#i might make some new pieces of christmas work but id need to figure it out

[unagidevi]

turned the original paintedwings drawing into a tatteredwings draw

Old one below

[twinrowcitizennews]

snapshot

Note from the editor:

This is the first letter of this nature that I’ve received from someone who wanted their question published. Other than editing for formatting and grammar, it’s in their own words and their own words alone. Please send an email or ask if you know how to solve their problem-- and quickly. 

I have to warn you, this letter isn’t for those who are put on edge easily. Reader discretion is advised. 

I don’t know if I’ll still be around by the time this is posted, but that doesn’t matter. So long as this reaches whoever might need it. 

I first saw it last October. The 27th, I think. Kind of cliché for this sort of thing to be happening right around Halloween, but truth is stranger than fiction. It was late in the evening, almost nighttime, when I saw this stray dog roaming around in my front yard. I grabbed my dog’s leash and went to get it, thinking I could keep it in my backyard until I could find the owners, but the second I left the front step, it started off towards the bike trail. I sped up to a jog and followed it, hoping not to scare it off any further. 

The bike trail veers away from the neighborhood and through this piece of undeveloped land that separates the suburbs from a nearby farm. The dog was mostly sticking to the path, moving along at a trot, stopping every once in a while to look over its shoulder and wag its tail, like it was waiting for me to catch up before starting off again. After a few minutes of this, I called for it-- tried to whistle, asked it to heel, etc. It came over when I pretended to have a treat in my hand, holding my fist out like there was something inside. When it leaned over to sniff, I clipped a leash on its collar, a simple fabric band without any tags or ID. I’d never seen the dog before, so I got out my phone and took a picture of it to post to the neighborhood Facebook page, asking if anyone knew its owner, before walking it back to my place and letting it out in the fenced back yard. After feeding my own dog, I sat down to check Facebook to see if there was any response. 

No one recognized the dog from the photo. One comment asked me who was standing in the background. 

There hadn’t been anyone else in the woods, as far as I remembered, but I double-checked the photo anyway. In the background, about 20 feet away, it looked like there was a figure-- vague, kind of person-shaped if you squinted-- standing just to the side of the bike path. It was all indistinct and fuzzy. Probably just a smudge on the lens. I responded to the comment before trying to clean off the lens on my shirt, then taking another photo down the hallway to see if the smudge was gone. There didn’t seem to be anything. The rest of the night was relatively normal. 

The next morning, I ended up trying to clear out my camera roll, to save some room for any pictures I might take of my baby cousins in their costumes. I deleted a bunch of screenshots, old photos, and the image of the dog, before going to delete the hallway picture. 

The smudge was still there. Like before, it was around 20 or so feet from where I’d been standing when I took the photo, around the size and height of a person. Unlike before, it was peering around the corner from the door to the bathroom. 

I was freaked out some, to be honest.  I scrubbed the lens down with a Lysol wipe and took another photo down the hallway, trying to prove to myself it was just some sort of shadow. Nothing that would show up in the daylight. And it didn’t-- nothing strange, no smudge, just a block of sunlight from the windows. I didn’t delete the picture from the night before, though. Just in case. 

It was a few more weeks before I took another nighttime photo. My cousins are too young to stay up late, so they’d been out trick-or-treating around 5:00 in the evening, back before it was even dark, so I didn’t really take anything on Halloween. The dog was returned to its owner a few days after, so nothing there, either. 

It was around the middle of November when I ended up catching it again. I was on a nighttime walk and passed the home of this older couple down the road who always put up their outdoor Christmas decorations about a month too early. I wanted to get a picture of the setup-- they had this new animatronic Santa, sitting on a throne and waving to the road. I can promise that no one else was in the yard. I used the flash (on accident, but still), and if someone was there, I would have seen them. When I got home, I sent the picture to a friend of mine for her to make fun of. She messaged back with a few laughing emojis before asking who took the photo.  

(ID: Two texts from my friend reading “lol” and “really who took it”. My response says “wdym?”. She responded with two texts saying “I see you in the background, genius” and “just vibing by the garage”. End ID.)

I checked the photo again. By the house’s garage, a little under 20 feet from where I’d been, was a clearer, more distinct figure. For once, I could make out its face. 

I don’t know who or what it is, or how it got there, but it definitely looked like me. It was even wearing my clothing, had its hair done the same way, everything. Just standing there and smiling for the photo, like someone just out of frame was telling it to say cheese, looking right into the camera. 

I immediately turned all the lights on that I could reach. I almost deleted the photo, staring at it for too long, before closing out of Photos and reopening my camera. I figured this had to be some weird hallucination or something I was making up, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. I aimed the camera down the hall and took a video. Nothing. I checked it, sliding the scrub bar back and forth to inspect each individual frame. All of them were just empty, illuminated hallway. That didn’t shake the feeling, though, so I turned the hall light off and tried again. Nothing showed up on this video, either. I took a photo. 

It was there. Again. It wasn’t peeking out from around anything, just standing in the middle of the hallway, the same distance it had been from the camera in the yard. 

I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next few. 

I ended up searching the internet as much as I could for anyone with similar experiences. I saw things about ghosts, things about illusions, things about solid doppelgangers that people saw with their own eyes and not through pictures, but nothing like this. Over the weeks and months that followed, I took investigating into my own hands. 

My fears were quieted some-- some-- when, after the first few nights, I realized that it wasn’t hurting me. It never even moved, staying in the same poses each night. The only change was, no matter where I was, inside or outside, it was always the same distance away.

I started taking pictures almost obsessively. Every day, every night, I tried something new. I tried every condition I could think of to see when and where this thing would show up. It became a part of my routine-- almost a companion. I’d even jokingly wish it goodnight. 

I could put walls between myself and it. At one point, I stood inside my closet and took a picture, only showing racks of coats and clothes. It could be seen through windows, if there was no room for it to appear indoors. I could take pictures out my bedroom window to show it standing right there outside the window on the front walk. It always looked exactly like me, down to the smallest detail, except for the face. It never had any expression other than a smile. No matter where I was, inside or outside, it could be there. I got pictures of it at home, at work, out of town. It never showed up in well-lit photos. Things in the dark with flash were okay, but it would just be a little indistinct. Dimmer lighting, pictures taken at night, all of that was free game. I never got a picture of it in daylight. 

Around February, I sat down and tried to sort all the successful photos into one album to clear up my camera roll. At this point, it was mostly just pictures of the thing, since I was sometimes taking up to dozens a night. I deleted all the failures, saving all the pictures of it into one album. That’s when I noticed.

It was getting closer.

I guess I had ignored it over the first months. It had been too gradual for me to notice, only an inch or two each night, but looking at all the photos in order, it was obvious. Instead of being around 20 feet away, the thing was closer to 15, still just standing and smiling.

I had to tell myself it was coincidence, or something I was imagining, or I think I would’ve done something I’d regret later just then. Now that I knew it could move, I didn’t really think of it as a friend anymore. 

I kept taking pictures throughout the following months. Only at night. It stopped showing up outside my bedroom window-- in retrospect, probably because the ground wasn’t close enough for it anymore. It stopped lurking at the end of the hallway, drawing nearer until it was standing right there in the living room. It started putting its hands against the glass of the kitchen windows. Then it started showing up at the kitchen table. 

I got desperate, some. I tried everything. I burned incense, I tried to talk to it, I bought fucking crystals. I’m an atheist, but I even considered calling a priest or something. All spring, I was constantly scrambling to find some way to get that thing to leave, or at least stop moving. Every night I took more pictures, too many, before scrolling through my photo album with a looming sense of dread. Nothing worked. It kept coming, slowly, always dressed like me and always doing that smile. It got close enough that I could see the whites of its eyes. I almost wish I could say that there was something messed up about it, something that made it obviously inhuman or dead or anything, but there wasn’t. It was just me, just exactly like me, and somehow that was worse. 

I’m sending this in now because it’s really close and I don’t know how to make it go away or if that’s even an option anymore. These past few nights, it’s been right in front of me-- I could reach out and touch it, if it was solid. Hell, I could probably feel its breath, if it had that. I’ve been taking pictures every hour or so, sometimes every couple of minutes.

Last night, around the fifth or sixth picture I took, it wasn’t there. Just gone. I took a few more pictures, and it didn’t matter where I was, it just wasn’t there. I don’t know why I did it, but I turned the camera around to selfie mode and took a shot. 

That thing was standing right behind me.

One of its hands was hovering right over my shoulder, like it was about to touch me. I freaked out and took another picture. It hadn’t moved more than a hair. I turned all the lights on and haven’t slept. 

I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m not turning any of the lights off. It can’t get to me if the lights are on, or I hope so. If anyone knows what to do or what this thing is, please respond. It might already be too late, but I don’t know what this thing will do or who it’ll go for when it’s done with me. I don’t have much advice to give, other than to sleep with the fucking lights on.

[sp00kworm]

White Lillies (Asa Emory/The Collector x Reader)

Pairing: Asa Emory/The Collector x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Stalking, Claustrophobia, Manipulation, Violence and Gore mention. 

A/N: I like Doctor Emory Professor hours so I wrote this. It was more of an exploration of what Asa is like outside of his persona, but tell me what you think. This is me diving head long back into the slasher fandom so ENJOY. Gif is by me.

---

---

The burn on his chest hurt. It bubbled with searing pain in his nerves as Asa twisted again to reach for the next paper he had to read. He wasn’t usually on much teaching duty, but now the focus this year was on one of his preferred creatures. Arachnids. They had their own choice of what species but had to turn in a paper focusing on its habitat and feeding, its evolutionary adaptations included. Some had chosen interesting ones. One student had even written about the common house spider. He cracked a smile over his coffee as he read something about a scorpion. He was quick to write a zero in the corner. It wasn’t the subject given. Asa looked at the current paper and sighed through his nose as it was another paper on the Theraphosa blondi, the Giant birdeater, a Tarantula that most of his students had seen fit to write about. So far, it was better than the rest, but Asa was still awarding the highest grade to the paper about house spiders. It had amused him. It wasn’t often his students managed to make him crack a smile. The last time he had, a particularly arrogant male student had cut his arm while raving to him, and Asa had smiled as the blood drenched his new shirt. The boy deserved it more than anyone at that moment. He’d simply grinned with white teeth and sent him away to the nurse’s office, dark thoughts of what he could put into the wound crossing his mind.

Asa snatched his mind back before it could wander into such dark territory. Wounds, blood, and gore tended to lead him into a very dark path. He looked at the clock and sighed. It was almost nine o’clock at night and he still had another thirty student’s papers to mark. The Entomologist sighed at the clock before he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and pushed his glasses into his dark hair. He was approaching forty-eight hours awake. The ache to sleep wasn’t there. He could probably go another day or two before collapsing at home into his bed. Asa tapped his pen before stretching, his mind wandering back to his latest prize. Men always made for better pieces for his art. Strong arms and flat chests. The best fights always came from the men. Something about being the prey for once made them so fun to catch. Men didn’t like being bossed around. Asa stood to refill his coffee as he remembered what he had done two nights ago. Flowers looked much better than guts. Arranged in the form of a butterfly bursting free of the man’s abdomen. It was gorgeous. He licked at his bottom lip before he looked in the small mirror and tended to his messy hair, sighing at the grease now clinging to it. He needed a shower. The coffee machine hissed as it finished dispensing his americano. He took the handle of the mug and took another sip of coffee, regretting the sheer volume of caffeine he had already consumed.

 A growl from his stomach was followed by a churn. An unhappy gurgle made him cringe as he sat back down in his desk chair. The papers stared at him as he replaced the square frames of his glasses on his face. The coffee mocked him with curls of hot steam, and he relented, giving it another long drink before continuing in the red pen. His mind churned as he wrote his suggestions on the back and picked up the next paper. Grammostola rosea, the Rose Hair Tarantula. A more interesting subject. He thought on the pink soft hairs of his own specimen as he marked, quick and efficient. The pass boundary was high for this piece of work. They were final years after all. His finger twitched as he paused marking again, three more papers in, thinking about the artwork he still had sat on the bench. Asa’s left eye twitched at the corner. He wondered if he’d remembered to pin it properly. The flowers needed to be wired in correctly as not to float in the alcohol and rot away. Worry churned his gut. He couldn’t have another piece ruined. Not again. He marked three more and the worry ate at his gut again. He needed sleep. The Doctor reached for the final few papers with another gut-wrenching gurgle and finished as quickly as he could. Eleven pm. Asa stacked the papers back together and tucked them into the tray for Thursday. Finished. He looked at his watch before exiting his office, his empty coffee cup in hand.

 It was late for anyone to be in the office still. Asa froze by the door to the staff room as he heard someone messing with the dishwasher. He reached into his pocket. His fingers grazed the cold handle of the pocketknife, thumbing at the runner for the blade as he knocked open the door with his hip. “Oh gosh!” You jumped out of your skin as the door opened with a snap behind you. A dark haired man glared at you from the entrance to the staff room, “I didn’t realise there would still be anyone here!” You clasped at your chest as the man looked you up and down. His lanyard was fixed with his ID badge. Doctor Asa Emory. The entomology specialist was a Tarantula fanatic, well known in the department, despite his lack of engagement with the staff get togethers. You’d seen him once, at Christmas, and even then he’d disappeared past ten o’clock. “Well, you thought wrong.” His voice rumbled, cold and on the verge of pissed off. It was far too late to still be working. His dark, black eyes were ringed with deep rings, showing nothing but sleep deprivation. His cold remark made you half-smirk, but you ignored his lingering presence as you wrestled open the drawer for the dishwasher open once more and placed your own cup inside. “Sorry about hijacking your washer, but the one in our department is broken. Last time I used it it decided to spray water all over the floor.” You smiled at the man, taking your time to take in his frame. He was bulky, reaching just the six-foot mark as he moved from the doorway, his boots moving quietly against the lino before he leaned over to place his cup away as well.

“No problem.” He grunted before he placed a capsule in the door and closed it. It hummed to life as he looked you over with his dark eyes. He pushed his hair out of his face, “You’re not in this department, are you?”

“Ah, no.” You floundered a little, “I’m…Well I just work sorting a lot of the archive stuff.” You were vague, smiling at the Doctor as he frowned, thinking if he had ever seen you before, “I work more with animal side of things.” You promised, “I used to help with the animal experiments sometimes, but never with anything related to bugs.”

“Explains a lot.” He mumbled as he nodded his head, “Asa Emory.” He introduced himself. He moved his hand in his pocket but didn’t offer you a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Asa.” You introduced yourself by name and the man nodded, once more, before heading back to the door.

“Try not to stay too late.” Asa said as he headed out of the door and into the corridor. “You too.” You offered lamely as the man disappeared down the hall, his footsteps nearly silent as he left.

 Asa wondered why he didn’t recognise them. He knew everyone in his department. He was anti-social, but he made sure to knew all about the people at his workplace. He had to. The man was meticulous by nature. Sleep itched at his eyelids as he opened the door to his car. Spots swam over his eyes as he turned on the engine. His left fingers twitched before his eye followed. The artwork. He needed to check in on the little pets he had too. Water. Food. Asa looked in his rear-view window at the bag of supplies and wondered if starving his new pieces might make them more cooperative with his desires. Still, he needed to feed the insects he had. The man sighed as he reversed out of the carpark and headed towards the garage that he stored the van in. He needed that to make sure he had enough room for the trunks. As he headed down the road, he wondered how nice of a trophy your skin would make, or maybe how nice your eyes would look with butterfly wings framing the whites. Maybe he could take them out? Asa shook his head as his eyes twitched, painfully desperate for sleep.

 Asa felt better as he walked in late the next day. He had a lecture at lunch, and he’d taken the liberty of having the morning off, considering he had clocked more than enough hours for the month by staying late marking. The papers were still stacked neatly where he left them. He slid his key from the door and dropped his bag on the floor next to his desk. Someone had been in. Asa reached for the pocketknife in his pocket as he stepped around his desk. A coffee was sat conspicuously on top of his desk, the lid on firmly. He reached for the cup, with his winter gloves still on, and looked at the name on the cup. Your name. You’d brought him a coffee. He took off his gloves and felt the cup between his hands. It was lukewarm. You must have purchased it for him that morning, along with a drink for yourself. He could easily reheat the drink. Asa took the lid off the drink and sniffed it curiously. Black coffee. Nothing smelt off about it. He took a sip and hoped to god that his stomach had recovered a little. He was still running on a bare minimum amount of sleep.

A knock at the door made him turn his head towards you, “No sleep again?” You asked from the door as you peered inside, “Or are you just late today?”

 Dark, piercing eyes looked at you critically before he answered you, “Good morning. Thank you, for this.” He raised the paper cup.

“I figured you need it more than me.” You smiled at him, “I actually need to ask you for something.” You stepped into his office. Asa watched you as he placed down the coffee.

“And what is it?” He plucked his glasses case from his satchel and placed them on his face with a squint and a rub to his nose.

“I need your keys for the entomology storage, if that’s alright? I have some archiving and cataloguing to do in there today with your specimens.”

Asa looked at your smile and reached for his belt. He unclipped the university keys and offered them on the palm of his hand.

“Could you show me where it is?” You asked.

Asa knew this game. He watched your eyes wander before he recoiled his hand and fastened the keys back to the belt loop of his jeans, “Give me a minute. I’ll show you where it is.” He shooed you away with a flick of his fingers. Asa listened to the door click and played with the keys in his hand before he set to work, microwaving the coffee in his mug before he exited his office.

 Asa exited his office with a hum, his coat off and his shirt tucked into his jeans. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms. You smiled as he took a drink of coffee and gestured his head towards the corridor. You both walked in a comfortable quiet, while you filled the space with mild small talk. Asa hummed and uttered small replies until you reached the storage room. He pulled his keys tight on the elastic runner before he opened the door with a clunk. The man gestured for you to go in. Curious, you opened the door and peered inside.

“I’ll leave it unlocked, but don’t go too far. A lot of what is in there is sensitive.” He grumbled as you nodded.

“Sure thing. Will you be in your office today?” You asked as you reached for a box. It was heavy and you grunted as you picked it up.

Asa nodded, “After two I’ll be in my office.” He gave you a wave, “Good luck.” He grunted as he disappeared down the corridor. You peered around the doorframe and sighed as you watched the man’s backside disappear around the corner. You shook the thoughts from your head as you opened the box and cringed at the pin boards full of beetle species.

 It was an hour later when the door slammed shut. You didn’t pay it any mind as you sorted the documents into years. After finishing piling the documents, you looked at the clock. It was just past one o’clock. With a hum you went to the door, intending to go and eat your lunch before continuing. The handle sat still as you pushed your hand against it. It shook as you pulled and pushed. The lock was firmly in place. With a shaky sigh, you reached underneath the handle and met against a flat surface. There wasn’t a safety lock. You were stuck. You pulled it again and felt fear creep into your gut as you looked around at the massive number of pinned bugs in the room. There was a vent. It was small, in the corner of the room, humming with the air rushing through it. You took a steadying breath and looked at the documents again. Asa knew you were in here. He’d be back to check if you hadn’t been to get the keys. You nodded and went back to work, quietly trying to calm yourself as you worked.

 Asa smiled as the handle shook. Good. He moved the deep cleaning signs into place and peered down the corridors before leaving you, locked in the room, upset and ready to be saved when he saw fit to unlock the door.

 You looked at your watch. It was five o’clock. You were hungry and reaching a level of panic you’d never been at before. You were stuck. The lock clunked in the background and you looked up from your knees, your face wet from sniffling. A ring of keys jingled before two boots stepped inside. You looked up Asa’s legs and gave a shaky sigh of relief before standing up. Asa peered at you with one eyebrow quirked. Curious. He offered his hands to you and tried not to flinch as you grabbed his arms and pulled yourself up.

“Did you get locked in? I wondered where you had gotten to.” Asa gave you a half smile as you stood up.

“Thank god, Asa. I was so worried. I thought I was…” You jumped as the man ran the back of his hand over your cheek. He sneered at the snot and tears before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping you free of grime, “Shall we go for dinner?” He asked, out of the blue, his fingers holding your cheeks tightly, keeping you in place as he cleaned your face.

“What? Now?” You asked as Asa’s finger stroked under your eye, critical eyes watching your pupils dilate, “Uhm. Sure. Thank you.”

Asa smiled with white teeth as you agreed, “Good.”

[haravath0t]

A Christmas Heist  Pt. I - The Briefing

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff in the end! (I am truly a sucker for fluff)

A request made by @hailhydra920 !! Thank you so so much!

A/N: Hello, lovelies! Wow, a day early! Welcome to Part 1 of the Christmas Heist! I truly truly hope that you guys enjoy this as much as I did writing it! Much much hard work was needed, so feedback and commentary is very much appreciated! Happy reading, lovelies! :)

Request: “Bucky X reader where a Hydra agent dressed up as Santa and Bucky has to fight him, but the only way he can get close enough to “Santa” is dressing up as an elf. Thanks!”

*Introduction to this multi-part request can be found here!

“With all due respect Fury, we’re going to put the public at risk just by stepping into that mall.” Bucky chimes in, analyzing the map of the mall, the responses making Fury smirk and scoff. 

“You wouldn’t be putting the public at risk if you are part of the public, now would you?”

This made all of you now confused. “What are you trying to get at, Fury?” Steve questions, leaning over now onto the table. “What I’m saying is that you all will be working in this mall. Rogers, you’re going to be their new employee-” You stop Fury’s explanation right on with your snicker and a shake of your head. “But Steve knows nothing about technology-” “Which is why he’s the one going in that store,” Fury cuts you off this time, his eyes widening as he replies with a “duh” attitude. You hated to admit it, but he had a point. 

“Cap will be disguised as an employee. Cap will only be making sure that the customers are welcomed and should they need any help, you refer them to another skilled employee, as the agents who have put this together have said. In the meantime, you can blend and wander around the store in order to find the hard drive” Steve nods, pursing his lips as he processes his role. “Alright, but what would be the use of the other two?” 

“That’s where the other building across it comes in,” Fury replies, circling it with his pointer. “Now, this is the toy store across the apple store, which is highly popular now as it transformed to a Christmas toy store. From what our agents have observed, Hydra agents are disguised in this as well. The main concern applies to the one disguised as the Santa Claus that lets kids sit on his lap. Ho, ho, ho.” You couldn’t help but snicker. “Seriously? Santa Claus? You gotta be joking, Fury.” Fury shrugs. 

“Laugh all you want, agent. It is in truth quite an interesting tactic because,” Fury raises his hands as he lets the diagram of the floor be shown through a different angle, enabling you three to see the mall as if you were walking in it, only to see the apple store across from where the powerpoint stops at. “You are looking at the apple store right from Santa’s chair. The hydra agent can look over the store and see if there are any forms of suspicious activity. You got to hand this one to them, although we are not in an easy position, obtaining the hard drive is still possible.” “So where do we come in on this Christmas toy store business then,” Bucky then questions for you two, watching Fury carefully. Your guess was probably a regular employee at the cash register. Maybe a manager? Security guard? 

“Well let’s just say that the store had open positions for Mrs. Claus and an elf.” Is the reply that comes out of Fury’s mouth. 

Now that was definitely not what you were expecting.

Your eyes went big alongside Bucky’s, the two of you looking at each other in disbelief. “Fury, I know we’ve known each other for a while and I know your humor, but this has gone too far for a joke-”“Oh this is no joke, L/N. You and Barnes need to stay close to this “Santa” of ours just in case there is any communication going on behind the scenes.” Fury says, a hint of a smile being visible as he tries his best not to snicker. Steve did not help the situation, as he quietly chuckled and looked down and covered his mouth, clearing his throat to hide the laughter. Bucky was not pleased at all, glaring at both Fury and Steve. “You really call this a dire mission when you’re playing dress up with me and Y/N?! Are you kidding?” Bucky questions, eyes fixed on Fury and clearly showing his disappointment. 

“I did say we have to hide you three from hydra’s and the public’s eye right?! Or do you immediately want to be spotted and targeted by these agents, Agent Barnes?!” Fury says strictly, the hint of laughter and smiles now gone and replaced by a pointed look, one that most would be intimidated by. 

Although you hated what was being asked of you, you saw why it needed to be done. You placed your hand on top of Bucky’s arm, giving him a knowing look, causing Bucky to pause and ground himself. This would be better explained later. Fury huffed before handing each of you three manilla envelopes. 

“Look over these. They have your fake IDs, information about you that the staff knows about, as well as the files we have found on the hydra agents actively participating. We are putting you in the job early on to avoid suspicion. Two apartments will be available to you three in the meantime so that they can’t track you back here. The hard drive, according to a call we have intercepted, will be picked up in less than two weeks to be taken to their base, so that the specialists can handle the rest and be up to date. One suspicious slip up, and we’re done for. Are we clear?”

The three of you nodded, allowing Fury to adjourn the meeting and leave the room with the already waiting Agent Hill, leaving the three of you watching each other. “I guess we’ll pack up, and meet at my office, and we’ll decide what to do from there. Meet me in 45 minutes.” Is what Steve says, before exiting out, leaving just you and Bucky to yourselves. You sighed and held his hand as you two walked out. “Gee, you would think we would catch a break during the holidays,” You say first letting yourself be guided by Bucky into the elevator, pressing the button to your floor. Bucky kissed your knuckles and offered you a little smile. “I know, sweetheart. But we make a good team, you, me, and Steve. That’s why we got called in. So that we can come back home sooner since we’re going to do the job much quicker.” You leaned your head against his arm and chuckled a bit. 

“So an elf and Mrs. Claus… how great… it’s just reminding me of that movie elf.”

This made Bucky smile. He was always amazed by your optimism.

“That movie we saw the other day, right?” He questions as the two of you made your way to your shared room, already grabbing your duffle bag and suitcase to pack weapons and clothes. “Yeah, that one!” You say, a small giggle leaving your lips and shaking your head. “Goodness, if the costume you wear for the mall is something similar to that I am only going to hope that I can keep myself together.” This made Bucky’s cheeks slowly turn red in embarrassment, thinking about Buddy’s tight yellow tights and green wardrobe. “Gosh, sweetheart, I really don’t think it’s great to think about right n-”

“Oh my gosh, what if you have to be eating spaghetti covered with maple syrup and marshmallows, and then even more candy and-”

“Really, doll? Ya gotta include embarrassing me in this last minute mission of ours?” He questions, face now red from hearing your laugh as he packs his essentials. “Whatever, we have a mission to do, so I know you wouldn’t be able to look at my elf costume so much.” You giggle and smile at him, zipping up your duffle and getting your suitcase ready. 

