, a toy seller in liyue, but you could think of absolutely nobody that fit that description. 

so, out of the goodness of your own heart, you decided to take the little boy-- teucer, he called himself--back to liyue harbor with you, and see if you could find this older brother of his. 

however, once you arrived back in the city, your plans were quickly derailed as the little brat seemed to have the attention span of a fruit fly, and was constantly trying to weasel his way into some other dangerous situation without you knowing. 

“god dammit teucer”, you huffed, trying to keep up with the child. who let children have so much energy? your age must finally be catching up to you, you thought. “how about we go back to northland bank? you might like it there” you thought taking him back to your headquarters would stall the boy for enough time for you to find someone who might know the whereabouts of teucer’s brother. there weren’t too many snezhnayans in liyue--whoever his brother is, he can’t be far.

the little boy looked up at you with his big, blue puppy eyes, but you knew his act by now. “no buts, kid. if you’re lucky, we’ll be able to track down you’re brother there.” he sighed, relenting to your orders and following you back to northland bank.

the two of you climbed up the stairwell leading to the entrance of the bank on the second floor, teucer clearly dejected and pouting like a baby. exhausted, you pushed open the doors that you were so familiar with, and ushered the child inside.

much to your surprise, you see tartaglia talking with ekaterina in the lobby. it had been quite a while since you had seen your superior in person, and the surprise certainly was not unwelcome. sometimes you couldn’t stand the man’s smug attitude, yet there was something in his rogueish charisma that you simple couldnt deny attracted you to him.

teucer also seemed to be excited by this sighting of the red-headed harbinger, the little boy’s eyes lighting up with unbridled excitement.

“brother!”

wait. was tartaglia the older brother teucer had been talking about all along?

childe turned around, distracted by teucer’s voice, and upon seeing the little boy, his eyes lit up—first with surprise, then with confusion.

“teucer? what the heck are you doing here in liyue?”

he left the fatui agent with a befuddled look upon her face, and ran towards the child. teucer jumped up into his brother’s broad arms, and they grasped each other in a tight hug, like they had not seen each other for at least an eternity.

ruffling teucer’s hair, tartaglia softened, with an expression unlike anything you had really seen him wear before. he really must care about his family, you thought to yourself.

“so you’re the older brother this little tyke has been talking nonstop about”, you teased tartaglia, elbowing him in his side. “you know, he’s thrown me for a loop this entire day. i didnt think babysitting was part of the job requirement.”

the red-head chuckled abashedly, scratching his head. “sorry about that, [y/n]. the little guy can’t seem to bear being away from his favorite big brother.”

teucer laughed. he truly looked so happy to be with tartaglia again, which made you wonder what the harbinger was like when not on the job. you had known him to be a ruthless war machine, a hedonistic killer who thrived off of the rush battle and bloodshed gave him. childe could take down a dozen men, twice his size, in a matter of minutes, hardly breaking a sweat. yet seeing him interact with teucer, almost a little mini-sized version of himself, his gentleness and care surprised you. perhaps there was more to the man than you had initially thought.

teucer finally detaching himself from tartaglia, looked up at his brother with those same puppy eyes, now full of admiration. “are you here to sell toys to the liyue children, too?”, the child asked. toys? what toys could he possibly be referring to? you and ekaterina, both, looked at childe with confusion.

tartaglia stuttered for a moment. “oh! uhh— yes! yes i am! i was just talking with the nice lady, ms. ekaterina, on how many toys we can sell to all the children in liyue!” he responded, hardly missing a beat. did teucer not know what childe’s actual occupation was?

“wow! my brother really is the coolest person ever!” teucer leaped up and down, hanging onto tartaglia’s pantlegs. looking at this young, untainted innocence, you begun to understand why childe might try and shield the child from the truth.

childe detached the excitable child from his clothing, and beckoned ekaterina over. “ms. ekaterina, would you do me the grand favor of watching teucer for the rest of the day? i’d hate to burden our friend [y/n] after they have already brought him to liyue from celestia-knows-where.” he turns to teucer, telling him “big brother ajax is going to sell many, many toys now! so you need to behave yourself when i’m gone, okay? miss ekaterina will be watching you, and she’s very nice.” he pinches his brother’s cheek, teasing him lightly, and ushering him away with the fatui agent.

it’s now just you and tartaglia in the bank, as the sun was setting and all the other employees had gone home for the day. you heaved a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of baby-sitting duty, after having to deal with teucer’s antics for several hours now.

“i’m really sorry about all of that. i had no idea he would be coming, as a stowaway, no less.” the man looked at you with genuine gratitude. “i don’t want to imagine what might’ve happened to the little brat if you hadn’t been there.”

you chuckled, not quite used to seeing such sincerity coming from the harbinger. most of the time, you had been accustomed to his charismatic facade that he puts on when he becomes childe, the eleventh and one of the most dangerous members of the fatui harbingers.

“don’t worry, it really was no problem. your brother is certainly a handful, but undeniably adorable”, you said, mindlessly gathering your belongings again as you prepared to head out again. “he takes after his older brother quite a bit, i must say.”

“come again?” childe looked behind him, eyebrow cocked.

“oh— nothing. i didnt say anything”, you muttered. shit. you really need to get better at keeping your mouth shut. you refused to be known as the insolent fool with the puppy-love crush on the goddamn eleventh fatui harbinger.

“oh? that didnt really sound like nothing, my dear [y/n].” he smirked. whenever he called you “my dear”, you knew you were in for major teasing. he was definitely having fun with this. he strode towards you innocently, with that usual swagger of his, that tinted everything he did. his walk, his talk, his appearance all oozed confidence, and it was utterly intoxicating.

tartaglia now looked at you with a glint in his eye, the same look he gave enemies before he was about to utterly obliterate them. it was frightening, yet terribly alluring, and you despised how much you fell for it.

suddenly, you felt your back hit the cold, marble wall. you hadn’t even realized that tartaglia had cornered you against a gold pillar, his mere presence forcing you to unconsciously move away from him as he approached you, calculatedly. a lump growing in your throat, you couldn’t bring yourself to even utter a single word in defense, only feeling your cheeks grow hotter and your legs grow weaker.

tartaglia leaned his arm against the pillar, dangerously close to your head, effectively propping himself up with only you between him. you were far too aware of the space—or rather, the lack thereof—separating the two of you, the man’s hot breath audible in the dead, echoing silence of the golden bank.

tartaglia smirked, bringing his face close to yours. “you flatter me greatly, [y/n].” smirking, his breath grazed against your neck, his stare burning into your flesh. the way your name sounded on his lips made your breath hitched in your throat. too hot, you felt way too hot. it was impossible for a hydro user to make you feel such unbearable heat.

“seems as if your clever words aren’t of any use to you now, hmm?” you could feel the mans lips brushing against your jaw, each touch against you leaving a stinging trail. he brought his free hand to caress your own, fingers clasping yours as if you were made of a delicate porcelain, the finest kind liyue had to offer. slowly, as if dragging out each second as long as he could, tartaglia brought your hand to his lips, and planted a long, slow kiss to the back of your palm.

your eyes widened at the sheer eroticism with which he kissed your hand—an act commonly of etiquette somehow being much more lustful, even debauched when tartaglia did it. all you could feel was where his lips met your hand, the phantom burn it left, the slight string of saliva connecting his lips to your hand as he left it, the dark gaze in his eyes as he looked back up at you, clearly aware of how vulnerable you were in his grasp.

“thank you again, my dear. i hope we can continue to work together in the future.”

a/n: jesus christ this got really horny at the end LMFAO anyways i hope you like it! its kinda long but wtv

[elliottspond]

The Chess Game

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Summary: (Fluff) Reader finds a white pawn moved on a chess board, so they start to play a game against a stranger...a very adorable stranger, as they come to find out.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: None! :)

A/N: Spencer is on his temporary leave in this fic, as it states that he goes to the shop every day.

[Please do not steal my work. Reblogs are appreciated. Happy reading!]

You unlock the front door to the coffee shop you own, escaping the cold air outside while you turn on the lights. You walk to the back to put all your stuff down before starting to get everything ready for the day. 

One of your employees walks in and you greet them, both of you talking about random things as you check everything behind the counter and he goes around, taking the chairs off the tables and pushing them in.

“Have you touched the chess board at all?” Finn suddenly changes the topic and you look away from what you were doing to look at him, noticing he’s standing by the board. You narrow your eyes, wondering why he would bring it up now.

The chess board is placed on the corner of the counter that holds extra things for customers, like sugar and napkins. It’s not hidden, but most people think that it’s just decoration because of where it’s placed so no one ever uses it. It used to sit on a small table, but even then it sat unused and it was taking up space, so you had to move it.

It has been a topic of conversation amongst you and your employees. You’ve said that you should take it out of the shop since there’s no point of it being there if no one uses it, but your workers want you to keep it. They’re argument is they’re “learning chess so they can play against you”, but you know they’re definitely not. 

It would feel weird if it wasn’t in here anymore since it’s been in the shop since you opened it, which is why you think your employees still want it here, even if it’s in the corner.

You walk around the counter to stand next to Finn, both of you now looking down at the chess board. One white pawn has been moved, all the other pieces having remained in the same place.

“I haven’t touched it since I last dusted it off.” That was two nights ago, so whoever moved the pawn must have done it yesterday.

The bell above the door rings, making you and Finn turn your heads to see Lolly, another one of your employees. “What are you guys doing?” She walks over while adjusting the bag on her shoulder, eyebrows furrowing when she sees the board. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, wondering who decided to only move one piece. “Did you see anyone touch the board yesterday?” She shakes her head, mumbling a quiet ‘no’.

“Maybe someone else working yesterday saw?”

“Maybe. I’ll have to ask when they come in later.” Finn and Lolly walk away from the board, but you stay and move one of the black pieces, wanting to see if another white piece will be moved. Hopefully the same customer will come in today, and you’ll be able to catch them.

As the day goes by, you try to look over at the corner as much as you can to see if you can catch anyone, but you have no luck. It’s difficult to see if anyone touches the board since it’s in a place where a lot of customers go, but you try your best. When the workers with afternoon shifts come in you ask if either of them saw anything yesterday, both of them saying they didn’t notice anyone touching the board.

When the time comes to close, you’re upset. Someone finally noticed the board that had been sitting, collecting dust. Is it too much to ask what nice human wanted to start a chess game? You’d been looking over at the board practically all day, yet you didn’t catch anyone over there.

The last customer walks out so you lock the doors to keep anyone else from coming in before starting to clean up along with your workers. You put the chairs up on the tables, then you walk over to get the broom to sweep the floor. As you start to sweep your way over to the counter where the chess board is, you notice it.

Another white piece moved.

You let out an audible sigh, staring at the board for a few more seconds before you move another one of your pieces, hoping that the same person will come in again tomorrow, and you’ll be able to catch them.

But that’s not what happens.

The next two days go by, and you still haven’t been able to catch anyone moving a piece on the board. Each day by closing, another white piece has moved and each day you become a little more frustrated as you move another one of your pieces.

//

On the third day, you go through the same routine, updating Finn and Lolly on what happened the day before while you set everything up for the day. You keep a close eye on the board like you have the past few days, all the while trying to do your job.

“Excuse me?” A customer calls out, Finn and Lolly both busy so you stop what you’re doing and look over. You see one of your regular customers, who you know by the name of Spencer Reid.

You don’t know much about him since you’ve never talked to him except to take his order. You only know his name because of the FBI ID he used to wear. He hasn’t worn it in a while, though, and you kinda miss seeing the picture that was on it. More specifically, the small smile he wore.

He always comes in in the mornings when Finn and Lolly are working, so all three of you know his name, but you all sometimes refer to him as ‘Agent Diabetes’ because of how much sugar that man puts in his coffee. You never say it to his face, of course, just as a joke between the three of you. The first time he came in, you thought you were imagining how much sugar he used.

Besides his name, you also know he’s really smart, but can also be really dumb. You’ve caught women go up to him because he’s no doubt attractive, but he never knows that the women are trying to hit on him. However, you’ve overheard him a few times going into detail about whatever topic that woman brought up and you’re always shocked about how much he knows.

“How can I help you?” You walk over to where he’s standing, noticing he’s holding an empty container.

“Can I get some more sugar?” Of course. He holds out the container that you now know is the sugar holder, and you take it.

“Sure.” You give him a smile before turning, putting the empty container down and grabbing a full one. You hand it to him and he takes it, thanking you while giving you a small smile like the one on the ID he used to wear, one which you return.

He walks back to the counter, and you turn to fill up the container he gave you so it’s ready and no one has to do it later. While you’re refilling it, a commotion makes you turn around to see that Spencer spilled his coffee.

You tell Finn and Lolly that you’ll get it, and you get the cleaning supplies before walking over to where he spilled. He apologizes over and over again, and you keep assuring him that it’s nothing to worry about.

When you finish cleaning the half coffee, half sugar liquid from the floor and the to-go cup was thrown away—by him, insisting that he wanted to help—you tell him to wait while you make a new drink. Before you manage to make it behind the counter, though, you catch a glimpse of the chess board.

Yet another white piece has moved.

You keep staring at it, wondering how this person has managed to move a piece multiple times when you’ve been watching the chess board as much as you can. 

“Everything okay?” Spencer snaps you out of your thoughts, and it takes you a few seconds to process that he asked you a question.

“Oh. Uh, yeah.” You go to put the cleaning supplies back so you can start on making him a new drink, but he stops you.

“Were you looking at the chess board?” Your head whips over to look at him, and he’s pointing over to where the chess board sits. He seems confused, wondering why you were staring at the board, but you’re also confused as to why he would be asking you that question.

Is it him? It could be…he comes in everyday, and he seems like he knows how to play chess. He’s pretty smart, after all. “Yeah,” you hesitantly let out. “Why?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it after a few seconds. His eyebrows furrow and he purses his lips, like he’s thinking about what he wants to say.

“You’ve been playing chess with someone.” He says it as a statement, and not as a question like most people would. Not only is he smart, but also perceptive.

You nod your head, mumbling a quiet confirmation and he looks surprised. “Why?” You repeat yourself.

You’re pretty sure you know why, but you want to make sure. He could have just noticed how a few chess pieces have moved each day while he pours sugar into his coffee. With the amount he puts in, he stands at the counter long enough to notice something like that, but you hope that’s not the case.

“You’re pretty good at it.” You immediately furrow your eyebrows, and before you can say anything someone bumps into your back. Realizing you’re standing in the middle of the shop, you motion for Spencer to go stand to the side of the cash registers as you put the cleaning supplies away.

After you wash your hands, you walk over to where Spencer is, the two of you now separated by the main counter.

“So you’re the one who I’ve been playing against?” He nods his head, and you notice he’s smiling wider than when you gave him his sugar. “And what do you mean I’m good at it? We practically just started the game.”

“I usually win in a few moves.” He says it like it’s no big deal and it makes complete sense, but it doesn’t make sense to you. It must’ve been obvious, because he continues to explain. “I have an IQ of 187.”

But that does nothing except confuse you more. This man is more than smart. “So you’re like, a genius?”

“A certified genius.” He confirms quickly, and you can’t help but laugh at how specific he is. He lets out a small laugh as well, although it’s kind of an awkward one, like he doesn’t know why you did it in the first place.

“Alright certified genius, let me make you your coffee.” You turn around to start it, and all you can think about is how adorable this man is once you start talking to him. Wanting to talk to him more, you know you don’t have the nerves. Now that you know how smart he actually is, you find him a little intimidating, but you soon find that you don’t have to worry about that.

As you give him his coffee, he asks a question that catches you off guard. “Do you wanna play an actual game of chess? One where we can move more than one piece a day?”

A small smile grows on your lips and you feel your cheeks warm up, and he definitely notices because the same thing happens to him. “Yeah, I’d like that.” You grab a notepad and pen, ripping a piece of paper off to write your phone number on it and you hand it to him.

He takes it with the hand that isn’t holding his coffee, and says one last thing before he leaves that causes the butterflies in your stomach to flutter.

“And we don’t only have to play chess. We can go out to dinner or something, if you’d like.” He starts to walk away before you can say anything else, and he holds up the paper you gave him like he’s saying he’ll text you.

And he does.

