#how to evaluate pop history

[jeannereames]

Would you say that reading popular history is a good entryway into academic history? Not necessarily as a scholar but also as an interested layperson who's interested in the subject

Reading Pop[ular] History

Sure, it is. As is historical fiction … as long as it’s well-done.

That’s the crux. Some pop history is quite good. Some…not so much. The problem for the average layperson is figuring out which is which. Who can I trust? (Near the end are some pragmatic tips to help you answer that question.)

Publishing houses want to sell books. This is different from academic presses. The latter also want to sell books but their (acceptable) profit margins are lower and they make their money via textbooks. Peer-reviewed academic works are published for status/reputation. They don’t expect those books to make money. In fact, academic monographs typically lose money—yes even at the exorbitant prices they charge. This is (one reason) your textbooks cost so much.*

By contrast, the reason (regular) publishers put out pop history IS to make money. Of course they want those books to be well-reviewed, but because it helps sales. So, they’re interested in signing authors they consider to be good writers—people who can spin an engaging (non-fiction) story. That may not be the top experts in the field.

In academia, the focus is on quality ideas, which (alas) may be conveyed in rather turgid, passive-voice prose. Sure, good scholars can also be good writers, but I fear it’s more often the exception than the rule. In Alexander studies, my mentor-advisor, Gene Borza, also happened to be a good writer. So is Beth Carney. So is Ed Anson. One of the best, however, was Peter Green. I may not always agree with his scholarship, but the man could write. He penned not only academic history, but also essays (I highly recommend both In the Shadow of the Parthenon and Classical Bearings), as well as historical fiction. His biography on Alexander is still widely read, and his MONSTER tome Alexander to Actium did what very, very few academic books do: it made money for University of Cal Press. Paul Cartledge (who also wrote a bio on ATG) is another such. I don’t think he’s as good as Peter, but he’s up there in his ability to turn a memorable phrase and get across his ideas to the average reader. It’s why he gets tapped to write books outside his field of specialization. There are a small passel of such academic pop history authors: Adrian Goldsworthy (who also wrote on ATG), James Romm (who wrote on ATG’s Successors), Robin Waterfield, Mary Beard, Michael Grant, etc. All of them are legit scholars who turn out books that aren’t necessarily in their specialization.

By specialization, I mean the field they publish in academically. We all teach classes on topics we wouldn’t dare to publish in for our peers. Pop history is closer to teaching classes, in that regard. For one thing, specializations in academic publishing get quite narrow, and pop history tends to be on broader topics. Take my own current academic book. Sure, a few of you may look forward to a work on Hephaistion (and Krateros), but the average fan of history perusing shelves for their next hit doesn’t even know who they ARE. They won’t pick up a pop history book about them (unless—maybe—the title is “sexy” enough to sell it).

When it comes to pop history, publishers fear that knowing too much about a field interferes with one’s ability to write for a non-specialist audience. That applies to textbooks too. Ergo, publishers sometimes solicit books from “specialist-adjacent” people. Carol Thomas’s Alexander the Great and His World is of that type. Carol is a specialist in Early Iron Age Greece, but she knows/is friends with a number of Macedoniasts as well as Greek archaeologists, so Blackwell invited her to write that book. She approached it with due care and humility. (I remember her preparing for it, asking Gene and others lots of questions.)

Paul Cartledge’s bio of Alexander runs along those lines. His real specialization is Sparta, but he’s written some general books on Greek history that sold well. I don’t know if he was asked to write the ATG book, but it’s made money for Random House. I don’t agree with swathes of it, but his take follows in the footsteps of Green and Bosworth, who are Macedoniasts. It’s far from a bad book, comparatively. Even so, I wouldn’t assign it as a textbook in my ATG class, precisely because I don’t agree with chunks. I’ve been using Lindsay Adams’ Alexander the Great: Legacy of a Conqueror or Brian Bosworth’s (now old) Conquest and Empire: the Reign of Alexander the Great, or Ed Anson’s Alexander the Great: Themes and Issues. Considering Hugh Bowden’s Alexander the Great: a Very Short Introduction too. Part of my choice lies with the fact those four are Macedoniasts and publish in the field, but I wouldn’t use Ian Worthington’s books on ATG, although he’s also a Macedoniast, nor Peter Green’s, nor NGL Hammond’s either. My views differ from theirs as either too negative or (Hammond) overly positive.

Back to my point. Cartledge may not be a Macedoniast but at least he’s a Greek historian and works in the right era. By contrast, Adrian Goldsworthy (Philip and Alexander) is further afield because not only is he not a Macedoniast, he’s a specialist on Rome. What of his book I’ve looked at, I found a bit dated compared to where most current scholarship stands. Yet he’s still a professional historian. Philip Freeman is similar to Goldsworthy. He’s a real scholar, if not a specialist on Alexander. He works in Classical Philology and Celtic Languages. Anthony Everitt isn’t even in Classics, but (European) visual and performing arts. Nonetheless, those authors have written books on significant ancient figures that sold well, so publishers trust they can write a selling nonfiction book.

All that helps to explain why pop history may not necessarily reflect the most recent work in the field.

Also, sometimes an author will go for the “sexy” idea because they think (not without cause) that it’ll sell better/appeal more. They’ll justify it with, “Well, some scholars did say that….” I ran into this excuse a lot when working with the Netflix people. If they wanted to go in a direction I disliked—such as Olympias’s putative involvement in Philip’s death—their reason/excuse was, “Well, the ancient sources say that and other scholars believe it.”

Five Tips to Check the Quality of Your Pop History Book

(all the below assume you don’t have a convenient specialist friend to ask…)

First, look at the publication date. History research can move quickly. If the book is more than 20 years old, it may be stale. Yet copyright date isn’t always the kiss of death; I still recommend Brian Bosworth’s 1988 Conquest and Empire on Alexander. Yes, a few things are out-of-date, but it’s generally an even-handed intro to his career, despite being 35+ years old. Nonetheless, if you know nothing about a field, older books might not be the best place to start.

Second, research the author. Who are they? Are they an academic at all? If their bio just says “historian,” they might have nothing higher than a BA/BS. Assuming they are a professional historian, do they publish academically in the subfield they’re writing about? If not, is it at least in the broader field? If not the broader field, is it adjacent? The further an author’s academic work from the subject matter, the more likely you’re getting either stale or limited research.

Third, watch out for sensationalist language in blurbs—even if the author is a specialist. For instance, the blurb for Ian Worthington’s 2004 Alexander the Great: Man and God, says:

Alexander the Great��conquered territories on a superhuman scale and established an empire that stretched from Greece to India. He spread Greek culture and education throughout his empire, and was worshipped as a living god by many of his subjects. But how great is a leader responsible for the deaths on tens of thousands of people? A ruler who prefers constant warring to administering the peace? A man who believed he was a god, who murdered his friends, and recklessly put his soldiers lives at risk? Ian Worthington delves into Alexander's successes and failures, his paranoia, the murders he engineered, his megalomania, and his constant drinking. It presents a king corrupted by power and who, for his own personal ends, sacrificed the empire his father had fought to establish.

Put that puppy down! While authors don’t usually write their own book blurbs, they approve them, and if the first paragraph asks some legit (if harsh) questions, the second paragraph suggests a book with an extreme view. Depending on the subject, it might be justified, but I’m typically suspect of sensationalist history. 😉

Fourth, if you can, flip to the bibliography. How extensive is it? How recent are the entries? Does it include not just monographs (books), but also articles/book chapters? Does it include articles that aren’t in English? Possibly the author was told to submit a limited bibliography, but a thin, mostly book (no/few articles)** biblio more likely suggests the writer lacks the background needed to cover the topic well. (Some pop history books don’t even have a bibliography, which I also consider a red flag.)

Last, read a few reviews, and not on Goodreads or Amazon (although some reviews on those sites are fine). How is the book received, particularly by reviewers who might know a thing or three about the topic? If no reviews are from academics or specialists, steer clear. I don’t care of Oprah likes it. Ha.

The best pop history (in terms of historical accuracy) is rarely the most popular, in terms of sales, for the simple reason that real history is messy and complicated. The casual reader usually wants something simpler. Yet if you’re serious about learning a topic, you do want something messy and complicated! E.g., with nuance.

So yes, pop history can be well-done and a perfectly valid place for the interested-but-discerning non-specialist to begin. If I believed it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be writing on Tumblr. 😉

And who knows, maybe I’ll sit down someday to write my own pop history take on Alexander.

——————

* Color illustrations and higher-quality paper are some others causes for high costs. Paper in general is expensive. But there’s still a mark-up to cover the production-cost losses incurred by purely academic books, most of which are sold to libraries.

** In many fields of history, especially ancient history, cutting edge research appears first in ARTICLE form and may never even make it to a book. Researchers who utilize only books (monographs) are therefore missing a lot.

[miedei]

so many hills to die on

a case has you re-evaluating your tenuous relationship with spencer, coming to a head when the unsub triggers a confrontation.

cw: fem!reader, soulmate!au, angst/fluff, lighttt miscommunication trope, canon level violence and gore, descriptions of being bound and kidnapped, descriptions of stalking behaviour

a/n: this is probably my most ambitious fic ever, has been in my drafts for sooo long but I rallied and wrote it finally! merged these two requests about a soulmate au from this prompt list, and I definitely went overboard with the concept. title is from $20 by boygenius (lol), unsub name and picture of spencer from loml @siriuslylantsov

prompt: b...ody art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin).

wc: 11.3k (holy shit)

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer Reid could say a lot about the phenomenon of transcorpal connections. The incidence of a level of mental connection between two individuals that manifests itself in the melanocytes in a person’s epidermal layer to reflect the markings that another person has exacted upon themselves. 

Or, if Prentiss forced him to speak ‘like you’re a human 27-year-old, please’, it was the instance of two supposed ‘soulmates’ where drawings or tattoos on one person’s skin are reflected on the others. 

Soulmates weren’t something Spencer took much stock in, to be honest. 

A fated partner that some amorphous being has assigned him is not something he really believes in, not just as Dr. Reid, man of science, but also as Spencer, the guy who’s had to watch every loving relationship he’d ever seen end. 

He’d seen his parents fall out of love, the little messages his father would write for his mother always there, until one day he’d seen his father write a to-do list on his forearm, the words never arising on his mother’s skin. He’d had whatever that was with Ethan, where he’d desperately hoped that his incoherent scribbles would eventually pop up on his friend-not-boyfriend’s arm, but never did. He’d seen Hotch, the last ‘Jack misses you’ message that Haley had written him still on his upper arm, no matter how long it had been. 

The connections between people’s skin wasn’t anything he aspired to, not anymore. He could rattle off facts and musings about the instances of ‘soulmate connections’ in history for hours, but it held no more significance for him than it did as a profiling tool.

Hence, Spencer never really held out for anything to show up on his skin, not until it did. 

You had spent years with your body, the parts of it you saw on the daily, and the parts you preferred to avoid in the mirror. The expanses of skin, littered with marks and scars from years of living, are familiar to you. Too familiar. 

You’d spent years watching your friends, acquaintances, and even strangers' skin change. Like the first time, in secondary school, whenever you saw lines begin to form on a friend's hand, it always filled you with a strange sense of melancholy. 

Of course, people lived whole, fulfilling lives without ever having a soulmate connection, and you’re sure your life wouldn’t be any different, but there was always that little thought in the back of your mind, every sighting of a couple on the street adding feathers to its wings. 

What if. What if all that skin finally changes? What if you’ll finally experience the life-shattering love that soulmates are supposed to be?

You had always been holding out for something to show up on your skin, but it wasn’t until you’d least expected it. 

Being the newest profiler in the famed BAU was more than daunting. It was terrifying, like hyper-aware-of-every-bone-in-your-body terrifying. Your transfer from Domestic Trafficking had been a long time coming, your experience in psychology and previous work under David Rossi making you the ideal candidate for the spot. You knew all of that, but somehow it didn’t dampen the nerves that coursed through your body every time you walked into the bullpen. 

It’s your third case as an official agent on the team, and your fear of messing up the biggest leap in your career hasn’t waned. In a lull in the briefing that Hotch gives on the jet, you refer to the case file, questioning the tiny Garcia shown on the screen set on the surface in front of you.

“And this witness who wasn’t present? What’s that about?” You point to a name noted on the case file, which has very little information listed next to it. 

“Yes, my love, that is a little strange.” Garcia’s slightly tinny voice floats through the interior of the cabin.

“She is a Mrs Amaya Walker, not technically a witness, seeing as, you know, she lives and works two hours away from the crimes, but there is a pickle.” As she speaks, Spencer slides into the seat across from you, and you flash him a quick smile as he slides a mug of coffee over the table to you.

“Our lovely Mrs Walker here saw a list pop up on her forearm, right when the last murder happened. Initially she didn’t think it was anything, but later she saw the press conference that the local P.D. did after the second murder-”

“Against my advice, by the way!” JJ pipes up from her spot on the sofa.

“Yes, against JJ’s advice, but once she saw it, she thought her little list might come as useful to the investigation.” Your tablets chime, a picture of a forearm you assume belongs to Amaya Walker popping up on the screen. The fax machine set up under the table whirs, and you pull out the printed version and pass it wordlessly to Spencer. The brown skin of her forearm is marred by scratchy handwriting, a list of household points of interest:

“Bedframe

Edge of coffee table

Light fixture

Oven door

Nightlight

Garage door

Silver spoon”

Your eyes widen, picking up your case file to compare.

“These are all…”

“Where the unsub left smears of the victim’s blood.” Spencer finishes your sentence, his eyes meeting yours with lines of confusion between them. The seemingly random smears of blood had been a point of confusion for you all when you did the initial walkthrough of the two murders back at the office. Each very far from the site of the murder, the team had concluded it had to be part of the unsub’s signature, although they were different for each murder. 

This was part of why JJ didn’t want it released to the public, on the off chance that the publicity causes the unsub to escalate or double down.

“Yes, wonderful profilers, you’re correct. The list correlates with all the different spills of blood and…” Garcia shudders, “gore left at every crime scene. Her husband has refused to speak to the police, and she insists he has nothing to do with it, but the police are working on a warrant, they should be getting them both to the station tomorrow.”

“Yes, that is strange. Reid, L/N, you two go to the ME’s office, figure out if there’s anything we can get out of the method of killing. Dave, you go with Morgan and JJ to the most recent crime scene. Maybe we can get something more out of it. Prentiss, you and I will head to the first crime scene, see what we can see. Hopefully we can correlate that with whatever we get from Walker tomorrow.” Hotch’s stern, no-nonsense voice cuts through the confusion, and you all straighten up, ready to get to work.

The medical examiner’s office is chilly, and you regret forgoing a blazer as you step into the bright building from the warm evening air. Spencer laughs softly next to you, and he nudges your shoulder. 

“Cold?”

“No.”

You speak resolutely, but the sparkle in his eye indicates he knows your lie. Grabbing the distinctive purple scarf from around his neck, he wraps it around yours, smiling when he meets your eye. The moment is only broken by the clip-clop of shoes coming down the hallway, and you both turn away hastily.

The ME walks up to you, his voice clipped and curt.

“You’re from the FBI? Come with me, please.”

You follow him into a room that smells overwhelmingly of formaldehyde. Two examining tables stand in the middle of the room, white sheets covering the bodies.

“The methods of killing were very different for each case, so much so that we didn’t put together that they were related until the police did.”

Spencer nods from beside you, accepting a clipboard from the doctor. Not bothering to read it, when he can do it in a fraction of the time, you converse with the doctor.

“Yes, we saw that one of the victims was stabbed, and the other strangled? That doesn’t track with any evolution we’ve seen before. Stabbing’s generally much easier than strangling, we usually see them go the other way around.”

He nods, pulling back the sheet on the second victim. You can see mottled bruises around his neck.

“Yes, the most recent victim, John Coulhain, was strangled. By the angle of the bruising, it’s clear he was attacked from behind, and by something that has both leather and metal in it. You see here, there’s a larger imprint from the metal segment.”

Spencer raises his head.

“It says here that he had just gotten out of the shower after work?”

“That’s right. He was found in only a towel. His clothes weren’t found.”

You frown, turning to Spencer.

“Leather and metal… that sounds like a belt to me. Coulhain was a lawyer. He wore suits to work.”

He picks up on your train of thought, continuing where you leave off.

“His clothes weren’t found. The unsub might have used his belt as a murder weapon, so he took the rest too.”

You turn to the medical examiner

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson, what sort of knife do you believe was used?”

He walks you over to the second table, drawing back the sheet so you can see the seemingly random pattern of wounds.

“They’re varying degrees of shallowness, but the shape of the wounds makes me think it was something medium-sized, probably stainless steel.”

Spencer leans forward, inspecting the wounds closely as he muses.

“Stainless steel isn’t the sort of knife you buy with the intention of violence. 54% of stainless steel knives are purchased for everyday purposes, like cooking.”

The ME walks you through the rest of the details of the murders, but the randomness of the methods of killing and the missing clothing stick with you.

An hour later, when you and Spencer walk out of the building into the dusk, it’s still on your mind.

“Reid, why would an unsub use a perfectly good knife for his first murder, but forgo bringing it to the next scene, and use his victim’s belt instead? That reads like a devolution, and this guy is still ramping up.”

“Maybe he’s relishing the deaths? Strangling takes longer, so maybe he realised that stabbing wasn’t going to give him the time with the body that he wanted.” He offers, but you can tell he’s not convinced.