“I think I can get a peek or two. Besides, what about this is new? I personally think this should be a piece of cake compared to raiding hydra bases,” You say reassuringly, kissing his cheek as you pass by him to get some clothes. Bucky couldn’t help but give you a small smile, watching you as you get ready. 

He hated to admit it, but the guy could not help but worry for his girl no matter how many times you two have partnered in assignments. Sure, you might have found this funny and easy, but the concern of you possibly getting hurt was always in the back of his mind even when you went over to where you three would be staying for the meantime. He was now watching over your sleeping figure, tracing your side delicately with his vibranium digits, sighing upon the realization that he is yet again sleepless, worrying about you. 

“Mmmm Buck, stop worrying about me and go to sleep,” you mutter sleepily, halting all of his concerns. You always knew what he was thinking. His blue eyes met your sleepy ones, but he couldn’t help but smile at the state you were in. “Come back to me, Buck. You’re like a million miles away up in that head of yours,” you tease with a cute sleepy smile that he could not resist to admire. He let out a sigh and shook his head and shrugged, bringing you closer to him. 

“You know… should anything happen to you, it’s my fault. Anything that-”

“Stop that talk, James. You know that that isn’t true. You and I are professionals at this, and we are going to make sure that nothing wrong happens. Okay? Trust me, trust us. You, me, and Steve are going to do just fine. It is not our first rodeo, okay?” You whisper reassuringly, delicate fingers lightly caressing his cheek. A soft smile kisses the man’s lips, watching you in awe. You did always know what to say, hitting his concerns one at a time effortlessly. “You’re right, sweetheart, you’re right.” You smiled before you leaned forward, pressing your lips gently into his in a soft and comforting kiss, pulling away to nuzzle your nose against his. 

“I always am. Now why don’t we sleep? You and I have a mission to do and you know how much Steve hates us lollygagging. Or must I read you a bedtime story?” You tease, eyebrows wiggling, causing you both to giggle and ultimately relax. “You’d love to do just that, wouldn’t you, doll?” You smiled once again, giving your lover one more small peck before you nuzzle into his neck, allowing the scent of his cologne to surround your senses. “You and I know how I’d answer that,” you manage to mutter, before quickly returning to your wanted slumber. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle, combing your hair ever so gently as sleep slowly starts to take over. “Mmm… you know me too well. Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispers into your head, holding you close before he also falls into his sleep. 

Boy, were you three in for a treat.

Tags: @whew-oh-em-gee​ @world-of-aus​ @world-of-aus-reads​ @tomholland-96​ @lordyitsjordy​ @letstalkaboutsebbaby​ @thee-soom-soom​ @lookiamtrying​ 

*if you would like to be a part of my tag list, please let me know! ☺️

Part 2: Going Undercover

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

I Loved Him... Once - CH 6

Title: I Loved Him… Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.     

In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3 

Masterlist 

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter six

     Spencer slowly walked into Eric's house. He had been here so many times in the past. Back when they were in university together they spent most of their time here, rather than studying in the overcrowded campus library, or Spencer's way too small single dorm room. But all the times he'd been here, he never once in his life thought he would ever be here as a profiler instead of a friend. 

     Being here again, it was strange, almost like he was in a dream. Like he was floating and couldn't get his feet back on the ground. As he slowly wandered through the small bungalow there were constant reminders of the fact that he and Eric had been as close as they were. Pictures on the walls of the two of them graduating, the entire collectors edition of the Sherlock series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle that he'd bought him for his twenty eighth birthday, the awful matching ugly christmas sweater they had bought for one of the few parties they had been invited too, Spencer still had his and wore it every christmas. Everywhere he looked it seemed Eric had tried to keep him close even when they were far apart. It made him hurt even more that he hadn't seen Eric in over a year, that every time he tried to make plans with Spencer for a visit he had to call it off, most of the time because of work. He always thought there would be more time, now he knew he should have never taken any of it for granted.

     As he continued to wander through, he searched for something, anything, that might help them understand exactly what was going on here, or at the very least lead them to the killer. But there was nothing. The place was as pristine as it always was, Eric was always as much of a neat freak as Spencer was, and not a single thing was out of place. There had been no struggle here, so Eric had been taken and killed somewhere else, and Spencer didn't think they would be finding anything helpful in his house. Which made him all the more frustrated. 

     "Hey, kid, come here!"

     Spencer followed Derek's voice from Eric's bedroom to the pantry in the kitchen. Derek was in the far back corner of the pantry, standing on a small step ladder digging around on the top shelf. "Did you find something?"

     "Yeah," he grunted, passing a few boxes down to Spencer and making more space on the top shelf, then Spencer saw it. 

     "How did you even find that? Who thinks to look for a safe in the pantry?"

     "I wasn't really looking for anything up here," he explained, passing him more boxes of food, "but when I came in just to check it out, I noticed that most of the stuff in here hasn't even been touched. There's dust on most of the boxes of food, except right here the dust had been disturbed. So I looked and found the safe. Now, we can either wait for someone to come and break this open, or we can try to figure out the code on our own. Six digits, kid, what do you got?"

     Spencer thought for a moment, then said, "Try his birthday, November second, seventy-eight."

     "Nothing," Derek shook his head, "got another?"

     "May fourteenth, eighty-four, the day his parents were killed."

     He shook his head again, "Still nothing."

     "Okay," Spencer searched his memory again for another important date in Eric's life, "maybe November tenth, ninety-six, that's the day he was released from foster care."

     "Nope."

     "September seventh, ninety-seven, his first day at Caltech."

     "Not that either, kid," Derek sighed and turned away from the safe towards Spencer, "anything else?"

     "Maybe, one second," he quickly dug out his phone, dialing a number and putting it on speaker.

     "Office of the all and powerful Oz, speak your wish and it shall be granted."

     "Garcia, we need your help," he moved closer to Derek on the ladder, lifting the phone more towards him, "we're trying to crack a safe in Eric's house, six digits, can you tell us what his real birth date was."

     "Sure, sure, honey… that would be June twenty-first, seventy-three."

     "... He was eight years older than me…" Spencer whispered to himself as Derek tried the new date and…

     "Not that either. Any other important dates in Mason Maddox's life, baby girl?"

     She typed for a few seconds before answering, "Maybe January eighteenth, ninety-seven? That's the day he made his new identity as Eric Watts."

     "Nope," he sighed then turned to Spencer again, who was now just aimlessly staring at the floor, "maybe we should just wait for someone to come bust it open. Reid? Hey, kid, you still with me?"

     Spencer closed his eyes as his heart sank to his stomach. It was obvious. "Try October twelfth, eighty-one."

     There was a minute of tense silence, no one really wanting to breach this wall, but Derek said anyways, "That's your birthday."

     "Yeah," he breathed, still not looking up from the floor, "try it."

     Derek turned back to the safe, slowly inputting the six digits of Spencer's birthday, and turned the dial one last time. Spencer shut his eyes tight at the click that signaled they had cracked the code, and tried not to let the stinging in his eyes spill over into the sobs he could feel sneaking up on him. 

     "Why your-"

     "He never missed a single one," he said, a little distantly, "called me every year we weren't together."

     Derek just turned his head away again, not sure what he could say to help, and started digging through the safe. 

     "What's inside?"

     "Woah…" Spencer finally looked up at that, a mixture of curious and worried crossing him.

     "What?"

     "Kid, I dunno if-"

     "Just tell me what it is, Morgan!" He was getting a little short, he wanted everyone to stop treating him like he was fragile and just let him work the case. 

     "Alright," Derek sighed, but handed Spencer the file he had just been looking at, "but I don't know if it's a good idea." Spencer looked down at the file in his hands, hesitating. "Reid, it's still closed, so if you don't want to open it you don't have to. You can just hand it back to me."

     He took a deep breath, contemplated what he really wanted to do and weighed all the outcomes in his mind, before looking up at Derek with a slight nod and opened the file. He instantly felt sick, betrayed, angry, he wanted to lash out but he kept flipping through. Inside were pictures upon pictures of brutal murders. Full eight by eleven sized photos of multiple different women being tortured, stabbed, bleeding. Pictures of the dump sites, pictures of these women before they were taken and after they were killed. 

     He could not believe what he was looking at, he didn't know why Eric would have these things locked up in a secret safe. Well, he did, but it was something he didn't want to have to admit, something he didn't want to have to accept. 

     He looked up at Derek once more, not able to say anything, then dropped the phone and file in his hand and ran out of the house. Derek didn't even have a chance to say anything or try to stop him before he was out of the pantry and gone. 

     He sighed, got down from the ladder, and grabbed up the file and phone Reid had dropped. Penelope was still on the line. "What happened?! Is our boy okay? What's in the file?! Oh god, Derek, tell me what's in the file."

     "Our boy's not doing too well, baby girl," he started, gathering the photos and closed the file, "and according to the pictures we found in the file, it looks like Eric was a part of some very brutal murders."

     "Oh… oh my god, poor Reid, oh…"

     "Yeah, and I don't think there's much more we can do aside from just letting him work through it, and being here when he needs us. And breaking this case I'm sure will help too." He reached up inside the safe and pulled out something else. "Speaking of which, there's a laptop in here, baby girl. If I start it up do you think you can connect and unlock it? Start digging through his files?"

     "Yes, absolutely."

     "Alright," he stepped out of the pantry and into the kitchen, "you get that started and I've gotta make another call."

     "I will call you back when I'm in."

     Once she hung up, Derek dialed another number, not sure if he'd get an answer, but the call was answered immediately. "Reid?!"

     "It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

     "Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

     "Yeah, that's the reason why I'm calling," he hesitated a second, thinking back on what Rossi had said earlier, then said, "I think… I think I need you down here."

     "Why? Is everything alright?"

     Derek turned and looked to where Spencer had run out the back door. Hopefully David was right and this wasn't what he was worried it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "He's not here." Hotch holstered his gun and turned to David who was doing the same. "If he is finished with his revenge list, he could be anywhere by now."

     David nodded his agreement, "Let's get the officers and rip this place apart. Maybe we can find some hint as to where he may have gone."

     They started heading outside to retrieve more officers when Aaron's phone started ringing in his pocket. He dug it out and upon seeing the caller ID answered immediately. "Reid?!" 

     "It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

     "Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

     "Yeah, that's the reason I'm calling." Then Derek hesitated and Aaron's stomach dropped to the floor. He had been worried the moment Spencer's name flashed on his phone, he had told him to call if he needed anything, and then even more worried when it was Derek's voice he was met with instead of Spencer's. And now, he was sure there was something wrong. "I think… I think I need you down here."

     "Why?" He was sure the panic in his voice was evident to a profiler like Derek, but he couldn't care to mask it right now, "Is everything alright?"

     "It's Reid-"

     "I'm on my way."

     He slammed his phone shut, and without even a single word between them, both Aaron and David ran for the car. 

     With the sirens blasting, the lights on, and Aaron driving with the gas pedal practically floored, they made it to Eric's house in less than ten minutes. Aaron parked and jumped out of the car as fast as he could, taking the porch steps in two bounds, and was skidding to a halt in the kitchen when he saw Derek. 

     He looked up from where he was sitting at the laptop at the kitchen counter and said, "He's out back," and Aaron was gone before he could say much more. 

     David strolled in soon after, joining Derek in the empty bar stool at the counter, and Derek turned to him with a still skeptical look. 

     "It's all good, Morgan, just let Aaron handle this." Derek just turned back to the laptop, still not satisfied with the lack of information he was getting. "What did you find that freaked the kid out so much?'

     He slid the file across the counter to him, not taking his eyes off the screen, "We found a safe hidden in the pantry and broke in. The first thing that kind of freaked him out was that the code for the safe was his birthday. Then I found that and this laptop inside. I told him he didn't have to look, but he did."

     "He wants to see this through," David nodded to himself, knowing he would probably do the same as Spencer in his case, then flipped open the file. He instantly recoiled at the sight of some of the pictures in the file as he filtered through, then sighed and closed it. "I can see why this freaked him out. It looks like Eric, or rather Mason Maddox, was involved in some very dark murders."

     Derek nodded, running a hand down his face and turning to David, "I feel bad for him. He thought he knew this guy, obviously felt a little something for him, and all those years he's been murdering people behind Spencer's back. I can't even imagine being in that position, especially as a profiler. The kid's probably beating himself up over this."

     "You're probably right, though none of that is his fault. From the outside Eric seemed like a completely normal man." He then turned his attention to the laptop in front of Derek. "And what about this?"

     "Nothing yet, but Garcia's working on it. Hopefully she can get it unlocked, there might be something on it to help us find Prince."

     David sighed, looking out the back door where the two agents had disappeared, "I hope you're right, for the kids sake, he at least deserves the closure."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Aaron ran out the back door as fast as he could looking for Spencer, but he was not in eyesight, so he bounded down the porch steps and into the backyard. Halfway across the lawn he heard the undeniable sounds of retching coming from behind the shed and ran to it. 

     Spencer was there, hunched over the bushes, heaving. Aaron hurried to him, wrapping one arm around his stomach while the other alternated between running fingers through his hair and rubbing his back. He helped him through it waiting until the heaving stopped and his legs gave out, and he let Spencer lean back against him as he softly lowered them to the ground. 

     Aaron leaned them against the shed, holding Spencer against his side while he clung to him and sobbed. But he didn't say anything, didn't ask what they had found that had upset him, he just waited. He let Spencer cry as long as he needed to, with his face buried deep in Aaron's shoulder, and held him tightly until he felt he was ready to talk. 

     "He killed people," he whispered, so quiet Aaron almost didn't catch it, before he lifted his head slightly, "Morgan found a safe and… there were pictures inside."

     "Pictures of what?"

     "Women, so many women," he sucked in a shuddering breath, "he tortured and killed them, and I never knew."

     Aaron pulled Spencer close again, tucking him back into his neck, and running his fingers through his hair again. "You couldn't have known. Some of these people fit so well into society outside of their crimes, we would never know."

     "I could have stopped him."

     "It's not your fault," he turned his face to nose at the top of Spencer's head, "there was nothing you could have done."

     He was quiet for another moment before whispering into his neck, "I feel so betrayed," and his sobs wracked up again.

     "Hey," Aaron soothed, turning to wrap his other arm around him, "I know this is hard, and it's going to be for a while, but know that I am always here for you, and I will never betray you. No matter what, you will always have me."

     He didn't say anything, just dug himself impossibly deeper into Aaron, and they stayed like that until then sun was starting to set and Spencer's sobs had finally died down. 

     Aaron was eventually able to get Spencer off the ground and guide him towards the house. Once inside, he asked Derek to take Spencer out to the cars and wait for them there. And without a word of argument after seeing the state of his friend, he grabbed up the laptop and left with Spencer under his arm. 

     Aaron watched them until they were out the front door then turned to David. "They found proof that Eric was killing people?"

     He handed the file to Aaron who quickly looked through it, then closed it with a sigh. His heart bled for Spencer and ached to hold him again, tell him it was going to be okay, so he decided to hurry this along so he could try and do just that. "And the laptop Morgan took?"

     "He found it in a safe along with that file. He's hoping Garcia can unlock it."

     He nodded, then motioned for David to follow him out, "Let's all head back to the hotel for the night. I'm sure Prentis and JJ will have information to share with us as well, but we'll deal with all that back at the station tomorrow. Call them from the car?"

     "Can do," David said, walking out with him, "and what about the kid? How's he doing?"

     Aaron shook his head, "Not well, but can you blame him?"

     "Not at all. He's actually held it together longer than most people would have," he turned to Aaron then, "you need to stick close to him, he's going to need you more now then before."

     They were at the cars then, Aaron not even giving Derek the chance to argue, led Spencer to the passenger seat of his car then hopped in the drivers side. David guided a quite irate looking Derek to the other car, then both cars left the driveway heading for the hotel. Spencer didn't do much more the whole ride then look out the window, but Aaron held his hand the entire ride back. He needed Spencer to know that no matter what happened with this case, or how much worse it may get, he was not alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     They arrived at the hotel and went straight to their rooms. They didn't even bother stopping to see if Emily and JJ had arrived yet, Aaron had already decided whatever they had found could wait for tomorrow. His main concern right now was making sure Spencer was okay. 

     When they reached the hallway where their two rooms were side by side, Derek wasted no time in wrapping a protective arm around Spencer and sharply turning him towards their room. His key card was out before he even reached the door, and without a step of hesitation, the door was open and he was ushering Spencer inside. 

     Aaron stepped towards the door but Derek had placed himself firmly between him and Spencer, holding the door. "I'll make sure he gets some sleep, good night guys."

     And with that firm dismissal, Derek closed the door. Despite the fact that Spencer's eyes never left Aaron's the whole time, and the fact that Aaron so desperately wanted to break the door down and take Spencer back, he couldn't. He didn't want to arouse any suspicion that there might possibly be something there, something between them, especially when they hadn't even had the chance to figure it out on their own yet. Not to mention that he didn't want to put any more stress on Spencer than he already had with this case, so he just resolved himself to turn around and head for his own room. 

     He all but stormed inside and then just stood, stock still, in the middle of the room with one hand over his face. All he wanted to do was get to Spencer, make sure he was okay and that he had the comfort he needed, but he couldn't do that with Derek as protective as he was. So all he could really do right now was sit in his room and stew. 

     David on the other hand, had plans of his own. He marched in after Aaron, going straight to his own bed and grabbing his go bag. He quickly packed his few belongings he had spread throughout the room, and walked past Aaron to the door. 

     "Where are you going?" Aaron asked as he turned back to face him. 

     "You two are killing me," he shook his head with the smallest hint of a grin, "so trust me on this one. You'll both thank me later."

     Without any more explanation than that, he opened the door. And as he was halfway out he stopped, turned back, and said, "Also, I fully and wholeheartedly expect to be the first person invited to this wedding."

     Aaron couldn't help but smile and even blush a little as David left. And if he let himself indulge in the thought of that while he stood there and waited, then that would be his own little secret. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching with horror as the young genius paced the room with an almost frantic sense. His movements were jolted and his fingers were taping wildly on the sides of his arms as he moved. And Derek, for all that he knew about Spencer, had no idea how to help him right now. 

     A sudden knock on the door had Derek up and moving, cautious as to not touch or disturb whatever trance Spencer was in, and he opened the door to find David. "Hey, Rossi," he looked down, eyeing the go bag in David's hand then back up with a raised brow, "Something happen? We going somewhere?"

     "Not we, just the kid." He walked in past a still very confused Derek and grabbed Spencer's go bag from under his bed, handing it to him. "Up and attem, kid, let's go. The boss is waiting for you."

     He had finally stopped his manic pacing and was now racing through the room to gather his things, not even giving a second thought to Derek as he tried several times to stop him. So instead, Derek turned on David, "What exactly is going on here?!"

     "We're switching rooms," he shrugged as if it were obvious.

     Derek huffed, shoulders tense, "I can see that, Rossi, but why? What's wrong with this one? Why can't he stay with me?"

     "Aaron just wants to keep an eye on him, that's all," he tried to ease Derek's mind, but it didn't work. 

     So as Spencer came out of the bathroom, his now full go bag in hand and heading for the door, he stopped him and said, "Reid, are you sure Hotch isn't giving you a hard time?"

     "I'm fine, Morgan, I promise." And he was out of his grasp and heading for the door.

     "Kid, you're good with this?! You can stay here you know, I can keep an eye on you too without-" But he was gone, the door closing behind him as he practically ran down the hall. Derek just shook his head and turned back to David. "He really doesn't need to babysit him like this. Reid is fine, he'll be okay. I know this is a rough case for him, it would be for anyone in his situation, but he's got all of us to help him through this. Hotch does not need to keep him on a tight leash and make him feel like he's incapable. And I can make sure Reid's okay just as well as Hotch can."

     "I know, Derek, I know you can, but it's not about that. Any of it," he tried to answer as calmly as he could in an attempt to being down Derek's anger, raising both hands to his shoulders, "just let it be, alright, it's not what you think."

     "Rossi-"

     "Let it go, Derek," he smiled and gave Derek's shoulders a squeeze, "it's nothing bad, Hotch is not giving Spencer a hard time, and he does not think Spencer is incapable of doing his job. The kid's fine, just let him be with Aaron right now."

     "Not like I have much say anyways. The kid's already gone," he said, nodding towards the door, "is it me?"

     Dave couldn't help but laugh a bit at that, patting Derek's cheek lightly as he replied, "It most definitely is not you."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Since Dave had left, Aaron had also picked up a frantic pacing of his room. And when finally a knock came at the door, he rushed over to open it and let Spencer in. 

     He was standing in the doorway, go bag in his arms and looking anxious, worried, maybe even a little scared. All of which had Aaron concerned. He wanted to ease Spencer, not make it worse. 

     "I…" He started, looking down at his shuffling feet as he spoke, "Are you okay with this? Cuz if not I can-"

     "I would prefer it this way, actually."

     "Good," that brought a small smile to Spencer's lips, the first one Aaron had seen since the start of this case, "me too."

     He walked past Aaron and inside the room, taking up the bed that was still made on the left. He quickly grabbed his pjs from his bag along with his toiletries, and excused himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Aaron followed suit after Spencer was finished, and when he came out, he hesitated at the edge of his bed for a moment. 

     He stood and stared at Spencer, Spencer staring right back. It was clear they both had something to say, but neither was sure if it would be okay to say it, worried the other would react in a way that might make things worse. So Aaron just turned away and broke the gaze, getting into bed.

     They both said goodnight and Aaron reached between them to turn off the bedside lamp. He turned over, making every effort to try and sleep, but every thought on his mind went to Spencer, every part of his body itched to touch him and hold him like he had earlier. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and comfort him, make sure Spencer knew that no matter what Aaron was here and he was not going anywhere. And what the hell, maybe David was right, he wouldn't know anything unless he asked.

     "Hey, Reid," he turned back over and sat up, seeing Spencer was already in the same position as him, "I know today's been hard for you, so… so if you-" And before he could even finish his sentence, Spencer was up and out of his bed. 

     Aaron moved back and held the blankets up for Spencer to shuffle under beside him. Spencer had planned on leaving some space between them, not wanting to just barge into Aaron's personal space, and just happy to be in the same bed as him, but Aaron reached over and pulled him against his chest before he could. And Spencer wasn't going to complain or protest. 

     Aaron laid on his back, tucking Spencer tight against him, his head under his chin and Aaron's arms wrapped tightly around him. Spencer sunk into the warmth and comfort of Aaron's body, digging his nose into his neck and breathing in the smell that was only Aaron, that smell that Spencer found the most comforting thing in the world, and he finally felt himself relaxing for the first time since they landed in California. 

     They laid like that for some time, just content being together. Aaron ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, whispering to him over and over again the same thing, until he finally heard Spencer's breathing even out and he knew he was asleep. And once more, before he fell asleep himself, he whispered right against Spencer's ear, "I've got you, and I promise I will never let you go."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Lots of Hotch and Reid together in this chapter! Let me know what you think <3

[starryseung]

han jisung + fluff + smut

☾ 

request: for @hannie-squirrel00 : Heeeyyy lovely🥰 I've been reading your Stray Kids imagines which I am loving btw😍🤩 and I wanted to ask you if you could do a smut for me with Jisung please? If you need anything let me know and also could you make it long? Thank you soo soo much🥰🥰 word count: 4.2k words warnings; cunnilingus, unprotected sex, blowjob, fluffyyyy

Ugly Sweaters

"And the loser is... y/n! Congratulations to all the players~"

You sigh, knowing this was coming. The rest of the night is spent drinking and laughing along to stupid jokes. You stay along with your best friend and roommate, Chaerim. She was extremely tipsy for a pre-Christmas party, and you wanted to stay by her side before she gets kidnapped by an odd guy.

You were at your college friend’s residence, celebrating the last day of November before the beginning of the festive month. All of you played games until one of your friends proposed a game of beer pong, where the winner would choose the punishment for the loser. After the winner was decided, Chan, you knew he was going to go hard on the loser. A few moments are dedicated to thinking, and he replies.

"The loser has to wear ugly Christmas sweaters for the next 25 days until Christmas Eve."

And when the loser was judged, you, Chan's eyes filled with pity after imagining you wearing an ugly yellow-colored sweater filled with clashing decorations. He laughed awkwardly, not wanting to tense the atmosphere around you. Of course, you weren't upset, it was just a game. The next few weeks at work were off, you didn't have college, so you would stay at your apartment under the comforts of your ugly sweater.

On the day before the first day of the Christmas month, November 30, you went shopping to buy sweaters with Chaerim. Your eyes filled with awe as you looked at all the latest collection of sweaters, heart-melting, and bank account shivering. You start to think that this challenge wasn’t terrible for you since you could save your money now!

But that didn't stop your shopping partner from practically throwing her money everywhere she found a cute sweater. Hell, the sweater wouldn't even cover her torso, and it would still tumble into the shopping cart to get along with its other rich mates. Meanwhile, you move towards the nearly isolated section of the store, searching for an ugly, but presentable hoodie to satisfy your friends' growing impatience on the group chat, asking for your picture in the outfit.

You spot an employee from your peripheral vision, looking at you with his booklet and pen in hand. He walks over to you and you turn around to face him with a handful of sweaters drowning you. He chuckles before speaking.

"Excuse me, do you need help with those?"

"Uh... Yes please."

You pick up feet shuffling away as you stand there behind the pile of wool. You hear wheels rolling when you peek from behind the pile in your hands to see the employee bringing a shopping cart for you. You thank him as you dump the pile into the cart, resting your arms after holding the weight.

"Thank you... Jisung", you say smiling as you notice the name on his tag reading 'Han Jisung'.

"Oh, don't worry it's my job. Why the ugly sweaters though? Lost a bet?"

You chuckle, "Lost a game. It was bad." He laughs along as he fixes some clothes falling out of the trolley. You take this moment of silence as an opportunity to check him out. Han Jisung was slim. He had a petite figure —small waist, narrow shoulders— but he was well built. His white button-up hugged his arms and waist at the right place. He had a good pair of thighs, his black slacks acting like a second skin on the limbs.

"So... I'm gonna go now, my friend's waiting for me. I hope we meet again!", you bubble, waving the male a goodbye. He smiled and went back to work, noting down some price tag values and clicking his pen close. You walk over to Chaerim, her cart overflowing with accessories and dresses that were maybe more expensive than your entire wardrobe.

"Chae, honey, we're shopping for the week. Not for the decade," you cautioned, eyeing her shopping cart. Chaerim was rich, anyone could tell. But she was humble. She wouldn't brag about her riches, but also couldn't box her shopaholic nature when she saw the designer fabric and exceptional perfume. Those were her weaknesses, and she might as well live off without a family, but no new clothes? She would die.