[samstree]

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (2)

(geraskier, prince!jaskier, fairytale elements, angst with a happy ending, insecurities, jaskier whump, chest pain, 4.8k)

Geralt discovers that being with a prince comes at a price. Jaskier deals with some bad news.

previous: [1], read on AO3

A big thanks to my amazing beta @wanderlust-t!! 💖💖

Geralt will always come second in Jaskier’s heart.

As he sinks into the soft mattress and gathers the prince into his arms, the realization becomes ever so clear.

His fingers find those faint freckles on Jaskier’s back, the ones he can already trace by heart without looking. The press of Jaskier’s body nuzzles into his. The clamminess from their earlier passion makes the closeness a little uncomfortable, but Geralt can’t seem to find the strength to pull away.

Instead, he moves closer to Jaskier to observe him carefully.

The prince has this look on his face that Geralt never liked, one that suggests he’s lost somewhere far away, so Geralt brushes a strand of stray hair away to guide those blue eyes back to the presence.

“What are you worrying about?”

“Huh?” The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle when he snaps out of the trance. “Nothing, um—court happenings. Valdo has received news on the investigation in Cintra.”

“About the assassination?”

“Dead end, again.” Jaskier chews his lips. “No concrete proof that it was ordered by Calanthe, nothing except for some whispers you stumbled upon in a tavern. Valdo is looking elsewhere now.”

Geralt tilts his head in sympathy, hating the idea of the prince living with one more potential threat lurking in the dark. “How can I help?” he asks.

“You stopped them. I reckon that’s plenty.” Jaskier leans in, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I won’t bore you with grim details, my dear. But perhaps…distract me? If you truly want to help.”

So Geralt presses his lips everywhere he can reach. One on the crown of Jaskier’s head, another at his hairline, and then on those already kiss-swollen lips, so enticing in the candlelight.

The prince responds eagerly, his deft fingers roaming across Geralt’s chest and provoking him with the softest touch, soothing and aggravating the ache deep within him. A surprised giggle escapes Jaskier’s lips as he catches Geralt’s hand trailing down under the cover.

“Really? Again?” the prince threads their fingers together and pulls Geralt’s hand away, subtly interrupting his not-so-subtle attempt. “The way you screamed my name earlier, my dear, I thought you would pass out from the sheer intensity of it. Witcher stamina or not, you can’t possibly still want more.”

“I don’t… scream.”

The defense is so weak that Jaskier’s grin breaks out in amusement. He continues to kiss Geralt’s knuckles with the utmost care, but the ache in his stomach still simmers.

Geralt groans with frustration.

“What is it?” Jaskier, ever so perceptive, notices his turmoil. The bliss on his face soon turns into concern and Geralt regrets ever letting on his emotions. “Talk to me, darling. It’s okay.”

“I—” Geralt realizes how silly it would sound, but Jaskier is waiting for an answer. “Tonight is the first time I’ve seen you since Ellander. Since the striga.”

“Since you accepted my hand in marriage.” Jaskier places an open-mouthed kiss on the scar on Geralt’s neck. “Darling, I wish I could have stayed with you at the temple. You know I do, but there was—”

“The coup at the border. I understand.” Geralt chastises himself for even bringing it up. He remembers how tired Jaskier looked after riding day and night to reach Temeria, how attentive he was when it came to nursing his injuries. “Uh—forget I said anything. You had to go, Jask. It’s fine.”

He also remembers when the urgent message came four days after they were betrothed and the sinking feeling in his stomach to watch Jaskier leave—albeit reluctantly. At the time, the prince kissed him so fiercely, his touch lingering on the signet ring he left on Geralt’s finger. Jaskier repeated his promise so many times, to return to him as soon as possible.

Geralt remembers the disappointment when he didn’t.

“It’s not fine.” Jaskier looks almost sad. “It’s never fine to leave you when you are hurt. It’s never fine to break my promise to you. Geralt, don’t you know you are my whole world? It’s my job to take care of you. Of course, you have every right to be angry with me.”

Except you also have to take care of the whole world.

Literally.

The world will always take precedence over a mere witcher.

“I missed you, that’s all.” Strangely, the admission lifts a weight off his chest. “I’m not angry with you for wanting to keep your people safe.”

“You aren’t?”

“I just—” Geralt’s stomach churns at the uncertain look on Jaskier’s face. “I just want to be with you, all of you. For more than four days at a time.”

“You have me.” Jaskier scrambles onto his elbow, not quite letting go of Geralt’s hand. “I’m here, all of me.”

“For tonight.”

“And tomorrow, and every day after.” He presses another kiss to the ring. “You’ll see, starting tomorrow morning. No more coups. I’ll stay with you when the tailors come over. Knowing how much you hate choosing designs and having people fuss all over you, it’d be cruel if I didn’t. It’s important that my husband looks dashing on his wedding day.”

“Hmm.”

The word husband is all it takes. Geralt finds himself drawn to Jaskier’s blinding smile, like a moth to a flame.

It should scare him, the thought of binding himself to someone. A witcher is not meant to stay at one place, with one person. And yet, Jaskier promised him the freedom to return to the path anytime as well as a seat at the Aedirnian court as the prince’s husband.

Because that’s the kind of person Jaskier is. When he’s in, he’s all in. In both his political life and with Geralt, Jaskier is ever so consistent. When he’s with Geralt, it’s like he’s only existing for the man in front of him, only in the here and now, as if his sun rises and falls with the tiniest sign of happiness on Geralt’s face. And yet, when he’s away…

It’s the world and the people the crown prince has sworn to protect.

It’ll always be the world before him.

Always second.

Geralt rubs the pad of his thumb on the signet ring, the proof of Jaskier’s devotion. The weight on his ring finger has become so comforting in Jaskier’s absence.

Maybe it’s enough. He has witnessed how Jaskier gives an ocean of love eagerly and unreservedly, to his work and his music. If Jaskier’s heart is willing to spare him anything like he’s someone worth loving, worth keeping, it’s enough.

Geralt drifts off with the prince soft and pliant, draped all over him.

And he wakes up to a cold bed, the familiar scent of citrus soap still faint on the sheets. Resting on the pillow, where tousled brown hair should be is a note scribbled in haste.

My darling witcher,

I must ride out before dawn as a riot has broken out near the settlement. It seems that men’s prejudice has not only made them seethe with hatred, but ruined our time together as well.

Forgive me for my absence, and for not having the courage to wake you before I leave.

Remember that I love you. I love you.

I love you,

J.

Geralt’s grip tightens around the paper before letting go of it with resignation.

Perhaps he has made peace with being second in Jaskier’s heart. He just wishes the proof is not so solid in ink.

*

Geralt stops in his tracks when he sees Valdo Marx standing outside the kitchen, his blonde curls shining even in the low candlelight. There’s a tankard of wine casually held in his palm.

“Well, isn’t this the White Wolf himself?” The lord flicks a strand of hair out of his face, checking the witcher up and down. “What brings you here so late at night?”

“Could ask you the same,” Geralt doesn’t want to converse with the man for too long. Every time he speaks with Marx, the lord always hides an edge in his words that makes the witcher uneasy. “And Geralt is fine, as I said last time.”

“Of course, how can I forget the name of the man who captured our Prince Julian’s heart. For so many years, he thought of marriage as a mere joke. A songbird is not to be caged, he said, or he will be forever songless. Julian was ever so dramatic on this matter. But that’s before you swooped in and suddenly he’s reduced to a lovestruck fool. It’s always Geralt this, Geralt that, even before the ball.” Valdo leans against the doorframe, squinting and scrutinizing.

“You are in a chatty mood, my lord,” the witcher dismisses the salty comment and walks toward the door. “Excuse me for not having the time. I’m only here to fetch Jaskier some food.”

“No need.” Valdo puts a hand on Geralt’s elbow to stop him from entering the kitchen. The smell of alcohol is strong around him. “I’ve ordered the maid to prepare something to be brought up. I know Julian must have slept through dinner. How is he now?”

Geralt hums. The too-familiar tone with which Valdo speaks of Jaskier has always put him off, as well as the hand that’s currently resting on his arm. Even though the urge to shake the man off is palpable, Geralt is determined to remain civil to the most important member of Jaskier’s council.

“His heart acted up earlier. It’s fine now. But he’s still resting.”

“From the fatigue, I imagine.” Valdo releases Geralt’s arm, his face falling. “The riot was a real pain in the neck. The people living near Dol Blathanna have been displeased since the settlement started, but one that lasts a fortnight is a first. Julian barely slept a wink. He was dead on his feet by the end of it.”

And now he’s just woken up, waiting for Geralt to return.

“I should go if you have everything sorted—”

“Do you know how dangerous it got at one point? How out of control the situation was?” Valdo’s piercing eyes meet Geralt’s, his tone demanding. “How come you, the deadliest witcher and Julian’s betrothed, were not at his side protecting him?”

“Jaskier never wanted me involved. I assume the Butcher won’t be good for his looks.”

“You would be more stupid than I thought I you believed that bullshit,” Valdo curses loudly. “He wanted to propose after meeting you twice, even though his whole council was against the idea. And you think he’s ashamed of you? No, he’s leaving you out of everything to protect you.”

Geralt frowns, but the lord continues.

“He cares so much about your stand, your neutrality or whatever moral code your kind holds on for dear life. He believes accepting his hand has already compromised your beliefs—as if marrying a prince is such a chore—so he won’t ask your loyalty to Aedirn. He won’t ask you to fight for him.”

The bitterness in Valdo’s voice is nothing compared to the bile that rises up in Geralt’s throat.

“If I was with him…”

“He’d be safer. The guards can’t always stand between him and danger, as your first meeting has already proved.”

The lord’s jaw tightens before downing the content of his cup. The silence hangs in the quiet night.

As much as Geralt dislikes Valdo’s snarky remarks and jabs, he cannot bring himself to hate the man. His devotion to Jaskier is unmatched even amongst his closest advisors, let alone the fact that they were childhood friends.

Even when no one supported Jaskier, Valdo was there. And for that, Geralt will forever be grateful. Even though a witcher never answers to nobles, perhaps an explanation is owed to Valdo Marx.

“I am loyal to Jaskier if that’s your concern.” Geralt says in earnest. “He has my sword, even though I’m no knight.”

Valdo crosses his arms, the tankard still in his hand and tipping sideways. A drop of red liquid hits the floor.

“Good. If you have to marry our prince, you might as well take your duty of serving him more seriously. Although only the gods know why he chose you over so many more deserving.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at the bitterness in that statement.

“Like a court advisor? A politician of the highest rank?” he stares down at the other man. “A long-time friend, maybe?”

No surprise flashes across the other man’s eyes, but being a lord his whole life means anything can be hidden under the calm surface.

He does let out a tight laugh, the wine loosening his tongue. “The whole continent will know before Julian.” He shakes his head, mumbling something incoherent. “Did you know he started to sing because of me? I took lute lessons one summer in Cidaris. I was eight and Julian was two years younger, and what do you know! He was better than me within six months. Ha! With talent like that, it’s a shame princes aren’t allowed to be bards.”

Geralt feels equally proud and jealous to hear the childhood tale. Jaskier has not talked about his relationship with Valdo much, apart from the fact that both of them were extremely competitive growing up. Although it is not difficult to imagine if a six-year-old Jaskier was as infuriatingly persistent as he is now.

“Are you to flaunt how well you know him again?” Geralt almost scowls. “How you know him better than anyone because you’ve known him for two decades longer?”

“I should remind you, witcher, that I’m also friends with people more powerful beyond your imagination. Mages who can dispose of a witcher with the snap of a finger.” Valdo straightens his back as if it’ll make him more imposing. “Julian may never listen to me on the matter of his marriage, but if you ever harm a hair—”

“What’s left of me will only be found in the deepest dungeon of Aedirn, I know.” Geralt holds his gaze steadily. These threats would be laughable if not so tiring. “No need to repeat yourself so many times, my lord.”

The promise hangs in the air. Just when Valdo Marx opens his mouth again, they are interrupted by soft footsteps padding from the other end of the hallway.

“Geralt? What’s taking so—Oh, Valdo.” Jaskier blinks while turning the corner, his sleep-rumpled hair sticking to all directions. His nightshirt is all wrinkled and unbuttoned halfway down, revealing thick chest hair. A soft woolen robe is draped around the prince’s shoulders. “Why are you still here? It’s so late, just go home already.”

And Valdo Marx, wordsmith and seasoned politician, is spluttering.

“I—Julian.” The other lord bows, way too formally, and clears his throat. His eyes are darting all over the place, avoiding the unkept picture of the prince. His already flushed face is turning a bright red. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. That is…um, why I stayed.”

“I’m fine, just tired.” Jaskier rubs at his heart in the guise of adjusting the shirt. “Now will you go? You did so well, as always. You deserve some rest.” Despite the weariness in Jaskier’s eyes, a hearty smile lights up his face, and Geralt hears Valdo’s breaths catch.

“If you say so, Julian.” The lord nods before taking his leave, throwing another stern look over his shoulder at the witcher, only to avert them when Jaskier drops all pretense and burrows into Geralt’s embrace with his back to the exit. The clicking of Valdo’s heels fastens almost desperately.

Geralt would have sympathized with the man if he didn’t have something much more important to take care of.

“Are you really fine?” Geralt asks quietly, frowning when Jaskier’s freezing hands press against the nape of his neck, and the prince shakes his head faintly.

“Not when you’re held up for so long, darling. I’m still waiting for my late-night snack,” Jaskier mumbles into the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“It’ll be brought up in a minute.”

“You are the sweetest.”

“Valdo, actually. He thought of it.”

“Oh.” Jaskier pulls away, surprised. “Have I told you that I learned the lute just to spite him, back when we were kids?”

“You can tell me now.”

The prince wraps the robe tighter around his torso and steers Geralt towards their bedroom. “It’s a great tale that ends with my sweeping triumph, my dear. If you will just follow me.”

Gladly.

Valdo’s words keep turning in Geralt’s head for the rest of the evening as he helps Jaskier with a simple meal before letting him retire again. Asleep for the second time, the prince looks uncharacteristically small, his frame swathed by the thick velvety blankets, carefully tucked around him to fend off the chills. A shadow falls under his long lashes, making Jaskier’s features appear a lot younger than he is, a fragile buttercup, even an innocent one.

But Geralt’s prince is anything but innocent. Not when he’s seen no less evil than anyone on this continent, not when he’s hurt deeply for acting against it.

Geralt wraps his body around the prince, and knows for a fact that he is willing to follow Jaskier anywhere on this journey.

*

Geralt fusses with the cuffs of his ceremonial doublet one last time when the servant rushes in.

“It’s the king,” the boy says with rounded eyes. “He just collapsed, sir. The prince is with him.”

When he gets to the other side of the castle, there must be more than a dozen people in the corridor, close friends of the royal family waiting outside of the wooden double doors. Among them is Valdo, pacing anxiously at the edge of the crowd.

There are only two heartbeats in the king’s chamber, one steady, the other one weak and erratic, like a candle in the wind.

Geralt doesn’t need to smell the decay in the air or the stale melancholy trapped in the building to know that the king is dying.

Through the closed doors, Jaskier’s soft whimpers follow the king’s hoarse murmurs. Geralt forces his heightened senses away from what must be a private moment, the last heart-to-heart Jaskier will ever have with his father. He shouldn’t intrude.

The collar is too tight. Geralt rests his hand against the door by instinct, wanting more than anything to be with Jaskier, to hold and comfort him. Waiting out here might just be the cruelest torture when Jaskier is hurting in there.

“Geralt,” Valdo interrupts the witcher’s wandering mind, “I’m sorry that it’s happening today.”

Geralt blinks at the genuine sympathy on the other man’s face. “It’s hardly about me, Valdo.”

They turn their heads towards the king’s bedchamber in unison. The young prince sitting at his father’s deathbed is the single focus of both men, of everyone standing in this corridor, and soon enough, of this entire country and all of the northern kingdoms.

“Still, I was warming up to you, witcher. It’s a shame your big day has to end like this.”

Geralt hums, and, “Thank you, my lord.”

In the dim light, Geralt’s attire appears to be a homogenous dark fabric, the embroidery easily overlooked—buttercups, threaded with the same black as the silk. Subtle, but they are there. There are hidden buttercups all over him, weaving through his color and laying claim.