“The scenes don’t show any sign of him lingering. And even if that’s the case, why not bring your own strangling equipment? A belt doesn’t give him the precision he needs in order to control the rate of death, especially one he just snatched off the floor.”

Spencer nods slowly as you approach the car.

“He doesn’t hesitate at all in killing them, but he doesn’t come prepared. It’s like he’s obscenely confident in himself, and doesn't think he needs to plan in order to pull it off.”

You slide into the car as your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Fishing it out, you pick up the call.

“Hey Emily, you’re on speaker.”

She speaks immediately, forgoing any greeting.

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson. Was the weapon a stainless steel knife?”

You exchange a look with Spencer, replying quickly.

“Yeah, it was. Why do you ask?”

“Gibson’s wife just confirmed that their knife block is gone, along with six stainless steel knives.”

Spencer leans forward to speak into your phone.

“That makes sense. We think the unsub is showing up with no preparation because he believes he doesn’t need it. He’s a narcissist.”

She makes a distracted sound of affirmation.

“That sounds right. Okay, Hotch wants you to meet us at the hotel, we’re going to compare notes there.”

You go to hang up, before she speaks once more.

“Oh, one more thing, the local police department got the warrant to bring in Amaya Walker for an interview tomorrow. You guys should do that, she’ll be more relaxed with younger people there. If her husband has something to do with it, you have to get it out of her.”

Stepping out of the SUV the next morning, you and Spencer walk through the sliding doors of the Decorah P.D.'s office, greeted by the captain of the precinct. 

“Hi, I’m SSA L/N, this is Doctor Reid.” You shake his hand, chuckling under your breath as you watch Spencer awkwardly avoid doing the same. 

Once you’ve set up your things in the conference room they’ve allocated to you, Spencer turns to Captain Peretti. 

“So, is Mrs Walker here? We’d like to ask her a few questions.”

Spencer is sitting in the chair across from Mrs Walker in the interrogation room, while you are leaned against the desk next to him. 

“We really appreciate you coming in like this, I understand that this is a stressful time for you. Mrs Walker, what can you tell us about your husband’s whereabouts when the list showed up on your skin?” She’s being cagey, not answering your questions and clamming up whenever you mention her husband.

“Eric had nothing to do with it. I’m telling you, it was a mistake for me to come in, I’m sure it’s unrelated.”

She motions to the words on her arm, and you sigh. It looks like straight questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. Spencer leans his elbows on the desk, looking at Mrs Walker, his brown eyes seeming larger in the dim light. His shirt sleeves ride up his arm a little, and a flash of dark lines shows before it’s covered again.

“Let me ask you this, have messages like this come up on your skin before? Whether they’re lists or not, have you ever seen anything show up on your left forearm?” She shakes her head mutely, eyes trained on the steel surface in front of her. You sigh, motioning discreetly at Spencer, and you both rise, walking out to the viewing area where Hotch and Emily are standing. 

“She won’t say anything?”

“Only that her husband has nothing to do with it. But…” Spencer trails off, and you take the opportunity to finish his thought.

“But, she clearly has some hangup about the messages. When Spencer asked whether they’d showed up before, she said no, but it’s clear there’s more there.” Hotch nods thoughtfully. Lost in thought, you spin a pen in your hand, tapping the uncovered tip against the inside of your wrist, accustomed to the ink blotches that appear on the skin there. 

Your eyes wander aimlessly as you do so, and land on Spencer, who is scratching at his forearm. It causes his shirt sleeve to ride up a little again. That’s when you see it. 

Small marks are on his skin, more muted than you usually see them, but you’d recognise them anywhere. Your eyes widen, looking down at your own wrist. A constellation of ink dots and lines are scattered across the delicate skin, identical to the ones on Spencer’s wrist. 

Is this really happening? Reid? Of course, you’d never been able to convince yourself you weren’t attracted to him, but he’s your coworker. He’s a large part of why you’re so nervous at the BAU. He’s not your soulmate… is he? 

Hotch’s unflapped voice breaks through your racing thoughts. “Okay. Head back in, press about their relationship, not the list. Let’s see if we can find a weak spot.”

Well. Looks like you’ll have to contain this revelation until you’re done for the day. Your head reels with the discovery, but you have to put it aside in favour of the case.

Your mind made up, you snatch the pen off the table before following Spencer back into the interrogation room, steeling yourself with a deep breath.

“We’d like to get to know you a little more, Mrs Walker, if that’s alright with you. How long have you been married?”

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable, but answers readily. “Fifteen years. And no, there’s never been any red flags that make me think he would ever be capable of something like this.” 

From his spot next to you, Spencer nods once.

“Okay, we understand. In your relationship, do you guys have any rituals to do with your connection? Like writing to each other throughout the day, or a code system or something with your skin?” 

Her cheeks flush, eyes trained on her lap. You press further.

“What is it Mrs Walker? Whatever it is, we really need you to tell us.” No answer. Spencer leans forward.

“Mrs Walker, two men are dead. We’re doing our best to find whoever did it, but we need all the information you can give us in order to do that. You can help us prevent any more deaths.” She wraps her arms around her middle, but still doesn’t say a word. Following his lead, you slam a hand down on the metal table.

“Mrs Walker! I understand that, whatever this is, it’s personal, but this is not the time to be hiding information from us. Men are dead, and it's starting to look like the perpetrator had some connection to you. The local police have a warrant for your husband’s arrest. I want to help you get your family out of this mess, but you need to tell us everything you can. Now.” Her shoulders slump, and finally, you feel like she’s telling you the truth.

“I… I started getting the messages in September. They’re not- not from Eric.” A wordless conversation passes between you and Spencer. That was 4 months before the first murder. You turn back to her, nodding encouragingly as the words seem to spill past her parted lips.

“I never expected to have a soulmate. Or at least… to be able to speak with them. My husband and I, we’re happy! I didn’t care that we weren’t soulmates until…”

Spencer prompts her, leaning forward. “Until?”

“Until the first drawing showed up. It was just a doodle of something, I barely remember now, but we started writing to each other. In places that no one would see, the underside of my arm, or my ribcage. I didn’t- I never did anything! I love my husband, I do, and I would never-” She cuts herself off, holding up a hand to ask for a little time. A few minutes later, she pipes up again.

“I don’t know his name or anything. We talked about surface level stuff, you know? Favourite books, shows, things like that. I was never going to do anything about it, so I didn’t tell anyone.” You can’t help but raise your head, flashing a look at the one-way mirror, hoping Hotch will read the urgency on your face. 

“This is good, Mrs Walker. Thank you for telling us. It’s going to take us some time to deduce whether this is related to the murders or not, but I hope you won’t object to helping us further.” Wordlessly, Spencer slides your notepad and pen over to her.

“I’m going to need you to write down everything you can remember from your messages. If there are any still on you, I really need you to write them down as clearly as you can. In a few minutes, one of our teammates will be in, and they’ll walk you through a cognitive interview, try and see how much we can recover.” The two of you rise, nodding to the officer stationed inside the door, but you pause when she calls out to you.

“Do you- do you think that it’s wrong of me? To stay in this relationship, when I know there’s a soulmate out there for me?” You go to speak, but Spencer beats you to it.

“Mrs Walker, the phenomenon of connections like these doesn’t necessarily mean that the relationship would be perfect. You love your husband, and you have loved him for years. A ‘soulmate connection’ doesn’t mean you should even be in a relationship. Many people don’t even believe it has anything to do with compatibility, those relationships are just as flawed as any other. Honestly, I sometimes think the expectations could hinder a relationship.” 

It startles you a little, the emotion behind Spencer’s eyes when he speaks. Does he really not believe that a connection means anything? Your eyes can’t help but flick down to the faint marks on your wrist.

By the time you look up, Spencer is already in the doorway, looking back at you with concern in his eyes. 

“You okay?” His voice is hushed, intimate, but it’s all you can do to brush it off. Walking back into the conference room, the team is already hard at work. 

Spencer’s confused. Something clearly rattled you in the interrogation room, but despite his attempts to meet your eyes, it’s like you’re purposely avoiding his gaze. 

He hasn’t taken the time to think about it, but whether that’s because he’s busy or because he’s worried, who knows? 

What he does know is that you have quickly become one of his favourite people to work with. Hours spent hunching over maps together, inspecting crime scenes and interviewing witnesses have endeared you to him faster than he thought was possible. It’s this unexplainable fondness that leaves him reeling when the comforting smiles and shared looks are lost all of a sudden. 

He attempts to push it to the back of his mind as the team runs through the case once more, Garcia’s tinny voice streaming through the room. However, he’s not fully in it, and the team notices. By the time they’ve concluded that a reinspection of the crime scenes and interviewing Eric Walker was necessary, Emily is eyeing him weirdly, and Morgan all but frog-marches him out to the precinct’s kitchenette. 

“Kid. What’s going on?” The elder man braces his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, eyes blazing into his. 

“You’ve been acting weird ever since the second interview with Amaya Walker, and so has L/N.” A sense of relief floods through Spencer, and he speaks earnestly.

“I don’t know! We interviewed Mrs Walker again, and it was all fine, but the moment we left the room it’s like she can’t look at me anymore. It’s making me feel all awkward.” 

Morgan sighs, his fingers unintentionally digging into Spencer’s shirt. 

“What did you say when you left?” Spencer bristles a little at the implied accusation, but can’t help but run through the last few parts of the interview.

“It was all normal, but then she- Mrs Walker, asked if she was wrong to stay in her relationship when she has a ‘soulmate’ out there.” He nods, prompting Spencer to continue. 

“I told her what I think she’d agree with, that I don’t know if a connection would make a relationship stronger. I thought that was right, it felt like it soothed the witness.” A troubled look passes over Spencer’s face. He’s always struggled with social cues, but he thought he’d improved. Mrs Walker looked much calmer after he said that to her, and that was protocol. 

Calm the witness, make sure they think you are in their corner. Gideon’s voice rings through his head.

“And that was it! We left the room, and then she started acting all…”

Morgan’s features are unreadable, but his hands relax on Spencer’s shoulders. 

“Sounds like you need to figure out why she’s bothered. But, kid… Don’t let this affect the case.”

With that, he pats Spencer’s shoulder and walks off, leaving him pondering his words. Figure it out. 

Spencer Reid is good at figuring things out. Maybe he can’t tackle this like Spencer, your bumbling coworker, but as Spencer, the profiler.

You’ve been at the first crime scene for only a few minutes, but the awkwardness is thick in the air between you. 

Spencer has that infuriating look on his face, all furrowed brows and piercing gazes and so attractive it makes you want to pull your hair out. It’s making it so hard to try and detach yourself from him.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you sidle over to the evidence markers that tag the blood smears in this crime scene. 

“So we’ve got… A side table in the master bedroom, a heart pillow that was in the living room and an elephant painting on the wall in the landing. All far away from the site of the murder in the kitchen.”

Spencer steps up next to you, still gazing at you unreadably, but opens his mouth to follow your train of thought. 

“The blood spatters indicate that the attack began in the hallway, and the final blows in the kitchen. No blood anywhere else, nowhere near the smears.”

You nod, trying to run through the details of the case in your mind.

“The attack is rushed, hasty. All the stab wounds indicate a blitz attack and a lot of overkill, but the smears are calculated.” 

He smiles, and it’s all you can to not turn and reflect that back to him.

“Right, no blood dripping anywhere outside of the murder, not even when he takes some to the different areas of the house to smear. The murder itself is charged with anger, but this is something more. It’s deliberate, it’s…”

You meet his eyes, finally, and voice what you know you’ve both concluded.

“It’s a message. But to whom?”

He holds your gaze, going to reply to you, but is cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. With a sigh, he fishes it out of his breastpocket, holding the brick-like device to his ear. 

Whatever he hears has him tensing, and you feel like a coiled spring, bracing yourself for whatever grim news is awaiting you.

“Okay Hotch, we’re leaving now, get Garcia to send all the photos to us.” He sets down the phone, looking at you.

“There’s been another murder.”

You stand at the clear whiteboard, surveying the images tacked on to it. The blood smears of the newest crime scene are pinned up next to those of the two previous ones, and it’s driving the two of you crazy trying to decipher what the patterns are. Spencer fiddles with his fingers, the marks on his wrist flashing as his sleeve shifts, sending your mind spiralling every time you notice them.

“A painting of a tree, and an orange. Let me ask you this, do you think the things themselves are significant or the locations of them?”

You shake your head slowly, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The both of you are silent, standing in front of the board with puzzled looks, when Morgan bursts in, waving around some papers.

“Got the pictures of Mrs Walker’s newest message.” He grabs a magnet and pins a picture of Mrs Walker’s calf to the centre of the board, two things listed there.

“Tree painting

Orange”

“Ok kids, we really need you to work your magic this time,” Morgan taps your shoulder.

“The cooling down period has gotten shorter and shorter. We can’t expect to get to tomorrow evening without another murder.” 

You sigh, rubbing your wrist absentmindedly. The marks and your newfound realisation about Spencer haven’t left your mind, but have been pushed to the background for the time being. However, the frustration brings it back up. The connection. Does it mean nothing to him? Does he not think that it would do something for a relationship? You’ve always thought it would indicate that you belong together, wouldn’t you…

Your body moves without your go-ahead.

Eyes widen.

Shoulders tense.

Your arms reach forward, haphazardly grabbing and moving the lists until three pictures sit side-by-side on the board in front of you.

One is printed, a crude attempt by the CSU team to catalogue the items marred by blood. Two are images, words on skin. Words, the first letters of which spell out…

You grip Spencer’s arm, pointing at the first image of Amaya Walker’s skin, the second murder.

“Belongs. Spencer, the second crime scene.” 

He doesn’t even acknowledge your use of his first name, leaning forward like you are. He zeroes in on the newest image.

“To. The third one. It’s an acrostic. The first letter of each item spell out his message.”

You move forward, writing the words ‘__ BELONGS TO’ on the board. You are feeding off of each other, thinking aloud in a way that has Morgan sighing to himself.

“She didn’t get a list for the first one.”

Spencer nods. “She didn’t notice. He had to show her.”

You grab the printed list of the items smeared in the first crime scene. “Side table, pillow, painting”

He leans over your shoulder. “He’s more specific than the crime scene techs were. Heart pillow, elephant painting.”

You turn to him, stomach dropping. “She. She belongs to…”

He writes in ‘SHE’ next to the two other words. “He’s possessive, something happened to make him think he doesn’t have her.”

“Narcissistic. Driven by ownership.”

“Eric Walker was here when the third murder happened. Who else would want to lay claim to her?”

You straighten up, meeting Spencer’s eyes, not looking away even as you address Morgan.

“Derek, where’s Eric Walker?”

“They released him from questioning an hour ago, he went home.”

You and Spencer spring into action, scooping up your abandoned holsters. 

“We need to get to the Walkers’ house, now. Our unsub is taking out what he sees as competition, and Mr Walker’s all he needs to get rid of.”

In the SUV, you are jittery. Morgan sits in the driver’s seat next to you, and Spencer in the back. As you fiddle with your vest straps, you can’t help but think of Mrs Walker, the woman who never wanted a soulmate. And now her soulmate is trying to kill the love of her life.

Maybe Spencer was right?

Hotch is barking orders at the gathered agents when you step out of the vehicle. Nodding along, you fall to the back of the group, your designated role until you’re called to enter the house. 

Your vest is uncomfortable. The straps are always too long or too short, and you have to get it right before you storm the house, but your thoughts are so loud, and Rossi on the phone with the unsub is so piercing, and it feels like you will never get comfortable.

Finally, you feel like giving up, until warm hands find purchase on your shoulders. Looking up, you see Spencer, standing before you with a slight, nervous smile. His hands gently move yours away from the straps, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Can I?” You nod dumbly, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

The touch is soft, tentative. He pulls at the straps dangling over your shoulders firmly, tightening the vest until it sits snugly over your chest. As if acting on instinct, he slips a finger under the kevlar, brushing the thin fabric of your shirt over your collarbone delicately. It makes you shiver.

“Is that good? Too tight?” His eyes are devastatingly soft, head tilted down to face you fully. 

“No, it’s good. Thanks, Reid.” You have to get yourself away from the magnetic pull of him, stepping back and letting out a sigh of relief. 

You walk away, heading Emily’s way, completely missing the look of confusion he aims at you as you brush past him.

Joining the circle of agents and officers, you tune into Morgan’s run down of the plan. 

“Hotch and JJ will take 5 officers and break down the front door. Now, we know there are two other doors that the unsub will probably make a break for once we enter. Prentiss and I will be at the northfacing one, Reid and Rossi at the westfacing one. L/N, you and Captain Peretti should be stationed in the land behind the house, secure the outbuildings before the unsub can think to rush to them and destroy evidence.”

You nod, exchanging a glance with the police captain. 

“Remember, this unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants, including opening fire on us. Do not engage him in a confrontation. Challenging his goals and views will push him further, and we don’t want any more casualties at the hands of this man.” 

With a decisive nod, Morgan breaks away from the group, the people beginning to station themselves at their posts. With the captain at your side, you walk around the house to the field behind it, directing officers to each of the small barns and outhouses dotting the land. 

With the captain, you stand ready at the large wooden door of what you think is a stable, when the crackling of your earpiece alerts you to JJ’s voice.