You stand in line as you see Jisung run-up to the next cashier counter, filling in the empty spot. You feel a tug at your arm, and only register your friend pulling you towards him. He smiles at your friend before looking at you, beaming like the sunshine. He scans your clothes, which took twenty minutes due to Chaerim buying nearly three-fourth of the store before handing over the receipt to you two. Chaerim pays for it and as she types in her credit card password in the machine, Jisung asks–

"So, what's your name?"

"y/n", you smile, mentally beating yourself up for not saying it the first time you met. You and Chaerim grab the bags of clothes as you waddle up to the exit, stopped by the call of your name.

"Hey! Wait for a second!"

You and your roommate turn on your heels to face a breathless Jisung as he hands a credit card your way. You look at Chaerim as she makes eye contact with you and you metaphorically slap her. If it weren't for Jisung, your friend would have to pick food out of a trash can.

"You can leave those here, you know. I'll deliver them at your place", Jisung nervously suggests, gesturing his hands as if trying to pry the bags away from you. You smile at him and nod as he takes out his notepad and writes down the address Chaerim dictates him. Your friend hands the bags to Jisung and leaves to call a cab, leaving you and the boy alone to hoard aside your wares. As you turn to leave, Jisung stops one last time, scratching the back of his neck.

"Can I have your number?"

You cock an eyebrow at the question amusingly. He notices your reaction, quickly jumping to clarify his words.

"I— I meant if I couldn't find your address! I don't wanna get in someone's pants after 10 minutes of conversation!"

"So if our talk lasted longer, you would ask my number to get in my pants, am I right?"

"Yes! I... I mean no! I—" he huffs out, pouting his lips as he failed to make you understand his true intentions.

"Okay okay, I'm just kidding. Here, note it down", you giggle at his softness, giving your number to him. You run back out the store as you look at Chaerim enter a taxi, running over to the vehicle and hopping inside

You and Chaerim order takeout on the way home, and you couldn't stop smiling at the interaction you had with Jisung. Your friend noticed your happiness, twirling her fingers at the base of your hair.

"Who's my lover girl thinking about, hm?"

"Hey! I'm not thinking about anyone", you mumble, grinning as your thoughts flood with Jisung's smiley and bubbly face. You hear a scoff, followed by an “As our lover girl says”, from next to you as you elbow your friend in her sides, laughter filling the cab.

You reach home and get ready for bed, phone dinging with notifications as you open your group chat to view texts from your desperate and thirsty friends. You even notice a few from Chaerim, giggling at her stupidity. You tell them all to wait since the clothes were on their way, and that was enough to blow up your phone even more; a few texts from people who you didn't even know were enquiring about the ugly sweaters.

As you brew yourself and your roommate a hot chocolate, you hear your phone ringing. You look at the unknown number ringing you and you pick up, thinking it was Jisung who couldn't find your apartment.

"Hello, ther—"

"Good Evening Madam! You are the lucky winner of our raffle round! You have won a car and a grand prize of one million dollars! All you need to do is send in your social security number as well as passport details to receive the pri—"

You hang up, annoyed at the loud voice of the call center employee. If anything, they should've hired someone with a voice like Jisung's, soft, polite, kind, and actually convincing. Realizing you wouldn’t be able to meet him then, you forget about the call, sipping from your drink. You hear your phone ring again as you pick up without looking at the caller ID.

"You better listen to me right now. I miserably need a car and definitely need a million dollars, but if I had to give out my social security number around like cupcakes, you can consider shoving those prizes right up your as— "

"Y/n! What are you talking about?" A surprised voice speaks through the phone. You realize it wasn't from the caller this time, but from Jisung on the other side. You absolutely hated yourself and wanted nothing more than Han Jisung himself tossing you into outer space.

"Listen, it's okay, that's happened to me too, and it was to my boss, which is even worse. Now don't ask if I did it intentionally or not, because that would get me fired." he laughed across the static line, making you at ease and snicker too.

"Anyway, so there's this huge stationery shop, that's your building yeah?"

"Yep"

"Great. I'm on my way!"

"Thanks, Jisung!" you squeal, thanking the boy for his kind intentions. You wait at the door for the boy to bring your clothes. It was as if you were attracted to him like he was a magnet and you a piece of iron. He was sweet, caring, helpful, not to mention very attractive and probably the best boyfriend one could ask for.

You jolt as you hear the doorbell ring, quickly shuffling to open the gate. You see Jisung standing at the doorway with his hands filled with nearly five full bags of garments. You offer him to come in and have some hot chocolate and sit down since he must be tired from delivering the huge stack of clothes all the way down to your house.

He politely denies the offer, talking about coming over some other time, preferably when he wasn't doing night shifts. You felt pity for him since he had to work even during Christmas Eve. You smile and wave him goodbye until he leaves out of your sight, tossing the feeling of your heart rapidly thumping against your ribs aside, getting ready to send your annoying friends a picture of you in your new outfit, your first ugly sweater out of the other twenty-four you were going to be forced to wear not only by your annoying classmates but also your roommate.

You do the usual routine, brush your teeth, clean your makeup, get comfortable and cuddle up next to your teddy bear plushie. You think about Jisung one last time before dozing off and place your teddy bear’s paw above your head, smiling at the feeling of your roommate’s soft hands carding through your scalp to get you to sleep.

••••

A few days pass by, and Jisung still hasn't left your mind. You always hover your finger above the call button, to at least hear his voice once. You had never behaved that way, to say the least. Even Chaerim noted how your eyes would glisten and shine at the mere mention of Jisung's name. How you would shy down under your blankets when she would ask you about him. And when the day to buy the next batch of ugly sweater rolled along, you couldn't control your happiness.

You practically ran towards the store, looking for not only the sweaters but for a particular someone. You smile when your eyes land on Jisung and you try playing it cool as if you haven’t been thinking of him all week. But when he locked eyes with you, he was the one whose heart rate skyrocketed. He squealed and ran towards you, grabbing you by your arm and taking towards the latest collection of hideous sweaters. Chaerim looked over at the two of you with doe eyes, happy that her best friend was finally getting hooked up and wouldn't be a lone wolf at Christmas.

You and Jisung had grown closer over the next few days, with you meeting him after his shifts with your new bright green hoodies and yellow sweaters. You would get a few looks and laughs here and there, but it was all a joke. You liked Jisung, and you knew he liked you back. Stating that the two of you had become inseparable was an understatement. You two were basically connected by the waist and would spend the smallest moment away from work with each other. Albeit, you two hadn't confessed.

It was only two days for Christmas now, and even Chaerim’s boyfriend had come over. It would always disappoint you that you had to sleep out on the couch when your roommate would share intimate moments with him. Not because of the simple fact that your bed was taken away from you, but because you couldn't do the same to her with Jisung. Even you wanted Jisung to kiss you, to touch you in places you've never let even the closest people touch you, to have sex with you.

To tell you he loves you.

••••

At last, it was Christmas. Your overly excited roommate had tied up mistletoes around the house. You had invited Jisung over to spend the night together since Chaerim would be busy with her partner. You and Jisung would randomly yell out a 'kiss! you're under the mistletoe!' to the couple whenever they would cross from under the leaves, earning a groan from either one of the two. You two would chuckle and sit in one position, not moving from the couch so that they didn't have the opportunity to take revenge.

You feel someone shuffling behind you when you look back at Minho holding up something above the two of you. Chaemin crosses her hands and taps her feet smirking as she opens her mouth to leave words you weren't planning on hearing for the rest of the evening.

"Kiss, honey. You're under the mistletoe", She grins, her plan working as she wanted it. You huff, mumbling a "That's not fair" to the older couple looking down at you two. You look at Jisung, who just smiles smugly and shrugs as if suggesting that you two have no other option.

He shifts in his place, making your insides shiver as he places his hand on your jaw, leaning in to meet your lips. His lips feel like cotton candy on yours, your strawberry flavored chapstick blending with his make-shift saliva covered lips.

You pull away, anxiety instead of blood coursing through your nerves. Looking away and not making eye-contact with Jisung, you make a mental note of killing your roommate and her boyfriend once you find the right moment. Jisung rubs his palm against the flesh of your thigh in an attempt to stop your veins from getting jittery. Instead, the touch does the complete opposite, making fire rage in your body. You clear your throat glancing at Chaerim and Minho and walk to the kitchen after announcing that you were going to get you all some snacks.

That night, you and Jisung were exceptionally quiet. It felt as if you two were out of topics to talk about when in reality, you didn't want to face each other. You suddenly feel regret, thinking that maybe if you hadn't invited Jisung, he wouldn't have been embarrassed, and maybe your friend would still remain.

It was late at night when you all sat down in a circle, holding three to four gifts each between your legs. You were nervous and excited, curious as to what Jisung had bought you. Chaerim started, who received a silver ring from Minho, followed by Minho, who got tickets to his favorite artist's concert from his partner. He hooted and the pair kissed a filthy kiss, making you young chicks look away. You look at Jisung and gag, making him laugh at your cute faces.

You motion Jisung to open the gift you had given him, and he obliges. He opens the wrapper to reveal an expensive album record that he had been dying to buy but couldn't since he was short in money. He fist-bumped the air, jumping up and dancing a cute dance while chanting 'I'm so happy' over and over.

"Open your's, quick!"

By now all eyes were on you since you were the last one to open your gift. Minho shoots a 'hope it isn't a five-dollar bill' to Jisung, earning a face from the younger. You smile and open your gift, revealing a red-colored oversized sweater covered in white pearls and green beads. Your mouth hangs agape as you look over at Jisung and back at the dress.

"I saw you swooning over this when we first met, so I thought it would make the perfect gift", he speaks nonchalantly, waving off the fact that he could've bought ten of the album records he'd been dying to buy all these weeks with the money he spent on one sweater for you.

You jump up and hug him as your lips meet, this time both of you sharing the affection. This was how you wanted your kiss with Jisung to be like –slow, passionate and loving, not forced and under pressure of people watching you. You hear the older two yells “Get a room!” as you smile into the kiss, his hands snaking down to your waist.

All of you decide to watch a movie, which was ultimately ditched by Chaerim and Minho because they were sleepy as they prance into your and Chaerim’s shared bedroom, preparing to keep the neighbors awake all night with their sinful sounds. You and Jisung were left under the covers, cuddling into each other. He looks at you and opens his mouth to ask you something, words stuck in his throat as you’re facing the screen, your soft features illuminated by nothing but the bright light from it.

“Did you enjoy the kiss before?”

You frown in confusion, “If I said no, will you make me feel better?”

You feel the couch shift next to you and you turn towards him completely, his hands running up and down your sides. You cup his soft cheeks and pull him into a kiss, the sensation being both feverish and passionate. He pulls you closer to him, making you straddle his legs. You lick your lips before diving back in, pushing yourself onto him so that he lies down on the couch. You lay atop him, and he grazes his tongue against your lips as you permit him entrance. You bite his bottom lip, bubbling a small whine out of him. Only through the light provided by the television, you still feel him blush red, embarrassment flooding through him.

You run your hands through his fluffy hair, tugging at it softly as he moans into the kiss, sounds muffled due to your lips connected. He props himself up such that you fall under him, and for once you thank Chaerim for buying a wide sofa. You break the kiss, breathing in a tuft of air, only for it to be stuck in your lungs as Jisung nips at the skin on your neck, his growing bulge grinding down on your inner thigh. You feel the wet patch on your clothed core growing as every second passes by, your body becoming needy for action.

He sits up and crawls down to have your pussy face him. He removes your leggings, letting your underwear remain. He blows on the wet area a few times, earning eager whines from you, and you hold a fistful of his hair between your fingers, trying to pull him closer to your heat. He obliges, licking a fat strip on your slit right above the lacey material, making you shudder with pleasure. He pushes his muscle against your hole, making a moan bubble from your lips.

Pushing your underwear aside, he quickly jumps to business. He starts eating you out like he hadn’t just had dinner an hour ago. You arch your back in pleasure when he works his tongue against your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves. Two fingers prod at your entrance and before you can think about them, they’re pushed into your core, making you moan and buck your hips into his face.

He holds you down with his free hand, rubbing his thumb against your clit and tongue licking your slit a couple times. He pushes his tongue inside you, and you clench around him. He laps your walls and reaches your sweet spots, making you thrash under him. You wanted to desperately release the alien feeling in your abdomen, but Jisung wasn’t going any further than fingering you.

“Jisung, please” was all it took for the boy to unbuckle his belt and drop it at the foot of the couch. He takes his pant off and climbs back up to you, kissing every part of your skin from your torso to your breast, pushing the blue sweater up along with his forehead. You pull the fabric over your head, revealing your bra-less figure. Jisung groans at the sight, biting his bottom lip as he starts grinding his hips into your dripping cunt.

He reaches out to run a hand through your hair, only to be stopped by your fingers curling around his wrists. You bring them down and press his palm over your heat, showing him how hot and wet you were, how desperate you were for his cock to be buried deep inside of you. He exhales a growl and tugs at your panties, pulling them off. He grinds on you a couple of times before finally pushing his length in you, inch by inch, to prevent any pain from coming to the bay.

Once he’s fully in, he opens his eyes to look at you, mouth agape and eyes screwed shut. One of your hands were tangled in his hair, while the other one was gripping the edge of the sofa, almost tearing a hole into the material. You open your eyes at the sudden stillness, only for Jisung to cock his head questioningly as if asking if he could move. You nod after a couple moments, bliss washing over the pain. He starts thrusting into you, slow and hard. He reaches lengths in you almost no one ever did, and you were shaking in pleasure.

He hears a moan, but not from you, it roams from the bedroom. Even they’re fucking. He picks up his speed once he thinks you’re doing well, thrusting into you like his life depends on it. He reaches your cervix head-on a couple of times, lolling a scream and yelp from you occasionally. You moan louder, drowning out the noises coming from the bedroom. And when he starts gyrating his long fingers against your clit, you jolt in pleasure, gripping on his arms tightly as your pleasure waves over you.

Your breathing starts getting labored and he hardens his grip on your waist, making your body burn with pleasure. He bends down, biting and sucking on your neck, licking the area after he’s created a marooned art piece. The feeling on your skin drove you to the edge, and you release around him, walls clenching at his fat length in you. He pulls out of you and thrusts into his hand, searching for his orgasm miserably.

You replace his hand with yours, and though limp, you sit up against the arms of the couch and start pumping his length in your hand. He throws his head back in pleasure, his bottom lip between his teeth and eyebrows scrunched. You lick from base to top, kitten licking his slit when you feel he’s getting closer to his high. You hollow your mouth and fill him into the cavity, making him hit the back of your throat. Sucking and swallowing at his length, what couldn’t fit in your mouth was replaced by your hands, rubbing the pads of your fingers against his protruding vein.

He orgasms hard, making his vision go white with black dots. You suck him dry, some of his cum dribbling down your chin as you get up, which he cleans with the back of his hand. He pulls you into a kiss, tasting his orgasm on your palette.

You pull away to join him under the blankets, cuddling and hugging him as he kisses your forehead. You whisper small ‘I love you’s to him, and he returns them with pecks littering your cheek, smiling like a madman. He hugs and nuzzles his head against your hair, mumbling sweet nothings. You face him, inching your face further from his.

“What are you mumbling about?”

“I bought that dress because employees have a 65% discount on store items,” he confesses, giggling. You open your eyes wide, laughing softly at his cheekiness. Your snuggle closer into his chest, hearing his heart beating only for you. He cards his hand through your hair until he hears soft snores from you.

He looks over at the ugly sweater sprawled across the other end of the couch and smiles, mind rewinding back to the time when you two first met.

—

a/n: this!!! fic!!! is!!! my!!! baby!!! also, i know Christmas is long gone, but i really wanted to write over this prompt. Enjoy ;)

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter six

a new chapter in honor of me starting school tomorrow :( this is another filler chapter (but it’s important later on!!) and the plot picks up in the next chapter, I promise!

genre: fluff, angst

pairing: season nine spencer reid x female oc

warnings: none

word count: 5.9k

AMELIA

ONE MONTH LATER

Spencer is constantly talking about his job. He loves working for the BAU more than anything. The work he does is taxing but he loves helping people and he will continue to help, even if it means he spends hours upon hours working his ass off. Frankly, he spends more time working than he should but he does it because he loves it. 

However, he often tells me that his office is a bit dull in the appearance department. He has told me about the piles of books that cover most of his desk and the two picture frames, containing a picture of him with his mom and then one with his godson. Besides those things, though, there is nothing else to bring him comfort when he is sitting down and finishing his mountain of paperwork. His dull desk echoes the dull colors in the bullpen. Maybe that's on him and his lack of design skills, but that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t have any design influence from a third party. I want him to have something uplifting and positive when he sits at his desk, and I decided that I would make this happen. I’m sure Spencer doesn’t pay much attention to the sad colors of his desk when he’s working, but that doesn’t mean it won’t weigh on my mind until I know I’ve done something to brighten his desk. 

 I devise a plan after a date night when Spencer tells me about how boring it is to sit at his desk for hours and do paperwork. So when Spencer tells me the team is on the last day of the case they're working on, I throw on my boots and head to Quantico.

The building is incredibly intimidating at first because the building is humungous and, of course, I've never been here before and I have no clue where I’m supposed to go. But I park my car and grab my backpack, and I'm only wandering around the parking lot for a few minutes before I finally find the entrance. I’ve never felt more out of place in my jeans and white blouse in the sea of pantsuits, but I ignore that and walk up to the receptionist, signing in to get a visitor pass.

"Here to visit someone?" The receptionist smiles at me, and I sneak a look at her nametag that says her name is Jeannie.

"Yeah," I say as I scribble down my name. "Well, kinda," Jeannie hands me the visitor pass and points to the top of her shirt to tell me to clip mine to the neckline of my blouse. "My boyfriend is coming home from a case today so I wanted to leave him something to cheer him up."

"That's really sweet of you. He's a lucky guy," Jeannie smiles at me. "I'll see you on your way out."

I give her another smile before heading over to the elevator, and thankfully I get in alone because I'd be far too intimidated if I was in an elevator with real FBI agents. Okay, yes, I'm dating an FBI agent, but Spencer is really just a teddy bear and he doesn’t even wear suits to work. He doesn’t even leave his gun in his holster when he’s with me and he doesn’t parade it around and internalize the power a gun usually provides someone. It’s not like I’ve never seen or even held a gun before, but it’s refreshing that he doesn’t flaunt his gun. 

I step out on the sixth floor and come face to face with the bullpen that I've heard so much about. I dodge a few scurrying people and pull open the glass doors and quickly realize that I have no idea where Spencer's desk is. It didn’t cross my mind until now that the bullpen would have more than just one desk. So I stare out over the banister for a moment before locating the pile of books I've heard about. I hurry down the small set of stairs and pass a few confused agents who can tell I clearly don't belong here. But, once more, I ignore their stares and walk over to Spencer's desk, and to my expectations, it's exactly how he described it- dull.

I reach into my backpack and pull out a picture frame, setting it beside his computer. I debated on leaving a picture of me because I know talking to me brings him comfort after a hard case so maybe seeing a picture of me might help too. But I know he hasn't told his coworkers about us yet and I don't want to put anything on his desk to make him uncomfortable. So instead of leaving just a picture of me, I made him a small piece of art with my signature on the bottom corner. He seemed to really like the small amount of art I’ve shown him so I figured that a piece of my art would be a viable replacement for a photo of me. 

The next thing I leave one Spencer’s desk is a small tin filled with the last of the Christmas cookies we made together, tucking it right under his computer. I've realized that he sometimes goes without eating, especially during his long workdays, so having a snack readily available is a good idea. Then I grab a post-it from the top drawer and a sharpie, scribbling a message that reads pinky promise with a heart next to it and sticking it to the bottom of his computer. It's out of immediate sight of any prying eyes, and even though Spencer has probably never used this computer before, it’s right beside his books that I’m sure he uses every day. A post-it note from me isn’t much, but I hope it is enough.

"Who are you?" I hear a voice behind me as I'm flattening a note-so-sticky corner of the post-it onto the computer.

I whip myself around, expecting to see literally anyone other than the person I find. I'm expecting to see a woman in a pantsuit with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed, ready to scold an out-of-place 25 year old for being in a government building unsupervised. But I come face to face with a woman who has blonde hair brighter than mine, a headband with two pink puff balls on them, an outfit filled with bright colors and contrasting patterns, and heels higher than anything my ankles could handle. She's holding an octopus mug, and I can smell the lavender tea from here, and she's not wearing an ID badge like all the pantsuit-wearers are. She doesn’t even look like she’s about to scold me for creeping around a federal agent’s desk, but rather, she looks curious.

"I'm Amelia," I give her the sweetest smile I can conjure up.

The woman squints her eyes suspiciously, and tilts her head to look behind me. "And why are you going through Boy Wonder's desk?" I laugh at the nickname and tuck it into the back of my brain for later use. "You only have a visitor badge on and I've never seen you before and I've never heard your name."

"I wasn't going through his desk," I say, stepping aside and gesture to the tin of cookies, but don’t bring attention to the two other things I have left. "I was just leaving him something for when he gets back from the case to cheer him up, that's all.”

"Hmm, that’s really sweet actually," she hums, inspecting the desk once more. But then she shrugs her shoulders and takes a step closer to me, jutting her hand outwards. "Well, I'm Penelope Garcia, technical analyst for the BAU.”

"Oh," I shake her hand with a growing smile, "I've heard a lot about you."

Penelope's eyes widen, hand clutching mine in the mid-air, no longer shaking. "Spencer? He’s told you about me?"

"He's told me about the whole team, actually!”

"Wait, wait," she abruptly puts down her cup of tea on Spencer’s desk and holds her hands out in front of her, her eyes somehow getting even wider, "I don't need to be a profiler to fit the pieces together. You're here and bringing Reid things for his desk to cheer him up, which, again, is so super sweet. And you're bringing him Christmas cookies and he was watching The Polar Express on Christmas and he never watches movies like that. And he's been wildly happy the last few months and oh my god, you guys are totally dating! You're totally Spencer's girlfriend!" Penelope doesn't even wait for my answer before throwing her arms around my shoulders and pulling me into an embrace. "I'm a hugger and I hope you're a hugger."

"I'm a hugger, don't worry.”

Penelope pulls away from our hug and then gasps, grabbing onto my cheeks with a grip that might be a little too tight. "Your hair! The braids! It's beautiful! I could never do braids like this! I'm so jealous!"

"It takes a lot of practice. I could braid your hair for you, if you want," I offer. "I don't have anywhere to be until Spencer gets back."

"Ooh, I smell a date night!" Penelope bounces up and down on her toes, grabbing onto my hands and starting to tug me out of the bullpen. "That's adorable and I'm taking you up on your offer. Let's go, I'm taking you into my lair. I've got music and snacks and lots of fun things and it'll be awesome."

Penelope leads me back out the glass doors and down the hall, through a gray door and into a room filled with stuffed animals and many computers. It doesn’t look like anything anyone would expect to see in an FBI agent’s office, but I’m gathering that Penelope is a different type of agent than the too-serious pantsuit-wearers

"I've got some hair ties here," Penelope pulls open a random desk drawer and pulls out a bin of different sized hair ties. Then she twists around and opens a bigger drawer, revealing a whole hoard of snacks. I can’t help but laugh as I reach in and pull out a bag of chips. "I'm usually in here for hours upon hours so it's imperative that I have good snacks," Penelope says, spinning around in her chair to put her back to me. "Okay, Miss Amelia, make me beautiful with your magical braiding fingers!"

"You're already beautiful, Miss Garcia," I quip, running my fingers through her hair to get out the few knots she has in her perfectly curled hair.

"You flatter me, Miss-I-Don't-Know-Your-Last-Name. I should do a background check on you," Garcia suddenly says and then starts typing on her computer. "I do it for everyone's boyfriend or girlfriend on the team, don't worry. It’s my own mandatory procedure to protect my bestest friends and make sure nothing hinky is going on with their significant others."

It becomes hard to breathe for a moment as I struggle to swallow the lump that forms in my throat. I nod slowly as a way to calm myself down, chewing on my bottom lip as my chest starts to tighten. "My, um,” I gulp one more time but the lump doesn’t slide down my throat, “my last name is Stark."

"Even your name is perfect, it’s so unfair. Amelia Stark. Sounds like a stage name," Penelope quips, typing my name into some fancy FBI search engine. Some pages pop up when she types in my name, and the first thing on the screen is my website, filled with pictures of my artwork from through the years. "You're an artist! I could tell that from your tattoos, which I love, by the way. I love your artwork. If I could afford any of your work, I would totally get it because everything is so beautiful."

"Oh, thanks," I laugh as a way to distract myself from the following files on her computer, and I try to still my trembling fingers by slowing down my braiding, making sure each braid is tight and not bumpy and beautiful looking.

Penelope exits my website and starts looking at a new file. "You're a-" she is abruptly cut off, thankfully, by a high pitched beeping sound, "oh! That's the team! They wanna video chat from the jet!"

The trembling in my hands only worsens at this. My hands still and my eyes widen. "You're the only one who knows about me and Spencer and I think he wanted to keep it a secret for a little while longer.”

"They can't see your face from where your standing. Just keep standing where you are. And keep braiding!” Penelope instructs me quickly then answers the video chat. I keep my hands braiding as I watch the faces of the members of the BAU pop up. I observe all the team members and their positions on the jet. There’s a blonde woman who, by process of elimination of the blondes I have been told about, I conclude is JJ, the mother of Spencer’s godson. A brunette is beside JJ and I recognize her as Alex Blake. Derek Morgan is behind them, deep in conversation with someone whose face is blocked by the headrest of a seat. "How are my favorite crime fighters? How can I be of service on your trip home?"

"Garcia," a hard-faced man says, and I catch sight of Spencer beside him. I watch as he squints his eyes and leans closer to the screen and I wonder if he recognizes me from just a shot of my chin to my hips. Well, he must recognize me because my tattoos are perfectly displayed and he obviously knows what they look like. "We're an hour away from Quantico but when we get back can you make sure to have Anderson put that box of case files in my office?"

"Of course, Sir," Garcia answers and types something on her computer. "Is that all?" She's giggling through her words, letting her head get pulled and tugged when I include new hair in the braid.

Hotch squints at the camera the same way Spencer did, leaning closer to the screen. "Garcia, who is that with you? She's got a visitor pass."

"Just my friend, Hotch!" Garcia answers far too quickly for it to be a truth, and it actually makes me choke out a laugh. "She's just braiding my hair because she has magical fingers!"