Jaskier would appreciate the design. Geralt brushes his thumb over one flower sadly.

“Did he tell you already?” Valdo asks.

“About what?”

“The investigation.”

A frown creases between Geralt’s brows. “I thought you couldn’t trace it back to Calanthe? That there was no proof.”

“Because it wasn’t her. Think about it. Since when has Calanthe resorted to a shady kill like this in the past? The Lioness was angry at our prince and she was vocal about it, but you’d think she’d just charge across the Yaruga with a sword in her hand,” the blonde man snorts. “We were looking the wrong way.”

“Jaskier never told me.” Geralt stands there, dumbfounded.

“He was protecting you. Again.”

Annoyance licks up in Geralt’s chest, burning for answers. “What is the truth, then? You have no inclination of doing the same, Valdo. Just tell me.”

The lord drags the witcher away from the murmuring crowd and lowers his voice in secrecy. “We were overthinking it by assuming it was an elaborate plan, but it hit me one day. How can we be so blind when it’s right in front—”

“Out with it.” Geralt grits his teeth and finally the noble sighs and ceases stalling.

“A friendly fire.”

“The poisonous arrow was friendly.” Geralt deadpans.

“When it was sent by someone who only wished to deter Julian from furthering his plans and angering every other king in the north by siding with the elves. Someone who arranged an attempt on his life only to scare him off, but didn’t anticipate the one million things that could go wrong on the day.” Valdo sends a heavy look to the closed double door. “Someone dear to Julian. Someone who has regretted the decision since.”

Geralt feels like all air has been punched out of his lungs. His knuckles crack and his nails are close to drawing blood from the palm. It’s because of Valdo’s hand halting him in place that Geralt is not charging into the room.

“His own father…” Geralt murmurs, suddenly all strength saps from his body and he just wants to get Jaskier out of this damned place, away from the man who’s supposed to support him but instead almost took his life. “I need to go in.”

“Don’t. These people will know something’s wrong. This cannot get out,” Valdo hisses. Down the hall, a few lords and ladies are already throwing them some curious looks.

“Jaskier knows this,” Geralt says, shaking off the buzzing in his ears.

“And he’s made his peace with it, and now they are spending their last moments together. Your anger, or mine, is—”

The double doors open with a creak, and there Jaskier is, eyes red-rimmed but his back straight.

“—pointless.”

Valdo completes the sentence but Geralt pays no mind. When he reaches Jaskier’s side with a few quick strides, there’s no other heartbeat inside the room, only silence. His world narrows down to the thrumming in Jaskier’s chest.

The palpitation is unmistakable. Fluttering dangerously.

So is the stench of overpowering pain, mixed with the distinct citrus floral scent that is Jaskier and the never-ending decay of a sick old man. Geralt almost gags.

“The king is dead,” the prince announces the tragedy. A few nobles reply with kind words. It all fades into background noises.

Geralt’s gaze fixes on the man he’s supposed to marry this very day, and watches as Jaskier bites into his lips when another quiver happens upon the spasming muscles of his heart like the wings of a hummingbird. A lady reaches out to offer condolences, so Jaskier takes her hands and thanks her. His features reveal nothing.

The paleness could be taken as a result of grief, the tremor as well. The guests remain blissfully oblivious to the agony their prince is in, and one by one they come to him and linger.

But Jaskier’s agony cannot escape Geralt’s eyes, not when he’s the one most intimate to those heartaches that have been with Jaskier since the day they met. A sheen of sweat gathers at Jaskier’s forehead, his lips pursed into a tight line, but the prince won’t show any weakness to these people. Instead, he stands tall and proud, stubborn like the first dandelion in the spring, blossoming where the wind is cruel and the soil still frozen.

“Julian,” Valdo calls out the name like a prayer.

“I need you, Valdo.” Jaskier’s voice cracks, the first outward indication of discomfort. “We’ve found ourselves in the most precarious situation, and I—”

Jaskier breaks off for air, squeezes his eyes shut to ride out a chill down his spine. Geralt catches the prince by the elbow and instantly Jaskier leans into the support.

“I will make the arrangement for you, my prince,” Valdo replies when the prince schools his expression back to normal and gives out a trusting smile.

“I depend on you, all of you,” Jaskier addresses the crowd, “for the future of this land we share. But now it’s time for me to grieve, my good people. Allow me some privacy and time with my husband.”

The slip goes unnoticed when the lords and ladies are led out and the only people left are Geralt, Valdo and Jaskier himself. The prince lets out a labored gasp, staggers, and sags against Geralt’s chest like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Shit. Jask—” Geralt scrambles to keep him up but Jaskier drops like a leaf in the wind and they both end up on the floor in a heap of limbs. He looks to Valdo in desperation.

“I’ll get the healer. Julian, please hang on.” The other man’s hand lingers by Jaskier’s wrist before he hurries away, but the prince seems unaware.

And it’s just them, alone on their wedding day.

Jaskier’s ragged breathing echoes in the empty hallway and Geralt has never felt more helpless in his long life. The prince’s face crumbles in agony and his body won’t stop shaking.

“Hey, just look at me.” Geralt places Jaskier’s cheek against his shoulder so their gazes meet, the cornflower blue not responding. “Why do you need to be so stubborn? Damn you, Jaskier…”

“You are wea—wearing buttercups, Geralt. Look—” A boneless hand comes up to caress the dark embroidery on Geralt’s collar, Jaskier’s eyes sparkle with fascination before a tremor racks his body again and contorts him into a writhing mess.

“Shh. Don’t talk, Jask. Save your strength.”

Geralt’s words are drowned in fear, and he can only wrap a steady hand around Jaskier’s cold, clammy one and hold it over the prince’s frantic heart in the hope of easing the tightly wound muscles underneath.

“But…but I’m all over you. Like you are all over me. See?” Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s fingers and that’s when he notices the wolf pattern sewn into Jaskier’s sleeve for the first time, silver thread against white. A perfect symmetry between them.

Despite himself, the corners of Geralt’s lips tug into a sad smile, and it is soon returned by Jaskier. His eyes well up in the process. From the physical strain or grief, Geralt isn’t sure.

“I don’t need it to know that I’m yours, my prince. Now and always.”

Where Jaskier bit into his lips earlier seeps with crimson, a stark contrast against his bloodless complexion, the look in his eyes dreamy and far-away.

“My knight in shining armor. My savior.” Jaskier says in earnest before something dawns in his eyes and devastation sets in. A whimper chokes in his throat. “You, Geralt…Will you betray me too? Even…my own father. The person closest to me. But how can he? How—”

The prince squirms against Geralt’s chest and struggles to take in air, his cheeks soaked wet with sweat and tears. Something twists in Geralt’s stomach powerlessly as he hears the wheezing sounds in Jaskier’s lungs.

“I won’t, Jaskier. Please,” Geralt pleads into Jaskier’s hair but it falls on deaf ears. Strings of words tumble out of his mouth, delirious and nonsensical.

“We didn’t even have the time…couldn’t even make it right. There was no time…”

Geralt shushes him and tries to calm Jaskier’s breathing by stroking his back but it only makes it worse. The deterioration is happening too fast, juxtaposed with grief and shock that Jaskier’s already weakened heart cannot handle. Geralt fears the worst.

“My father, I—they all hurt me and leave me…Like my… Don’t leave me, G’ralt—" Jaskier clings and pleads, but cannot escape the cage made out of his sorrow.

“I won’t. Not when you’ve promised the same, Jask. Stay with me. Just stay with me, please.”

He’s trying.

Jaskier is trying and failing. And it’s the last straw.

“It hurts too much.”

With that, blue eyes roll into the back of his head and Jaskier collapses in Geralt’s embrace, the column of his neck exposed with the strain and the pulse underneath faint like a whisper. His listless hand slips from Geralt’s grip and hits the floor.

Carefully as if any more force would break Jaskier’s skin, Geralt presses his lips to Jaskier’s still ones and tastes of copper and salt. He draws out the kiss like in those fairytales, like a proper true love’s kiss. When he finally pulls away, a swarm of healers and nurses are surrounding them and Geralt is pulled away by hands he doesn’t recognize.

But Jaskier doesn’t wake from the kiss.

Not like in the stories.

---

I know Jaskier isn’t having the best day but I promise this story has a happy ending. <3

Also I’m not sure who wants to be tagged for this one, but feel free to tell me ;)

[zankivich]

An Unexpected Romance: Chris Evans x Black! Female Reader Part 1

a/n: *sticks head out* omg hi. It’s been a while. A long while. Somehow I am back writing for another white man, a different one this time. We can only hope he does not disappoint as drastically as the last one does. I genuinely have no idea if this is good? I think it’s kinda cute, and I’ve been feeling very traumatized in regards to blackness lately so I really needed some black and brown women having a good time and being happy. We deserve that tbh. There could obvi be another part to this. Let me know if anyone even cares enough for that lol. Okay bye now. 

Part 2 Part 3

There’s an unspoken rule amongst you and your friends. Like a secret code, if you will. If a man hits on you at the bar and you’re not interested, and friends always know when you’re not interested, swarm and diffuse the situation. But? If a man hits on you at the bar and you are interested? Then that is a different story entirely.

It was a Thursday night out with the girls. You were at your favorite bar. It was quiet and quaint but still modern enough to attract a younger crowd. Sometimes there’s nothing better than getting dressed up and sipping on drinks with your girls. No dancing or club hopping or excessive uber rides. Just one bar, shit talk, and a lot of bacardi.

You were all sat directly at the bar in high standing chairs, Your back was turned to the entrance as you listened intently to your friend Tanya complain about her latest Hinge hook up.

“Can you believe I took my fine ass self all the way over to that nigga’s house in satin shorts? Satin! And he had a pizza box on his bedside table and the second he laid me down my back hit a bong. Make it make sense Jesus.”

Tanya was a beautiful Black woman. She was taller than all of you at six feet, and she strutted every step. Her skin was deep espresso and she was almost always rocking a vibrant colored wig that matched a vibrant colored outfit. Tonight’s color was lavender.

“I don’t know how many times we have to tell ya ass to stay away from them white boys.” You snorted, sticking your tongue out in search of your straw.

Your friends, Tanya, Raya, and Jesse all did a collective eye roll in your direction that did not go unnoticed.

“Yes ladies?” You asked with a straightened spine and arched brow.

Jesse was one of them girls you would have hated in high school. Skinny waist, slim thick thighs, and skin so clear that her Puertio Rican skin was only left to dazzle and shine. She had long, tight curls that hung all the way down to her belly button, and she always kept them gelled down and tied back. She, like all of your friends, did not hold back when it came to the group. You were honest, thick as thieves, and frankly a little brutal.

“You don’t even count. Your refusal to go near a white man is excessive and weird.” She cackled. “You're just as bad as Tanya, just on the other end of the spectrum sis.”

“Excuse me? Now Tanya dates boys...I date men. You see the difference? And if I am gone lie in some ivory sheets there’s gonna have to be some extra special attention being paid to me. And trust, there always is.”

You stuck your tongue out lewdly and laughed sending the whole table into a fit of giggles. You all clinked your glasses together and revelled in the atmosphere of melanin, acceptance, and tomfoolery. What a group.

“You tellin’ me that if a fine ass man walked in here right now and checked every box: his own money, his own car, intelligent, funny, etcetera,  and he just happened to be of the vanilla variety you wouldn’t bite?” Raya asked.

Raya was the thickest of the group, voluptuous in every sense of the word and also the only one happily married. She just put up with y’all honestly.

You rolled your eyes through with the conversation already.

“I’m saying...he’d have to be pretty fucking special and pretty fucking dedicated. Men are a headache as it is. I don’t need the added layer of some man pulling at my weave like I’m Lilly Ane from his hometown,  or asking me to do race play in the bedroom. Now I’m going to the bathroom and when I come back I’d like for us to talk about literally anything else? Okay? Okay.”

You slid out of your seat and headed for the bathroom with the grace and power of a woman in her thirties who had managed the insecurities of her younger self and had decided to only live her life revelling in her own excellence.

If Tayna was the darkest of the group you weren't at all far behind. If she was expresso, you were simply an americano with a dash of cream. And you rocked it with a full head of curls that ranged from nappy to bursting with life and moisture depending on both the day and temperature. It was all set upon the shoulders of a woman with curves and hips and chest. It was your body and you loved it endlessly, a matter quite evident in the way you walked.

That night you were wearing a coral pink jumpsuit with a long, flowy kimono and heels to match. Your kimono billowed behind you and made you feel fierce, even on the walk to the bathroom, which is perhaps why you weren’t paying that much attention. One second you’re strutting in the heels that you only wore when there wouldn’t be too much standing, and the next you’re slipping on some liquid that must have been spilt on the floor. Your whole life flashed before your eyes. The wind flew out of your lungs. This was the end…

And then you were caught by the waist. Not caught, more like gripped. Firmly. And perhaps not the waist so much as the hips. You expected to be lying straight on the floor staring up at the ceiling, and instead you were staring at a chest. A firm chest. No not firm. Chiseled might be a better description. So chiseled that your hands began to wander amongst the suit clad flesh before your mind had caught up with you. Heafer.

“Oh my god. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I can’t believe I--”

You peered up into deep blue eyes and let’s not forget that your fingers were still wandering along that chest. Had a chest ever been so broad? No. Not unless you count Captain America apparently.

“Please, I always like to pull a rescue mission before dinner. Makes me feel like I earned my meal.” He grinned down at you.

Chris Evans. What are even the statistical chances? You wouldn’t know, you were too busy drooling.

His hands were still on your hips. Yours still on his chest. And now you were just plain staring at him. Good look.

A waiter with a towel to clean up the mess broke up the moment by clearing their throat and alerting the two of you that you were way too close to one another still.

“Oh--Oh.” You mumbled idiotically. “You’re…”

He nodded. “Chris. And you are?”

“I’m...I’m…”

The waiter snickered under their breath and you realized just how much you were ruining this moment. You straightened your spine and tried to act like you had some sort of sense.

“I’m y/n. Thank you again for the save. I was actually just on my way to the bathroom so I’ll uh let you get back to your night and try not to fall on you again.” You smiled.

“Yea, we definitely wouldn’t want that would we?” He asked.

But the way his face was looking told you maybe he might not mind it after all. Sheesh.

“Okay well uh you have a nice night, Chris.”

You tapped at his hands on your hips and he quickly stumbled back with an apology. It was the first time he looked even the slightest bit flustered in your interaction with him. You found that you liked it.

“You have a nice night too, y/n.”

You smiled at him one final time before walking to the bathroom as you had intended. But he didn't leave your mind the entire time you were there. And not just because it was Chris Evans, it didn’t feel fair to call it star struck. That was too simple, too miniscule.  Instead it was the way his hands had felt on your hips. You had the tendency to lean away from men, didn’t feel comfortable with them when you didn't know who they were. And yet there you had stood, completely at ease in his hold. You couldn’t explain it even to yourself. He had just felt right.

“Of course he felt right, he’s practically a figment of your imagination.” You mumbled to yourself at the sinks.

That was it. He didn’t even count. The only time you ever saw him was on your netflix account, so surely your perception was warped. The reality was that Chris Evans was just another white man who looked good in a sweater. The end.

That’s what you convinced yourself as you walked back to your friend, but not without taking extra precautions against the floor. By the time you arrived back at your table you had done the mental gymnastics needed to completely eliminate him from your system. Good girl.

“Now, I trust you all found something better to talk about while I was away.” You grinned as you slid back into the table.

All of your friends were snickering behind their hands and they wasted no time at all laughing at you.

“Oh did we!” Jesse laughed. “You see we had just moved on to a new topic when a little someone got a drink delivered to the table.”

Your eyes widened as Jesse pushed a glass of what looked like processo closer your way. She then pointed over by the bar leading the entire table to turn that way. Seated by his seat with his arms leaning against the bar, shoulders even broader against the wood, was none other than Chris Evans himself. As if on a Hollywood cue he turned to look at you with a smile that was both innocent and filthy at the same time. He lifted a drink of his own in the air and tilted it in your direction in silent cheers. If you had been ten shades lighter you’da blushed like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous.

“Now...What was that you were saying about white boys sis?” Tanya asked.

