#i will most likely be drawing more scenes from this i just can’t help myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dilfismz · 6 days ago

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Hi! Can you write jealous professor dom!cho sangwoo x student sub!reader. Can you make sangwoo become real mad and some spanking too? Thank you so so much 🥹🥹

Mine

Summary: Turns out Professor Cho doesn’t like it when stupid young boys touch what’s his.

A/N: there are a few flashback scenes in order to build a backstory so don’t be confused!

Warnings: age gap, inappropriate teacher/student relationship, spanking, some degradation?, p in v, no prep (Sangwoo is desperate), dom/sub dynamics, and hair pulling.

In all honesty, you and Professor Cho had become close by complete accident. If you could even call it close…more so acquainted. You could recall every detail of your night spent together as if it had just occurred. Every single time you step foot into his lecture hall you can’t help but reminisce.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

The bar was quiet that night, many students in their dorms studying for finals. Luckily for you, yours had concluded in one long, godforsaken day. It was tough but the reward was getting to celebrate the end of the semester early.

Sliding into a seat with your friend you spot him. He was seated a few spots down, leaning casually against the bar. He looked out of place in his crisp, tailored shirt and sharp jawline—older than most of the patrons and far more composed. His presence seemed to draw attention without trying, though he didn’t seem interested in anyone else around him.

You weren’t sure why you caught his eye, but you did. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he spoke, his deep voice cutting through the noise.

“Not a regular here, are you?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Does it show?”

“Just a little,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “You seem…young for this crowd.”

The comment made your cheeks flush slightly, but you held his gaze. “Maybe. But you don’t exactly blend in yourself.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and moved to sit closer. “Fair enough. I’m Sangwoo.”

You gave your name, and from there, the conversation flowed with surprising ease. You told him about your studies, your aspirations, and the stress that had driven you here tonight. He listened intently, asking thoughtful questions that felt more probing than casual small talk.

“I have to say,” he murmured at one point, leaning in just slightly, “I don’t usually find myself talking like this with someone… your age.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. “Maybe age doesn’t matter as much as you think.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze flicking to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Maybe.”

The air between you shifted, heavy and undeniable. When he suggested leaving, you didn’t hesitate.

The night blurred into stolen kisses in the cab, whispered words, and the heat of his hands on your skin. You fell into his bed with reckless abandon, the difference in your years forgotten in the haze of passion.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, forcing your eyes open. The unfamiliar room was quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing beside you.

You turned your head to see Sangwoo lying on his back, his arm resting over his eyes. The sharp lines of his face were softened by the light, but there was a tension in his expression that hadn’t been there the night before.

“Good morning,” you said quietly, unsure of what else to say.

He let out a soft sigh, finally lowering his arm to look at you. His eyes were darker now, clouded with something that felt like regret.

“This… probably shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice low.

The words stung, even though you’d expected them. “Why not?”

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “You’re young. Too young to be tangled up with someone like me.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a firmness to it that made your stomach twist.

You sat up too, pulling the sheet around you. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

“That was a mistake,” he said, glancing at you briefly before looking away. “I should’ve known better.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the warmth of the night before replaced with a cold, sinking feeling. You wanted to say something, to argue that you were old enough to make your own decisions, but the look on his face stopped you.

��I’m sorry,” he murmured, standing and reaching for his shirt. “You’re… incredible. But this can’t happen again.”

As he moved about the room, dressing and avoiding your gaze, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever been more than a fleeting distraction to him.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

Another thing you always thought of when you’d step into Professor Cho’s room is the moment you’d realized just how disastrous your night together actually was.

The first day of the new semester carried the usual energy—a mix of fresh starts and quiet dread. Students milled into the lecture hall, some chatting excitedly, others scrolling through their phones or sipping lukewarm coffee. You were somewhere in the middle, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped into the massive room.

You hadn’t given much thought to your schedule beyond the requirements you needed to fill. This class—some upper-level finance course you had reluctantly signed up for—was just another stepping stone toward your degree. You were more concerned with surviving the workload than anything else.

That was, until you looked up.

Your heart nearly stopped.

There, standing at the podium, flipping through a stack of papers with an air of quiet authority, was him.

Cho Sangwoo.

Your throat went dry.

For a second, you thought you had to be mistaken. But there was no mistaking him—not the sharp jawline, not the dark, intelligent eyes that had lingered on you once in the glow of a streetlamp, not the hands you could still feel on your skin if you let your mind wander too far.

You froze mid-step, the chatter of the other students fading into white noise. The last time you’d seen him, he had been pulling his shirt over his head in a dimly lit bedroom, his words clipped, his expression guarded.

“This can’t happen again.”

And yet, here you were.

And here he was.

As if sensing your gaze, Sangwoo glanced up from his notes.

The reaction was instant.

His confident posture faltered, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges of his papers. His brows lifted just barely before his eyes widened in unmistakable shock. You saw the exact moment recognition hit him, watched the composed, professional mask he undoubtedly wore every day crack—just for a second.

A blush rose to his face.

It was slight, barely there, but enough for you to notice. Enough for you to know that despite his careful words that morning, despite whatever lines he had drawn in his mind between you, the sight of you standing in his lecture hall had caught him completely off guard.

The confident, articulate professor—who had surely done this a thousand times, who commanded rooms full of students without hesitation—had lost his composure.

Your stomach twisted.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like you were back in that dimly lit bar, your bodies too close, your words laced with the kind of reckless flirtation that had led to this. The memory burned through you so suddenly that you were sure it showed on your face.

But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, you watched him shove it back down.

Sangwoo cleared his throat sharply, turning his attention back to his papers. The color in his face faded as he schooled his expression into something unreadable, his professional demeanor snapping back into place like a steel trap.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And now, you had to sit through an entire semester pretending it had never happened.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to move, slipping into a seat near the middle of the lecture hall. Around you, students continued their chatter, completely unaware of the silent war raging inside your head—or his.

Sangwoo took a breath, straightened his tie, and finally spoke. His voice was steady, controlled.

“Good morning. Welcome to Financial Strategies.”

If you hadn’t seen the way his hands curled slightly against the podium, you might have believed he was completely unaffected.

But you had seen it.

And you weren’t sure either of you would be able to ignore it.

That day, after class ended you sat frozen in your seat, your fingers gripping the edge of your desk as if that could steady the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

Sangwoo hadn’t looked at you once throughout the entire lecture.

Not directly, at least.

Instead, his eyes had skimmed over you like you were just another student, his voice measured, his posture rigid. But there were moments—fleeting, barely-there moments—where his fingers tensed slightly on the podium, where his breath hitched in the smallest, most imperceptible way before he forced himself forward.

And now, as you remained seated while the rest of the students shuffled out, he still wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Stay after,” he had said near the end of class, his voice neutral, yet somehow sharp.

You knew this conversation was coming. There was no avoiding it.

Sangwoo stood by his desk now, organizing papers that didn’t need organizing, straightening his laptop screen only to close it again. It was almost frustrating—watching him fidget with anything but you.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, as if bracing himself.

“If you wish to remain in this class,” he started, his voice clipped, “you will forget about what happened between us.”

You swallowed, gripping your bag strap tightly, but said nothing.

