#gonna try to do one off sunday post in october for this one but again

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Valentía: Plain Sight

Summary: Spencer Reid's twenty-fourth birthday party is interrupted when they are put on the "Tommy Killer", a serial rapist and killer in San Diego who rapes, murders, and glues his victims' eyes open.

Warning: Mentions of rape, Mention of Zoe's criminal ex-boyfriend; Spencer pining after Zoe but not admitting it; Zoe's emotional walls; Hints of past vague assault of main character; Season Six Arc References and Spoilers, Emily Prentiss Cameo; Mentions of a post-traumatic Trigger pushing on repressed memories; Vomiting

"Just be yourself. Let people see the real, imperfect, flawed, quirky, weird, beautiful, and magical person that you are." — Mandy Hale

October twelfth. Spencer Reid's birthday. His twenty-fourth.

They had a cake that Zoe had specifically baked but no one other than Alexander knew that.

"Make a wish!" Elle said and Spencer blew on the candles but them being trick candles, they came back on.

"Come on, man! Blow, baby, blow!" Morgan teased.

"I thought you were full of hot air, Reid." Elle joked.

"Come on, Reid!” Morgan teased.

"They're trick candles, Spencer, Okay? They're gonna come back on every time." JJ explained but that didn’t deter him from trying.

"Aww, mommy to the rescue." Morgan teased, tugging on Spencer's ridiculous but cute birthday hat... which Zoe didn't care about.

"Mommy?”

“Ignore him. He’s actually a mommy’s boy.” Zoe said.

“Hey, Reid. Does it make you legal yet? And how old are you turning this month, Zoe?”

“Twenty.” She said, blankly. “Twenty the thirty-first.”

“A whole year until you’re legal.” Morgan teased.

“In Mexico, the drinking age is eighteen. I could just go there, Mama’s boy.”

“Your birthday’s in nineteen days? Halloween?” Spencer asked her curiously as the cake was cut.

“Yeah.” She said, shortly.

“Doing anything special?”

“Yeah, will we meet your mama? I bet you were a mama’s girl.”

“Uh, no, she’s dead.” Zoe said, blankly and Morgan quickly shut up.

Behind them was Hotch, Gideon, and Alexander, “Isn't it amazing he knows what he knows and he's only twenty-four?”

“Imagine what he'll know by fifty.” Gideon said.

“Imagine what Zoe will know. She’s been smarter than me since she was three and she could beat David at the Sunday crossword puzzle in pen.” Alexander said, looking at his daughter. Gideon smiled, remembering how cranky Rossi had been.

“So how are we supposed to put these out?” Morgan asked.

Zoe had gotten a metal bowl and plucked the candles off and dropped them in.

“A little water will solve that. Trick candles relite due to the magnesium powder in the wick.”

“Magnesium is a highly reactive metal when powdered or sliced thinly. It can ignite at temperatures as low as eight hundred Fahrenheit.” Spencer said.

“Yes, it is, Spencer. And when the flame is blown out the remaining red ember relights it. Just cut off the oxygen supply with water.” Zoe added.

“How do you know all this?” Elle asked.

“My dad’s a big fan of trick candles.” Zoe said, glancing at said father before taking the bowl to the sink and dosing the flames in cold water as Alexander joined her.

"Hope you like chocolate." Elle said as Hotch was called by a fellow agent.

“You havin' fun?” Gideon asked.

“Yes. Definitely. I'm definitely having fun.” Spencer said, rather dully, not used to having so much attention of him as his mother often forgot his birthday due to her Paranoia Schizophrenic disorder, heck, she couldn’t feed herself, Spencer had to remind her since he was ten after his dad just left and hadn’t seen him since, but he’d have to be an idiot not to realize how much his mother loved him.

“Make a wish?” Gideon asked.

Spencer subconsciously glanced at Zoe who was smacking Morgan’s hand away from the cake and when he did it again, she sprayed him in the face like a misbehaving kitten with a spray bottle full of water. He looked back at Gideon, “Can I take this hat off?

Gideon’s eyes went up to the hat, he knew Zoe had specially ordered for Spencer’s birthday. “I wouldn't.”

“Hey, Spence. First piece for the birthday boy." Zoe called with a rare, sweet smile on her face that brought heat up to Spencer's cheeks.

Spencer started to head over before he turned to Gideon, “Do you know she's the only person in the whole world who calls me 'Spence’.”

Spencer came over to eat his piece of cake as Zoe smacked Morgan's hand again.

Hotch hung up the phone and announced to his team, "Sorry, guys. Party's over."

They met back up in the conference room.

"We're going to San Diego." Hotch said as he and JJ entered the room with the details about the case

"But not for the surfing, huh?" Morgan quipped.

"They're calling him the 'Tommy Killer'." JJ said, placing the files down.

"Six women raped and murdered in their homes in the last three weeks." Hotch said.

"Six in three weeks?" Elle asked.

"That's a short fuse." Gideon said.

"And getting shorter. First two were eight days apart, then the next four in two weeks.

"Rapid escalation." Spencer identified, "You think he's regressing to a psychopathic frenzy?

"No, he's too controlled for that." Hotch said. "See you on the plane." Then he got up to leave.

"Why the 'Tommy Killer'?" Morgan asked.

"You know the rock opera?" Hotch asked, turning back, "Well, this UnSub glues his victims' eyes wide open."

Zoe's memory went back to those eight months, it had almost always been pitch black.

"He wants them to see him." Spencer said.

"And feel him."

Zoe got up and left to get ready.

Then her phone rang, it was an unknown but from the area code, she knew it was from Italy. Only one person in Italy would call her today of all days.

"Come sta la ragazza più ribelle di tutto l'FBI?" Asked the undercover agent.

"È questo il saluto che ricevo dalla festeggiata? Non ti sento da otto mesi." Zoe said into the phone with a teasing tone.

"Non è il mio compleanno."

"Potrebbe non essere il compleanno di Lauren ma è il compleanno di Emily."

She chuckled. "I haven't been her in while."

"Where are you, are you safe?" Zoe asked.

"Yeah, I'm away from the villa right now. I don't think he suspects anything, I knew you might track me down if I didn't call."

"Damn right, I would, but unfortunately I've got a case so it will have to wait."

"Oh, you've been at the BAU for almost seven months now. How's it going?"

"Really, great. I already knew some and obviously Dad. But I've been dreaming of this since... forever. Even if they don't know who I really am."

"I know how that is." Emily said and then said, sympathetically, "How are you?"

"Since those six months or when I had to track him down?" Zoe asked.

"Either."

"You know how I am."

"Unfortunately I do."

"How close do you think you are?"

"I'm afraid I can't comment on it with you anymore. You already know more than you should. You shouldn't have done what you've already done."

"It helped, didn't it?"

"So, what's the case?"

"Uh, there's a serial killer in San Diego, he's raping women and killing them by strangling them with some kind of cord or wire and gluing their eyes open." She talked about it with Emily who was talented in profiling but she didn't often do serial killers.

Spencer left the conference room a little bit later and he saw Zoe at her desk on the phone with a smile on her face. He wondered who was making her smile.

When he got to the jet, he noticed something in his go-bag. A gift. A rectangle wrapped in gift wrap, it seemed to be a book.

———————————————————————————

French poet Jacques Rigaut said, "Don't forget that I cannot see myself, that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror."

Hotch walked the length of the plane, handing photos of the victims to his team members, "Brenda Samms was found yesterday by her children when they got home from school. She had been strangled with a thin ligature, possibly a wire.

"No weapon left at the scene."

"Residue on the wrists and mouth indicate that duct tape was used, then removed." Spencer said.

"Also not found at the scene." Hotch added.

"Brought it with him, took it with him." Elle said.

"He also started leaving messages at the fourth scene, this was on the mirrors." Hotch said as Gideon was sketching eyes.

"Fair lady, throw those costly robes aside, no longer may you glory in your pride, take leave of all your carnal vain delight..." Alexander read, he frowned why did that sound familiar.

"I've come to summon you away this night." Spencer finished.

"It's a ballad from the late 1600s. A Dialogue Betwixt Death and a Lady."

"The Great Messenger of Mortality." Zoe recalled.

Morgan extended his hands like, how in the world do they know that? While Gideon and Alexander smiled with pride.

"A seventeenth-century ballad?" Elle asked.

"Yeah, essentially a woman begging Death to live." Spencer said.

"What kind of person knows this ballad?" Elle asked.

"People who read." Zoe deadpanned but Elle ignored her.

"Are we looking for a literature professor?" Elle asked.

"Well, anyone with an Internet connection, actually. You should see what comes up when you type 'death' into a search engine."

“Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date.” Morgan joked, Zoe noticed the shift in Spencer’s eyes.

“When was the last time you had a date after sex?” Zoe quipped.

“When was the last time you had a date?” Morgan countered.

“Depends what you mean by date.” Zoe said with a sudden darker undertone, looking over the file. Spencer furrowed his eyebrows slightly.

"What?" Morgan asked, his demeanor suddenly changing.

Zoe’s phone beeped on the table next to her lighting up with M.D.

"Of course, I only know it because my mom was a big reader and she annotated books before, you know..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

Oh. Spencer's eyes softened. It seemed her mother's death still weighed on Zoe.

"Reid, Zoe you two stay on the messages. See if there's a deeper meaning." Gideon said, "Do you have the notes your mother wrote?"

"I might have scanned it so I could have a digital copy. She... you wouldn't believe how many books she wrote notes on for... me." Us. Zarah and me.

"Well, it definitely looks like he ransacked the crime scene pretty well." Morgan said, showing the picture they all had.

"A lot of damage, nothing taken." Hotch said.

"Well, the eyes are the thing. The signature. The behavior that isn't necessary for the murder, but necessary for the emotional release. That's what he's there for.

"There used to be a widely held belief that the eyes record a snapshot of the last thing a person sees before they die." Spencer said.

"Optography. They used them in Jules Verne novels but it's a myth." Zoe said.

"People used to write poems about talking to Death." Morgan said.

"Ballads." Spencer and Zoe said.

"Whatever." Morgan scoffed.

"You think they'll ever run out of new things to do to their victims?"

Zoe let out a nearly inaudible scoff, she knew more than anyone in that room that that what people they hunted were good at.

"Well, finding new ways to hurt each other is what we're good at." Gideon said.

———————————————————————————

Task Force Headquarters

SAN DIEGO POLICE DEPARTMENT

The team apart of from Hotch, Zoe, and JJ went past the detective in charge of the case. He held his hand out to Hotch, the first who didn't look right past him.

"Captain Griffith, Task Force Commander."

"Sorry. We all get tunnel vision." Hotch apologized for his team. "Um, I'm Special Agent Hotchner. This is Agent Jareau, our liaison. And this is Doctor Zoe Valdez, she's one of our special agents."

The girls shook his hand. "I appreciate you coming out."

"Thanks. Hope we can help." Zoe smiled, "Uh, excuse me." She went past him to get set up, going over to Spencer where he was looking at the pictures of the

"‘My name is death. Have you not heard of me? You may as well be mute’.” Spencer trailed off to reading silently.

JJ was looming over Spencer's shoulder.

"Creepy, huh?"

“No.” Zoe said, giving her an irritated look.

"Actually, uh, conversations between Death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance." Spencer said and JJ stared at him. "Yeah, creepy."

“Do you need something, JJ?” Zoe’s tone was sharp, defensive. Then Zoe’s phone rang and she picked it up, “Hey, M.D.” She got up and walk off.

"What's her problem?"

"Her mother's death, I think." Spencer shrugged.

Zoe shortly came back, she had her laptop out and was going through files upon files of scanned books that were in no way organized.

"Who's M.D.?" Spencer asked, cautiously.

"A friend. I went to Harvard with her." Zoe said, vaguely.

"Were you talking to her before we left?" Spencer asked.

"Huh? Oh, no, that was..." Her smile faltered, "A different friend. She's... she's kind of unable to call very much because of her job. I can't say much but today's her birthday too, so she knows to call so I don't track her down. She's thirty-five today."

"I-I'm sorry about your mom."

"Hmm?"

"You mom. I'm sorry. I... I didn't have much of a dad, he walked out when I was ten, so my mom was all I had and I was a twelve-year-old in a Las Vegas public high school, so I didn't have many friends. So, I just... I'm sorry."

"It's no problem. It happened nearly two decades ago." She shrugged but Spencer could see her grief and guilt.

"But you're only nineteen. How old were you when she died?"

"Little." Zoe said. "These books are really all I have of her. Of who she really was as a person. I think she would've like you and she would've said to not hold back your passion for these things for anyone, not even JJ. But you are unequivocally you and as Oscar Wilde, 'everyone else is already taken'."

Spencer looked at her, his heart swelling for the closed off girl before he cleared his throat and said, "it looks like what he's written at the scenes are most of the first three verses of the same ballad."

Zoe pressed a button on her laptop, making the screen go black and locking it and scanned the lines. "It's only Death's lines." She realized. "Go tell Hotch."

———————————————————————————

Zoe had wanted to help the woman who survived a similar home invasion and rape attempt. She had found her file on the poem and printed paper copies of it.

Elle, Hotch, and Zoe entered the house of the survivor, Marcia Gordon.

"Lucky woman." Hotch said as they walked through the kitchen.

"Yeah, well, she's probably not feeling so lucky right about now." Elle said.

"Just don't tell her she's lucky." Zoe said with a note of disgust in her voice.

Marcia and her husband were surrounded by male officers.

The husband of Marcia repeated his description, "He was black and six feet tall. I watched him run out that back door."

Captain Griffith walked to them as he said, "Get a description out in the field ASAP."

"Interracial serial sex crimes are rare." Hotch informed them.

"Are they impossible?" Griffith asked.

"Uh, no."

"Then what's your point?" Griffith asked.

"Only to provide you with information." Hotch said.

Zoe and Elle looked past him to the woman who looked at them. They were the only other women in the house. Zoe couldn't remember much of the days after she was found again. Any of the times. But she knows why she's kept quiet about what happened. Because all the people who helped raise her were men. Even if she knew they wouldn't judge her, she knew telling them what happened would make her feel weak.

"I'm going to go talk to her." Zoe spoke.

"Me too." Elle said.

"May I ask why?" Griffith asked.

A note of danger appeared into Zoe's eyes. "She was nearly raped, and she's surrounded by men." Zoe said, simply and then walked past him.

"Mrs. Gordon? I'm Doctor Zoe Valdez with the BAU of the FBI but you can call me Zoe," Zoe said and Elle arrived, "This is my college, Elle Greenaway."

"Would you like to go outside?" Elle asked.

Mrs. Gordon hesitated.

"It's all right. We're just going to go some place quiet." Zoe reassured her.

Zoe and Elle took Mrs. Gordon outside to the patio, "I really don't know that much about him." She insisted.

"You don't have to." Zoe said, "Just take a little time to collect your thoughts. To just sit here. Breathe."

"You two don't want to ask me questions?" Mrs. Gordon asked.

"Not until you're ready." Zoe said.

"We'll be right behind that doorway." Elle said and Zoe got up and they started to walk to the sliding door that led them out of the house.

"I didn't even know he was in the house. Is that common?" She said.

Zoe and Elle came back and Zoe sat back down, "Very."

"He slapped me from behind, and pulled me down on the floor. I tried to scratch him and bite him, but he was so strong. And then my husband came home from work. He screamed, and the man ran out the door." Mrs. Gordon said.

"He was a black man?" Elle asked.

"Bill was sure of it, but I... I only remember his eyes." Mrs. Gordon said and Zoe forced herself not to shift. "When we were fighting, I kept staring him right in the eyes. I remember thinking, if he's going to kill me, then he's going to have to look at me while he does.

Zoe's memory flashed back to when she was twelve years old. His eyes peered at her through the mask. They were hazel-brown but not like Spencer's, they were lighter in color but darker in soul. No empathy. No remorse. Still with the dark warehouse she was in and the shadows from the mask, she could still see the gold tint of them.

"And he just kept staring back at me through the ski mask."

Zoe almost didn't catch it but she did a double take, "Did you just say ski mask?"

———————————————————————————

When they returned to the station, Zoe made her way to the bathroom, she felt sick. Like the repressed memories, she wanted to keep repressed forever were itching to the surface, she made her away for the nearest toilet before throwing up into it, flashes of those eyes kept coming back. Not just in that moment but flashes of those eyes in her repressed memories. Those five days.

During the eight months, three years later, she was never allowed to see. But in those five days, he had wanted to see her eyes, to see if she ever showed fear. What Mrs. Gordon did was exactly what Zoe would've done. If he was going to kill her, he was going to have to look her in the eye.

———————————————————————————

They were ready for the profile, they had realized that he had started leaving the verses because the police hadn't connected his crimes yet, so he wasn't getting enough attention.

"The UnSub brought his weapons with him. Tape, glue, wire. He did not leave them at the scene. He took them when he left." Gideon told the room of cops, the BAU stood spread in front of them and in front of the victim boards apart from Zoe, Gideon had reassured them that she was fine and to continue on without her. "He has a kind of killing kit that he carries."

"Organized killers usually have a skilled job, likely technology related, which may involve the use of the hands." Hotch continued, "The crime scenes are far enough apart that he needs a vehicle. This will be well-kept, obsessively clean, as will be his home. He's diurnal, the attacks occur during the day, so the vehicle may be related to his work, possibly a company car or truck."

"We believe he watches the victims for a time, learns the rhythms of the home, knows his time frame." Morgan said.

"You're not going to catch him accidentally." Hotch added.

"He destroys symbols of wealth in the victims' homes. He harbors envy of and hatred toward people of a higher social class." Gideon said. "He feels invisible around them."

"Class is the theme of the poem which he left at the various crime scenes. At one point in the poem, the woman attempts to bribe Death, but he doesn't accept it." Spencer said as Zoe reentered the room, "He says this is the one moment when riches mean nothing. When Death comes, poor and the rich are exactly alike."

"So he's poor?" An officer asked.

"Probably middle-class. A decidedly lower-class person would stick out in a highly patrolled neighborhood." Hotch said. "This guy appears to belong there. He blends in."

"Why does he glue the eyes open?" An officer asked.

"The UnSub is an exploitative rapist." Zoe spoke up as she joined them, next to Spencer who looked at her concerned, "Most rape victims close their eyes during the attack, turn their heads. For some rapists, this ruins the fantasy.

"For this type of rapist, the goal is more related to the victim watching him than the act itself." Elle continued.

"The verses, the staging, the aggressive language, 'I am Death.' This is a guy who, while being in control at the crime scene, almost certainly feels inadequate in the rest of his life." Alexander said.

"That's why he couldn't wait for you to figure out what he'd done." Gideon said, standing back up. "Why he needed to make sure all his crimes were counted. His victims. They represent whatever it is that's controlling him, and he wants that control back. He is under the thumb of a powerful woman who frightens him. And a final point, he is white."

"We have witnesses that identify him as a black male." Griffith said.

"The attacker was black. He is not the Tommy Killer." Gideon said.

"Mrs. Gordon's husband came home at the same time that he always does. The Tommy Killer would have known that." Hotch continued.

"And Mrs. Gordon's attacker wore a ski mask." Elle added. "The UnSub knows when he walks into a house he's going to kill the woman who lives there. If you're not leaving any witnesses, why wear a ski mask?"

Zoe shifted her weight.

"And he wants the victim to see him anyway." Morgan added.

"Your attempted rapist is a garden-variety, disorganized young man." Alexander said.

"As the victim's age goes up, generally the attacker's age goes down. Mrs. Gordon is about sixty, which puts her rapist at about twenty." Elle said.

"And it takes years to develop the level of calm and sophistication that Tommy displays at a crime scene. And the rapist is far too young for that." Gideon added.

"Mrs. Gordon told me that there's a young man who delivers groceries to their home. He fits a lot of what we're describing here." Elle said.

"Great. So we're back to zero on Tommy." Griffith said.

"Not at all. May I see you in your office for a moment?" Hotch asked, already walking towards said office.

"Zoe," Gideon's voice said, approaching the girl who was like the daughter he never said, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She said.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

"I don't need to take time off, Gideon." She argued.

Hotch walked over, "He's right, Zoe. You became triggered today, it's understandable just take the next few hours off and come back after the conference tonight and we'll be covering the tip line for the public."

———————————————————————————

They arrested Mrs. Gordon's would-be rapist and brought him back during JJ's conference, claiming him to be the Tommy Killer. Zoe was sitting with Spencer and Elle, Zoe was reading one of her mother's annotated books, Villette by Charlotte Brontë when she suddenly threw her head back and groaned, "God, I hate waiting like this. I hate waiting. I hate boredom."

"It's probably your ADHD." Spencer said.

"Obviously, doesn't make it better." Zoe groaned.

"Do either of you think it's weird that I knew that ballad?" Spencer suddenly asked them.

"No." Zoe said.

"I don't know how it is that either of you know half the things you know, but I'm glad you do." Elle said.

“Don’t listen to Morgan, Spence. He’s a playboy. He has sex with no emotional connections, he doesn’t really do... deep unless it’s explicitly pointed out to him. Typical guy. But you're not a typical guy and trust me when it's me saying that. It’s better to be smart and know things about what you do that saves lives than be a playboy of average intelligence who doesn’t know the things you know.” Zoe said.

"Do you think that's why I can't get a date?" Spencer asked.

"You ever ask anyone out?" Elle asked.

"No." Spencer said.

"That's why you can't get a date." Elle said.

"You don't want to be Morgan, Spencer. Just because you want connection over sex. Just means you're not a typical guy." Zoe said.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend, Zoe?" Elle asked.

Zoe went quiet for a moment, "I... had a boyfriend shortly before I joined the BAU, it was on and off for about four years, I mean, we didn't really go on dates when I was fifteen, something... really bad happened and he helped me through it and we bonded and suddenly we were dating and we didn't really break up but we both know that we're not together anymore."

"What happened?"

Zoe hesitated. "He was arrested. He's kind of a criminal, in a high-max prison. He's a hacker. Like better than Garcia level hacker."

"And you were dating him?"

"Like I said, we never properly got together. He was there when I needed someone and he had the unique requirements that he could relate in a way no one else could. He had a hard life. His parents died when he was ten and his life at his uncle and aunt's was less than ideal to say the least, on the streets by twelve, and then..." Her voice trailed off, looking off at the side. Spencer felt a twinge of jealous and sadness.

Zoe then cleared her throat, "If it makes you feel any better, Spence, you're more likely to get a date than I am."

"Why?"

"Women with higher IQ's have a harder time finding a mate. Men are fine dating a woman with a lower IQ than they do."