You groaned to yourself softly and plopped your head down in your hands in embarrassment. This was only to notice that your sparkling glass of prosecco was perched upon a napkin with his phone number written upon it. Home boy was slick and he was bold. A man confident enough to come put himself out there, and respectful enough to do it in a way that wasn’t disruptive or rude to your friends nor yourself. It was the sort of thing that made you take notice for sure, which explained why your girlfriends were looking at you like cats that had just discovered the canary.

“What? What?! What?” You gasped at the table, clearly annoyed.

Jesse grinned. “What’chu mean ‘what’, mija! You gone get your mans or what?”

They all giggled and looked clearly in his direction, only embarrassing you further.

“Stop it!” You hissed. “He is not ‘my mans’ by any stretch of the imagination. He probably just feels bad for me slipping. I fell and he caught me. Clearly he’s a gentleman, which is nice but that don’t mean nothin.”

“Girl please! This man done sent you prosecco and a phone number. That’s like a rich modern version of a love letter. You better go talk to that man.” Raya snorted.

Women who hype up other women are the world’s greatest treasure. You loved your friends with everything in you, and you valued all of their intellects greatly. However, this was not a regular-degular man. This was literally a superhero. You had confidence for days, but this was simply a different stratosphere. You were just about to silence your friends again when a ghost must have descended because everyone else began to gasp.

“Girl he movin’. Captain America is comin in for the landing.” Raya stage-whispered.

“Oooo you know what? Suddenly I have to pee.” Tanya mumbled.

“Oh me too!” Jesse nodded.

And just like that….your table was empty. The audacity!

“Wow. I sure can clear a room huh?” He chuckled, stepping up beside you. “I hope I don’t offend too much.”

You sighed turning to face him head on.

“You certainly do not offend. In fact, I think my friends are around some corner cackling like the witches they are. They just wanted to give you space to shoot your shot.”

He smiled with a raised eyebrow. “My shot, huh? I better not fuck it up them.”

You shrugged, eyes raking gently over him. Beyond the obvious attraction, it was important for you to search for any warning signs. His body language was good. He had one hand draped over the back of your chair, but he stood two steps back from the table so that he wasn’t over-crowding your space. He seemed to be aware of himself physically, an important marker in your estimation. He was playful enough, but also clearly interested if he’d decided to come up to the table after all that. This did not bode well for you at all. The man was kinda nice.

“I just wanted to see if you were enjoying your drink is all.”

Your fingers flitted with the glass before pulling it to your lips for a sip. The way his eyes seemed to follow the motion had a heat pooling in your gut.

“I do enjoy a good prosecco.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. I didn’t want to be too forward but uh--I think you’re stunning and  I was wondering if I could take you out sometime.” He murmured.

Your legs were crossed in your seat, and you bobbed your leg a little, anxiety coursing through you.

“Were you afraid the number on the napkin was too subtle?”

He chuckled softly, eyes falling to the ground in an almost...embarrassed fashion? Lord, please.

“Sorry, I tend to second guess myself. I never know how people are gonna take me with my line of work. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to set up a one night stand or something. Wanted to show you I’m genuinely interested.”

Well that was unnervingly wholesome. Where they get this man from?

You let a small grin form across your mouth, a metaphorical step forward closer to his very inviting energy.

“Well, I do like the sound of stunning.”

“Yea? I think I could say some other stuff you’d like too if you give me a chance. What do you say?”

He licked the edge of his lip and it really was so miniscule but it had your thighs tightening in a way that was unholy. Rude.

You couldn’t say yes just off principle. Ten minutes ago you had just shamed all your friends for their white proclivities and the first one that walks off the street and bats his eyelashes at you causes you to cave? The hypocrisy! But...he was fine. Like capital “F” fine. Fwine with a “w”, fine. And it’s not like he was going to take you home to pizza boxes and lost bongs and then hit you up for gas money later. He was more set in his life than you were. Him being rich wasn’t even for you to utilize; it just felt good to know that he was accomplished and secure for himself. Again you dated men...not boys. And yet still you found yourself in such a conundrum.

“You look hesitant.” He noted, eyes locking onto yours.

You nodded. “I am...Excuse my bluntness but I had just gotten done explaining to my friends that dating white men often comes with more hassle than good. It can be difficult to connect cross-culturally. And quite frankly y’all are usually racist and/or fetishists. I’m not looking to upset your mama, nor am I looking to play slave master in the bedroom.”

Honestly the little speech was usually enough to send weaker men running. You say the r-word to a white man when you’re a black woman and he either calls you the n-word or gets upset and walks away. That had been your experience thus far. Not always, but enough to set precedence. The fact that he bothered to stay at the table further already separates himself from the pack.

“I can understand where you’re coming from.” He nodded, and a crease formed subtly between his eyebrows. “Not that I could ever really understand, just that I understand your hesitancy towards me. And I understand that it’s more complicated for you than it is for me. I really wish it wasn’t that way, but obviously that isn’t exactly something you and I can fix together in this very moment.”

You steadied for yourself for his next words, sure that he was about to leave you with, “have a nice life, I’ve got a spandex fitting in the morning.” There was a feeling in your tummy that felt out of place. You noted absently that it was a flutter of disappointment. And then he kept speaking.

“I don’t want to change your opinions on all white guys. I’d be willing to wager that most of us suck, and you probably should definitely steer clear.”

This caused you to snicker a little bit, a smile coming back to your face. He practically beamed in response, teeth coming together in a megawatt smile.

“However, I’d truly hate to never see that smile again.” He groaned and layed a firm hand against his own chest. “I don’t wanna change your mind about all of us...but maybe I can change your mind about me. I don’t want to feshitize you, I don’t want some weird power play between us. I don’t wanna do anything that would hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I just wanna take a really beautiful woman out if I could, if you’ll have me? Please? And if not, I take no as my answer and I walk away a little wounded, and you’ll still be here, stunning as always.”

Ooof. Boy was good. Real good.

You twisted your lips together and eyed him another time as if you were seeing each other for the very first time. Seemingly good guy. Persistent, not demanding. Willing to have conversations about race? Biceps the size of your head. Damn it was like the devil had crafted him especially for you.

“You know I think my friends have been spying long enough. I should probably meet up with them.” You mumbled.

You reached for the check in front of you adding your tip to your total and squaring out your tab. The way his eyes raked over you did not go unnoticed, unfelt. With the check closed and on the table you reached for one of the cocktail napkins on the table, pen still in hand, and wrote a note of your own. Sliding from your seat, you reached for the prosecco and downed the fizzy beverage before pressing the napkin to his chest with your nail. There was confusion, and perhaps a bit of hurt, in his baby blue eyes. This was gonna be some real trouble for you.

His palm came to rest over yours, trapping your fingers against his chest. There was a warmth there that seemed to leave your fingertips tingling. Definitely trouble.

“You have a nice night Chris.” You grinned.

His hand fell away from yours at the slightest movement on your part. He stood there, seemingly shell shocked, as you reached for your purse and his cocktail napkin. You almost thought he was going to let you get away as you went to step around him, only for his palm to grab gently at your hip.

“Good night y/n.” He whispered and reached to kiss chastly at your cheek.

The warmth of him was more intoxicating up close. He radiated heat like he radiated pheromones. And the smell of him was absolutely ridiculous as well. Was that gucci? Dior maybe?

It was a miracle you made it around the corner.

As to be expected, your awful ass group of friends were all standing by the hostess booth peaking around at you like a couple of dumbasses. They were lucky you loved em. You had an exit to execute though, and for that at least, they were useful.

You resumed your power walk, matched with clicking heels and a teasing pop of your hips, towards them.

“Is he watching?” You asked quietly.

They all nodded in various levels of incredulousness.

“Good. Let’s go.”

And then you walked your ass out that bar only to collapse the first second you cleared the doors. Your girls descended the way only women do, like fucking superheros of their own, and helped you float back to the car.

“Girl if you don’t start spilling A-S-A-P I swear fo’ God!” Raya gasped hands shaking on the steering wheel.

“What happened what happened what happened?!” Jesse screeched.

Your head nestled against the headrest of the car, your breathing having gone unsteady by the little game you’d just played.

“I think I just told him he can take my black ass on a date.” You mumbled in shock.

The tension in the car hit an all time high as everyone went silent...And then they all bursted out laughing as if you’d mentioned the funniest joke in the damn world.

“I KNEW IT BITCH!” Tayna screamed. “OOOOOOO BITCH I KNEW IT!”

“She finna be down with the swirl tonight, y’all!” Raya cackled.  

“In the category of white boys y/n will fuck with, this one has a networth of millions and the highest grossing movie of all time.” Jesse spoke in her best game host voice.

“I’ll take Captain America for six hundred, Alex!” Tayna snickered.

And they all continued to laugh.

“I gotta get some new friends.”

TBC?

[inhonoredglory]

something i feel is dismissed a lot or not talked abt as often is armin and mikasas relationship - i really loved their dynamic in the manga. especially the cut scene of mikasa responding to one of armins more morbid plans with “i didnt raise him like that” (i wont say anything about near the end of the series, i dont know how far youve read but like in my last ask i have many opinions) i really wish we had gotten a full conversation between them when armin killed the woman :( - armin anon

Gosh, you’re so right about Armin and Mikasa. I LOVED so many of their little moments that were completely absent(!!!) from the anime. The moment you’re talking about, of course:

First off, I get a lot of feelings for Jean still cognizant of the horrible experience Armin’s been through, and imagining it’s the reason for Armin’s morbid plan. Then Eren’s quick defense of Armin’s intellect is precious to see. And finally, Mikasa, the protective older sibling puzzled at Armin’s behavior. Because all three of them have true things to say about Armin at this point. Armin’s trying to deal with the torture happening in the other room and the realization that they’re facing much more human threats than the titans ever were. He’s going to a dark place in his mind, using his skills towards something far too cunning for his age. Mikasa’s comment really enlightens how she thinks of Armin, with an affection and love for a younger sibling.

And we see a parallel in the way Armin looks up to her and values her opinion on matters. One of my favorite underrated moments between them is Chapter 57’s conversation among the 104th about Levi’s actions towards Historia. It’s sad that most of the 104th couldn’t read Levi the way we can, since I’m convinced Levi’s physicality with Historia was a desperate plea to get her to help him (as I’ve gone in depth with in a post). While the rest of the 104th start to believe Levi is making the SC into a gang of thugs, Armin stands up for the Captain. I don’t know if Armin knows exactly the psychology of what’s going on, but he nonetheless believes what Eren believes about Levi’s actions: “We don’t have a choice. If we fail here, humanity’s just going to be eaten by titans.”

So Armin stands up for Levi and then asks Mikasa for backup. Because he knows she’s perceptive and smart about things, and she doesn’t place her faith in people easily, but when she does, it’s for good reason. Mikasa is able to bring the rest of the 104th to Levi’s side, fulfilling Armin’s faith in her.

I do desperately wish we got to see the conversation Mikasa had with Armin after Armin killed the MP. But based on scenes like the one above, I feel like she must have shared with him the necessity of what they're doing, and basically reminding him of the things Armin already believed. But above all, giving him physical comfort and understanding. It's rare to see Mikasa do this, so it's especially heartwarming to see her act this way with Armin.

In the Return to Shigonshina arc, there's so many examples of Mikasa's absolute trust and faith in Armin. She puts all their lives in his hands, encouraging him to lead the 104th and trusting in his ideas. The same ideas that saved Mikasa and Eren's lives time and time again in the past. In a lot of ways, Mikasa is the Levi to Armin's Erwin (being the strength to his mind), in a different way that Eren is the Levi to Armin's Erwin (being the one inspired by Armin's ideals and vision). She has enough faith in Armin to trust Eren to his plans when the 104th split up to fight Reiner and Bertolt, but she also has the sense of mind to save Armin when Armin's plans fall through. That's how she attached Bertolt and stopped Armin from going after him.

But of course the biggest moment for Armin and Mikasa is the rooftop serumbowl. We can so clearly see and feel Mikasa’s powerful love for Armin, the deathly stare in her eyes when she realized Levi was going to give the serum to Erwin. Her glare is palpable and terrifying and even Levi is afraid of the passion behind those eyes.

The Shigonshina trio love each other so much, and we see so much of their trust and love in the RTS arc. Thanks again for the ask! I'd love to hear more of your opinions and thoughts; it's fun to analyze the manga because there's so many little details that enrich the story.

[hopeymchope]

Anon finally figured out The Definitive Answer for why so many people worship Bakugo, because there's a blog post by lovecrafts-iranon where, refreshingly, he actually comes right out and SAYS the reason why fandoms worship assholes: he thinks Dudley should have been Harry Potter's protagonist instead of Potter himself, because "good people doing good things are a boring snooze, while cruel and vicious people are entertaining." So he, and others like him, judge morality by "what entertains me".

Wow. I found that Dudley post, and it has SO MANY notes, and NOT EVEN ONE OF THEM IS SOMEONE DISAGREEING. How is that possible?

But I'd like to take a moment to look at this post in more (i.e. WAY TOO MUCH) depth. With pull quotes!

There is so much potential for growth, and at a nice slow pace because he would need to be dragged kicking and screaming every step of the way and have several reversions.

I guess it's true that he'd have to go through a lot more radical change than Harry did. And that would definitely be interesting to see unfurl, in a fashion. But Harry has to learn self-confidence, learn to cope with death (in the sense that he has to process it for the first time), learn to accept the things he can't change... all the things that people in the targeted demographic age of the readership are simultaneously dealing with. Dudley, on the other hand, doesn't have any reason to learn most of that stuff. He's only relatable to readers who are also massive assholes. Dudley's already overconfident - he's full of himself, and him being told that he's basically the Chosen One will only make it much worse. Will he have to cope with death? I mean, maybe someday. But we start with him only caring about himself, so it's unlikely he'd be too terribly affected if someone died in front of him. That would require him to care about someone else. And learning to accept that he can't change everything is something he'd probably struggle with in a semi-interesting fashion, but do you want to watch a spoiled brat who believes he can scream until he gets his way FINALLY start to learn that maybe he should stop screaming and start facing facts? Shit, that just sounds like modern politics. And coping with people who can't face reality is intolerable and infuriating.

Magic, aside from being not real, is a special kind of repulsive evil [to him]. Merely mentioning magic is the only thing that can temporarily revoke his Specialest Boy status.

I think the author is stating that this is a thing that's true of Dudley in the existing novels? Maybe I'm misunderstanding, and this is something that the author of the post wants to introduce into their AU fanfic. If it's the former, however, then I want to point out that there's no evidence that Dudley held any opinions at all on magic before Harry was declared a wizard. His parents sure did, but they never spoke of magic and refused to acknowledge it, so they naturally never said a word to Dudley about it.

So Dudley actually has no reason to be repulsed by the notion of being a wizard. In all likelihood, he'd be overjoyed to be told that he's a super-powered being of importance who everyone in the magical world has heard about. He'd probably want everybody to genuflect when he entered every room from then on. (I am assuming that Dudley must still be the one who has to eventually defeat Voldemort according to prophecy, but I guess he wouldn't be "The Boy Who Lived." His parents were obviously never killed; the fact that they raised him a certain way is what defines his character. He'd need some other kind of legend to cause his fame.)

Harry would never cause problems on purpose, while Dudley would never stop doing so at Hogwarts!

A character who is actively the source of all the trouble they're in isn't remotely sympathetic; I root AGAINST that kind of character. I want LESS of them. I want them to lose.

That's actually part of why I hated the new Snake Eyes movie — every bad thing that happens can logically be laid at Henry "Snake Eyes" Golding's own [probably gorgeous] feet. I'm not rooting for someone like that.

Harry gets to experience friendship and acceptance for the first time, snooze, while Dudley would have to face lack of friendship and rejection for the first time (there is nobody who wouldn't be put off by 'hates magic' even if they were fine with the rest of his personality)! Now that's fascinating!

I still think seeing a lonely boy with no sense of self-worth make his first friends is interesting. But I admit that Dudley facing rejection and lack of friendship for the first time DOES sound fascinating. The author has got me there.

And imagine him going home for Christmas break loudly announcing how happy he is to get away from all those awful wizards only to find out his parents treat him much differently now, their love having been completely conditional all along.