He continued, his expression carefully blank, though you could see the tension in his jaw. “It was… inappropriate. A mistake.” His fingers curled around the edge of his desk, the only sign that his control wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. “And it cannot affect your education.”

Your throat felt tight.

He was speaking to you as though that night had been some careless accident, as though it hadn’t been charged with something real. And yet, even as he spoke, his voice was too deliberate, too forced, like he was convincing himself as much as he was convincing you.

But you didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched slightly against the desk.

Your gaze dropped to his hands—the same slender hands that had once roamed your body, tracing paths of fire along your skin.

You could still feel them if you thought about it long enough. The way they had tangled in your hair, how his fingertips had brushed over your bare waist with aching slowness, how they had tightened possessively around your wrist just before he kissed you—

“Are you listening?”

Your head snapped up.

Sangwoo was watching you now, his brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

You nodded, trying to ignore the heat rising in your face.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before crossing his arms. “Good,” he muttered. “Because I can’t have distractions in my classroom. Whatever… that was, it’s over. Understood?”

His words were cruelly impersonal, but his body language betrayed him. The stiffness of his shoulders, the way he seemed almost restless standing still, as if part of him wanted to move, to do something else.

You wondered if he was remembering it, too.

The weight of him pressing you into the mattress. The way he had looked at you, his usual self-control slipping with every kiss, every touch.

You sat up a little straighter, ignoring the pang in your chest. “Understood,” you said quietly, though the words felt like a lie.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

His fingers tapped once against the desk. Then again.

Then, as if snapping himself out of something, he turned away, collecting his things with more force than necessary. “You’re dismissed,” he said, not looking at you.

You hesitated.

But there was nothing left to say.

So you grabbed your bag and walked toward the door, feeling his eyes on your back even though he had told himself not to look.

————-

Now here you are today and you have done exactly what Sangwoo asked.

For months, you kept your distance, pretending as though nothing had ever happened between you. No lingering glances, no hesitation when he called on you in class, no trace of the night you had spent tangled in his sheets. You became cold, detached—indifferent.

And it was driving him insane.

At first, he convinced himself that this was what he wanted. That this was the right thing.

But then Jisoo happened.

A boy your age. Bright-eyed, eager, always quick with a joke that made you laugh—actually laugh. You had never laughed like that in his class before. Not when you were with him.

Sangwoo ignored it at first.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Soft whispers shared between the two of you, your heads leaning close as if nothing else in the room existed. His blood simmered every time Jisoo touched your arm, every time he caught you smiling at him—every time he saw you looking at Jisoo the way you used to look at him.

But today was the worst of it.

Today, Jisoo had whispered something in your ear, and your face had gone warm—cheeks flushed, lips parting just slightly in surprise before you giggled.

Sangwoo gripped his pen so hard it nearly snapped.

The moment class ended, his voice cut through the murmurs of students packing up their things.

“Stay after.”

Jisoo glanced at you, curious. You barely reacted, nodding as you finished gathering your notes.

The last student filtered out.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Sangwoo remained standing at the front of the classroom, bracing his hands against the desk, his head tilted downward. You could see the tension in him—the way his fingers curled, the way his breaths left him in slow, controlled exhales.

You knew this was coming.

You waited.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Tell me,” his voice was low, measured. “Do you plan to seduce him the way you seduced me?”

Your heart stuttered.

The accusation hung heavy between you, thickening the air, making it harder to breathe.

“What?”

Sangwoo lifted his gaze, and for the first time in months, his carefully constructed mask had cracked.

No indifference. No feigned professionalism. Only raw frustration—barely-restrained jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

He took a step forward, slow and deliberate.

“You heard me,” he murmured, his voice dark. “Is that your plan? To make him desperate for you? To make him think, even for a second, that he can satisfy you the way I did?”

Heat pooled in your stomach, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “That’s not—”

He scoffed. “Not what?” Another step forward. “Not true? You don’t think I see the way he looks at you? The way you let him lean into you, whisper in your ear?”

His jaw clenched.

“Do you think he can touch you like I did?” His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. “Think he can even attempt to please you?”

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, knuckles whitening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you forced out.

His lips quirked up—not in amusement, but something far crueler.

“Liar.”

Your stomach flipped.

You hated how easily he unraveled you.

Sangwoo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t care,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I told myself I wouldn’t.”

You swallowed hard.

“But then I see you with him,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I see you laughing, smiling, and I—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply as if disgusted by the confession sitting on his tongue.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“You’ve been punishing me,” he murmured. “All these months, Ive been trying to forget, trying to pretend it never happened—but it did. And here you are pulling this shit right in front of me.”

His fingers twitched.

“And it still matters to you…”, you intended to ask but it came out more like a statement.

Sangwoo inhaled sharply, and before you could react, his hand shot out—grasping your wrist.

Your breath caught.

His fingers, long and slender, wrapped around your skin. Not tight. Not pulling. Just holding.

A mistake.

A reckless, dangerous mistake.

But neither of you moved to stop it.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured, his voice lower, almost pained. “I broke the rules for you once.”

Your throat went dry.

His fingers slid down, tracing your palm before hesitantly releasing you.

Then, barely above a whisper—so quiet you almost missed it—he admitted:

“I think I’d break them again.”

Your stomach clenched.

Sangwoo exhaled slowly, looking at you as if he were already regretting saying it out loud. But it was there now. It couldn’t be unsaid.

For the first time in months, he wasn’t telling you to forget.

He wasn’t telling you to leave.

Instead, his voice was quiet. Measured. Unsteady.

“Stay, it’s your turn to be punished.”

You take a tentative step in his direction, testing the waters. Sangwoo blinks slowly, looking you up and down, “You stay there”, he commands while walking to the lecture hall door. He locks it with a flick of his wrist and returns.

He sits on his chair behind the large desk he often spends hours sitting at. He spreads his thighs, patting them expectantly.

You take this as a sign to straddle him but he immediately grunts in dissatisfaction. “No, bend over my knees, face down ass up”.

You flush at the command, all self respect fleeing your body as you comply without a second thought.

Tch tch

He clicks his tongue mockingly, all while lifting your skirt up to expose your plump ass, barely covered by a tiny thong.

“Now did you wear this for me or him”, Sangwoo asks, a scowl etched onto his features.

“You Sangwoo, always for you-”, before you could finish your sentence a loud smack echoes throughout the lecture room. Before you can even register the pain another red hot slap lands on your bottom, leaving you breathless.

“It’s sir”, he commands, a shit eating grin already overtaking his features.

“Y-yes sir”, you respond.

“Good fucking slut, finally you do something right. Maybe I should’ve done this right away, then we never would have had that silly little problem huh?”

You simply nod, his words going in one ear and out the other. Sangwoo pulls your hair harshly, forcing your head back to look at him.

“Speak when you’re spoken to”, he commands, his other hand landing another firm slap to your stinging ass.

“Yes sir-“, you moan as he kneeds the sensitive flesh, “-wish you would’ve done this sooner.”

He nods in approval, forcing you off of his legs and pushing you against his desk.

You can hear him unbuckle his belt and all but shake with anticipation. You’ve waited oh so long to feel him again.