“We’re heading in on 5, 4…” You can hear a crash and a shout, and JJ’s voice turns hurried. “We head in now!”

A few minutes have you tapping your index against the side of your firearm, worried. 

“He’s not here. We have Mr Walker here, multiple stab wounds but a relatively steady pulse. House is clear.”

Emily starts speaking. “He hasn’t gone through our door. Rossi?”

Rossi crackles out a negative response. Bringing your wrist to your mouth, you speak into the mic embedded there. 

“If Walker’s still bleeding out, the unsub has to have just been there. Are there any other possible exit points?”

There’s silence for a second until Reid’s voice comes over the comms, frantic. 

“There’s a northwest facing window that’s unlocked! Footsteps leading away from it, into the field.”

Immediately you spring into action, autopilot taking over as you direct multiple officers to search the surrounding woods, and the rest to clear out the outbuildings. 

Counting down, the police captain kicks in the stable door, and you flick on your flashlight, advancing.

The large room is drafty, the old wood planks creaking with every gust of wind. At first glance, the dark room seems quiet and empty, and each movement of your flashlight seems to confirm this. 

The only thing of note you see is the row of stalls along the left wall, the angle of the opening making sure that you can’t see into all of them. 

Silently, you begin to walk towards them, signalling for the captain to follow. Despite the first few being completely empty save for some hay, a chill runs down your spine, bracing yourself for a confrontation that hasn’t happened. 

As you begin to inch your way to the second-to-last stall, you hear a shout from outside the building. 

“There’s someone in the woods!”

One of the officers rushes past the open door to the stable, and the captain raises her head immediately, dropping her defensive stance. 

“That must be him. Let’s go!” Without waiting for a response, she turns, running out of the stable, as if she can’t hear your hushed whispers. 

“Captain! This building hasn’t been cleared—” She’s gone. You can hear the rush of officers running past the building, towards the wooded area to the back of the property. Despite the high probability of the unsub being the person spotted there, you know you can’t leave this building without clearing it. 

You really should wait for someone to do this with you. Never enter a potential crime scene without backup. Rossi’s voice rings in your ears. 

But there’s only two stalls left. The rest of your team are still securing the house and the victim. The officers are gone. 

You can clear two stalls on your own. They’re probably empty anyway. 

Having made up your mind, you straighten up, tightening your grip on your gun and flashlight, and advance. 

Slowly walking to the first stall, you turn the corner, quickly flashing your light in the small space. Empty. 

One more.

The floorboards bend slightly as you walk across them. The wind rushing past the walls ruffles your hair. The metal of your gun is warm under your palm. 

The wall of the final stall comes closer, closer, until you’re stood behind it. One step forward and a turn to the left, and you’ll be at the doorway. 

It’ll be empty. They’ve all been empty.

You take the step, right foot planting in front of you, and turn on the balls of your feet, flashlight and gun extended in front of your chest.

“Hello, agent.”

Not empty.

The house is finally cleared, and Mr Walker loaded into an ambulance. As he watches the vehicle retreat down the road, Spencer hears the chatter over the comms. 

“Is it him?”

“The woods are thick, how did he get here without us seeing—”

“—in pursuit of the person we saw—”

“He’s a white man, late 60s—”

“It’s not him! You hear me, officer? That’s not him, do not arrest that man!” Morgan’s voice cuts through the jabbering, voice stern. 

They haven’t gotten the unsub? Spencer turns on his heels, striding back into the house, where Hotch, JJ and Rossi stand around the blood spatter on the floor. 

“Spence. Doesn’t look like the unsub could’ve gotten to the woods in time, not before we were stationed in the field he’d have to cut through anyway.” JJ stands with her hands on her hips, irritation clear on her face. 

“The other buildings on the property?” He comes to stand next to Hotch.

“I saw Captain Peretti. She said they were all cleared. CSU’s sending more units to secure all of them, but we’re not considering any of them crime scenes as she says it’s clear he hasn’t been in them. It’ll take a while for them to get here and secure them all.” Hotch replies, brows furrowed. 

The door opens, and Morgan and Prentiss walk in. 

“Everything okay?”

Emily huffs. “The locals almost arrested the elderly neighbour, but other than that, the woods are seemingly clear.”

Morgan adds, “There’s some trampled plants in the cornfield to the west of the property, so we’ve got officers searching that now, but that field backs up onto a major road. If he made it through that, he could be anywhere by now.”

Rossi sighs, shoulders slumping. 

“I’m getting sick of this son of a bitch slipping out of our hands.”

“I agree. Rossi, go with Prentiss and Morgan to the road by the cornfield. Canvass anyone you find, ask neighbouring homes if they saw anyone emerge from the crops onto the road or lone cars idling. If he took that way out, he'd have had a car waiting for him there.” They nod, shuffling out. 

JJ pipes up, her brow furrowed in thought.

“The smears were on a milk carton in the fridge and an envelope. Me. His message is finished, isn’t it? ‘She belongs to me’. What’s he going to do now?”

Spencer’s not sure. Hotch shakes his head exasperatedly.

“JJ, let’s go find Captain Peretti. We’ll head back to the PD and see what we can make with the old clues now that we think he had an intricate exit plan. Reid, stay here, get updating the geographical profile with the information from this crime scene. We’ll send L/N here to work on it with you.”

Spencer nods, heading to the SUV to grab his map, and settling at the Walkers’ dining table to get working. 

It’s hot, sweltering. A throbbing pain thuds in your skull, the feeling of dry hay against your face making your cheek itch. Instinctively, you attempt to bring your hand up to brush it away. It won't move.

You jerk your wrists, but find them bound, and a dull pain pangs in your thigh. It’s clear you’ve been out for a little while, your eyes feeling crusted shut. 

With a little effort, you prise your eyes open, feeling your pupils adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re still in the final stall, sprawled against the far wall. Another experimental tug on your wrist and you realise that they’re bound together, the coarse rope wound around your right thigh, forcing you to stay hunched over. 

It all comes rushing back. Losing the unsub. Peretti leaving. The empty- no, not empty stall. The raspy voice that met your ears before the resounding blow to your head.

Twisting your hands awkwardly, you begin to pick at the rough rope, trying to map out the knot that keeps you in your uncomfortable position. Sweat drips in rivulets down the back of your neck as you crane your neck.

Your position ensures that you can’t survey the entire stall, but he’s got to be close. The property’s crawling with officers. 

“I’m still here, sweetheart.” 

The voice rings out from somewhere behind you, dark and smug. Your hand automatically makes for your holster, but the rope digs into your skin, leaving you unable to reach it. 

“Don’t bother. You think I’d let you keep your gun?”

You can hear the bastard smirk, anger and fear running hot through your veins. Your gun is your lifeline in situations like this, as not only a means of attack, but a grounding feeling. Without it you feel unmoored. 

The only thing you have in your arsenal is your knowledge of the case. Of him.

“Why don’t you come stand here? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of showing me your face.” Your voice is low, cracking with dryness. 

Prodding him just enough should… there it is. You hear his footsteps, walking past your bent head until you can see his feet and legs, standing in front of you.

“That enough for you? You can see me now?” He crouches, squatting by your calves to show you his face. 

He’s surprisingly handsome, flushed from the heat, dark eyes boring into yours. Dressed in a suit that’s slightly too large for him, he looks out of place in the grimy stable. He’s playing the role of a businessman, save for the gun dangling from his left hand, and the telltale bulge of another— yours— in his pants pocket.

This unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. Morgan’s words come back to you now. 

“You- you outsmarted us all. We were sure we’d catch you.”

A smile spreads over his face, his ego clearly swelling. You can see his shoulders relax slightly. 

“You thought so, huh? I guess even the FBI has hubris.” His lips form the word hubris with some effort, pronouncing it as huh-brus. It’s clear he’s putting on airs. 

You need to get the others here. You could wait it out, until the crime scene techs eventually make their way to this building towards the back of the Walkers’ land. 

But he has two guns, and he wants Amaya Walker, not you. Who knows how long he’ll be content to lord over you, until he inevitably gets tired of playing with you. He has two guns.

How do you get a message to them? There’s no way he’ll let you have your phone, and this guy has no reason to contact anyone but Mrs Walker. He doesn’t need a phone for that, just a pen, probably in his jacket.

A pen. Spencer. That’s it.

“So, you and Mrs— um, Amaya. Are you guys going to meet in person soon?” 

That does the trick. His eyes glaze over with an expression that would look love-drunk, if you didn’t know about the blood on his hands. 

“Soon. There’s nothing keeping us apart now. I’ll go to see her as soon as I’m done here.”

“That’s why you’re dressed up? I think she’ll like that suit.”

His voice is deceptively soft, almost tricking you into forgetting how dangerous he is.

“I think so too. I borrowed it from a friend, John. She’ll like it.”

John Coulhain. The second murder victim, the lawyer. You resist the urge to gag.

“Yeah. It’s- it’s hot in here, isn’t it? Maybe you should take off the jacket and save it for when you see her. You don’t want to sweat through it.”

His metaphorical hackles raise, and you can tell he’s getting ready to stand and walk away from you. 

“No, I don’t mean it in an insulting way, not at all. It’s just really- really warm in here. I’m sweating. Maybe Amaya would like to hug you when you meet her. She won’t want sweat on her.”

Your voice is wavering, eyes unable to move from the gun still in front of you. 

It takes a long minute before he speaks again.

“Maybe I should take off the jacket. Just for a little.” He’s clearly loathed to admit his perceived fault, muttering to himself rather than speaking to you. Straightening up, you hear rustling above you, until the jacket falls in a heap in front of your bound wrists, part of the fabric falling on the tips of your fingers. You grasp it in your hand, wincing as the rope rubs the sensitive skin on your wrists raw.

As smoothly as possible, you hunch over further, settling in the foetal position, pulling the jacket to cover your hands a little more. 

Seemingly not noticing your movement, you see his legs walk out of your eyesight, padding around you until he comes to a stop somewhere behind your body. 

“Now, we’re going to wait here until your police friends are all done at the house. Then I’m going to take you with me, and we’ll go see Amaya. You’re going to be our witness, and then I’ll get rid of you, got it?” 

His voice is unnervingly slow and deliberate, as if he’s fully convinced this plan will work. You wish you had that same conviction, but you’re sure you know how this is going to end. The stress of hiding out will surely break him, sending him into a spiral where he will either kill you and then himself, or kill you and let the police kill him. 

You have to get them here before that happens. Heart pounding, you slowly inch the jacket closer to you, until your hands are fully buried in the folds of fabric. Feeling around blindly, you trace the inner lining of the expensive fabric until you feel a lip of material. The inner pocket is welcoming to your aching fingers, and you sigh, nearly delirious with relief when your index brushes against a pen. You were right.

Thanking whatever deity there is, you grip the pen, shoving it between your bound wrists, out of sight. 

Tugging once more, you’re resigned to the fact that you don’t have the range of motion to write legibly on your forearm, hands laying uselessly against your clothed thighs. The nearest exposed skin is on your ankle, and you have no hope of contorting to reach that without him noticing.

Chancing a look behind you, you can see him hunched over his knees, muttering to himself. You don’t have much time left. 

Deciding to make a rash decision, you grip the pen once more. Shifting so your left leg is hiked up, your wrists shoved between your legs, you take the pen, jabbing harshly at the fabric of your pants. Without being able to see, your aim is sloppy, but after a few minutes of brute force, you’ve ripped a jagged hole in your pants, near where your left calf meets your knee. 

Tension runs through your body, shifting the pen in your hand so that you can write. 

‘Spencer’

Spencer is stumped. Standing over the large map spread over the dining table, he can’t think of a reason why the unsub would ever leave the scene. This was his endgame, his final target until he could have Amaya Walker to himself. Why would a narcissistic sociopath flee after that?

Garcia’s voice comes crackling over the comms.

“My good doctor, it’s a little ridiculous that I had to use the PD’s satellite phone to get in touch with you. Do any of you pick up the phone anymore?”

He huffs out a laugh.

“We’re in the middle of farm country, Garcia. None of us have signal. Have you got anything?”

“You know I do. I took a look-see into Mr Walker’s history to see if he’d been stalked, and in multiple stretches of CCTV footage he’s being tailed by a white SUV. Including two hours ago, when he was on his way home. The car followed him on the main road, and pulled into their private road after Walker.”

“The car probably belongs to our unsub then. Do you have a name?”

“Do you even need to ask? Name’s Randall Slater, seems to tick most of the boxes of the profile. I’ll call back when I have more, Garcia out!”

Spencer slumps back in his chair. Sure, they have a name, but until he gets anything else from Garcia, it does nothing to help him with the geographical profile.

Wracking his brain for any possible lead, he doesn’t hear Hotch and JJ walk back in, not until they stand at the table with him, the police captain in tow. 

“Reid. Where’s L/N?” Hotch speaks in a low and measured tone, but Spencer can tell that he’s worried. 

“She’s not here yet. I thought you guys were going to send her here?” He raises his head, meeting JJ’s concerned eyes. 

“She wasn’t with Captain Peretti.”

“When we were pursuing the neighbour in the woods, I lost her. I figured she’d come back to find you guys.” Peretti’s voice is tight with worry, and a tinge of something else that Spencer doesn’t have the time to decipher right now. 

“Morgan and the rest haven’t heard from her?” 

Hotch shakes his head no. 

“Her comms have gone silent.” JJ brings a hand up to rub her temples.

 “Captain, inform your officers that we are looking for Agent L/N as well. Hopefully there’s nothing wrong, but we can’t rule out the possibility that the unsub found a way to get close.” 

Peretti nods stiffly, striding out of the room hurriedly. 

He can barely wrap his head around it. You’re not checking in? If there was a word stronger than worried, he’d find it, but his brain seems to be wading through sludge at the moment. He hadn’t realised how untethered he feels when you’re not there, until now, where it feels like the only thing he can think of. 

He can’t just sit around. Spencer straightens up, snatching his FBI windbreaker off of a chair and beginning to put it on.

“Okay, I’ll head out into the crop fields. If he took her as he fled, there’s got to be evidence of it.”

He’s already halfway across the room when Hotch calls out after him. 

“Reid, no. You need to stay here. Work on the geoprofile.”

Spencer can feel the irritation bubbling up inside him, his voice straining with the effort of not yelling. 

“Hotch, I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing when the unsub could have Y/N with him. If I can find—” Hotch cuts him off. 

“We. Reid, I know you’re emotional, we all are, but you cannot forget that this is a team. We’re all prioritising this. You know that you are best used here. If the unsub took her, we need to locate that secondary location immediately, that’s what you need to be doing.”

Incensed, Spencer can’t help but raise his voice. 

“Do we even know that he left? We profiled him to be a delusional narcissist, why would he ever leave? Hotch, I’m telling you, something is wrong here!”

Hotch’s eyes flash with emotion, and he opens his mouth, presumably explaining why Spencer shouldn’t leave. It’s all a moot point, however, because in that moment, he feels a burning on his left calf. 

The one-sided conversation goes over his head as Spencer can’t help but tug up his pant leg, itching at his skin as he runs through possibilities in his head. The unsub could’ve done what they’d now theorised, taken you and dragged you through the cornfield, into a car that was waiting by the main road. But why? 

He huffs, sitting down in a dining chair as he continues scratching at his leg. Hotch falls silent, but he doesn’t notice, lost in his thoughts. 

“Spencer. Spence!”

 JJ’s voice snaps him out of his haze. 

“What, JJ?” He snaps, irked that he’s been pulled out of his thoughts.

“Spencer, your leg.” He follows her pointed finger to the exposed skin of his calf, red from his scratching. It looks normal, smattering of hair covering the dark moles and lines covering his skin. 

Wait. Lines? 

He shifts, hooking his ankle over his right knee so he can see his calf more clearly. Shaky lines are forming on the skin in jerky motions, spelling out words in a familiar script. 

‘Spencer 

unsub in stable 

west edge

2 guns

wants amaya’

The handwriting is slanted, letters running into each other and words misspelled. And he knows it’s yours. 

“Y/N. It’s her handwriting. She’s writing to me.” 

He feels like he’s in an out-of-body experience. He can hear JJ’s gasp, but it feels as though it’s coming from miles away. Hotch is saying something, but the words don’t register as anything more than misshapen sounds. 

Graphology is one of Spencer’s specialties, but now he wishes he’d never learned about it. He wishes he didn’t know that the harsh angles of your writing indicate that you have adrenaline pumping through your veins. He wishes he didn’t see the way your letters jumble together, a physical manifestation of your fear. 

He slowly comes back to his body, finally understanding what Hotch is saying into his comm. 

“—a stable on the west edge of the property. We need the three of you back immediately, JJ, Reid and I will coordinate with the locals to have the building surrounded. Reid, can you hear me? Reid!”

Spencer nods, looking up at Hotch. 

“We need to know what’s happening in there. Is she hurt? Can she overpower him?”

He agrees, snatching up a pen and wracking his brain on what to write.

‘Are you hurt?

Are you armed?

Can you talk him down?’

He writes carefully, focusing on the drag of the ballpoint pen on his skin rather than the pure fear riddling his body. Once finished, he doesn’t set down the pen, fiddling with it in an attempt to stop himself from running to the building immediately. 

JJ sets a hand on his shoulder, and although he’s grateful for her support, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He can’t look away from his leg. He has a soulmate.

You’re laying at an awkward angle, neck craned and back hunched over so that you can read what Spencer’s written. 