Hotch doesn't look too convinced but sits back in his seat and looks at whatever is in his hand. "I need you to run a background check on someone for me."

"My technologically magical fingers are ready. I’m not the only one with magical fingers," Garcia, thankfully, exits out of my background check and begins a new one. I have to hold back a sigh of relief as the lingering fear in my body seems to dissipate, but my fingers don’t stop shaking and my heartbeat doesn’t slow down. Hotch gives Penelope a name and she starts typing, then starts rambling off all these gross things this guy has done. I scrunch up my nose and try to ignore what she's saying. "Are you still coming home or did you get another case?"

"We're still coming home," Blake answers.

"This is for a consult which is why it's important that Anderson get those case files into my office," Hotch gives her a pointed look and a nod of his head before returning his attention to the file in his hands.

"Of course. I just emailed him." Garcia says.

"Hey," JJ speaks up and becomes the third team member to move closer to the screen, "none of us know your name or who you are but I really like your shirt!"

It takes me a moment to recognize that she is talking to me and not Penelope. "Oh, thanks!”

"Does anyone need anything else?" Garcia asks the team. "No? Awesome, I will see all your lovely faces when you get back. Are we going out for drinks?"

"I'm game for drinks," Morgan shouts.

"Me too," Blake grins, turning around to high five Morgan.

"I actually can't," Spencer speaks up, and, I swear, Penelope almost bursts from excitement. "I have plans. Sorry guys, maybe next week."

"Pretty boy's got plans?" Morgan teases, leaning over the chair to ruffle Spencer's hair. Spencer grimaces and fixes his hair, swatting Morgan’s hand away when he tries to mess it up again. His pouty face makes me smile and I lift my chin out of the frame to shield my smitten smile from the team of expert profilers.

"Yeah, I do," Spencer responds, trying to return his attention to the book in his hand, but Penelope knows that Spencer and I are supposed to have a ‘date night’ tonight so she takes this golden opportunity to tease.

"And what are these majestic plans, Doctor?" Penelope grins and she hands me a hair tie when I gesture that I need one.

Spencer glances up at the camera and then back at his book, concealing a smirk. "Don't worry about it." 

The team oohs and ahhs, knowing Spencer is hiding something, and it warms my heart to see him interacting with his best friends. Even though they're teasing him, he's grinning and he’s blushing and he looks so gorgeous. I haven’t really gotten the pleasure of seeing him react with someone other than me so seeing it now makes me fall even harder for him.

"I have no clue what's going on here," Hotch says, silencing everyone, "but make sure you get that stuff done."

"Will do, Sir," Penelope salutes to her boss.

"And track Reid's credit card so we know where he goes tonight," Hotch smirks, and the last thing I hear before the video ends is Spencer groaning.

"We love Spencer," Penelope sighs dramatically, wiggling in her chair as I finish up with her braids. "We tease him but we love him so much."

"I can tell you guys do," I tie off the end of the braid and pin it in place, admiring my work. "There, done."

Penelope materializes a hand mirror and gasps when she sees her hair, turning her head to see every angle she can. "This is amazing! How'd you get so good at this?"

I wring my hands together as I pull away already reaching for the backpack that I had placed on another desk, and the strap slides out of my shaky fingers at first. "Um, a lot of practice. I used to braids my sister’s hair all the time when I lived at home. And honestly, Penelope, I should run before the team gets back."

"You definitely should," she jumps out of her chair and pulls me into another hug. "Thank you so much for doing my hair. And thank you for making Spencer so happy. It sounds cheesy but he really has been a million times happier, it's like he carries the sunshine with him and I guess that sunshine is you." I choke on an answer to her compliment but she doesn’t give me any time to come up with an appropriate response to her. "Can I at least have your number before you go? You know, just in case. And in case I'm having a super rare bad hair day and I need to stop at your house before work."

I hastily pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it over to her. "Yeah, of course," Penelope puts her number into my contacts and sends herself a text before handing it back to me. "It was really lovely to meet you, even if it was by accident."

"And it was wonderful to meet you. If anyone's dating our resident genius then I'm glad it's you. I have to say, I didn’t picture Spencer with someone who has tattoos and piercings but I really, really like you. I’m glad you’re dating him," Penelope leads me out of her office and over to the elevator, pressing the down button for me.

"I think that was a compliment so I'm just gonna say thank you,” the elevator rises too slow for my liking, and I find myself starting to shuffle back and forth on my feet and tug on my shaking fingers. “Hey, could you just make sure Spencer stops by his desk before he leaves? I would really appreciate that.”

“Can do,” she salutes to me the same way she did to Hotch as I step through the elevator doors before they are all the way open. “I can’t wait to see you soon. Have fun on your date night!”

///

SPENCER

///

Everyone is chatting on the elevator ride up but I’m silent, my hand shoved in my pocket, waiting for my phone to buzz with a text from Amelia. I expected some sort of text from her, especially after she saw me on the video call with Penelope. But I didn’t get any texts or calls from her so I just assume she is busy and I can ask her about her secret trip to the BAU when I see her later.

"So you're really not coming tonight?" Alex asks as we leave the elevator.

"No, I'm not. I really do have plans," I repeat, getting unconvinced looks from the whole team. Morgan holds the door for everyone as we step in and head to our desks, either loading or unloading our bags. I take a step towards my desk but before I can get more than a foot closer to it, Garcia comes barreling through the opened doors just before Morgan closes them.

“Hello, lovely friends!” She exclaims, somehow speaking louder than her normal excited voice. “I’m so glad you’re back, all safe and sound.”

Morgan chuckles, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “You-”

“Reid,” Penelope completely cuts off Morgan, and everyone’s eyes dart between me and her, “You should totally go to your desk before you leave. Okay, see you guys later.” With those rushed and frantic words, she turns on her heels and bolts back out of the glass doors. 

“Well then,” JJ laughs, becoming the first to break away from the group and head to her desk, “that was weird, even by Penelope’s standards.”

Completely and utterly confused, I turn and walk towards my desk. My feet still on the carpet before I even get to my desk, though, because I first notice that my chair is out of place. It's pulled out a little bit- I always make sure to push it all the way in before I leave- and when I go to push it back under the desk, I find Garcia's lipstick-stained mug. When my eyes get drawn away from the mug, I find a new picture frame beside my computer with a piece of artwork that I quickly recognize to be Amelia’s. A huge grin comes to my face. So this is what Amelia was doing here.

With the stupidest of smiles on my face, I inspect the rest of my desk, hoping to find another surprise from my goddess of a girlfriend. And, to my elation, I find a familiar tin under my computer, and when I pull off the top to see what is inside, I discover the rest of our Christmas cookies. And when I turn the top of the tin over, I find a post-it note in Amelia's handwriting.

for when you forget to eat during cases -A.S

Her calligraphic handwriting is so beautiful. My heart is pounding and I swear I could cry as I put the top back on, wanting to preserve the freshness of the cookies for as long as I can, and set the tin back where Amelia had intended it to be. I grab Garcia's mug and I'm about to turn to return it to her when I catch sight of the other post-it stuck to my computer.

"What's that?" JJ is suddenly at my side, making me jump. "Pinky promise? What does that mean?"

My stupid smile has never been bigger. There’s no suppressing my joy now. "Not important. Have a good night. See you tomorrow."

I head past her and out the glass door, walking quickly to Garcia's door and knocking, barely waiting for an answer before entering. She's spinning around in her chair when I enter, squealing when she sees me. "Come give me a hug, you!" She jumps up and throws her arms around my shoulders, completely ignoring her mug, and my aversion to touch, but I don’t care at this moment. "I absolutely love her. She's sweet and she clearly cares about you if she came here to bring you cookies and leave you cute messages to make you happy after cases. Plus she braided my hair! Look!" Garcia pulls away and points to her head, showing me a braided hairstyle that I have seen Amelia wear many times. Most notably, our sixth coffee date. "I’m kind of already in love with her so it’s understandable that you are too!"

Penelope’s choice of such strong words jolts me back to reality, but I don’t have it in me to correct her. Correcting her use of the word love feels wrong. "Well, I'm glad you like her," I hand Garcia's mug back to her and she hurries to add it back to her collection of stuffed animals and knick-knacks. "And if you could just-"

"Keep it a secret? You got it! I'll zip my lips and I'll throw away the key. Your super juicy and cute and adorable and loving secret is safe in the lair with me," Garcia grins. "Now get out, for real. I heard from your blonde beauty that it’s date night tonight. Don’t be late! Get going!"

"Yeah, I'm going. Thank you, Garcia, it means a lot that you'd do this for us.” 

"Anything to see you happy," she smiles as I hurry out of her lair, almost sprinting, not even bothering to use the elevator and opting for the stairs instead.

///

I knock on Amelia's door, not even bothering to stop at home before going to her apartment. Something clatters inside her apartment and then some sort of muffled shouting and within another second, the door creeps open. I quickly scoop Amelia into my arms and spin her around in a hug, in maybe the most enthusiastic embrace we’ve shared. She latches onto me immediately, pulling her legs up to wrap around my waist, her head tucked into my neck. I feel her blow a puff out of her nose in a sad excuse for a laugh.

"You're absolutely remarkable," I compliment, twirling her around once more before attempting to set her back down on the floor. But Amelia doesn’t move at all. She just fists the back of my cardigan and holds me closer. I don’t mind this new embrace, though, so I tighten my grip around her waist too. "I saw you on the video chat and I thought it was you from that white shirt you were wearing, and then I heard your voice and I knew right away. And, of course, because of your tattoos."

"Just wanted to do something nice for you," her voice has never sounded so weak. She sounds wildly exhausted, even more than she does in the mornings, and the way her nails start to dig into my skin through my cardigan and shirt heightens my senses. “You deserve something nice.”

My eyebrows furrow at Amelia’s quiet voice. I hate this. I hate the darkness that she is radiating. It’s wrong of me to always expect her to be grinning and extroverted and bouncing off the walls like she always seems to be. Everyone has off days, but I have yet to experience an Amelia-off-day. I hate it. I place my hands on her waist and try to pull her away from my body so I can see her face. “What's wrong? You sound upset.”

"Nothing's wrong," she answers far too quickly for it to be the truth. Amelia’s movements are in slow motion as she untangles herself from my hold, placing her feet flat on the ground. When she’s no longer wrapped in my arms, she immediately turns her back to me and tries to walk off. I follow after her as quickly as I can, catching her hand in mine so she can’t go any further. “I’m fine, Spence.”

"Amelia, do I need to remind you of my job? You can tell me if something's wrong," I tug her closer to me, dropping her hand and grasping her waist instead. I feel her breathing speed up under my fingertips.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired, babe,” Amelia gives me a weak smile, one that doesn’t even reach her eyes. I’ve never seen her irises look so gray before. 

"Do you want me to go home? I can let you get to sleep early-”

"No, no, please don't leave. I wanna hear about your case and your day and whatever else you wanna talk about,” she grabs onto my hand and pulls me to the couch. The couch is covered by the duvet from her bed as well as a mountain of pillows, and I have to laugh when she sits down and nearly disappears into the fluffy pillows. I pull back the blanket and sit beside her. Before I’m even fully sitting down, Amelia scoots closer and lays almost entirely on top of me, burying her face in my neck again. Her actions are incredibly concerning because while she has always been touchy and cuddly, this is on a whole new level of clingy. Not that I have anything wrong with cuddling and clinginess, but this Amelia is so different from the girl who usually opens the door.

"Okay well, the case wasn't good, by any means," I make quick work of toeing off my shoes, trying not to move too much and disturb Amelia, "but it was very, what's the word, satisfying to catch the unsub because he was just horrible."

"Aren't they all?" Amelia scoffs. "Do you ever not catch them?"

"If the case goes cold and the killer stops, then yeah, sometimes. That's when I feel the worst because then I feel like I can't get justice for the families and friends of those who were killed. I can't show them who killed their loved ones and they have to live in constant uncertainty. They'll just live their lives not knowing."

"That would feel so horrible.” 

I’ve made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t profile Amelia and she has made it clear, in a lighthearted way, that she doesn’t want me to profile her. But in moments like these when something is clearly wrong and I want to help my girlfriend, I wish that I could use my skills to untangle the situation. Her body language and the inflection of every syllable that falls from her mouth and her microexpressions give away so much but I force myself to turn the other cheek and not pay any mind to them.

"I don’t really wanna talk about sad things today," it’s true, I don’t want to talk about one of the worst parts of my job but averting the conversation is to avoid adding more sadness into the atmosphere. Amelia clearly doesn’t need any more sadness. “Why don’t you tell me about your surprise trip to the BAU?”

"Got lost a little bit. The building is bigger than I thought it would be," Amelia gives me the first genuine smile of the night. "But it's really nice and I can see why you love it so much. And Penelope is wonderful."

"A part of me knew that you two would get along. You have similar energies, as both of you would say. I don’t understand the whole energy thing but whatever.” It’s my attempt at lighthearted conversation and it’s my attempt to make Amelia smile and then go on a rant about what it means to have a specific energy. But there’s no lightening of the conversation. She buries her head even further into my neck.

"Penelope is great, yeah. And, uh," her voice trails off, as it always does when she's about to say something that makes her nervous, "she told me she does a background check on everyone's boyfriend or girlfriend."

"Oh, yeah, that,” I laugh, rolling my eyes with a level of nonchalance that doesn’t fit the current energy of the room, “She says that to everyone but I don't think she actually does. I've never seen any proof. I never saw any proof for Savannah. She’s Morgan’s girlfriend," there’s a silence that follows my explanation and it doesn’t ease the tension that seems to suffocate me as the minutes fly by. I feel Amelia’s head bob up and down in a nod but no words come after. It takes me far too long to connect the dots. "Is that why you’re so-” I stop myself before I label her attitude in a way that might upset her further. I restart my thought. “Is the background check making you nervous? It’s kind of a joke. It’s nothing serious.” 

"No," again, she answers way too fast for it to be the truth. "Well, I guess. I just- it's like when you're driving and there's a police car driving behind you, you know?" She overcompensates for her lies by talking way too much. "You know you're doing nothing wrong but you still get nervous. I mean, I feel like anyone would get nervous if they were told someone was doing a background check on them."

"Yeah, sure,” I nod my head despite having no clue what she means and suddenly not believing a word that falls out of her mouth.

The air, once again, falls dead. The suffocating feeling grows and I feel the need to flee. I need to get up and move around and escape how uncomfortable I am. It’s a horrible instinct, the worst I could have, but it builds in my chest and squeezes my lungs flat. Why am I feeling this way? Why do I so desperately need to leave Amelia when she is so clingy yet off-putting? Even if she isn’t opening up to me, she clearly needs me and I shouldn’t abandon her. She has never abandoned me on bad days. She makes every effort to comfort me and help to lift me out of my funk? I need to do the same thing for her. So why is it so hard?

“Hey,” I finally muster up enough confidence to speak even though my voice refuses to raise over a whisper, “do you want me to make something for dinner? I know you’re the better cook out of the two of us but-” I stop talking when I look down at Amelia. She’s fast asleep, her cheek smushed against my shoulder and her lips parted. It’s the most peaceful she has looked all night.

My head falls onto the back of the couch, eyelids fluttering closed. I wait for the thick air to travel out the windows now that Amelia is asleep, but it never does. It wraps me in its embrace in the same way that Amelia does. The tension pounds against my body when my intrusive thoughts start to swirl around in my head. It’s the most unpleasant of feelings but no matter how hard I try, they won’t go away. The walls start to cave in and I know that trying to hold them back is useless. So instead, I just succumb to the pressure and disappear into the pillows.

 TAGLIST

@babybobbybones​ @blameitonthenight21​ @thematthewgraygube​ @anepiphany​ @goldenalvez​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrryspencer​ @rxseinbloom​ @penelopecultinsp​ (your regular tag isn’t working, did u change your handle?) @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @matthewreid​ @shrimpyblog​ @garcias-batcave​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @gublergirls​ @wonderlandhatter​ @matthewgublerswife​

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part thirteen Word count: ±3280 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part thirteen summary: The three hunters have unraveled the truth, but need more details to close this case once and for all. Time to break the news to the Shire family. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls! Gif does not belong to me, but I was unable to track down the creator. Is this your gif? Let me know.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The ‘67 Chevrolet Impala rolls onto Lake Front Drive, a street where along both sides beautiful large homes are situated. On the left of the road they find a gorgeous house with blue woodwork, a big driveway and a nice yard, located right next to the lake. It’s the perfect picture of a family home, right out of a real-estate commercial. A dock runs out into the silent waters, geese bob at the surface as guardians of the deep.

     Sam is waiting in the shadows of the streets on the side of the road, blending into the darkness, but his brother spots him, however. Through the window he has been watching Mrs. Shire, who is currently tidying the kitchen, while her son is out on the dock, absently bouncing a basketball on the wooden planks. When his brother’s car slowly moves past and comes to a stop, Sam emerges from the black shade. The tall guy crosses the street with his hands shoved in his pockets.

     “Right on time,” he comments, when Dean gets out of the classic car.      “I don’t know who is in that grave, but it isn’t Laura,” Zoë fills in, emerging from the Impala with some difficulty. “The bones showed no signs of healed fractures.”      Sam sighs; great, another curveball. “So where could she be then?”      “We have a hunch,” Dean says, nodding his head at the waters. “Remember that she was soaking wet?”

     Stunned, his younger brother turns to watch the shimmering surface, huffing when the pieces of the puzzle come together. “She travels through water,” Sam realizes. “It’s an awfully big lake, though.”      “There isn’t a lot of current, so that at least helps. We need to figure out where Shire dumped her. That should narrow it down,” Zoë contemplates, glancing at the reservoir as well.      “Let’s wrap this up, shall we?” the older Winchester suggests, ready to close this case.

     He strides towards the Shire residence, but notices Zoë isn’t directly behind them. Dean glances further back and spots her. She got only several feet from the car in the timespan he reached the house, limping towards the men with her hand on her waist. Apparently the stiffness got worse after the car ride.      “Comin’, Speedy Gonzalez?” he mocks.      “Shut up, assface. I’ll be there before Christmas,” the wounded huntress bites back.

     Fighting an amused grin, Dean climbs the stairs to the front door and pushes the bell. Before Mrs. Shire answers, Zoë joins them.      “So what are we? FBI? State Police?” Zoë leafs through the several ID’s she’s got in the inner pocket of her leather jacket.      “Just follow my lead,”  Sam says without any further explanation.

     Before she can ask about it, the door opens. A chain prevents the door from swinging out entirely; seems like the homeowner took precautions after the attack. Completely useless measurements of course, they need a lot more than a little chain to stop a ghost from entering. A tired and worried face of a woman in her late forties partly shows.      “Can I help you?” she asks gently yet careful.      “Yes, we are--” Zoë automatically takes the lead and is about to flash her badge, when Sam intervenes.      “I’m Sam, that’s my brother Dean and this is Zoë. We’re here to help.”

     Perplexed, Zoë stares at Sam, but recovers quickly. This is certainly not the approach she expected or would have chosen herself. He’s actually going to tell her the truth? She exchanges looks with Dean, but he doesn’t seem worried. Apparently he’s used to this tactic and has confidence in his brother.      “Help me with what?” Mrs. Shire returns, puzzled.      “We know what happened to your husband. Our sympathies,” Sam continues compassionately. “But there are some things we need to talk to you about.”

     Doubtful, Mrs. Shire looks from one to the other. They can’t blame her, after the unexplained murder of Ronald, it’s only normal to mistrust anyone to show up at her doorstep, especially three complete strangers.      “I don’t know who you are, but I already talked to the police,” she claims, after which she intends to close the door.      With a quick movement, Zoë places her hand against the varnished wood to prevent it from locking. Her piercing brown eyes look straight into those of Mrs. Shire.      “We know who killed Ronald,” she states, straight to the point.

     The woman’s eyes widen as she freezes on the spot, shocked by the reveal. The widow is not the only one who is staring at Zoë. Sam doesn't seem pleased with her angle at all; talking about the direct approach.      “Smooth.” Dean clears his throat while pronouncing the word.      Normally Zoë would have glared at him, but this time her piercing gaze remains on Mrs. Shire, trying to get through to the woman. It seems to work, because she takes off the chain and steps back.

     The hunters enter the house calmly. Zoë looks around like she always does when she’s someplace new. It’s a common household, the homey 90’s decor inviting. Pictures of the happy family fill the walls, portraying an illusion. She glances into the kitchen, spotting the dinner table she saw the family seated at in her flashback, the image exactly the same.      While they walk in the living area, Sam hastens to the back of the house. “I’m gonna make sure her brother is okay,” he notifies, before he leaves the room.      Mrs. Shire’s eyes dart to Dean and Zoë in confusion. They can read from her facial expression that she’s worried and suspicious; two words in that sentence raise a big question.      “Her brother?” she repeats, dazed. “Is this about Laura?”      “It’s about both your late husband and daughter,” Dean explains as he sits down.

     Hesitating, Mrs. Shire settles on a comfortable chair opposite Dean. No one asked her to take a seat, but apparently something inside her tells her it might be wise. Zoë, on the other hand, remains standing. The only man in their company leans forward and rests his arms on his knees, forking his hands together. He pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth before he starts off; this is gonna hit hard. But before he can speak, the mother across from the table does.      “Did you go to the police?”

     Zoë can’t help but to raise her eyebrows. They are about to tell her who killed her husband and she’s worried about the police? Dean and Zoë exchange a look, after which Zoë answers.      “No, we haven’t,” she states. “They usually don’t handle things like this that well.”      “Things like what?” Mrs. Shire wonders, unable to follow.      Dean sighs and glances up at his hunting partner; here goes nothing.      “Things like ghosts.”

     Flabbergasted, the woman across from the table observes them both. Then she starts to laugh nervously.      “You’ve got to be joking,” she scoffs.      But both Zoë and Dean keep a straight face.      “Do we look like we’re joking?” Zoë returns the question.             The tense smile slowly disappears from Mrs. Shire’s face as she gapes at them. These two people who invaded her house are dead serious. Nevertheless, she refuses to believe it.      “This is outrageous, I can’t believe I’m still listening to this.” She gets up as the anger sets in. “Get out of my house.”      “I don’t think you want to be kicking us out,” Dean shoots her a penetrating glare. “Sit down, Mrs. Shire.”

      The widow holds his gaze, but the anger is replaced with a hint of fear. No wonder, because Dean’s order sounded intimidating, making it very clear that they won’t be leaving anytime soon. A necessary evil that sometimes is needed to get shit done, and for once Zoë appreciates the older Winchester’s angle. His stern message does its job, because Mrs. Shire settles on the chair again and places her hand on her lap, anxiously pulling her skirt down.

     “Like I said, we know what happened to your husband,” Zoë says, her voice somewhat softer now. “But we also know what happened to Laura.”      “I don’t know what you're talking about,” the woman claims.      “That’s funny, because Laura was pretty precise on the details of how you were very much aware,” Zoë returns.

     Bug-eyed, Mrs. Shire stares up at the young woman - who is still standing next to the couch with her  arms crossed in front of her - then her gaze shifts to Dean, frantically searching for answers. Zoë suppresses a sigh when the widow keeps looking at him like a deer in headlights. This is taking too long, and it’s not like the huntress has all the time in the world. Annoyed, she glances at the backdoor, wondering how Sam is doing.            “We know what Robert did to Laura. There’s no use denying that; we know everything,” Dean makes clear.      Not believing what she’s hearing, tears well up in her eyes. She swallows apprehensively. “H-How could you possibly know?” she stammers.      “Take in consideration that ghosts are real and I believe you can answer that question yourself,” Zoë enlightens her.

     Speechless, Mrs. Shire’s eyes drift off as they shimmer, then she closes them and tears roll down her face, mourning silently. Now Zoë too looks down at her shoes, not sure how to deal with this. She isn’t the type of person who puts her arm around someone to comfort the grieving, especially not to someone who looked the other way while her daughter was being abused. Dean doesn’t undertake action either and so they let her be. After a while, she starts to talk.

     “Ron always had an unstable personality. He could be a loving guy and just like that--” She snaps her fingers, “- he could change into this bad-tempered, aggressive man. I hoped that having a family would change him.”      She shivers during a short pause as she wipes at her tears. Dean observes the mother, as Zoë leans on the back of the couch. The sympathy they have for Mrs. Shire grows, now that they learn that Laura wasn’t the only one Ronald used to beat up when he was in a bad mood.      “When Tom was born, it seemed like something inside him did shift. Tommy meant everything to Ronald, he never laid a finger on him. But then, when Laura came...” Mrs. Shire closes her eyes as teardrops find their way down her weary face. “He never meant to kill her, he just lost it that evening. She was stubborn and he lost it.” Whimpering, she buries her face in her hands. “He had to cover it up. Tommy and I and even Ronald, we would have lost everything. Our home, Tom’s school, what was left of our family, everything. We just didn’t want to make it worse.”

     Son of a bitch, Zoë mouths without making a noise. Dean notices her expression and shakes his head himself. He could give Laura credit for what she did to her father, but this has to stop now before it spins out of control.      “Mrs. Shire, I know this is tough, but we need to know where Laura’s body is,” he confronts her.      She sniffles. “She - she’s buried at Linwood Cemetery.”      “No, she’s not,” Zoë immediately cuts in.

     Bewildered, the woman opposite of them glances from Zoë to Dean. The huntress can see from the look upon her face that this time, she genuinely doesn’t have a clue what they are talking about. As Zoë observes her response, another theory starts evolving in her head; what if Laura’s mother never knew about the body swap? What if she thought that she really buried her daughter at Linwood Cemetery? Maybe the only people who knew about the switch were Ronald Shire and Dr. Hughes.      “Where else would she be?” Mrs. Shire utters, staggered.      “Don’t play tricks on us,” Dean warns.      “Dean, wait,” Zoë interrupts. “Was the coffin ever open during the ceremony?”      The hunter looks over his shoulder; just like Mrs. Shire he seems disoriented. The only man in their company gives her a questioning look; where is she going with this?      “No, Ron insisted it was closed. Why?” Mrs. Shire replies.      Zoë sighs deeply and rubs her face, then she turns to the woman in front of her again.      “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Laura was never buried in Linwood Cemetery.”

     Overwhelmed, Laura’s mother stares at the young woman in her living room. That’s truthbomb number three they just dropped on the widow who also lost her child. Mrs. Shire is being hit in the face with information that is almost impossible to digest, and it is starting to show.      “W-what? But - but I stood at her coffin at the funeral. I - I visit her grave every day,” she whimpers. “Where is she? Where’s my Laura?”