Would it be, though? I guess this is up to the perception of the author, but I kind of imagine Vernon and Petunia taking it as a personal victory if their own spawn is declared the special Chosen One. Their kid being a powerful wizard known around the world, and Lily's kid being no one in particular? They'd visit Lily's grave for the first time ever just so they could dance on it.

I could go on and on. I remember looking to see if there was any Dudley goes to Hogwarts fic as a kid and there was one popular one, but it let Harry go too (boo, the realization there might be something wrong with how his adopted brother is being treated back at home should be a shocking revelation to him), let Dudley become too nice too fast (it should be a long, drawn out process where he never gives an inch he doesn't absolutely have to!) and was too easy on him (characters suffering is good).

Author is assuming that Dudley - now christened a mighty wizard of destiny, the literal Chosen One - would actually perceive of there being something wrong with how his lowly muggle cousin was treated. I'd say: Highly doubtful. He'd just continue to be an asshole about it.

And the longer you drag out an asshole getting redeemed, the more I'm going to feel like "Well I don't fucking care if they get redeemed by this point; they've had every possible chance and every possible piece of evidence thrown at them, and they chose to remain an asshole, so fuck them. They deserve nothing."

At least the author wants Dudley to suffer. Not that I agree with the notion that characters suffering is automatically good, but asshole characters DO often deserve that shit.

BOTTOM LINE: I... just... I guess I shouldn't be surprised that people would actually WANT to focus on horrible assholes? That people want those fuckers to be the heroes instead of actually decent human beings? Because there are so many awful people in the world, so I guess it must be relatable enough for them. But dammit, I'm still surprised.

No, no, no. FUCK no. Being an asshole does not inherently make someone interesting; it just makes them an asshole. They deserve to be punished, not celebrated. They might still be interesting as an antagonist, but I'm sure as hell not going to root for them. And if you're going to insist on spending valuable focus time on these characters, you'd better at least be acknowledging that they are the VILLAIN of the story.

Which is honestly a more logical role for Dudley anyway. If Voldemort told Dudley that he's an exceptional being and that the inferior muggles else should be made to serve at his feet? Dudley would totally go for that. He'd become the whiniest, brattiest Death Eater.

Besides, Dudley is a particularly weird choice for their post, because he's NOT interesting! Not even as an antagonist! Dudley only exists as a one-note plot device. He deserves no attention.

[fishyfod]

(Slightly) more organized thoughts on the V8 finale.

tl;dr I think the finale had some issues.

I’ll start this off by emphasizing again that this is my opinion, so read something else if you can’t handle negative criticism of RWBY. I say this because too often people in this FNDM can’t handle a difference in opinion without insulting or patronizing others, and I want none of that.

Now, RWBY’s general structural issue is a lack of time to fulfill all their ambitions, and they usually tend to neglect one aspect a bit more than others. In volumes 7 and 8 this proved to be quite a problem, because they wanted to tell quite a complicated story while introducing a fairly large amount of new and returning characters. I very much like the story they told in these volumes, but it must be said that the development and focus on the regular cast, and team RWBY in particular, has suffered for it. It’s not a deal breaker for me personally, but I do think it’s an issue.

So when I saw the finale episode only had about 20 minutes, I figured the best course of choice for RWBY would be to focus on the Atlas-only plots, and leave RWBY & co’s stories for the next volume, which by all accounts seems to be focused only on their character. And credit where credit is due, this is what RWBY decided to do with this finale. This doesn’t really solve the underlying issue that the main cast has yet again been relegated to such a minor role in their own show, but I can live with it.

I still do have a problem with how RWBY’s role in this finale was handled, and forgive me because this might be the least well-explained part of this review. The best way to describe it would be that, though I know I’m watching team RWBY, they don’t feel present in the finale? I struggle to put my finger on it, if it’s more an issue of direction or execution, but something about RWBY’s fight felt off for me.

By comparison, when I think of the episode before, I don’t have this issue. While the way Yang fell isn’t RWBY’s best execution, the reactions of RWBY to that fall worked quite well. There was individual focus on Yang falling, Blake screaming and raging at it, Weiss’s heart breaking into two, Ruby falling into more despair - the tragedy works because of it. I don’t feel the same about the finale, RWB fall almost as if they’re passerby rather than the main characters.

Again, maybe this is just me, maybe I’ll change my mind later. Whatever.

I think Cinder is the one I’m most satisfied with. She seems in character, she acts a lot like she did in her confident state during Beacon, and I did get the impression Salem knows Cinder is lying to her. I admit that I did not expect this direction for Cinder, it seemed like the right spot to have her break free from Salem, but it’s too early for me to call where her arc is going to.

The only nitpick I have with Cinder is how she offed Arthur. I felt like it could have a little more focus? I get that his death is supposed to feel completely inconsequential, but I wish there was just a little bit more there. Again, only a nitpick.

Vine - I think my opinion on Vine’s death is quite unpopular. It felt too last minute, without enough setup. See, while killing Harriet here would have its own set of issues, she was well developed enough where you could actively feel for her, while also expecting a possible death. I can’t say the same about Vine; Vine is only a teensy bit more developed than Elm, which isn’t a lot. He’s making a huge sacrifice, but the lack of character makes him seem expendable by design. It feels like the writers put all their efforts into threatening Harriet’s life, realized last minute that actually they could a lot more with her character (good call), so they shoved in Vine in her place because they still needed a bomb sacrifice.

On the flip side, three of the Ace Ops surviving and proving once and for all they broke away from Ironwood too, with Harriet and Marrow still alive - that is good. I’m not sure what more they’re planning to do with their characters, but it’s preferable to far worse alternatives I can imagine. We’ll see.

Then there’s Penny. sigh

I’m not sure what I can add that P5, bell or cosmokyrin, and probably a few others haven’t already said, but I don’t think it was well written. The whole body-thing in “Creation”, sure, I can accept that was a difference of interpretation. This? This whole, let’s resurrect Penny, develop her immensely as a character, reaffirm her autonomy multiple times over, avoid multiple deaths, only to die like this?

I know the common comparison people make here is with V3, and I can see where people are coming from. After all, Pyrrha and Penny’s deaths were impactful and tragic there, and most people agree that was well written. What’s the difference here? Some differences in circumstance are worth visiting here.

Penny of the Beacon era, lovable character that she was already, was not the most developed character. At the end of the day, most of what we knew of Penny then was in relation to Ruby - we knew Ruby cared for her a lot, we knew why they bonded, so we had setup as to why her death would impact the Fall so much. It works, because it gave enough focus on her for us to care about, but not overly so where the shocking factor of the Fall wouldn’t work.

With Pyrrha, I think we all knew the signs were there at the end of the day. I’d argue that Pyrrha’s very conception as a character lead to her death, she was just slightly too perfect for us not to expect a tragedy to occur. Importantly, her major arc in V3 sets us up to her death - through her conversation with Ozpin’s gang and Jaune, the introduction of Ember and the soul transfer device, killing Penny - by the time Pyrrha dies you’re prepared for it, and it still hurts. Even if the tragic scenario presented (losing Pyrrha because of the soul transfer) wasn’t the one used, dying because she tried defending the use of those powers from Cinder made sense. It was enough of a switch you weren’t bored because you expected everything to go to plan, but it wasn’t too drastic where you felt completely unprepared for what would happen.

The trouble with how Penny’s death was handled here, is in part because they just kept pushing us to the edge, making us worry about one tragic scenario, another way for Penny to die, only to alleviate our fears - only to kill her off anyway in a completely separate way. It happened so often in these two volumes, when we were already fresh off recognizing Penny wasn’t dead in V3, that rather than feeling like an expected death that is tragic, is feels like they toyed with out perception constantly only because they could. When you raise and lower death flags over and over in such a small amount of time, the tragedy you aimed to convey is lost. Perhaps unintentionally, the point no longer seems to be telling a tragic story, it’s only playing this cruel game of perception with the audience. What’s the joke about Jean Grey in x-men, that she keeps being killed off and resurrected so often it’s hard to care about it all? Is this how I’m supposed to look at Penny, RWBY’s Jean Grey?

Granted, I’m not sure that if they committed to one consistent death threat with Penny and followed through, that necessarily would’ve been better. I’m not sure how I’d think of RWBY if she died from the virus, for example. At least, however, I’d be more confident in saying that was a difference of direction, rather than a difficult writing choice to comprehend.

It’s only fitting I’d talk about Winter now, huh? I think you all know my stance about her as a character, I’d argue that she, Ironwood and Cinder were the best handled characters in these two volumes by a fair margin, but the finale leaves me very conflicted about her.

On the one hand, it’s everything I want. Winter’s confrontation with Ironwood is like a mix of Blake facing off against Adam and Yang confronting Raven, and while not as impactful in terms of storytelling, they do deliver on the same fronts. Winter calls out Ironwood for his lies, establishing once and for all it was by her volition she broke off, her conscience that was always better, and there is something poetic about her gaining the Winter Maiden powers to fulfill her goal of protecting others.

...but I can’t separate this from Penny’s fate. And it frustrates me to no end, because I love her connection to Penny, I made comparisons of how it reminds of Bumbleby’s relationship, it drives their characters forward so much, heck, I like that Penny took a part in taking down Ironwood with Winter, in a sense. But because Penny’s death feels so contrived, its connection to Winter almost cheapens the importance of their relationship with each other. And it doesn’t seem quite needed either, since they individually as characters already broke free from Ironwood.

I can sort of see that I am supposed to interpret it as a tragedy, and I do indeed think Winter getting the Maiden powers is tragic for her character (not unlike Spring Maiden!Yang theories), and I am excited to see where this is going. I thought this was the end for Winter’s major impact on the story, but there’s a whole other arc waiting, and Penny’s a major part of it too.

To say I’m conflicted about Winter would be an understatement.

The actual silver lining, for me, is the post credit scene. Volume 9 is an opportunity for RWBY to try and change some of the problem I presented initially. My hope is that by focusing almost exclusively on team RWBY, with Jaune and Neo, and putting less emphasis on developing the settings of giant-tree-land and not over-complicating the plot. Hopefully, this would allow them to focus on developing the main cast again, in in particular addressing some of the main issues presented; notably, the Bees confessing, Ruby maybe reaching her breaking point, Yang’s issues being addressed, and hopefully something more individual for Blake and Weiss as well. Neo is an interesting curveball to throw into this equation, and I have a decent amount of hope with Jaune (although then I remember it’s probably going to be about Penny, and, ugh...).

Yeah, that’s all I have at the moment. If you want to talk about it, my inbox and DM’s are always open. If you disagree with me that’s fair, just give me the minimal amount of respect rather than being an ass about it.

[aperrywilliams]

Something to Say (Spencer Reid)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Main characters: Spencer Reid, Fem!Reader, Diana Reid.

Summary: Spencer and Reader has to deal with bad news and they support each other in the process.

Word Count: 7476.

Warnings: Contains mentions to illnesses, death and grief. Angst the most part, but some of relieve in the end.

A/N: Hello again lovely people. I wanted to write this fic a time ago, wasn't easy, but hope you appreciate it. Again, all the love to my beta @imagining-in-the-margins​ . Please, impressions, comments and any reaction for this one are welcomed. Thanks for reading. Thanks to @emilouu​ for suggesting the nickname for Reid’s daughter.

——————–

That Thursday I was finishing my shower when (Y/N) came into the bathroom. The water was running but I could hear when she opened the door and said my name, trying to get my attention. I closed the faucet and peeked out the curtain.

“The Day Care Center called. There are problems with the water supply and they aren’t going to receive children today. We have to decide what we are going to do. We could take her to my parents' house, but it's still early.” (Y/N) told me with concern.

"Oh. This is… unexpected.” I replied, grabbing a towel and coming out of the receptacle to dry myself. "Wait, isn't today the presentation you have with Prentiss about the BAU on the FBI’s Board?"

“Yes, it’s today at 9:00, exactly. But perhaps Prentiss could go with JJ…” said (Y/N) pondering the options.

"No way. You've prepared yourself a whole week for that. Don't worry, I'll stay with Emi. If a case comes up, I don't think it'll be a problem. I can assist from here.”

"Spencer, are you sure? I don’t want…"

"Of course. Don't worry, I'm staying with Emi today. I’ll come up with some activities to keep her busy.” I said with a smile.

"You’re an angel and I love you, you know that, right?"

"Yep. I know. I love you too". (Y/N) came up and gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

"I'm going to make breakfast while you get dressed and I’m going to wake up our Sleeping Beauty."

Our little Emily Diana was already 3 years old. It felt like it was only yesterday when I took her in my arms for the first time. Now she was a smart and... very active little girl. In my opinion, a good combination between (Y/N) and me. And while my staying with her that day was unplanned, in my head I managed to organize a short list of things we could do together. 

I dressed her after breakfast and a bath, and later we concentrated on solving some animal puzzles that JJ had given Emi for her birthday. Then we took a coloring book and reviewed some letters and numbers. Of course, my daughter already knew all of them and named them without any problems. We had a mid-morning snack and then played, running around the apartment. It was certainly her favorite activity with me - in addition to the stories I read to her before bed. I'm sure I got ridiculous enough running and running away from a 3- year-old girl, but I didn't care.

The next activity was the 'tickle war'. I was lying on the couch and she was struggling against my tickling attack when my cell phone rang. I looked at the clock on the wall and it was close to 12:30. I was sure that it was (Y/N) to remind me Emi should have lunch at 1:00 p.m, so when I picked up the phone, I didn't even notice the caller ID.

"Reid ..." I replied, laughing even in my role as the 'ticklish monster'.

"Dr. Reid. Good afternoon. Addy Moller speaking." I immediately recognized the voice and the name. She was my mom's caretaker in Brookfield.

"Addy, good afternoon. Tell me how I can help you… did something happen with my mom?” My laugh passed and turned into concern.

"I'm sorry but I must say yes. Diana suffered a physical decompensation earlier today and we transferred her to the hospital. She is being monitored and tested, but at the moment everything is quite uncertain. That's why I’m calling you; I think it would be good if you could come…”. I could hear a certain caution in her voice.

"Which hospital?" I was quick to ask.

It was becoming common that my mom suffered decompensations in her physical health, but this was the first time that led her to the hospital and made them call me with that kind of urgency. I felt something in my stomach made me uncomfortable. I had the phone in my hand and was sitting on the edge of the couch. Emi stood on the sofa and clutched at my neck as if she suspected something was wrong.

"Daddy?" she asked as she tried to climb onto my back.

"I’m sorry pumpkin. Daddy was distracted by the phone. We’ll need to stop playing for now. Daddy will make you lunch while he calls mommy, okay?” She nodded. While I handed her one of his books so she could continue coloring, I dialed (Y/N), who quickly answered.

"Baby, hello! So good you called me. I was just going to call you back to remind you Emi’s lunch…” She stopped talking when she heard a sigh on the other side of the line. "Spencer...? Is something wrong?"

"My mom... is in the hospital. They just called me… and they need me to go there… now.” My voice should hardly have been heard on the other side of the phone.

"Oh, baby. Calm down. I'm coming right now”.

***

After a short brief to the team, I ran out to the parking lot. I got in the car and drove as fast as possible without being reckless. Upon arriving at the apartment, Spencer was finishing feeding Emi. Dropping my purse and jacket to the floor, I immediately went to hug him. I could see his eyes were filled with worry and stress. His body tense and his brain somewhere else. He hugged me back, holding me tight.

"I'm here. Tell me, do you want us to go with you? If you don't want Emi to go, we can leave her with my parents. I called them on the way here and they said she can stay with them.” A stifled sob on my shoulder came first before he could speak again.

"I don’t know..."

I knew that his brain was fighting beyond logic. We finally decided Emily would stay with my parents.

The trip started quietly. I could see Spencer staring out the window, phone in hand, as if he was expecting it to ring at any moment. Occasionally I took his hand, and he squeezed it hard before releasing it. Reid, being cautious as always, didn’t want to distract my driving, but his silence was killing me, knowing his brain was working at 1000%.

"Spencer, talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours. Please, don't leave me out now.” I felt like he was having a hard time swallowing. After another silent moment, he began to speak.

“It's just I always thought I was ready for this moment. But I realized I’m not”. His voice was still, but I could feel the fear in him.

"Baby, you are anticipating an outcome that we don't know will even happen." I said, trying to get him off the ledge in his head.