Are you hurt? Your head hurts like hell, and the rope has irritated your skin to no end, but nothing that impairs you. You write a shaky ‘N’ next to the question.

Are you armed? You chance another look behind you, looking longingly at your gun in his pocket. Another ‘N’.

Can you talk him down? Can you? You remember the many times Rossi tutored you on interacting with narcissistic unsubs. Learn what they want, promise they will have it, and don’t challenge them. What does he want?

You decide you can, writing a small ‘Y’. Next to that, you scrawl hurriedly, hearing him shift around. 

‘bring amaya’

With that, you stuff the pen in your sock, relaxing your body and hoping you don’t look like you’ve been up to something.

The unsub is unsettled, and you can hear him oscillate between standing and sitting repeatedly. 

If you want to take control of the situation, you need to act quickly. He’s losing patience with you and the officers outside. If you wait too long, he’ll snap, and then you’re done for. 

A final peek at your calf finds the words ‘5 minutes’ etched there. 

Five minutes to talk him down. You can do it for five minutes. 

You croak out lowly, vocal chords rasping against each other. 

“I— I spoke to Amaya. When we were investigating. She told me about you. About the two of you.”

You can hear him stop moving abruptly, and then the patter of his feet as he walks quickly to you. He comes to a stop right in front of your face, your eyeline taken up by his feet and ankles. He speaks in a hushed tone, as if tasting the words carefully before speaking.

“She did? What did she tell you?”

“She said you’d been talking for a while. That it started when you drew a flower on your upper arm? She drew it for us.”

His voice has regained some of its smugness as he replies. His feet are tapping softly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Of course she did. She loves me.”

You nod jerkily, continuing with your waffle.

“It's clear she does. I'm— in the FBI, I'm a profiler. I'm an expert on human behaviour, and I could see it, despite…”

You trail off, hopeful that he'll take the bait. He does, voice gaining a dangerous edge.

“Despite? Don't let me stop you from speaking your mind, agent.”

“Well, she was scared when we spoke. You know, suddenly there were all these dead bodies that were linked to her. She was pretty shaken.”

His tapping stills.

“Because of the bodies? I did that for her. For us!”

“Yes, I know. It's romantic, really. But, it scared Amaya a bit. It's all so sudden, you see. She was a little freaked out, especially because you hadn't told her about it.”

He's silent for nearly a minute, breathing heavily.

“She's angry about what I did for her?”

“No, not angry. I know she'll understand. You did it for her, she'll love it. She just… wanted to know from you, instead of the police.”

There. You've set your trap, and hopefully he'll fall right in it. Rossi's good-natured lectures play out in your head. 

Never challenge a narcissist directly. Make them worried, but never tell them outright that the object of their desire isn't going to be theirs.

He feigns nonchalance, but you can hear in his voice that his narcissistic possessiveness  is warring with the uncertainty you've introduced.

“Your friends had better be leaving. I've got to get Amaya, and if that takes too long, it's on you.”

You fall silent, hearing him mutter to himself as he begins to pace. If you push further you might be toeing the line too far.

The five minutes are almost up, you've got to believe that you've done enough to help them talk him down. 

As if on cue, you hear the familiar crackle of a megaphone. Rossi's voice, albeit muffled, comes booming towards you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Randall, we have the building surrounded! Let the agent go and we can end this peacefully!”

The unsub, Randall, you suppose, straightens up, and you see him walk cautiously away from you. He walks to the far wall of the wooded building, and you catch a glimpse of him peering through the wood planks. He swears, shoves his gun into his waistband and paces hurriedly back to you.

“You bitch. Did you tell them? Huh? Did you?” He grabs a hold of the rope binding your wrists to your thigh, tugging you up to face him. The rope cuts harshly into your skin, forcing your right leg up at an unnatural angle to follow your wrists.

“I didn’t! I didn’t tell them, I don’t have my phone!”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes darken, and you see his hand twitch toward his gun.

You’re so close, you just need to show him what he’s here for. You hope Spencer got Amaya here.

“I can get you to Amaya! I swear it, if you let me talk to them, I can get them to give you Amaya.”

It works. He doesn’t let you go, and you whimper at the feeling of the rope cutting you, but he pauses, and you can see him thinking it over in his head. It takes one long minute, but he seems to make up his mind.

“No funny business. I’m going to be right there, so don’t even try sending them any messages, got it?” 

You nod, and he whips out a pocket knife, using it to slice through the rope. You let out a deep sigh of relief, your right foot meeting the floor so you can finally stand alone. Blood seeps from the cuts on your wrists and thigh.

He grabs you by the throat, pressing himself to your back, and you register the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your side, where your vest doesn’t cover.

As he half marches, half drags you to the large door, he hisses in your ear.

“I don’t want to hear anything other than Amaya, got it? You say anything that doesn’t have to do with getting her here, I shoot you.”

You nod wordlessly, stumbling towards the door. He comes to a stop right behind it, and maneuvers around you to shove it open, thrusting you out into the fading light of the evening.

Blinking rapidly, you slowly focus on the cavalry in front of you. Multiple SUVs are parked at a three meter’s distance from the stable, doors flung side open so the officers and agents can huddle behind them. A few steps away from them stands Rossi, the sight of him sending a rush of comfort through you.

Rossi clutches the megaphone tighter, and you notice he’s speaking to someone by the SUV in front of him— Oh. Spencer is crouched at the car right in front of you, silver revolver glinting in his hand, and his eyes trained on you as he speaks to Rossi.

It feels rather stupid, but you can’t help but note how pretty he looks, hair tousled and jaw clenched.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when Randall jabs you in the side with his gun, making you yelp.

“Now.” He warns. You straighten your neck, making eye contact with Rossi.

“He’s demanding to see—” Another jab. “—to have Amaya Walker. Please bring her out.”

As you speak, you take your right hand, which was dangling at your side, and bring it up to your pants pocket. Making a gesture that resembles a gun, you slip it into your pocket softly. There’s no significant signal that they’ve understood, but you see the skin around Rossi’s eyes pinch, and you hope you’ve gotten the point across. 

If they can get him to move just a little, you can retrieve your gun from his pocket and incapacitate him. And the only thing that will get him to move now is Amaya.

Rossi brings the megaphone back up to his mouth.

“We can get her here, but we need a guarantee that you won’t harm this agent. Randall, can you do that? Give us Agent L/N, and we can get you Amaya.”

Incensed, Randall hits your side harder with the barrel of his gun. You see Spencer and Morgan twitch forward slightly.

“No! I want Amaya here, now, and I’m not letting your girl go until I see her!”

Rossi nods quickly, signalling to someone behind him. At that motion, JJ emerges from who-knows-where, Amaya Walker in tow. The older woman is wearing a bulletproof vest, her face ashen at the sight in front of her. 

They walk forward until they’re standing by the cars.

At the sight of her, Randall relaxes slightly, but not enough to where you can easily maneuver to your gun. Shaking your head slightly, you see JJ prompt Mrs Walker.

Her voice is shaky and quiet, but you know Randall is hanging on to every word.

“Randall. That’s your name? I’m—” She chokes back a sound. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

Randall makes a pitiful noise from behind you.

“They said you were scared of me.”

JJ prompts her again. 

“I- I could never be afraid of you.” 

At that, Randall lets his hand fall from your throat, and you move. Whipping around, you shove his gun away, diving into his pocket and retrieving yours. You straighten, pointing your gun at him as steadily as you can, with the wobble in your right leg.

He attempts to run to Amaya, but JJ’s already swept her away. 

“Randall, surrender now! You’re surrounded!” Rossi’s voice booms, but it only serves to madden him further.

With a roar of anger he begins to charge to you, and you squeeze, before collapsing. The bullet hits his thigh, the last thing you see before you pass out.

It feels like hours later when you come to, but it's clearly only been a few minutes. You’re sitting on something hard, cold metal, but your back is being supported by something warm.

Only a few beats pass until the sounds come rushing back. You hear the chatter of multiple people around you, but three voices come the clearest. One is deep, interjecting intermittently to the conversation.

The other is calm and melodic, speaking in a steady rhythm that doesn’t falter at all. 

The last is hurried, speaking so quickly that it feels as though it all runs into a pleasant hum. They’re clearly asking questions to the second voice, but you can’t fully understand what they’re saying. 

You want to know who it is. With an immense amount of effort, you prise your eyes open, blinking blearily at the lights. 

“Hey, there she is.” There’s that deep voice. Turning to it, you see a familiar face. Derek smiles at you softly, his hand coming up to rub your shoulder.

“You had us worried there, sunshine.”

Looking around dazedly, you can finally take in your surroundings. You’re sitting in the open doors of an ambulance, the evening having given away to the darkness of night. Headlights from multiple cars light up the area, leaving you spaced out.

There’s a medic standing next to Derek, tending to the cuts on your thigh. Who’s the last voice? 

You twist around, much to the chagrin of the medic, but their protests fall away when you see him. 

Spencer sits next to you, your back leaning against his side. His eyes are worried, pinched together, but still lovely. 

“Hey.” 

It’s simple, but the word seems to mean something more, when it’s coming out of his mouth, and when he’s looking at you like that.

You’re frozen, unable to speak. The medic pats your knee, saying that the rest of your patching up should be done at the hospital. Derek walks away after kissing your forehead. You can barely say goodbye to him. 

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that Spencer speaks again. You turn to face him, immediately missing the heat of his torso against your back.

“Was… this why you were acting differently?” He raises his leg, pulling up his pant leg to show you the words on his skin.

You nod.

“You said you didn’t think it was real. I didn’t know how to tell you yet, and then— it was the only way to contact you.”

You see his hands raise slightly, but refrain from touching you. You want him to touch you.

“I don’t know if I believe in it. But… Even without it, I wanted this.” His words are achingly sincere, and his hand comes to rest over yours. 

“Wanted it since we met.”

Your breath hitches slightly, and you turn your hand to hold his, your wrist with pen marks meeting his.

The words don’t come to your tongue, but you’re sure he knows. He figured it out.

[orphicarchives]

For The Glory of Rome

MARCUS ACACIUS X READER

You're finishing your senior year at Orpheus University when your history class is chosen to give an evaluation on one of the professors. Why does he feel so familiar?

⚠️ Past lives AU! Reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister! Reader is also 22 years old, Pedro is older. ⚠️

The mountains were just visible through the window you were sitting next to; their peaks reaching toward the sky above, almost as if in embrace. They were beautiful at this wintry time of year, with the snow cascading down their formations and painting them white. Bare trees that flanked them transformed into branches of green where the cold hadn't hit just yet- your eyes traveling further down the scene. It was that transitory period of the merging seasons, where autumn became winter and left everyone with an odd illness due to the changing weather patterns. Both snow and leaves were tracked inside the bustling classrooms that were alive with the excited chatter amongst the students. Everyone was excited for the upcoming break that would mark the end of the semester. For you, it would mean the midway point of your senior year at Orpheus.

You'd gone to Orpheus all three years of your college career so far, immediately entranced by the large stone pillared building it was. It was so different from your usual pace in the rainy countryside, with its suburban feel and authentic restaurants. It wasn't immediately that you felt the urge to explore the grand halls of the place and to make it your home, but that feeling came soon enough. One glance at the psychology department and a sip of coffee from the bistro down the road were enough to convince whatever part of you left unsure this would be the place. Even with how far you had to uproot yourself and make such a move, you'd made the connections you'd needed and the friends you'd always wanted.

Lee had sat himself next to you this morning with a coffee cup in hand and his phone in the other. He was addicted to that screen- any video that would appear around his recent interest in Danish pop music would be enough to send him down a spiral of excitement. The coffee, however, was for you.

"Morning!" He said, way too chipper for an 8:00am class. He usually went to Starbucks way too close to the time you were meant to be seated with only a minute left to spare. How he didn't have crippling anxiety around his time management, you'd never know. But he did bring you a drink.

"Hey, Lee." You said, with as much energy as you could muster at the moment given how tired you were. "Thanks for the coffee."

Lee threw his bag onto the ground under the long tables in the lecture hall. His spot had been on the other side of the room for the majority of the class as he'd argued he couldn't focus if seated next to you for laughter purposes. However, today he plopped himself down into the one next to you with his notebook open to the most recent material from last week. His hair was a mess as he'd most likely not had the time to brush it but at least his pants matched his shirt today.

"Yeah, 'course."

You took a sip of the drink, wincing slightly at the heat on your tongue. He'd remembered you liked your coffee black.

This morning, you had your history course which was conveniently in the building furthest from your shared apartment. Deciding the added three minutes to your walk would mean a warmer outfit for the day, you wore a white button down with fleece tights under your skirt. You had to substitute your usual leather jacket in favor for a heavier coat but still opted to wear the full face of makeup you had on every day. Eyeliner was your saving grace and you swore you'd never be caught outside without it on. You weren't much of a "girly girl," but that beauty product was the one exception.

Your shoes were still a little damp from the snow and the water had melted into the bottom of your bookbag, to your dismay. Your notebook was mostly fine except for the bottom edge, where the pen ink had run together, ruining your script.

"Did you hear about the evaluation today?" Lee asked, with his arm outstretched, offering you one of the Starbucks napkins to dry your notebook.

You hummed in a quizzing tone, signalling you didn't hear about it as you got to work cleaning up the mess before class started. There wasn't much you could do about the few pages that had been destroyed, but thankfully it wasn't the topic you needed at the moment.

"Well," Lee went on assuming you wanted him to continue, "Professor Klotsbach had to officially go on maternity leave so they're giving us someone else for the duration of this year. Apparently they're having this new guy come in today and we get to decide whether we like him or not." Lee said, rustling through his own belongings. "The history majors are saying this is the fifth one this semester."

"Oh? that'll be interesting. I didn't realize she was out already." You stated, throwing the napkins into your coat pocket. At least that meant this class would be easy today and you wouldn't have to worry too much about the notes. You took another sip of your coffee and turned your attention back to the large window to stare at the mountains again. The sun was really starting to come up now, which would hopefully make the walk home warmer. The sunlight shone over the leaves and made its way into the classroom, turning the wood paneling into that comforting auburn color you loved. Even with the weather outside, the inside felt like summer.

You directed your attention back to Lee, who was now back on his phone. You decided you weren't too tired for a conversation.

"I wonder why they're so particular about a professor for a general education course?" You asked, inquiring Lee as though he'd know the ins and outs of how the administration worked. Orpheus was always a semi-prestigious university; you wondered if they did so many evaluations for all the subjects.

"No idea," he said, taking a sip of his own drink, "I guess they wanted insight from other majors as well."

"Ah." You said, thankful that it would at least be some form of deviance from your usual schedule. After this, you and Lee had plans with the rest of your roommates to go to the bistro down the road so you considered today an easy one. A listening lecture followed by a sweet treat was a great morning.

As you were thinking of your plans, the door on the right side of the room finally opened, meaning the professor had officially walked in and class was about to start. Lee put his phone in his pocket although he didn't turn it off, so you assumed he was listening to music. You scavenged in your case for a pencil that wasn't broken and directed your focus to the front of the room, where the evaluated professor would begin.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

This man had to have been about ten years older than you but he was gorgeous. The brown in his eyes and his hair shone under the sun with such elegance; he appeared to be a painting. His brown leather jacket placed stylishly over his buttoned shirt- save for the two at the top- and his dress pants neatly drawn with a belt. An expensive one at that. He looked less like a professor and more like the cover of a teenage romance novel. Even his facial hair was properly trimmed and accentuated the angular curves of his face, which widened into a heartthrobbing smile.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Marcus." He said, turning around and writing it onto the chalkboard with whatever chalk was left in the tray from the class before. He then wiped his hands against each other and stood in front of the desk, leaning against it in an effortless grace as he stared at the class. His eyes scanned the room before they fell on you. It was only for a moment before he looked elsewhere, but you were starstruck and your stomach flipped.

Lee snickered quietly at the face you were making which took you out of your trance. "Dilf season, huh?"

Your cheeks were flushed and your whole body felt hot. It was unlike you to immediately be so caught off-guard. You shook it aside and attributed it to intimidation. That had to be it, you were just nervous of a new professor and at this guy's confident yet inviting demeanor.

"Shut up, Lee." You said with a small smile, so he'd know not to take offense although you were serious. You didn't want to draw any attention to your heart beating wildly in your chest.

As he continued talking, however, the burning in your abdomen only got stronger. There was something to this man, some sense of familiarity that struck you defenseless, although you were unsure as to why. You were certain you'd never seen the man before in your life, yet there was an undeniable pull that rendered you speechless for the rest of the class. He was wonderful at explaining everything in full detail and perfect when it came to answering questions. One thing was for certain though, and that was there'd be no way you could focus on any topic if Mr. Marcus was the professor. Despite how well he performed his job, you just couldn't concentrate. So, when the papers came around at the end of the class for the evaluation, you checked the box stating your disinterest in Mr. Marcus as your professor. How would you be expected to learn in a place where he was the teacher if you were so flustered? All you wanted to do was go home and decompress.

You submitted your paper to the front of the room, Lee in tow. You placed it face down on the desk even though the evaluations were anonymous; you felt awful for the decision you made. How was it fair for him to do everything perfectly and to not be granted the occupation?

As you were about to turn towards the door, you locked eyes with Mr. Marcus. They were a golden honey brown, very similar to the warmth of the room you were in, and they had you entranced. He smiled at you and raised his eyebrows as invitation for conversation, which was when you realized you'd been standing there in front of him with open eyes for longer than you meant to.