     Damn good question, Dean realizes. But he also knows that if Mrs. Shire doesn’t have a clue where her daughter is, they might be on a very dead end, literally.

     “We believe she’s in the lake. We hoped you could tell us where exactly,” Zoë admits disappointedly.      Out of pure desperation, the woman huffs and looks away. Dean can see she’s about to break, and decides to fill in the blank lines for the poor mother. Having answers is usually more comforting than being left in the dark.

     “We believe your husband and a friend inside the hospital switched Laura’s body with a Jane Doe of the same age, because Ronald was afraid someone might start talking and kick off an investigation,” he explains. “He could forge documents and her medical records as Chief of staff, but if this had become a case, forensics would’ve noticed the many healed breaks and injuries that are consistant with child abuse if they had found Laura’s actual remains. He would’ve faced jail time.”

     ���I can’t believe this is happening,” Mrs. Shire whispers, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. Unable to swallow back the tears, the poor woman glances at Dean, a question dawning on her. “If - if what you just said about Laura’s… ‘ghost’ is true, why didn’t she tell you where her body is?”      “Laura isn’t exactly cooperative,” he tries to explain. “She doesn’t want to be found. The hate and frustration she feels right now is driving her to get to the people who never helped her, while they could have.”

     “The murders, first Ronald, then her principal Mr. Van Dyke, after that her teacher and a colleague of your husband, about two hours ago. They all knew about her situation, but in one way or another failed to do anything about it. Laura’s taking revenge for that,” Zoë fills in.      “She would never do that. She’s ten, she’s not capable of murdering people,” her mother claims in disgrace.      “I think she’s more than capable of violence, after what her father did to her,” Dean brings to mind.

     “As a spirit, she doesn’t think or act rationally anymore. All she feels is rage, sadness, and frustration. She’s out of control. That’s why we have to find her and stop her. Otherwise you and your son will be in danger,” Zoë tells her.      “She’ll…” Scared blue eyes dart up at the huntress. “She’ll come after us?”      “You listened, you saw, but you didn’t act,” Zoë says, harshly yet truthful. “You didn’t stop it.”

     For a moment, Mrs. Shire is able to hold the young woman’s gaze, but before Zoë’s eyes, the mirage of the perfect mother begins to falter. What started the day when Ronald struck his wife the first time and escalated when Laura lost her life, has left this family in ruins. The middle-aged woman begins to quiver, unable to keep her emotions at bay, and breaks down completely.

     Zoë, not being the most patient of the three hunters, looks down on the woman who did nothing, and yet had such a big part to play in Laura’s violent death. Although she sympathizes with her, the tears aren’t helping anyone. Time is ticking and they have nothing besides a lake the size of multiple football fields.      Also growing slightly impatient, but able to hide it, Dean gives it one last try. “Don’t you have any idea where he might have hidden her? Any clue at all?”      “I know where she is.”

     Surprised, the older Winchester looks over the back of the couch while Zoë turns around, both facing a young boy. He’s about thirteen years old and has blonde hair, with the same blue eyes as his mother. Sam’s standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder.      “Tom? What are you talking about, honey?” his mother asks, concerned, trying to compose herself in front of her son.

     He looks up at Sam, who puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, you can tell her now,” he ensures.      Anxious, he turns back to his mother and takes a moment before he starts talking. But when he does, he stuns each and everyone in the room.      “That night, when Laura…” He swallows apprehensively and takes a breath, then continues. “I saw Dad at the lake. He rowed the boat out and dropped a big bag in the water. When he came back, I pretended I was sleeping.”

     Astounded, Dean and Zoë take in the brave little kid, who just stepped forward and gave them the break they were desperately looking for. An eye-witness, one whose voice was taken away by years of seeing so much brutality, that it left him petrified whenever he came close to telling. All this time, the little fellow knew, but couldn’t speak, knowing that he could quite possibly suffer the same fate as his sister.

     “Oh, Tommy…” Mrs. Shire whimpers, as she walks up to him.      The mother folds her arms around her son, who hugs her back while tears start rolling down his cheeks.      “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mom,” he cries, holding her tight. “I knew Dad would have been furious if I had.”      “It’s okay now. Don’t worry, it’s alright,” she whispers while laying her hand over the top of his head, caressing his hair softly, yet she is barely able to hold it together herself.

      The three hunters exchange a look, silent witnesses to the embrace, the last shards of this family mended before them. The truth has been revealed, offering them a strong chance to solve this case. They need more details, though, and the only one who can provide them, is Tommy.      Zoë concentrates on the young boy, once he slips from his mother’s arms. “Tom, do you remember how far your father went out?” she asks, kindly.      “Not that far, he didn’t pass the goose nests,” the teenager tells her.

     They remembers the birds on the lake. Good, they have a marked area now, something to go on. Zoë straightens her back and glances at the boys.      “Seems like we are taking a swim,” she comments.      “You’re going to bring her to the surface?” Mrs. Shire swallows with difficulty, both upset and relieved that they might be doing so.      “It’s the only way we can lay her to rest,” Sam answers.

     “There’s diving equipment in the boathouse. Tom and Ron used to swim in that lake all summer,” she offers.      “Thanks, that might come in handy,” Zoë takes it as she checks her watch. “It’s gonna be completely dark in about a half an hour.”      “Okay then.” Dean sets his shoulders, glancing between his brother and Zoë. As much as he likes a good hunt, he’s not fond of the fact that he’s on the menu of this nasty little spirit. Seems like they will be done with this case by tonight, though. With strong words he finishes.      “Let’s do this.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page). 

Read chapter fourteen here

[sylvain-writes]

Scarlet Letters (TMNT Raphael x Reader)

Chapter 3/8: Basic Instinct

Raphael wakes up.  The mixed signals you’re getting from him leave you wondering if you’re reading too much into things.

(Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ao3)

Your back aches and fatigue threatens your resolve as you keep vigil over the turtle. Since draining the tub, you’ve had time to wash and dry his shorts and wrappings, change into warm clothes yourself, set up the space heater near the bathroom sink, and cocoon your sleeping companion in nearly every towel and blanket you could spare from the linen closet.  Still, it’s been four hours and the closest he’s come to regaining consciousness is some incoherent mumbling that might have been an apology.

Kneeling in the nest you made using the blankets and pillows leftover after tucking in Raphael, you stroke his head with an attempt to soothe.  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Red. It’s OK. You’re gonna be OK.” You’re relieved to feel he has warmed up but concerned by his newly ashen complexion and the ever-present congestion in his cough. 

When he quiets again, you sit back with a sigh.  For now, quiet is good. The less he talks, the less the coughs.  And it would do both of you well to get some rest. 

 Though your body begs you to sleep, you know your work isn’t done.  You take a clean hand-towel off Raphael's shoulders to run it under the hot water from the sink, and you crank down the power of the space heater.  The latter has done its job to steal the chill from the porcelain and tile of the room. Now, you hope, it can maintain the comfortable temperature without drying out the air too much.  Taking the former to the tub, you offer moisture to Raphael’s reptilian skin. 

 Despite it being a literal pain in your ass to spend so much time sitting on the tile floor, you can’t bear to leave the guy’s side.  He didn’t leave yours. Not when he was delirious with pain and hypothermia. He still followed you to the door to make sure you were safe.  True, all he would have had to defend you from was Lori Abma - the 5-foot-nothin’, 90lbs soaking wet, sweetheart from upstairs, but he was ready to take on the world for you - a total stranger - even at his weakest.

 He could have hidden.  He  should  have hidden.  But he hadn’t.

 Remembering the moment from earlier tonight brings on a fresh wave of affection for the turtle.  You take his hand as it dangles over the side of the tub. Though your intention was to return it to his chest under the blankets, you find you can't give it up so quickly.  You marvel at how comfortable the weight of his hand feels in yours. You slide your fingertips over his palm and stare at the way the curves of your hands compliment each other, especially with his hand so much larger than yours.  

 After a series of small twitches, Raphael’s fingers slowly come to close around your hand.  Though you tell yourself it’s a reflex, though you remind yourself you only know a little more about him than any other patient you’ve had at the walk-in clinic, you can’t ignore the way your hands have locked together - a perfect fit.  

 As large as he is, even for a man, Raphael looks small and peaceful in his sleep.  There’s a sense of delicateness in the flutter of his eyelids, in the beat of his pulse you as it thrums under your palm.  But then his body is wracked by a harsh cough and your humors shift from affection to concern.  

 He lies under the mound of blankets, defenseless, having no choice but to trust you.  And he did, he does, without so much as posturing a threat. You hold his hand tighter, hugging it to your chest.

 The vulnerability of his current situation has you wishing you could scoop him into your arms, despite his size.  You think, if positions were different, he might allow you to hold his head in your lap, at least, and provide the type of comfort you only wish someone would have offered you that night the police drove you home from the crime scene of your father’s murder, where your other parent was in too much shock to offer consolation to their child.  

 It’s presumptuous and out of line and too familiar, you know, but you don’t stop yourself from giving into the desire to press your forehead against Raphael’s as he sleeps.  You stroke the side of his face as you rest against him and whisper into his ear. “You gotta be OK, Red, cause I don’t know what else to do." 

 You’re not prepared to care for anyone in need of advanced treatment, let alone a turtle.  Internet searches have only helped so much. What you really need is for the big guy to wake up and tell you what you can do to help him recover.  To tell you what’s working and what isn’t. 

 With a final stroke to his cheek, you decide it's time to make good on the promise you made to yourself back when you thought your companion was lugging around a pack, not a shell.   You're going to go down the alley. It's a trip into the storm that you’ve been trying to convince yourself not to take, but it's long overdue.  

 If he dropped something behind the dumpster, something that can help you find his brothers or something that will offer a clue as to where he’s lived all these years, then you're determined to find it.

 Leaving a note on the nest of blankets beside the tub, and bundled from head to toe in winter wear, you head into the night.  The bitter wind whips around you and cuts through your layers of clothing. But you’re lucky. The ice storm is good for one thing - keeping the streets empty.  There is no sign of life anywhere, no apparent danger except the cold and sleet.

 The dumpster blocks the worst of the wind for a while, you can see why Raphael had taken shelter here.  But everything is covered with snow and ice. You feel around with your boot until you hit something hard.  Reaching under a heap of garbage and snow, you pick up one of the weapons Raphael had brandished earlier in the evening.  

 You hold the sai’s leather-bound handle tightly in your gloved hand and rummage some more.  Something like a walkie-talkie lies crushed not far from where you found the sai. You scoop up the pieces, mindful not to break any of the exposed wires, and scan the ground for any other signs of the turtle.  On your hands and knees, you search. You come up with nothing.  

 After a loud snap and the crash of ice shattering against a building, the way the neighborhood falls into pitch blackness shouldn’t come as a shock to you, but you jump anyway.  Lori’s prediction was right; too much ice has settled on the power lines and now you’d all be without electricity for who-knows-how-long. 

 Back in the apartment, you use your phone for light to strip off your icy wet outerwear and find your way to the supply closet.  Thanks to your preference for keeping to yourself, years of impersonal birthday and Christmas gifts from coworkers have your top shelf stocked with enough scented candles to get you through the winter, if need be.  You take down two large jars and light them with a torch from the kitchen drawer.  

 Upon the gas range, you set up your two largest pots with water to boil.  They should help to warm the kitchen and living room. You hug yourself as you look around the open space.   It’s better than nothing, you think, before heading to the bathroom to check on Raphael.  

 From the doorway, you watch him as he sleeps.  You worry about how impossible it will be to move him to the pull out sofa in the living room.  You worry about how cold the bathroom will become without the electric space heater or furnace doing their job.  When he starts to stir, you waste no time.  

 Scrambling toward him, you grab your lanyard from where it hangs on the door handle.  Behind your ID badge you and your coworkers usually carry ammonia capsules in case a patient starts to faint.  The first time he fainted, you had been at a loss; you’d already used your smelling salts at the clinic.  But since then you've replaced the capsule with one from a pack in the drawer beside the sink.  Blindly removing the fresh dose from behind your badge, you ask Raphael how he’s feeling.

 He’s barely conscious, but his squinting eyes scan the room like he’s searching for exits and enemies. He presses his temples and rubs them in circles as if trying to alleviate a migraine.

 “I-I’m the only one here,” you assure him in quiet tones, trying not to add to his discomfort.  “I found you in the alley and brought you to my apartment. Do you remember?” The question sends a new spark of anxiety coursing through your veins.  

  Does  he remember?  Does he remember your hand in his?  Your faces pressed together? Your desperate whispers in his ear?

 Raphael narrows his eyes at you before giving a groan and a small nod.  His eyes slowly drift closed again.

 “Can you stay awake?” You ask, ready to snap the capsule of smelling salts under his nose should it come to that.  “Just long enough to get you into the other room,” you explain. “We lost power. It’ll get cold in here fast.”

 “How far?” he asks. The question comes out short, stuck behind a figurative frog in his dry throat.  In the flickering light of the candle, you can see Raphael’s focus is on you. He must be ignoring his own pains to sit up straighter, to maintain eye contact despite the headache that pounds against his skull.  

 His gaze is sharp.  You think,  he remembers,  as you feel yourself shrinking away from the bath.

 But the sound of his voice, clipped as it is, feels like a good sign.  And, in a way, you even find it soothing. You didn’t realize how much you were missing Raphael’s deep tones and accented words.  His shoulder is warm and firm beneath your hand. “N-not far at all,” you say, using the last of your confidence to give his arm an encouraging squeeze. 

 Your smile falters, and all the good feelings that had been building in your chest at seeing him awake, drop when he flinches out from under your touch.  

 “Let’s go, then,” he snaps.  His eyes are no longer on you.  His face is no longer relaxed in an expression of peaceful sleep.  There’s a grimace twisting his features and the turtle that at one time had you confused as to why their shell was tagged with kanji ‘anger’ starts to live up to his brand.

 Even with his injuries and bitten back cries of pain as he pushes himself to stand, you can’t seem to remove the blankets and towels fast enough.  Raphael tosses them to the tile floor haphazardly before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  

 He snatches up his shorts from the vanity counter and exhales ragged breaths through his nose as he pulls them on.  Then, leaning over the sink, he takes in the sight of his stitched lip and the bloodied gauze taped to his side. He hitches up his pant leg to get a proper look at his thigh and winces at the pressure of his fingers as they gingerly test the wound.  Without further word, he lumbers out of the room with a limp.

 Throwing down the armful of blankets you had intended to bring to the pullout sofa, you rush into the hall to follow him.  “Are you-”

 “I gotta get outta here," he announces between coughs.  "Gotta get my stuff… get home.”

 "You're hurt.  Your banadages need changing.  You need to rest." His limp shortens his gait, making it easy for you to catch up to him.

 Using the armrest of the sofa as a crutch, he turns around.  "Who are you to tell me what I need, huh?" 

 Your heart freezes under the coldness of his stare, and the frown you've been holding back tugs at the corners of your mouth.

 You are starting to understand not only why the kanji on his shell spoke of 'anger', but why it was painted in such a fierce shade of red.  As Raphael finds his bearings, his sharp edges are returning. The glimpses of warrior you'd caught in the alley and in the hallway of your apartment are starting to settle into place.  Though his bandana is hanging on the shower rod (too worn to be run through the dryer), his hardened expression is a mask all its own.

 "I'm trying to help," you remind him with a gesture toward the medical kit still on the kitchen island.  "Let me help."

 Raphael takes a quick, staggering step forward and you flinch with concern that he may fall.  Moving has brought fresh blood to the gauze pad you'd taped to his side after the bath.  You imagine his leg isn't faring much better.  They'd really do better wrapped.

 "I don't need ya help," he says through gritted teeth.  

 Watching him, your frown deepens.  There’s something more than anger in his tone.  You struggle to name the emotion, but when you shy away as he shuffles past you, he casts his eyes to the ground and you think you catch a glimpse of hurt, even sadness in the lines of his face.

 Nonetheless, if he's determined to tend to his injuries on his own, you won't stand in his way.  You do what you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. You try not to react when his appreciation for the supply of fresh bandages comes in short grunts.  When his request for water comes out more like an annoyed patron barking his order to a diner server, you stop yourself from barking back. But as the minutes pass into an hour of him struggling to wrap his side, his stubbornness grates on your nerves.

 You feel bad missing the Raphael that had been too weak to argue, but even now that he's showing his true colors, you can't help but find this other side of him attractive in its own right.  The way he mutters to himself when the bandages tangle and he has to start over...  The way his cheeks flush with frustration and embarrassment when he catches you stealing a glance...  You can't keep your spark of affection for him at bay, even as you roll your eyes behind his shell.

 It isn't until you catch him stealing glances at you out of the corner of your eye that you suspect he might actually be ready to give in to your offer of assistance.  

 Struggling to bite back your amusement, you move around the island to stand in front of him.  Your palm hovers between you two, waiting. "You gonna let me help you now or-"

 He doesn't wait for you to finish the sentence before placing the roll of medical tape into your hand.  Patching up his side involves you touching his carapace and plastron more than you remember needing to do initially, and it brings your faces close more than a few times, but you try to ignore the way your body responds to the ghost of Raphael’s breath on your cheek.  You mostly ignore the way he shudders when your hands graze the textured scales of his shell. 

 When you kneel between his knees to tend to his leg, you notice Raphael’s sharp intake of breath as he clamps a hand around your wrist.  

 You pull your hands off of his thighs with a jerk.  “I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately for the touch.  “Did you wanna…” Although bending might cause him some discomfort, you realize this bandage is probably easy for him to change on his own.  The way he refuses to look at you, you think you’ve crossed a boundary; you hope your sincere apology is enough to earn back his trust.

 “No, it’s fine," he grumbles, but he won't look down.  "You do it.”

 The candle sitting on the counter doesn't offer much light, but you hear the hitch of his breath.  You feel the twitch of his muscles as you roll back the leg of his shorts and expose the sensitive skin of his inner thigh again.  His hand remains on your wrist awhile, but its grip gradually loosens before it falls away.

 Raphael shudders again under your touch and realization hits you.  “Are you ticklish?” you ask presumptuously, doing your best to keep your eager fingers from teasing.  

 Raphael only shakes his head.  “Can ya just-” he heaves a sigh before grunting “-finish up.”

 “Of course.”  You bite the inside of your cheek, embarrassed by your attempt toward flirtation and assume a professional demeanor.   You’re reading too much into things, you tell yourself.  The feel of your hands entwined, the way he trembles when you’re close, the way his breath catches in his throat at your touch… none of it means anything.

 A sound of appreciation or something like it comes from deep in Raphael's chest as he shifts on the stool again. You spare a glance up at him.  His hands have come to rest in his lap, carefully out of the way of your work, but holding his abdomen. His cheeks are just a shade darker than you’d have sworn they were a minute ago.  It’s hard to tell in the candlelight.  

 When he finally glances down at you, you try to tell yourself that the warmth in his gaze is a trick of the light.  You try to convince yourself that the way the flame dances in his eyes doesn't make him more handsome, it doesn’t make for a romantic sight.  But you’re lying.  

 Each moment in Raphael’s presence you find yourself more attracted to him.  Even when his vulnerability makes him standoffish, you want to be near him.  You've been wanting to give him a piece of your mind, too, when his attitude strikes out. You think you would, were you not afraid he'll rush into the storm ‘to make a point’: he's strong enough and brave enough to go off on his own.  

 As you continue to look up at him, Raphael’s green eyes don't leave yours.  Your hands pause their work so you can continue to hold his gaze.

 Though you know now that he's one quick to anger, you can see he's in more than just physical pain.  He's been quick to defend but trusting of a stranger. He's been strong and gentle. He’s been stubborn but accepting of help when he needs it. He rushes into action, but he listens  to you.  His paradoxes make him more interesting, make you want to learn more, make you wonder if he's interested in knowing you the way you want to know him. 

 Your hands rest comfortably on Raphael's knees as you wait for some clue as to what will happen next, but even as you catch a glimpse of him swallowing hard, you're getting lost in his eyes.

 You wish he wouldn't swallow his words.  You wish that he would speak.  That he would tell you what he wants, what he needs.  That he would tell you more about his life. But when he looks at you like this - softly, curiously - it’s like his eyes are trying to tell you something he can't put into words.

[dukearchive]

When the Moon Found the Sun

By Skyler Graham

PART I: THE MOON I’ve always been fascinated with lights: Christmas lights, street lights, illuminated advertisements surrounding the skyscrapers of uneasy cities. There is something comforting about these contained fireworks, something calming yet invigorating in sustaining hope in the darkness. This light, however, may also be a destructive force. As my mother grew in her career and my father fell in his, tension in the house became the firecrackers of a once glowing family. No lights, just jolting explosions of anger. I felt my dad giving into his insecurities, allowing his wife’s success to feast on his ego. Yet, rather than establishing a sense of equilibrium, he became the guilty victim of female domination. No job turned into no friends. When you only have one adult to socialize with, conversations turn into arguments.  A joker turns into a hermit.    I spent winter months silencing their screams with a complete infatuation with the fireplace. I focused all of my energy on the flames; if I could match my breath with the rise and fall of each quivering light, perhaps I could stay distracted long enough to forget why I needed a breathing tutorial in the first place.

But the screams only continued. My mom kicked the garage door shut, one hand grasping a cup of ice and the other a bottle of Tito’s. “Don’t worry about it, asshole. Just stay in the house, like you do all day, while I’m out working for this family.” “For this family? You’re never home!” This had become my parents’ daily routine: ignore each other throughout the day, argue about familial obligations and financial irresponsibility, anesthetize the anger with liquor, wake up, and repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat. I distracted myself at school; I focused on wall clocks and bus windows and half-completed math worksheets with lyrics doodled across the page. I stared into spinning washing machines and living room rugs and TV screens and interstate billboards. I stared out the window on every car ride, untouched by the heat rising from arguments at home. When I was sixteen, I glared at the bathroom mirror, finding only the reflection of a reckless dreamer with a warring psyche. My parents were in marital purgatory by this time; they knew the end was approaching, but they were still trapped in the same house by laws and loans and realtors. They were too occupied with hating each other, though, that my reckless bursts of naivety went unchallenged. My worries embraced a pair of scissors and a box of bleach. “Damn,” I whispered. “Now I look like a fucking Wal-Mart brand Kurt Cobain.” It was nearly one in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep. The light of the full moon radiated on the cigarette butts and stolen jewelry resting on my windowsill. There’s an everlasting magic to moonlight; not merely in its aesthetic brilliance, but in the effortless coexistence of the sun and moon. I admired how the sun highlights his lunar partner, allowing her to carry the tides and sustain hope in the darkness. He asks nothing in return. And the moon, shining on my orange-blonde head, willingly hides in the morning and allows the sun to warm the earth; she asks nothing in return. Their sacrifices are not of hopeful reciprocity, but a selfless balance of their earthly children. I lit a white candle and kneeled by my window. “God, or gods, or whatever powers control our universe, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am, or who I’m becoming. I know, I’ve been acting out lately. I guess I’m just confused. But I need some type of balance; I can’t keep pretending like it’s okay — like I’m okay — when I want to be there for my family but I’m always put in the middle and I have no one to talk to and I’m scared of what Mason thinks and—” My mom came in and sat on the edge of my bed, the home of my nightmares and tear-stained pillowcases. Ignored the candle. “I can’t do this anymore, Steph. I can’t — everything I do is for you and your brother. I want to be home with you guys more, I do, but I can’t when he—,” her tears stifled her cries. But it didn’t matter — I knew what she meant. I knew what she felt. I could read her fearful despondency and immediately understand her confusion. How did her marriage end up like this? How could she escape? I didn’t know if my empathy was purely intuition or something greater (or if there’s a difference), but I knew she was desperate for change. I blew out the candle as she shuffled through the doorway. “So Mote It Be.” *** After my dad moved out, my mom introduced me to our next-door neighbor, Mike. He had lived next to us for months, but the only thing I knew about him was that his motorcycle, Jeep, and Mustang were cleaner than his soul. “Hey Mike, I’m Stevie.” A backwards snapback and graying beard looked up from his phone. “Oh, hey — yeah, your mom’s told me all about you. Said you might want to babysit my girls.” Great. This guy has kids? “Uh, sure,” I responded. “How old are they?” “Two and six,” he grumbled. “I love ‘em, but damn, it’s a difficult age.” I awkwardly laughed. “Yeah, just wait until they’re teena-” “Oh I know,” he interrupted. “I got another daughter about your age. We don’t talk much though.” My mom came out and proudly gestured to our backyard. “Look at what Mason did!” The grass was cut, the bushes trimmed, and the dirt stains on the fence were covered with a fresh layer of white paint. “Mike showed him how,” she said. “Mason, of course, complained the whole time.” She crossed her arms and looked away, squinting vaguely at the fruits of a renewed suburban paradise. “He would be used to all this work, you know, if your dad taught him better.” I hated that; the universal “Dad” had turned into “your dad,” as if he was an unknown figure in her life. As if they never met. I don’t know — maybe that was her way of hiding in the flames. *** PART II: THE SUN “Just let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll open the garage.” Mike invited me over that night, offering beer and a backyard bonfire in exchange for some company. My mom and Mike had become good friends, sharing time, vacations, and secrets with each other. My mom was on a business trip that night and unable to console her friend. I, however, was in town, bored, and seventeen without a fake ID. I walked over to his house in the same tan dress and cowgirl boots I wore to a concert that night. He was sitting alone in the backyard staring at tattoos on his wrist. “Annabelle,” it said. Is that the older daughter? One of the younger ones? One of the mothers? What happened between them? I sat down next to him in a plastic lawn chair. “What’s been going on, man?” I knew he needed comfort. But I had to remain cautious. “My friend’s girlfriend has been texting me all night — crying to me, complaining about her boyfriend and all this other shit.” Mike handed me a beer. “I’d love to help her — hell, she’s only nineteen and needs some type of guidance — but I don’t mess with girls in relationships. Not something I’m tryna get involved in.” “Doesn’t it bother you that she’s, ya know, nineteen?” “Age doesn’t bother me — I like younger girls anyway. Once they get to a certain age, women just — aren’t fun anymore. Young girls are exciting, they want to go out, they want to try… new things. After about, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, they’re not interested. They’re not interesting.”

“We just understand each other. We’re going through the same things, we can joke around and go out and talk about anything,” my mom sighed and smiled, then briefly glanced down. “He just doesn’t want a relationship, I guess… but neither do I. We’re just friends. Just friends.”