Suddenly his swollen tip is prodding at your entrance, your thong pulled to the side. Sangwoo lets out a heavy sigh and declares, “I’ve waited way too damn long to do this again…now tell me have you been whoring around campus or is the last time your pussy got stretched with me?”

“Y-you sir, haven’t done anything since that night”, you splutter out, backing up into him, hoping he’ll just push in already.

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear”, he says right before completely bottoming out in one harsh thrust.

Sangwoo doesn’t start out gentle, he keeps thrusting into you slowly but oh so roughly. You swear you can feel him reaching spots even he didn’t hit last time.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as his hands grip your hips with a bruising force. He scoffs at your desperate mewls, “I won’t last long sweetheart so you’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful, ya?”

“Yes sir”

Sangwoo can feel his glasses slipping down his nose as his pace quickens. The entire room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and its filthy.

“Please don’t stop sir I’m close”, you beg as you feel that all too familiar feeling within you.

He doesn’t stop. His hands gripping you even tighter as he grits his teeth, cock twitching as your gummy walls suck him in.

“Fuck, it’s like this pussy was made for me, can’t believe I stayed away for so long”, he gasps out.

That’s all the praise you needed to reach your peak. Your walls spasm around Sangwoo and he continues his assault on your insides, coming to an abrupt stop as you feel his warm seed fill you up.

The both of you are a panting mess and he runs his hands through his own hair, pushing him glasses back up his nose.

When Sangwoo finally pulls out he sighs and looks at your pathetic form in front of him.

“Clean yourself up and we’ll have a serious conversation about how this arrangement is gonna work.”

#x reader #squid game 2 #squid game #cho sangwoo #cho sang woo #cho sangwoo x reader #x reader smut #professor au #park haesoo #hwang inho #smut #teacher student #dilfs are real #berlin #money heist korea #money heist #seong gihun #sae byeok

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randomyuu · 1 year ago

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the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

My guy Vox once again graced us with lovely Goyuu fanfics, and the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, made me go FERAL.

Time travel? Two Gojou Satorus? Double affection for our sunshine Yuuji? Yuuji sandwich? What feels like possible continuation of (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become???

FUCK.

I need to stop indulging my imagination too much. I should’ve been content with writing long-ass comments but noooooo, my brain goes “you gotta draw it”. DAMMIT VOX, YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITINGS HHHHHH

So… usually I should’ve picked a favourite scene that is within my drawing capability, but I just… love all three chapters??? So I made a questionable time investment? I can’t stop??? Help???

This is probably the most ambitious fanart project I’ve ever done so far. Fair enough, considering I might combust if I keep these welled-up emotions inside from reading Vox’s Goyuu fics. Fuck.

Fic info:

Title: the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

Author: @voxofthevoid

Pairing: YuuGoGo. Future!Yuuji, Future!Gojou, Teen!Gojou

(idk why I laugh writing YuuGoGo. I’m beyond help)

Currently, it is 3 chapters out of 8. And it’s gonna be NSFW chapter 4 onwards, so don’t forget to read the tags first, folks!

The drawings are under Read More, because I have lots of thoughts surrounding each chapter and drawings. It’ll be hella long if I didn’t hide it here. It was a mess down there. A combination of hours before, during, and after I read said fic. I’d say good luck finding the art among the sea of jumbled words but… you’ll find them easily. Don’t worry about it haha

SPOILERS FOR ALL 3 CHAPTERS! I highly recommend reading those first before diving into these drawings!

Also for the comics, read from right to left please!

From here on, I will be referring to the Future!Gojou as Gojou and the teenage one as Satoru.

Overall, drawing all these is fun! Really fun! This project pushed me quite hard, forcing me to test my limit (because I rarely draw this much back to back). Since this is a combination of drawings and comics, the coloring style will not be consistent. In a way, I want to try some brushes I never get to use, as well as try out my new graphic tablet. Drawing these got me giggling because I was finally able to let loose during line art. It's much easier to do so, and sometimes I just get to reread the fic and giggle to myself for the nth time.

CHAPTER 1:

Whooo. Whooooooooo—

Ok, ok, the premise is just that good. It intrigued me, fascinated me, and I just… oomph. I cannot refuse a Time Travel Yuuji Sandwich. Sign me up.

Honestly, there are two scenes that are just… a bit too clear in my mind when reading this chapter. That would be the one I drew above, and the other is when Yaga called Gojou to come outside of the class. I love, loooove how Vox wrote Satoru’s POV. And when Yuuji fucking giggles?

I lost it.

Can you imagine, drawing Yuuji grins, with shiny stuff, maybe some sunlight, just purely happy and indulging Gojou?

Help me, for I am drowning in my love and adoration for Yuuji.

Page 2 is an experiment on using harsh black as shading (kind of?). I really enjoyed colouring Yuuji, and drawing those buffalo skulls! I wish I can grasp the concept of contrast a bit better tho :v

CHAPTER 2:

This is probably the only chapter where I picture still images instead of comic panels. A bit like those cool chapter covers in mangas. The one I really, really want to draw is the scene with Satoru on the table. Can’t pass the opportunity to highlight Satoru being a brat, albeit a really cool brat.

Cool idea drawing always proves to be a challenge, because of course my artistic skill just so happens to be below the requirement. Thank you, Sketchfab, for the chair and desk’s perspective otherwise I’m screwed lmao

The second scene that I want to draw the most is this:

Gojou is one step away from climbing Yuuji. Also, I have a bit of a problem picturing a man pouting that makes him look crazy instead, so please have Gojou pouting adorably instead. Because, as Yuuji said (with love), Gojou is (also) a brat.

This is possibly my favorite art in this project, after Yuuji's in Chapter 1 page 2. It's clean because I don't have to draw background, and I was having a fun time drawing Yuuji. And Gojou's squishy cheek as well.

Oh, actually, there is a “manga” scene in this chapter. It’s when Yuuji said, “I love Satoru.”

I just—

AAAAAHHHHH YUUJIIIIIII YOU AND VOX ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. That secure relationship between Yuuji and Gojou? Satoru’s description of how Yuuji’s smile could blot out the sun??? Not me screaming 💀 I also see bits of hints of possible co-dependency, though I could be reading those wrong, but either way I’m good. Secure and possessive relationships are fun to consume hhhhhh

But yeah. There are too many wholesome Yuuji smiles in this fic, and I… I am not confident enough to draw genuine happiness. It’s too much for me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

For this chapter, another reason why I chose these two scenes is just because I want to try and draw cover-worthy pictures of Yuuji and Satoru, and Yuuji and Gojou (cough)

CHAPTER 3:

We start the chapter with Nanamin. Ah, Nanamin. I forgot what his teen self looked like and was surprised to see his design again lmao

I want to draw Yuuji and Nanami scene because… I just want to, I guess. I have never drawn him before (Yaga as well) so that's an interesting challenge. I got two ideas on how I want to draw it. One is a bit painting-esque, and the other one is like another chapter cover. In the end, I chose the cover one because I want to emphasise the difference between teen!Nanami and the Nanami from Yuuji’s original timeline, and how the watch feels like a connection between the same (yet not) person. It’s a bittersweet feeling? In a way?

I’m not really good at explaining my intention ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

I love Yuuji’s answer to Nanami's question.

AND FINALLY.

A Yuuji SandwichTM scene.