"Miss (Y/N), did you enjoy the lecture?" He asked, calm and composed. He must've read your name off the seating arrangement sheet and pieced two and two together.

"Uh, yeah-yes. Yes, I did. I find Rome pretty fascinating." You said, trying to regain your own composure. You smiled back at him in a last effort to appear normal and then walked out of the room and into the large hall where Lee followed close behind.

Alone in the Lecture Hall once all the students had departed, Marcus let out a hitched breath. You must have noticed it too? There was something so off about you and he was immediately drawn to your presence the minute he'd entered the room. It was as if he'd bumped into you before, only this odd feeling of familiarity was far more intense than anything he'd encountered before.

He learned against the desk for support and reached for the evaluation papers. He remembered exactly which one you'd placed down as he counted the number of sheets placed on top. He was unsure as to why he needed this clarification so badly, as if the evaluation was going to be enough insight as to how you truly felt about him.

You'd written that he performed everything perfectly. Checked all the boxes showing the administrators that he'd done as he should. But, at the end of the form, you'd written you didn't want him to have the job.

He smiled to himself, just slightly. He must've been overreacting.

...

It was with disdain that his eyes followed yours, the vituperative look etched into his skin. He appeared no older, even with the worry lines becoming apparent as he frowned; kohl seemingly molded into the flesh of his face with its darkness around his eyes. His tunic adorned with goldened jewelry held his red cloak fastened at his shoulder, which swiftly moved side to side as he walked about the palace floor. With his domineering personality and flamboyant demeanor, one could argue he very much belonged here. But those who truly knew him, such as you, would argue the complete opposite. A child in the body of man, ruling over the Roman Empire with the ability to kill any one of the men who'd built the imperial palace with the flick of his wrist.

And to think, he was your brother.

Emperor Geta manically moved back and forth, his steps echoing in the greatness of the hall where the two of you stood. Your other misfortune of a sibling somewhere entranced by his monkey, you presumed. Even with neither of them being much too intelligent, Geta was definitely the force to be reckoned with. This flurry of anger he felt was often of your own doing and today was no different- although the situation was more dire than previous mishaps.

What was usual sibling banter had turned into something fierce, unforgiving. It seemed as though the two of you no longer stood on the same plane and no words could be spoken to alleviate the tenseness between you two.

"There's a traitor-" He began, voice laced with more anger than anything else now that the shock had subsided. "Someone is helping the Senate to conspire against us. A traitor within the castle?" Geta dramatically flung his fingers over his heart and buried it into the fabric of his dress, steadying himself from falling as if he were intoxicated.

"I've heard nothing of the sort, brother." You let out, hardly above a whisper. It felt wrong for the secret to spill past your lips after all this time of keeping it. Although this had been going on for nearly five months, to speak it aloud even partially breathed it into existence. You, who had no family other than Geta and Caracalla, were plotting the demise of both of them. Rome was a collective and you'd been appointed to preserve the democracy of the people- something your brothers had turned into tyranny under their rule. However, it seemed as though they'd just caught wind of the plot without knowing who was leading the rebellion. Of course, Geta would eventually figure it out but the best thing you could do would be to deny anything that would lead to you or Acacius. He would have his head by morn and yours by the next.

Geta focused his eyes toward the nearest column so as not to look at you, forcing himself to tongue over the idea as it repeated within his head. His ornate laurel wreath crown he wore glistened in the light from above, casting a radiant glow on the floor. He was beautiful, if undeservingly so.

"Geta." You started, still fighting the fear that was always prevalent when conversing with your brother, "You are the emperor. Who would dare conspire against you?" you asked, knowing you had to do damage control. It all felt too real and too sudden for anything to happen just yet, this was unplanned. There was still so much more to be done and now that Geta had heard, Caracalla would be next to be informed- potentially halting the senate from being able to make a proper move. Your brothers would behead them all and force you to watch.

There had to be an informant within the Senate, someone who sided with your brothers in hopes of some grand reward for ratting you out. If they told Geta of the uprising, there's no telling how long it would take until they knew you and Acacius were leading it.

Suddenly, it was as if the color returned to Geta's white painted face. The creases that had formed out of worry now resumed with a smile so horrid and vile that your stomach seemed to drop to your toes with dread. The redhead inched closer to you until he was standing directly before you, inches away from your faltering breath. Smug look upon his face with his hands placed behind his back, he whispered in your ear the one thing you never wanted to hear from him.

"Make sure to relay this message to the Senate. If I hear of any further plans or catch the name of anyone involved within the operation, I will make sure the streets of Rome run red with their excrements."

Your veins turned to ice. It was as if your body had become as still as the marble statues surrounding the two of you. The sunlight hitting your brother's hair was not a warm and comforting light, but the light of a thousand fires ready to destroy anything within its path. You could smell the antimony from his makeup, and it was churning your stomach the longer you stood next to him. And then, he pulled you into a forceful embrace.

"You're my brethren, (Y/N). But bloodshed triumphs over blood. My mercy doesn't spill out of my fingertips such as the weak do. I am to carry on the tree of my lineage and I will do so from the seed of my power. Don't let me ever hear my dear sister has fallen into the conspiracy of the people."

Then he left, and a piece of your soul died with the slam of the door behind him.

...

General Marcus Acacius, still clad in the paludamentum from the evening's dinner, gathered himself after a lengthy conversation with some of his troops. He was fortunate for the day's conquer, but he was entirely ready to return to his chambers to meet with his love; hoping she could soothe the grievances that emanated from his soul. A slight glance into the reflection of the gate showed a man worn down by war. Physically and spiritually he felt beaten and old. His face, which had appeared so bright when he'd first started his efforts, had now succumbed to the weight he felt inside. He was duller than the man he'd always been. A light had been extinguished and would never again be set aflame. His body felt as though it were an empty chamber, hollow with only the sounds of the maternal screaming he heard from war. Mothers calling home their only sons that would stay calling for the remainder of their lives. Praying for the boys who'd become soldiers, fallen under an empire that prided themselves on greatness.

The Romans were cruel murderers. And he did their bidding.

Trying his best to push his stressors aside, he stepped into the small garden flanking the back perimeter of the palace, knowing that was your usual place upon nightfall. The fountain seemed to hum as the water rushed down into the basin. The sounds of bugs chirping filled his ears. The calmness of the fire tamed within the confines of the torches made flickering shadows upon the stones beneath his feet.

And then, there was you. Turning to face him once he'd entered the palace and meeting his gaze. He'd sworn he never understood the meaning of goddess until he'd met you. From the first encounter at the palace, Acacius knew he was in love. Every statue and painting couldn't compare to the beauty that radiated off you, he knew. Your eyes were pools of mystery and your skin softer than the sheets lining the bed you shared, fragile under the callouses of his hands that were worn by the hilt of his sword. You were a delicacy. He thought you were more striking than the sun itself.

The word love would never be enough to describe the power that flowed through his veins upon the mere mention of your name or the gentleness of your kiss.

You were here in your usual palla, the purple dye of the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the fire. Your face was hardened into a concerned expression and your lips were downturned. What was usually a gleeful expression when your fiancé returned home safely seemed to be just a little short of animosity.

Acacius immediately went to place his hands gently at your sides, pulling you in slightly with a quizzical look, assessing for any physical ailments. "What troubles you, my Lady?"

You wanted to cry, to scream, to let out all your frustrations through vile words such as your brothers did, but you felt so beaten down you couldn't even formulate the words. Acacius had done nothing wrong but be within your proximity. And now your lover would be subjected to the unforgiving wrath of Geta.

"My Lady?" He asked once more, softer this time. He had a rough day, you could tell, and his forehead lines became more apparent as his brows furrowed. His beard was trimmed but not shaven, so as not to flaunt off some of the scars he'd gathered below his nose. He had one on his cheek and one on the back of his hand that you would run your fingers over in an intimate embrace. He was beautiful, even with the years of war embroidered into his skin. He was your heart.

"It's Geta," you finally mustered, holding Acacius's hand to your cheek and letting a tear fall, "he's enlightened to our uprising."

It was the General's turn to express his worry. "How was he informed?" Hs asked, pulling you in for a stiff hug as he was still wearing his breastplate.

"Macrinus must have caught word after last night's gathering. W-we were so careful, I-"

"Shh." Acacius said, slowly rubbing circles into your back, "We'll be okay, we'll find a way." He said this almost so convincingly you wanted to believe it yourself. But you knew Geta would do his best to punish you in every way humanly possible. There would be no escaping.

"We can run away before they find out its us-"

"To where? We both have the faces of those known in Rome, we'll never even make it past the gate without our identities being revealed. And then what? Where will we go that has no promise of being conquered?" He asked, holding onto you as though your arms alone would ground him. "And (Y/N), you know my heart belongs to you and the people. I couldn't leave one in place of the other."

Any form of democracy was going to be dead if your brothers continued to be the ultimate monarchs the were. Their reign had caused nothing but horrors to the people .

"Geta may want my head when he finds out, but he'll never kill you," Acacius said, looking into your eyes, "He'd never kill our kin." At this, his hand dropped to your stomach, caressing the top of it gently.

"You will not die without me." You said, knowing what he would suggest in the hopes of keeping you safe. "I will not allow it."

"And then what? You die and there will be no hope. Not for the people or politics or our son. My work to free us from the grasp of Rome will be for nought."

Your tears started to cascade down your face as quickly as they came, taking your kohl along with it. This was unfair. All of it was unfair. You wanted nothing to do with your brothers or ruling or Rome or anything. All you'd hoped for was to live peacefully in a world without it- how foolish.

"I love you, Acacius. You know this." You said, burying your face into his shoulder. You took in the metallic scent of his breastplate, trying to ease yourself. You knew as a general that he would never leave Rome defenseless.

"As I love you," he said, moving you gently so you were facing each other, "You know what has to be done."

You composed yourself and met his eyes, trying to find solace in them. He felt more like family than the insufferable gingers you shared a bloodline with. And you knew you'd do anything to protect the family you made for yourself, even if that meant sacrificing the birth one.

"We have to kill them." You said. You found the words didn't trouble as much as you thought they might.

[taurizzz]

I just read your story of bada breaking up with y/n, and what if a pt2? And y/n grew more popular with her dance videos and was invited of sfw2? And bada is shocked to see her there while y/n is being cold to bada and reserved?

— bada broke up with y/n but bada is down bad, and will not let y/n go again.

it had been two and a half years since bada broke up with you, and a year since she broke up with howl.

you were doing really well. your name had blown up in the dance world, bada would see your videos everywhere online and would constantly check your instagram to see what you were up to.

it was safe to say that bada missed the fuck out of you. and that she was obsessed.

she watched your videos where you were a backup dancer for some famous artist, learnt the choreographies you made, made choreographies herself to songs she knew you liked.

imagine the tall girl's shock when mnet is showing her and her crew profiles of the other dancers, your face pops up with your name is bold, "Y/n Y/Ln".

her crew gasps, a million thoughts running through each of their minds. they knew the history between you and their leader, yet many of them were also fans of your work... some even attending your dance classes without bada knowing.

for you, your stomach sunk to the ground, tempting you to crawl into a hole for the rest of your days as you learnt that your ex-girlfriend was also going to be on the show.

great. just great, this is exactly what i need :/

bada was excited to see your pretty face after so long. she couldn't contain herself as your crew's name pops up on the big screen, shyly squeezing lusher's hand as you and your crew walk out and down the stairs.

you looked really nice. you looked better than you did two and a half years ago somehow. bada couldn't take her eyes off you, silently begging for you to look at her back.

but you didn't.

you walked straight past, head up, an air of confidence surrounding you as you and your crew make way to your stand... on the opposite side of Bebe.

you kept your eyes on the big screen, watching your evaluation video, not missing bada's stare out of your peripheral.

can she just leave me alone?

once all the crews were introduced, as well as the host and judges, all the dancers were given fifteen minutes to get changed into their dance clothes.

as you made your way to your crew's hideout room, you could hear your name being called. and you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

you decide to ignore bada and keep walking behind your crew, until a hand grips your wrist, spinning you around.

your eye level with bada's lips. her pink fluffy lips. the lips that you once loved to kiss so much and couldn't get enough of.

"y/n, hi." bada smiles down at you. you have to look away or your self-control that you've worked on all this time would disappear in a second.

keeping a straight face, you take a step back and cross your arms, "what do you want bada?"

bada wasn't used to the coldness in your tone or the harshness in your eyes. but she couldn't blame you, it was her fault that you've become this way.

"i missed you," bada confesses quietly.

is she serious? is she fucking serious? you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. tears start welling in your eyes, you struggle to swallow them down.

"how cruel are you, bada lee? you completely destroy my heart out of nowhere, start dating someone else straight away, then i see you for the first time after two and a half years, and you want to tell me you miss me?! you really know how to play with someone's feelings, bada. just leave me alone."

bada knew then and there she was going to spend the rest of her life making it up to you. because even though you told her to leave you alone, the universe had placed you in her life once again and this time, she wasn't going to let you.

"i let you go once, y/n. it was the worst mistake in my life, and i will never make it again."

helloooo,

thank you for your request, i hope i didn’t let you down with how short it is!

if i did, i’m sorry ;-; i really just wanted to end it with simp bada, i didn’t find it right to add in y/n and bada’s reunion arc into this so maybe i’ll write a third part about it… hmm

anyways! hope y’all are having a great day!

lots of love,

j <3

[bluwavez]

WAIT FOR IT: KIM DOWON IS THE FIRST K-POP IDOL TO TAKE ON BROADWAY WITH HAMILTON.

He Wants To Be In The Room Where It Happens. The Kpop Star's Second Debut Of 2016.

When Kim Dowon ranked 7th in The New Wave, his fans deemed it a miracle. While they never doubted his talents, they knew the judges didn't favor him for his age or appearance. Kim, turning twenty-one during the show's run, had been training for five years while focusing on singing, rapping, and dancing; he had begun developing a passion for musical theatre, learning the choreography to Newsies to impress the panel of judges during his trainee evaluations.

Growing up in lower-class New York City, Dowon, English name Dylan, would often sneak into numerous Broadway shows with his friends. "I still feel this way, but I always felt the ticket prices were way too high. I wanted to see Westside Story so bad, and my friend was like, "Why don't we just sneak in?" So that's exactly what we did." Ever since then, Kim's love for musicals has only grown.

When Dowon moved to Korea at age 15 to start his K-pop training, he got to do something he never thought he would ever get to do: Take an acting class. "My mom didn't make a lot of money, and the school I went to didn't have a good arts program. So, I really felt like the closest thing I could get to acting was either sneaking into shows or watching movies. When they told me I could take acting classes as a part of my training, I was like, "Really?!" my eyes got big, and I couldn't stop smiling. It was really exciting for me." Dowon would share during an interview with Cosmopolitan.

After DeepDive's lackluster debut, Dowon would be reached out to by none other than Alexander Hamilton himself — Well, his actor, Lin-Manuel Miranda. "I still have no idea how he got my email. Not my manager's, not my company's, no, my personal Gmail account," Dowon says, "He said he saw the video of me doing an In The Heights cover and wanted me to audition for a musical he was working on. I sent him back something like, "You know I'm in South Korea right now, right?" and he went, "It's nothing we can't work out. Send in an audition tape." and I mean...The rest is history."

Lin-Manuel Miranda would confess that he had watched every performance of Dowon on YouTube. "I don't know if it was his charming good looks or his crazy vocal ability, but I knew this was the guy I needed for Aaron Burr."

Kim Dowon, listed as Dylan Kim on Hamilton's Playbill, would be cast as Aaron Burr two weeks later and head off to New York to prepare for his Broadway debut.

Hamilton premiered on Broadway at the Richard Rodgers Theatre in previews on July 13, 2016, and opened on August 6, 2016. 

Despite Dowon being the first and only K-pop idol to have a successful Broadway debut, his company was rather silent about it. They announced he would be joining the Hamilton cast and taking a hiatus from the group until the show's run ended, ending their comments on Dowon's Broadway debut despite his achievements during his time in New York. Dowon would open a personal Instagram account a week after the show's massively successful opening, making him the first member of DeepDive to do so. Still, it's not like the people following him knew him for his K-pop group — Oh no, that was Aaron Burr to them.

One of his achievements during his time in Hamilton was winning the 2017 Tony Award for Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical. He was the first and only artist under Angelico to win a Tony award. However, you wouldn't know this because his company did not acknowledge the achievement. During his acceptance speech, which he did in both English and Korean, he thanked his brothers Jisung, Noah, Woobin, Kiwoo, Woojin, and Finn for remaining by his side during this journey and the entire cast of Hamilton for taking him in during this time of his life.

Dowon gave his last performance in Hamilton on July 9, 2017. Tearfully, he told the crowd he wasn't sure when he would return to the stage, but he hoped they wouldn't forget him or the rest of the cast, whom he addressed as his family.

Dowon would return to Korea and DeepDive on August 17th, 2017. He has not performed in a musical since.

[thepunkwolf1312]

do not interact with the user @/sillylittlekittyx3.

i hate to be apart of drama and things like that but as they get more prominent in the community i just want to warn users about them.

Please do not bully this person as they have mental health issues, just block!

i would appreciate if this post was spread around, but you don't have to.

info under the cut, tw: abuse, lying, manipulation.

Since their name is public and it is not their legal name then i will call them by this name.