I don't think I am. Spencer thought.

"Here.  This was one of my mom's favorites." She said, handing him a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

The phone rang and Zoe cleared her throat, picking it up, "Doctor Valdez. This is the San Diego police depart..."

Immediately someone started screaming at her through the phone.

"YOU STUPID BITCH!"

 She pulled it from her ear, making gestures and whispering Spanish to the others.

"Line six, Penelope. Line six." JJ said.

Elle put the call on speakerphone as

"You stupid incompetent sons of bitches! I don't make mistakes! I am Death! You hear me? I am Death! You'll see now. Tomorrow. Mark my words, you will see! And while I'm taking her, I'm going to be thinking of you!" Then he hung up.

"I kind of wish a guy had answered him." Zoe muttered.

"Anything?" JJ asked into the phone with Garcia. "She said she got nothing."

"Nothing?" Morgan asked.

"We missed him?" Hotch asked.

"What do you mean, that was long enough to get a location?" Zoe asked, "let me call her, we can figure this out twice as quickly."

———————————————————————————

"We have an undercover car for each of your teams and the entire damned department out there, too." Griffith said, walking to them, the next morning.

"Remember, a truck, maybe a work truck in excellent condition." Gideon reminded him as Zoe arrived with a Mexican hot chocolate and an extra sugary coffee for Spencer.

"Everyone knows."

"All right. He might make a mistake today. He's angry and he probably hasn't done the kind of surveillance he'd like."

"Yeah, well, neither have we. Let's go, Reid.

"Zoe, you go with Morgan and Reid." Gideon said.

"You want to spend all day stuck in a dude car?" Zoe groaned but followed.

———————————————————————————

"Why do keep moving back there?" Morgan complained to Zoe who was in the backseat with her laptop, she kept moving and laying in different positions.

"I don't like cars, they're too cramped, I prefer motorcycles." She whined.

"You do know motorcycles are statistically more likely to crash." Spencer said, disapprovingly.

"Eh." Zoe shrugged. "They're cooler and don't smell like dude."

"I do not smell like dude!" Morgan protested.

"Yeah, you do. I was raised primarily by men. I know what dudes smell like. You smell like dude, the gym, like you coat yourself in baby oil, and either baby powder or that that deodorant powder scent. Spencer smells like bookstore with a coffee shop."

"Oh... thank you?" Spencer blushed.

"It's ten-thirty already."

"All he said was tomorrow, he didn't specify morning." Spencer said.

"Reid, this guy's got to spend a lot of time in that house. A lot. He needs it to be morning." Morgan said.

"Are we sure this is a good spot?" Zoe asked.

"Three of the victims lived within a block of this street. It's the main artery through the neighborhood." Morgan said.

"True, but three victims in the same block could mean he's done with the area." Spencer said.

"Or that he's just really familiar with it." Morgan said.

"And comfortable in it." Spencer added.

"And if he's really familiar with it, he knows to what spots in the neighborhood to avoid." Zoe said.

"But then on the other hand, the other victims lived more than a mile in either direction." Morgan considered. Then he hit the steering wheel. "God, I hate not having a plan."

"Well, that's life." Zoe deadpanned, "You need to relax more. Try reading."

"I don't want to read, Zoe."

"Well, clearly, you don't know the difference between a poem and a ballad." She sassed back.

There was a snickering giggle coming from Spencer but when Morgan looked at him, Spencer was looking in the other direction.

"Shut up." Morgan said and sighed, "We're looking for a needle in a haystack here."

"Actually it's more like we're looking for a needle in a pile of needles." Spencer corrected.

"What?" Morgan asked, incredulously.

"A needle would stand out in a haystack." Spencer pointed out.

"Okay. And we're not looking for someone who stands out."

"No, we're looking for a particular needle in a pile of needles." Spencer said

"Elle tells me your ex-beau's in prison?" Morgan said in a teasing tone.

"Yeah, because he could hack circles around your beau, no offense to Garcia but it's true." Zoe said. Technically it was the truth, he was as hacker and a genius but not why he was arrested.”

"It's the eyes." Zoe suddenly said.

"What are you doing back there?"

"Helping Garcia see how many substations our exploitative rapist unsub routed his call through. That's why Garcia couldn't get a fix on it."

"What do you mean the eyes?"

"There's something off about the eyes." Zoe said.

"What that he glues them open?"

"No, it's just a unique signature for exploitative rapists to force the victim to watch.

———————————————————————————

Gideon realized that if he could reroute the calls through as many as twenty-five substations meant he was a phone technician. They got the name Franklin Graney and Zoe got her motorcycle out and was the first to get there. She spotted an open yellow gate and she stopped her motorcycle and could hear a baby crying. She leaned her bike against the yellow fence and took out her gun as she followed the baby's crying. She spotted a tool belt, one that a phone technician would have.

"AHHHH! AHHH! MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!" The baby was screaming.

"Hey, shh... shh..." Zoe cooed, picking up the baby to calm him down, when she heard raging screams and crashing. He was breaking the riches. She took out her phone and was about to dial Hotch or Gideon when it suddenly it stopped. She turned and saw him, looking at her.

Zoe took off, running up the stairs as Graney chased her but Zoe was much quicker from him, she ran towards the room she could hear the crying from the mother coming from and opened the door, twirling inside. He grabbed the door handle, fighting her for it  and Zoe managed to set the baby down and grab it with both hands and she pushed, making it fly open and hit the Graney in the face, making him let go and fall over and she slammed it shut, locking it.

"Help me. Help me." The mother cried through the duct tape on her mouth.

Zoe ran over as Graney pounded on the door and she ripped the tape off and cut the binds.

"Help me barricade the door to save us time." Zoe whispered. Zoe did most of the work since the mother was still in shock. "We don't have much time. Do you think you could crawl out the window?"

"But my baby..."

"Right, of course. It's the suburb, no fire escape. I'm going to have to talk him down or something, I want you to take your son and hide in the closet." She said, "If you hear a gunshot and you don't hear me, get a clothes wire and fight like Laurie Strode. Go. Go!"

The mother ran into the closet with her baby, shushing him.

Graney started shooting and Zoe threw herself backwards, out of the way of the bullets.

He pushed through and pointed his gun at Zoe who pointed her's back.

"FBI! Franklin Graney, put the gun down and put your hands up!" She shouted.

"FBI? I must be a big deal."

"You're raping and killing women. The San Diego department had to call in my department, the BAU." She was stalling.

"What's that?"

"I'm a profiler. I catch people like you by studying their behavior."

"What does mine say?"

"All these women are surrogates for a dominant female figure in your life, based off their age, I'd say your wife. You force them to watch you rape them before you strangle them with a wire and then you glue their eyes open so their dead bodies can watch you go back up those poles, someone they see so often but never see. That gets you off more than the rape itself. But the police department weren't able to connect your signature, the eyes. It was too subtle to you left behind the notes of The Great Messenger of Morality. Only Death's lines."

"You're the girl from the phone last night, aren't you?"

"Yes. You're the one who called me a stupid bitch."

He was approaching her with a hunger in his eyes. "You're just a little girl. Imagine how famous I'll be after I attack a FBI agent."

"I wouldn't do that, Graney." Zoe said, backing away. "I will shoot you and you're out of bullets."

"No, I'm not."

Zoe nodded to his gun. "That's an M1911 pistol. A single-action, recoil-operated, semi-automatic pistol and it only holds seven bullets. You shot seven times."

Graney then grabbed a lamp and threw it at Zoe, making her miss her aim when she shot and he tackled her to the floor.

Her memory went back to that warehouse, those eyes. Those eight months. The countless nights afterwards, she would stifle her sobs into her pillow so her dad wouldn't hear.

Never again.

"Never again!" She grunted as she kicked her foot out, kicking him in the face, he fell back and she stood up, he had her primary gun but she still had her ankle holster, she stood up, pointing her first back-up gun, first of many. "You hear me? Never again."

"Franklin." Gideon's voice said, entering the room, he had spotted Zoe's motorcycle and came upon them.

"I'll shoot her." Franklin said.

"No, you won't, Franklin." Gideon said.

"Yes, I will. I have her gun."

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you." Gideon said. "And we'll just say we caught a low-life burglar. You didn't turn out to be Tommy after all."

"He will remain uncaught. After awhile, people will forget you. You'll be nothing." Zoe added.

"Once every five or ten years they'll do a TV show and they'll ask, 'Whatever happened to that 'Tommy' guy?' 'Why did he disappear'?" Gideon said. "And then they'll stop talking about it altogether. Put the gun down. Come on, walk out of here with us. I'll make sure your face is splashed across every newspaper and TV in the country. Tommy Killer: Franklin Graney. Everyone will see you then. Bundy, Dahmer, Graney, the whole world'll know who you are."

"It's up to you, Franklin. You can be famous, or you can be invisible." Zoe said.

"You'll tell everyone?" Graney asked.

Gideon nodded, "I have a media specialist outside right now. It is your choice."

"Promise?"

"Yes, sir, I promise."

Then Graney put down Zoe's gun.

"Back away from the gun." Zoe said, "Hands behind your head." He did so as she side-stepped around him and picked her gun up.

Hotch and Elle arrived, "Where's the woman?"

"Closet." Zoe walked over to the closet, holstering her guns and opening the door as Hotch arrested Graney. Zoe crouched down to the mother and child. "It's okay to come out. You and your baby are safe."

The mother finally allowed herself to sob aloud, "Thank you. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." Zoe whispered.

———————————————————————————

Rose Kennedy once said, "Birds sing after a storm, why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?"

Zoe sanitized her gun after deciding against burning it to sterilize it of the rapist's touch. And she was now on the jet, continuing to read Villette by Charlotte Brontë as she had headphones on.

Gideon and Spencer were playing chess when Gideon said, "Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you."

"Oh, yeah?" Spencer muttered, somewhat distractedly.

"I forgot to give it to you at the party." Gideon said, handing Spencer a small, elongated box giftwrapped with blue paper and a red ribbon

"But you don't give birthday presents." Spencer chuckled. He undid the ribbon and tore the blue paper off and opened the box to see a pair of Redskin tickets.

"Wow. The Redskins." Spencer said.

"It's a VIP box." Gideon explained.

"Wow. Thank you so much." Spencer smiled.

"Ever been to a pro football game?" Gideon asked.

"No, I honestly didn't know this was football." Spencer chuckled.

"You're going to love it." Gideon said.

"We are. You're coming with me, right?" Spencer asked.

"No. There's someone else on the plane who is a huge Redskins fan."

"Who?"

Gideon looked past Spencer to the twenty-four-year-old blonde liaison.

"JJ?" Spencer blushed, he kept glancing past Gideon at Zoe, reading a classic.

"She's a huge Redskins fan." Gideon said.

Spencer frowned and looked at Zoe. He was not unaware of the effect that violent tomboy had on him. His heart raced when he saw her and he yearned to learn more about her but he also felt she was keeping things from him, but not just him.

Gideon was also not unaware of Spencer’s feelings for Zoe. Spencer was the least experienced profiler and while he was uncomfortable with emotions, he didn’t do a very good job at hiding the ones he had for Zoe.

Spencer looked at Gideon and said, softly, “JJ’s great and all but she’s just not Zoe.” This was the closest he had ever come to really acknowledging his feelings for Zoe.

Before he met Zoe, he had had feelings for JJ but… then he collided with Zoe and…

“Zoe’s had a hard life. She’s against letting people in easily. She likes to hide her emotions and prove she’s strong.”

“She is strong. She has ADHD and is still one of our best profilers.” Spencer said, almost defensively.

“I know that. But she’s from a culture that typically views mental health as a weakness. I know it’s not but because of that she likes to prove to everyone that she’s tough. She’s been through a lot and she’s not open to new relationships until she’s ready. She’s too guarded right now.”

Gideon phrased all of this as if it was something he had profiled from Zoe which was technically true but Gideon had also helped raise Zoe and knew this personally about her.

Spencer nodded. He had gotten this from her too, plus she was recently-ish out of an on and off five-year relationship.

"Wh-What should I say?" Spencer stammered. Gideon just looked at him. Spencer tucked the tickets into his lapel pocket, glancing back at JJ and started to get up when he moved a chess piece on the board and said, "Checkmate."

Gideon furrowed his brows as Spencer got up before smiling and chuckling as Spencer headed to JJ, still thinking about Zoe.

He awkwardly sat next to JJ across the aisle and cleared his throat

"Heard you're a fan of football..."

———————————————————————————

When Spencer got home, he remembered the gift-wrapped book in his go-bag and he opened it to find a nice edition of the 1967 classic, The Outsiders.

Spencer opened it to see something written in pen on the first page.

"My mom always said the message of this book is to always be true to yourself no matter what society tells you to do, no matter how touch it is, be who you are and not what people want you to be."

—————————————————————————-

Translations:

Come sta la ragazza più ribelle di tutto l'FBI? — Italian — How’s the most rebellious girl in all of the FBI?

È questo il saluto che ricevo dalla festeggiata? Non ti sento da otto mesi – Italian — Is that the greeting I get from the birthday girl? I haven't heard from you in eight months.

Non è il mio compleanno. — Italian — It’s not my birthday.

Potrebbe non essere il compleanno di Lauren ma è il compleanno di Emily. — Italian — It may not be Lauren's birthday but it is Emily's birthday.

*Personal note: I cut my finger with a potato peeler when I was making a deviled egg potato salad, like a deep cut but manageable, so while I have a bandage, my writing will be slower. I do have to the next few episodes written down (I'm writing LDSK now), but I want to slowly release them. So for the next few weeks, it'll be slower*

[dollofdeath]

art summaries for this year >w<

template by @/Taxkha

(I / II / III is a comm i haven't posted anywhere / IV / V / VI / VII/ VIII / IX / X / XI / XII)

template by @/sabattons

more stuff under the read more, because there's quite a few stuff i actually liked this year!

january

this was a comm for kiz, but i think it came out pretty bomb. any hypsters who are into projmoon/projmoon fans into hypmic pspspsps --

actually i think this was my first ever piece this year, so it's interesting to see how much i've improved in over the past couple of months!

also i did some comms between feb and may to help raise some money for my relatives in the philippines, but i don't think i should post the ones i really like since the project isn't complete yet. but i think they came out bomb too, trust me -- (the volo art in my art summary is one of these comms lol)

april

i just wanted to post these two together since they're a set LOL thank u arb for giving me flowers that aren't roses to associate with hifugen....

also here are the unblurred versions of this set lol

may

this is just one of my fave hifugen headcanons KJFSDJKJKF

gentaro about hifumi: 🙄😒😑 gentaro about hifumi, when hifumi's fangirls are around: *draping himself over hifumi* excuse me ladies, do you have any business with My man?

KJFSJKDFSJKJH

august

i think i went rly hard in august. august was really a turning point for me this year too i think, so maybe my art reflected that haha, but anyhow. i really love these

everyone and their mom has done a religious jakurai art, but i wanted to do one too... the detail i rly like is the blood on his hands. because i like to headcanon that jakurai has vitiligo on his hands. i like how i incorporated that hc in this without making it too busy lol

THIS ONE. HELL YEAH. this is a redraw of an older art i made for thanatos' anniversary, and i thought the first one was cool but i was like "i think i have the skills to make this even better now" and I DID!!! idk, i'm glad i could capture the horror vibes more poignantly

september

this one is?? i don't think i made her a full reference sheet, i realized lol but i started streaming for friends because i have a bunch of game recs and no attention span to play them WKJGJKD so i decided streaming them so i could be held accountable for them would be the best way to do it LMFAO

anyways this is my pngtuber. they have no name, but she's a shopkeeper of a mysterious antique store. originally that doll on the bookshelf was gonna my pngtuber and i came up with a bunch of lore for her, but then i realized i had another oc design i really dig and was also simpler, so i revamped that for streaming FJKSDJKF but i would like to put that doll to use somehow or another. anyways if u can pinpoint all the references on the shopkeeper and their bookshelf and even her store's very existence, i love u --

catch me on twitch on sundays and mondays for mhyk and ace attorney respectively --

october

as much as possible, i try to do a vanistar anniversary art because noël is my baby boy... i'm so happy with how this year's came out!! ofc there's areas that could use work, but i like the colors and lighting c:

I'VE BEEN MEANING TO DO AN IBERIA AU FOR JAKUDO FOR SO LONG... probably as long as the koibito AU for hifugen, but i just haven't been able to put it into words... i'm glad i could at least do a bit of this year, and i hope one day i can manage the whole concept!! also this idea's been in my head for so long that arb managed to reveal demon designs for both jakurai and doppo, sparing me the effort of designing them myself FSJKJKKJH

this one is also a set, so i wanted to post them together hehe again this is based off a horror rpg concept me and gianna came up together back in high school that will probably never see the light of day lol this probably doesn't surprise anyone who knows us, but these characters are based on us FKJSKJH

wah... i think my artist wrapped really covers what i have to say! quantity-wise, i'm not too happy with how much i made... it can't really be helped considering how busy and tiresome it's been this year, and i really wish i could say i can do more next year, but it's likely i'll be posting less and less in the future TwT but as much as possible, i'd still like to share my work! i think this might be my time to start focusing on original stuff, but i still wanna do fandom related stuff because there's still a lot of ideas and concepts i wanna see realized!! also i just love my fandom blorbos a lot lol, so i'll find ways to do things for them >w<

quality-wise though, i think i'm pretty pleased! last year i got csp, so i was still figuring it out, but now i think i got a better hang of it! and that means my art looks more confident i think haha. of course, there's still a lot of room for improvement, but it's nice that i can look at my stuff and go "yeah i like this!" i'm excited to see where my artistic journey goes from here!!

but yeah, maybe it wasn't a plentiful year for me re: art, but i made some pretty nice stuff despite that! thank you all for the support, and here's to next year!!

[harley-sunday]

Pool Boy

Summary: Are you really surprised when he jumps into a pool in October? No of course not. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language. As always.

Word count: 1k

AN: Did I watch the video of Chris doing that back flip more than once? You bet. For science, of course. Anyway, saw it again today and this popped up in my head. I’m sure it’s been done before, but here’s my take on what happened behind the scenes.

Chaotic Vibes Masterlist

You’re quietly humming along to a song playing on the radio while you try to arrange the flowers you’ve gotten at the Farmer’s Market earlier today into a vase but so far your attempt is unsuccessful. It looks like shit. You let out a frustrated sigh and take all the flowers out again, trying to remember what the lady told you about how to layer them to get the best arrangement. For a moment you glance outside, why, you’re not sure, but immediately a, “What the fuck?” escapes you.

Drying your hands on a tea towel that’s draped over your shoulder you stand on your tiptoes, hands now resting on the counter as you lean forward, nose almost pressed against the window. You squint, sure your eyes have played some sort of trick on you, but no. This is really happening in your backyard right now. Jesus Christ.

Grabbing the tea towel after you’ve pushed yourself back off you fling it onto the counter, muttering a quiet, “He had one fucking job,” under your breath as you march outside. It isn’t until you step off the deck onto the grass that you realize you’ve forgotten to put your shoes on and so now your socks are getting wet but it’s fine. For some reason you doubt you’ll leave this scene unscathed anyway. 

His accomplice spots you first, letting out a quiet bark to alert his owner, but by then it’s already too late because there you are, standing just a few feet away from him, arms crossed in front of your chest for good matter, “Christopher Robert Evans-”

His eyes widen in shock when he sees you, a quiet, “Oh shit” whispered in Dodger’s direction. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He looks at the water behind him and shrugs, “I was just-” 

“You were supposed to close the pool,” you counter, one eyebrow raised, daring him to contradict you while trying really hard not to get distracted by the way his swimming trunks are hanging from his hips but failing miserably. Fuck.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Uhu.” Shit. Still, you let your eyes slowly wander from his abs to his chest to that cheeky grin and that mischievous look in his eyes before you try again, “It’s fucking cold, what-”

“I have to get in anyway,” he tries, “have to clean it first, ya know?” 

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, followed by a pointed nod to the table on your right, because of course you spotted his little set-up when you walked over here, “no need to record it though? Or what, you afraid you’re not gonna remember how to next year?”

He runs a hand through his hair and chuckles, sounding almost embarrassed, “Just wanted to do one last back flip.” He shrugs, “Maybe show you after-”

“Uhu,” you shake your head to let him know you’re not buying this bullshit story. Not saying anything else you just keep staring at him, knowing it’ll break him eventually. 

“Fine,” he throws his hands in the air and looks at Dodger as if the dog will somehow help him out, but he’s just wagging his tail. Chris looks back at you, “I wanted to post it on Instagram. Just for shits and giggles, promise.”

You can’t help but laugh at his confession, remembering how, not even that long ago, he asked you to explain the app to him on a rainy Sunday afternoon. It took a while, but then he sort of got the hang of it. Sort of, yes, because then that happened and- You shake your head, trying not to think of it too much. Instead you unfold your arms and let your hands rest on your hips, a smile you’re trying your hardest to hide still forming around your lips, “Try to upload the right video this time, Evans.” 

He hangs his head but you can tell he’s smiling too, and he stands up straight again then, nodding towards his phone, “At least hit ‘record’ for me, sweetheart?” 

You do and then you watch him, shuffling backwards toward the edge, one last look over his shoulder to decide where he’s going to land before he lift up his arms, flexes his abs, and back flips into the pool.

Dodger runs around as though he wants to jump in and rescue Chris and so you call him over, “Come here, boy,” making him sit when he joins you.

Hitting the button needed on Chris’ phone you stop the recording and walk over to the pool where you look down at him with a mischievous smile, “You cold?” 

“Not too bad,” he tells you, while a shiver runs through him. Liar. He holds out his hand then, “Help me out?”

“And have you pull me in?” You shake your head, although an idea starts to form, “Nah, you got in on your own, you can get out on your own just fine.” 

He doesn’t respond and instead puts his hands on the edge starting to push himself up. Too focused on getting out he doesn’t see you pull your sweater over your head and it isn’t until he’s almost out that he looks up at you, his eyes growing wide when he sees you undo the button of your jeans. 

“No fun in cleaning the pool all by yourself,” you offer with a wink before you push your jeans down and throw them aside. Closing your eyes you take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the cold you’re about to experience, and when you open them he’s there, on the other side of the pool, arms resting on the edge on either side of him, watching your every move. You take a step back, call yourself an idiot for good measure, and then run forward, jumping into the pool with your hands around your knees. 

When you come up he’s right there, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your lips before he pulls back and looks at you, grinning, “You are wild.” 

Wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders you put your mouth close to his ear, grinding your hips for good measure, “It’s about to get a whole lot wilder, babe.”