And oh B O I do I love it. Have I told you I like every chapter? I probably have. But this one? Satoru’s curiosity, Yuuji’s on-brand self-deprecation, and Gojou come strolling down to show more of Yuuji to his mini-self. I want to draw this whole scene, from Gojou finding them, feeding Yuuji snacks, bitch-slapping Satoru into the backroom, to Yuuji growling. Them trying to hide a boner from Yuuji’s growl got me cackling so hard I LOVE IT 😭

I love it all. Please love Yuuji in my stead, Satoru and Satonyan :3

Oh! Also! 40-finger Yuuji sounds really, really cool! I’ll be happy with whatever Vox will give us in future chapters, but 40-finger Yuuji… possible scene with this timeline’s Sukuna… my god. The action! The drama! The bloodshed! One can only hope.

However, as much as I love that whole scene, it’s still too much for me :”) I’m still not yet confident in delivering the humour and action. Also my already-long drawing plan had my brain groaning in protest so I can’t push my luck :'D

When Gojou said "He looks sweet, but he's a bit of a beast", I kept picturing Yuuji staring innocently, but there was an edge to his look. As if the moment Satoru looks away, he will pounce. But in the end I just stick with innocent-looking Yuuji because I accidentally drew his eyes that way and I want to keep it in lol

Since Satoru points out how soft and cuddly Yuuji is, I also want to draw soft Yuuji :v

And the last one… is the last scene. For some reason, I read that both Gojou and Satoru share Yuuji’s lap and was having a frustrating yet fun time figuring out how it’s… physically possible, without having their butts on the ground because they both are not small at all. As I lined the art, I reread it again and… perhaps I read it wrong? Satoru is beside Yuuji, and not on his lap? So yeah, this one might be the least accurate, but hey, at least you can view it as a crack drawing or something :v

AAAANNNDDD I HAVE EXCEEDED TODAY’S BRAIN CAPACITY OF FORMING WORDS

Have I told you I love this fic?

…I probably have.

Have an amazing week (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

#yuu's art #jjk-fic-fanart #jjk ship #jjk-ship #五悠 #goyuu #goyu #5u #gojou x yuuji #speedrun this bad boy of a project in 3 days #from planning #now I can sleep in peace

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1arkspur-aconitum · 4 months ago

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SOULS OF POETS (s.r.)

SOULS OF POETS DEAD AND GONE, WHAT ELYSIUM HAVE YOU KNOWN?

[PART ONE OF THREE]

IN WHICH: Spencer discovers more about Juniper’s previous work history, and it is not to his taste.

PAIRING: Season3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: angst

CONTENT: strip-clubs, common BAU violence, the team being little shits, established secret relationship, Spencer being mean, not a happy ending (in this part at least)

WORD COUNT: 8k… (I got a bit carried away)

PUBLISHED: 16/10/24

TO SAY THIS ISN’T HOW I was expecting today to go would be an understatement.

Sure, we end up on some of the most bizarre cases in the FBI, but the chances of this happening are slim to none—I am not Dr. Reid, so I am unable to give you an exact statistic, but I reckon it would be in the 1:1 bajillion ballpark.

Normally the cases are bizarre because of M.O., or because the people we deal with are strange; I still remember that one interview Emily and I had with that frankly absurd woman with way too many garden gnomes inside her house. Or the time Derek and I found a dude in his bath, stark naked, the tub filled with what I have told myself was milk, and have refused to ponder any other possibilities since.

All that to say, we get weird shit at the BAU.

Yet when I walked in this morning and saw the photos, and read the case file, I was more nervous for this than I had been for any bomb or kidnapping case.

To the others, it looks perfectly average. Localised crime scene, moderately high-risk victims, a clear comfort zone. New York City isn’t far from D.C and we have a good relationship with the police working on the case already. Seems simple enough.

But even as I sit on the plane, knees up to my chest, I still feel as if I can’t take a proper breath. As I try to force myself to take one, I catch Emily’s concerned glance from across the aisle. She knows me too well.

I clear my throat and force myself to adjust. Dropping my knees underneath the table, I spread the photos across the table in front of me. Women’s bodies–hands and feet removed–shoved into the bins out the back of a strip of clubs ranging from gay bars, to strip joints, to your average night-out with the girls club.

Shoved into bins. Nothing better than rubbish.

To my left, Spencer is busy pouring over a map of the NYC suburbs. He’s armed with his favourite set of coloured pens, slender fingers idly tapping the lid on his chin as he thinks it over. Spencer, as always, looks adorable. Messy hair, loose tie, those cheekbones–the little furrow he gets between his eyebrows when he’s thinking. With his lips parted in focus, I can’t help but let my knee press against his under the table.

He smiles privately, not once looking up from his map. It’s the only concession to tenderness he’ll give me at work. The only one he can whilst we’re keeping our relationship hidden from the team.

‘So, when we land, I want us to hit the ground running,’ Hotch announces, drawing all of our attention to him. He looks at us gravely in turn. ‘We have to handle this one with tact, especially considering the subject matter–JJ and Rossi, I want you guys to head to the police station and help us get set up.’

‘That should be fun.’ Rossi says without a trace of humour in his tone. ‘The local police always get antsy about us treating these cases like they’re important–’

‘They are important.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, sounding a lot harsher than I originally intended. Rossi stops mid sentence. All eyes turn to me. Flushing, I pick at my fingernails as Spencer jostles my knee gently. ‘I’m sorry. It just pisses me off that people treat them like they aren’t.’

‘I know that, but the local police don't always.’ Rossi reminds me gently, flashing me the palms of his hands. A classic sign of apology. I incline my head and don’t say anything else. Emily is still watching me from across the aisle with those perceptive eyes of hers. ‘So JJ and I will do our best to get them on board.’

‘The rest of us are going to head to the main club that’s been targeted,’ Hotch has an air of disapproval in his tone, sending me a quick glare to remind me that I am the source of his anger. I sink lower into my seat, biting my lips shut. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. ‘See what we can find out about the place, the locals.’

‘Are you okay?’ Spencer murmurs to me under his breath a few moments later. The rest of the team have devolved back into their previous conversations, so the sweetness in his voice isn’t as easily detected. He is looking at me with those annoyingly perceptive, wide brown eyes. It’s like he’s peering deep into my skin and I don’t like it.

‘What? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’ I close myself off, folding my arms and trying to work some of the tension out of my jaw. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s not Spencer’s fault, and even genius Spencer Reid doesn’t have all of the pieces to finally puzzle this together.

‘I don’t know…is it because we’re going to New York City?’

‘What’s made you think I don’t like New York?’

‘Well…I know you lived there for a while after you dropped out of Cornell–’

‘I took a break from Cornell, I went back eventually.’ I scowl at him, brushing some loose strands of hair away from my face. Spencer quirks his eyebrows but I can tell he’s laughing internally at me. ‘I completed that degree, thank you very much. I just…’

‘You just what?’ He bumps his warm shoulder gently against mine.

‘This case…’ I pick up a picture of one of the bins–the woman inside has her legs spread, blood crusted around where her feet used to be, the short skirt she was wearing shoved up around her hips. She seems so painfully familiar. ‘There’s something…there’s something personal about it.’