"Rationally I know there are possibilities. But something beyond the rational tells me exactly what is going to happen, (Y/N), and I'm not ready to let her go.” I could feel how he was trying to hold back the tears.

"I know. But if there is any hope, I think it's only fair that we can hold on to it. Can you do that?”

He nodded and returned his gaze to the window.

***

We got to the hospital and I immediately asked for my mom at the reception desk. I was referred to the 4th floor of Intensive Care, where they told me the treating doctor would explain the details. I took (Y/N)'s hand and went to the elevator. At Intensive Care they told us to wait a few minutes for the doctor to come out to see a patient. There I saw Addy in the waiting room. When she saw me, she came closer.

"Dr. Reid. It’s good you were able to come so fast”. That was her perception. Mine, on the contrary, was that I could never get there fast enough.

"How is she? What are the doctors saying?” I hastened to ask.

"Diana has been dealing with kidney problems for a long time, as you know..." She said trying to contextualize the situation.

"That's correct, I know. That’s the reason we agreed to limit medication last time."

"Indeed. But prolonged exposure throughout her life brings consequences sooner or later. Until now they were manageable, but her body is not working properly anymore. That’s why the doctors want to evaluate possible alternative treatments. But that could also alter her mental state more.”

I was silent. My mother was fighting a battle between her body and her mind now, and nothing I could do or say could help her. "We should wait for the doctor then..." I said, trying to buy time to think and assimilate what I was hearing. Addy nodded. I sat next to (Y/N) to wait. She took my hand, squeezing it every now and then to let me know she was there with me.

My mind took me to the last time that I was in a hospital waiting for news. It was when (Y/N) gave birth to Emily. Although her pregnancy had been relatively uneventful, she had to undergo an emergency c-section. I was nervous, thinking about all the odds associated with the possible outcomes. I thought that my life was about to change dramatically, and I was scared. Although JJ and Prentiss were with me, trying to calm me down, I just couldn't. I remembered my phone ringing at the time. When I saw Addy's name on the identifier, I panicked, thinking something had happened to my mom. Fear that cleared when I heard her voice.

"Mom…?”

"Spencer, honey, I know you're nervous. Your voice gives you away. I also know that my granddaughter is about to be born and you’re surely thinking of all those things that could go wrong. Just stop doing that."

"How do you know (Y/N) is giving birth ...?"

"I just know. I can feel your fear from here... and all the things that are going through your head right now."

"Mom, I don't know how to react. I'm scared, I don't know if I can do it…”

"Honey, I know that. But you need you to focus on the life that is about to see the light. Just let it happen. Don’t overthink it. Feel it and live it.”

"I don't know how to turn off my brain..."

"You can't. But you can make your heart speak louder. Honey, your wife and daughter need you, and you need them. That is all that matters.”

"Dr. Reid?”

A voice saying my name and (Y/N)’s hand squeezing me tight pulled me out of my memory. When I raised my head, I saw the doctor in front of me.

"Doctor... how is my mom?" I asked.

“We have done several tests on Diana and some results are already available. We did a few more tests to be sure. I'm so sorry to have to give you this news Dr. Reid, but Diana is not physically well. She is not reacting to the medication and internal damage will start causing her more problems within the next few hours. We can keep her sedated for as long as necessary, but her condition is unlikely to improve. It is only a matter of hours that her body stops reacting. I'm truly sorry…”

Basically, she was telling me that my mom was dying and I couldn't do anything about it. I felt dizzy. I had a hard time swallowing. I started breathing heavily. I could feel (Y/N) hugging me around my torso and resting her head on my back. It was really happening. Addy, seeing my dismay and my inability to react, began to speak to the doctor.

"Is she conscious? Can we see her?" Addy asked.

“She is sedated for now, but she’ll wake up in a little while. If you want you can be with her in the room.” Replied the doctor.

"Dr. Reid. You should be there…” Addy told me, trying to get me out of my trance.

"Baby. Addy is right. You have to go see her.” Said (Y/N). I couldn't manage to do or say anything; I just nodded, looking for the most coherent words to say.

"Thanks doctor. I'll go. Can I … can I have a moment before?” The doctor and Addy nodded and walked away. I sat on one of the benches with my head buried between my legs and my arms covering my head. (Y/N) hugged me and squeezed tight.

***

It broke my heart to see him shattered like that. I also felt guilty for giving him hope during the trip to the hospital. In 60 minutes everything had turned 180 degrees, and I watched Spencer sink deeper and deeper into anguish and sadness. I would have given anything to not see him like that. I knew there were no words of comfort to ease the powerlessness and pain of that moment, but I needed to let him know that he was not alone; that whatever happened, I was with him, and we could share this burden together.

“Spence. My love, I'm so sorry. I know I have no right to ask you for anything right now, but your mom needs you now. I’ll be with you at all times, for whatever. You know you can count on me…"

"I'm not ready..." He managed to say between sobs.

“Baby, I don’t think we’ll ever be ready for this. But look at me." I tried to pull away the arms that covered his head. "I’m with you. Please, you don't have to carry this alone. Let me be your support, please.” That was how I felt him wrap his arms around my neck and sink his face into my shoulder, crying heartily.

After a few minutes I felt his breathing begin to slowly calm down and the sobs changed to sighs. He raised his head and stared at me with a nod. "Let's go see her". He took my hand and we walked down the hall looking for her room. The reception nurse told us it was 418. We stopped in front of the glass door. From there, Diana could be seen with her eyes closed, connected to machines that monitored her vital signs, as well as her intravenous line in one of her arms.

"Do you want to be alone with her? I can stay here until you tell me." He nodded and kissed me on the forehead, entering the room. I took my phone out of my pocket. Although I still had a lump in my throat, I had to notify the team. They had to know what was going to happen.

***

I approached slowly and saw how her breathing synchronized with the sound of the machines that she was connected to. She was still sedated. I took one of the chairs in the corner of the room and pulled it over to the side of the bed. I sat up and took one of her hands, squeezing it gently. She looked so peaceful. If it weren't for the noise from the machines, I could even imagine that it was a normal day in the sanatorium, and that I was just watching her nap. I didn't know if she could hear me, but I started talking to her, anyway.

"Hi Mom. It's me, Spencer. I came as fast as I could. (Y/N) is here too. She didn't let me drive this far. You know how she is; she worries a lot when she sees me nervous. Yes, I’m nervous. I'm... I'm sad. You know I don't like to see you like this…” Clearly, I received no response. "I’ll be here until you wake up. Don’t worry. Just... rest. We can talk when you wake up... "

A frustrated sigh left my body. Everything seemed so futile to me at the time. Surreal. I looked towards the door and saw (Y/N) on the phone, scratching her forehead and then rubbing her neck. Signs of concern. I couldn't have wished for a better partner in this life; despite all the things we’d faced in our relationship, both before and after we were married, not a day went by that I wasn’t grateful to have her by my side. I remembered when I told my mom. Sure, I had already told her about (Y/N) in my letters, but it wasn't until that moment that I realized what I felt for her was true love.

"You really love her, don’t you? In your letters you always talk about her like a teenager in love.”

"I don’t know. To love I think is... a big thing. But yes, I think so. I love her. It's been like this for a while now…”

"And why didn't you tell her yet?"

"I don’t know. What if she doesn't feel the same way?”

“Honey, of course she won't feel the same. We are talking about another human being. But doesn't mean she can't love you. I think we have talked about this several times. I know you fear rejection and your father is responsible for that. We have not made your life easy, Spencer, but that doesn't mean you should run away from the possibility of being happy.”

"Should I tell her?"

"Certainly, yes. Tell her. Be honest with what you feel and what you want. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Honey, life is long and hard. And you deserve to have someone you can share that with. All of it. The good and bad."

It was after that talk that I confessed my love to (Y/N). To my surprise, she laughed, saying that she felt the same way about me for a long time. Thus, we began our relationship. Apparently, I just needed a little "push." The memory made me smile. My mom always had wise words for me. In her way of seeing life, she has helped me build mine; with the good and the bad.

When I got married to (Y/N), we managed to get my mom to be at the ceremony. I couldn't even conceive of the fact she couldn't be there. Although it did mean postponing the date a few times. Logistically it wasn’t a big deal either, we never wanted to have a great ceremony or many guests. Her family and mine, which included my mom and the entire BAU, of course. When the ceremony was over, she approached me to speak to me. Surely my smile and happiness reached to heaven.

“I’m so happy to see you like this. I think it's been years since I've seen you smile like that. Not even when you were little kid. I want you to know that I’m proud of you, of what you have achieved and of the man you have become. Today you have a new mission in your life: to make that woman as happy as she makes you feel now."

"Thanks Mom. Thanks for being with me right now. I really needed you here."

"I know darling. I'm just sorry the fact because of me you had to postpone the date so many times."

"Don´t. Don’t say that. (Y/N) also agreed that and there was no problem with that.”

"Just make her happy, Spencer. Because I already know she makes you happy. Just don't take anything for granted. Build your love day by day. Don't let the routine end up killing the love you feel for each other.”

And of course there was a lot of sense in her words. Four years had passed since our wedding, and it has not been easy. Having a relationship with our jobs was not a piece of cake. Nurturing our relationship was also part of the day to day. We had our ups and downs, but every time some obstacle came between us, I remembered those words and repeated to myself what really matters.

Deep in that memory, I didn't see when (Y/N) entered the room. I only realized her arms go around my neck as she kissed me on the head.

"Do you want me to bring you something? A coffee?" She whispered to me. I shook my head and clung to her arms.

"Stay with me for a moment, please."

She gave me another kiss on the head as a way of agreeing to my request. "Of course, as long as you need to."

We were silent for a while. She knew tears were running down my cheeks, but she didn't want to stop them, so she just hugged me tight. I'm sure tears ran down her cheeks, too. For me, for her, for both of us. We were in this together. I couldn't help but break the silence by verbalizing my thoughts.

"What if she doesn't recognize me? If I don't have the chance to say goodbye to her?" I felt my own voice break.

"Don’t think that. You are her son. Although her mind may not recognize you, surely her heart does. She has told you many times.” Said (Y/N) trying to comfort me.

It was true. On her good days and her bad days, I'd never stopped thinking about it. The last time she was lucid, a few months ago, she repeated it to me again.

"I just want to thank you for being my son. For being with me even if I'm not with you most of the time. Although my mind can't even remember your name or your face, know that in my heart, I’ll always love you as I have never loved anyone else in this world.”

"You don't have to thank me... I'm the one who is grateful to be your son."

“I know. It's just that I wish I could tell her so many things now." Although at that minute, I didn't know exactly what, but I did know that I needed to tell her things.

"Will you be able to do it? Of course you can do it.” replied (Y/N), trying to encourage me as she sat on my lap and stroked my hair, still hugging me.

We were like that for a long time; silent. This time I had neither the strength nor the interest in looking at the clock, but at one point I saw my mom's face contort, a sign the sedation was wearing off.

When I saw her open her eyes, I was afraid. On the one hand, I was relieved to see her awake again, but I was afraid that she wouldn't recognize me, and it would be the same as if she were sleeping... or worse.

"Spencer?" Hearing her voice, even if it was almost in a whisper, was a relief. (Y/N) and I immediately got up from the chair.

"Mom, I'm here." I moved closer so she could have a better view of my face.

"Sweetie. I’m sorry I scared you. I don't know why Addy called you; I feel good now."

Damn it. Hearing that broke my heart. Was she deliberately lying to me? Did she really believe it? How could I tell her something? I looked at (Y/N) with pleading eyes. I didn't know what to say. She just stroked my back as she whispered in my ear.

"Give her time. Just stay with her. I’ll go to inform the doctors she is awake.” She kissed me on the forehead and left the room. I knew it was a moment that I had to have alone with her.

***

I left the room towards the nurse's desk to report that Diana had woken up so they could contact the doctor. I didn't want to go back to the room. I knew I had to give them space and let them be alone. Despite all his fears and apprehensions, I knew Spencer would do and say the right things.

I went to one of the coffee machines and by inertia, I placed a few coins to extract perhaps the worst coffee I’d ever had in my life. But that didn't matter; at least having the feeling of doing something kept my head busy. With the cup of coffee in my hand, I sat for a few minutes on one of the benches in the waiting room.

With my eyes fixed on the dark liquid, I remembered the time I told Spencer I was pregnant. He was ecstatic. We hadn’t been consciously planning to have children, but we certainly both wanted it. The first things he said to me after "I love you" was "no more coffee," followed by "we have to tell my mom."

After our appointment with the doctor and knowing that things were going well with the pregnancy, we went to the sanitarium to see Diana. The first time we were not very lucky. She was on one of her bad days. Thankfully, she was able to recognize Spencer at the end of the visit. He was frustrated and sad, but I told him we had a lot more time to tell her and to that we could try another day. So we did; that second time we had better luck. She was much more lucid than the previous times.

“So it is true that you’ll give me a grandson or granddaughter. You haven't wasted your time…” She said, laughing.

"Mom, please." Spencer was still embarrassed by those kinds of comments.

"Spencer, no 'mom, please.' I just want to tell you both one thing: I know you’ll love that son or daughter with all your heart, but you’ll have to learn so many things! And I don't mean just learning how to change diapers or how to make a bottle – I mean how to live and let live another person who came out of your own womb, who may be the exact reflection of yourself. I think it is one of the most difficult things for a mother or father to experience. I tell you from my own experience…”

Being that Emily was still little, I didn't know if I could understand those words at their best yet, but not a day went by that I didn't remember them. Instinctively, I brought my free hand to my belly. Surely we would not only live this process with Emily. A couple of days ago I found out I was pregnant again, but I hadn't told Spencer yet. It was very recent, and I wanted to go to my first appointment before I told him. Well, there will be time for that later, I thought.

"(Y/N)?" JJ's voice brought me out of my thoughts. When I raised my head, the entire BAU team was in my view. There I realized that I hadn’t  even taken a sip of the coffee in my hand, and the smell was starting to bother me.

"Where's Reid?" Prentiss asked.

"He is with his mom now." I said, pointing to the hall where the room was. “She woke up very recently. She was sedated." Everyone gave me an empathetic look. I got up from the bench so that I could talk to them.

"How is Reid?" Rossi asked.

“Shattered. Powerless. Frustrated… I don't know what else could I say…” I shrugged and dumped the coffee in the trash can.

"And you? How are you doing?" Tara asked.

I could only scratch the base of my neck in despair. "I don’t know. I wish I could do much more... but I can only be there for him. There isn't anything else I can do.” I had not wanted to cry openly in all those hours because I was supposed to be my husband's support, but the situation was overwhelming me. In that moment, I released everything. Prentiss hugged me tight to comfort me.

"That is why we are all here, for whatever you need. We will stay here as long as necessary,” said Penelope.

"Thank you, guys. I know Spencer will appreciate it as much as I do," I said between disguised sobs on Emily's shoulder.

***

I took a deep breath and looked at my mom with a warm smile before continuing to speak.

"It’s okay, Mom. I wanted to see you anyway… that's why I'm here.” I tried to say something non-specific while finding out where we were.

"But look at this mess! These machines, these tubes… they should take all of this away from me,” she said in a frustrated tone.

"Mom... they can't. The doctors say they are necessary to monitor how you are doing and give you your medicine.” I tried to reason with her.

"The 'doctors,'" she murmured sarcastically. “Spencer, could it never be on my terms? Not even my own death?” She said, almost in a plea.

There I heard it; the proof that she knew. She was fully aware of what was going on. Would I to lie to her? I couldn't think of anything else to do.

"It’s necessary, so that you can recover."

Yes, I lied, trying to omit what had just come out of her mouth. It seemed the easiest thing to say. She looked at me with those eyes that rebuke you for lying. I felt like a child again.

“Honey… don't do that. We both know I’m not leaving here unless I’m in a coffin.”

Why did she have to be so rude while saying it? She said it as if it were the most natural and obvious outcome. Didn't she know it hurt me? Didn't it hurt her to say it?

"Mom, please... don't say that." I replied in protest.

"Do you want me to lie to you? I never liked lying to you, Spencer. You know that." Although her voice was soft, given her state and the narcotics traveling through her body, she denoted the same determination of her habitual character.

And yes; Diana Reid had never lied to me in her life, and she wasn’t going to start on her deathbed. Her ‘deathbed’. The thought of it made me finally collapse in front of her. I could see tears in her eyes too.