Mike opened another beer. “Was he at least good in bed?” He was asking about my ex-boyfriend; Mike knew him and watched his minivan creep out of my driveway almost every Friday night that spring. I broke up with him that June after months of frustration with his insecurities manifesting themselves as emotional dependency. I was tired of giving more than having — I didn’t want to take anything, just have: have mutual friends; have kind conversations with each others’ parents; have a reciprocal love. There is magic to mutualism, a feeling that transcends the power derived from systems of domination. I guess some people aren’t prepared for that type of power. It’s easy to succumb to others’ control, and tempting to take that control for yourself. It is grueling, however, to accept the power that lies in its absence. “Honestly, no. It felt like it was always about him; whenever he came, we were done. It felt like my only purpose was to satisfy him. I always just wanted it to be over.” He poured a shot for me. “Don’t worry honey, it won’t always be like that. You just need a man with experience to treat you right. Find an older man, someone who knows what he’s doing.”

“But I trust him. Even if we’re not “dating,” I know I can rely on him. I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or you guys. Yes, he’s tough on your brother, but he’s just trying to teach him. He wants the best for you guys.”

I stared at the bonfire. I could look only at the bonfire. If I looked in his eyes, he would take it as an invitation. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “You ever watch porn?” Fuck. “My ex and I, we used to make our own,” he continued. “Wanna see?” I couldn’t see the flames anymore. I felt them rising to my face, but the flood of alcohol suffocated them. I couldn’t say no. It wasn’t really a question to begin with. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong, right? He didn’t touch me or make me do anything, right? Why am I so worried? I thought, I can trust him. I can trust him. Can I trust him? The flames kept growing. I handed back his phone, a drunk half-grin on my face. “Nice. A fine piece of cinema, Mike.” He ignored my sarcasm, as expected. He stood up and motioned toward his bulging crotch. “Look what you did to me, Stevie.” The flames were now in my cheeks and knees and hands and I couldn’t escape. He stumbled toward me. “All this sex talk, you got me feeling different.” I laughed. He didn’t. He looked me up and down, his hands in his pockets. “You know, if you weren’t my neighbors’ daughter, I would so have sex with you right now.”

“So nothing happened?” I asked, “And you guys were staying in the same room?” My mom sighed. “Nope. Nothing on New Years’ either. Whatever.” She stirred her drink. “I just don’t understand — what is it about me? Why don’t guys like me?” I felt her concerns, a nauseating red-green-blue energy pouring from her soul. “Don’t worry about them,” I explained. “Most guys are assholes anyway. You don’t need them.”

I walked back home. It was 7:00 AM. The moon was out of sight, her solar partner taking control. *** “Thanks for hanging with Mike, by the way,” my mom said after she got home. “I know he was feeling down and just wanted someone to talk to.” “Yeah, of course. We had a good time.” Mason looked up. “No kidding, you didn’t come home until five in the morning.” My mom’s eyes went cold. The red-blue aura had returned. “You what? Why? What were you guys doing?” The flames were back. This time, they were ashes swirling in the pit of my stomach. “Nothing, just talking.” “Talking about?” “I know I don’t need them; I’m better off without your dad than I was with him. But it’s still nice to have someone — you know, someone you can trust and talk to without any tension.” I watched my mom’s emotion shift to a pale yellow. She put down her drink and looked at me with hope shining through her eyes. “And I feel like that’s what I have with Mike. I know, we’re not “dating”, but things could turn around.”

I exhaled. “Nothing.” *** “Dinner’s here, just come in when you’re ready,” my mom texted me. I walked over to Mike’s to grab a slice of pizza and leave; I did not want to be back in that house any longer than I needed to. My mom still didn’t know what we talked about — what he talked about — and neither Mike nor I had the heart to tell her.    I walked in to my mom playfully laughing at one of Mike’s jokes. The ashes began swirling. He didn’t care. She didn’t know. I walked in to both of them ignoring my presence, one out of infatuation and the other out of arrogance. Or fear. The flames started rising. No “Hello,” no “How was your day?”, no “Sorry I hit on you despite the fact I’m old enough to be your father and your mom is obviously obsessed with me.” Nothing. The fire kept burning. Mike finally put down his pride long enough to acknowledge me. “Hey Stevie, could you run out to the garage and get me another beer?” The fires are rising higher and higher Uncontained Unrestrained I stomp into the garage. I grudgingly open the fridge and my elbow knocks over his “bar.” The Mustang. There’s vodka and whiskey and cheap mixers all over the hood of that damn Mustang. Maybe if you spent less time worrying about your vehicles, Mike, you could see the truth. You could see what I see. The fires are now swirling, exploding from the inside out. I can feel it in my stomach and chest and hands and feet. I harness it, however, and focus on the car. I focus on the flames. I focus all my energy — all my anger and resentment — on sparking the conveniently flammable coating of his prized possession. I watch the fire rise and fall, then rise again, then spread through the window into the car’s interior. She’s melting, Mike, and you can’t save her. I can’t hear your screams, either, as I am consumed by the flames. Consumed, but in control. Finally taking control of all of my worries, all of the anxieties I hid with bleach and stolen jewelry. I can harness this energy under the guiding moonlight. Some of us can maintain harmony with our souls and our surroundings. And some of us — most of us —  aren't prepared for that type of power.

[woolishlygrim]

Winter Weebwatch #1

So, because it is Good when I get to have opinions about things, I figured I’d try out doing a bunch of mini-reviews for the current season of anime, doing a new batch of reviews with each episode and seeing how they evolve and change over time, whether some do better, or some fall behind, or if I end up dropping any of them (and by any of them, I mean Plunderer).

The winter anime season is kind of a dead zone: Since it starts in January when everybody’s starting to get busy again and Christmas has screwed over their sense of work-life balance, it’s the season with the lowest amount of viewers, and so it’s the season where the shows tend to be noticeably low effort and low budget. It’s telling that, despite having huge franchises with a lot of brand recognition, Sunrise and A-1 Pictures put Gundam Build Divers Re:Rise and Sword Art Online on hiatus for the entirety of the winter season, choosing to take the hit that comes from a three month hiatus instead of wasting twelve or thirteen episodes on the Death Season, The Season Where Shows Go To Die.

So by and large, what we’re reviewing here are either the shows distribution companies didn’t care about, or the shows distribution companies did care about but couldn’t get a channel to pick up in any other season. We’re also not reviewing all of them, because there’s like ninety and my store of time and opinions is finite, so we’re reviewing seven.

While the intention is to follow these seven shows through to the end, what will probably happen is I might drop a couple that aren’t keeping my interest, and pick up a couple that catch my eye. If I pick up new ones, then whatever I pick up will get some kind of bumper review covering several episodes.

Also, I really dragged my heels getting this done, so most of these shows have already aired their second episodes. I’ll be trying to put out the second episode reviews a lot quicker, so that I can be relatively current by the time the third episodes roll around.

Anyway! Week 1, first episodes.

Infinite Dendrogram.

★★★☆☆

Infinite Dendrogram has a terrible and ridiculous premise that crumbles into dust if you examine it for more than 0.2 seconds, and I kind of don’t mind that at all.

The show follows Ray Starling, a player in the titular Virtual Reality MMO, which promises infinite possibilities owing to its two unique selling points: The first, that all the NPCs are fully-fledged AIs, meaning the world ‘exists’ distinct from its players or any manned oversight, with quests emerging naturally from the NPCs’ wants and needs, and with NPCs able to permanently die; and the second, that each player character has an Embryo, a superpower generated using their personality as a model, with infinite possibilities.

This is an inconceivably dumb premise. Leaving aside the obvious game balance issues with the Embryos, it’s clarified early on that this AI technology is unique to the game, which means that some game company discovered the technology to create fully conscious, sapient life, and decided to use that technology to create a video game (and in doing so, directly led to the deaths of thousands of those sapient lives).

But I … kinda don’t care? Infinite Dendrogram’s episode was fun, lively, not terribly original but consistently engaging, and managed to introduce five characters who I actually kind of like while telling a self-contained episodic story with good stakes and nice pacing. It feels like Sword Art Online if Sword Art Online was written by a competent writer and also not just a delivery system for creepy, irritating fanservice, and that’s pretty nice.

Also, bonus points for actually making the in-universe game look fun? We’ll call that one another advantage it has over SAO.

ID: Invaded.

★★★★☆

ID: Invaded has indisputably the strongest first episode of this season of anime (really first two, as it aired both episodes one and two back to back), by a gigantic margin. A video called ‘Defending ID: Invaded’ floated by my youtube dash a few days back, so clearly some people don’t agree with me on that, but that’s fine. It’s okay for them to be wrong.

When ID: Invaded picks up, a young man awakens in an empty white void full of floating chunks of a city, with his own body in pieces and no memories. Pulling himself back together, he realises, upon seeing a dead body of a young woman, that his name is Sakaido, and he’s a detective here to solve the woman’s murder.

Sakaido, it quickly turns out, is exploring a cognitive world formed out of a telepathic link with the killer, with a team of investigators in the real world watching through his eyes and picking out evidence to find the murderer with. When the murderer, a serial killer called the Perforator, kidnaps a member of the investigation team, the race is on to find him before he can kill again.

So, ID: Invaded has kind of mastered the art of dripfeeding information in a way that gets a viewer hooked very quickly while steadily delivering a series of twists and turns, and recontextualising the story and the mystery (which, it rapidly emerges, is not the mystery of the Perforator, but rather the mystery of Sakaido himself). It’s gripping and inventive, with a strong if slightly convoluted premise and a lot of interesting material to set up going forward in the series.

In a nice touch, director Ei Aoki turns the mental worlds Sakaido visits (two in the first two episodes) into homages to other surrealist anime directors, mimicking both their compositions and their cinematography. The world of the Perforator draws marked influence from the works of Mamoru Hosoda, an apprentice of Hayao Miyazaki and one of the original creators of Digimon Adventure; while the second world visited pays homage to the works of Akiyuki Shinbo, best known for the unsettling surrealist landscapes and equally unsettling cinematography of Puella Magi Madoka Magica and Fate/Extra Last Encore.

Pet.

★☆☆☆☆

Pet looks like a cheap OVA from 2004. Let’s just get that out of the way, it looks bad, but in a really inoffensive way where it just kind of looks cheap and outdated.

It’s … fine. It’s okay. If you’ve ever had a Burger King bacon and cheese burger, you basically know what Pet is like. If you haven’t ever had a Burger King bacon and cheese burger, go and have a Burger King bacon and cheese burger, and then you’ll know what Pet is like.

The first episode doesn’t really give away anything about the premise of the series, save that it involves psychic criminals, but it tells a decent self-contained little story about a guy who learns something he shouldn’t and is then psychic-ly tormented before his memory is eventually wiped.

There’s also just not a lot to say about Pet, though. It fulfills its function as a work of storytelling, and it doesn’t really ever do much more than that, at least in its first episode. It finds its comfortable niche in just being very average and unremarkable, and sticks there, being average and unremarkable.

Of all the first episodes I’m reviewing, Pet seems the most passionless. It’s such a middle of the road piece of art that I struggle to imagine why it was even made. It doesn’t seem like it’s trying to sell merchandise, it doesn’t seem like a passion project, it doesn’t really seem like much of anything. It feels like someone asked a creative writing class to write a short story about psychic criminals, and then one of those stories was turned into an anime episode.

Plunderer.

☆☆☆☆☆

Plunderer offers a moderately interesting premise that literally nobody watching the first episode will even remember because oh good god, from the second scene onwards the entire episode is just non-stop sexual harassment and assault, first from the protagonist to the deuteragonist and then from the antagonist to the deuteragonist, and I hated it. I hated it so much.

In a bizarre turn, when the protagonist sexually harasses and attempts to sexually assault the deuteragonist, it’s played as wacky comedy, but when the antagonist does basically the exact same thing, it’s played with all the sense of horror that those actions warrant.

I just … don’t really get how I’m meant to ever sympathise with the protagonist after this. I don’t know how you rehabilitate a character in the audience’s minds when our very first introduction to him tells us that he’s a sex pest.

Also something something numbers something something die if your number reaches zero something something magical items who even cares what the premise is, my patience for this show ran dry thirty seconds into the second scene.

If I had a way of representing it, I would give this first episode a negative number of stars.

Sorcerous Stabber Orphen.

★★★☆☆

Let it just be noted that ‘Sorcerous Stabber Orphen’ is the most unintentionally hilarious anime title of the season, so there’s that.

A remake of a 1999 series of the same name, Sorcerous Stabber Orphen follows Orphen, a disgraced former sorcerer turned small-time crook and moneylender whose ill-advised attempt to commit marriage fraud is abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a dragon crashing through the roof of his potential bride/mark’s house. This isn’t just any dragon, however, but Orphen’s sister, Azalie, magically transformed after a spell gone wrong, leading Orphen on a quest to turn her back into a human before the sorcerers of the Tower of Fang can kill her.

Side note: While he names himself ‘Orphen’ because he is an orphan, I’m not misspelling the name, that’s how it’s spelled in-show. This is everybody’s fault except mine.

So, this first episode rather shows the age of its source material. It looks very much like a spruced up late 90s anime made with current day animation techniques, and that’s actually not a bad look for it. It’s also not really a good look -- Megalo Box this ain’t -- it’s just kind of a … look. Which is there. It exists in a state of Neutral Retro.

As first episodes go, though, this is probably one of the emptier and slower ones, somehow managing to cover less of its plot than even Plunderer (although it wins out on a massive margin the basis of that plot not being 90% sex crimes), because seemingly not only is its animation style cribbed from late 90s action anime, but so is its pacing.

What’s there, though, is pretty fun. None of it is dazzlingly original, it probably wasn’t that original even in the 90s, but we get introduced to a likeable cast of characters, we get a decent central conflict set up, and the worldbuilding is, while bare bones at present, at least interesting enough to hook a viewer who likes fantasy.

Also, it’s called ‘Sorcerous Stabber Orphen,’ so, you know. Extra star just for that, man.

In/Spectre.

★★☆☆☆

I’m not sure what In/Spectre is trying to be, and it doesn’t seem to be sure either.

The marketing set it up as an atmospheric, brooding supernatural mystery. The first third of the episode frames it as a romantic comedy with emphasis on the comedy. The second third of the episode switches back to atmospheric, brooding supernatural mystery, only for the third third of the episode to switch tracks yet again, this time to an action comedy with an emphasis on the action.

I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with this show. I get mood whiplash constantly, as it veers from genre to genre like a drunk driver on the freeway. By the time the last third of the episode hit, I felt completely unmoored not just from the plot, but from how I was even meant to interpret the characters.

It’s not bad at any of those genres, either. The romantic comedy section was actually pretty funny, the supernatural mystery section was suitably ominous, the action comedy section established stakes and followed through on them pretty well. None of it was blow-me-away-amazing, but it was all competent, it’s just that there’s no coherent sense of tone to any of it.

Darwin’s Game.

★☆☆☆☆

Full disclosure, I completely forgot I was watching Darwin’s Game. I finished these reviews, thought ‘haha, well done, I’ve reviewed all six shows I wanted to review’ and didn’t remember that there was a seventh on my list until I saw its name come up on a streaming website.

That’s a large part of why I’m scoring it so low. It’s better than In/Spectre, Pet, or Plunderer, it’s probably at least as good as Sorcerous Stabber Orphen, but at least those shows actually made some kind of impression on me. Darwin’s Game is good, but I can’t exactly justify giving two or three stars to a show that had such little impact that it vanished from my memory as soon as I stopped actively watching it with my eyes, like some kind of middling Doctor Who monster.

So, Darwin’s Game follows, um. It follows … a guy … with a name that I can’t recall … who is unwittingly dragged into a death game played in the streets of Tokyo. With each player given Sigils, seemingly magical abilities that they can use to gain advantages in the game, and with points exchangeable for vast sums of real money, the players of Darwin’s Game are set to the task of hunting down and murdering other players. Unable to back out of the game, Some Guy finds help with, er … with … a person … whose name I also don’t recall … and …

God, trying to recall the details of this show is like trying to recall what you had for dinner last week just after a severe head injury. You know, but the details just aren’t there.

I’m kind of at a loss as far as opinions go, because I don’t … know? If I think hard, I can remember the order of events that happened in the first episode, but I can’t remember what, if any, emotional response I had to them. All of my memories of this show are a blank, emotionless void, this is like asking me to review Solitaire. Like, I guess it was fine? I guess? 

I can’t remember the main character’s face or voice.

Note to self, write all Darwin’s Game reviews from now on immediately after watching the episode, otherwise all recollection of it will melt like ice cream in a heat wave.

I’m still giving it one star, though, because I refuse to put it on the same level as Plunderer. For a start, the main character doesn’t belong on some kind of registry.

[afangirlwashere]

Prove it (Irondad fanfiction)

(gif is not mine)

Summary: Peter might be able to take a lot but too much is too much and one day on a trip he just snaps.

A/N: So this is a little Christmas surprise I guess. This fic is a part of the  Captain Handsome's Holiday Gift Exchange! I don’t think I got a lot to say I just want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas! I hope you all have a good time! This is the song you can play while reading this piece! There are no ships it’s just some dad!Tony.

Warnings: just swearing and Flash being an ass

MASTERLIST

„Dude I can’t believe you didn’t bring your ID card!“ Ned screeches at Peter when the security guard gives out temporary visitors ID cards. 

„You mean his fake-ass ID card?” Flash's comment makes a bunch of kids laugh. 

Peter just huffs in annoyance that Ned even said something. He’s been fearing today for the past month. There are so many ways his identity could be revealed today. Sleeping was impossible last night since about a thousand nerve-racking scenarios kept on repeating in his head. 

Of course he was getting shit from the other students - mostly Flash though.  He didn’t dare to say anything back because the only possible thing that could come out of his mouth was “I’m Spider-Man so shut the hell up.” 

“Welcome to The Stark Industries! We’re going to start the tour in the first factory where we make the suit improvements and please guys no taking pictures in there so all your phones and other electronics need to be left in the metal box that we put in front of the doors. Do you have any questions before we go there?” a well put together middle-aged lady jotted down something on a tablet and looked at the crowd of kids again.

A short girl - Peter barely knew her from Spanish class but she was one of the nice ones - raised her hand high.  The woman nodded her way encouraging her to speak.

“Are we going to meet Ms. Potts?” she squeals in excitement.

“Or any of the Avengers? Iron Man?!” someone from the back shouts.

“Unfortunately no. Ms. Potts is on a business trip at this moment and Mr. Stark is a very busy man. The other superheroes have a lot of their own missions and things to do.” the lady explains as politely as possible.

‘Yeah sure.’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘Because screaming at Mr. Wilson for 30 minutes about eating chips on the couch counts as being a very busy man.’

“I have a question!” Flash lazily raises his hand.

‘Oh god...’

“Does a guy named Peter Parker have an internship here at The Stark Industries? Or more specifically, an internship where he helps Mr. Stark personally?” 

The lady looks a little lost for a second before she answers “No, we do not take high school students for internships anymore and when it comes to Mr. Stark I don’t think he ever had anyone for an internship to help him. I’ve never heard that name and I’ve been here for a few years now.” 

Flash’s smug grows even wider as he turns his head to Peter “Knew it.” 

‘I’m Spider-Man so shut the hell up. I’m Spider-Man so shut the hell up. I’m Spider-Man so-’

“Alright then! If there are no other questions we can move on to the tour. Please follow me.” 

They start walking to the factory door. Peter has been in there about a million times trying out new suits, webs, and weapons so the visit wasn’t as exciting for him as for Ned and the others. 

“Do you think they’re gonna have the batons that Black Widow uses? Oh! Or The Iron Man Gauntlet?!” Ned carelessly throws his phone in the metal box as an employee checks his ID card. 

“Not sure Ned...” Peter shrugs. 

“Do you think there will be any Spider-Man suits?” his friend elbows him while they pass through the door. 

“Dude! No! No Spider-Man talk here! One bad move and they figure it out and I’m-” 

“Figure out what? That you’re not actually friends with Spider-Man like you told us? Trust me... We figured that out a while ago.” seems like Flash isn’t going to let it go. 

He’s like a tick. Once he sucks onto you it’s hard to get him off. 

Peter turns to the annoying schoolmate but before he manages to get out a response he notices a familiar figure walking their way with a phone put to their ear. 

“Happy! Happy it’s me! Hey! It’s me Peter!” he waves his hand vigorously.

The moment the head of the security notices the loud young boy trying to get his attention he turns on his heel and walks away as fast as he can while shouting something into the phone.

“Hey! Okay! Fine! I’ll see you later! Bye!” Peter still shouts after him while standing on his tip-toes. 

Flash watches him with wide eyes “Wow you’re really going for it Parker. You wanna be a professional liar in the future?” 

‘I’m Spider-Man so shut the hell-’  

“I’m not lying! I swear!” 

“Then prove it.” 

It might have been because he didn’t sleep all night that Flash was getting on his nerves so much today but Peter probably got the worst best idea how to shut him up for good. 

“Fine! When we get out of this factory to go to the next one we all stay in the middle of the crowd and on my sign you need to swoop to the left corridor and hide around the corner.”  

“Why?” Ned asks bluntly while they leave Flash behind.

“You’ll see.” Peter takes out a phone and starts furiously typing something.

“We were supposed to leave our phones outside!” Ned covers Peter as much as he can so that he won’t get in trouble.

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t have a camera see?” he turns the phone around “It’s filled with a lot of cool Sp-extra...stuff.” Peter stops himself from mentioning anything Spidey related. 

After a few more minutes the lady announces they will be moving to another location.

“I swear if we get caught Penis Parker I’ll run you over with my car.” 

Don’t say it... Don’t say it... Say something else! Anything!

“Well, Flash I have health insurance!” he quickly catches up to Ned.

When the time comes all three of them try to unnoticeably stumble to the left and once they are out of the crowd they start running to hide around the corner just like Peter told them to. 

They wait a minute until all the chatter passes 

Peter takes a glimpse into the hallway. 

“What do we do now?” Flash sounds more nervous than ever.

“Follow me.” Peter rushes to the hallway and takes a few turns to other corridors.

The two boys barely know where they are at this point but after another minute they end up in front of a long staircase that seems to go on and on and on. 

“Stairs?” Flash asks. 

“This is the part you won’t like.” Peter takes the first staircase by two stairs at a time “We have to walk all the way up on our feet.” 

Ned and Flash exchange looks and just for this one moment they both silently agree that they hate Peter. 

Peter has to pretend to be struggling throughout the long walk but it’s actually not that hard. 

They made a bigger break when they hit the halfway. 

While Flash was too busy almost coughing out his lungs (since he tried to keep up with Peter who was going slow on them) Ned was lying on the ground and trying to calm down his beating heart. And then he noticed something on the ceilings. 

“Pe-Peter.” he whispered still breathing heavily “L-look.” 

Peter looked the way Ned’s finger pointed and he saw a camera that was installed in the corner. 

“We...We’re screwed...” 

“I got it covered.” Peter assures his friend. 

“How?!” Ned sits up and blinks a few times because of all the red spots that form in front of him. 

“You don’t have to worry I got it.” he shrugs “I have a cool app on my phone that I got from Miss Romanoff. To my surprise, it was able to get through Mr. Starks security which came handy. I knew there were cameras here Ned. I wouldn’t bring you here if I wasn’t 100% sure these were off when we walk all those stairs.” 

“How did it get through-you know what? I’m too dizzy for this.” Ned gives up and just sinks back to the ground for a few more minutes.

After some more stairs and a few more stops, they finally get to the floor where the Avengers spend their free time training, working and socializing. 

Peter wraps his hand around the knob of the glass door and it takes his fingertips recognizing it’s him. The doors open and the three boys slip inside very well knowing they have no right to be here right now.

“So now what?” Flash barks.

“We’ll have to be very quick. Follow me.” Peter starts sneaking around. 

He was able to deactivate the cameras on the staircase but definitely not here. 

Before they even start walking they hear a loud thud and out of nowhere a manly figure drops from the ventilation shaft. 

Peter recognizes Clint Barton in seconds and stands frozen in place.

Clint looks at the group of boys with a very confused expression. Of course he recognized Peter but he didn’t have a clue what the younging was doing here right now. 

“You guys seen Natasha?” he asks after the fearful silence.

Ned shakes his head and stares at the superhero in front of him. 

Clint looks behind them and nods “Alright. If you see her you don’t know where I am and if someone asks me I have no clue you’re here capish?” 

Ned and Flash nod their heads, terrified, that they got caught meanwhile Peter still stands paralyzed. 

“Good.” Clint looks around again then runs around the corner and finally disappears.

A few seconds pass.

“Dude! That was HAWKEYE!” Ned starts freaking out. 

Flash stands there with his mouth open in pure shock. 

Peter blinks a few times and takes a deep breath. He went through a lot of scary stuff but this might have been the scariest of it all. 

“Okay, we gotta move. Come on.” Peter’s legs feel like jelly for a bit but after he takes a few steps it gets better. 

They are very careful each step they take. 

But failure is inevitable. 

Just one more turn and they would have been right where Peter wanted them to be but they had to run into someone in the hallway.

And this time it wasn’t Clint.  It was way worse.

Ned’s trembly voice whispers “Do we run?” he asks.

“No.” Peter exhales “It would be pointless. He’d catch us in a minute.” 

“What are you boys doing here? I’m pretty sure civilians are not allowed here.” a clear solid voice speaks up.

“Mr. Rogers I-” Peter tries to explain the situation.

“You know what? Save it, son.” Steve raises his hand “I’m not the one you’ll have to explain this to.” he nods his head for them to start walking “And don’t try to run away he was right. It would be pointless.” he warns the kids.

Ned whispers toward Peter “Dude, Captain America just called you son!” 

“I know Ned I’m freaking out too.” Peter had to try and calm his heart rate a bit.

He might have hung out with Steve Rogers a few times but this was still very new to him. And he was a huge fanboy.

“I swear you’re fucking dead Parker.” Flash grunts when Steve knocks on huge doors from dark wood. 

The doors open after a few seconds and they all walk in.  It’s a big boardroom with the perfect view on New York. 

“You guys wait here I’ll be right back.” 

The door closes again practically sealing their fate and the boys exchange terrified looks. 

“It’s all your fucking fault Penis Parker!” Flash finally bursts out “I knew this was going to end badly and I swear if I get in trouble for it I’ll make the rest of your life a living hell!” 

Peter doesn’t listen to Flash because he’s already worried sick how he’s going to explain this. 

A few minutes of Flash aggressively shouting pass and the door finally opens to reveal Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

Both Ned and Flash swallow loudly and stand straight as rulers.  Peter just looks down in shame.