The next time I look at Spencer, his lips are slightly pursed, eyes narrowed. If I were to lean in, I’m ninety percent sure that I could hear the cogs in his brain working. The idea of Spencer finding out concerns me more than I want it to. Rechecking my microexpressions, I plaster on a mildly bored smile. He doesn’t believe it. I can tell immediately. Yet he still can’t put a pin on why I’m lying.

‘I feel bad,’ I say, doing my best to pace the words to a steady, ordinary beat. ‘These women are as deserving of respect as anyone else, and yet somehow they always end up being the ones covered in rubbish.’

Spencer nods slowly, apparently satisfied with this, but the narrowness to his usually wide eyes doesn’t fully lift. I can tell that I have not heard the last of this. Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent–at least he won’t have to wait long to find out, because I know that as soon as we get off the plane, I’m on a deadline. An hourglass with only a teaspoon of sand left.

I lean back into the seat and wait to meet my terrible fate.

Elysium is everything you would expect from a strip-club.

Bleak and unassuming exterior, with one door manned by a beefy looking security guard, and several cameras aimed at the entrance. Inside it’s dark and seedy, the walls painted black to better enhance the vibrant colours of the strobe lights. They pulse in time to the music; a classic pop song I recognise, pumped through massive speakers at an almost deafening volume. The beat is so nostalgic I resist the urge to tap my foot.

We step into the main room and my heart stammers. It’s still laid out the same–a big raised platform at the back of the room with three poles, two currently in use. The women curve around the silver poles, the low lights slicking off of their curves. There’s a catwalk down the centre with a few loose notes blanketing it like leaves. The door to the right with the big neon ‘PRIVATE’ sign above it sits resolutely locked. The extensive bar has several scantily dressed women lean against it, talking to the patrons. It’s so familiar that I am suddenly twenty one again, walking into this place for the first time.

‘Can I help you?’ A voice says and I drag my attention from the bar.

The lady talking to Hotch hasn’t changed either. She’s still got that impossibly divine smooth skin, but she’s swapped the belly button piercing since I last saw her. It’s now a golden teardrop embellished in green that swings as she moves. Long dreads hang down to her waist and she’s dressed in the little gold number she always saved for big payouts. She must be planning on scoring high tonight. Despite myself, I let my face split into a broad smile.

‘Yes, actually could–’ Hotch starts, pointedly looking at her face rather than the rest of her body. Spencer is trying not to look at her breasts and failing–and I don’t think Derek even makes the attempt to be discreet. He’s like a kid in a sweet shop. The woman lifts her hand to silence him, brown eyes settling onto mine.

‘No fucking way.’ Tia takes two steps towards me, vibrant eyes scouring my figure. The last time she saw me, I would have been caught dead in a pair of suit trousers and a button down, yet here I am. I flare my arms away from my body, as if to say ‘yes way’. ‘June–Junebug!’

‘Hi, Tia.’ I laugh as she throws herself at me. Her strong arms wrap around my shoulders and she presses her body tightly against mine. The team is openly ogling at me as the stripper gives me the biggest, friendliest hug ever. I don’t look at them, though, face buried in her neck. She smells like cigarette smoke and vetiver perfume. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t a friendly visit.’

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ Tia grins, gesturing at the gun holstered at my hip before she grabs me again. When she speaks next, she shakes me to punctuate each word. ‘Ugh, I’m so glad to see you! You don’t visit us enough, and you said you would.’

‘I know, T, I’m sorry.’ I extricate myself from her arms, wincing awkwardly at my team. I feel very exposed. There will be time for explanations later, though, and right now I’m busy basking in the warmth of an old friend. She’s right. I haven’t visited nearly as often as I said I would. Regret seeps through my pores. ‘We’re here to ask some questions about the murders that have been going on?’

‘Oh, of course.’ Tia immediately loses the air of excitement, brow furrowing. She inspects the team as a whole again, noting the way they’re looking between us with a curious air. When she looks back at me, she raises a quizzical brow. I shake my head–explanations later. Tia, ever the saint, doesn’t push the issue. ‘Come on, do you want to head to the back office? I’ll get some of the girls together but Harold is already in there, waiting to talk to you.’

‘Harold still works here?’ I blink, surprised.

‘Yeah, he does–his hip is bothering him more now, but he’s still kickin’,’ Tia loops her arm through mine and starts to lead me through the strip club. I can hear the sounds of my team whispering behind me as they fall into line, but I pointedly ignore them. Nosy buggers. ‘You would know that if you came to visit.’

‘I already feel guilty about it,’ I knock her with my elbow. ‘No need to make me feel worse.’

‘I’m just glad you’re here now.’ Tia presses a sticky, lip gloss kiss to my cheek as we stop by another inconsequential door. It’s been painted black to match the walls, designed to be unobserved by the patrons. The amount of secret spaces in this place is unprecedented, rat runs sprawling through the bowls of Elysium. It took me months to learn where all the nooks and crannies were. I scowl petulantly. ‘You remember where you’re going?’

‘Of course, I mean, how could I forget?’ I flash her my cheekiest of grins.

I cross my arms as I wait for the team to catch up with us, leaning back against the wall.

Derek is currently casually flirting with one of the barmaids–someone I do not recognise–which doesn’t surprise me. Hotch is scouring the layout of the place, pointedly avoiding looking at the half-naked women gyrating around poles, or meandering around laps.

Emily has that shit-eating grin on her face, striding towards me and Tia, and Spencer is staring down at his hands as he follows in Emily’s wake.

Thinking about it, I wonder if Spencer has ever even stepped foot in a strip club before. It doesn’t seem like his kind of vibe, but you never know. Spencer is always full of surprises.

‘I’m gonna get Jas, she’ll die when she sees you.’ Tia grins as Emily arrives, bouncing off into the crowd. Tia has always been my favourite; she was the one who took me under her wing when I first arrived at Elysium, who gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have anywhere. The fact that she’s still here hurts my heart like a bruise. We always said we’d get out together.

‘You, ma’am, have a lot of explaining to do.’ Emily grins at me when she gets within earshot, grabbing my elbow. She loves this.

‘There isn’t much to explain,’ I try, but then Derek appears on my other side and I know I am done for. ‘Seriously.’

‘What, so you’re just casually friends with strippers?’

‘What’s wrong with being friends with strippers?’ I retort, turning pleading eyes to Spencer.

Spencer Reid looks as uncomfortable as possible–his shoulders are tense, hand to his lips, that slight frown between his eyebrows. He’s physically trying to make himself smaller by curving his shoulders inwards. Whenever someone nearly naked walks past him, he deliberately makes a lot of space. If his eyeline drifts for more than a few seconds, he’s instantly staring down at his feet again, cheeks blazing red hot. When he meets my gaze, though, he cannot hide the subtle hint of interest. It becomes clear that Spencer is not the person I should look to for help.

Balls.

‘Hey, you know I’m not complaining–’

‘Shut up, Derek, you’re just salty because she kissed me.’ I shove him in the chest, realising I’m not going to get any help from anyone involved. I’m on my own. Turning away from them, I rap on the door. ‘I can feel your stupid grin, Morgan–and yours too, Prentiss.’

‘Ooo, the last names, someone means business.’ Emily teases, but a voice from inside the room invites us in, and I take this as my saving grace.