Currently they are living in my home for reasons I do not wish to disclose.

I have known them for about 4 months and my current boyfriend of one and a half years, Quinn, and i used to be in a polyam relationship. When we were in this relationship, Quinn made me do things with him that i didn't want to do. my mother made a house rule that we can not go into each other's rooms without mom present for our safety. Quinn did not follow this rule. Not only did he not follow this rule but he would also go into my room, and would not leave unless i gave him what he wanted.

Most of the time what he wanted was physical affection. I will not explain fully but I have a history of sexual trauma and he has a history of sexual agression, even so to the point where he was detained for it.

He has been to a psych ward recently due to hurting himself for attention. I have a past of being in and out of mental hospitals due to depression, so when i say he was faking it all, he was faking.

he was choking himself for attention, and i know this because i tried to commit suicide by hanging before. when i tried to commit suicide for many days after i was coughing up blood, i had marks on my neck, and it was sometimes hard to breath and swallow.

He did not have any of these problems as it was not a real attempt, he was not trying to kill himself, he was faking for attention.

He's done other things for attention as well.

A very common pattern i see in his behavior is that any time i struggle with my *real, diagnosed* issues he will mirror me.

When i got overstimulated in a restaurant, he suddenly pretended to be upset and started hurting himself. When i talked to my mom about toe walking and how walking on my heels makes me feel like they're on fire, he quoted me exactly and started toe walking. another example is when i was talking about my migraines he told me that opiods would help with it. when i said no, that pain meds don't help almost always and that i also don't want hard drugs. he fired back at me and claimed that he always had really bad headaches and that he'd want to take opiods for it. he also claimed that his mother has migraines and that he got it from her.

i know for a fact that these things are untrue as he's had many psychological and physical evaluations, and as he is in my mother's custody i know what he has. when i first met him he would always have seizures. after my mom called him out on it and threatened him he stopped and no longer has seizures or "moments of psychosis".

He not only does this with mental illness but also identity.

when i was talking about being a otherkin, he suddenly identified as a therian and more theriotypes kept popping up every day. when i talked about questioning my gender suddenly he was nonbinary. when i talked about my sexual trauma suddenly he had sexual trauma. when i was having an allergic reaction suddenly he had allergic reactions, which, if you have real allergic reactions its pretty easy to tell when someone is faking them. there was no swelling, rash, throwing up, etc. not only this but also the story about his identity changes every time. he's also lied about being intersex and ethnically jewish. his family did a dna test on him, he is not from jewish descent.

on top of all of that, he will not admit things that he actually struggles with. he has drug, alchohol, and sex addictions. when confronted his history is always different. he says that he doesn't have those problems, and he gets agressive both physically and verbally.

another thing to mention is that i posted a video to this account a while ago when my blog was called "wolf-pup" of me wearing a tail, this video has since been deleted. if you check quinn's account you will see this tail, i will use this as proof of me personally knowing quinn.

TLDR; they are manipulative. abusive physically, sexually, and mentally. he in general just isn't a safe person to be around.

[qqueenofhades]

as a starting history major i wanna ask how do you read/evaluate academic history papers/books? i'm trying to avoid just blindly agreeing with whatever the author is writing because it seems correct. how can you tell what is good scholarship and what is more shaky?

This is a great question for you as a freshman history major to ask (many of my toiling colleagues and I can attest that we wish more of you would!) and shows that you're already taking initiative and investment in your studies and want to be the best prepared you can. So truly -- thank you! Us on the faculty/staff/administrative end of academia can feel as if we are pouring into an empty bucket at times, and it's always gratifying to hear otherwise. We really appreciate it.

As a college freshman and/or underclassman (or so I'm assuming) your first job is learning how to collect basic information from the things you read, collate and cite them accurately, and make them converse intelligently with each other in an entry-level piece of academic writing (such as an essay responding to an assigned prompt). So before you have to worry about understanding complex nuance and granular-level fact-checking, the first step is just getting comfortable with academic forms, styles, and conventions. There's an occasional anti-intellectual strand of thinking that pops up on Tumblr, basically insisting that everyone everywhere should be able to understand everything in fifth-grade words and if not then it's Elitist Gatekeeping, but this is a symptom of TikTok brainrot where people's brains have been literally rewired to only process spoon-fed chunks of incredibly simplistic (and uh, often wrong) information, and literally can't parse anything longer, even if it's written in accessible language. Yes, many academics are not necessarily great writers, but you also have to let go of the mindset that you can speed-read once and understand everything. You will need to slow down, take your time, and make a note of concepts that are confusing or that you want to double-check, words you need to look up, and things that make you say "hmm I should look into that more," whether because you're interested or they seem questionable. I always read academic texts or papers (I prefer hard copy, because I am Fucking Old) with a pen in hand, because if I don't, I often feel like I didn't read it at all.

Basically, this is an interactive process between you and the text, and requires you to develop a different kind of reading mentality than just buzzing through a novel or fanfic for pleasure. You have to expect that it will take time and that if you regularly skive off the readings, you won't be prepared for class, your professors will be annoyed, and you won't be able to write good essays, because you haven't engaged with the material. In your case, it sounds like that will be less of a problem, because you are eager to know how to do it right, but I can tell you from my experience that nothing frustrates us more than students who just won't do the reading (and you know, use ChatGPT to write their essays) because then what are you even DOING here? What do you want to get out of this? Why are you wasting your precious tuition money like this? Yes, you probably have to fill a requirement, but STILL. It's disrespectful to your teacher, who has invested a lot of effort in being here to help you with this and doesn't want you to just quit because it looks hard, and your peers, and to you. So anyway, /Captain Holt voice/ apparently that's a trigger for me. Basically, if you learn nothing else from this ask: please do the reading. Even if it's only to admit you need more help or want to talk about this concept in class or otherwise take advantage of all the structures that are in fact there to help you understand it! Thankee.

Likewise, because you're an underclassman, you have an advantage in that your teacher will select the class readings for you ahead of time. That means you will be receiving things that a professional has already checked, decided are useful and trustworthy, and you don't have to do independent research and vetting yourself (that will come if you decide for some godforsaken reason to pursue graduate and/or doctoral study). So you don't need to spend tons of extra time and effort deciding if the sources given to you in class are reliable on a basic and functional level; your professor has already done the work for you to make sure that they are. Your job is now to read those sources, keep a record of what they say (hence the aforementioned pen or other way to make quick notes) and figure out how to put them together in an essay. For example, if Author A cites Factor A as, say, the main cause of the fall of the Western Roman Empire, and Author B insists that Factor B was in fact more critical, what is your best approach to reconciling that information? You would search in the rest of those texts to see what else they say in support of their position, and you would probably end up with a qualified statement to the effect of, "While Author A argues A, Author B thinks B, representing the lack of consensus and the difficulty in attributing one single cause to an event as complicated as the fall of Rome." (And then because you're smart, you would go on to mention Byzantium and the Eastern Roman Empire and show that you are aware of the further context.) All of which is true! Historians do that all the time! You don't need to select THE RIGHT ANSWER and vigorously discredit all other theories, ever, and we tend to look suspiciously on people who do (cough cough Philippa Langley).

In other words, we are certainly not expecting you as a freshman, and even as a more advanced student, to be able to pick out ONE ANSWER from the material. We just want to see evidence that you have in fact read it, are able to evaluate and place theories side by side and possibly make a judgment as to which one you find more compelling, and also to properly cite where you got that information. We've seen a lot recently about plagiarism and that being the pretext on which Harvard president Claudine Gay was forced to resign (which is a whole other can of worms, but never mind). A lot of professors think that saying "Don't Do Plagiarism" is enough, but then don't explain what it is and the different forms it can take. It's not just a matter of copying verbatim chunks of someone else's work (or you know, ALL OF IT, like certain recently discredited YouTube scumbags) and acting like it's your own. If you are relying substantially on someone else's work, whether in their wording, arguments, conclusions, structure, or anything else, even if you've changed some of the words (yep, still plagiarism!), that needs to be cited appropriately according to the relevant style guide. Direct quotes from anyone need to go in quotation marks or indented blocks and have the author cited immediately afterward. History usually uses Chicago, MLA, or MHRA, and you can find cheat sheets for how to do that online. It's a pretty simple and straightforward style, and your professor will be extra impressed.

If you're expected to do an independent project or a senior research thesis, as some undergraduate history students do, then it will come when you have already had three years of experience in reading, evaluating, and writing historical scholarship, you will probably have a faculty member assigned to you for one-on-one mentoring and personalized feedback sessions, and they will be able to provide suggestions and support for useful sources. So even then, you still don't have to do it entirely on your own. They'll probably also be MORE than happy to debate with you which ones are good and which ones are suspect, because it's all a part of developing your ability to flex that muscle for yourself. (And as noted, faculty members Will Have Strong Opinions.) That likewise doesn't mean you just have to copy whatever they say (at least if you have a good teacher who wants you to think for yourself and not just be a mini-clone of their pet theories), but it means that by the time you reach that stage, you will have been prepared enough to feel confident in taking more steps on your own. I think not enough people realize that studying history (or anything, really) isn't just throwing you out there and being like "tough luck sucker, do it all yourself."

That's why academia is so collaborative, why plenty of historians with doctorates and tenure will still have to say "I don't know, let me get back to you" when someone asks them a question at a conference, and you don't have to fear that if you don't have The One Right Answer, you will be immediately exposed as a fraud and thrown out. History as a discipline is also moving away from the 19th-century German approach that attempted to systematize it as a singular social science with One Right Answer, and to focus more on multiple perspectives and incomplete answers. That's why the goal is not necessarily to know everything (which alas, is impossible), but to make better sense of what we can know and search for ways in which the existing record is flawed and needs to be revised, expanded, or reworked with new perspectives (which have existed all this time, but haven't been privileged by the white male western academy for the obvious reasons). And that work is fun and important! I don't want you to be scared of getting to that point, because someone will be there to support you the whole way and by the time you do, it will make sense to you in a way it probably doesn't right now, just because it's a new skill and like any new skill, it takes a long time to learn and to be able to apply confidently, consistently, and at a high level. And plenty of us who do it as a career still often have to say "I don't know, let me ask Dr. So-and-so who specializes in this," so yeah. It's a process of becoming comfortable with both learning how to answer what we can, and to ask others for help with that, and it never really ends. Which is the fun part. There's so much more to do.

Good luck!

[miscellaneouslibrary]

❆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧ ͙ 𝒫𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒫𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉 ‧͙ *̩̩͙❅•̩̩͙꙳⋆❆

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖨𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇:

Philomina the Patient is the stoic and hard-working captain of the celestial ship The Priscilla Via and the leader of the Starfield Voyagers. She is remarkably well-known throughout the boundless cosmos for her great achievements and ancient status. Philomina’s exterior may seem cold at first, but she is actually an empathetic and straightforward individual with a strong conviction for her ideals. Don’t mind the overabundance of papers that literally fly around her. 

Other aliases: Phil, Mina, The Bibliophile, the Venerable Archivist, the Living Library, Se c0n d W a1Che̶7, ....................

....................................................Ǹ̶̹͌̇̃̀v̵͐̓͌j̷̛̓͂W̷̛̩̻̅̋̅͆̉͋͘̚j̶̃͒̋c̷̑̅́̀x̵͉̣̱̹͐̈͒̒̇͝â̷̿̉̒͘ ̴X̶͑͒͐̋ö̸̹̤̳̙́̀̋̍̌ͅ ̵̆̏̀Ȃ̶̆n̵̟̥̩͉̹̳̲̈͐́͒͛͒̕͠V̸̮̩̍͂̋̽̓̍n̴͋v̴̈́̀̇̈̎͊k̷͆̐̽̔̀a̴̅̌͆J̷̽̔̌w̶̗̘͚͋l̴̟̰̔͊͑̍̑͆͘͝͝Ň̷̖̔͗͝͝͠

Affiliation: The Starfield Voyagers

𝖵𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖨𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗑:

❇ First Meeting: Salutations, you must be the new addition to the Astral Express. I am Philomina the Patient, leader of the Starfield Voyagers, but, please, refer to me as "Phil". It rolls off the tongue better. ❇ Greeting: Pleasure to see you once again, Trailblazer. I believe I have enough time on my schedule to accompany you on your quests yet again. Though, don’t be disappointed when a sudden event pops up in my calendar. ❇ Goodbye: Although your company brings me the greatest of joys, I must be off now. The paperwork won’t file itself. I bid you: adieu. ❇ About Self: Life History: Hmm… unnecessary. You don’t need to know my life history to understand me. I’m but a million other characters you meet in a story; another personal lore anecdote would just bloat the narrative. ❇ About Self: Feathered Pen: My pen? Curious? It’s nothing you’ve seen before, correct? Unlike other writing materials, this fountain pen was forged with a metal that defies the laws of Time, then bejeweled by small gems and golden outlines that share the same ability. The extravagant feather was dipped in a thin translucent miracle wax, forever trapping the fluff in the current state that it is now. How resplendent. … giggle Did you actually believe me? ...Trailblazer, remember to tread lightly when discussing mysterious concepts with others. More often than not, what they say exaggerates the whole ordeal. And when it’s “not”? Well, isn’t it more articulate to compare an incomprehensible idea with metaphors and hyperbole? ❇ Chat: Flying Papyrus: Ah. Don’t mind the trail of papers around me. Sigh… Restless. I’m currently working on research papers about the possible origins of Leviathans, reviewing and summarizing some customer evaluations for the IPC, and writing a eulogy for a dear friend of mine. But for every task I finish, it seems that two new ones seem to pop up out of thin air! As long as “Philomina the Patient” lives on, I don’t think I’ll ever rest. ❇ Chat: The Starfield Voyagers: The Starfield Voyagers are similar to the Astral Express in many ways. You can think of us as a distant cousin. Here’s to a prosperous relationship for the future! ❇ Hobbies: You may identify me as a terrible workaholic, but allow me to reassure you that I have other interests outside of simple paperwork. Honest. Organizing the paper files on my desk brings me the greatest of delights, and observing the Drinking Bird that Citron gifted me entertains me so during my free time… No, this has nothing to do with work. ❇ Annoyances: Insignificant. I find general annoyances to be trivial; I’m far too busy to be peeved over inconsequential things. Although when it comes to my interactions with colleagues, crew members, and friends, I often feel... on edge of sorts. I’m not a well-liked individual, so there are those that wish to harm me in any way possible. ❇ Something to share: This universe is vast and expansive, yet overwhelming and unknown. Trailblazer, don’t let that truth deter you. When there are uncharted frontiers, you can pave your own path to further your personal understanding of the world and therefore yourself. There is always more than one choice, however, you must step outside of your comfort zone and be ready to experience failures and setbacks, and, along the lines, success and reward. All you need is courage to see things through and a little patience, understood? ❇ Knowledge: I’ve known far too many things that would bore all matter of existence to a painless yet oblivious death, or cause them to have great epiphanies that would alter not only their world view but their physical form forever. Unfortunately, no in between. What I’ve learned is that it’s best to save such information for later use. .・゜゜・✧ ΛBӨЦƬ ƬΉΣ ΛΣӨПƧ

𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗍

Rarity: ☆☆☆☆☆ Path: Harmony Element: Ice Kit Eidolons(WIP)

Blue diamond dividers by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[backboneofthevees]

VELVETTE HEADCANNONS!

Not my usual post, but I thought I'd share! Have fun reading :)

♡ (if it wasn't obvious enough) She's a lesbian! I love the little girl-liker third wheel to a mlm couple (vox and val) her and the other vees have going on, plus the velvette x verosika art i see is ALWAYS so beautiful!

♡ referring to this post below:

She owns corsets (yet doesnt use them much because LOOK AT THAT WAIST), and one or two have definitely been stolen....by both of her male conterparts.

♡ She sews! Not ALL the time, since she's busy doing things like running shows and doing photoshoots, but I feel like it'd be a little something nice to do in her free time. Blasting some music while tailoring a new coat or something.

♡ She only wears the same colors. I know this is a little obvious from the few outfit changes she has in the show, but imagine it. A large walk-in closet filled with ONLY pink, purple, white and black. (And perhaps a singular green christmas sweater.) They're not ALL just dresses and jackets, she has pants and t-shirts too. She just likes to dress femme and throws in a masc/more casual outfit from time to time.

♡ She has a diverse music taste. I might me self-projecting here a bit, but I think it'd be pretty cute to see hee listening to different types of music. Like listening to something metal/punk when wearing an 'emo' outfit (one thst consists of mostly black) or some pop/r&b when dressing up in her normal dress-and-tights- combo. It helps her get in the mood.

♡ She has a close relationship with Vox and Valentino. This is also shown in the actual show, seeing how docile they are around eachother, but I imagine the boys and Vel having a brother-sistertjust generally close relationship, like Val and Vel would talk shit and go shopping one day or Vox and Vel talking about the shoots they're doing/planning on doing and having their nails done together. (Painting Vox's claws or sharpening them since he doesn't really have nails.)

♡ She's a little nerdy. I'm not talking about book-nerd, more likke a genuinely-invested-in-fashion-and-knows-about-its-history nerd. Like she'll read up on magazines or articles about how the kitten heel came to be or fun facts about the creator of a specific clothing brand she likes. She doesn't bring it up often, more of a random thing she'll drop into a conversation to keep it going. Also, since she's on her phone all the time, I think she'd be a little bit of a tech wiz like Vox. Like he'll give her a prototype for a new V-Phone and ask her about any bugs or special features. She'll evaluate it and Vox would give her his credit card for a day as a thank you.