"Honey, look at me. I know this is difficult. Not that I have experienced it before, but we both knew this moment would come.”. I took her hand and squeezed it hard so that she knew I was listening, but I didn't want to open my eyes.

"It’s… just ... I'm not ready." My words were barely more than whispers.

"Me neither... but here we are." She squeezed my hand, and I finally opened my eyes. She had a wistful smile drawn on her face. “Sometimes we just have to let things happen. And don't think I 'm despising my life. Especially my life after having you. I have always told you that… that you are the best thing that could have happened to me in life. It would never be otherwise."

At that moment, the doctor in charge entered with some nurses. They checked the machines and brought a folder with papers that I assumed were my mom's medical records.

"Diana, how do you feel?" Asked the doctor.

"I've been better. Although at least I can recognize my son; I guess that puts me on one of my good days.” The sarcasm – my favorite inheritance. The doctor looked at me as if wanting to move away from her to talk to me.

"Mom, I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

"No. Whatever you have to discuss, do it here, in front of me. I don't want anything hidden from me. And if possible, I wish I could make decisions for myself too. After all, it is me who is dying.” Her tone was serious, but her voice trembled. A deep sigh ripped from my body. Yes, I owed her. It had to be on her terms. I looked at the doctor and nodded. She understood and began to speak.

"Well. Dr. Reid, Diana. Final examinations confirm the diagnosis of failure we had detected earlier. In the last hours we have tried 3 different routes of treatment to see if we can control the damage, but… none have worked. Sedation has helped with the pain, but it’ll start to get more intense in the next few hours. We have two options. We can maintain high levels of narcotics that will lessen the pain but keep you sedated, or we can work at lower levels, but that will bring more discomfort... but you will be conscious."

Before I could say anything, my mom stepped in. "How many hours?" Asked my mom looking at the ceiling.

"It is difficult to know exactly, but our estimate is between 4 and 6 hours." The doctor tried to explain.

"I want the second option," my mom said without even grimacing. I looked at her immediately.

"But mom, that means you will feel pain and be uncomfortable..."

She cut me off immediately. "Spencer, please, I'd rather take advantage of every hour  I have left with you than be some kind of Sleeping Beauty."

"Do you agree, Dr. Reid?" The doctor asked me. I couldn’t disagree; she wanted it. I nodded.

“Well, we’ll prepare everything for dosing and monitoring of your condition. Any changes you experience and needs that appears along the way; we can make adjustments for."

"Thank you." My mom and I said at the same time. The doctor nodded empathetically and left the room.

"Spencer, I know what you are thinking now, but I thank you for letting me make this decision.”

"I know, mom. I know." I leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

"Well. I want to know. How is my granddaughter? How are things going with (Y/N)? Is she here? Tell me as if you were writing one of your letters. I love your letters, you know that".

I sat in the chair next to her and, without releasing her hand, I began to summarize the past few weeks just as if I were writing her a letter, with all the details I knew she wanted to know.

***

The waiting room was silent. With what little I had eaten, I began to feel sick. I had to go to the bathroom. The morning sickness had started, and in addition to the stress, it seemed to get worse. My cell phone vibrated. It was a message from Spencer: He wanted me to come to the room. I got out of the bathroom and informed the guys I had to go back. They nodded and said they would stay there and wait for news.

When I stepped inside, I saw Diana awake and with a smile on her face. Spencer saw me and got up from his chair.

"Mom, I told you that (Y/N) was here." He took me by the waist to bring me closer to where she was.

"Hello my dear. I'm sorry you have to see me this way. I hope you don't mind,” said Diana, as if it were a very normal day.

“Diana, there is nothing to apologize for. How are you feeling?”

"I think so far they have been quite balanced with the doses." She said, pointing to her intravenous line. I gave her an empathetic smile. She stared at me like she was analyzing me. That was not unusual for her, but given the circumstances I didn't think she would do it.

"How are you? How have you been feeling lately?" She asked me. I looked at Spencer, confused. I thought maybe he had said something to her about being stressed from work or my isolated headaches. He looked back at me just as confused.

"Fine. Well, there is plenty of work at BAU. And Emily is also quite amount of work.” I said, laughing. She gently nodded.

"And you’ll have more work with the new one." She said nonchalantly upon seeing my belly. I froze, immediately feeling Spencer's eyes on me. I don't know what Diana saw, but she knew immediately.

"Are you…?" Spencer asked to me.

"Honey, it's obvious. Apparently you are not paying too much attention.” Diana said. I just nodded before she looked at me again, “Darling, I'm sorry I ruined the surprise, but I'm glad to know that your family is going to grow, even though I won't be there to see it.” She spoke with a sigh.

At that time the nurses came back in to check on Diana's condition. They asked us to leave the room for a moment. In the hallway, Spencer looked at me with puzzled eyes.

"Baby, I didn't want to tell you because it's so recent. I only took the tests a few days ago. I have an appointment with the doctor next week. I’m sorry.” I tried to apologize.

"It's okay. I’m not reproaching you for anything. Come here." He pulled me with one of his hands and hugged me tight. "Sorry that I can't be more animated, but it really seems like fantastic news to me."

"You don’t have to apologize. It's not the right time now either, I know.”

"As you can see, my mom always has other plans." He said muffling his voice in my hair.

"How she is doing?" I took advantage of asking to him. He related what was coming. He looked much calmer than at the beginning of the day. Resigned? Perhaps.

Although the passing of the hours meant a painful countdown, Spencer managed to share with Diana the most intimate of her mother-son relationship. I must say I always admired the way they cared about each other. Spencer trying to be the protective son while Diana, in her role as mother, always looked to teach him new things; advise him, support him, even if they didn’t see each other on a daily basis. The kind of bond that many families, no matter how much time they spend together, never achieve.

The last medical check-up showed Diana was declining, and that pain was not so subtle without the medication. The doctor again offered the option of sedation, which Diana refused.

***

I could see her face more uncomfortable than in the prior hours. You could tell she was breathing harder and her eyes were heavier. She insisted on being conscious as far as her body would allow. I never abandoned her side. Neither of us could speak. She didn’t because it was more physically difficult; I didn’t because I felt a lump in my throat from the powerlessness of seeing her in pain. We were silent. It was early morning, but the first ray of daylight hadn’t yet appeared. She opened her eyes and looked at me.

"Honey, what are you thinking...?” She asked softly.

"That I don’t like to see you in pain..."

She could barely smile. "I don't care about pain. I’m happy that you are with me. That is enough for me.” She said, closing her eyes and giving a deep sigh. You could tell it was more effort than she was willing to admit.

"Mom... I..." I wanted to be honest with her, but it was hard for me to get out of my 'I'm fine' role.

"Just say it, Spencer. Don't keep it. Especially not now…” She said in an almost inaudible voice.

"Mom, I'm scared. I’m afraid to let you go, and it's not just because I love you, it's because I don't know who I am in this world if I'm not your son. If I'm not here to protect you." I started crying again.

"Spencer... that's a role you've had for a long time." She told me in a whisper.

"It’s what I am..."

"No. You, my dear son, you are more than that. What we are in the world... can change. It's part of life. You have to move forward. You have to keep going. Do it for me, for you, for your family… Please.”

"How do I do that...?" I asked almost rhetorically.

"Just do it. You've been a wonder boy for many years. You are an adult now. A loving husband, an exceptional father… Just keep going.”

"I promise I’ll try. I swear, I’ll try… ” I said, squeezing her hand.

"I know. And I know you’ll succeed. Because you are my son, and I know you and I love you.”

Those were her last words.

The next few minutes were silent. All I could do was take her hand to try and comfort her through the pain. When the grip of her hand became languid, I realized she had passed away. The constant, deafening sound of the machines was only a confirmation of what I already knew.

A sob tore from my throat. Within a second the room filled with doctors and nurses. I couldn't let go of her hand. I didn’t dare; I couldn’t. (Y/N) took my arm, helping me to release my mom's hand. Helping me let her go.

“Spencer. We have to get out of the room. Come on love, let's go.” Nodding, I followed her into the hall. (Y/N) started talking to me to get me out of my shock. "It's okay. Everything will be fine. She is fine now. She is no longer suffering. You could be with her to the end. You let her go on her terms. I’m proud of what you did, Spencer, and I'm sure that she is even more proud.” I managed to hug her and sank my head into her shoulder.

***

"I'm going to miss her so much..." He told me as I gently stroked his head, trying to calm him down.

"I know, baby. I know. But you’re not alone; we’re not alone. We are together in this. We’ll get through it, I promise."

Those were the only words that came out of my mouth. I knew the pain was not going to go away quickly. I knew this would be slow, but I was willing to do whatever it took to help him. I sincerely hoped that he knew that.

We held each other for a while. Then it was him who broke the embrace, looking me in the eyes and resting his hands on my shoulders to make sure I was paying attention to him.

“I couldn't be luckier to have you by my side. And if I have to repeat it every day of my life, I’ll do it, because I don't want to take anything for granted between us. Thank you for being with me. I love you, (Y/N)”. His words were accompanied by a warm little smile; a promise that things would be okay, eventually.

"Always. Never doubt that I love you, Spencer Reid. And I’ll be forever grateful to Diana for raising such a unique and wonderful person like you."

Before walking to the waiting room, I told him that the entire team was there. I didn't want to disturb him with a surprise at a time of such vulnerability. He nodded, taking my hand, and we continued toward the waiting room. Seeing them, he couldn't let the tears run down his cheeks. I released his hand so that he could receive everyone's affection. Another way to show him that he was not alone in this; that there were people who would always be there for him.

***

I never expected to see so many people on the day of her funeral. In addition to my current BAU team, Derek, Aaron, Alex, and Kate were there, along with some of my mom's ex-students, part of the Brookfield workers, and others I didn’t recognize. I received many hugs and words of reassurance.

It was time for my speech. I looked at (Y/N) and our little Emily, who could hardly understand what was happening. I cleared my throat and started to speak.

Of course, Diana Reid would not have liked it all to be sadness, so when I saw the audience laugh at some of the anecdotes I told, I felt that she was smiling at me from where she was now. It was my time for the last words.

“… she always had something to say… something to say to me. In her own way, she taught me to be the man I am now. I’ll forever be grateful for that. And if there is something I aspire to in my life, it is to be able to teach my daughter and my next child so many things, as my mother taught me. And I know that she is proud of me; she told me that many times. But I want to continue to honor that pride for the rest of my life. I want to continue being the worthy son that she deserves, even though her body is no longer here. Now I only have one more thing to say... something to tell you, mom. Thank you for letting me be your son. I love you."

——————–

[hyperfixationtimego]

Alright we’re trying this angst thing again

Diamond Brothers Angst because I said so

Both Daiya and Mondo have huge self esteem issues bc of the crash

Both think stuff along the lines of what the fuck I could have prevented that

Neither Daiya nor Mondo can sleep very well because when they hear vehicles driving past and the occasional screeching tires they’re back at the scene of the accident

They hear a semi truck rumbling past? Suddenly neither of the brothers remember how to move or breathe properly

They both survived the crash but they were both injured severely bc fuck dude that was a truck that hit them

The Crazy Diamonds witnessed the whole thing and they were Worried™️

And we all know how the Owadas hate being vulnerable

Neither of the brothers could actively ride their motorcycles for a long time after the crash because they couldn’t handle it emotionally

They played off their mental recovery time as time in the hospital

Daiya made Mondo promise not to get back on his motorcycle, much less the road, until he was 100% sure that he was prepared to handle it because what if there’s another freak accident that neither of them have control over

Mondo made Daiya promise the exact same thing because He Cares™️

Mondo has reoccurring nightmares about the crash and often sees Daiya dead in those nightmares

The gang shows up in the nightmares too and they’ve all been hit and it’s all Mondo’s fault and he couldn’t be a good leader because he wasn’t strong enough and why couldn’t he just be more like his brother god fucking dammit

Sometimes he sees Taka or Chihiro in place of Daiya and the Diamonds and that Absolutely Terrifies Him™️

Daiya has reoccurring thoughts about hijacking a truck to hit the driver who hurt him and his little brother

He wants them to feel all the same pain and more that they put the Diamond Brothers through

Daiya has breakdowns over this because even if he is a gang leader, he would not go that far

cue the Am I A Bad Person Complex™️

Mondo does not let himself stim

He doesn’t think it’s manly and it definitely doesn’t fit the Tough Guy™️ act

This leads to worsened focus and next thing you know he and Daiya are having a yelling match at home because if Mondo’s grades drop any lower he’ll be expelled soon and Daiya just wants the best for his brother but nothing works out the way it was planned

One time Mondo received a popsicle stick and paper heart from Taka

He was extremely happy

When he got back to his dorm he was that happy that he was shaking and then oh shit

Mondo broke it

He snapped the popsicle sticks in half

the note that Taka wrote,, it got ripped in the process

Mondo full on sobbed over this for an hour at the least

Like

Actual

Real

Tears

He broke something that Taka— not just his bf, but his best friend— had worked so hard on to make just for him and he fucking broke it like a shit for brains idiot

Mondo is terrified of hurting his friends

Because what if he forgets to take his adhd meds one day and his emotional dysregulation is all fucked up and he has an outburst again and actually hurts his friends

Or what if he takes 2+ doses by accident and focuses too hard and is left staring at one (1) spot and everyone hates him and what if they think he’s a creep

Mondo hates going out of his dorm at night because what if someone else is out and they have a flashlight and now they’re pointing it at him and it’s bright and those are headlights and that’s

that’s his brother

on the ground

not moving

Mondo will start shaking and he’ll break down hyperventilating or freeze on the spot

Either way, he hates being vulnerable

Whaddaya think? :D was that enough angst?

also can you tell that i kin Daiya on the dl bc i too got hit by a moving vehicle to save my young mer sibling from being hit /lh but also srs lmfo

HEY TINK??? HEY TINK????????

GodDAMN make me cry over this shit oKAY-

also sorry this took ✨forever✨ I had to gather my Thoughts™️ and my brain did not want to work today 😌

also before we get into my things, tw for trauma (obviously), unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking/drug relapse/smoking as a crutch, and suicidal ideation (passive, but still there)

First of all, y e a h oh my god?? There is literally so much internalized guilt for both of them,,,,,like they rlly do have episodes sometimes where they just. Play over the events of what lead up to the crash in their heads and fixate on what they could have done differently,,,,,even though in the moment they both did their best? Like “well, I shouldn’t have taken us down this street” or “if I had acted quicker, maybe it wouldn’t have happened” and.....yeah those thoughts really fuck with them, y’know?

and 100% that unexpected/overwhelming vehicle noises and/or presences are nearly debilitating. Honestly, I imagine that Mondo can’t go hang out with Leon and Taka or whoever else if said people are hanging out in Kaz’s workshop. Owada’s only ever been in there once and immediately had to leave when he heard Kazuichi starting an engine he was working on. Not to mention being surrounded by a shit ton of vehicles, even if they were idle, had kept him on-edge the entire thirty seconds he was able to handle it.

They both deal with a lot of phantom pain, as well. Like something triggers them and suddenly, even if they’re able to remain in the moment and keep conscious of their surroundings, they somehow feel every ache, every twinge of pain, every breaking bone, or bruised patch of skin that they felt on that day. It’s a lot more prominent in Daiya than it is with Mondo, but they do both experience it!

And neither one lets the other know when they’re feeling like shit or having an episode because 😌 Daiya. wants to be strong. for his little brother. and Mondo. sees his brother basically functioning like a typical person. and figures that there’s something wrong with him. because he can’t get over what happened.

Takemichi is absolute shit with Emotions and being vulnerable or getting people to open up to him, but he’s like..........internally these bitches are Not Okay what the fuck am I supposed to do about it???? So he kind of...tries to hint to both of them that he’s worried? Without making it obvious or embarrassing them, but he’s like.......fuck these assholes.......making me be the one to make them realize they need help goddamnit........

And michi exhibiting a change in behavior is pretty 👀 because. it’s michi I mean he’s not just gonna change the way he talks in front of u for nothing, u know? So both Daiya and Mondo are actually able to pick up on it, although their reactions differ pretty greatly.

Like Daiya’s first thought is “wow, he’s worried, that’s really sweet of him. Better convince him everything’s okay.”