I open the door to the small back office, holding it wide with my foot so the rest of my team can trickle in. The office is relatively small, lined with filing cabinets, and manned by a desk covered in papers and an overflowing ashtray. Someone has replaced the wooden chairs with two comfier looking arm chairs, though they still look slightly weathered in the dim light. The ceiling fan above is still laden with cobwebs and dust, perpetually unused. Yet another thing that hasn’t changed.

Once the door is shut behind us, I turn my attention to the man sitting behind the desk.

‘June?’ Harold spots me first, his Texan voice thickened by tar and smoke. He has more wrinkles around his eyes now, but the smile is as blinding as the last time I saw it. Harold’s beard is streaked with white, and when he pushes himself to his feet, the silver cane is new, too. ‘Junebug? Is that really you?’

‘Alive and in the flesh.’ I smile, reaching out to hug him as he hobbles towards me. Harold was the one who gave me that moniker barely two days after I started working here. There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t make me feel like he’s being condescending–in fact, it just reminds me that someone loves me enough to say a nickname with such adoration. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tightly. I try not to focus on how he feels thinner underneath me.

‘So,’ Harold says, stepping away from me but not letting go of my waist–I don’t know if it’s for support or just for show. I don’t really mind either way. He inspects the rest of my team, who are standing awkwardly around. None of them can hide the thinly veiled amusement from their faces, nor the bright curiosity. ‘These your friends?’

‘Yup.’ I nod, not meeting any of their eyes. There’s too much going on right now. Shame is a powerful emotion and even though I know I shouldn’t feel it, I can’t exactly control my own brain. ‘Uh, SSA Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan–and that’s Dr. Reid looking uncomfortable in the corner. We’re with the FBI.’

‘The FBI huh?’ Harold affixes me with that appraising stare before pushing away from me. I follow him, keeping my arm out for support. He plops himself down in his chair and leans back. Waggles his cane at me. ‘I never thought one of my best dancers would make it up into the big leagues like that. Good on you, Junebug.’

And there it is.

It takes Spencer about three seconds to process that information. About two times faster than it does for anyone else in the room. I can see the realisation burning red hot behind his brown eyes when he jerks them to me. I can’t hide my expression quickly enough–my blink is all he needs to confirm what Harold said. Spencer’s eyes cloud for a second, lips parted.

When he cocks his head curiously, I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s imagining in that brain of his. What a little shit. When his eyes focus again, he sees my look of disapproval and flushes. Then, his expression changes–closes off. Becomes unreadable. It’s an annoying talent he has and one of the most frustrating things about him.

‘Thanks, H.’ I clear my throat, ignoring the mercilessly gleeful grin on Emily’s face. ‘Guys, this is Harold, he’s the manager here–if something happened, Harold is the one who’s most likely to know about it.’

‘You were a stripper?’ Derek blurts out. Of course he would be the one to ask first. It just encourages Emily, though. Soon enough, both of them are peppering me with questions like they’re rubber bullets.

‘How long did you work here?’

‘Yeah–were you good?’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Do you still dance?’

‘Was she good?’ Derek directs this last question to Harold, evidently not satisfied with my silence.

‘Jesus Christ, guys, it’s not exactly relevant, is it?’ I snap, feeling a familiar burn of anger and shame. Spencer has remained, thankfully, silent, but is watching me with that blank expression. It’s unsettling. ‘Can we focus? I’ll answer your questions later, we’re here about several murders, let’s not get distracted by the fact that I used to be a stripper.’

‘You ain’t told ‘em till just now?’ Harold says from his seat, voice tinged with amusement and something that strikes me too much as sorrow. When I look at him, he’s surprisingly sad. It hurts me right in the centre of my chest. ‘I can understand that. There ain’t any shame in it, though, Junebug. You loved it here. Sure, you were at rock-bottom, but e’ryone who comes here is. It’s an absolute joy to see you doin’ somethin’ fulfillin’.’

‘Stop it, Harold,’ I say, the words choked somewhere in the back of my throat. A tingling sensation behind my nose threatens to make me sob. His words carve away at something within me, a part of me I haven’t thought about since…well, since I left Elysium. Avoiding looking at the others, I step around to the withered old man. Rest my hand on his shoulder. The next words are a breath of sadness. ‘Thank you.’

He understands that that’s not just for his words today. It’s for everything.

Harold gives me that sad smile again and rests his own hand on top of mine. It’s a connection I haven’t had in a while–Harold always reminded me of my father. Seeing him again is like seeing the ghost of my dad. I can’t afford to break down in front of the others, not when we’re here for a job, so blink furiously at the silver lining around my eyes. I plaster a smile on.

‘Bishop,’ Hotch says, voice low and measured. His words are not unkind and he is the only one out of the entire team that does not look disturbed, surprised, or horrified. Realistically, Hotch probably already knew this about me. I imagine it’s on my file somewhere. ‘If you need to go to the police station, you can. We can handle the questions here.’

‘It’s alright,’ I say, taking a deep breath and schooling my features. I do my best to forget where I am, who I am with–I try to become Dr. Bishop, the FBI agent working on a case that she has no personal connection to. ‘I can do it. Besides, I think Tia might kill me if I leave before she can accost me again.’

‘Alright, then.’ Hotch nods briskly, and the questioning begins.

Hotch leads it, as usual, Derek and Emily still staring at me with those aghast expressions. I don’t care about them, though. Whilst Hotch and Harold discuss the recent murders (three of the girls had been new dancers at Elysium, some of them regulars) and if Harold saw anything suspicious (a few odd cars, but most people who come here are unusual or strange), I keep my eyes trained on Spencer. I want to see what his reaction is, to gauge if I should start thinking about damage control.

He’s busy scouring the room, taking at each of the pictures on the wall. They're all of the dancers Harold has employed. I’m up there somewhere. I wonder if that’s what Spencer is looking for. He stands with one arm across his lower stomach, the other brought up to his chest. Long fingers rub the sharpness of his jaw idly. His eyes work furiously across the walls, committing everything to memory.

Spencer has always been good at disguising his microexpressions, so I doubt that I can ever truly work out what he is thinking from just observing him. The blankness hasn’t gone from him.

I hope he’s relaxed, though, and not severely freaked out. I have no idea what I would do if he was severely freaked out.

‘Hey, Junebug!’ Tia’s melodic voice cuts through my panic crisis-prepping brain fog as she steps into the room, making Spencer jump. I turn to look and see that my gorgeous friend is dragging yet another gorgeous friend into the office. The other girl is tall, willowy, with ice-blonde hair that she’s been carefully maintaining since I knew her. She is wearing a pair of thigh-high blue boots and the tiniest lingerie set I have ever seen. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, this one was a nightmare to find.’

‘It’s true!’ Jas squeaks, her eyes widening as she lays them on me. I barely have enough time to process her being there before she launches herself at me. Despite the fact that she is all bone, Jas is surprisingly strong, and squeezes her arms around my neck. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long, what the fuck, June, where have you been?!’

‘Whoa, there, Jas,’ Tia chuckles, gripping Jas by the shoulders and extricating her from me. Grateful, I rub the spot where Jas’s acrylic nails dug into my skin. ‘Give her some breathing space. She’s with the FBI, silly, didn’t you hear me say that?’