♡ She has a major sweet tooth. I'm not saying she's constantly eating candy, given her figure and those crisp pearly whites, but whenever she's going out she'll get a milkshake or perhaps a little sweet treat at a local bakery. Not nicely, but still.

♡ Her full name, when she was still alive, was Veronica Barbie Hernandez, hinting at a latina/mexcian background. Her friends usually called her by her middle name or just Barb, since she had (and still does) such an affliction for having cute outfits and wearing pink. (I might draw her aswell as the rest of the vee's as humans, who knows)

♡ She has a doll body. This is a bit of a short one, but since she's based of a doll like Vox is a TV and Valentino is a moth, she has a plastic-y, smooth doll body. Specifically a ball-jointed doll body. (She can also pop off her limbs and/or head with little to no pain, using it to scare the boys during halloween or whenever she feels like it.)

♡ She's in her early 30s-late 20s, Vox and Val being around 30-40.

♡ She has 2 cats, one white cat named PomPom, and one tabby cat named Spike.

♡ Her favorite musicals are Heathers and Hairspray. (heathers fans hmu)

♡ Despite being known as 'the girly one', she grew up with 2 brothers. Both are dead and are running around somewhere in Hell, probably.

♡ She helps pick out outfits for the boys, despite them wearing (like almost every other male character) suit-like attire. She LOVES trying on dresses with Val, though.

♡ She goes out often. To shop, get food, get drunk, or to just walk around town and blog for her live feed. God forbid you bump into her though, especially if she's holding a drink (or just anything that could spill on her/something expensive she bought dropping onto the ground). She'll EXPLODE.

That's all for now! Feel free to ask for more or just anything else <3

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #70: 2019

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Lil Nas X, Post Malone and Swae Lee, Halsey, Billie Eilish, Post Malone, Marshmello, Ariana Grande, Khalid, Travis Scott, Jonas Brothers. End description]

More information about this blog here

And here we are with the final full decade featured on this blog. All throughout the 2010's retrospectives, we have been focusing a lot on how streaming and internet culture in general is shaping pop music. Now, that can be seen more than ever. Especially with the number one song this year, Lil Nas X's Old Town Road -- one of the first viral TikTok songs we'll be seeing. Old Town Road isn't just notable for how it took off through meme culture or how TikTok would soon come to be one of the main forces behind pop success, but the track was also controversial for how it blurred the lines between genres. Not through aesthetic or sound (which is nothing new), but through marketing. After reaching number nineteen on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart, the magazine disqualified the song from counting as the genre. It should be mentioned that country circles have a history of drawing clear lines around what counts as their genre. There was a time when many country music tastemakers considered artists like Johnny Cash or John Denver to be too rock or pop for country. In fact during the 1975 CMAs, Charlie Rich burned John Denver's card after announcing him as the winner. And if it even needs to be said, this tension is even more noticeable when you factor race into the mix. Especially when you factor in how country being classified as a "white" genre was a marketing strategy less than a hundred years ago. Here's an article that went more in depth on the issue in response to the Old Town Road debate.

“Determining which chart a song lives on is an ongoing process that depends on a number of factors, most notably the song’s musical composition, but also how the song is marketed and promoted, the musical history of the artist, airplay the song receives, and how the song is platformed on streaming services.” - a representative from Billboard for Rolling Stone

Obviously, this is a lot of discourse and debate to drop onto a short TikTok meme song. But since this blog is essentially about how music is marketed, I couldn't not bring it up. Because Old Town Road wasn't controversial just because it was a song that used both country and rap influences (country had been incorporating more hip-hop production into their sound all decade), but it was largely controversial because Lil Nas X wasn't a country artist. This is a concept I touched on briefly during the rise of nu metal, but the definition of a genre can change depending on whether you're evaluating the sound as music or as marketing. And if you're in the world of marketing, the definition of "country music" is "music performed by country artists within the country music industry". But with the internet making it more possible than ever for people outside the industry to gain pop success, the lines are allowed to become even more blurred.

Unlike the start of the decade, the pop music now is much more low-key and moody. The popularity of trap lends well to a darker sound, and even pop tracks like Billie Eilish's Bad Guy and Ariana Grande's 7 Rings are taking influence from this production style. Lo-fi music and "bedroom pop" are now becoming the go-to sound. More production styles that encourage more individual, introspective listening. Music that sounds like it could have been produced by one person in their bedroom. And maybe the timing was just right. Because soon, most people would have to make their music out of their bedrooms.

See you all in 2020.

[jeannereames]

Hello, as someone who was recommended your Dancing with the lion books (because I'm trying to learn more about influential Queer figures in history) I learned that you're pretty active online! So I was wondering, as someone who's actually new to Alexander the Great what are some good biographies you might recommend for someone who is (kind of) a new to this historical figure?

First, I hope you enjoy the duology. It should be a mostly painless way of learning a little Macedonian history. Ha. Although if you're truly interested in the history, do read the author's note in the back of book 2 (also found HERE on my website, which has some other goodies. SSL should now be fixed, if anyone has trouble, please message me).

Okay, so, first I posted an entry about pop history generally, and how to evaluate such books that you might find helpful:

Reading Pop[ular] History

But embedded in that longer post are four books that I've used as textbooks in my Alexander the Great class at UNO. Also, some that I take issue with. All have links to where you can purchase them.

One I didn't list there, in part because it doesn't really fit into that narrative, but which I'd also recommend...albeit maybe not as a place to start (tackle it after you've read a couple others).... Cambridge Companion to Alexander the Great, Daniel Ogden, ed. 2024.

It's even reasonably priced for an academic book. It's important because it's not a single author but a collection of chapters each written by someone who actually specializes on that very topic. So there's a level of precision no single author can get without hella lotta work. But for that very reason, it may not be the best place to START. That said, it's not just for academics, and I will be replacing the other bios in my ATG class with that one, when I teach it again. It's intended for those who have a serious interest in Alexander, regardless of being in a uni class about him or having a degree in ancient history or classics (or archaeology).

[dlstmxkakwldrlarchive]

Genie Music K-pop Exploration Team's listening session — O (Circle) PICK by Kim Yoon-ha, Kim Young-dae part i

source x

YOUNG: Who is it today?

YOON: Today, like Woojin, I brought the work of an artist who released a solo album. However, this artist has already released solo works

YOUNG: He did

YOON: He's the main vocal of a group we're really familiar with

YOUNG: Yes

YOON: Who is it?

YOUNG: ONEW. LEE JIN/KI LEE JIN/KI. Our Jinki.

YOON: We prepared ONEW's new album Circle. This is his first full lenght album in..?

YOUNG: He debuted in 2007 or 2008?

YOON: 2008

YOUNG: Then it's his first after 15 years?

YOON: In the meantime, he released two mini albums, the solo debut was a bit late. After releasing his first mini album in 2018, he only released a japanese album, another EP and now his first album.

YOUNG: As the main vocalist of one of the greatest groups in K-POP history there weren't many releases so it's pretty meaningful that it's first album in 15 years

[...]

YOUNG: A little curiosity. What is the difference from a mini album and a full lenght album?

YOON: I think it depends on the times, based on 2023 KPOP standards, 'mini' showcases chapters organized like 'this is me' and 'this is me'

YOUNG: That's right, a mini is a sampler menu in a restaurant: this restaraunt is good at this and that. If it's like this a regular [album] is a full course

YOON: Yeah, it's eating the main dish [...] Basically the ingredients are the same but it's inevitable that the point is what flavor and what kind of eye candy you show them. Onew released two mini albums called VOICE and DICE: VOICE is a calm album filled with ballad-like songs while DICE is very refreshing, it's onew's colorful side. What album would you think is the real ONEW? With that feeling, I think this album, 'Circle' , is an answer and a question.

[...]

YOUNG: Let's go with the general evaluation

YOON: How was it?

YOUNG: For me, this recent talk about SME incident. Hybe and Kakao...There are things like that, right? If you like SME music or your favorite artist is under their agency, what we're curious about is how SME music will change after lsm, will it change? Critics are flaggergasted about this, right? Opinions are divided, it'll be similiar, it'll change... I don't own this CD and I haven't seen it in person but lsm isn't in charge

YOON: Oh

YOUNG: So in a way this is the first album without LSM..? Kind of like that, I don't know exactly. [...] is this the grand post lsm era?

[note: lsm place as executive producer for this album was taken by onew himself he revealed it in hot tracks circle fansign event x]

YOON: I didn't feel much of change, compared to the existing sm sound [...] commenters are saying 'uh but it changed a bit'

YOUNG: We'll know when the number of cases increases!

YOON: I thought it was an album where I focused on the voice of the singer

YOUNG: Yes

YOON: While listening to it, we also check things like 'oh, this music is this kind of genre' and 'this kind of songwriter in this is essential' but the more i listen to this album, the more i think 'oh, this person wanted to express his voice like this' or 'this person can sing with this voice'. I think the most important part of this album is the fun of finding things like that

YOUNG: It's one of the two [things to find]. 'Which song penetraded through this voice and showed its presence' or 'or, did you really use it in that direction by collecting only the songs that are really optimized for this voice?' But i think it's both

[...] Of course, his voice is unique. to be honest, Onew's voice

YOON: If you hear the first note, you'll know that it's SHINee's Onew

YOUNG: Right. that's a very gentle voice

YOON: The more I listen to it, the more I think it's the result of Onew's obsession with his voice

O (Circle) PICK - O (Circle), Cough, Rain On Me, Caramel & Anywhere

YOON: In that sense, the song that really obsessed me was the first song, O (Circle)

YOUNG: To add a bit of exeggeration, the image of this album, should I say it's a sound effect? Should I call it tone? I think 70-80% of the colors that I feel when i think of the album are decided here

YOON: I think so too. As soon as I listened to this song, I got to listen the whole album

about O (Circle)

[...] YOON: You mentioned the first part and I think that the most of it was very anomalous and completely different. As soon you hear that sound, in a science fiction movie, you know? The feeling of trascending time and space

YOUNG: Like a warp

YOON:Yes, that kind of part. That part starts with Onew's voice, as soon as I hear the sound, it's like changing time and space

YOUNG: You're coming out strong from the start, a voice that changes time and space?

YOON: I've told you that before and I think that feeling came straight to me, I thought 'Wow that's good'. But honestly it's not that easy to approach, right?

YOUNG: Some people might think 'it's not the sound I expected'

YOON: It's a song that's actually pitchy or contemplative rathar than pop

YOUNG: Yes, so I thought that the atmosphere of this song... its core is Onew's rich voice who floats on the mood and atmosphere rather than the melody or anything like that [...] There's no meeting, the lyrics are all floating around. The image itself. When time goes quickly, the seasons go like this, it's kind of like the clock goes backwards when the time goes back, Onew's voice feels like that. [...] If you think of the theme of this song, we think that time is going foward with renewal because we're crossing the calendar but there's a cyclical time structure where we can come back and find a common ground, right? I think we're moving foward while turning around? What he's [Onew] trying to say is tha we look alike and go against each other. It's exquisite that those parts are expressed in a floating sound unknown to us, like you mentioned earlier

YOON: It's very attractive, I found it very attractive. On the other hand, it's not easy to write lyrics for a song like this, it has all the sounds. I don't talk about lyrics that much but I really want to talk about it in this song. Kim Eana wrote them for this song! When the song starts, they give us words to the melody and the beat of 'nana-nana-nana-(sun cloud wind)', the words continue to throw nouns, and of course, there's a message afterwards but the words continue to contain the image of the sound we talked about, it plays a role in making it separate from the reality. So if there's a sentence, we keep thinking of the narrative but if we throw a word like this, we start to imagine it, right? The chemistry between them is really good

YOUNG: In terms of generation, Kim Eana is a lyricist who's both old and new school? These days, there's a way to make impact with your lyrics in k-pop, there's a new style but Kim Eana is not really that style, she stuck with, I think, a strange sound that we can't exactly say is a trendy k-pop song

YOON: It's not a song that can lead in terms of trend but Onew's voice is a actually a bit trendy in terms of sound. Since it's close to an alternative R&B sound, I think it's a song that creates a strange appreciation by adding lyrics that emphasizes the taste of korean words, it's a song with a high level of completion. Everytime I listen to it, I think about it. [...] It's one of my three favorite songs.

[...]

about 'Cough' and 'Rain On me'

YOON: Before we came in we talked about the album and said "1, 2 and 3 punches are the best"

YOUNG: I think the beginning [of the album] was done not until the end but it got the upper head and completed the big frame?

YOON: The songs after O (Circle) that created the atmosphere are 'Cough' and 'Rain On Me', they're slightly warm, aren't they? For me O (Circle) feels rich and dreamy but it makes me feel lonely emotionally, 'Cough' melts my heart. It's like when the snow melts in winter and it becomes spring? It's a perfect song to listen to this weather these days

YOUNG: To me, 'O (Circle)' is close to the sky. I mean, if it's more of a philosophical and contemplative thing in the world of metaphysics then 'Cough' and 'Rain On Me' feel like they're on the ground

YOON: 'Rain On Me' isn't a heavy rain either, it's a spring rain: it's like a sprout is going to come out after the rain stops. These two songs go really well with this spring vibe. 'Cough' has a moist feeling while 'Rain On me' has a rain theme but it feels a bit dry, I liked the twist

YOUNG: There are a lot of reasons for that dry feeling, the singing style... but also it's just Sam Kim's style [note: 'rain on me' composer & lyricist]. All the songs he made are like this, his style is kind of dry and the music itself has a lot of echo and there isn't much of dynamic in general. The music is stretching out? There's nothing cute about it.(YOON: Yes, it's very calm) I think 'Cough' is a bit cuter?

YOON: It's lovely to me

YOUNG: Cuter and more lovely

YOON: That's right. The strings spread in the chorus and then he goes back to his voice and guitar. It just ends dryly and I realized that's where Sam Kim and Onew meet

YOUNG: First of all, a guitar should be dongdongdongdangdongdongdang, here is just dreungdreungdreung and Onew fills in the middle with a warm voice

YOON: It feels warm but a bit rough, that charm is really amazing

about Caramel

YOUNG: I'm dancing right now because of the next song. Isn't it something that anyone can dance to? (laughs) In a way track number one, two and three are too calm. 'Cough' is cute but slow, this is the first track to raise the groove

YOON: In terms of sound 'Caramel''s role is connecting the front part [of the album], it also raises the tempo slightly. Also, Giriboy featured and took part in the work

YOUNG: "More, more, more, more into space" ['Caramel' lyrics] This is the only part where you get excited while listening to it, it goes up at that moment. 'Rain On Me' remains stuck on the ground while, I really like the expression of walking, in 'Caramel' you start walking faster

YOON: Yeah and also it's a bit witty the, how do we call it? A mouth trumpet? Lip trumpet? Louis Armstrong did a great job!! I think you can listen to 'Caramel' while walking lightly in a spring day, it's a representative pop track

YOUNG: It's cozy, but it doesn't have that cozy feeling in slow songs. I'm sure people who will listen to it will relate to it. It feels like a breeze, like a blanket? It feels like a breeze and a blanket. I really like that feeling. I really like the voice Onew uses, he's so talented. I love his song with Lee Jin-ah, 'Starry Night' is always in my top playlist

YOON: I really like that feeling. [...] If you look at the album as a whole, this kind of song was necessary as bridge, the previous three songs we discussed before penetrate the album emotions but from the heavy part to the end [of the album], it goes more to pop and k-pop route. I think this song needed to play that role. It's also good to meet Onew's skilled vocals. The lip trumpet that we mentioned earlier is a small skill but it's an advantage of this song, you can meet Onew, a skilled vocalist who sings naturally to a beat, soul and rhytm that you haven't seen in k-pop tracks

YOUNG: His pronunciation is so good. 'Sweet like caramel' It melts...

YOON: That's right, that's right! It's like it's melting into something...

YOUNG: When I first heard it, I thought it stood out? I thought it might break the album's emotional line but when I heard it for the third time, I was happy the song came out and that's the advantage of a full-lenght album. I rarely change my mind when it comes to mini. (YOON: the songs are few...). Since there's no flow. That's the fun part of a full album.

YOON: Giriboy's feature helped

about 'Anywhere'

YOUNG: SO, where are we going? Let's go somwhere else? Are we going to 'Anywhere'?

YOON: 'Anywhere'!! Yes, that's right. I choose it as one of my top two songs in the album. I like it because it feels like the middle of the album, after 'Caramel', which brought some of the rhythm, this songs explodes with a slight change of temperature. I think it's a song that makes you feel comfortable, I like this album section. If it's a full lenght album, there are a lot of songs and of course we care a lot about the songs' flow. Tracks one, two and three, as we said before, came with a dark and luxurious vibe, with Giriboy's help we came into 'Caramel' rhythmically and then in 'Anywhere'... there was a lot of emphasis on things like rough but cozy acoustic sounds in the first part but here, it naturally leads rhytm and cools down [the album's vibe]? Do you know the pop-like feeling? I like that feeling

YOUNG: Uh, sure. It has a bit of city vibe. I feel like I'm staring straight at lights at night and I gradually lose focus without even realizing it or like if you keep looking at the surroudings reflectively while driving, there's a dreaminess that you feel when you pass a line and feel nothing.