[jessbakescakes]

Oh oops I think I meant 98!

I love your writing :)

Thank you!

98. Take a deep breath from this post.

Post-series Josh/Donna for this one!

Josh arrives home just after six one Sunday evening with some take-out and a bottle of wine. The incident that necessitated the trip to the situation room and interrupted Josh and Donna’s afternoon plans ended up de-escalating fairly quickly; when he opens the door and sees Donna sitting cross-legged on the couch surrounded by books, magazines, and binders full of colored fabric squares, he knows that she didn’t expect him back so soon. 

“Donna,” Josh starts, pushing the door shut with his elbow. “I thought we agreed --”

Before he can finish his thought, Donna interrupts him. “How much do you like Senator Benson?”

Josh puts the wine and food on the kitchen counter and walks into the living room. Donna has been dangerously close to a wedding planning meltdown for weeks, and Josh has been toying with the idea of taking a page from the Donna Moss playbook and drawing up some rules to keep her sane. He knows better than to answer, anticipating the can of worms that his response will open, but he does it anyway. “I mean, I’m not about to give the guy a kidney or anything, but we’re friendly enough.”

“Think he’d feel snubbed if he didn’t get an invite?” Donna asks, scribbling a note on a pad of paper in her lap before looking up at Josh, wide-eyed. “Wait, no. You need his vote on… well, I was gonna say 453, but you need his vote on most things. So if we invite Benson, that means we also have to invite Roberts and Winslow.”

Josh reaches for a book sitting to her left, but she grabs his hand before he can make contact. 

“Don’t!” she practically yelps. “I need to mark the page first.” 

He watches as she blindly feels around for a pad of post-it notes before peeling a few off the stack and sticking them on relevant pages. She’s muttering under her breath as she closes one book, but then re-opens it. She lifts the pad of paper and uncrosses her legs, letting out a sigh as she stands up, clearly looking for something she’s misplaced among the sea of wedding planning materials. “Look, Donna…”

“Have you seen my pen?” she asks, kneeling down on the ground and leaning over to peek under the coffee table. She looks under the table and around the couch, letting out a groan when she doesn’t locate it.

Josh kneels down on the floor with her, gently reaching for the pen twisted in her hair before taking her by the hands. “Honey? Take a deep breath.”

She does as he asks and gives him an embarrassed smile. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he laughs. “Quite spectacularly, I might add.”

Donna sighs. “It’s just… it’s getting to be more than I bargained for, I think.”

“Then don’t do it,” Josh insists. 

She gives his hands a squeeze and looks down at her lap as though she’s giving the statement some thought before she answers. “You’re sweet. But we kind of have to. It’s just become such a... thing.”

“We don’t,” Josh insists. “Seriously. If this is what you want, then I’ll do it in a heartbeat. But if this isn’t what you want, then I don’t want it, either. Screw politics, I’d marry you at the courthouse tomorrow if you asked me to.”

Donna looks up at him, her blue eyes just a little watery now. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Josh insists.

He watches as the tension melts away from her shoulders, her jaw, her neck. She lets out a long exhale, then shrugs. “Well, I don’t know what I want, but I sure as hell don’t want… this,” she says, gesturing to the chaos around them.

Josh reaches for his phone and scrolls through a few contacts before selecting one and handing her the phone. “I think I can help with that. Well, I know someone who offered to help, at least.” Donna glances down to try to see who she’ll be speaking to, and Josh gently guides the phone to her ear before she can protest.

Donna looks at him quizzically, but she beams when she hears the voice on the other end of the phone. “Actually, it’s Donna, Mr. President. I’m calling from Josh’s phone.” She pauses, listening to what President Bartlet has to say. “I’m doing well, thank you, how are you?” Another pause. “You’re right, sir, maybe not so well, then.”

Josh moves to clean up the living room as he listens to her end of the conversation, smiling to himself as she gets what he can only assume is an in-depth recap of the chat he himself had with the former President just a few days prior. 

“Really? Oh, thank you, sir, that… yes, sorry, that would be amazing! Are you sure? I wouldn’t… hi, Mrs. Bartlet.”

When the living room is cleared of all wedding planning materials a few minutes later, he opens the bottle of wine and pours them each a glass. He’s about to bring her a container of food when she walks into the kitchen, handing him his phone. He puts it on the counter and pulls her close for a hug. “Well?”

“The Bartlets offered us their farm,” Donna says, melting into him. “Mrs. Bartlet is going to do most of the detail work and vendor-wrangling, but we get the final say in everything. She and I are going to talk tomorrow after I get off of work to get some planning done.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You sound relieved.”

She looks up at him, her hands still clasped together behind his back. “I am. How much did you have to do in order to convince them to do that for us?”

“Almost nothing. I called for an unrelated reason, and he asked how it was going. I may have mentioned that you were a little overwhelmed, and that was all she wrote.”

Donna leans forward to give him a kiss. “President Bartlet made a pretty compelling case for doing it in October. With the leaves. It would make for some really nice wedding photos.”

“Yeah?”

“Is that too soon?”

“I seem to recall saying I’d marry you tomorrow,” Josh says. “You tell me when to show up and I’ll be there.”

She grins and reaches for a take-out container. “Don’t make any plans for the second weekend in October, then. Apparently, that’s the best leaf weekend, according to President Bartlet.”

“What is it with you two and leaves?” Josh teases.

“I’m sorry that you don’t have a running joke with the former leader of the free world, Josh,” Donna says with a shrug. “Maybe he just likes me better than you.”

“Sounds about right,” Josh says. 

Donna takes a seat on the couch, rattling off names for a much more exclusive guest list between bites of food. Josh just watches her and smiles, thankful that she agreed to marry him in the first place.

[the-bejeesus]

To Those Who Say “I’m not gonna catch up on One Piece until it’s finished. Why would I watch/read 1000+ episodes/chapters when I don’t even get to know how the story ends?”

      Now for the past few years, when I came across somebody who said this, my rebute would be something like “Well the series is great already. It doesn’t really matter if I don’t know how it ends, because the journey itself is enjoyable.” or “Man if that’s your excuse, who you gonna explain why you read/watch stuff like Berserk, Hunter X Hunter, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Hero Academia? Newsflash, they aren’t done yet.” But it came across my mind that I can now apply a completely different approach:

“If you start watching/reading at this pace right now, it will be over by the time you catch up.”

      If you’re a fan of the series, you’ll know that for awhile now Oda has been saying that he plans to end the series in just 5-4 years. Now he’s made lots of claims in the past that turned out to be ridiculous. However, many One Piece researchers have compiled his claims and found out that they only get more accurate as time goes on, with the most ridiculous claims being found to be myths. And with the most recent claims of ending the series in less than 5 years, even his editors who are usually skeptical have started to trust that he can do this. After all, he has officially set there to be only one more saga (which isn’t necessarily one arc, but it’s either going to be 1-2 major arcs or an anthology of 5-6 shorter arcs). And now that we can trust this claim, we can essentially extrapolate how many chapters/episodes are left and what pace we have to binge to catch up at just the right time.

If you plan to read the manga (black and white):

The manga in black in white is a perfectly fine way to enjoy One Piece. It’s what Oda draws, it’s how he intends it to be viewed, and best of all, it will be the first version of publication to finish.

     Out of the 1223 weeks since the first chapter published in July 19, 1997, 1000 chapters have published, meaning on average he publishes 42 chapters per year, or in other words, there are only 10 hiatuses per year (including holidays where WSJ does not publish). Now if I wanted to be more accurate, I’d only look at the chapters published this year, to exclude outliers like how he had no hiatuses for the first 200 chapters, or how he had a 4-week hiatus during the timeskip, but 2020 has been a bit crazy, so we’re not doing that for this or any of the others.

     Going off of this, the final chapter would be chapter 1212 in December 28, 2025 (yes, the 28th would be a Sunday again.) So here’s how you’d calculate the pace in which you need to read One Piece, and really this is how we’ll calculate it for every version)

     Now I know math is boring, but the reason I’m showing this to you is because the amount of weeks until One Piece ends will vary based on when you start this binge. Chances are you aren’t going to start the day you see this post, and there’s an even greater chance you won’t see this post the day it’s posted. For every example I’m going to assume you started binging on December 28, 2020. Now let’s try to use it for this example.

     And there’s your answer, just read 4-5 chapters per week. By the end, One Piece should be nearly over or have very recently ended. To put that into a different perspective, you could purchase and read just two volumes per month and you’ll be at prime pace. Or you could read one chapter every day, but only on weekdays.  If you want to, you can see this calculation in action in graph form.

     While this is a very rudimentary graph, it’s a basic visualization of what we’re calculating here. We’re calculating what speed we need to binge to catch up at exactly the right moment. I say exact, but ultimately no one can predict how many chapters there will be exactly, nor how many hiatuses Oda will go on during it. It will be important, as you’re nearing the end, to find a spoiler-free way to keep up on how close One Piece is to ending. To know whether you ought to speed up or slow down.

If you plan to watch the anime (subtitled):

For years now people have hated on the anime “terrible animation!” “terrible pacing” but at the end of the day, it’s the more popular version. Or the more viewed version I should say. And personally, I think that once you acknowledge its problems and learn how to deal with them, it’s a perfectly fine experience. There’s enough good voice acting and enough good storytelling that you’re easily able to ignore the problems. Plus, the animation has substantially improved since Wano.

      Now for this we’re going to have to change a lot of variables to get this right. We’re going to have to adjust when publication started, and recalculate when One Piece will end by looking at how slowly the anime adapts the manga, and how behind it is. The anime aired on October 20, 1999, and has aired 956 episodes since then. This means on average they air 44.9 episodes per year, meaning there is pretty much only 7 breaks the entire year. With these 956 episodes, they have adapted 955 chapters, making the pace almost exactly one chapter per episode. However this is really inaccurate, considering all the better-paced arcs earlier on in the story. Looking solely at episodes 2012 and onwards, the anime adapts at a pace of 0.65 chapters/episode.

     Knowing that there are roughly 212 chapters left, and Toei adapts at 0.65 chapters per episode, we can assume that there are going to be roughly 324 episodes left. That sounds like too many, but keep in mind that there will be several, several instances where the manga will be on hiatus whereas the anime will keep on airing. Knowing there are approximately 324 episodes left, and that the anime only takes about 7 breaks a year, we can assume that it will take 7 years, or 374.49 weeks before the anime will end. So now we have the information we need to do the math again.

x = 1280/374.49

x = 3.417 episodes/week.

     It may seem like a more relaxed binge, since you get a whole 2 extra years to binge, and you only have to do 3-4 episodes per week, compared to the 4-5 chapters. But keep in mind that these episodes are 24 minutes each. Still not at all bad, but you will be spending more time on it overall.

If you plan to watch One Pace:

One Pace is a fan project that edits the anime so that filler and padding is cut, other edits will be made to make the anime more manga-accurate, such as reorganizing scenes, or adding title cards where absent. Originally only used by a niche number of One Piece fans, One Pace has grown in popularity, and has tried to improve its quality to accommodate more fans, such as making their episodes Dual Audio (meaning you can switch between the dub and original Japanese audio tracks), and including Spanish subtitles.

      You’d think we’d have to adjust for when One Pace began, how slowly One Pace catches up, and the works, but there’s not much to calculate. Fortunately for us, no matter how far behind One Pace is on editing the current arc, they always like to wrap things up just a few weeks within when an arc ended, if not the very same week. So really all we have to calculate is how many One Pace episodes there will be by the end of all this, so that we know how many you’ll need to watch per week.

      Looking solely at what they’ve covered so far, One Pace has taken 573 episodes and condensed it down to 259 episodes. That’s a pace of 2.21 anime episodes/ paced episode. Earlier we calculated that there would be 324 episodes of the anime left, making for 1280 episodes total. This would mean that there would be around 578 One Pace episodes by the end. And One Pace would probably wrap up in, let’s say 376 weeks, because as I said, they’ll probably finish editing the final arc a week or two after the last episode airs.

x = 578/376

x = 1.53 episodes per week

      Now that’s a relaxed pace. 1-2 episodes per week? That’s so slow, I’m not even sure if I’ll remember what I watched last week next time I watch some episodes. The only problem is some of the pre-timeskip still haven’t been edited. They’ll probably be done by the time they finish the final arc, but that’s not gonna work out fast enough. You’ll hit your first roadblock about 7 weeks in when you need to watch the Baratie arc and it’s not done. And don’t even get me started on how many arcs aren’t done in dub or Spanish sub yet. Hopefully you could just switch to the anime or manga when you hit these arcs, readjusting how many episodes/chapters you need to watch/read when you do. But that’s a bit of an excessive amount of math for something that’s supposed to be fun. So yeah, if you’re still convinced you shouldn’t get into One Piece until it’s ended, maybe this is the option for you.

If you plan to read the manga (Colored):

Since 2012, Shueisha has made a colorization of One Piece. It’s not a fan coloring, it’s as official as it gets. Many consider the color schemes portrayed in this version as the most canon, as the majority are pulled straight from whatever colored illustrations of Oda’s they can find. And quite frankly it makes the manga at least 10 times more beautiful. It’s especially great if you have trouble interpreting dense, small black and white panels.

      This one is a doozy. You’d think all I gotta do is calculate how far behind the colored manga usually and just adjust from there, right? Wrong. Because how far behind the colored manga is, or how frequently they release volumes in full color, is one of the most inconsistent things I have ever seen. You wanna see what I’m talking about? This is how they’ve chosen to release each volume since 2012:

Volume 1-12: July 15, 2012

Volume 13-23: September 28, 2012

Volume 24-63: December 4, 2012

Volume 64-65: April 4, 2013

Volume 66-68: December 20, 2013

Volume 69-70: August 25, 2014

Volume 71-72: September 16, 2015

Volume 73-75: October 4, 2016

Volume 76: December 2, 2016

Volume 77: March 3, 2017

Volume 78: July 2, 2017

Volume 79: September 4, 2017

Volume 80: December 4, 2017

Volume 81-82: March 3, 2018

Volume 83: October 4, 2018

Volume 84-86: August 2, 2019

Volume 87-92: September 16, 2020

     How I am supposed to find out how long it will take for Shueisha to colorize the final volume of One Piece is beyond me. I guess the first step would be to look at how far behind the manga each release was on average, but I’m going to ignore all the ones before 2013, because those were clearly just Shueisha catching up really fast cause they just started and didn’t want to be dozens of volumes behind forever. So of the 14 publications between 2013 and now, on average the last chapter of the last volume they colored was 97.78 weeks after that chapter had published in Weekly Shonen Jump. This means that if the final chapter of One Piece is chapter 1212 on December 28, 2025, then you can expect the final colored volume to publish November 14, 2027.

x = 1212/359

x = 3.37 chapters/week

     So if you prefer the manga but don’t want to read 5 chapters every week for 5 years, this might be a better option for ya. But yea, I have no doubt my prediction is at least a little off for this one.

If you plan to watch the anime (dubbed):

Unlike the 4KidsTV and Odex dubs of One Piece, the FUNimation dub is a perfect way to enjoy One Piece. The DVDs come with enjoyable commentary and a marathon mode, great for binging.

       FUNimation’s releases of the dub are inconsistent, although not nearly as erratic as the colored manga release. However, there was recently a 2-year hiatus we only just got out of. Since Episode 1′s dub in May 27, 2008, the dub has gotten as far as Episode 614. But that’s only looking at the DVD releases. If you’re willing to stream on FUNimationnow, the dub is as far as 641, and if you’re willing to digitally purchase it from an e-shop such as the Microsoft store, it goes all the way to Episode 654. With that being said, that would mean that on average, FUNimation dubs 1.004 episodes per week. Although if we go back to before the two-year hiatus so as to exclude it from the average, it’s actually 1.10 episodes per week. Not a huge difference, actually. And then if we look solely after the two-year hiatus, it’s actually 2.25 episodes per week, which is insanely faster. It’s hard to tell what the future of the dub will be. I can’t assume they’ll go this fast forever, so I’m just going to take the average of all 3 and say it’s 1.45 episodes per week. Don’t know if that’s the best mathematical approach, but the number seems about right.

     So knowing that the dub is at Episode 654 and looking at our previous guesstimation that the anime will be 1280 episodes long, we can predict that it will take 431 weeks before the dub catches up and ends. That would be in 2029! Sounds quick at first until you notice it’s 4 years behind!

x = 1280/431

x = 2.96 episodes per week

      Looks like it’s almost exactly 3 episodes per week. Not as much less of a workload as I expected, compared to catching up to the sub. You know, I figured those 4 extra years would make you binge a lot slower.

Final Thoughts:

      There’s a lot of my math that was estimation, approximations, extrapolations. Feel free to correct me or fact check me, especially if you plan on using this. I figured this would be a fun thought excercise. There’s also a lot of smaller variables I simply didn’t want to take into account because of how long this is already. For example, reading the black and white manga. The calculation can vary slightly depending on if you read it the day it’s published (which I assume would have to be a fanscan unless you can read Japanese), reading the weekly publication legally on Viz.com, waiting for the physical volume release. The dub can also vary depending on whether you buy from Microsoft, wait for the FUNimationnow release, wait for the DVDs, or wait for the Collection sets. So feel free to take this into account.

[bakugou-jpg]

Cherry wine || Single dad!Tsukishima

So hello! This is something i’ve been planning on posting for awhile now. Idk if i like it or not and Tsukishima might be a bit OOC since i haven’t been in the Haikyuu fandom for very long but oh well. Tomorrow i’ll try and post the masterlist for it and how many chapters it’ll have!

-Prologue-

“I’m pregnant”

The silence that fell over the room became deafening, not a single sound except for the distant students outside of the dorm building chatting and laughing together. The fan in the corner of the room buzzed, rotating left and right and rustling some papers on the desk. The wind softly blew through his hair, making the heat more bearable than it was before but at that very moment his thoughts and gone completely blank.

The girl in front of him leaned onto the desk that was placed behind her and knitted her eyebrows together, not in anger but purely because she had been lost in thought. Her arms were crossed and she looked at the boy's feet, biting her bottom lip while doing so.

To say it was a shock, was simply too lightly. I mean, yes, the two of them hadn't exactly done much to prevent it that night so it had been quite the possibility but it had never crossed his mind. She was pregnant, something he did. The clumb of cells that was currently busy forming into a little human was because of him.

"Tsukishima"

Tsukishima's head snapped up and for a moment his eyes widened slightly. They held eye contact for a moment, neither of them breaking it. They were both, confused. Neither of them knowing what to do know and neither of them knowing what to say.

The boy adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. He folded his hands together and fiddled around with them, something he unconciously did when he was nervous. "..Oh"

Its all he could think of at that moment. Tsukishima,  a man who always knew how to respond to whatever situation with either a logic answer or a cocky remark now felt silent. He was a rational person, but now it seemed that his brain short circuited.

The girl sighed, her eyes falling down to the ground once again. She moved one of her hands to rub over her face and then started biting her thumb nail. "I found out on Sunday. I..wanted to think about it myself a bit first. Hope you understand" She said, her voice trailing off.

Tsukishima nodded. "Of course."

Another silence.

There was one question he was dying to ask, of course, the most obvious one. He was a strong believer of the belief that it was her body and her choice and that he didn't have ANY saying in what she wanted to do, but he was still curious. At that moment he didn't even know which decision he wanted or preferred. Would it be bad if he asked? Or was it too soon?

"What do you- " "I-"

They both fell silent, not wanting to interrupt one another. Tsukishima excused himself and nodded towards her. "Sorry, go on".

The girl in front of her looked a little anxious and bit her lip before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to calm her nerves. She breathed out and locked eyes with the boy standing in front of her. "I've thought about it..and decided what choice i wanted to make and i hope you can support me in that."

Tsukishima quickly nodded and waved his hand. "Your body your choice. Whatever decision you make i will respect it so do not rely on my approval" He said, something which made her worried expression relax. It felt as if there had bee a weight lifted off of her shoulders.

She nodded, letting her eyes roam around the room for a second trying to figure out how to put it into words.

"For the longest time i've planned out what i wanted to do with my life, with my future. Go to college, study to become an archeologist and become succesful and travel around..A baby can't fit into that plan, not yet."

Understandable. Tsukishima understood what she meant, for he too had a plan of what he wanted to do in the future. Work in a museum, it was something that he loved the idea of ever since he was a kid. She wanted to become something bigger, so of course a baby would only get in the way.

She cleared her throat and fiddled her hands. "I do, however, want to give it a chance of being able to live. For him or her to find out what joys life can gift to you and how wonderful the world can be..So i'm going to give them up for adop-"

"I'll raise them"

What.

The girl's eyes widened and she looked at Tsukishima in shock.

Tsukishima pushed himself off of the wall and looked at her for a second before taking a step closer to her. "I'll take responsibility and raise them."

What was he saying?

The girl blinked in surprise, her mouth slightly agape from the sudden response one that she had not expected in a million years. Tsukishima's eyebrows were slightly knitted, something which showed he was dear serious over this. "..please"

Why was he saying this?

The girl snapped out of her daze and ran her fingers through her hair, her other hand cupping her still flat stomach. "I-..Wh- Tsukishima..are you serious?" She asked in disbelieve, still taken aback from the reaction. "With all due respect, Tsukishima, but i really hope you understand i am not planning on raising this baby alongside you nor am i planning to hop in at a later age. I just-"

"I don't care for that. You won't have to be involved in any way, i'll make my own money, buy my own two bedroom apartment, raise my own kid. I'll work it out, if you want i'll cover half of all your medical bills" Tsukishima said while leaning back again, looking at her with his usual stoic expression again. Yet, his golden brown eyes held a mixture of confusion and fear. But that was something she would never be able to catch onto.

God what the fuck was he saying

The girl sighed and shook her head a little, trying to wrap her head around what was happening. "I mean..Medical bills won't be a problem, my family's wealthy enough to be able to cover that without a problem..I just..I thought you were passionate about this college course and wanting to succeed? Its not some kind of puppy you raise, can leave at home for the day and to come back at the end of the day and feed it and sometimes throw a stick around, Tsuki-"

"Do i look like an idiot to you?" Tsukishima said with narrowed eyebrows, tapping his finger on his other arm impatiently. Surely, he fooled around with her, but Tsukishima couldn't stand the way she thought she was better and smarter than him.

The girl rolled her eyes and sighed. "You know what i mean" She snapped back. "Its gonna be a big responsibility, its gonna get in the way of you making it big out there."

Once again, a silence fell over the dorm.

Tsukishima's thoughts were screaming at him. Telling him this decision was an impulsive one, how he had to think it through first and asking him over and over again what he was thinking. He knitted his eyebrows together and stared at the ground, slowly nodding.