‘You’re such a bitch.’ Jas scowls at me as she shakes Tia off, and hits me hard in the upper arm. I yelp in pain, staring at her with an affronted look. She pats the spot where she hit me apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I just missed you.’

‘No need to get violent.’ I remind her, turning her around to face the rest of my team. ‘We’re here to ask you some questions about the recent murders?’

‘FBI?’ Jas scans my team, her eyes widening as they sweep over each member. Her gaze lingers on Spencer, and I can see the familiar glint of interest sparking in her eyes. She lets out a long, low, appreciative whistle that seems to echo around the small office. I can tell immediately what’s going through her mind, and I brace myself for what is about to happen. Jas angles her head like a cat watching a bird. Her posture shifts. ‘Well, hello there. Aren’t you the most handsome man I’ve ever seen?’

Spencer’s reaction is immediate and intense. His face flushes a deep crimson, the blush spreading down underneath his collar when he realises that she is talking to him. His eyes, wide with surprise and discomfort, immediately lock desperately on me. The way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, is so endearingly awkward that I can’t help but find it utterly adorable.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as I watch Jas saunter seductively towards him, hips swaying with each step.

‘Jasmine,’ I interject, my voice is thick with warning, hoping that that hides the jealousy I’m feeling as she begins to circle Spencer like a shark. She trails a hand across the back of his shoulders and I have to resist the urge to physically remove it. Only I am allowed to touch Spencer like that. ‘Behave, please. That’s my colleague.’

What I really want to say is ‘that’s my boyfriend you’re pawing at’, but I can’t. Not when the team is standing right there, watching with varying degrees of amusement. The secret aspect of our relationship hasn’t bothered me as much as it does right now. I don’t know what to do.

‘Oh, come on, Junebug, you’ve never been a prude.’ Jas flashes me a familiar, mischievous grin as she casually straightens Spencer’s collar from behind, her nails scraping across his shirt. I know that expression–I’ve seen it on her several times before she scores a big payout, and Jas always scores big. Bitter jealousy twists in the base of my stomach. ‘If I remember correctly, you would have been all over this one a few years ago. Let me have my fun. What’s your name, handsome?’

‘I–I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.’ He stammers, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he finds the ceiling very interesting. I can practically feel the heat radiating from him. Part of me wants to intervene, to yank her away from him and put an end to this little performance. But another part, a part I am decidedly not proud of, wants to see what Spencer will do. It’s a test of sorts, though I am not sure what I am testing or why.

‘Dr. Spencer Reid.’ Jas purrs, drawing out each syllable as if it’s fine wine. She completes her predatory circle to stand in front of Spencer, giving me an excellent view of her pert behind. It’s not exactly hidden in the thong she’s donned. She twists a stray strand of his hair around her finger. Spencer flinches away from her touch, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I want to tell her to back off but Derek’s amused expression stops me. ‘A doctor–you’ve always loved a man with brains, Junebug. So, Spencer, what brings you to Elysium? Looking for some extracurricular studies?’

‘We–we’re here about the, the recent murders…’ Spencer chokes out, his voice strained and higher than usual. He’s still staring resolutely at the ceiling, as if trying to solve some complicated mathematical equation etched into the plaster.

‘Yes, we are.’ Hotch cuts in, his voice taking on a sharp and authoritative tone. He places a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder, effectively creating a barrier between him and Jasmine. I feel a rush of gratitude towards my Unit Chief for doing what I could not. ‘We’re hoping you could help us by answering some questions, not by accosting a Federal Agent.’

‘I suppose.’ Jas pouts dramatically, but there is a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She knows she’s pushed the boundaries a little bit too far. Her shoulders slump in defeat, but she turns back to Spencer. ‘I guess I can behave. But only if the good doctor here promises to buy me a drink. What do you say, gorgeous? Care to hear some stories about our Junebug’s wilder days?’

‘I will buy you that drink, Jasmine.’ I interject quickly, my words coming out harsher than intended. My hand shoots out, curling around her upper arm as I tug her a few steps away from Spencer. I fix her with a stern look, eyebrow raised in silent warning. ‘Leave Spencer alone.’

‘Fine, June, you absolute spoil sport.’ She hisses at me, but there’s no real venom in her tone. If anything, there’s a hint of amusement, as if she’s enjoying this power play. It wouldn’t surprise me. ‘Why don’t all of us go out for a drink, then, if I can’t have Spencer by himself?’

‘Can we focus, please?’ I sigh, not liking the way both Emily and Derek have perked up upon hearing the possibility of getting the juicy information about my ‘wilder days’ as Jasmine so kindly phrased it. ‘We are here on official business–we can gossip later, alright?’

‘Alright, alright, message received.’ Jas rolls her eyes but finally relents. She sits down on Harold’s desk, looking expectantly up at us. ‘Ask away.’

‘Don’t think you can escape, Juniper Bishop.’

Balls.

I turn around sheepishly, one hand on the door to my hotel room. I was so close. If I hadn’t stopped to stock up on snacks, I might have escaped, might have managed to prolong the inevitable until I felt ready to face it. That’s the unfortunate thing about the inevitable, though. It always comes around eventually.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, are Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and JJ. I only need to take one look at the blonde to realise that they have already dobbed me in, and have caught her up to speed about what happened at Elysium. They stand there like hunters spotting prey and knowing it has nowhere else to run.

‘Seriously, guys? Now?’ I sigh, leaning against the doorframe and readjusting the snacks in my arms–the vending machine was limited, but it had Oreos, and that’s good enough for me. Hair falls into my face as I hang my head. ‘I was just gonna watch a film and go to sleep…’

‘Not happening.’ Emily announces, striding over to me and grabbing my upper arm. ‘We’re going to the bar.’

‘The bar?’ I say, dragging my feet but letting her lead me over to the others. I don’t like the way they are looking at me. I feel like a student being dragged to the headmaster’s office for a scolding. ‘We haven’t solved the case yet, surely it’s a bad idea to drink on the job?’

‘Then order a soda.’ JJ grips my other arm and they frog march me towards the top of the stairs.

‘Guys.’ I whine, trying to dig my heels into the plush carpet, and failing spectacularly. It’s no use. I am dragged rather roughly down the stairs and towards the hotel bar, my protests falling on deaf ears. ‘Come on, this is ridiculous–’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Spencer, save me!’ I call, looking over my shoulder to spot my handsome boyfriend by the lift, his head angled curiously as he witnesses what is essentially my death march. JJ and Emily take no prisoners, though, and continue to haul me towards the bar.

‘We’re just gonna ask her some questions, that’s all.’ Derek says, talking to Spencer as if he’s just found out that I am a suspect in a gruesome murder. Spencer blinks, confused, and starts to trail after us. ‘Care to join?’

When we reach the bar, I am deposited unceremoniously into a booth, being wedged in by Emily and opposed by JJ. Derek and Spencer don’t take long to join us, the former drifting off towards the bar with a firm warning not to start without him. The latter sits down beside JJ. I glare at them, arms folded across my chest, Oreos abandoned on the table.

‘You brought this upon yourself, you know.’ Emily says, all high and mighty. She rests her elbows on the bar and cocks her head at me. ‘I mean, I knew there was something…different about you, but this? This is not what I was expecting.’