“You two,” Tony Stark points at Flash and Ned “out. Captain Rogers will escort you back to your class. And please tell the teacher that Peter Parker isn’t going to be joining you back any time soon. I have to chat with my... assistant here.” 

“Mr. Stark I-” Peter tries again.

“Ababa!” Tony raises his hand “Save it kid. You two,” he points at the two schoolmates again “Skidaddle.”.

Both of them head out of the room. 

“Oh!” Tony turns around and looks at the boys standing next to Cap “And next time before you start insulting and bullying someone I’d check if there aren’t any cameras around to catch you doing it Eugene Thompson.” his voice hardens.

Flash stares at Tony wide-eyed “I...I-” before he can finish his sentence the doors close.

Tony turns to Peter squinting his eyes at him “How did your brain actually manage to come up with something so unbelievably stupid?” 

“I am so sorry Mr. Stark it’s just... He wouldn’t stop messing with me about the internship. They all think it’s not real and I know I shouldn’t care and most of the time I just ignore them but I just couldn’t today... I was terrified of this trip and then when he was mocking me I-” Peter rants and Tony sees that he starts breathing very fast.

“It’s alright Pete.” he puts his hand on his shoulder “Nothing bad happened nobody got hurt. You just probably had to walk a lot of stairs I can imagine.” Tony pulls a chair for Peter to sit on “How were you planning to prove that your internship was real?” he asks out of curiosity.

“I wanted to show them the lab.” Peter notices how red with anger Tony goes after he says that “But just for a minute! I know there is a lot of dangerous stuff there, I know! But I would just show them the suits behind the glass and that I know the code to the room and then we’d just leave I swear Mr.Stark!” 

A few dreadful seconds for Peter pass.

“Look. I understand. Steve told me what he heard the guy say to you and he tactically brought you in the boardroom instead of my office so that he could really see what was going on.” Tony explains “We both know you’re a good kid and that you wouldn’t do this to hurt anyone but we needed to find a reason why we shouldn’t take your ID and forbid you from ever going here again.” 

Peter ruffles his hair feeling the guilt wash over him again.

“The next time someone bullies you like that I want you to tell your aunt, the teacher or me. I’ll deal with it.” he pats his shoulder “I know it’s not that easy but it’s always a bit easier when you can face it with the help of others... But you’re still an idiot Peter. Don’t ever do this again. And as punishment, you have to go and tell Natasha where Clint is.” Tony gets up from his chair.

“What?” Peter asks confused.

“I’m not dumb I checked all the cameras. I saw Clint just letting you wander around here. Your punishment will be that you will betray your pact with Clint and Clint’s punishment will be the wrath of Natasha and trust me... There is nothing worse in the world.” Tony’s body shakes while he thinks of some kind of past experience with the assassin “You can be happy I’m not making a big deal out of this.” 

Peter was so scared that Tony might take his ID card or his suit again but seeing so much understanding from an adult like him was refreshing.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” he quickly wraps his hands around him in a tight hug. 

Tony stands frozen for a bit, surprised at the sudden affection.

He slowly wraps his hands around Peter too “You’re welcome kid.” 

[richonnejustdesserts]

Yuletide Medicine (25 Days Of Richonne Tumblr Exclusive) by @blacklitchick

The joy of the Holiday is lost on both Rick and Michonne until the right medicine transforms their Christmas Eve.

It had seemed like the altruistic thing to do when Rick volunteered to take his aunt’s shift as a Salvation Army bell ringer after she came down with the flu. Most didn’t want the Christmas Eve shift, but the magic of the holiday season was lost on Rick that year. His kids would be two states away from him when they opened presents on Christmas morning. He figured it was better to do some good instead of moping around his empty house. But after two hours of ringing that annoying bell in icy temperatures, he was over it. The multiple looks of annoyance and aggravation he received as last-minute shoppers rushed past him and his frozen fingers made him want to pack it in early. The three dollars he collected after being on duty for two hours didn’t seem worth the hassle.

He tossed the bell and red apron into the bucket before reaching up to pull the Santa hat off his head. A split second before his hand touched his head he heard a small gasp and scream. His reflexes kicked in as he saw a body fall towards him from his peripheral vision. The new weight in his arms wasn’t as much of a shock to his system as the most beautiful yet haunting pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen, staring up at him.

It took it her being in waves: her dark skin, the long locs cascading down her shoulders from under a white knit cap, the matching white peacoat, the way her mouth slightly opened as she took in quick breaths that floated up into the air like smoke. The seconds ticked away as their eyes bored into each other’s and people continued to rush around them.

The small pellets of precipitation that began hitting his face jerked Rick out of their intense trance. His voice was soft yet rough as he opened his mouth. “You OK?”

The woman still stared up at him. A look of he couldn’t decipher crossed over her features before she shook herself and cleared her throat. “Umm..yes…I think so. I tripped over something on the sidewalk. Th…thanks…” The soft yet warm timbre of her voice trembled. She closed her eyes to regain her composure. When she opened them again she smiled up at Rick. Her whole face lit up. He took in a sharp breath as she looked even more beautiful than he first thought.

“Thank you,” she began again, “for catching me. Falling onto an icy sidewalk wouldn’t have been fun.”

Rick smiled back at her. “No. I don’t imagine it would have.”

The conversation trailed off as they caught each other’s eyes again. His gaze traveled to her perfectly shaped lips and back up again. Only a man roughly pushing into him while trying to get into the store they stood in front of broke the spell. Rick grabbed onto the woman tighter so she wouldn’t slip from his grasp.

“It would probably be a good time to let me up,” the woman said as her hands clutched onto his forearms.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Rick mentally chided himself for being so enamored with a stranger as he helped the woman to her feet. When she tried take a step she started to fall again before Rick caught her. “Steady now,” he said.

“Ouch…shit…my ankle.” Her voice was tinged with shock and pain.

Rick could see her right ankle had already started to swell in her suede heeled boots. “Looks like the fall was nastier than we thought.” He gestured across the street. “There’s an Urgent Care in the hospital over there. Let me take you to get checked out.”

The woman pulled away from him while almost falling again. She steadier herself by grabbing onto the red bucket. Tears frame her lashes as she shook her head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. I mean I don’t know you. I just need to get home and wrap and soak my ankle.” She tried to take another step, but couldn’t put any weight down on the ankle. She cried out in pain as the tears broke away from her lashes and ran down her face.

Rick grabbed onto one of her shoulders. “Oh, hey, hey. Shh, shh. Don’t cry. It’ll be OK. It’s probably only a simple sprain.”

The woman shook her head again. “I know but…,” she sighed, “I’m supposed to be on stage tomorrow dancing the lead in The Nutcracker. But now,” she gestured towards her ankle,” it’s probably not going to happen. Would have been the only highlight of my Christmas.”

Rick took in her graceful body. It made sense she was a dancer. Even her fall was elegant. “You never know until you have it checked out. You may be good to go for tomorrow’s performance. We’re go over to the Urgent Care and it’ll be fine.” He reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “Here’s my ID and badge. I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy. Rick Grimes. You can trust me.”

The woman stared at his ID then looked closely back at him. “You work for Sheriff’s department?” Rick nodded. “So does my sister. She’s a deputy too. Do you know Sasha Williams?”

He crossed his arms and tilted his head as he put the pieces together. “Sasha’s your sister? She’s one of my good friends in the department.” He smiled. “It all makes sense now. That means you’re Michonne Williams. Her ballet dancin’ sister she’s always braggin’ about and praisin’.”

Michonne smiled showed her slight embarrassment. She knew how sister could go on and on with the praise. “That would be me.”

“Now you really have to let me help you. If I have to tell Sasha I left her injured sister in the cold on Christmas Eve she might punch me in the jaw.”

Michonne laughed. “Yeah she just might.” She sighed and wiped at her eyes. “OK. Take me over to the Urgent Care.”

Rick nodded. “OK.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and helped her limp slowly across the street.

****

Almost two hours later, Michonne maneuvered herself back into the waiting area on a pair of crutches. She was surprised to see Rick still sitting in the same spot she left him when the CNA wheeled her back to the exam rooms. He quickly stood when her saw her.

“You’re still here,” she said.

“Of course. I wasn’t gonna leave without knowing you were all right.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Rick. You’re quite the gentlemen. I called Sasha when I was back there and she confirmed that I was in very good hands.”

He smiled back. “Good. So what’s the verdict?”

Michonne eased her body down in a waiting room chair and Rick sat beside her. “It’s not broken, thank God. It’s a sprain like you said, but a pretty bad one. I won’t be doing any dancing tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me too. I guess that’s why I started crying out there. I’m not quite feeling the magic this year. Only thing I had was dancing.“ She tossed her locs behind her shoulder and shook her head. “This is the first Holiday season since my marriage ended. I had our son, Andre, for Thanksgiving so my ex gets him for Christmas this year. First time I won’t see my Peanut’s face when he opens his gifts. I was looking forward to tomorrow’s performance because I knew it would feel good to bring some joy to the people in the audience even if I wasn’t feeling much myself. Now I won’t even have that, you know.”

Rick patted the knee on her non-injured leg. “I get it. My ex-wife has the kids this year. That’s why I was out here in the cold ranging that damn bell. Tryin’ to do some good while feeling low.”

Michonne put her hand over his. “Looks like we understand each other Deputy Grimes.”

“Looks like we do.”

Their eyes met again in what was beginning to become a habit for them.

Michonne broke the trance first this time as she focused her eyes down to her ankle. “I was out there rushing to find him a gift before him and his Dad leave for Savannah tonight. UPS lost the gifts I ordered for him. I wanted him to have at least one present to open from me in the morning.” She looked at her watch. “They leave in about an hour. I probably won’t make it in time.” She looked back into Rick’s eyes. “He may not think about me at all tomorrow.”

Rick stared back. “Well, we can’t have that. I happen to know that this hospital has a pretty nice gift shop. I’m sure we can find somethang for him there.”

She knitted her brow. “You think?”

“I know.”

“Do you know what ten-year old boys like for gifts?”

“Being that my son was a ten-year old only two years ago, I think I can make an educated guess.”

Michonne smiled at him. “Well, OK then.”

He smiled back. “OK.”

***

A half-hour later they sat in front of the large window in the hospital cafeteria, watching the snow that had been threatening to fall all day blanket the streets. Michonne’s foot was propped on a chair as they sipped hot chocolate.

“I know I keep thanking you, but Andre really is going to love this virtual reality game you picked out. He’s still so young, but already a technology wiz. This is right up his alley.” Michonne patted the wrapped box in her lap. It was just their luck the gift shop was offering free gift wrapping with all toy purchases.

Rick nodded at her with his lips slightly upturned in a smile. He basked in her appreciation. “I was happy to do it. I’m also happy you ex agreed to stop by here on their way out of town so you can give your son the present.”

“Yeah. Me too. Mike’s a wonderful man. A great father. And wasn’t a bad husband. We just weren’t meant to go the long haul in marriage.”

“Same with my ex-wife. I used to see divorce as a failure, but it doesn’t negate all the good the relationship brought to you. And it doesn’t mean you won’t ever find that type of happiness again. Or even somethang better.”

Michonne sipped her hot chocolate and nodded at him with a slight smile on her face. “Sometimes an ending is a beginning in disguise.” She pointed across the street. “Looks like your Salvation Army bucket is filling up with snow. Should you go rescue it?”

Rick shook his head. “Nah. My shift was a bust. I’ll just make a donation in my aunt’s name, and never volunteer again.”

“I have to admit though,” she said as she turned her attention to the top of his head, “the Santa hat looks better on you than it does Kris Kringle.”

He snatched it off with an embarrassed grin. “I didn’t realize I still had that on.”

Michonne laughed and looked back to the wintery scene outside the window. “You know they say if you witness the first snow of Christmas Eve all your wishes for the new year will true.”

Rick raised an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

She smirked at him. “No. I just made that up.”

Rick laughed. “Not a bad sentiment though. I have a few wishes I wouldn’t mind comin’ true.” He held the Styrofoam of hot chocolate in both hands as he looked down as his worn cowboy boots then back up at Michonne’s smiling face again. “You know there’s this restaurant about ten miles from here that makes a great pot roast every Christmas. It’s ‘bout the only place that’s open around here on the holiday.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I won’t be dancing so my Christmas plans are non-existent at the moment. Since Sasha is working tomorrow, and our family is in Texas, I was thinking about hibernating in my apartment, eating frozen pizza and binging on 90s romcoms. But now that pot roast is an option I may have to reconsider.”

“It’s the best in town. Great apple pie too. The place has a jukebox that plays old Christmas songs. It’s the right medicine to get over the yuletide blues.” He winked at her.

Michonne laughed. She held up her cup of hot chocolate to “clink” it with his in a toast. “Maybe this Christmas won’t be so bad after all.”

Rick’s smiled big and bright enough to rival any holiday decoration. “I know it’s looking up for me.”

[laberintos-espinas]

Ironman North Carolina

I got an email yesterday that the PPD Beach to Battleship Ironman separation race had been purchased out by the Ironman marked race partnership. This following year's form of the race would now be under the responsibility for Ironman and be accessible for fitting the bill to the World Championships in Kona, Hawaii. I had just moved toward this being a race that I returned to. I had a feeling that I had an incredible race in 2015 and needed to attempt to better my time on an extraordinary course in 2016. With this news going over, I had a few choices to make. Probably the greatest choice was whether I needed to join again at an increasingly costly rate for this race. I additionally may need to take a gander at moving my course of events up for my next multi year objective of meeting all requirements for Kona 70.3 training plan Reasonableness

In Triathlon dashing there are 4 unique separations that you can partake in, Sprint, Olympic, Half Ironman, and Ironman separations. Similarly as you would figure, there are more dash races than there are ironman races. In addition there are more organizations or race coordinators doing run races than there are ironman separation races. Truth be told the initial three separations for the most part have autonomous proprietors that give different chances to race consistently. There are not very many ironman separation races on the timetable, in addition, there are not very many ironman separation races that are not Ironman marked races. You can locate a couple of brands, for example, HITS that give several chances yet they don't race close to where I live. There is the Great Floridian Ironman separation race in Claremont, Florida and a couple of others around the territory of Florida. In North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee and so on there are simply no ironman separation races advertised. This is the reason the Beach to Battleship was so tempting in light of the fact that it was close and offered an ironman separation race. Thus, I need to settle on the choice whether I will do an ironman race this one year from now or not. On the off chance that I will do an ironman separation race in 2016, at that point with this ongoing updates on the Beach to Battleship getting purchased out, I would need to take a gander at the Ironman marked races.

One of different challenges with the Ironman marked races for me is the expense. The normal expense of doing a full Ironman marked race is around $700. Though the free Beach to Battleship was $375 in 2016 for the prompt riser rate which I utilized a year ago. This is a noteworthy increment in cash. My absolute dashing spending plan for the year is normally under $700. I realized that I would require the warmup occasions, for example, the White Lake Half in the Spring and the Lake Logan Half in August. I think both about these races set me up well a year ago and I needed to contend in them once more. This was going to extend my spending limit without a doubt. Subsequent to getting the email from the race about the deal, I started to take a gander at my alternatives.

I initially scanned for some other free ironman separation race inside 8 hours drive of Asheville, North Carolina. I was unable to discover any that were not as of now Ironman marked races. I at that point started to take a gander at my alternatives for Ironman marked races. I found that I truly had 4 choices. One was the Ironman Florida. I have had my attitude this was the Ironman marked race I would do first when I needed to launch my objective to meet all requirements for Kona. I took a gander at the cost sheet and they had just passed the Tier 1 expense and were into Tier 2 at around $750. The Ironman North Carolina was going to begin at $700. I precluded Florida and was amazed it was not sold out. I figured it would have sold out some time prior.

I at that point took a gander at Ironman Chattanooga. This race looked fascinating as it has a 116 mile bicycle ride. I took a gander at the cost sheet for it and it began at $675 however they were at that point past that marker and in truth as I looked more diligently they were at that point sold out. This looks like a race I should investigate for 2017. I additionally took a gander at Ironman Louisville. This race is one that I have heard is a decent one despite the fact that it makes them challenge hops on the bicycle ride and a difficult run course. I in the end returned to taking a gander at Ironman North Carolina. The expense was $700 and it would begin recruits on December eighteenth. I concluded that on the off chance that I would do an ironman separation race this year it would be this race.

I have had a decent year monetary and God has favored our family. My Christmas extra was more than I had expected and we had not spent as much in the month as anticipated. I realized we had a few costs coming up, yet in addition realized this was an exceptional time to enlist for a race that I had just finished and liked that may give me great shot to fit the bill for a slippery Kona space. I saw that this race would be given just 30 Kona openings. This implies I should complete in the main 3-5 places in my age gathering to have any shot of getting a Kona space. My better half has been unfathomably steady of this exertion too which makes it simpler. She was a little frustrated a year ago when I completed and there wasn't somebody declaring "You are an Ironman." She needed me to finish one that is Ironman marked! She likewise might want to go to Hawaii!! I sent a content to her to inquire as to whether I could enlist and we both concurred that I would despite the fact that I don't know she realizes the amount it costs.

Only a side note, I wish there were increasingly autonomous ultra separation races accessible in the southeast locale. There are a few half-ironman separation races, yet we need a greater amount of the more drawn out course races here. Ideally, this will keep on being something that is chipped away at right now.

Enrollment

I saw that the race webpage had been constructed and included a significant part of the data from the Beach to Battleship site, including a similar course directions. I realized that the course would be equivalent to in 2015. I noticed that the guide stations would have some extraordinary dietary needs. I making the most of my regard a year ago, so should acclimate to a portion of the items that are put at Ironman marked races. I was interested by the various ways you can pursue a race on this site. You can obviously buy your space out and out. You can likewise have a straight establishment space acquisition of double the brisk riser rate to help the Ironman Foundation or you can turn into a piece of the Ironman Foundation group and raise at least $3500 for the establishment and you get your spot for a $100 joining expense to the establishment. For a passing minute, I considered going the course of the establishment gathering pledges opening, yet reconsidered it when I saw that whatever you don't raise up to the $3500 is charged to you Visa. Yowser! I would like to utilize this one year from now to bring issues to light for a reason and to fund-raise for a reason, for example, Living Water International or Compassion International. My brother by marriage has Cystic Fibrosis and has been an immense motivation to do the entirety of this hustling on the grounds that he can't. I could fund-raise for the CF Foundation. I will settle on this decision later. With the entirety of this being thought of, I just felt free to choose to enlist the normal way and buy my brisk riser opening.

I went into the site when it opened around early afternoon Eastern Standard Time (EST). This was the point at which the enlistment symbol was accessible to click. The enrollment symbol took me to the Active.com site to enlist. I wonder why Ironman doesn't have its own enrollment site for this and keep away from the expenses Active charges. Obviously perhaps Active doesn't charge them anything since they have their own handling expenses. I navigated the distinctive enrollment screens including to affirm that I was 18 or over and sign the waiver electronically for an arrival of risk. The primary enrollment page incorporated some clinical inquiries, for example, drugs, crisis contact, and so on. There were additionally radio fastens that I was to click on the off chance that I comprehended the cutoff times for the swim, bicycle, and the run. You at that point needed to click that you comprehended the World Triathlon Federation's arrival of obligation. I additionally needed to enter my USA Triathlon ID number. I at that point click the total catch. The site alluded me to a blunder that my USAT number would be terminated when the race happened so I would need to either buy a pass on the site for the race or recharge my participation today to stretch out past the race cutoff time. I generally recharge my USAT enrollment in the spring of every year. I was baffled by this advancement since this is an extra $45 expense on the various charges for the race. I did without a doubt, however, go to my USAT site and restore my enrollment. I then reappeared the site and it let me past that specific spot.

I additionally demonstrated that I might want the $90 protection arrangement of the arrival everything being equal if for reasons unknown that was shown, for example, disease, injury, work migration, and so on that I could recover these charges. I think this resembles travel protection. You never figure you won't race on that day, however $90 can't a lot to solicit to recover all from the $700 if some unexpected event occurs. This Full Refund Plan appeared to be a coherent understanding, so I felt free to add it to my buy. The Active.com expenses came to $42 which appeared to be steep to me. I saw they have an enrollment plan called advantage thus I looked into that. On the off chance that you joined even on a preliminary premise you could recover your preparing expenses. I started to examine and the truth you don't recover the entirety of the $42 however up to $10. I agreed to pay the 99 penny preliminary expense. I likewise got $10 knocked off of the preparing charges. It might appear to be little however on an over $800 note, the $10 was a much needed development.

I had my aggregate and had entered the entirety of my information for the enlistment. I entered my Credit Card data and squeezed total! I got somewhat energized inside and somewhat anxious. This was not enlisting for any old race, however this was a real Ironman marked race. Toward the end they will declare "You are an Ironman." There is the genuine chance that with the correct preparing right now, I could wind up getting an opening to Kona. This enlistment just appeared to

[thecrookedgavel]

The Black Box Readings - Ep 1 Transcript

Here’s the transcript for episode 1 of The Black Box Readings, the podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down. 

See Other Episodes

An: Hey, all! And welcome to The Black Box Readings, the new podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down! I’m your host, An Capuano. So basically, it’s a show where I narrate through a deleted or deactivated blog over the course of a season, with a focus on queer artists. Though to be honest, there was a specific blog that inspired me to make this podcast, and unless this format is super popular, I may just do the one season. Anyway, although reading things in a dramatic fashion is definitely in my wheelhouse, non-fiction podcasts are not. So please bear with me while I go through some growing pains as I try and figure this thing out. 

Alright, so this season, we have the story of a digital artist who caught my attention with a really cool piece of Overwatch fanart. It’s about her journey through a life spent mostly online, disability, and navigating through the difficulties of realizing that you’re trans.

For those of you not in the know, I am a disabled trans woman myself, so it’s not a journey I’m altogether unfamiliar with. The biggest reason I’m doing this podcast is because stories like ours get drowned out in the media. I wanted to be able to tell her story so that queer people, young and old, can hear something that resonates with them. And I have a good feeling that this will do that for you.

The Tumblr in question, I won’t say the address. Just know that the title of the blog was: “Less Than Human”. Yeah, I know. Not a very cheery introduction. I sort of choose to think of it, kind of like reclaiming a slur. If she calls herself less than human, other people lose the power to hurt her with it. I’m telling you the blog title because it is important later.

Anyways, enough out of me, here’s the first post of the episode, which happens to be the first post of the blog itself. It’s titled:

“Welcome!

Hey, my name is -”

Ok, so I guess I didn’t think this through. In the post, she uses her deadname, and I don’t feel comfortable reading it out to you all. If I have to choose between deadnaming a trans girl and being a little inaccurate, I’m choosing inaccuracy. I should say, actually, that I don’t consider myself a journalist or anything like that. Also, I get it would be bad of me to use her real name too. So we’ll just call her… Hmmm…. Ok, let’s go with Emmy.

“Welcome!

Hey, my name is Emmy, and I’m 19 years old! Nice to meet you guys! I’ve decided to start posting on my tumblr instead of using it as a dash, lol! I’m a visual artist, though I mostly stick to digital art these days. I spend most of my time reading. My fandoms are Gravity Falls, Steven Universe, Supernatural, Sonic the Hedgehog, Marvel, and of course, Shrek! Lmao. I think Cat Girls are cute, but I’m not a weeb”

*Laugh* I never read this post while she was active. Her sense of humor is really present in this post, she was always silly like this. Anyways, she follows up this post by posting a backlog of art that I figure she must have made and not shown to anyone. It’s all really good stuff. Some fandom, some original. It’s clear to me that she’s not posting her earlier, rougher work. I don’t remember too many details though, as this was a while ago, and I didn’t think to save her artwork when I was copying all her text posts into the google doc. I hope someone out there saved them before they were deleted, though.

I’m not going to bore you by reading every single one of her posts, or anything like that. Just the ones that stand out to me. Here’s one about Supernatural and how she might be falling out of love with it. 

“I don’t know guys, I’m finding it hard to watch supernatural these days. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still one of my favorite shows, it’s just totally not as good as the first 5 seasons. That and I WANT DEAN AND CASS TO BE TOGETHER! Is that so wrong? Look, Cass is an immortal being that just HAPPENED to take a male form. If he had a female form, you can bet that he and Dean would have banged already. I’ve read the tumblr posts too, the ones that talk about all the hints the writers give that Dean is gay. This is ABSOLUTELY queerbaiting, and even as a straight guy, I can see that. I have a lot of gay mutuals who have convinced me how ultimately cute Dean and Cass are, and I feel bad for them, because they’re not being treated fair. You think in its 12 seasons there would be something, but no, nothing. Pisses me off”

Here is where we start seeing a connection between Emmy and queer culture. Although she’s currently IDing as straight and male, you can tell she cares about queer representation. Now, I’m not saying that wanting good queer content makes you queer, of course not. Just that knowing that Emmy is queer, when you look back at her earlier posts, there’s some evidence there. She even talks about Castiel, a male character, having a female form, which I find interesting for obvious reasons.

Next up is a post about something outside of her fandoms, a show called Monk. For those of you who don’t know it, it’s a show focused on a detective with OCD who uses his disability to solve crimes no one else can. As someone with OCD myself, I really enjoyed the show, but it’s not without its problems. Hmm, yeah, I’ll get to those after reading the post, I think

“I’ve been watching a new show lately! Well, a show that’s new to me at least. It’s called Monk! I’m 3 seasons in, and I laugh every episode. But it’s not without its serious moments too. It’s about Adrian Monk, a detective with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and it’s like a super power to him. He can do things no one else can. But he also can’t do things that everyone else takes for granted. Mood. He always says “It’s a gift… And a curse” when talking about it. Big mood. Anyway, I highly recommend it, because it’s a positive depiction of someone mentally ill! I’m so used to people who are “crazy” being mass murderers or some shit. Idk, it’s heartwarming.”

I noticed one of the hashtags of her post was, “Finally found a version with captions.” This is important for later and I’ll get to it by the end of the episode. Where the previous post was the first we saw of her queerness, this is the first we’ll see about her connection with mental illness. It’s unclear if she feels her inabilities are balanced off by her abilities, or if her “mood” was just about her being unable to do what others can. Since her “big mood” is regarding Adrian Monk’s favourite quote “It’s a gift and a curse”, I like to think she was being positive and was including her abilities in the “mood.”