"I know what i'm doing"

No he did not

The girl nodded and shrugged, her eyes glancing to the clock hanging on his wall. She looked back at Tsukishima and hummed, pushing herself off of the desk. "Well, okay then. I've got class in ten minutes, we'll discuss the details later on. Take care" She said, pushing herself off of the desk. Her hand reached out for Tsukishima's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, something which made Tsukishima just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

He didn't even say anything, simply too caught up with the sea of a void that suddenly washed over him. It numbed all of his thoughts, all of his surroundings as the thumping of his own heartbeat echoed in his ear.

The click of his dorm room falling back into its lock flew past him, not even having noticed the girl had left. Tsukishima stood there for about 10 minutes until he was pulled back to the surface, something which made him fall back onto his bed. He put his elbows on his knees, his hands raking through his hair as he looked at his ground with slightly panicked eyes.

He let out a long sigh, his hand running over his face as he threw his head back and leaned it against the wall. It was already dark, the only people outside being the ones going to their night classes. It was cold, after all it was October and the weather hadn't been exactly the nicest out.

Tsukishima glanced out of his window, his eyes following the form of the girl who was just left his dorm and was now running outside to arrive at her class in time. His eyes were locked onto her until she had turned a corner, now out of sight.

What did he just agree to?

He let his eyes slowly slide down from his window to his bed, a place where his phone was resting. Without really thinking about it, he reached out for the phone, pressing a few buttons before bringing it up to his ear.

"..Tadashi? I..i fucked up"

Nine months felt a lot longer than it usually did. While a school year usually felt like it flew by rather quickly to Tsukishima, these past few months felt like as if there was a chain with a heavy ball chained to his ankles. Every minute, every second felt like it took forever.

As the trees lost their leaves, the snow covered the ground. As the snow melted away, the flowers started blooming again. As the flowers grew higher, the temperature did too. With every transmission, Tsukishima's feet grew heavier and heavier. It all lead up to that one moment. One moment that would change his life forever, a moment he'd remember till' the day he'd die.

As the seconds ticked by, they turned into minutes. As the small hand of the clock moved forward made a full circle, the hours started moving by. Slow, very slowly. Tsukishima lost sense of time, sitting in that chair waiting for someone to give him a sign and to inform him of the slightest bit of news. Anything.

His thoughts even stopped at some point. Surely he was panicking internally and the fact that his phone kept buzzing in his pocket, his family and Yamaguchi repeatedly asking him how it was going, didn't make it any better. Hell, the fact Yamaguchi managed to leak the information to his old teammates didn't soothen the buzz in his pockets at all. But he just stared at a wall.

The ticking of the clock, the water that dripped from the tap, the foot steps from the nurses, the distant screams of agony and the phone that rang every 15 minutes in the nurses office started to feel like a pattern. A never ending pattern that had repeated itself almost a million times already.

"Mr. Tsukishima?"

Fuck

Tsukishima's head snapped up and his eyes met the one of an older woman who was wearing a long blue cover up and a mask hanging next to the side of her head. She wore a smile on her face, a tired one, but a happy one. She had discarded the gloves she wore and Tsukishima noticed some light blood smears on the gown she was wearing.

"He's here"

He

In the past 9 months that had passed, Tsukishima had never thought that his feet could feel more heavier. But in that moment it felt as if Medusa herself had locked eyes with him and stared into his golden brown eyes, drinking in his beauty before stiffening his body and turning it into stone.

He didn't notice how his lanky long body had gotten up from the chair he had been sitting at for the past few hours and how he was now silently walking behind the doctor, following in her footsteps as she lead him to a room.

"The mother told me to inform you she didn't want to see your son and that she'd appreciate it if you stayed away for a little while" The nurse said while holding the door for him open.

His son

Tsukishima looked around the room, noticing how extremely empty and silent it was. The beds that were there were empty, waiting for a new patient to arrive. The blind were closed, but it let the slightest bit of light through cascading down onto to the little bin standing in the middle of it, surrounded by two other nurses that were busy with what was inside of it.

The two nurses looked up at him and smiled, one of them walking towards the exit of the room while the other reached out for the bundle of blankets inside of the little bed. She picked it up, stepping towards Tsukishima with a very kind small. One he didn't notice, for his eyes were only focused on the very small baby she held in her hands. "Meet your son" She said while holding the baby out for him, adjusting his hands just slightly so he'd make the baby feel comfortable.

He held out his hands, taking the bundle of blankets into his arms and immediately holding him close to his body. Tsukishima made sure to support his head, remembering all the things he read in a book his mother gifted him after having announced the news. He wouldn't dare to cause the baby any discomfort, it felt as if he was made out of the thinnest porcelain in the world.

"We'll give you a moment, we'll be next door if u need us" Tsukishima heard the older nurse say before the door shut behind her, leaving both him and his son alone in the room.

The baby slightly moved around in his blanket, one of his tiny arms poking through and stretching out towards Tsukishima's face before returning back into the comfort of his warm cocoon. A small yawn left the baby's mouth, a sight that made Tsukishima's eyes soften.

"Someone's pretty tired, huh? Nine months of sleep ain't enough for you, buddy?" He whispered, peering into the little eyes that were slowly opening up revealing a very familar pair of golden brown ones although his appeared to be just a bit more darker. It also didn't Tsukishima long before he noticed the dark blonde hairs poking out of his hat, ones that almost matched his own but just being a shade darker than his own.

He grinned and stroked the baby's cheek, taking in every detail of his face. "Aren't you just a sight for sore eyes, like i'm looking into a mirror." Tsukishima said with a short snicker.

In that very moment, Tsukishima felt his feet get lighter. The heavy chain on his feet he carried around for months that got heavier and heavier broke, just by the single stare the boy had on him. He didn't care anymore, about what he was gonna do in the future. He didn't care about if he'd still be able to finish college or if he was gonna be able to pull through.

Every thing he did, was gonna be for him. Every decision he made, was gonna be with him in the back of his mind. Every thing decent nice thing he did, he did hoping he could be somewhat proud of his old man.

And so, from 7 years from that moment, on Tsukishima was going to have a succesful career. One he had achieved after graduating from college, something he couldn't of have done without the motivation he had after his son was born and he was going to make sure his son was always first with whatever he did.

"Welcome to the world, Kaoru"

[wherevermyway]

beside you in time // seungbin // horror // 16+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: seo changbin x kim seungmin rating: mature! 16+ warnings/tags: major character death, mental instability, paranoia, insomnia, suicide, character study.  word count: 2,148 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 february 2021

"Come back to me."

Things always got bad from hours twenty-four to thirty-six. From thirty-six to forty-eight, however, was more akin to running a chainsaw through an industrial-sized tin of diced tomatoes.

There was always one person that kept Changbin grounded, however.

"Come back to me, Changbin."

And that person was Seungmin. Seungmin was always there to guide him back to some semblance of normalcy.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

“Come back to me.

I just want you to come back to me. Not this shell of you, but the whole you.

The entirety of you. The old you.

Come back, Cha—”

31 October 2005 Monday

—

It was Monday. Monday at midnight. Changbin stared at the bright red of his alarm clock, staring the 00:00 directly in between the empty spaces of the square zeroes.

It was the staring contest he had every night.

Right on schedule, he lifted himself out of bed, sliding his feet against the cold wood of his bedroom floor, careful to not make any noise so that he didn’t disturb his boyfriend. Quietly, he slipped his way around the floor, out of the open doorway and into the kitchen. He flipped the switch on the wall, the halogen lamp flickering four times exactly before its sickeningly bluish rays illuminated the off-white kitchen walls and the grey cabinets.

Changbin took a step forward: the sink on his left-hand side, the stove on his right-hand side. He stared at the white wall in front of him, his expression empty as he stared at twenty-nine red Xs marked through each day prior. His left hand reached out to the drawer, not breaking his gaze from the calendar as he rummaged through until he recognized the way the red permanent marker felt in his hand. He continued to eye Sunday, as if it was prey, and his permanent marker was the hunter.

He licked his lip, biting it as he removed the cap from the marker, taking a few steps forward until he was face-to-face with his archnemesis: the constant reminder that time was limited, that he couldn’t even fucking remember what day it was without the stupid fucking calendar staring at him in the face.

Two diagonal lines from end-to-end of the damned square.

The 30th of October could join the twenty-nine days prior in hell.

Changbin paced around the living room, his footprints brushing over the rug in the middle of the room, leaving worn treads in its fabric. This was his routine as he waited for Seungmin to come home. He wasn’t able to focus on anything for too long before—

Time, time, time.

“Would you fucking shut up? I just told you to leave me alone.”

Before the voices came back.

Changbin knew he sounded unstable as he shouted to himself in the empty living room. He couldn’t stop it, though. The words always left his lips before he could stop himself from saying them.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Things always got bad from hours twenty-four to thirty-six. From thirty-six to forty-eight, however, was more akin to running a chainsaw through an industrial-sized tin of diced tomatoes.

“Just stop, just fucking stop.”

He knew eyes were watching him, he could feel the stares boring into the back of his skull, eyes running all over him. Changbin gripped at the tops of his shoulders, repeating to himself that he wouldn’t turn around — he couldn’t turn around.

“Go away,” he whispered into the crooks of his elbows as he embraced himself, “go away, just go away.”

Why are you here? Fade away, Changbin.

The creaking of the floorboards startled him, unsure if it was his mind lying to himself, creating something that wasn’t there.

Tick—

“Changbin.”

But there was someone there. The energy that came from the words was different, warmer than the way the other voices that circled his mind. The voices floating in his head were never so—

“Come back to me, Changbin.”

There he was, right in front of his face. Seungmin was tangible, unlike the hallucinations in his head. Changbin hadn’t slept in days, yet Seungmin somehow looked far more fatigued than him.

“I’m so sorry, Seungmin, I just—”

“I know,” Seungmin sighed, gently dancing his fingertips against Changbin’s clammy skin. He was gentle as he pulled the shaking man into his arms, and even gentler as they sank to the ground together. “We need to get you back on your medication. Get you back to who you used to be before everything got bad again.”

“No,” Changbin shook his head against the younger man’s chest, “you know what happened the last time they put me on those fucking pills. I can’t lose myself again.”

Seungmin gently stroked the top of Changbin’s head, shushing him and rubbing small circles in between his shoulder blades. “Okay, okay,” he relented, his voice quiet and calm. “We can talk about it more later. Does that sound okay?”

Changbin nodded once, grabbing at Seungmin’s woollen sweater, hiding his face away from the world. “I just don’t want you to leave me because I’m losing it.”

A quiet chuckle came from Seungmin before he pressed a quick kiss to the top of Changbin’s head. “I’m never gonna leave you, baby. I love you. I’ll be here with you until the end of time.”

“You promise?”

“Always.”

14 November 2005 Monday

—

Until the end of time. Always.

Seungmin’s voice was soft as it echoed in Changbin’s head, pulling him from the darkness.

It was Monday. Monday at… nine in the morning?

Time, time, time.

Changbin rubbed his eyes, starting to hyperventilate as he stared at the clock. He turned to the side of his bed, expecting to see Seungmin there, but there was nothing but wrinkled sheets in his place.

“Work,” he muttered to himself. Seungmin had to be at work. It was Monday, which meant that Seungmin was back in the clinic. His breathing calmed down as he mentally prepared himself for another day. He would get through the next few hours until Seungmin got home.

Changbin haphazardly made his way to his feet, his footsteps padding against the cold wooden floor. His footsteps were so loud, echoing against the empty walls of his apartment. He flipped the light switch at the entrance of the kitchen, letting the halogen lamp flicker four times before it steadied itself.

No.

Changbin’s eyes went wide as he stared at the calendar, red Xs missing from the days prior. He stared over the entire month of November before he ripped the calendar off of the wall, rapidly flipping through every page of every month, trying to check for the marks through his days.

Nothing.

From January to November, there were no marks, not a single mark through any of the days he had lived through.

Tick, tock.

Changbin dropped the calendar, letting it collide against the floor as he ran to the landline they kept in the living room. Seungmin would reassure him that, yes, the marks were on each day, that this was just his brain playing tricks on him yet again.

His fingers trembled as he entered seven digits into the phone, the number of Seungmin’s clinic the only thing he could keep memorised after all of these years. Changbin called him at least twice a day whenever Seungmin was at work, often many times more.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

“What?”

Changbin shook his head, staring down at the phone as a dial tone filled the air. It was possible he had made a mistake, sure, fumbled with the wrong numbers since his hands were shaking, but—

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.

It had to be a lie.

The number you have dialed is no longer in existence.

The tick you have tocked is—

He threw the phone at the wall, the cheap plastic shattering as it collided against the drywall. Changbin screamed at the top of his lungs, tears falling from his eyes as he tugged desperately at his hair.

Why wasn’t Seungmin’s line working?

He needed Seungmin, but he couldn’t—

“I love you, Seungmin,” his own voice echoed in his ears, the voice trembling and shaking like a small child.

“Seungmin, come back to me.” Changbin blinked once and saw a wrecked car in front of him, blood splattered against broken glass.

He stared at the accident, the car totalled up against a brick wall, another severely damaged car in the distance. The car he was staring at was familiar, the shouting of the voice haunting him as he approached. With his breath hitched in his throat, he stepped closer and closer to the front of the car, each step allowing him to make more and more sense of the wreckage behind the spiderwebbed windshield.

“Come back to me,” the voice pleaded again.

Changbin’s voice. Changbin’s very broken, raw voice.

“Seungmin, please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—”

Blood. There was so much blood all over the inside of the car, all over Changbin and all over Seungmin. He stepped backwards, nearly colliding against the asphalt as he recoiled in terror, the memories of that day flooding his head.

Can’t go through this again. Can’t.

Changbin looked down to his hands as he shook in fear, his hands caked in rapidly-drying blood that was turning from crimson to brown. The scent of copper lingered in his nostrils as he shook his head, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Again.

Come back to me, Seungmin.

Let me go, Seung—

Changbin blinked his eyes rapidly until he was back in his apartment, warm arms wrapped around his torso. He stared at the broken plastic littering the floor and simply felt nothing, like the switch to his emotions in his brain had been turned off.

“Come back to me.” Seungmin’s voice was so gentle, so soft in his ear. “It’s time for you to wake up and come back to me, Changbin.”

The switch was ripped off of the wall, there were no emotions to feel anymore.

“Let me go, Seungmin,” he weakly whispered, reaching up to the arms that weren’t there, yet still felt so real.

“Come back to me,” the voice was louder as Changbin lifted himself up off of the floor, haunted by the way that the ghost of Seungmin’s touch lingered on his skin.

He slid his feet against the bare wood floor, unable to register that the smooth texture was cold, only recalling it in memory. Like an empty shell of a human, he drifted into the kitchen, where Seungmin stood in front of the wall, calendar in his hands.

“It’s Monday,” he whispered, pointing at the date. “The thirteenth of November. You wondered why there were no marks, right?”

“Leave me alone, Seungmin,” Changbin’s voice was weak, his voice expressionless as he stared forward.

“It’s time to wake up, Changbin. It’s not 2005.”

Can’t go through this again.

“You know it’s not 2005. You’ve been wading through this year like it didn’t exist.”

Life and death, teetering on the edge of it for a year straight. It was ironic, really, that Changbin only slept on the anniversary of the day that he killed Seungmin.

It was an accident.

“It was an accident. You should have been on your medication again.” Seungmin repeated, as if he could hear Changbin’s thoughts. “But every action has a reaction. You know this. You cost me my fucking life.”

Changbin snatched the calendar from Seungmin’s grasp, ripping each page from the calendar and letting them scatter about the floor. Alone he stood, like some fucked up sculpture in the midst of chaos — the chaos of three hundred and sixty fucking five days staring right back up at him, laughing and taunting and driving him insane.

“Come back to me,” Seungmin took a step forward, grabbing the sides of Changbin’s face and pulling him in to kiss his forehead. “Wake up and come back to me, Cha—”

Changbin reached his right arm out, until his hand wrapped around the handle of his chef’s knife, pulling it from the block.

“Make it all stop,” Seungmin taunted. “Come back to me, be with me forever in time, right where you belong, and it’ll stop.”

A tear rolled down Changbin’s empty face as he stared forward, at the empty wall. Seungmin wasn’t there, but it felt like he was there. “I’m so sorry, Seungmin. I loved you so much, I loved you and I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

A cold hand wrapped around Changbin’s hand, helping him bring the knife to his own throat. “I know you are,” his voice was soft, soothing. “And I still love you. So, make it stop. Your time is running out.”

Time, time, time.

“Tick, tock, Changbin. Make up your mind.”

Sweat started to bead in Changbin’s palm as he whispered endless apologies. Tears streamed down his face, his eyes clamped tightly shut as he quickly undid the flesh of his throat with the knife in his hand.

Come back to me.

There was a thud.

Come back to me, Changbin.

The white wall of the kitchen was stained in splatters.

Come back—

The days of the calendar were finally marked in red.

“Changbin—”

Keys fell to the floor.

[chimtaera]

imagine model namjoon.

ok let’s not kid ourselves

boy’s already a model

he’s got the body.

got the looks.

what can i say, he’s no super model (too clumsy), but he get’s around with the more diverse castings yanno

probably got started on instagram,

with his #kimdaily outfits

which are sometimes just chill, pretty, sporty, casual, cool

and other times completely wacky and just ??? how did you even think to wear those ??? at the same time?? together ???

he always looks good tho

but some looks will give you whiplash. ur warned.

but that’s part of his appeal tbh

hhhh probably gains a lot of popularity when one of those more ‘out there’ outfits circulates on twitter or reddit and people are like “hOW does he make that work??? why does it look good??? is he just that hot??”

the answer is yes.

from there he builds a solid following.

for his great looks, great fashion sense, and his 4am instagram stories that are just a black pic with like a three paragraph text about how rain might feel if it had feelings.

also, solid music recommendations omg 

you probably make ur own spotify playlist with just his recommendations.

ok ok so you best bELIEVE when this boy finally gets cast for a show he’s gonna fall on his ass and go viral

claim to fame baby

probably becomes a meme and rolls with it tbh

like he’ll share the memes in his story, so as not to ruin the ・ﾟ:*aesthetic*:・ﾟand react to them and shit

but then also get on live and talk at length about how faceplanting on the catwalk impacts your self-esteem, how he’s habit he could benefit positively from such an embarrassing moment, and how there’s a lesson for everyone here, and that he hopes all our embarrassing moments may in some way benefit us one day.

he’s such a sweetheart im-

so you might be a stylist?

a hair stylist?

makeup artist?

fellow model?

whatever you’re comfortable with.

you definitely see him on instagram first tho

you came for the memes but are super impressed with his profile and end up staying for the music.

...... and him.

he’s hot, come on.

also 90% of networking is done on instagram these days let us be real.

okay so oNE DAY, or like late evening, who cares

he post a music recommendation and you’re like !!!!!!!!

it’s that low key indie band with like only one EP out that you found on some obscure spotify playlist and you’ve been jamming to since october

and apparently namjoon has too because they’ve released a new single and you didn’t even know ????

and you’re so excited your fingers slip and oopsie you’ve sent a short but rambling message explaining exactly that into his DM’s

instant regret.

then the anxiety bubbles up in you.

and then you calm yourself and convince yourself that he gets a LOT of messages he probably won’t even see yours, so it’s fine it’s fine it’s-

next morning you have a reply

a new follow

and a mcfUCKING LIKE ON A PICTURE OF YOU FROM TWO WEEKS AGO

yikes, you didn’t even have time to give your feed a spring cleaning

you just like his short “ikr!!!!”, too mortified to reply.

alas, the regrets!

but also

the butterflies.

then you see him at an event one time.

it’s fashion week, you’re hecking busy and about to leave because it’s like midnight and you’ve got places to be tomorrow

but it’s always so strange to see people from insta irl like ??? all those dimensions??? you really be lookign like that ??? damn.

once you’ve stared long enough to be certain that’s actually what he looks like (so handome!!! so tall!!!! wtf!!!! who allowed this??) you turn to leave just as he glances up and cetches your eye for like the tiniest fraction of a second

and you hightail it outta there and hope to heaven he doesn’t know you were staring.

but he likes your pic from the party the next morning and you almost choke on your coffee and the lump in your throat stays there all day

and you’re like, am i?? catching feelings ??? for the catwalk faceplant guy??? you’ve never even talked to the man smh

he’s fucking hot tho.

so, fashion week ends and with it comes another party

you can finally relax, celebrate, wind down from the long week.

yA THOUGHT lmao

you’re talking to some designer about their next project and they’re going on about this instagram dude who’s already on board when they start waving someone over like “hey hey, there he is, y/n have you met kim namjoon yet?”

you turn around you’re like !!!!! fuck. he’s so much taller up close.