YOON: It has a bit of speed

YOUNG: With a sense of speed, the beat goes like this 'I'm not going anywhere', the sound is all around me

YOON: The notes are actually that low? [note: youngdae was singing]

YOUNG: No, it doesn't have a crescendo, it doesn't sound like it, but it feels like he's praising you. It's a city pop style, it has a good vibe

[ghostbustermelanieking]

i've never really considered myself a theater kid (mostly because i've never involved myself in productions outside of like elementary school) but this is an inaccurate self evaluation, i think. anyways, i coincidentally got to see wicked twice onstage (once on broadway), and the constant bombardment of advertisements led me to see the movie last night. and i had a surprising amount of thoughts! below the cut, bc there are some spoilers (for the movie and for both halves of the musical)

i should start by saying that i really did enjoy this adaptation a lot, way more than i would have guessed months or years ago, and that's pretty cool. in my mind, the extended run time works to flesh out some things that felt rushed in the original musical, and just to build the world more, and i really enjoy it. in some ways, i think this movie is closer to what little kid me was envisioning when i read the wikipedia synopsis

i frickin loved the shout outs to the original wizard of oz, like the title plates (which i MISSED the opening title but i've seen pics), or the bike elphaba rides, etc. i've probably missed a lot from this story bc i've only ever seen these characters as vague shapes through nosebleed seats, but listening to the soundtrack before going to see the movie helped me pick up on a lot of easter eggs in the lyrics i'd either forgotten or never noticed (holy fuck the wizard and i kills me 😭)

my favorite song from this musical since i saw it in 2019 has been what is this feeling, i don't know why i ever doubted myself

i love how they did the green elixir part of the opening song, but i'm shocked spotify just like. put jeff goldblum's name in the track listing, like we're not supposed to know that yet. they went through the trouble of only releasing half the soundtrack for lack of spoilers, but then they spoil elphaba's father in the credits??

this was basically me internally the entire fucking movie

in every fucking scene, but particularly when they hold hands, and when elphaba yells let her go its me you want! during defying gravity, and the fucking dance scene ahhhghgdhgh

obviously i ship the hell out of elphaba/glinda, it's so obvious, but i do admittedly have a real soft spot for fiyero/elphaba. i vibe with it, particularly the way they frame it in this movie

the solution is a three way

admittedly glinda is an interesting and frustrating character, and i'm curious to see how i'll feel seeing part 2. my memories of the stage musical are so fuzzy bc it's been years. i feel like i'm consistently so frustrated with glinda's limitations when it comes to elphaba and her cause, and i know that opening scene is her acting, for a reason, but it leaves a weird taste in my mouth without the second half to wrap it up. perhaps that is the point?

i really can only kind of remember the stage version -- there's like certain moments that pop out to scratch my brain every now and then, but also probably a lot i forget. the movie helps to pad out the story and make parts of the musical feel less rushed -- more on that later -- but there's some things i'm uncertain as to whether or not they're additions; can any fans of the stage production help me out?

i'm 90% sure elphaba not being intended to stay at the school is something they added (i love that explanation as to why she and nessa were starting at the same time), but i'm not positive

i also feel like that first scene of glinda and elphaba in the room was an addition, but also unsure?

the scene where fiyero runs into elphaba in the forest?

did elphaba get glinda in with morrible in the original musical or did the movie add that?

i know the oz history segue in one short day is an addition, but where did they discuss the grimmerie in the original musical? i do not remember its introduction

i feel like the guards going after glinda and elphaba saying it's me it's me is an addition, but i can't be sure (part of me hopes it is, because in my heart it's a tribute to sarah fier, but it probably isn't)

most of the additions were excellent. i loved the setting switch to a secret animal meeting in something bad. i love the addition of the bear nanny to elphaba's backstory. i love that they actually include a chase scene before defying gravity, bc i cannot for the life of me fill in how elphaba gets to sing defying gravity in the stage production

also i've seen other people scream about the choice to have elphaba fall and take her childhood self's hand before she flies, but i'll add to it. i fucking loved that

now for the things i wasn't as big a fan of

some of the song/montage sequences went on for what felt like way too long for me. particularly defying gravity (i hate to say it, but my god, i was like lmfao how have the guards not caught them??) i love most of the sequence and i'm not even sure where the cuts would be made, but i've seen someone joke that the last song played for like 30 minutes and that is kind of what it felt like

the idina/kristen cameo (ALSO spoiled by spotify!!) made me smile so much, buuut it did feel like their moment dragged on a little too long. and this is a stupid thing to complain about, since it's in every fucking trailer, but i wish idina hadn't done the little defying gravity moment because it felt like taking away from cynthia's moment at the end, at least in my mind

like maybe it would've worked if they'd made the joke in the 2nd part? idk

even though the length is not an issue to me, i do wonder why we didn't get more time in the middle part where elphaba and glinda are just close friends. it feels like everything between popular and the train scene was more focused on fiyero and the girls, which like... it's important, for sure, but i was hoping the run time would add just some more meat to the friendship (like i'm fully invested ofc but there's a little voice inside me going "shit, this is a big turn around; i need more of this and the why." like that little moment before popular where elphaba flinches away and doesn't want to be vulnerable? her stepping away when glinda calls her beautiful at the end of popular? i wanted a little more of that lonely girl uncertainty)

i am still surprised i had this many thoughts, but what are you gonna do? i really enjoyed the movie and a year is too long

[anjumbai]

American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis – Thoughts

“… and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.”

First of all, this is one huge book. I was skeptical of whether I should really even pick this up, will this put me in another reading slump and yada yada. Surprisingly, I managed to finish it in a very short time. The narration style and dialogues are something I found to be absolutely hilarious. Bret Easton is very crafty with the dialogues he constructs and I don’t understand how he comes up with such elaborate and funny conversations. Honestly, I’d research a little bit more about the book and the writer but there is no network in my country as I’m writing this. So yeah, giving it to you raw.

Can I talk about the movie first? I’ll talk about the movie first. I love Christian Bale. He’s one of my favorite actors, a master at his craft and worthy of respect for his diverse set of roles. His dedication to play a role is unmatched. He starred as Patrick Bateman in American Psycho and I’m glad I watched the movie first. The book is written in first person narrated by our P&P executive, working in murders and executions, Patrick Bateman. And every time I imagine a scenery with this guy, pop, it’s Christian Bale’s goofy ass acting popping up in my head and I absolutely love it. Somebody said while working with Bale that during the shoot of the film, he thought that Bale was deliberately acting horrible. He couldn’t understand why and when the movie came out, his doubts were gone. He seemed like the perfect sociopath, trying his best to fit in while being absolutely horrible at it. His deliberate bad acting just made the character Bateman come to life. It was bad acting to the point it was amazing acting. I don’t know, 10/10 for Christian Bale.

Let’s start off with the contents of the book. The book is a series of narration of the events happening in Bateman’s life and his mind by Bateman himself. There are often whole chapters dedicated to Bateman naming designer and luxury brands, describing popular music bands and their history and what their songs mean, there was even a whole chapter dedicated to his panic attacks; considering he is always high on Xanax, Velium or some other drug. Pages and pages worth of creative and witty dialogue, callbacks or just the total unhinged way of how Patrick treats everyone else when he is on bloodthirst mode. So much to highlight. So much to highlight, cause all of it is just so funny. Something like- “What is this continuing inability you have to evaluate this situation rationally?” when Patrick is being harassed by his fellow gay co-worker(who thinks Patrick loves him cause that one time he was trying to strangle him but dude thought wow Patricks in love with me) is just comedic. Or something like – “Patrick, why aren’t you looking at me?” “I’m ignoring you, Luis.” Just makes me laugh out loud. And of course, the movie. Lines from the movie written out in the book and you’re just sitting there Leonardo DiCaprio-ing all over. “He said the thing.”

All jokes aside, it was also a very clever critique of the free market. All the characters are extremely self-centered to the point of obsessive narcissism, where Pat just takes it up a notch. I don’t need to describe some of the scenes from the movie or the book because I can’t. It’s just not possible, the things Bret writes in the book, to put in a review. If you do wanna see an uncensored review, do pull up your Platinum AmEx card and sign up for my patron, where you’ll find exclusive content. Seriously, if you don’t have a Platinum AmEx card you might as well just be gutter garbage. Did I tell you that Patrick just gave me a face care routine that’ll set me back thousands of dollars but it’ll make me feel, quote, “I feel like shit but look great”?

Overall, my thoughts are all over the place and there’s nothing in particular I want to say about this book. It’s just the day to day life of a psychopath who commits heinous and gorey acts of crime, murder and what not. The book is basically him trying to fit in society while also maintaining his bloodlust. The lines “My nightly bloodlust overflowed into my days and I had to leave the city. My mask of sanity was a victim of impending slippage” sums up the book pretty well. He doesn’t necessarily leave the city all the time but rather he leaves his “I work in finance” façade behind and goes full on Ted Bundy all over the city. Graphic and gorey descriptions of his murder, torture, assault is just horrifying to even imagine. The very fact that someone thought all of this and put it in a book is gut-wrenching alone but let’s just say that the book tries to put some heartfelt moments too. Sentences like “I just want to be loved” are spoken out loud by Patrick after he, pretty graphically, cooks a part of a human body for his dinner. Words are written but not said out loud when Patrick feels love from someone. Genuine, heartfelt love that doesn’t want fame or money or anything else from Patrick, unlike every other girl he has slept with. “yet she weakens me, it’s almost as if she’s making the decision about who I am, and in my own stubborn, willful way I can admit to feeling a pang, something tightening inside, and before I can stop it I find myself almost dazzled and moved that I might have the capacity to accept, though not return, her love.” A slight attempt at humanizing a monster, I’d say. Not very successful. And I found it funny that even until the end of the book, I couldn’t tell most characters apart from one another. Just like in the movie, and I think the movie captured that essence pretty well.

Most of what you can know about the story is summed up pretty well in the movie, except that the book delves into much more comedy and, of course, gore. The movie ends at a better note in my opinion, simply because the part where the movie ends is just one of the few final chapters of the book. The movie couldn’t have done well with what the book offered as its ending and well done to the script writers for that. The book is hilarious, graphic and just a really funny mockery of materialism. It’s definitely worth a read but it does drag on without a proper goal or anything. But did I still enjoy it a lot? Yes, I did. 8/10. Hilarious and witty.

Now you know what to do when life is getting you down. Just tell yourself “You’ve got a negative attitude. That’s what’s stopping you. You need to get your act together.” Wise words, honestly.

Big ideas, guy stuff, boy meets the world, boy gets it.

[unpluggedfinancial]

How to Vet Crypto Services: Ensuring Safety and Reliability

In the ever-evolving world of cryptocurrencies, ensuring the safety and reliability of the services you use is paramount. With numerous platforms and services popping up, it's easy to fall prey to scams or unreliable providers. This guide will help you navigate the process of vetting crypto services to safeguard your investments.

Understand the Service

First, identify the type of service you're evaluating. Is it an exchange, a wallet, a DeFi platform, or another kind of service? Each type has its own set of standards and requirements. Research the service's reputation by looking for reviews and feedback from reputable sources. Platforms like Reddit, Twitter, and specialized crypto forums can provide insights into the experiences of other users. A reliable service will be transparent about its team, location, and regulatory status. Check the "About Us" section on their website and verify the information provided.

Security Measures

Ensure the service employs up-to-date encryption and robust security protocols. This includes secure SSL connections and advanced security measures to protect your data. Two-Factor Authentication (2FA) should be a standard feature for any credible service, adding an extra layer of security to your account. For exchanges, verify that they store the majority of funds in cold storage, significantly reducing the risk of hacks.

Regulation and Compliance

Check if the service is licensed and regulated by relevant authorities. Regulatory compliance is a strong indicator of a service's legitimacy. Know Your Customer (KYC) and Anti-Money Laundering (AML) policies are essential for regulatory compliance. These policies help prevent fraudulent activities and ensure the service is operating within legal boundaries.

User Experience and Customer Support

The platform should be user-friendly and intuitive. A complex interface can lead to mistakes and a poor user experience. Test the responsiveness and helpfulness of their customer service. A reliable service will offer prompt and effective support.

Financial Stability

Research the service’s financial backers and funding sources. Well-funded services with reputable backers are generally more reliable. Some services offer insurance for user funds in case of breaches. This added security can provide peace of mind.

Community Feedback

Engage with the community on platforms like Reddit, Twitter, and specialized crypto forums. Community feedback can provide valuable insights into the reliability of the service. Review sites like Trustpilot or industry-specific review sites can offer additional perspectives on the service's performance.

Red Flags to Watch Out For

Be wary of services that withhold crucial information. Transparency is key to building trust. Avoid services that promise guaranteed returns or seem too good to be true. These are often signs of scams. Pay attention to any negative news or past incidents involving the service. A history of issues can be a major red flag.

Conclusion

Vetting crypto services is a critical step in safeguarding your investments. By conducting thorough research and being vigilant about potential red flags, you can avoid unreliable providers and make informed decisions.

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5. Musical Theatre and Stigmatization

Musical theatre, as a genre, is subject to stigmatization on multiple fronts. Firstly, there is the association with "popular" theatre, leading it to be seen as "low brow" compared to more prestigious theatre. Additionally, musical theatre demographics tend to lean young and feminine, both of which, especially when intersecting, face a lot of dismissal for their taste in art and culture.

Scholar Matt Hills discusses these phenomena in his articles “Implicit Fandom in the Fields of Theatre, Art, and Literature: Studying “Fans” Beyond Fan Discourses,” and “Popular Theatre and Its ›Invisible‹ Fans: Fandom as External/Internal to the Theatrical Field,” respectively, and the following analysis is based on those texts.

5.1 Musical Theatre as Low-Brow

Hills explains how, "in Mike Savage’s Social Class in the 21st Century[,] 'there are two modes of cultural capital, one which we term 'highbrow' and the other 'emerging''" Also sometimes referred to as "autonomous-autonomous" and "heteronomous-autonomous" modes, the distinction between them is that the former is universally seen as timeless and respectable (think Shakespeare), and while the latter is recognized for its cultural significance and impact, it is ultimately dismissed for being too commercialized.

"According to Savage’s data, 'highbrow' cultural capital is historically established and sanctioned in the education system, but 'it is also an ageing [sic] mode of cultural capital' which can be contrasted with 'emerging' cultural capital displayed by younger people and legitimated through their social media usage rather than through the educational system" (Hills).

Musical theatre falls under the "emerging" category of theatre despite being a long-established art form. This is mainly due to the commercial aspect of it and the seemingly endless rotation of new shows, especially those which handle topics more appealing to younger audiences (such as high school, the internet, and LGBTQ+ issues) and whose composition borrows from pop and R&B styles as opposed to the traditional Sondheim sound.

Therefore, it is no surprise that musical theatre has taken to fandom spaces, largely occupied by enjoyers of other "heteronomous-autonomous" media such as television. With its market appeal to a younger audience and its exclusion from "high-brow" theatre, fan culture develops in online niches.

5.2 Anti-Fandom Sentiment

"[Joli] Jensen (1992) also argued that modes of engagement have been assumed to distinguish 'fans' and 'aficionados': where fandom involves 'an ascription of excess, and emotional display,' the affinity of an arts patron 'is deemed to involve rational evaluation, and is displayed in more measured ways,' such as applause after a play. These cultural assumptions 'are based in status (and thus class) distinctions'" (Hills).

It is telling that the assumptions are classist (and by proxy, ageist), especially considering the soaring price of theatre tickets, even for musical theatre. Anti-fandom sentiment, however, is also rooted in sexism. Hills writes: "This 'theatre snobbery' is at least partly gendered and directed against allegedly excessively emotional fangirls (Garside 2015)." Women, especially young women, face immense scrutiny when they engage with theatre or film due to their cultural perception as "shallow" and "emotional." Their cultural interests are often ridiculed or dismissed until someone with more social capital co-signs the media's merit. Compare, for instance, the perception of The Beatles in the 1960s and present-day, and you may find that what is now The Greatest Rock Group in History was once just a group of mop-headed teen heartthrobs.

Featured in Hills' article “Popular Theatre and Its ›Invisible‹ Fans: Fandom as External/Internal to the Theatrical Field” is an excerpt from Stacy Wolf's exploration of the sexist treatment of Wicked and its female fans by critics. She wrote:

"When Wicked opened in October 2003, critics who did not like the show used girls’ fandom to justify their own negative appraisal, arguing that girls, who could not distinguish between good and bad theatre, were the obvious intended audience for the silly show. [...] [I]n 2006, with the musical’s popularity [...] growing, [...] critics, who then claimed to appreciate the show, [...] stressed the musical’s 'universal appeal' and disavowed any notable relevance to girls’ lives."

This is just one of many examples of the constant dismissal faced by fans of musical theatre. Accusations that these shows are purely commercially-driven spectacles, or that they have minimal literary value, miss out on all the details which attract fandom, and those most often missing details are those who are the least likely to find themselves or their interests addressed in musical theatre. It is, ultimately, an art form for the underdog and the outcast, be it due to gender, race, sexuality, class, or age. It is incredibly ironic that it is those demographics who are the least likely to have the means to attend a show in person. The stigmatization of musical theatre is a reflection of a larger systemic issue: one which disenfranchises the fans who care the most about shows and ultimately results in online fandom being the only safe space for fans, new and old, to interact with each other and share a connection through their favourite media (most often not experienced live, but rather via a bootleg recording).

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