While I do agree with Emmy that it’s a positive depiction of someone mentally ill, and that’s certainly better than having yet another bad guy is who’s only evil because he’s crazy, I’m worried that it’s too positive. It’s actually a really common trope where neurodivergent people in media are seen as “super human,” like Sheldon in the Big Bang Theory, or uhh, the main character from The Good Doctor, I forget his name. It makes it look like everyone with autism or OCD are geniuses, and that sort of skews how neurotypicals view people like us in a negative way. Like, I do view my OCD as a gift, I wouldn’t be able to write the way I do, or play video games the same way if I didn’t have it. But I’m not a superhuman by any means. But I’m expected to, in some sense, outperform everyone because of my OCD, because of this impossible standard set by the media. *Sigh* I’m sorry, I’m getting really off topic. I hope you don’t mind this little rant.

Back to Emmy, I find it a little upsetting that she feels herself cursed in some way. Knowing what I know about her, I like to think she was more gifted than cursed, but given the title of her blog, I doubt she would agree with me. We can glean from this post that she is disabled in some way or another. Maybe she herself has OCD? Or maybe she just relates her own, different disability to OCD? It’s hard to tell at this point, and I don’t want to spoil it, especially since it will come up again in a few posts. 

Next up, we have a post about not just queer characters, but lesbian characters. I’m sure you have heard of Overwatch by now, even if you haven’t played it. Well, the creative devs promised us that a handful of the cast was queer, and at least to me, it seemed like an empty promise. Hmm, I guess it seems a little bit like the queerbaiting conversation we had earlier. Interesting. You know what I mean, right? Like, why take the risk of pissing off the straight, cis part of your fanbase with queer characters when you can just say some characters are queer and attract a bigger queer fanbase that way? But then they did something that blew me out of the water. They made a comic where Tracer has a girlfriend. This next post from Emmy is about this reveal.

“Merry Christmas! And what a Christmas it’s been. Because I got something I’ve been asking for for a LONG time. Blizzard made Tracer gay! I’m not the only one who’s been asking for this, a huge chunk of the fandom has been saying that Tracer is only into other girls. It’s been my headcanon for so long, and now it doesn’t have to be, because it’s canon! Tracer and Emily are so cute together! And their kiss is so hot too! Yeah, lesbians are really hot in general. They’re every guy’s ultimate fantasy. Thanks, Jeff!”

An: Ok, so before we continue, I think I need to apologize on Emmy’s behalf for the way she talks about lesbians. As a trans lesbian, I had a period where I talked about lesbains that way too. Before I came to terms with that identity, I mean. Since you believe you’re a straight guy, there’s no real explanation for why you’re so into lesbians other than them being a male fantasy. But it’s more than that. It’s part of like, seeing yourself as a girl that the idea of being with a girl that likes girls... that is so fundamentally appealing. 

Like, ok. *sigh* I remember this one time very clearly… I was with my girlfriend at the time and a friend of mine at a bubble tea shop. This was probably 9 or 10 years ago now? Jeez. Anyways, this couple of girls starts making out at the table next to us, and I had a full on sexual awakening. I remember that I couldn’t look away. Mostly because my ex wouldn’t let me forget it. I got teased by my friend and berated by my ex. Because I couldn’t explain what happened to her, let alone to myself, I eventually came up with a rather math-y explanation involving vectors of attraction *laugh*. Something like, if women are attractive to me, and men are not attractive to me, then adding their vectors together gives less attraction than two women’s vectors being added together. It was pretty stupid. I don’t talk to either of those two people anymore, by the way. 

Anyways, my point is that since this is before she’s realized she’s a lesbian herself, she’s under the false impression that she needs to sexualize lesbians in order to explain why she’s so attracted to the concept. So please don’t hold that against her. 

---

With that out of the way, we can move on to her next post. It’s a piece of art she made, and it’s pretty special to me. You see, this was the way I found her blog. One of the blogs I follow, who knows which at this point, must have reblogged it and it came across my dashboard. Again, I don’t have a copy of any of Emmy’s art, but I remember it pretty well. It’s a picture of Emily wearing Tracer’s outfit... Shit… Why did I give Emmy a name so close to Emily? Emily as in Tracer’s girlfriend. Maybe it’s because of my association with her and this drawing? Either way, it’s too late now, I’m not re-recording this whole episode. *Sigh* We’ll just stick with the blogger being named Emmy. Anyways! She’s sort of looking a bit out of place, like she doesn’t know how to feel about having a Chrono-accelerator attached to her chest. There’s a speech bubble in the frame pointing off screen that says, “You look marvellous, love!”, or something to that effect, but it’s obviously supposed to be Tracer saying it. It was a really cute drawing, and I was really fond of it, so I liked and followed. Feels like so long ago. 

Anyways, she did reblog the picture afterwards, saying:

“Thank you so much for all the notes! I really appreciate the support. Who knew that something so dumb would be liked by so many people? I really like Emily, and I hope she’s added as a Hero in Overwatch soon! I feel so happy! I’m going to go and do some more drawing, so keep an eye out for more posts!”

Not much going on in this post, but I decided to read it anyway because it contrasts so heavily with the next post. Not the next time she posted, but the next post I’m going to read. Actually, it’s the last post of this episode. 

So, I’m going to warn you, this is a side of Emmy we haven’t seen yet. The really negative side. *Sigh* I don’t know what set her off, maybe nothing did, but I think this post is very important to read to you, as it clears the air about her disabilities.

“I really appreciate all the love you’ve given my art, but I feel like I don’t deserve any of it. I’m so broken and worthless and I’ve only been pretending to be normal so that you’ll all like me. The truth is, I’m physically and mentally disabled, and life is just a never ending struggle. 

First off, I’m deaf. Very deaf. The quietest thing I can hear in either ear is a chainsaw. It means I can’t understand speech or anything I’d need to be social. I don’t know sign language at all, I was never taught. So I just… stay inside all day. I’ve been homeschooled by my Dad since I was young. He thinks something bad will happen to me if I go outside, because I couldn’t hear something like a car coming towards me. So I live my life online, for the most part. I feel so isolated, and like I can’t relate to anyone normal. 

Also, I have Bi-Polar Disorder. For those you don’t know of it, it basically means I have high highs and low lows. I’ve done a good job so far at hiding my lows from everyone and only showing my highs. Until now, I guess… I just feel so low today, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I just had to be real. Even if it’s an ugly side of me that I hate. My dad hates how moody I am too. He just doesn’t get that it’s not my fault. Even my highs are hard for him to handle sometimes. Anyway, please forgive me for lying so long”

So, I sense a bit of imposter syndrome here. She’s gotten some success and because she views herself as not even a normal person, she thinks she doesn’t deserve it. It’s a pretty common feeling amongst content creators and something you have to move past if you want to make stuff. It’s like, *sigh* like me, I’m not an expert voice actor, why are people listening to me? I have tricked them into thinking I’m worth listening to. If you’re feeling that way about a recent success, just know that it’s all bullshit and it’s normal to feel that way. I wish I had that knowledge at the time I originally read that post… Because then, I would have messaged her and let her know. But yeah, we have more to unpack here.

She talks about being deaf, and the level that she describes is a profound hearing loss, which is as bad as it gets. I have that level of hearing loss in my left ear, and it’s really hard to deal with. So, I kind of can’t imagine what it would be like to have it in both ears. 

Like, for me, I remember this one time where I was at my locker in high school, and someone must have been asking me a question a few times on my bad side. She wanted to know if I had any extra bus tickets, and by the time I finally caught on that she was talking to me, she said something like “Urg, I just want to punch you.” And it wasn’t a joke either, she was very frustrated with the way my hearing loss had affected her. It made me feel small, and like I was an inconvenience to those around me. Guess it didn’t help how I felt that I had a crush on her at the time… Ha… *Sigh* It was very isolating to grow up like that. I didn’t really belong there, but I didn’t exactly belong in the deaf community either, since I could hear fine out of one ear. So when Emmy describes how isolating it is to be deaf and not know sign language, I get it. I really feel that. When I saw this post, it really made me feel for her. This is probably the point in time where I made a mental note to support her art whenever I could. 

Lastly she talks about her mental illness, being bi-polar. I know a lot less about bi-polar disorder than I do hearing loss. Though I was in a production that never wrapped up about a bi-polar teen. Actually, I was the strict dad who couldn’t understand his child’s illness, which is a similar theme seen in Emmy’s post. I’ve actually been cast as a dad 3 or 4 times now? Yeah. *Laughs* Anyways, what I understand about it is that it can be seasonal. You might be manic for a season, and depressive for another. But yeah, it doesn’t always work that way. Usually medication can help balance you out, but in Emmy’s case, she wasn’t taking any meds at this point. I’ll say it here for clarity’s sake, but her having bi-polar disorder was a self-diagnosis, not a professional one. That’ll be covered in the next episode, though. 

So now the whole “Less than Human” thing makes a bit more sense, doesn’t it? Not because it’s true in any sense, but because it was true to her. Disability is something that people tend to see as different, or othering. There’s a lot of stigma there. We can sort of tell at this point that the way her Dad views her and treats her doesn’t help her feel any better about this either. 

That’s why she likes the depiction of mental illness in Monk so much, right? Because it’s a bit of a “More than Human” approach. It gives her some hope that maybe she can be seen positively one day too. As far as movies with Deaf characters goes there’s like 100, if I recall correctly. Which is honestly pitiful compared to the amount of movies, period. So it’s more than likely that she never got to see herself in media in that perspective before. 

Also, there’s the markings of a budding trans girl in there too, which may further intensify the feeling of not being human. For years and years *sigh*, there was practically zero positive representation of trans people in media. We’re taught that feeling like this makes us freaks, and that presenting differently than we’re supposed to makes us... something worse than that. It all comes together to form something bitter and isolating. Especially before you start owning those parts of you and finding a community of your own.

Thank you for listening to this episode of The Black Box Readings! I really ranted more than I thought I would. Hopefully you all liked the anecdotal stuff I added in, didn’t really plan on doing that. Follow me on Twitter at TheCrookedGavel to stay up to date on this and other queer podcasts. Feel free to contact me there as well. This is An Capuano, signing off!

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Arlyns Warm (& Sort of Last-Minute DIYed) Holiday Reveal

Spoiler alert: This starts sad, but I promise a happy endingjust like your favorite Hallmark movie. Yes, its a post about decorating for Christmas, but its a bit of a journey (and your prize for sticking around is seven tips for a pretty holiday look without a ton of planningnext to a cash reward, what more could you want, hm?).

Before moving to LA, I had a long-standing Christmas tradition that involved a sleepover at my place with my twin nephews. Wed go buy a fresh tree, head to Target to pick out their yearly ornaments (and okay, I usually caved and bought them several when they couldnt pickauntie privilege), and settle in for the night with a big ol cheese pizza and tons of candy to decorate and watch holiday movies. When I left Florida, my absolute favorite weekend of the year stayed behind along with my family, and frankly, I didnt feel festive enough last year to decorate. Sure, I bought a tree and then proceeded to cry my way through placing all the memories from years past on it (like I said, no this whole post wont be one giant Joni Mitchell River-esque depressing monologue). But, its been almost two years, and I realized that it was time to start making some new traditions, starting with proper decorations to set the scene for the season.

By proper, I mean nothing more than something that actually brought me joy. In my last home, I didnt care even the tiniest bit about my Christmas aesthetic. Id throw around scraggly bows, dangle strange garlands in places that would inevitably fall off (left unfixed until January). While I appreciate a classic, kitschy look, this didnt make me happy. Looking back, it was a lot like the holiday aisle at Big Lots come December 26sparse, random and nowhere I wanted to be. BUT THIS YEAR IS DIFFERENT. Guys, I really actually tried, and whoa, I love coming home. I get so jazzed to know Ill walk through that door after work to all the fairy lights on (thanks, timers) and all I need to do is light my pine-scented candles.

When I first discussed decorating and shooting my place for the blog, I told Emily I would take the more last-minute DIY angle for this story, except, ha, I should know myself better than to think Im a DIY person (have I talked about the unfinished dining chairs sitting in a corner of my master bedroom enough times for you to understand the stakes here?). Im more of an early minute buying personif we can all agree thats the opposite of last-minute DIY, but dont worry Emily, I pulled out a few stops even for me to salvage this story. Really, though, its an excuse to show you guys my living and dining rooms again, this time just festooned for Christmas using nearly everything Target, because those guys have affordable holiday decor on lock.

Aside from what I bought, there were a few things I planned on doing going into this: dried oranges for garland and ornaments, and the addition of real greenery to anything faux for a lusher more natural look, but more on that in just a bit when we get there. Lets start in the living room:

Creating a Christmas Couch With Simple Textile Swaps

Swapping out textiles seasonally always felt to me like the equivalent of womens magazines telling me when I was younger that Id be going from day to night far more often than I ever have (never). Who was really doing this? Sure, my mom would throw a random Christmas pillow on the sofa when I was younger, but a full swap was absolutely something Id NEVER consider doing. Except well, for the sake of this shoot, I did it, and guess what. IM OBSESSED WITH IT. Dont knock it til you try it.

I left one of my everyday pillows out because it played well with everything else, but Im half tempted to never actually switch them back. Im officially living the cozy life and DONT MAKE ME GO BACK. But seriously, seeing that Fa la la pillow and those little gold embroidered Christmas trees fill my heart with childlike wonder and joy and Im now a winter textiles swap person (once I figure out a more permanent solution than throwing my year-round pillows and blanket in the guest bedroom).

Neutral Tree + Homemade Goodies

The (Christmas-celebrating) world is divided into two subsects: those who take no issue with faux trees, and those that choose to torture themselves with a real evergreen. I am the latter. Every year, when it comes time to recycle this baby, I curse myself for the massacre of needles. But alas, I cant be stopped and I will always opt for a real tree. This is a noble fir that I picked up at Lowes and it has that gappy vibe everyone is into right now. I like how you can load up a branch front to back and things dangle so nicely, sparkling and dazzling in the twinkle lights.

As for the decor, this is actually the first year in a long time I went with white lights. Ive always been a colored-lights just throw crazy stuff up on the tree and call it a day girl (correction: let your small nephews throw crazy stuff up on the tree and call it a day). Someone once asked me if I changed my trees color motif every year and Im pretty sure I rudely laughed in their face before I realized they were serious. No. I am not that person. This is why this year, once I realized that oh wait, people will be seeing my home and I needed to try, I opted to go for something a little more neutral so I could build on it over time. I also had a box full of handmade and drawn ornaments from my nephews that I needed to be sure made it up on those branches (see the paper and crayon snowman, for example). Theres enough going on in my apartment that something a little more minimal didnt make me want to crawl out of my skin a week into the merriment.

Because I wanted some color, I thought to do what evidently everyone else on the internet also thought to do this year: dried oranges as ornaments. I definitely did not get the mailer that must have gone around to tell everyone this was the look of 2019, but regardless, I love it. Some string (in a white and red becauseChristmas), a bag of small oranges and a few hours to dry them out in the oven (Erin from Francois et Moi has a great tutorial here) and boom, I supplemented my tree for about$4. LAST-MINUTE DECORATING LIFE HACK. Put dried oranges on just about everything and you have an instant holiday lewk that feels warm, unpretentious, welcoming and a wee-bit British (i.e. all I ever want to feel).

Some of my favorite ornaments I scooped up this year with my nephews top of mind: the sloth, the fabric Santa, the clip-on glittery birds, and the ceramic turtle doves (I promptly forced my husband Charles to sit and listen to why I got those to represent our undying love). Oh goodness, and I cant move on before discussing that Cookies For Santa plate and milk jug. No, there are no children in my house, but when I saw it, I knew I needed to hoard it for the day that there are because every year my sister runs around trying to find something to put cookies and milk in and it always ends up being an awkward mini loaf pan or something and this feels like a pat yourself on the back for planning ahead moment that I wanted to put on display.

Mix Real + Faux

HOT TIP: Faux garland is so great for using year after year and traditionally, I used to think it looked very fake, but Target has some good stuff. I went with their faux white pine and berries strand here and over the archway and Im so happy with them. This one is 72, so, maybe dont be like me and instead measure before you figure out how much of something you need. I ended up with about 8 inches of bare mantel and had to guinea rig a solution. The left side there, by the candlesticks, is actually a piece of faux greenery also from Target in the same color/finish that I added to the end and BOOM, fixed.

Once I put the eucalyptus wreath on the door, however, I realized it was much cooler in tone than the garland and side by side, they looked a little jarring. My solution? Get some actual eucalyptus (I had some leftover from my Thanksgiving tablescape) and shove in pieces of it about every 6 inches or so. This accomplished two things for me: it married the color/style gap between the wreath and the garland, but it also brought some life to the faux-ness. (Again, this stuff is good, so it doesnt NEED it, it was just a visual preference for me).

Can we talk about the cutest stocking? Growing up in Florida, a land devoid of mantels and fireplaces for obvious reasons, we were not a stocking family. Every now and then, my mom might tie some to the stair banister, but they were never full of anything. Well folks, thats over. I live in LA now, a land with NON-FUNCTIONING fireplaces, but fireplaces nonetheless. LA is all about illusions after all, so as long as it looks like a fireplace, thats all that matters, right? Throw some fairy lights in, no problem (and maybe light some candlesI used these candlesticks from Targetif youre brave and attentive for that real fire feel). This knit guy with the poms is maybe my favorite thing I got this year but HEAVY (hence the nutcracker on top of the stocking holder for that oneI have a little cut-out in the molding that meant less stability, but itll probably be fine if you have a normal 90-degree angle on your mantel).

And, in one of my favorite last-minute moves to use up random leftovers of things, I took some ribbon I had bought for my gift wrap, tied a little piece into a bow and velcroed it to this art piece. Dressing up your artwork can be SO fun for holidays (remember Emilys googly eyes over that oil portrait?). Its so unexpected, costs basically nothing and will get everyones attention, I promise.

Sprinkle Christmas Cheer Throughout Other Vignettes

This whole post should be titled Never Underestimate the Holiday Styling Power of the Bottle Brush Tree because if you look closely enough, there is absolutely one in nearly every shot angle of my home. I threw some on my console table, on a side table, on my coffee table, on my TV standand just WAIT until you get to the dining room. Bottle brush tree galore! They are very affordable and if you dont mind glitter sprouting from nearly everywhere until the end of time, theyre almost all you need to fill in your home with some Christmas spirit outside of the big moments (tree, fireplace). Same goes for leftover ornaments, pieces of greenery (such as free scraps from the tree lot), and super budget-friendly figurines, like these reindeer that make me so happy.

That blonde wood bowl is VERY good guys, and I will absolutely be leaving it out year-round, but for now, it screamed FILL ME WITH JINGLE BELLS so I had to oblige. These are 2-inch bells and honestly just so dang fun. Put them in a vase or bowl but save a few to sprinkle throughout other vignettes (or on a gift!).

The last moment I threw together in this room was the bench by my window. I moved the rust-colored velvet cushion into the guest bedroom (which honestly, I treat like a storage unit, so I know this is not a universal solution) and draped my sheepskin pelt a little asymmetrically. I gotta say, Im quite proud that this placement was my first go at it. The less fussing you do sometimes, the more effortless things look. I over-ordered pillows for my sofa, but thank goodness, because they worked great on here. The green pillow with the poms is SO cute and you might not see it here, but it has these little wood beads at the base of the pom pom which makes it extra special.

Alright, lets move this party into the dining roomafter you.

Accentuate Your Architecture

Ever since I saw Ginnys garland-bedecked archway into her dining room, I dreamed of being able to do the same thing. So when I stepped foot into this apartment for the first time, I instantly knew it would fulfill my greenery-over-archway dreams. This is three pieces of faux garland, hung with some small nails I dug out of an IKEA art hanging kit. Because of my 100-year-old plastered and heavily textured walls, Command hooks simply laughed the THREE times I tried themin three different sizes and configurations (both the laughter and hook type). I finally gave up and went to get the hammer. Cant wait to patch those holes come January, trulythough worth it to me.

Implement a Big Holiday Moment (Thats Actually Really Easy)

Over on the console, I went for a sort of kind of holiday village. It was my initial vision to do a jam-packed Christmas village here, so I bought what felt like hundreds of trees and houses, and then I put them all down and the credenza ATE it. It was like starting with a pan full of fresh spinach and ending up with 2 tablespoons of cooked spinach. My dreams were dashed and I came up with plan B: mix in everyday things with some holiday feels and pretend it was your plan all along. Im actually very happy with it and dont think I havent sat at my dining table some mornings and nights just looking over here with a twinkle in my eye and sugar plums dancing in my head. When you boil it down, its really just three new vignettes: the two bottle brush trees + seasonal candle (above), a footed bowl with some leftover greenery and bottle brush trees (below) and ceramic houses with some fairy lights shoved up into them on top of books which were already there (photo after next). Oh, and some oranges from the grocery store because #theme.

My favorite thing about this whole scene is probably those beautiful wreaths hanging by velvet ribbon over the windows. I LOVE a wreath-over-window (or, as youll see, mirror) moment and two windows meant I had two chances to do it in this room. Quickly: Im very much obsessed with this wreath. It looks so high-end with the dangling brass bells and it matches the garland in the living room, so both spaces speak to each other.

Over on the bar, my vintage gilded mirror called for another ribbon-hung wreath, but I went for the faux cypress leaf version instead to keep things more minimal. The addition of some new brass barware (the Project 62 line looks really good, folks) and a few bottle brush trees and voila, my holiday bar.

When In Doubt, Keep It Simple (For Real)

When it came to what to do on my table, this was REALLY a last-minute DIY situation because I had no idea (which is typically the case with my table). The day before this shoot, Emily texted me that she had some leftover garland at her house from her shoot, and I could come grab some if I wanted. So grab it I did, not knowing what I planned on doing with it, but I ended up throwing it on the table just to think and when I finally came to, I realized it was exactly where it belonged. I pulled out my kitchen sheers because I do not have clippers (apartment living), trimmed it to size and pulled out some small, cheap glass votives I had in my cabinets already to make things moody. AND THEN, I had some extra oranges from my tree ornaments and I just scattered some throughout to connect both rooms visually.

But wait, theres more. At the last minute (okay, the night before), I wanted to give the room more of a casual party vibe and wanted a dessert set up, so I ran out to Ralphs with the intention of making something with the zero minutes I had left in my life to whip up a baked good and found a pre-made bundt cake instead. A simple glaze (though Im sure you could find one glazed already), some cranberries I rolled in sugar, and a smattering of fresh sage leaves is all I needed to fool Sara into thinking I had actually made this when she made it over to shoot. SEMI HOMEMADE TRICKERY.

I will most certainly be doing this again in the future, and if you do, as well, everyone will think youre a domestic goddess. Set out some cute appetizer or dessert plates (these from the Hearth & Home with Magnolia are super cute with festive sayings on them that are subtle but still fun), flatware and napkins, and with very little effort, you just became the hostess with the mostest time to actually blow dry your hair before people show up.

And thus ends my holiday dissertation. It started out bleak, but I promised it would end on a high note, and theres no higher note than being pulled together enough to maybe put some curls in your hair (at least for me).

I rounded up ALL the goods I got from Target below in a few groupings, and yes, at the end of the season, you might find this stuff is sold out either in-store or online, so for that Im SO sorry, but ALWAYS check your local stores because they restock or people make returns and you might just find what youre looking for. Oh, and for a few more exclusive tips, I wanted to share the story Ruemag.com featured of my home as well, so check that out if youre interested. Thanks for stopping by and the happiest of holidays and the merriest of Christmases to you all.

1. Wooden Ornaments Set of 3 | 2. 28 LED Battery Operated Wreath | 3. Lit Up House Ceramic Christmas Ornament | 4. 13 Lit Gold Metal and Capiz Star | 5. 3ct Glass Christmas Ornaments Set Birds | 6. 72 Faux White Pine Garland with Berry | 7. 8ct Glitter Pine Cone Ornament Set | 8. Green with White & Gold Wreath Gift Wrap Roll | 9. 40ct Shatter Resistant Veranda Ornament Set | 10. Fabric Santa White Ornament | 11. Embroidered Tree Skirt | 12. Ceramic Birds Ornament | 13. Sloth Ornament Ornament | 14. Artificial Cedar Stem w/ Pine Cones | 15. Cream w/ Black Swiss Dot Gift Wrap Roll | 16. Faux Leaf Ball Ornament | 17. Truck with Bottle Brush Tree Ornament | 18. Philips 300ct Incandescent Mini String Lights

1. Large Gold Glitter Christmas Tree | 2. Christmas Nutcracker Figurine Gold | 3. Knit Square Throw Pillow with Corner Poms | 4. Holiday Stocking Sour Cream Knot with Red Poms | 5. Milk & Cookies Stoneware Set | 6. Small Gold Glitter Christmas Tree | 7. Wooden Oval Bowl with Handles | 8. 2 16pc Jingle Bells Vase Filler | 9. Cream Faux Fur Oversized Throw Pillow | 10. Embroidered Trees Velvet Throw Pillow | 11. Holiday Stocking Green Stripe | 12. 3pc Taper Candle Holder Set | 13. Texture Faux Fur Throw Blanket | 14. 3pc Mini Deer Figurines | 15. 10 12pk Unscented Taper Candle Set | 16. 2pk Basic Stocking Holder | 17. Large Mercury Glass Christmas Tree | 18. Fa la la Velvet Oversize Lumbar | 19. Clear Glass Vase Large | 20. Channeled Faux Fur Throw Pillow | 21. 4pc Green Flocked Bottle Brush Trees | 22. Large Bottle Brush Tree | 23. Philips 50ct Battery Operated LED Dewdrop Lights | 24. Small Ceramic House

1. 24 Faux White Pine Wreath with Metal Bell | 2. Set of 4 Linen Napkins | 3. 3pc Bottlebrush Trees | 4. Stainless Steel Cocktail Strainer | 5. 4pc Bottle Brush Christmas Tree Set | 6. Stainless Steel Cocktail Stirrer Spoon | 7. Ceramic House Figurines | 8. 5pc Stainless Steel Kayden Silverware Set | 9. 4ct Seasonal Appetizer Plates | 10. Oblong Brass Footed Bowl Gold | 11. 4pk Napkin Set Green | 12. 18 Faux Cedar Wreath | 13. Dew Drop LED Lights w/ Copper Wire | 14. Bottle Brush Tree with Wood Stand | 15. 2.5oz Stainless Steel Double Jigger

***photography by Sara Ligorria-Tramp, design and styling by Arlyn Hernandez

The post Arlyns Warm (& Sort of Last-Minute DIYed) Holiday Reveal appeared first on Emily Henderson.

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/arlyns-warm-sort-of-last-minute-diyed-holiday-reveal