“hey, no, yeah, no, but i’ve seen you on, uh, on instagram. i think.” smooth, y/n.

after introductions, the designer gets pulled along into some other conversation and you and namjoon are kinda awkward for a minute.

you just sip your drink like ‘fuck fuck fuckfuck fuck aaaaaaa’

but then he asks you easy questions about what you do and what you’ve been working on this week and it’s the same thing you’ve been talking about with everyone you’ve met this week so it goes pretty smoothly

he makes it easy for you, like he’s very attentive, nods along enthusiastically asking follow-up questions and seems genuinely interested in your work it’s so nice! he’s so nice!

and you ask him the same things you’ve asked everyone else this week like you haven’t seen everything on his instagram already.

actually you’ve missed a few things since you’ve been so busy and your interest is genuine, before you know it the two of you are at a table and getting along like a house on fire, showing each other pics from the week.

he asks you send him a pic from one of the shows he didn’t get to see and when he do he’s sees your old messages and is like ?? oh !!

i mean, he totally knew it was you, but he had forgotten the part about that obscure indie band and the new single, so he shows you!

you’ve been following them even closer since then so you know they’re playing a gig in like two weeks and you tell him.

turns out he’s missed this info because of fashion week and he’s super excited!! you guys have to go together!!!¨

“i mean, we don’t have to- it’s just, i don’t know anyone else who listens to them, i could probably go alone, but, you know, it would be cool-”

and of course you’ll go with him, so you two exchange numbers and end up texting the next two weeks.

at first you’re just making tentative plans to meet and go to to the gig, but then there’s a gallery opening the same day, and you know this realy good thrift shop nearby that he should check out, and you guys should get dinner before because namjoon knows this really cool place and-

and it’s a date.

namjoon has every intention to kiss you that night after the gig, but he wants to ask you first and he’s not sure exactly how so he’s just like “um ??? can i ??? uhhh ?? do you ??? uh”

and ur like, “hey, namjoon, i really want u to kiss me, please?”

the rest is history.

you two are too cute, with your instagram aesthetic and lowkey couple outfits, and highkey couple pics, i’d follow.

you two would be gOALS, and it does wonders for both your careers tbh

omg imagine all the cool collaborations you two could do.

and eventually namjoon would go viral again when the paparazzi captures him spilling his coffee and your cute reaction.

but the best thing about dating model namjoon is he makes you your very own playlist.

and you get your very own story highlight with all the aesthetic pics he snaps of you just like buying milk and stealing his fries, and exploring the city on sundays afternoons, going vintage shopping and reading in the park, titled: “bae.” with every colour heart.

hyping each other in the comments always.

and the thirst omg

anyway, nsfw under the cut.

so you take it kinda slow at first because turns out namjoon has a huge crush on you and he lowkey can’t keep his hands off you but also wants to “date you properly”, whatever that means.

props to you if you get impatient with him and tease him a little, a thirst trap here, a netflix and chill there, sending a sexy song his way, or even better post it on your story for him to see.

if it doesn’t provoke him to action it’ll at least get him hard flustered, which is cute.

in the end joon is a soft boy and you can sit up all night talking, so you end up talking about sex long before having it.

and that just makes it all the more special tbh

and when it does happen, it’s like everything else the two of you do, a little awkward at first, a little clumsy, fumbly, but a lot of fun, and it’s namjoon, and you love namjoon. so, so much.

like it doesn’t matter if he accidentally bumps your nose, because he’ll apologise and the two of you will just giggle and continue. 

and he might pull your hair on accident, but that way you can admit to him that it’s.. kinda hot.

and when your teeth collide when you kiss it’s only because any amount of distance between you quickly becomes unbearable, and you both need each other so, so much.

imagine slow, lazy sunday morning snuggle fuck with namjoon.

and then later when you’re on a blanket in the park reading both your books he’ll get distracted, thinking about it, lean in close and tell you something ridiculous like he wishes you would wake him up by sitting on his face.

and imagine backstage heavy petting after a show, leaving the afterparty early, because you’re both buzzing with unrelieved tension and namjoon is very hard in his pants, pressing himself against you as you try to have a polite conversation with some influencer.

love, love, loooooves, watching you ride.

and he’ll go down on you for hours if you let him, honestly.

anytime, anywhere tbh

how did you get so lucky?

[its-pronounced-quoassoint]

Power Rangers AU-Chapter 7

Pairings: romantic Logicality, Prinxiety, Demus, Remile

This Chapter Features: Patton centric storyline, YouTuber!Patton, discussions of a fake fanfiction about Reddie

This Chapter Warnings: swearing, falling from a building, fighting, allusions to anxiety, a transphobic comment, fainting/passing out, use of the word slut(1 time), sympathetic Deceit and Remus

Credit for this AU goes to @when-day-met-the-knight (specifically this post)

If you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic please let me know in reply!

This chapter is long, I didn’t expect it to be so long and to take so long, but this quarentine is not going so good for me. I’m gonna try and get another chapter out soon, but we’ll see. Sorry it’s so long, but I don’t want to split it in half. Anyway, please all of you stay safe and virus free!

First Previous Next

Chapter 7-Blank

"Okay, this is our last shot to figure something out about Virgilius before we can't predict when he's gonna show up again!" Thomas yelled.

"Correct. We have to make this count!" Logan agreed.

Patton and the others nodded and continued running to the sight of the breach. It was a nice Wednesday afternoon and Virgilius had apparently decided to let them finish the school day before attacking. As October drawled on the nights became just a little chillier with the ocean breeze swirling through town. Patton was naturally a faster runner than the others so Logan had assigned him to racing ahead, getting to a high vantage point, and helping him assess the situation.

Patton rounded a street corner and arrived at the little crossroads in the city where many restaurants had outdoor seating and a lot of public activity. Now, the usually quiant area, had a giant rip in space and time the was pouring out monsters like an open wound. Patton summoned his bow, spotted a perfect building roof just next to him, and shot and arrow. As the arrow flew to the roof, a pink lasso type of string extended from it, and once the arrow landed, Patton was pulled into the air.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, when the heck did you get grappling hook arrows?!" Remus shouted.

"Training on Sunday. I found out I could summon them!" Patton replied.

"If you had been there you would have seen it." Roman remarked.

Patton reached the roof and climbed over the ledge, running across so he faced the square. Monsters were piling out of the breach and pedestrians were all around, cowering and screaming. Patton knocked an arrow back and began firing at the breach.

"Yeah well," Remus paused. "I was busy."

"What could you have possibly been doing?!" Logan asked.

"More like who could you have been doing." Roman mumbled.

"Heard that." Patton chastized.

"Are you slut shaming me right now?" Remus asked incredulously.

"I dunno are you being a s-"

"Shut it you two!" Dee barked.

"What do you see?" Logan asked.

"Pedestrians are everywhere, it doesn't seem like the minions are engaging with them, but if we don't hurry I think they might." Patton explained, firing another arrow.

"What's the call?" Roman asked.

The rest of the Rangers entered the square and looked to Logan expectantly.

"Are they looking to leave the square or are they staying here?" Logan asked.

"Staying here."

"Alright. Here's the plan. Green and Yellow, you two handle the minions around the outside, any of the ones that look like they're ready to attack civilians or ones that might leave the square. Black and Red, you two cover the breach. I'm going to try and direct civilians out of the square and behind the Twisters. Pink, I want you to cover my flank so the others don't have to worry." Logan explained. "Got it?"

Everyone gave an affirmative response.

"Okay." Logan nodded back.

The Rangers broke off. Remus and Dee ran in opposite directions, handling any straggling monsters that strayed from the rest. Roman and Thomas ran forward, slashing through the monsters that hoarded around the breach. Logan raced to the restaurant side of the sqaure, and began helping pedestrians up and getting them running to the alley that let out behind Twisters.

Megan's working today. Patton remembered, his stomach dropping a little. She's in that Twisters. Patton didn't want to think about her possibly getting hurt and continued to try and focus on helping Logan safely transport the pedestrians, but he found it more difficult than usual.

"Hey, so, did you ever come up with a new name for these things?" Remus asked.

"What?" Logan scoffed.

"I hate the word minions, you know that. Those yellow demons plague my nightmares. So, can we please think of something else!" He whined.

"I think just referring to them as monsters is fine." Logan replied.

"That's because you have no imagniation!" Roman, ever the one for dramatics, accompanied him saying this with a slash of his sword and triumphant stance.

"I have-" Logan stooped down to help a small child and their mother out of their hiding place and directed them to the twisters. "an adequate amount of imagination."

"Thinkin' about Patton without a shirt on, is not imagination." Remus sighed.

"Green!!" Thomas, Roman, and Dee scolded.

Patton tried his best to stay focused on helping protect the pedestrians, but he found it more and more difficult, however he didn't think the others' conversation had to do with it.

"Anyway, back to what I was saying earlier, I hate the word minion I say we call them something like, Witchlings!"

"Witchlings?" Thomas asked. "Explain."

"Well ya know, Dragon Witch, Witchlings. It sorta works." Remus shrugged.

"Can't we just stick with monsters?" Logan sighed.

"No!" Remus practically howled.

"Patton how does the breach look now?" Roman asked.

"Um," Patton turned. "Monsters are coming out much slower, and you've lessened the amount quite a bit, but I wouldn't take any chances."

"That was the last of the pedestrians." Logan informed. "Green and Yellow, join me and close in around the breach. Pink, I want you to take over for those two."

"On it!" Patton replied, lowering his bow and searching the sqaure.

He assumed the others were following Logan's orders and tried not to worry. Patton found a monster and pulled an arrow back, firing directly between its shoulder blades. The monster turned to ash. Patton looked around again and found another straggler heading for one of the restaurants.

"This looks like the last of them!" Thomas called.

"Okay, stay on your guard everyone, we all know what happens next." Roman said.

"Do your best to recall anything that happens, all of this interaction could be important." Logan reminded.

Patton affirmed the directions and turned his attention back to lookng for any monsters that left the pack. Then a chill went down his spine. Patton stiffined, the hair on his neck stood up and a bad feeling washed over him. Something is wrong.

"Heya Pink. We don't really get to talk much do we?" A dark voice said behind him.

Patton whipped his body around and came face-to-face with Virgilius. His crown even more daunting up close. The bad feeling only got worse. It was unnatural. Wrong. Patton wanted to get away as fast as he could. To his legs that apparently meant stepping back far too much, tripping on the side of the building, and falling.

He screamed. The wind rushed by him and he felt weightless as he fell. He wasn't thinking. All that ran through his mind was that feeling of uneasy wrong that hit him in the chest. It spread and overwhelmed his senses. His unfocused manner and inability to grasp the situation only made him more worried.

Then the wind stopped. He was in someone's arms so quickly he felt whiplash in his neck. His eyes were still unfocused but he could see and register Remus's green armor. Patton pulled in closer to Remus and grasped what he could.

"Pat are you okay?" Remus asked.

"I-" Patton paused. "yeah, I-I think I am."

Patton released Remus from his hug and allowed him to set him down. The feeling was lessened, but not completely gone. It was almost like phantom pains, not his feelings, but the affect someone else's feelings had on him.

"Aww Pink, why'd ya leave so soon. I was just getting started." Virgilius practically cackled from the roof.

Patton turned back up to him. His eyes caught the gaze of the six purple ones and he tried to read any emotion behind them. Nothing. Unable to see any of Virgilius's other features, Patton tried to focus on his posture. Relaxed, almost lazy.

Patton's attention was torn away. He felt a content and calming feeling push into him. It was frantic though, as if someone was trying desperately to make him feel good again. To take away the fear that Patton worried could consume him. When he registered the arms wrapped around him Patton turned to face Logan who was holding him tightly. Logan buried his head into Patton's shoulder. He wasn't used to Logan hugging him. Typically in times of distress one of the two would place a comforting hand on the other's forearm. This hug though, it was new and certainly welcomed. Patton realized he should proabably hug back, and did so with great enthusiasm. However, almost right away Logan let go.

"I'm sorry." He said, his voice level, but on edge. "I-I suppose I was scared. I'm not entirely sure why though, even if Remus didn't catch you, with your armor being so protective you would have suffered a broken bone or two at the very worst. It's illogical for me to feel so worrisome over such a fall."

"Aww." Patton reached out to hold Logan's forearm like he had done so many times before. "Guess I'm just turning you into a big ol' hugger huh?"

"I wouldn't have phrased it like that, but I guess more physical affection is something I have been growing more accomadated to. Especially with you." Logan's voice had grown more shaky as he said this, but it only made Patton's heart melt.

"That's friendship my dear Blue." Patton chuckled.

It was quiet for a little bit too long.

"I'm sorry am I too far away, or did Kirby here just friendzone this poor guy?" Virgilius yelled from his vantage point.

"What?" Patton squeaked a little more than he would have preffered. He looked over to see the other Rangers in various states of frustration.

"We don't have time for this." Logan scowled. "Red!"

"Right!" Roman let his hand fall from where he had it on his forehead. He looked up to Virglius. "Prince Virgilius! Your reign of terror ends here! You've done nothing but wreak havok. The terrorizing of these people stops today!"

"Uh-huh, okay, and what makes you think that? Hm? You haven't stopped me in the past, and nothing about today makes your odds any better. What could possibly make you think today is the day?" Virgilus yelled back.

"Well-"

"What did you think about Richie and Eddie leaving?!?" Remus called up to him.

"What are you doing?" Roman turned on his brother.

"Trust me." Remus said.

"What?! No, why would I trust-"

"Roman, trust him." Dee cut in. "We talked about this we know what we're doing."

"I'm sorry what?" Virgilius asked.

"The last chapter was posted yesterday. I'm sure you read it." Dee stated, Patton didn't like how calm he was.

"Richie and Eddie left Derry, together. With the others." Remus began explaining. "It came out of nowhere. What did you think of it though? Be real."

"I-I-" Virgilius pulled his hands to his chest and stepped back. "I don't know what you're-"

"Yes you do." Dee stopped his rebuttal. "Downright ended and we know you read it. Just tell us what you thought."

It was quiet.

"Guys, this isn't-" Roman started.

"I liked it." Virgilius said, albiet hesitantly. "I know a lot of people in the comments weren't too pleased because it seemed like leaving Derry diminished the whole point of their recovery together. If they were just going to leave anyway, why spend so long trying to regain the love for the things that they had before."

It was silent again.

"But I thought it made sense." Virgilius continued. "Richie and Eddie spent a lot of time trying to reconnect with their town, but it only really made them want to go back to the past. When things were easier. Not go forward with the new lives they wanted to start together. Being together made it different. It made them realize how moving on and away from Derry wasn't running from their past, they had already accepted the past for what it was. Instead, leaving Derry together was a way of starting a new. Not burying the past, but no longer letting it affect them."

The air was still. Patton had no idea what to do other than think, I need to read this fanfiction apparently.

"So you figured me out!" Virgilius stirred them from their dazes. "What was the point of that? You got me, good for you, what are you doing just rubbing it in?!"

"No!" Dee stopped him. "I swear we're not. We-uh-we were curious. I mean, I never read fanfiction, but the ending to that one stuck with me and I've been trying to figure out why. It just seemed like a pointless build up to some kind of half-assed epiphany. Like the writer had tossed the last six chapters out the window. I was so confused about why she went that way."

"And I thought about the same thing as you!" Remus cut in. "It made sense to me when they left, it just felt more like they were leaving becuase they didn't know how to be together in a town where they didn't feel loved. Derry didn't love them and they loved each other too much to let the town get in the way. Leaving was their best chance at being with each other, being where they wanted to be."

"They just wanted to be happy together." Virgilius seemed to agree. "It didn't make sense to stay somewhere that was training them to stay apart. Being together was what made them happy. All they really wanted was each other and the rest of the Losers' Club."

Another beat of silence.

"Virgilius!" Dee got his attention. "I know we're supposed to be fighting, but I don't want to. Whatever you've been told about us, about how we're liars and cheats, it isn't true. Uh. . . to an extent. We're not perfect, but I'm sure whatever is going on up there, we can help you with."

"He's right!" Patton decided to step in. "We aren't always the best, but we try to be. I don't know what's going on with you, but I can tell that something isn't right. He means it when he says we can help. We help each other, and we help ourselves. We'll be here to help you too."

It was still again. Patton thought he could feel the exhaustion coming off of Virgilius. The weariness grew as they talked to him. It was ridiculous though to think that, how could he sense the prince's emotions from that far away. Patton couldn't see his face, so why did he feel so tired of the fighting. It wasn't his tire though, it wasn't like Logan's exhaustion, or Roman's, or any of the other Rangers'. It was foreign, and strong.

Virgilius screamed.

It was close to hellish. All of the Rangers went to cover their ears and block it out. Patton kept his eyes trained on the prince. He tried desperately to see what was happening, only to find a thick, black, inky aura beginning to surround him. It pulsed and expanded, circling Virgilius's body. Virgilius began to rise into the air, his arms and legs limp, his face still shrouded in the shadows of his crown. His eyes were no longer a glowing purple. Virgilius's body began floating to the ground, slowly and steadily, moving with the aura.

His feet his the ground and the aura exploded. It covered the entire square, encompassing everything in a shroud of blackness. Patton could still see, but it strained his eyes as he tried to find Logan's arm to hold. The screaming stopped suddenly.

"You insufferable brats!!!"

Patton looked to the source of the voice and realized he was no longer standing. None of the Rangers were. The only one standing now was Virgilius.

"Do you know how long it has taken to perfect this thing?!! Perfect my army?!!" It was a woman's voice Patton realized. The voice was domineering and overbearing with a lower undertone that followed, like it was being echoed by a demon.

Finally Patton got the strength to look up at Virgilius. He sucked in a breath of shock as he saw the hood had falled, the crown now being the only thing on his head. He could see Virgilius's face! Patton began attempting to burn it into his memory. His jaw was round, not very defined, his cheeks were a little puffy, but not as much as his own. His cheekbones were very defined however, almost unnaturally so. The first pair of eyes were small, they sat about eye brow level, then the main set of larger eyes, and finally the smallest set right below the middle ones. The outline of his eyes was like his cheekbones, unnaturally sharp. His hair fell to the left of his crown, down to the center of his middle set of eyes.

Virgilius's eyes aren't glowing purple, Patton remembered. He stared up into Virgilius's eyes. His irises were a bright angellic white and his pupils a darker than night black. It was just as unnerving as before.

"Oh I thought I had seen the last of you but you're just so persistant aren't you! It's stupidity is what it is!! It's not human nature, it's not being good people, it's not trying to help those who can't help themselves!! It's stupidity!!!" The voice screamed. "You're all so stubborn and stupid!!!"

"Ngh-" Patton heard Thomas from just a few feet away. he was shuffling around, likely trying to get to his knees. "You're going to lose! And this boy that you're using as a little pawn isn't going to be yours much longer. He's not weak and you're not in control."

"Oh . . . you're not new." The voice replied, almost bored. "How dissappointing. You won't last very long you know. And these kids you've got as the new Rangers, they aren't going to last either. You may be stubborn enough to stay alive, but you're stupid enough to keep fighting."

"And you're weak." Dee said with a strength Patton wished he could muster for himself. He begged and pleaded for his body to do more than look on.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me you sick bitch!" He yelled. "You're using him! Forcing him to fight us because you can't do it on your own. He's going to leave the twisted hold you have on him one of these days and there's nothing you can do about it. You won't even get down here yourself to fight us!!!"

"Dee-" Patton heard Remus struggle to speak.

"Boy, do you know how many worlds I've conquered? How many civilizations I've made my own?! Believe it or not, I don't care all too much about handling this planet on my own. There are other, more important places for me to be." The voice cackled, it sounded so much like Virgilius, Patton wanted to shrink away. "I don't care about Earth enough to fight for it in person. I can leave that to my little Works-In-Progress. Like this one. This place is perfect training for things like him."

"You can't keep doing this very long." Roman grunted. "We will stop you!"

"Oh please kid. I've fought much worse than you. You're nothing! At least the last Red Ranger was something worth fighting. She was certainly an opponent for my experiments. You though, you don't even come close." She snarled in return.

"Then why are we still alive?! Why are we still here, fighting you!" Logan huffed, clearly straining.

"Now Blue, your Ranger has always been something. Never the same really. I have to say, having a level headed one is a change of pace, but being the smartest in a room means nothing if you can't command respect! You hold yourself like even you can't stand the way you are. You act like you're on a higher level of thinking than others, but really you're just as much of an indiscisive mess as everyone else on this pathetic planet! You don't understand your feelings, you pretend you care only to know deep down you would do anything to be known as the smartest in the room, and to top it all off you're not even a real boy!!"

"Shut up!!!" Patton let out the words, not even realizing they were his own, but it was how he felt.

"Now here's our fighter. Pink. Unexpected sure, but then again, the hell you put yourself through in our own mind is much worse than I could ever really do. I'll give you props for that." Her voice was drowning Patton's ears. He was so angry, he just wanted her to shut up. "In fact, I'll give all of you a little credit. I've certainly thought about going the tear-them-apart-from-the-inside route, but you all are so self-destructive, you do it on your own!"

She was going on, but her words were muddled in Patton's head. He didn't know what she was saying and didn't want to. Then an idea came to mind. Patton tried his hardest, pulling all of his strength and will, he just needed to shut her up. He needed to do something other than sit there. He felt the determination bubbling inside of him, he felt the fear but he channeled, tried to force that fear to make him fight, not run. Patton summoned his bow. It felt so heavy in his hand. Everything was heavy, pulling him down, prying to keep him down. He lifted his torso, fighting the aching it gave him. Patton pulled his arms up, summoning an arrow, and knocking it back.

"Sorry Virgilius, but you gotta go for now." He said, it felt like he was yelling but only a whisper came out.

Then he fired, straight for the crown. In the blink of Patton's eyes the crown had been knocked to the ground. The black aura was gone, Virgilius collapsed to the cement, his eyes purple once again. Patton watched as the world tilted to the side, dimming. His head hit something hard, but he barely registered it.

It was black.

Virgilius scrambling, grabbing for the crown.

Black.

Virgilius again, until the boy disappeared.

Then fuzzy black again. Not like the ink. This blackness was welcoming, not overwhelming.

Patton felt a hand on his arm. He opened his eyes again and saw Logan, his mouth was moving but there was no sound other than the ringing. When did the ringing start? Patton asked himself. Logan looked so terrified. Patton didn't like that expression. Suddenly Thomas came into view, he was also speaking, but it was nothing Patton could hear.

Then finally, the fuzzy black. Patton realized he didn't like calling it black. His world wasn't black. That black, inky terror wasn't in his vision. It was more blank. That's the word, blank. Blankness. A blank world.

Patton let a smile fall on his face. He was okay with everything being blank. Just for a bit.

Taglist:

@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors @maddarc @pheonix-inside-reblogs @thisismysanderssidesblog @almost-all-my-ships-are-gay @mostpeopleannoyme @the-smol-est @i-sexually-identify-as-a-mistake @nadja-chamack16 @too-bi-too-function @rainbowbowtie @mistypelt1234 @tricksterangel25 @authorized-trash @echocw @stripestar128128 @coffee-mugz @slitherynchicken

[purposefulprovisions]

Off The Wagon

An understatement

I am here again... making another declaration of re-alignment. Things are a little different. I work now, which I will go into separately.

This is about food.

I have been eating... okay, not worse than I was in college. I think my college eating should be classified as a sin; I was absolutely out of control. At least now, despite my slips, I manage to eat within decent windows and not too terribly much. Though I can admit, my body has been revolting against me for my not so subtle increase, and I don’t feel my best.

Therefore, it seems it is time for another reset.

I think that the previous times, though successful, were much harder because I had nothing to distract me during the day. It’s interesting how to day can fly by but also feel lie it’s dragging on when you’re working, if that’s what you can call my first week. But I digress. I feel like with this long allowance of information and being constantly on call, it will be easier to distract myself while completing my initial cleansing goal. I just need to d better about keeping my mouth shut, and setting some boundaries in regards to consistent irritation.

My super goal is one week.

My realistic one is three days.

My start date is Monday. Sunday, technically, but I would start the process Sunday evening... which is in a days time. So within the confines of this Saturday, I’m gonna eat what I want. Or, well, kinda. 