Meanwhile Mondo’s is “wow, he’s worried. my stupid emotional turmoil is that obvious. he must think I’m some sorta fuckin idiot for not being able to get over it. or selfish. or both. yeah, probably both.”

Also I think Daiya’s pretty perceptive in general? Like he can Tell™️ that something’s going on with his brother, but........yeah emotional conversations....vulnerability......that’s rlly neither of their strong suits. + he also figures that if it were something mondo were really really really having trouble with, he would come talk to him!

And so Daiya has absolutely no concept of just how Not Good his brother is doing right now hbbvvvv

So he settles for being like “I’m just gonna stay strong and act like the memories and intrusive thoughts aren’t affecting me in any way because I want to be a good role model” (which. is not healthy obv)

oh g o d the nightmares

they are so horrible and vivid and concentrated at times that Mondo simply.....refuses to sleep. He’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, and yet he can’t bring himself to close his eyes because he knows what he’ll see if he does.

And of course it affects him to the point that his friends start to become worried. Like Taka notices a stark increase in tardiness or general absences, and, after an initial assumption that it was simply Mondo choosing not to care about his academics again, realized that there was probably a lot more going on than he realized. He really, really wanted to bring it up and let his boyfriend know that he’ll always be there for him no matter what, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to articulate it properly. The farthest he gets is with the question, “is everything okay?”

And as much as Mondo wants to respond to him by saying that no, in fact, everything is not okay, everything sucks and everything hurts and he’s tired and he hates himself and sometimes he wishes that the crash had killed him, but that’s selfish so he should shut up- he just.....can’t bring himself to open himself up like that. Yes, he and Ishi are dating, so logically he should be able to tell him all this, but.....it’s so much. It’s too much. Too much to think, too much to feel, let alone try to explain. So he shuts himself up with a quick, curt, “Yeah.”

And....Taka knows he’s lying. He’s not sure how he knows, but he does. And it hurts to see someone he loves so much in such a state of anguish, and basically be unable to do anything about it because....how is he supposed to respond? What is he supposed to say? Navigating everyday interaction is difficult enough without having to improv something that could affect his partner’s mental health indefinitely. So....he does his best. Which isn’t enough, really, but it’s something.

“You can tell me anything.”

Mondo wants to believe him.

—

Another side of that same coin is Mondo skipping class a lot more than is typical for him. It’s almost always with Leon, but he’s also begun slipping away on his own, occasionally, as well, now.

And....y’know, at first, Leon thought it was super rad that Owada and he were skipping more! Like it used to be that Kuwata would offer for them to miss the next class, and Mondo’s usual answer would be ‘not today,’ and then Leon would keep bugging him about it until Mondo either gave in or told him to fuck off.

But....there’s just something about how it went from Leon being constantly shut down, to being told yes around the first few times the idea was brought up, to how, suddenly, Kuwata wasn’t even the one asking, anymore. It’s....depressing? Uncomfortable?

There’s also the fact that hanging out while they’re cutting just....isn’t as fun as it used to be? Leon’ll crack jokes or come up with stupid dares, and Mondo’s responses will be noncommittal at best. And Leon’s had enough experience with sleep deprivation to know it in his friends when he sees it.

He’s never been put in this situation before - usually it’s kuwata having some sort of stupid episode and usually it’s owada who’ll tell him to chill the fuck out and think rationally about things, but....Mondo acts a lot different when he’s upset than Leon does. He smokes more. Cuts himself off from everyone. Doesn’t engage with anything.

It’s different with people like Toko, or Makoto, or Kaz, because Leon knows what they need. He knows whether or not they need vulnerability, or a physical presence, or tough love, or tactile grounding, or a willing ear or shoulder to cry on, but with Mondo......he just isn’t sure.

So Leon doesn’t comment.

——-

Chihiro’s probably the one to get him to open up about it ngl.

ANYWAY-

y e a h Daiya intrusive thoughts?????? fuck yeah???? absolutely??????

god yeah I rlly feel him on that ngl hbhdbdbdbbb

and MONDO DARLING 🥺

god okay it SUCKS because????? he doesn’t judge his friends for stimming????? Like he sees his friends fidgeting or repeating phrases or rocking back and forth and he’s like???? Hell yeah you go u funky kid ilysm

But when it comes to himself????? he’s like if I do anything aside from stay perfectly still, I’m weird and bad and a failure so I simply Will Not

he’s wrong but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels that way ❤️

hhhvhvvdd I’m also a slut for daiya doing his best as a makeshift parental figure,,,,,,,like fuck dude okay,,,,,,as an older sibling who also loves and cares about their younger sibs but often finds emotionally connecting with them to be difficult,,,,,,,,,mood??? And having all of that amplified by rlly being his younger bro's only support in his home life,,,,,,,like ok mr. owada go off

he feels a lot of pressure to get it right and make sure that Mondo's doing okay, so the grades really worry him. but, of course, grades are a touchy subject with mondo regardless, so as u said it devolves into arguments and yelling and a lot of defensiveness!!

and god okay,,,,,,,the heart rlly got me,,,,,,,like that hurt. it rlly hurt man okay damn

honestly??? I think that might be the thing that gets him to break. like that might be his final straw.

because when they meet up again, Ishi asks him about it and whether or not he liked it. And Mondo just.

fucking.

breaks.

down.

He’s shaking and he’s crying and there’s snot running down his nose and this is so ugly and so not manly but he can’t stop. he can’t stop. Because there is this sweet, gentle, kind, sweet, beautiful, darling, sweet man before him who did something so nice for him, something he didn’t deserve, and he destroyed it.

Like he destroys everything.

And so when Taka panics and asks him what’s wrong (yes Ishi gets worried that he did something bad and yes ishi also gets worried that his boyfriend didn’t like the present because hdbdvdvd kin 💛) owada just. spills everything. and he doesn’t even begin with the gift??? he starts with apologies upon apologies, many of them incoherent, and many of them with Mondo not even certain what he’s apologizing for, just that he knows he needs to

and ofc Taka is like o-o because wow ok

but after his initial shock, and after Mondo has thoroughly cried himself out and explained everything he could stand to explain at that point in time, Taka just......holds him. And strokes his face, brushing away the tears that have not yet dried, simply offering his body as a weight, as something for Mondo to ground himself with. And it works.

And Taka insists that Mondo has nothing to apologize for, only that he wishes Mondo would have told him what was going on sooner. Because he wants to help. And hearing that just gets Owada’s waterworks going all over again, but he’s still got Ishi there with him. He hasn’t scared him off.

And it’s more than enough.

—

and UGH yeah????? yes absolutely absolutely okay okay so,,,,,,,,mondo comorbid adhd/depression/anxiety

like sir 🤝

got me fucked up smh

honestly he’s probably not diagnosed with the depression or anxiety, either, until something like the incident with ishi prompts him to realize oh wow I’m not okay actually

so yes he 100% does???

he constantly has all of these what if situations swirling around in his brain about what might happen if he fucks up, or does something that he doesn’t qualify as fucking up in the moment, but leads to something awful or painful or harmful for someone else, and he’s just??????? g o d

[alwaysthinkingoutloud]

Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 1, Season 1 (Apéritif)

The series start with Will Graham in a crime scene doing what he does, which is resurrecting crime scenes for further evidence and possible insight into the criminal’s mind and motives. What is interesting about this first scene is that for a first-time viewer, for the first a few minutes, it is not clear if what we are watching is a possible reenactment or it is actually a memory. That doubt gets cleared in a minute but until then, we don’t know if he is imagining or is he remembering. Is he a guy with a powerful imagination helping FBI who literally puts himself into the killer’s shoes or is he the killer itself, hiding in plain sight? To my thinking, the very first opening to the story does say a lot about the end of it all as well.

“This is my design”

Why not say plan, but design instead? Planning is something mechanical, strategical. It is the result of motive and effort of a rational brain rather than an acted-on urge. There is no much room for subjectivity or creativity since efficiency is the ultimate goal. However, design has a more artistical ring to it. It is like, its prior aim is not to be useful, but to be beautiful. Designing is done when aesthetics is of concern. We would say, Michelangelo designed David, plan would not look right there. It would be accurate as for explaining the mathematical part of it, the disciplined and patient hours that has been put into it, but it would not do justice to the inspiration, passion, and desperate need of the artist for his creation to materialize. A planner would not adore his work, but a designer would. And Will understands the difference a bit too well.

Later, talking with Jack Crawford, we learn that Will finds the name of Evil Minds Research Museum “hammy”. I do not think there is anything hammy about the name, it’s quite literal. It is not an ennobler name but why does Will find it so though? Does creativity and originality need to be perceived as abhorrent just because it was given birth by someone evil? This all-cautious way of approaching and overthinking things is a reflection of something dark within. Afterall, what is seen has at least a little to do with the seeing eyes, if not more.

Jack exhibits a disturbingly dominant way of communication with Will. He corrects Will’s eyeglasses, the guy who he knows is not comfortable with any kind of interpersonal interaction, within the minutes of their chat and holds down his bag to slow down his moving on. He is trying to make sure that Will feels Jack is the alpha and also that deep down, Will does not have the option to not cooperate. And more Will gets convinced to help for one step, stronger Jack drags Will into it for one more.

The first time we see Will interacting with any victim-related people, it is confusing. Being an empath and claiming that he can not only relate to narcissists and sociopaths but anyone, he does not seem to empathize much with the victim’s parents, cutting into the conversation about parents’ doubts on their daughter’s likelihood of being alive with a non-emotional, case related question. It almost makes you question if his ability to emphathize is just stronger with the dark side of the force than it is with the light one. Yes, the primer focus is to catch the killer and stop whatever malice is going on but after all, Jack came to Will with the need of help, so Jack must care about the case resolving more than he does. Yet, Jack seems more understanding of the parents’ feelings than Will, although Will is an ultimate empath. We even see Jack’s disapproval when Will cuts into the conversation. It is a brow mover.

Next, we get more insight about Will as he meets Winston. He finds him on the road roaming, tries to get close to him but cannot, so he drives all the way to his home to get something to lure him with and comes back to the dog. He is willing to go lengths to add a new dog to his pack, to his ‘family’, to his ‘social circle’. Something he is not willing nor comfortable to do for a person. Will's preferring an animal's company to a person's may say more than obvious. Afterall, he chooses Hannibal over Jack too, doesn't he?

Will who has already started to get traumatized by the case, is ambushed in the bathroom by Jack with an unforgiving mobbing, forcing ideas out of Will and stirring him up in the expense of his stability. Later on in his little chat with Alana, Jack’s intentions and priorities are further put into perspective. The way he talks about Will shows that for him, Will is more of a means to an end than an actual colleague. His insistence about “putting Will out there” despite Alana’s warnings and his admission of not being absolutely capable of protecting Will’s mental health just crowns that he does not genuinely care about Will. In fact, he even knows the risk of what he is doing, and he is trying to draw Dr. Bloom in to share, if not all together blame it on, the responsibility if something may go wrong.

We finally meet Hannibal in his office in a therapy session with his patient. The look Dr. Lecter throws when Franklyn blows his nose and places the dirty napkin onto the table… Up to this scene, we were not given any clue to suggest that Hannibal Lecter is a killer but after all, we do know who he is. And him being the first actual predator in the series we meet, we do not see him acting on brute violence or inelegant butchering. His first reaction depicted is unrest against rudeness. So the audience is welcomed into the mind of Lecter with an easily apprehensible act that can be shared by almost anyone. Almost to suggest that, this act of Franklyn’s may be enough to justify a wrath that may come upon him.

Jack shows up in Hannibal’s office unannounced and mistakes Franklyn with Hannibal. Hannibal, of course slightly annoyed, tells Jack to wait in the waiting room and invites him in with his own timing. Being a bossy and dominant guy he is, this takes Jack by surprise and it also tells us that there is an even stronger alpha here. So Jack realizes he cannot dominate Hannibal into his will like he did with Will. He may have to try something else. As Jack asks questions that are getting more specific and personal as they come, we see Hannibal getting cautious. Taking his scalpel into his hand and eyes widening. He lowers his guard only when he learns that he was referred to Jack by Dr. Bloom, his eyes visibly getting smaller, which are almost the only window to his thoughts anyway. So after seeing the sophisticated aura leaking not only out of Hannibal but everything around him, Jack chooses to sweet talk him into cooperation.

When Jack, Hannibal and Will first come together in a room, it is the first time in the show where Will makes such a long, non-blinked eye contact with someone, that being Hannibal. And we see mixed emotions and thoughts on Hannibal’s face. He is amused, intrigued and curious at the same time with the way Will thinks. He makes a quick analyze of Will which results in making him fling out of the room. Being the controlled, non-impulsive, strategic guy he is; even Hannibal himself is a little surprised with the sudden blurbing of his perception of Will. So maybe this first scene having Will and Hannibal together is another kind of first as well with both men doing something not typically them.

Hannibal, telling Jack that “he may help Will see the cannibal’s face”, he copies the crime of Minnesota Shrike. At the first look, this looks like an attempt of toying with the FBI and confusing them. But considering Hannibal’s last conversation with Jack, this feels more like a tribute, a helping hand for Will. Hannibal knows that Will would know that this is not the same killer the second he sees the crime scene. As Will later says to Hannibal, this was done to show Will a negative so that he could see the positive. So, we see from this point on that Hannibal’s wit does not focus on FBI, it does on Will. We see Hannibal eating and smiling, joyous of the fact that he now has an object of interest. Will imagining of a stag right after this, as stag will be the subconscious symbol of the Chesapeake Ripper / Copycat Killer before Will knows who he is and later when he does, of Hannibal; it shows that Hannibal literally entered his life and mind in more than one way.

Hannibal shows up in Will’s house very early and obviously very impatiently. So he does not only plan to interfere Will with being the Copycat Killer but through his ‘person suit’ as well. Feeding Will the meat of the girl he killed is also exciting for Hannibal as this manipulation game he has set to play with Will gets to be sicker for a normal human perception.

The breakfast scene is also the first time where Hannibal is looking for some ill-intent or killing inclination in Will, while Will denies having so. He wonders how much being able to empathize with killers say about Will’s own potential to do so. Hannibal suggests that Jack is treating Will as he is “a fragile little teacup, only used for special guests”. And that he himself sees him as “a mongoose that he would want under the house when snakes slither by”. He suggests that Will is not a pray that should be afraid to get hurt, that he is the predator. By that Hannibal does not only encourage the destructiveness Will may be trying hard to keep buried to come alive, but also the false perception that Will’s mind is strong enough to take any challenge Jack may throw his way.

Hannibal warning Garret Jacob Hobbs is literally setting the pieces in position of his will to get Will where and how he wants. He does not know what will be waiting in Hobbs’ house for Will but in the end, it does not matter so much since he just wants to see what happens.

When they arrive at the house, seeing Hobbs leaving his wife on the threshold her throat cut, Hannibal stands still. Is it because he is so confident that Will will be too frantic to ever look back and notice that, or is it because deep down he just does not feel like putting his person suit on in front of Will? I think both. When Will shots Hobbs and tries to tend Abigail on the floor, Hannibal walks in and sees Will caring hard for the girl. Hannibal’s face looks curious about what is going on but more than that, again, his focus is on Will more than it is on anything else. He sees all these humane emotions that Hannibal himself has always been somewhat stranger too on Will, those emotions that he thought, cannot come in a package with all the destructive ones. But maybe they can. And those emotions may even look nice. Because it almost does on Will. Although how the events would turn out Hannibal did not know, it was certain that the way he pushed things, there would be blood and there would be Will doing something that will change him one way or the other. After all, they have undergone a traumatic (for Will) and exciting (for Hannibal) circumstance together and it is a known fact that people who experience a significant situation together tend to develop emotional bonds. Maybe this was the least of what Hannibal hoped for. If that was the case, he got more than he wished. Will got to kill someone even if it was for a just reason and there happened to be an orphaned girl that Will desperately bonded the moment he killed her father, who maybe a manipulative tool for Hannibal in his game. The last scene where Will finds Hannibal holding Abigail’s hand in the hospital room highlights this perfectly. Now, Hannibal and Will has a mutual asset that Hannibal may use to draw Will closer to himself despite of Will’s initial reservations to do so.