I think my problem is that on both ends, I go crazy. If I go off the deep end and do one negotiable thing, I tend to think I may as well lose all control and do what I want. That, or I limit myself so severely that I have zero room. I find my sugar cravings to be really annoying, and frankly... hardly satisfying post consumption.

Perhaps I need a new plan.

But first... the liberation of a reset. I will reset, drop, notice progress and then see how I’m feeling. I already know how I plan on breaking the process; tomato soup. I am told that broth is the best method... so perhaps chicken noodle would be better... but my mind says soup is soup and we’ll see what happens.

Ideally, I would want to break 60 during this time. Realistically, I would like to end up in the low 60s. As long as I’m in that ballpark, that would be great. The plan after that retention, however, will be the typical once daily routine. I’m thinking of trying Coco’s method. Perhaps I’ll be convincing enough to get some curry out of the deal.

October is my favorite month. I don’t have intentions of spending it miserably, so this month will allow to resurgence of my desires for hot chocolate and the occasional pastry. It’s unfair otherwise to make this task of betterment a chore. I can admit that having a doctor guided/peer aligned goal has made this easier to wrap my head around; and I’m very close to achieving this goal. I’m not as far away as I think. I am a person and I am worthy of forgiveness and room for growth. This would be within less than a years time, which is irregular, but it’s because I am employing irregular methods.

I always end these by saying that I am confident of a resurgence and of my ability, and I mean that as usual. But this time I don’t want to send off only to come back and be disappointed if I manage to not follow through. I am a human, I am deserving of grace.

So good luck to me and my efforts. Any step I take is a step towards progress and learning, so it is ultimately for the better.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Weekend Picks: 2/21-2/23

Big Head Todd and the Monsters

BY JORDAN MAINZER

There were no live picks for yesterday, but plenty for the weekend!

2/21: Objekt, Smartbar

Here’s what we wrote about Objekt’s Cocoon Crush when we named it our #6 album of 2018:

“An artist solidly known for his bold exploration of techno, Objekt now takes a plunge into a new kind of ethereal beauty on Cocoon Crush. A foray into ambient music, Objekt subverts a lot of what we have come to expect from him. The line between digital and analog is smeared. Tracks are ungrounded, punctuated still by percussion and synthesizers, but in patterns and textures that materialize in mysterious ways. And just as they appear, they stutter and morph in ways unexpected to the listener. The cold machinations of the dancefloor are still present; they are just stretched and masked in exciting and rewarding ways.”

Darwin and Flower Flood open.

2/21: Knuckle Puck, Beat Kitchen

We previewed Knuckle Puck’s set at Durty Nellie’s two years ago:

“Covering last year’s Riot Fest, I found Knuckle Puck the worst set of the festival, though I did remark that the band’s new, unreleased material had the crowd’s attention as much as their released material. As it turns out, the album versions of the songs are pretty good. Shapeshifter, released about a month later in October, was exemplary of what Knuckle Puck do best–write catchy songs with powerful melodies and hooks, enough to showcase the band’s more-than-capable instrumental prowess while avoiding the try-hard singing that plagues so many of today’s emo bands.”

Cleveland power poppers Heart Attack Man and Wilkes Barre hardcore band One Step Closer open.

Objekt; Photo by Kasia Zacharko

2/21: James McMurtry, Old Town School of Folk Music

We previewed James McMurtry’s show at FitzGerald’s two years ago:

“James McMurtry plays tonight as part of the 37th Annual American Music Festival at Fitzgerald’s, still touring strong off of Complicated Game (one of our favorite albums of 2015) like he was when it first came out. When we caught up with him last November, he said of new songs, 'I’ve jotted them down on my phone as I’ve gone along. That whole record was written on an iPhone3. Unfortunately, I dropped that phone, I don’t have the cool Notes app anymore.' Well, either he’s got a new phone or doesn’t need one, because late last year, he released 'State of the Union', a trademark jab at fascism and racism. It might not be as succinct as him telling us 'There never been a good Nazi a day on this earth dead or alive,' but at least there’s hope for more new material.”

2/21: Raphael Saadiq & Jamila Woods, Vic Theatre

Last year, Raphael Saadiq released his first album in 8 years (since the great Stone Rollin’). Jimmy Lee is named after, inspired by, and partially about his brother who died of heroin overdose after contracting HIV many years ago. As such, whether singing or inhabiting the character of his brother, Saadiq is at times uncharacteristically somber. He’s at the other end of a barrel of a gun on “Sinners Prayer”, reflecting on his wrongs, wondering whether it’s too late: “When a sinner is praying, God, will you hear it?” He wears a heavy burden on the funky, stomping “Something Keeps Calling Me”, the song’s wailing guitar solo in the bridge a mirror to his emotions. Saadiq calls out society, too, just as much as himself. “The people are mad,” he sings on “This World is Drunk”. The one-two punch of anti-mass incarceration jams “Rikers Island” and “Rikers Island Redux” presents the issue as simply as it should be put: “Too many n***as in Rikers Island / Why must it be / Set them free.” The former expresses its anger with upbeat piano and a simple refrain, the latter with spoken word over gentle guitar strums.

Best, though, are the reflections of grace that rise above the despair. On “I’m Feeling Love”, over a slower, more warbling funk, Saadiq, singing as his brother, is thankful for the little that he has. And on the skittering, rolling “Glory To The Veins”, he again distills his brother’s death to what matters: “I lost a brother to AIDS / Still, he laughed every day.” We’re lucky that as he gets older, reflecting on his life, and playing live reflecting on his career in Tony! Toni! Toné! and all the legendary artists like D’Angelo and Solange that he’s produced, Saadiq is willing to impart his wisdom.

Jamila Woods’ LEGACY! LEGACY! was one of our favorite albums of last year:

“Yes, Jamila Woods’ stunning LEGACY! LEGACY! is a tribute to important artists of color. What makes it stand out among other tributes, however, is the remarkable way Woods is able to present how each figure has guided her. Take opener 'BETTY', about funk artist Betty Davis, a woman married to a far more famous jazz trumpeter who gets his own song later on. Woods explores the gender and power dynamic in the relationship and uses it to make a personal and universal plea: 'Let me be, I’m trying to fly.' Fly, she does. On 'ZORA', over a hip hop beat, Woods succinctly declares in an all-time line, 'My weaponry is my energy', the drive and desire the catalyst in the noble goal to make her mark on the world as a black woman as opposed to while being a black woman. In various interviews surrounding the album release, Woods spoke about being inspired by black artists who perform and make art truly for themselves independent and often in spite of the race of the end consumers. 'Motherfuckers won’t shut up,' beings 'MUDDY', referencing Muddy Waters adoption of electric guitar because white audiences would talk over his sets; 'Shut up, motherfucker,' she sings inversely on 'MILES', 'I don’t take requests.' But the percussive, jazzy 'EARTHA' best encapsulates her aims of self-love and ultimate pride. 'I used to be afraid of myself,' Woods admits before stating, 'I don’t wanna compromise.' Ultimately, the refrain of, 'Who’s gonna share my love for me with me?' is the mindset by which Woods approaches relationships throughout the record and then life itself. You can be a part of it, but she comes first.”

DJ Duggz also opens.

2/21: The Wailers, SPACE

We previewed The Wailers’ set at Old Town School of Folk Music last year:

“Bob Marley might not be around, but his original band, containing many of the original members and their children, continues to play his songs. Seeing them in a venue as small as this is rare.”

Tonight at SPACE--an even smaller venue--they play two shows, an early and late one.

Joe Henry

2/22: Big Head Todd and the Monsters, Vic Theatre

We previewed Big Head Todd & The Monsters’ show at the Vic Theatre two years ago:

“The Colorado jam band that saw mainstream success in the 90′s is touring fresh off of last year’s heavy New World Arisin’. In 2016, as Big Head Blues Club (the band’s project with a wide array of blues legends like Cedric Burnside and Charlie Musselwhite), they released Way Down Inside. But for the full potential of Big Head Todd and the Monsters, go a few years back and try 2014′s Black Beehive, a rawer, more diverse blues record than you’d expect from the band who recorded 'Bittersweet'. What’s for sure is that live, they’ll lean heavily on the new material while not forgoing their more beloved classics.”

They haven’t released a new album since then but have released a new song every month as part of a series. They should play some of these live, including gospel piano ballad “Hard Times Come No More” and the funky, rollicking “Train of Storms”.

Nashville band Los Colognes open.

2/22: Todd Barry, Thalia Hall

We previewed Todd Barry’s sets at SPACE two years ago:

“So, this isn’t exactly music, but deadpan comedian Todd Barry is performing 2 stand-up sets in one night at SPACE. Commemorating his 30 years of being a comedian, he’s going on another crowd work-only tour like the one documented in his 2014 special Todd Barry: The Crowd Work Tour. From watching that and his most recent Netflix special Spicy Honey, Barry’s dry observational humor is effortlessly tailored to specific crowds and cities, making this one of the must-see comedy events of the year.”

Even if tonight isn’t crowd work-only, he should do some of his specialty.

Chicago-based stand-up comic Chelsea Hood opens.

Hot Snakes

2/22: Joe Henry, Old Town School of Folk Music

Since we last saw Joe Henry five years ago, he’s done quite a bit of production work and released two albums, 2017′s Thrum, and last year’s The Gospel According to Water. In between the two, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer; considering that, the latter takes on weight. It’s, first and foremost, raw, from the guitar playing on “Famine Walk” to the title track. But Gospel sports moments of beauty, too, as on the woodwind of “Mule” and rich vocal harmonies of “In Time For Tomorrow” and “The Fact of Love”.

Americana duo Birds of Chicago open.

Pissed Jeans; Photo by Ebru Yildiz

2/22: Tim and Eric, Chicago Theatre

Who knows what Tim and Eric will bring to their Chicago stop of their Mandatory Attendance tour, other than their purported "brand new spoofs, goofs and insanity” and “special surprises.” The last time I saw them, Dr. Steve Brule showed up and almost married Jan Skylar!

2/22: Hot Snakes, Pissed Jeans, & HIDE, Empty Bottle

Music Frozen Dancing is upon us again, with suggested donations benefiting the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless! Go and donate!

We last listened to Hot Snakes from the medical tent at September’s Riot Fest. Since then, they’ve released the first two of four seasonal 7-inch singles leading up to the next LP: the burner “Checkmate” and wonderfully plodding laziness anthem “I Shall Be Free”. (The latter’s 7-inch has “A Place in the Sun” as an exclusive.)

Hot Snakes also play Sunday night at the Bottle with an opening set from post punk band Pink Avalanche.

Allentown hardcore band Pissed Jeans haven’t released anything since 2017′s Why Love Now, but they’re thankfully back to warm your pants before Hot Snakes. Maybe they’ll have some new songs to play?

Local industrial duo HIDE (artist Heather Gabel and percussionist Seth Sher) released their second album last year, the raw, disgusting Hell is Here. The drum programming and screaming is just as cringingly visceral as the recorded sounds of vomit hitting a toilet that end opening track “Chainsaw”.

Synth band Crash Course in Science, arty The Hecks, and local punk band Hitter also open.

[areyouscarletcold]

Concerning November and Beyond

I’ve been going back and forth on this decision for nearly two months now, but I’ve finally decided to announce it: for the first time in four years, I'm doing NaNoWriMo again!

This may not seem like a big deal, but the last project I finished was a first draft of a novel that got entirely scrapped, and NaNoWriMo has always been difficult for me to finish in the past due to word counts, being busy, and having no motivation whatsoever. However, I’ve solidified what I’m going to be writing this year after warring between three different ideas (one of which was to add onto BBST until it was finished, but I kinda want to complete BBST without 50k hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles, thanks), so I decided fuck it, I’m writing this au if it kills me.

Which...is ironic, given what fic I’m writing, actually.

I’m not going to spoil anything, for reasons, but I’ll be posting excerpts for Six Sentence Sunday once my challenge of Writober ends - though, here’s a hint, if you follow me on Twitter...I’ve already posted a few excerpts ;) so look into that. And I can say that while this fic may not be for everyone, both ship and content-wise, I’m looking forward to getting it written and to seeing reactions from those of you who don’t and definitely do know what’s coming cough cough Kate cough.

So what I will tell you is:

this fic is currently titled but me you have forgotten

it’s a horror au, which I’m definitely loving and hating myself for already

the current ships I have down are Flashvibe, Parkwest (potentially adding Eddie into this one, but I haven’t decided), Killergold, and Shawna Baez x Patty Spivot. Because, of course, I can’t seem to write anything but rarepairs and Coldflash lately though I will say there’s a reason I forwent Coldflash for this fic because believe me, I thought about it a LOT

this fic will be 7 chapters total, and I’m holding myself accountable now to not go over that limit despite the 50k I’m fighting to hit

I’ll be posting moodboards either throughout November or once I accomplish my goal, because I’ve made quite a few for these characters

As for my other writing priorities (aka BBST, gen fics I have planned, prompts, etc.), I will be keeping up with those as well throughout November. I’m determined to try and finish at least writing, if not posting, BBST before the end of 2019, and I highly doubt it will take me long unless I keep at writing. After all, I do have certain scenes started from way back in April of last year, so it’s just getting to those scenes that’ll be hard. And for now, prompts are going to stay open unless I get spammed with 20+ like last time, so I may try and ask for some little ficlets to write every now and then.

This week, Chapter 15 of BBST may be going up, depending on how much progress I make on Chapter 16 before October ends, and I do have a gen ficlet that will be posted tomorrow thanks to Kate and I brainstorming again for another au but it was totally worth it and the au is fabulous, so who cares. So look forward to those coming up!

Overall, I’m kind of excited? And terrified? And if I manage to pull NaNoWriMo off for the first time in literal years, I’m probably going to throw myself a party, not gonna lie. Though, I need y’all to please hold me accountable if you see me whining about not wanting to write or posting things I said I would, because I’m not letting myself slide back down that rabbit hole of depression. Not again.

[daughtersofexiles]

Hiatus; Lucille Delancey

|| So, to make a very long story short, my grandfather died— we knew it would eventually come, but he took a sudden turn in the last 24 hours. Since a lot of Lucille Delancey’s characterization comes from some personal stuff I’m putting under the cut to get off of my chest, I need to put her on hiatus until I can process some shit. I have always used Lucille as a way to vent in a way, but the things I’m feeling right now make it very hard to pin down her character. If we have threads, I’ll be saving them for when I can focus.

Wall of text under the cut i might delete later. It’s more my way of getting this out than anything else/

I’m gonna be blunt bc I don’t believe in sugarcoating it: my grandfather was an extremely abusive alcoholic towards my mom and uncle when they were kids up until my grandmother divorced him. The part about Phineas Delancey pointing a gun at Morris when their mom was threatening to leave? Came from my grandfather. Having Oscar beat Morris with a belt to punish them both when drunk? Happened to my mom and uncle when they were >10. Got so high off of uppers at work that he needed to drink in order to make himself calm down—even having his kids pick up his drugs once? Grandfather did it throughout my mom’s childhood. Had tons of affairs and didn’t even bother hiding it? Yep, grandfather. He was bad enough that he told my mom she was dead to him after she called the cops when he tried to strangle my grandmother to death— and my mom ended up paying for her own car insurance and repairs from that day on at 16 as a punishment. His new wife once threatened to kill my older sister and I after I was born (so 1.5 years old and like 3 months old) when my mom went back to work at the hospital night shift just because she hates her for being his “real” daughter… and he did nothing and is still married to her.

He did so much more that makes me feel sick to even think about, and i don’t know if I can forgive him like my mom has— especially when he hasn’t ever been a man enough to apologize for what he’s done even after he stopped drugs and drinking. My mom and my uncle are the real victims. I based most of the anger management and trauma that I write Lucille and her brothers having on what I have seen in my family. Hell, Violet has a little bit of it too, because it is so deeply rooted in my memories. My mom constantly worries about how she handled things when my sister and I were kids, because she never knows if she was too harsh or manipulative like he was. I remember once when my grandfather was coming to our church, and she had a panic attack before we left even though he’d been sober for over five years just at the thought of seeing him.

He always had the chance to talk to us, but my mom told him he had to be sober first. He didn’t get sober until I was 10 years old— I’d only ever seen him at funerals and the family reunion before then. I don’t blame her for it— he was known for manipulation and emotional abuse back then, and she refused to let us get hurt like she was. How did we find out? He stalked my mother’s Facebook to find out we would be in another state seeing his ex-wife’s family (my great grandma), drove 12 hours to their house, and showed up to say he was a changed man and was now going to church again— when he lived just 30 minutes away from our house. He has missed every graduation, chorus concert, theatre production, birthday party, and church function; he has never sent a single goddamn card, or called me on my birthday, or even checked in on me to see how I was doing after my wreck. Hell, when I had my wreck (in which I flipped my car three times), he was so far from a priority to call in the family that my mom called his sister with every update as I was being released from the trauma unit, who then called to tell him when I was being released and we all realized no one thought to inform him until almost 12 hours later. My mom never lied to us; she told us the truth as long as we were old enough to understand. Your grandfather lives in (city) turned into a later discussion on how that city is only 10 minutes from our church, his behavior was explained as him being very mean at times to us being told he was an alcoholic and abusive when she was growing up, and so on.

Right now, I’m honestly angry at him, because I don’t even have a picture of myself with him to post on Facebook, or a memory to talk about at his visitation. We have had a family reunion every year for sixteen years this October, and never once did he ask for a picture with me. I’ve got pictures of me at that reunion with my great aunt, my second cousins, my great grandmother… but not my own grandfather. Now he’s dead, and I never will have a picture with him. I got to see him Sunday, and he told me he loved me, but I’ve never felt loved by him. I’ve always felt like I was a piece of his past life he didn’t want to deal with; he raised his step-grandchildren and put them in expensive private schools and paid their college tuition, but never even sent his own granddaughter a birthday card or acknowledged her graduation announcement (either one!!). I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I wish I had more to say than asking why the hell he didn’t try before he knew he was dying, let alone try to reach out in the three months of hospice. He never went on bedrest or painkillers until today, so why couldn’t he attempt to speak to me? I shouldn’t have had to beg my own grandfather to want me in his life.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

praescitum chapter eleven, part one

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten

casefile, season 10, season 11, 11x03 plus one. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

note: so yes, i am posting chapter 11 in two parts. it’s the plus one chapter, and it got excessively long, but i didn’t think it would work to split it into two chapters completely. 

i borrowed some of the section at the end from a fic i wrote in the middle of season 11, sofas and ikea. 

warning for descriptions of a crime scene, and also for the discussion of the crimes in plus one. 

---

eleven. (pt 1)

october, 2017

Scully has been strangely spooked ever since the whole Perlieu ordeal.

At first, she thinks it's because of the break-in, the jumpiness that didn't quite leave her for those few days as a result of almost being killed multiple times. She thinks she might have come home too soon, at first, that it's too soon to be alone after almost dying; she's halfway tempted to ask Mulder to come back to the house with her, although she knows she can't. She keeps jumping at small noises, fumbling frantically for her gun or her light, hearing things. She has the cameras do multiple scans, and there are never intruders, but she ends up sleeping with Daggoo right by her side and her phone within easy reach to call for backup or for Mulder if Perlieu comes back.

Even after it becomes clear that Perlieu is not coming for them, she remains jumpy. Remains liable to startle at the sound of the house settling, or the beeps and buzzes of the “smart” features of the house, or Daggoo's toenails on the floor boards. She tries to throw herself into work at home, or books, or the movies that play on TV. Nothing seems to work. She keeps thinking she's hearing things. The house suddenly seems too quiet; she gets into the habit of leaving the TV on too loud, turning on music in the kitchen while she cooks or loads the dishwasher. She feels ridiculous, but the silence suddenly seems too heavy, too cloaking. Daggoo hovers by her feet, sticking to her side instead of retiring to his dog bed; she's grateful for the company.

Scully honestly can't decide if she's being foolish for not just calling Mulder and making amends, or foolish for getting so spooked and wanting to call him in the first place. She tries to ignore either possibility. In the caseless week that follows their ordeal, she goes home each night, makes a small meal, sits down on her couch and goes over the autopsy reports from the serial killer case. But she can't quite shake the paranoia. She's halfway tempted to lug her flashlight from room to dark room, or roam the house turning all the lights on.

One night in the middle of the week, she's at the mirror brushing her teeth when she sees it: a dark, hulking shape in the hall behind her.

She's frozen in place Daggoo barks once, sharply, and Scully jolts, whirling on her heel to find the hallway dark but empty. No alerts from the computers that run the house; she'd recognize the alarms. And when she turns back to the mirror, she finds it empty, too.

She shakes her head disapprovingly at her reflection, runs her fingers sharply through her hair and ignores the way they tremble. Spits in the sink, tells herself she's imagining things, the same way she imagined things in that hotel hallway two years ago. Scoops Daggoo up and goes to bed, pretending she doesn't push the door until it clicks closed, pretending she turns on the television only because she wants to catch up on the news, pretending she doesn't desperately want to call Mulder.

---

Mulder and Scully spend their entire first week back at work fixing all the issues of their run-in with Perlieu: going to hearings, giving statements, collecting evidence. Scully spends several hours touching base with the team on that serial killer case, clarifying things about the autopsy reports and doing a couple more. Mulder calls in cleaners to at the very least get all of the destroyed furniture out of the house; he'll worry about new furniture later. He couldn't bear to pick things out without Scully, and that's a bit of a sore subject personally anyway. He's spent a decent amount of time kicking himself for that little comment about the furniture, and he's not quite done yet.

He spends his spare moments in the office reviewing and re-reviewing the Willoughby files. Noting similarities of sightings, trying to collect more information on the Holly Smith death. He halfway considers calling John Doggett before deciding against that; he probably shouldn't be asking for any favors from the guy. He combs through the Bureau system for any mention of Ian or Marion or Jared Caruthers. He hasn't decided whether or not to officially reopen the file on Willoughby and the Specter, mostly because Ryan still refuses to explain why he needs Mulder to look into his parents’ murders. He's communicating through email now, sending Mulder a list of recent sightings he's heard about in Willoughby, but every time Mulder asks why they're corresponding, he refuses to answer, and just sends more sightings.

Things remain awkward with Scully. She's amicable, of course, and he likes to think he is, too, but a new distance has sprung up that barely makes sense in the wake of everything else. She doesn't ask to have dinner with him, or ask him to come over, and he doesn't dare bring it up. They spend weekdays from eight to five together, and that is the extent of it, aside from a few friendly texts. He doesn't know how to fix things, and he's not sure she does, either. At one point, he said he would take what he could get, and he never, ever wants to push her, but he's not sure he can take being only Friendly, Too-Close Co-workers anymore.

By Sunday, Mulder is bored stiff, with no cases on the horizon and no Scully to do nothing with. He takes the Willoughby files home for the weekend, but he nearly has them memorized by now, and he doesn't want to read over them for the millionth time. He could probably use a pair of fresh eyes, but he doesn't want to ask Scully, considering how their last conversation about Willoughby went. And so Sunday is the day he finally breaks down and drives to Willoughby to see if he can get a copy of the Caruthers murder file.

(He texts Scully before he leaves, just in case she decides to drop by. He doesn't want her to panic if she were to come home and find him not there. And besides that, he doesn't want to feel like he's hiding things from her. He lingers awkwardly in the driveway, leaning against the car and nudging his sunglasses up and down the bridge of his nose until Scully answers, somewhat hoping she'll want to come along. But she just tells him to be careful and let her know if he needs anything, and so he leaves it at that.)

Sheriff O'Connell isn't at the station when Mulder arrives—the receptionist says he and his family are on vacation—but Deputy Jacobs is there, and he's fairly nice to Mulder about the whole thing. He photocopies most of the file for Mulder to take with him, curious about why Mulder wants to investigate again. “Just a lingering curiosity,” Mulder lies. “Boredom, you know. Have there been many sightings lately?”

Deputy Jacobs shrugs. “A few. Maybe more that haven't been reported. But nothing major since last year, as far as I know—since that stuff with the school, and Joy Seers's car accident.”

Mulder nods. “The activity seems to be somewhat restricted to the fall and winter, right?” he asks after a beat, his eyes falling on a photo of the crime scene. Bloody floor and scratch marks in the woods—from fingernails, he guesses.  

“Somewhat,” says Deputy Jacobs. “In my experience.” They stand in silence for a few minutes more as he copies the last of the papers. He doesn't speak again until he's bundling the papers into a folder; he says, casually, “Jared Caruthers is due for parole soon, you know.”

“What?” Mulder says, caught off guard.

“Jared Caruthers. The murderer.” Deputy Jacobs waves the file around for emphasis before passing it to Mulder. “Getting paroled for good behavior. But who knows if he's going to come here.”

“Hmm.” Mulder takes the thick folder and tucks it into his bag. “What are the people around town saying?” he asks knowingly.

Jacobs laughs, a sharp barking sound. “Some say he's gonna come for Ryan and finish the job,” he says. “Others say he and Ryan are going to team up and go on a killing spree. I think it's all bullshit.” He motions to the bag with his chin. “Let us know if you find anything, Agent Mulder. And tell… what was your partner's name? Agent Sullivan?”

“Agent Scully,” says Mulder.

“Agent Scully. Tell her I said hello.”

Mulder nods, silently wondering if he'll have an avenue to tell Scully that Deputy Jacobs from Willoughby says hello. He thanks the deputy and leaves.

At home that night, he reviews the case again. He doesn't remember much from when he and Scully reviewed it back in 2015, aside from the basic details. He's able to piece together the details from the investigative reports and witness testimonies.

The murders took place on May 19, 2002. According to Ian Caruther's co-workers, he left the office at five o'clock, the usual time; one coworker in particular noted that he seemed somewhat nervous, and reacted strangely when asked how his brother was doing (in reference to the death of Holly Smith), which surely only added to the suspicion towards Jared. Jared and Marion's whereabouts were unknown, as Marion was still staying at home with the baby (she was a teacher, and had taken a year's worth of leave) and Jared had recently been fired from his job. From the hours of five to ten, no one saw the Caruthers. There was no sign of them until the first 9-1-1 call, time-stamped at approximately 10:27 p.m. The call made by Jared. The transcript reveals nothing of the emotions in the actual phone call, whether or not Jared was hysterical, fearful or calm and collected, but Mulder can't help but read it as hysterical. My brother's been hurt. Please, I need your help. It's him and his wife… I think they've been stabbed… oh, Jesus Christ. Willoughby Woods Apartment Building, please hurry, oh fucking Christ.

The second 9-1-1 call was placed around ten minutes later, made by a neighbor. This transcript lays out the scene more carefully: the neighbor returned home from a friend's house and ran into Jared in the hallway, reportedly covered in blood. The neighbor asked if he needed help; Jared ran away. A few steps further, and he came across the bodies, bloody and prone in the hallway. He took their pulse to no avail; both were very dead. He could hear the baby crying.

The police responded to the scene and pronounced Marion and Ian Caruthers dead on the scene. They'd been dead for only an hour or two. The baby was found unharmed. An examination of the crime scene found candles—some lit, some unlit and overturned, some arranged in a circle around a Ouija board, religious paraphernalia like a Bible, crosses, a bowl shattered on the ground in a puddle of water. Mulder peruses the crime scene photos with interest—the scene certainly suggests a deeper involvement with the Specter. He vaguely remembers hearing something about things like this at the crime scene a couple years ago, remembers thinking that was significant. He paper-clips them together and sets them aside for another look.

Jared Caruthers was spotted buying explosive materials in a hardware store two towns over before being found and apprehended in the old cemetery down the street from the apartment. He had changed clothes, but the shirt he'd been wearing at the time of the murder was found in the trunk of his car with Ian and Marion's blood on it. Skin residues were found under his fingernails, also matching the DNA of the victims. The blade of the knife stuffed under his seat had been wiped clean of blood, but his fingerprints were still on it. (They found traces of Marion Caruthers's fingerprints as well, but that's mostly skimmed over.) One testimony reports that, when they cuffed him, Jared began to weep. (“But I dunno if it was out of guilt, or cause he got caught.”)

He refused to say anything, but they had more than enough evidence to convict him. He eventually signed a statement confessing to the murders. Supposed open-and-shut case, and Mulder still has no idea why Ryan wanted him to look into this.

He goes back to the crime scene photos, the fuzzy images of a scene that looks like it's right out of a horror movie. It's the fact that he keeps coming back to. Had Jared Caruthers planned this, in an attempt to pin the murders on some supernatural force? Or had the Willoughby Specter interfered, somehow? Joy Seers believes the ghost is demonic, and after his own encounter, Mulder can understand why. And he knows Ryan doesn't have any lost love for the ghost. But what does he think the ghost's involvement in his parents’ deaths? Does he suspect that his parents weren't murdered at all?

Mulder has copies of the autopsy reports, but that's never been his strong suit; he'd love to ask Scully to look them over. He tucks the cluster of papers back into the folder and scribbles a note to himself to review the crime scene photos.

He's settling into the couch to watch TV for the night when he gets a call from Skinner about a case in Henrico County.

---

Sunday night, Scully goes to bed early. She hasn't been sleeping well, either from paranoia or from a general sense of unrest, and she's trying to catch up on rest while they don't have a case. (She halfway expected a follow-up text to Mulder's announcement that he was driving down to Willoughby to the day to pick up a file, gently prodding her to come along, but it never came. She admits she doesn't love the idea of looking into the Willoughby case again, as paranoid as she's been this past week, but she expected Mulder to ask her to accompany him. She supposes he must still be upset about what happened the other week, and is mostly telling her where he's going as a formality. She told him to be careful.)

She spends Sunday evening watching a documentary on National Geographic; she's tempted to text Mulder a few times, out of the familiar twinge of missing him that she gets when they don't stay together (which they've done at least once or twice a week for almost a year now; this may be the longest period that one of them hasn't stayed at the other's house), but she holds off. She watches the documentary, and then she goes to bed, breaking her usual habit and taking a sleeping pill. She halfway thinks she deserves it, after a week of near-constant jumpiness and anxiety.

She has strange dreams. Strange, shadowy dreams that leave her with a sense of dread. There's someone that she's looking for that she can't find, and she has no idea whether it's Mulder or William.

Scully wakes up suddenly to a sharp, shrill sound, jolting in bed as if awakening from a bad nightmare. She's shivering, the tension hard in her muscles; she can feel the aches and pains from the Perlieu ordeal again, the bruises stinging. She groans, blinking blearily, and rolls over on her stomach, and the source of the sound becomes clear: Daggoo is standing on the edge of the bed, barking furiously at the door.

Scully shakes her head hard, running her fingers through her hair and sitting up in bed. She scoops up Daggoo and shushes him firmly, sets him down on the other side of the bed. “You hush,” she says firmly, reaching over to turn on her lamp. Her fingers slip on the switch, hearing the empty click with no accompanying light. She flips it a few more times, cursing under her breath: burnt-out bulb. She climbs to her feet, shivering as her feet hit the cold floor, heading for the door to get another bulb; she might as well change it now.

But she freezes in her tracks when she hears the creaking of floorboards on the other side of the door. It takes a second or two for her to remember that she's alone, that Mulder isn't here and the house is empty, and her breath catches in her throat in fear.

Footsteps creak on the other side, slow squeaking footfalls. Daggoo stands on the bed, growling at the door.

Scully forces herself to take a deep breath, another. Forces herself not to think of the cruel smile of a dark figure in the hallway of a Willoughby hotel. Walks carefully, quietly to her dresser and retrieves her gun from her holster. She walks to the door with her weapon held out in front of her, shushes Daggoo quietly and pushes the door open abruptly. “Federal agent, I'm armed!” she shouts, aiming the gun. But the hallway is empty.

Breathing uneasily, Scully steps out into the hall, the automatic lights flickering on. (Why the hell didn't her friend who rented her the house put automatic lights in the bedroom?) She doesn't bother turning them back off, like she’s done so often out of irritation. She walks the house, lights coming on with a soothing regularity, clearing every room, and finds the whole place empty. Daggoo paces the house behind her, growling under his breath. Scully checks every room twice, checks the cameras and the security system, and there is nothing. No intruder. No alerts. No signs of anything walking around the house except for her and the dog.

Scully blinks tiredly, rubbing at her eyes. She must be going insane. She doesn't want to consider any other possibilities. She reminds herself that she is nowhere near Willoughby, Virginia. She reminds herself that ghosts don't exist. They don't.

She scoops up Daggoo, restless and wriggling, and walks back to her bedroom. The lamp is still burned out, but she doesn't have the energy to change it. She shuts the door firmly, places the gun on her bedside table, climbs into bed and screws her eyes shut. She's exhausted. She just wants to go to sleep. She doesn't want to think about ghosts, or intruders, or anything of that sort. It's your imagination, she tells herself firmly as Daggoo curls dutifully into her side. You're imagining things.

She burrows in under the covers, ignoring any temptation to call Mulder or to recheck the house. Ignoring the slow squeak coming from the bathroom door down the hall swinging open, slow and eerie as a horror movie cliche. It's the house, she tells herself, the mechanics are malfunctioning. That must be it, because she can certainly hear the hinges squeaking painfully slow, but there's no intruder, she checked. And there is no such thing as ghosts. She grits her teeth and slides further under the covers like a child trying to hide, her eyes remaining shut even as her hand itches to grab for her gun.  

She can hear another door creaking, and she caves in and reaches for her phone, opening her messages from Mulder without a second thought. They've been together for years, she should be brave enough to tell him that she's hearing things, even if it's irrational. But she pauses when she sees her most recent unopened message from Mulder. Skinner's given us a new case. Not Willoughby. I'll have the details tomorrow morning at work.

It's professional enough to make her take pause, make her shake off this silly fear. She works her jaw back and forth and texts back, See you then, pretending she isn't disappointed at this new distance between them. She's being ridiculous. The house is malfunctioning, that's probably the thing she mistook as footsteps earlier. They'll start a new case tomorrow, and it'll get her mind off of Willoughby and the Specter and the break-in. She'll be back to normal in no time.

She turns off her phone screen and lays back against the mattress. It seems as if Daggoo has calmed down, fallen asleep curled against her, and she strokes a hand over his belly before closing her eyes and concentrating on the sound of their breathing. It's almost soothing, the steadiness of it, and she can feel herself slowly drifting off to sleep.

She bites back a startled yelp when she hears the bang of the doors slamming closed, Daggoo breaking into angry, yipping barks again. She pulls the covers over her head and rolls over onto her side.

---

Scully doesn't sleep well, despite the sleeping pill. She's absolutely exhausted the next morning, but she gets up and goes into work anyway, because what the hell else is she going to do? She's imagining things, or there's something wrong with the computer that runs the house, but she cannot let herself linger over these things. She eats her bagel and drinks her morning coffee, packs a bag for a few nights out of instinct, drops Daggoo off at the neighbor's, and drives to work.

Mulder's thumbing through an unfamiliar file when she comes in, sitting at the desk, lost in the work. (They still only have one desk, through no fault of Mulder's; he's called upstairs multiple times about another one to no avail. Scully is a little thrown by the fact that no one has managed to scrape up another desk in the two years they've been back, but it hardly seems to matter. They take turns with this one, most of the time, and it isn't as if she isn't annoyingly used to the whole thing.) “That the new case?” Scully asks, shutting the door behind her.

Mulder looks up from what seems to be a photo, his eyes softening a little like he's happy to see her. She swallows back any discomfort at their chaste, nearly formal exchanges yesterday, and offers him a small smile. “Scully, hey,” he says. “Yeah, I'm just… going through the details of it all.”

Scully steps closer to the desk, motioning to the photo in his hand. “Is that the victim?”

He looks down at the photo and nods. “Mm-hmm.” Swiveling the photo to face her, Scully sees a young man with a swelled, bruised face. “Arkie Seavers, age 20,” says Mulder. “Currently a resident of the county jail.”

Scully takes the photo to examine it herself. “What does the other guy look like?”

“Funny you should ask,” Mulder says, motioning to the photo. “Arkie there wasn't in a fight. Car crash, head-on collision into a tree. Drunk as a skunk.”

“He's lucky to be alive,” Scully says as she takes a seat.

“You have no idea,” says Mulder.

“Not wearing a seat belt, I suspect.”

“To hear Arkie tell it,” Mulder says as he gets to his feet and rounding the desk to stand near her chair, “he didn't have time to fasten his seatbelt, 'cause he was too busy beating a hasty retreat from the boy he says caused the accident.”

“And who was that?” she asks.

“You're looking at him,” says Mulder.

She raises her eyebrows questioningly  at him, maybe even a little playfully. “No. Not me,” he says, just a little bit playful back, and points at the photo in her hand.

“What, he blames himself?” she asks, looking back at the photo.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I don't get it, Mulder,” she says.

Mulder picks up a side view of the victim, holding it up for effect. “Arkie, our hapless road warrior, is driving by his lonesome, down the highway to hell, when he sees another Arkie—” He scoops up another mug shot, framed opposite of the first one, and mimes the situation with the two photos as he continues: “—across from him, who grabs the wheel and crashes the vehicle.”

“Well, you did say he was drunk,” says Scully, rolling her eyes a little.

“Yes, and I know what you're gonna say about seeing double and all those hackneyed bromides about not giving the kids the car keys—”

“20 is hardly a kid,” she interrupts.

“—but circumstances bear a curious similarity to the stories told by other good folk who didn't share Arkie Seavers' luck of the Irish, and who also reported seeing their doubles right before dying.” He sits back at the desk, across from her, and passes her a bundle of photos.

“And how did these people die?” she asks.

“Each by their own hand.”

“After seeing their doubles?” She thumbs through the photos, briefly noting that the state of the bodies do seem to suggest suicide.

“According to all reports issuing out of Henrico County, Virginia.”

“Reports issued by whom?”

“Friends, relatives. A doctor.” He nods towards her.

“And the medical diagnosis is…?” she asks.

“A rare form of schizophrenia.”

She chuckles a little. “Right. So rare I've never heard of it.”

“Well, correct me if I'm wrong, Scully, and I know that you will, but schizophrenics have been known to hear voices and have reported hallucinations similar to the ones Arkie reports,” he points out.

“Hallucinations, yes, but not necessarily grabbing the wheel of a car and ramming it into a tree,” she points out right back.

“Well, they didn't all die from car crashes into trees,” he says. “Seven died from hanging, four jumped off a tall bridge, um, three—”

She looks at him in astonishment, that he didn't think to mention this before. “This is a mass phenomenon.”

“Precisely my thinking, Scully, which is why you and I are gonna jump on I-95 South this morning and get back to our bread and butter,” he replies, getting to his feet and grabbing his coat.

Her eyebrows raised, she gets to her feet and sets the photos down on the desk. “We seem to have a habit of getting into cases of mass, supposedly supernatural phenomena in small Virginia towns,” she comments.

“Precisely, Scully. Bread and butter.” Mulder is pulling on his coat at the door; he waggles his eyebrows playfully at her. “Got to bring home a paycheck somehow, right?”

“Are you getting reimbursed for road trips to Willoughby?” she asks, and she means it to sound playful, but she's worried it comes off as the opposite. She clears her throat, adds in what she hopes is a light tone, “Has Ryan Caruthers clarified why he wants you to look into this again? Do we need to reopen the Willoughby file?”

Mulder shakes his head. “He just wanted me to investigate the murder of his parents,” he says. “I'm considering it a side project.”

“Mm.” She bites her lower lip as she gathers her things, pretending she isn't relieved, just a little. “Focusing on more relevant things?”

“Exactly.” He smiles a little at her, and she smiles back, strangely nervous. She wonders, briefly, if she should tell him about the weird things she heard last night before deciding against it. It was just a computer malfunction, it's not important. And she doubts Mulder will really care about issues with the house she's living in separately from him.

They leave the office together, side by side, ride the elevator up to the parking garage.

---

They end up driving to Henrico County separately. Scully still isn't quite sure how it happens. One minute, she's commenting on the distance away from the county—a little two hours, close enough to drive but far enough that they'll have to get a hotel—and the next thing she knows, Mulder's commenting on how it might even be more efficient to take two cars, in case they have to split up a lot, and she can't tell if he's kidding or not (she thinks he might be, but it's honestly hard to tell), and she's agreeing that it might be efficient. And then the next thing she knows, they're exiting the parking garage in separate cars. It happens so fast it stuns her.

The drive is too long, too quiet. Scully starts an audio book on Audible just to fill up the silence. She looks in the mirror every few minutes and sees Mulder right behind her, and she's just left wondering how this whole thing happened. She still can't believe she reacted that way on the couch, after everything that happened.

The two of them drive straight to the Henrico County Jail to talk to Arkie Seavers, and from there, they go to the crash site. Despite Arkie's history of DUIs and drugs, Mulder seems to believe his insistence that his doppelganger is responsible. He counters Scully's logical arguments with the point that Arkie probably doesn't have the wherewithal to make it up. They go to the local psychiatric hospital, where they discuss things with a doctor there, who classifies the other recent deaths as similar to Arkie's incident in the supposed involvement of doppelgangers. They speak to a patient named Judy whose walls are plastered with games of Hangman, who claims to play telepathically with her brother. Scully's not so sure she believes that part of it, but Mulder locates a game of Hangman with an answer of Arkie on the wall, and she can't quite dismiss it as a coincidence, despite Judy's denial of knowing Arkie Seavers.

By this time, it's getting late, and when Mulder suggests they call it quits for the day, Scully certainly isn't going to argue. They head to a local restaurant for dinner, but there must be some kind of local event, because it takes them an hour and a half just to get food. By the time they finally reach the local St. Rachel Motel, it's past 11:00, and Scully is exhausted.

They ring the doorbell, and hear a shouted, “Coming!” from somewhere inside. A woman appears behind the sliding glass door, pushing it open.

“Hi, we'd like a couple rooms,” says Scully, almost automatically. They haven't  shared a hotel room on purpose since Willoughby; they've stuck to the formality of separate ones. And she certainly doesn't  expect that to change, especially in the wake of all their newfound awkwardness.

“Do you have reservations?” the woman asks.

“No,” Scully says. She senses what's coming; of course they wouldn't be able to get a room in this tiny town after she barely slept the night before. Just their luck. “Uh, do you have any rooms?”

“I've had a cancellation,” says the woman. “It's just a suite.”

“We'll take it,” says Mulder, speaking for the first time since they've gotten here. No hesitation or anything of that sort. She turns to look at him in shock—although she's not sure what the source of the shock is. Because of this strange new distance, because she thought he was angry at her for pulling away? Because the last time they were offered only one hotel room, he seemed nervous and looked to her for answers, offered to go somewhere else? She isn't sure how to react, isn't sure if she's eager or terrified. She thinks of holding her phone in her hand the night before, wrestling with whether or not to call him. He looks back at her with a degree of surprise, too, and she doesn't know why. A degree of awkwardness, maybe, and that makes more sense.

“There's a pullout sofa,” the clerk assures them.

“Okay,” says Scully, because what else is she supposed to say? She's made Mulder up a bed in the guest room, told him goodnight from her bedroom door and lay alone between stiff, cold sheets wishing he was there. The same way he’s made up his guest room for her. This is no different, is it? Maybe this is the push they need to get back to the place they were in a week ago.

She looks back over at Mulder as the woman walks away, and he's shaking his head  innocently, maybe even a little apologetically. “Just trying to get some shut-eye.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” she says, walking past him. She doesn't know what else to say. Doesn't know if he's upset with her, doesn't know how to make things right with them. She wishes to god she did. She misses him, misses the way she felt those nights in Willoughby where they fell asleep holding hands. She almost wishes there wasn't a pullout sofa, but at the same time, she's relieved there is.

They get up to the suite, a two-roomed thing with a bedroom and a joint bathroom and living room. Door between the couch and the bed. Mulder is trailing behind her, drops his suitcase in the corner of the room. “I can take the couch bed if you want,” he says, noble as he always is.   

“Don't be ridiculous, Mulder,” she replies immediately, combing her hair out of her face with her fingertips. “With your back problems, and everything that happened with Perlieu…”

“My back is fine, Scully. And besides that, I've gotten in the habit of sleeping on the couch every now and then.” She turns to him in surprise, her eyebrows raising. He shrugs. “Couch at home folds out. Closer to the kitchen and the office. Aside from the nights we fall asleep on the couch… sometimes I sleep there because it's easier. More convenient.”

He sleeps on the couch sometimes when she's not there. She didn't know that. She swallows. She wants to ask him to share the bed. She should ask, she should make some effort to close this gap between them, but the words are caught in her throat. “All the more reason for you to take the bed,” she says instead.

“Come on, Scully, I'm used to it.” He smiles at her gently, and she thinks about kissing him, touching his face and asking him to stay, telling him that she's sorry, she's so sorry, and she doesn't want to sleep alone.

She twists her hair away from her face, says briskly, “I'm going to take a shower.” She can feel his eyes on her as she goes to the bed, unzips her suitcase and removes her pajamas. It is too late, near midnight, and her bones are aching, old bruises sore and fatigue clouding her mind.

She takes a hot shower in the other room (why the hell would they put the bathroom in the room that is not the bedroom?), and Mulder is sprawled out of the couch bed when she gets out, gray t-shirt hanging on his frame. It makes a sudden lump rise in her throat. “Nice digs?” he asks, and she nods, unable to speak. “You should get some sleep,” he offers. “We have a meeting with Arkie and his lawyer first thing in the morning.”

She's still tempted to ask him back to the bed, but sleepiness outweighs her need for him, and she ultimately decides against it. Not tonight. Maybe it's because she's tired or maybe it's because she's scared, but whatever the case, she isn't going to go any further. She doesn't know how he feels towards her right now, she doesn't know how how to make things right. “Right,” she says. “God knows we could both use some shut eye.” The reason, according to Mulder, that they'd taken the damn hotel room.

“Right,” he says. He's looking at her warily, almost nervously, but still smiling.

She smiles back. She can't help it. They're still too scared to do anything, but this might be enough for now. They can pretend that nothing’s wrong. “Good night, Mulder,” she says, stepping closer to the couch bed. She brushes a hand over his shoulder before crossing to the door.

“Good night, Scully,” he says, just before she closes the door.

---

Scully's so tired that she can't see straight, but nearly as soon as she lies down, she finds herself restless. She sleeps in fitful snatches, tossing and turning, jumping at small noises. Silly fear from what happened the night before, she tells herself, but telling herself that doesn't make the fear go away. She shifts from one side to another, trying to focus on her breathing, the buzz of the air conditioning, anything but every small, mundane sound, when she hears the footsteps behind her. Startled, motivated by the fear lingering from the night before, she flips over in a panic.

She finds Mulder standing there, sheepish and apologetic. “Mulder,” she sighs wearily, lying flat on her back in defeat, “what are you doing?”

“That bed nice and comfy?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Mulder, go back to sleep,” she chides, because she's not in the mood for a discussion right now. She doesn't care if he goes back to the couch bed or climbs right in beside her, she just wants a good night's sleep.

“I wish that I could, Scully,” he says. “They just found Arkie Seavers dead in his jail cell.”

She sits up in bed in astonishment. “You're kidding,” she says.

“I'm afraid not. They didn't give many details, but they wanted us to come down and check it out.” He gives her a small, apologectic smile. “I'm sorry. Maybe we can come back and catch a few more winks after we check out the crime scene.”

Scully yawns as she climbs to her feet, rubbing her forehead. “Is that a promise?”

“What's wrong, Scully? Haven't been sleeping well?” His voice is genuinely sympathetic, soft and warm in the way that reminds her of why she almost texted him the other night.

“That,” she says, reaching out to open her suitcase, “is an understatement, Mulder. But I'll be okay.”

“I'm sorry, Scully.” He presses his hand briefly to her back before crossing the room to exit. “Meet you in twenty minutes? I'll buy you some coffee.”

She stretches, biting back another yawn. “Sure. Thanks, Mulder.”

He smiles at her gently before closing the door. It's enough to make her forgive him for sneaking up on her, enough to make her want a lot of things.

Arkie Seavers is indeed dead, strangled with his own belt. Scully is ready to classify it as a suicide, and even Mulder admits that it's a possibility. But he seems to be firmly attached to the idea that Judy Poundstone and her brother are responsible. He cites them as their main two suspects. He keeps his promise, takes them back to the hotel to let her sleep, but he suggests that they go interview the siblings tomorrow.

“That sounds like a reasonable next step,” she says as they re-enter the hotel room. “I can go visit Judy before I do Arkie's autopsy tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” He bumps her elbow against hers lightly. “Right now, though, you should get some sleep.”

She smiles a little, just a little. Their detour to the jail was hardly a welcome interruption, but maybe she can finally get some sleep now. “Thank you, Mulder. Do me a favor and make sure I don't sleep too late.”

“I'll wake you up by eight,” he says teasingly. “Maybe nine.”

“Eight,” she says sternly—there’s no need to be unprofessional. “We can grab some breakfast before we go interview the siblings.” She's tempted to suggest they just interview the twins together instead of splitting up; it might not be very time-conservant, but it seems to make more sense.

“Good thing we thought to drive separately,” Mulder says before she can. He sounds a little awkward saying it, almost sad—like he regrets suggesting they drive separately in the first place—but still, he says it, and so Scully keeps her mouth shut. “That'll make tomorrow much easier.”

Scully yawns, rubbing at her eyes. “That's true,” she says sleepily.

Mulder opens the door, looking back over his shoulder. “Good night, Scully,” he says, for the second time that night. “Or… good morning, I guess.” He chuckles softly.

Scully chuckles, too, reaching down to unfasten her necklace. Her fingers accidentally curl around her ring where it hangs around her neck. “Good night, Mulder.”

The door closes softly behind him. Scully changes quickly and climbs back into bed, her eyes straying back to the door like a magnet. She slips her hand under her hair and unfastens her necklace, sliding the ring off, and closes her hand around it instinctually before setting it down on the bedside table and setting her cross down beside it. She touches the ring with the tip of one finger before curling up under the comforter, letting her eyes slide shut.

By some miracle, she manages to sleep dreamlessly and peacefully until the moment when Mulder wakes her back up. (At nine. Of course. She scolds him a little for being unprofessional, but secretly, she's grateful. They eat breakfast in the dining room together, hands accidentally bumping every time they reach for the salt or pepper or Sweet'n'Lows.)

[pathofvybez]

Honest Opinion of Myself

Hello Everyone,

Fun facts about me, I don’t know who the fuck I really am.

For the longest time I thought I was the man who had all the answers to my questions a stable rock who could suppress his emotions and past with ease. Someone for others to lean on and always be seen as the best.

Fuck was I wrong....

I recently had the worst breakup of my life and at first I just pondered why I could hurt the love of my life in the ways I did. I kept thinking I was a monster doubting all the work from my past thinking I do everything for selfish reasons. All of my problems rushing in and all of the times I fucked up clouding my mind.

Let me take a step back to help people understand this mind of mine.

When I got into my first relationship I was a happy junior in high school who just was happy to have someone in my life. I never no sexual knowledge but my SO did at the time. She cheated on me a week into our relationship. (got fingered by one of my friends in a photo booth at Disney world). I didn’t find this out until after our second time dating, but the damage was done. I had believed my lack of experience was the reason for our breakup, I couldn’t stand it and melted into goo when it happened my first love over.....

4 months later we started talking again..everything seemed fine but I still hadn’t known that she cheated on me. We went on 3 dates and all the time I had tried being more masculine and trying to impress her with my sexual dominance. Then I found out she cheated on me. 

We met up in the woods behind her house and planned to just make out, but my mind went numb I thought at this point that she would only love me if I was as rough as the other guys. I took initiative my heart racing my ears ringing and never even took the time to hear her say stop. I felt empowered and free. When I looked into her eyes though I realized the damage was done. She was fearful of me and for good reason. I pushed her boundaries and made what should feel like an amazing time traumatic. 

She called me a monster... guess that is where I adopted the name for myself.

Flash forward to college. (I had suppressed my memories at this point believing nothing had happened)

I got in a string of FWB but never went all the way, built up a rep to people though that I was someone who truly had pull. All of the girls I met I would make feel good just to justify that I was good, I never wanted anything really just wanted to make them feel good which in my mind had to be physical.

Then I met my first crush. It was my senior year of college, she and I were friends in an organization and hit it off fast. we spent every night hanging out till 3am and thought the world was our oyster. one problem was that she had a boyfriend. 

Her boyfriend wasn’t the best human in the world so I tried taking her away from him and pushing on my selfish motives so she could see I was the guy she would want. Instead all I did was have one of the most horrifying days of my life when I made her get hurt through a string of texts she sent to me the night she cut herself.

I have never been more helpless in my life up until that point....

We stopped talking after all of that till we became friends again(*friends*)

all was good I ended up graduating happy and in my own mind.. made a band loved it to death and spent most of my summer focused on that only.

Fall rolled around and I was in my feelings, met this girl at a soccer game and I gotta tell you I had no idea I would fall so hard for her. One problem with this was she identified as gay.

So obviously I wasn’t gonna push my selfish motives a second time in my life so I backed away...sorta

We started talking near the end of October and starting texting everyday never taking a breath to realize how fast we were bonding. By the end of November all of my friends doubted her intentions wondering if we would just be friends or be in love. I just enjoyed being happy with someone to talk too..it had been a minute since I could have someone to have such in depth conversations with.

texts became late night hangouts which became late night movies at the theatre I worked at which became almost a daily thing.

I think the week before we realized we were gonna date we had spent every day together in some capacity, I couldn’t get enough of her and as she would stay for my entire shift at a movie theatre on Sunday nights I could tell she couldn’t get enough of me.

So I finally asked her if she liked me in the most awkward way possible after she confessed that she identified as BI. She told me how much she liked me and we hit if off right away. Before our first date we said we were boyfriend and girlfriend and that really set the tempo...

Now here comes the problems..in all this time I never addressed the issue from my first relationship or other problems with my past. I just assumed burying them would make my life easy and I could just move on...wrong.

Fast forward a couple months and we decide to have sex..wow was I happy but boy did I hate condoms. Then it became something I was addicted too, I just wanted sex all the time. This became a problem as my love didn’t think the someway (most people don’t think the same way) but I would pressure her anyways (flag 1). We finally had a sit down after a while and talked about this problem I had and I promised to work on it thinking the problem was I just felt bored. I had no idea the problems stemmed way back in my life.

Months passed I love you was said and everything was great. Then I started falling back into my habit and my love had to tell me again to cool it and how it was bothering her. Little did we both know when she would shoot me down from having sex it just made me feel like I wasn’t good enough like how my first ex thought.

Again I promised to change and we went on being happy, the cycle continued...

Until July when after she came back from being home I bothered her after about going all the way one night even though she was adamant about my pushing her boundaries.

2 days later we talk about not having sex for a while..

Now at this point you all must be think gin (duhhh you should just not have sex)

But my dumbass decided to seek advice from those who never knew my girlfriend or those who just wanna tell me things I think I wanna hear.

So the next day I tell her how I do wanna have sex more after our period of break and healing. we also talk about our future get in a full fledge crying fight in the rain and resolve. (I went in for a make out session cause rom coms really made me believe that was the right thing)

The next day was great we ate dinner together watched our shows and I spent the night and it was lovely.

The day after not so much...I didn’t know why I was in a rut and said some awful things (oh yea I have mood swings we will get to that later). I told her how weird the night was and that she felt like a friend at the moment.

She didn’t tell me but she never went to work and instead got high with friends and I assumed the worst and thought she was gonna break up with me so I asked her if she was and that hit the nail on the coffin.

on our 7 month anniversary we broke up..now to all the people who didn't know all the drama from the past 4 days building up (almost everyone) the breakup was a big shock.

--------------------Post Breakup--------------

Almost done here everyone who actually reads this.

I started going to therapy where I found my flaws of co dependency I had built on this relationship cause of my fear of taking risks in my career and life. I also found out I had no control over my emotions which is why I typically had my past memories flood my mind all the time and never could really figure out how I felt. But the worst was realizing the relationship between my first ex dynamic and the one with my most recent ex.

I started seeking god and forgiveness. I tried contacting my ex to let her know how I had changed and that I'm still improving but I hope we could at least talk in the future. She still to this day has never reached out since the breakup. (we are only 3 weeks but it has felt like an eternity)

My ex had advocated for me to never look into trying to get back what I lost, and she is right I can’t get back what I lost. I know for now I am working on myself and that is what is best. But you all better know that when I am good I will get that girl back because I have never felt closer to someone in my life and I don’t want to lose a chance to have a life with her.

this is me signing off....

Noah

[skammovistarplus]

Culture and Translation - S01E05 and SKAM+ Clip 2

I will come back to the rest of the episode 2 clips, as well as episode 3 and 4. I just wanted to get this out of the way before @lightsandlostbells catches me off guard with a Skam España recap again. 😉

CLIP 1: Zaorejas goes international

Hometown: I remember this also coming up in some discussions of og Skam. In Spain, there was a big population shift from the 50s to the 70s where people moved from the small villages they came from, to the cities. Naturally, people kept the ancestral family home and didn’t sell it. So, when Cris is talking about visiting her hometown, it’s more her family’s hometown. She was probably born in Madrid, after the population shift.

Long weekend: the 12th of October fell on a Friday this year, so episode 5 fell on a three-day weekend. The 12th of October is a national holiday in Spain, and yes, it commemorates the anniversary of Christopher Columbus’ first arrival in the Americas. It used to be called Día de la Hispanidad (Hispanic Day), so as to celebrate… Spain’s… Connection to Latin America. Anyway. The name was changed to Fiesta Nacional (National Holiday) in 1987. We also celebrate Constitution Day on the 6th of December, which is similar to July 4 in the US and May 17 in Norway.

Eva was planning on studying Physics and Biology over the weekend. That means she’s on the Science track of Baccalaureate.

Zaorejas: Cris’ family hails from Zaorejas, in the region of Guadalajara. This village has 133 permanent residents as of 2017. If you wanted to do sightseeing, it has the remains of a Roman aqueduct, Roman roads and a Celtiberian archeological site.

Hulio: Hulio is a well known Spanish meme that people I consulted decided should stay, rather than be substituted for a similar meme in English. Read more about Hulio here.

Guiris (tourists): Guiri actually means any non-Spaniard, whether they are actually tourists or staying in Spain for a longer period. You’re more likely to be called guiri if you’re from the US, Canada or north of the Pyrenees. It doesn’t matter whether you’re fluent in Spanish, but it helps not to have an accent (which is, in fact, what keeps Cris and Nora from getting called guiris themselves, lol).

CLIP 2: Good luck on that sex!

Break in August: the 15th of August is a national holiday in Spain, it commemorates the Assumption of Mary. It fell on a Wednesday in 2018, so Jorge and Eva spent a Wednesday through Sunday break together. They apparently managed to evade their parents too.

Casa en la sierra (“mountain house”): Madrid is both a city and a region (or an autonomous community, if you want to read more about this). Lucas’ family originally hails from the northern part of the region of Madrid, which lies atop a mountain range. As Jorge says, you can simply take a regular bus up there, and it’s not too expensive to visit. I actually figured that, if there was a cabin episode, it’d take place at “la sierra,” but I thought they’d take the train.

Se van a cagar con la que vamos a liar (“they’ll shit themselves with how hard we’re bringing it”): the latter half isn’t quite a word-for-word translation, but the meaning is the same. I just wanted to point out another instance of poop-related emphasis.

Waterparties (“wet blanket”): I pointed that out when the clip came out, but Cris is pulling a specific type of English language-related humor that we’re pretty fond of here. She has literally translated the word aguafiestas  as “waterparties.” An aguafiestas is a wet blanket. I thought of subbing it as “manta mojada,” but figured it’d be too much. See more examples of this type of humor here. As English becomes more ubiquitous everywhere, people are given to use English even when there’s a perfectly serviceable Spanish word. Which results in this sort of humor: translating even Spanish words that make no sense in English.

A tomar por culo (“fuck me in the ass”): I mean, I could’ve translated it as “fuck me,” but Cris literally says “in the ass,” so. Basically, when something goes to shit in Spain, you can say it’s gone to take it up the ass. Or you can say it’s gone to shit, too. We’re very anal-oriented as a country.

Coño (“fuck”): “Coño” literally means cunt, but it is used here as “fuck.” I don’t think it comes up through the season, but I will translate it as cunt if it’s ever used to mean a literal pussy.

Que se os dé bien (“hope you two do great at it”): this is pretty much the literal translation. It’s awkward because Cris herself has no idea what to say. It’s not… really a thing we tell someone who announces she’s going to lose her virginity, to say the least lol.

CLIP 3: The sex talk

Taurus: Viri is not actually a Taurus. She shares her birthday with Paris Jackson, 3rd of April, which makes her an Aries. We’re all very confused about this.

Pero ni de coña (“sike”): The literal translation would be, “but, not even as a joke,” which is too long and awkward. I think “sike” is cuter and has the same effect.

Tampoco te pases (“don’t take advantage either”): I haven’t checked other subs, but I think this could be translated either as “don’t go that far (as to pinch me)” or “don’t take advantage (of the situation by pinching me).” Hope the meaning was clear with my choice!

Macho (“Dang”): Macho just means… macho. As per Collins, “You use macho to describe men who are very conscious and proud of their masculinity.” But we often use it as an interjection, like dang, that wouldn’t be considered a swear word. Amira is really good at using these.

Not a culture and translation note, but I’m curious. How many people walked away from this clip with the impression that Nora has admitted to having had sex?  I’ve heard opinions for yes and no.

The Coach x Selena Gomez collection includes many types of apparel and accessories, but not shoes. So I can’t say I’ve seen those shoes, Viri. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  For what it’s worth, unlike other Vildes, I think Viri was actually fucking with them. She couldn’t think of anything that got her horny, so she joked that the Selena Gomez line is just that hot.

CLIP 4: Mr. Coitus Interruptus

No jodas (“Stop that”): Jorge actually says, “don’t fuck around,” as in, don’t wake me up by playing music.

You don’t want to know how many times I had to listen to the song before I could make out that what Lucas was saying before he opens the door is simply, “¿Hola?” Also, I’m pretty sure Lucas’ string of sorries is an homage to Tarjei’s delivery in the og clip. I believe at this point we’ve been made aware that Alejandro Reina likes him some Isak/Even, right?

CLIP 5: Jorge tests my patience with slang    

Abrefácil mis cojones (“Easy-open my balls”): “Cojones” is actually stronger than balls. I’d translate it as bollocks, but that’s British slang, and I want to try and keep to American slang, lest this becomes a total mess of dialects.

It’s been a full season of many, many great Lucas moments, but heaven help me, I still think his sausage craving is one of his finest moments. I even requested that Movistar+ made a gif of it. I am probably the only person using it, but I can’t find it in me to care.

Lucas ha tenido movida con sus padres (“Lucas got into a fight with his parents”): Fight might be too strong. I think “ha tenido movida” is close to “had an argument,” but sometimes we make choices in the name of less characters per line, on a show where everyone wants to talk at top speed, and Jorge wants to speak strictly in slang.

Además, que no se va a cantear. Fijo que nos deja a nuestra bola. (“Besides, he’s not going to be out of line. He’s gonna give us space for sure.”) “Cantearse” means to behave in such a way that you’re calling attention to yourself, being inconvenient, generally being a pain in the ass. “Ir a nuestra bola” is to do our own thing, by ourselves. Presumably, without Lucas “canteándose.”

No tenía ni zorra (“I had no fucking clue”): “Zorra” will come up later in the season again and again and again, and it’d usually mean “slut” or “whore” at its strongest, but again, it’s used here for emphasis. This sentence can also be “no tenía ni zorra idea,” but as Lucas does here, you can omit the word “idea” (idea/clue) and it carries the same meaning.

Nada, tío, ya sabeh, hay un amigo en mí (“No biggie, dude, you know, you’ve got a friend in me”): Not that you’d be able to tell, but Hugo is pulling a Cuban accent when he says this. I believe I’ve mentioned in one of these posts that Spaniards just love talking in other accents and doing voices to be silly.

Fuet: This is fuet. 

CLIP 6: The boy squad channels your uncles at Thanksgiving

Eva is snacking on sunflower seeds. Sunflower seeds are the basic snack to munch on if you’re a Spaniard. You can buy them pre-shelled and coated in different flavors, but by far, the most popular option is to buy them shelled with a coating of salt. You pop them open with your teeth and taste the salt, then eat the seed. Sunflower oil is also the second most popular cooking oil in Spain, right after olive oil, of course.

One of the books in the shelves is a collection of Grimm Brothers tales! There’s no significance to this, I just think it’s cute.

Conversaciones de cuñados sobre fútbol (“Rednecks chatting about football”): I already posted about this when the clip dropped, but I have since learned that the “cuñado” phenomenon most closely resembles Thanksgiving Uncles, as seen in this Onion article: Nation's Uncles Enter Last Stage Of Prep For Thursday's Thanksgiving Debates. Again, football is soccer to you Yanks, but I’ll be damned if I ever refer to it as soccer, even if these subs use American slang.

Te vas a cagar, chaval (“You’re gonna shit yourself, boy”): Lucas gets in on the shitting action! Heartwarming.

CLIP 7: Jorge gets petty

Jorgito: Much like Jorge called Eva “Evita” a few episodes ago, Lucas now calls Jorge “Jorgito.” #JustBroThings

Te voy a reventar (“I’m gonna kick your ass”): I decided to be charitable, but what Hugo tells Lucas is that he’s going to bust [his ass, presumably]. #JustBroThings

I tried Shazaming the song to find out which game they’re supposedly playing, but no luck. Sorry.

CLIP 8: ☹️

Again, I did my best to try and identify the bus Eva takes, because that would tell us where Lucas’ family is from, but the shots are filmed and edited in such a way that you can never get any identifying information. Cockblocked (like Eva and Jorge).

EXTRA CLIP: Amira’s time to shine!

There’s no real reason for Amira to be sitting away from Cris and Nora, by the way, other than they need her to for the random dude to approach her. Just in case you thought there was a CULTURAL reason behind it.

La oreja está muy rica (“The pig’s ear is really tasty”): The server doesn’t actually specify it’s pig’s ear, but that is definitely what he’s talking about. See Wikipedia for more details.

Romeo y Julieto (“Romeo and Juliet”): I kept it as Romeo and Juliet, but Amira very clearly says JulietO, as in, the dude version of Juliet. She’s being sarcastic about she and the Zaorejas random being a love match, and I don’t think there’s any, let’s say, HOMOPHOBIC undertones to the sarcasm, so I didn’t try to go for a dude name, but your mileage may vary here.

Es que es un canteo (“it’s over the top”): “Canteo” comes up again! In this instance, it would mean behaving (wearing a hijab) in such a way that you’re calling attention to yourself.

Pones a huevo que te pregunten cosas (“You’re inviting questions”): I couldn’t come up with a slangy equivalent, but Cris means that Amira is setting herself up to be asked questions. Hope the shorter sentence I picked conveys Cris’ meaning all the same.

Love that the Zaorejas random is credited literally as Chico Zaorejas (Zaorejas boy).

Social media:

Just a note, since it comes up in a previous episode, but I’m doing these out of order. It seems that everyone calls the English teacher “Johnny” (written as Yoni), so as to make the pun “yo ni me ducho, yo ni me peino” (I don’t shower, I don’t comb my hair). I picked Aidan because I thought it would read as “I don’t,” i.e. I don’t shower, I don’t comb my hair, etc.