‘Oh my God.’ I groan, staring down at the table rather than at their three pairs of inquisitorial eyes. Spencer’s gaze is the hardest one to avoid and the worst one to meet. He’s guarded his expression so I can’t fully read it, but judging from the way he has his arms crossed, he isn’t going to come to my rescue. Evidently he’s just as curious as the rest of them. ‘Was all this really necessary?’

‘You were the one trying to hole up in your room.’ JJ says with a casual shrug, glancing over to where Derek is paying for a selection of drinks. ‘Forgive us for trying to get to the bottom of this.’

‘There isn’t anything to get to the bottom of!’ I say, voice rising in volume and in pitch. ‘I think you guys are making this out to be worse than it actually is.’

‘Aw, come on, hotstuff, we’re just curious.’ Derek says, putting down a circular black tray in the middle of the table. He divvies off the drinks, placing what suspiciously looks like a G&T in front of me. Despite my earlier reluctance to imbibe, I’m kind of grateful. I might need alcohol to get through this. Once he’s done, he pulls up a stool and heads the table. ‘Can you blame us?’

‘Yes.’ I retort, slumping back in my seat and scowling. ‘Fine. Fine. Ask away.’

‘How come you never told us you used to be a stripper?!’ Emily cuts right to the chase, leaning forward even further. If her eyes could get any wider, they would. She resembles one of those weird marsupials with the long fingers that tap on trees to eat the bugs.

‘It…it never came up.’ I shrug, running my finger along the edge of my glass and glancing at Spencer. He’s still utterly unreadable, stirring the ice around his drink with a straw. He’s watching me carefully, probably looking for any microexpressions or tells–fucker knows me too well at this point. Unlike him, I’ve never been good at hiding things. ‘It’s not exactly something you just casually tell people, especially when you now work for the FBI. It’s…frowned upon.’

‘I suppose I can understand that.’ JJ concedes, taking a sip of her drink. ‘When were you working there?’

‘Oh, maybe, like, five, six years ago?’ I copy her movement, letting the gin blaze down my throat. It’s relaxing.

‘So…was this before or after your PhD?’

‘After. I was in the middle of completing another undergrad at Cornell when…well, when I started to dance.’

‘Another undergrad?’ Derek says, apparently more surprised at my academic achievements than the fact that I used to get naked and dance around for money.

‘Yes, Derek, another one.’ I laugh, sipping my drink again and let myself watch Spencer watching me. ‘I was bored after finishing my PhD and felt like doing another degree–it was psychology, which now that I think about it, is kind of ironic.’

‘So…were you dancing to pay off your debt?’ Emily asks, her curiosity piqued. Her bright brown eyes sparkle with intrigue. I’m apparently the most fascinating thing she has seen in quite some time. ‘I mean, degrees are expensive, were you having money problems?’

‘No, it wasn’t the money.’ I confirm, eyes flickering down to trace the pattern of the wood. I have to be careful here, and I have to choose my words with the utmost precision. God, sometimes talking to these guys feels a lot like sitting an exam. ‘It was…well, there were a lot of things going on, and I felt very out of control. I don’t know, I think dancing gave me the control…and the escape…that I needed.’

‘There are other ways to get control.’ Spencer finally speaks, and I almost flinch at the rawness of his words. When I look at him, he’s staring down into his drink. His tone is laced with disapproval. ‘Why…why would you do something like that?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I have no shame in it.’ I say, somewhat harsher than intended. ‘I loved dancing. It was empowering and freeing, and brought me a lot of joy. But I started it for the wrong reasons, and unfortunately it facilitated habits I really should have been trying to break rather than…well, rather than indulging.’

‘And, according to Harold, you were good. In fact, I think he said you were one of the best.’ Derek grins cheekily at me, eyes roving over my body. I can see Spencer tense out of the corner of my eye at Derek’s words, his shoulders closing inwards. This is dangerous territory.

‘Stop picturing it, Morgan–never gonna happen.’ I flick an ice cube at him, but laugh to show him I am actually teasing.

‘Wait, really?’ Emily sounds genuinely upset, gaping at me. The concept that Emily Prentiss was actually considering asking me to dance for her blows my mind.

‘Oh, come off it, I’m not gonna strip for my coworkers!’

‘Even if I paid you?’ Derek flirts, leaning towards me and flashing me his characteristic wink.

‘Oh, Derek, sweetheart,’ I let the words roll around my tongue, let them drip seductively from my lips. I focus all of my attention onto him as if he were another patron eager for something from Elysium. My eyes trail slowly across his handsome face, lingering on the firm jaw, sticking to his slightly parted mouth. Derek swallows–hard. He leans in just a little bit more. ‘You wouldn’t be able to afford me.’

‘Damn…’ Derek blinks as if clearing his eyes off water. The others (minus Spencer) are laughing at us, and I join in. Derek, to his credit, moves past it with dignity. ‘Worth a shot, eh.’

‘You’re a pig, Morgan,’ JJ steps to my rescue, sneering at our coworker. ‘What would Garcia say if she could hear that?’

‘Hell, she’d probably ask me to split the cost with her.’ Derek winks at me again, but I don’t indulge him this time. I’m watching Spencer, and my heart is sinking.

He hasn’t touched his drink. It just sits in front of him, condensation forming a ring around the bottom. Spencer is staring down into it as if it’s the most interesting thing he has ever seen, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. I know that if I looked under the table, his hands are most likely either fiddling with the seam of his slacks, or balled in his lap.

He looks…angry. Hurt. Betrayed, almost. I don’t really blame him. It’s a lot to hear, and I should have told him when he asked me about it on the plane. Spencer doesn’t ask for much, but what he does ask for is transparency. Truth.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him. I want to reach out and touch him, apologise for not mentioning it to him, and apologise for the fact that when I am telling him, it’s surrounded by our coworkers. I can’t reassure him in the way that I want.

What I want to do is hold him and kiss him and tell him that none of the past matters now that my future is his. I have never regretted keeping our relationship underwraps–it works for us, especially considering it’s so new, but…but right now, it sucks.

As I continue to watch him adamantly not looking at me, I wonder if I actually do know the reason why I didn’t tell him. Maybe I didn’t tell him because some small part of me didn’t want him looking at me like that. Like I am dirty, or impure, or whatever disgusting words people use for strippers.

‘So, let me get this straight.’ JJ is saying, seeing off the remainders of her drink. ‘You started dancing because you were in a rough patch. That’s fine. What made you stop?’

‘Hah, my mother.’ My laughter is dry, and I take another sip of my drink. ‘She’s very good at being disappointed. She basically sorted me out, sent me off to complete my undergrad. I haven’t danced since.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Sometimes, Em, sometimes.’ I smile at her, trying to squish down any thoughts of Spencer’s upset gaze. ‘I mean, not the sleazy pricks, or the teenagers who don’t know how to listen to boundaries, but I miss my friends–Tia, Jas, Harold–and I miss the freeness of it. If you guys haven’t had some kind of pole class or something, I seriously recommend it.’

‘You could teach us.’ JJ suggests.

I laugh dryly, swilling my drink. ‘You and Emily, sure, but Spencer and Derek on a pole? Could be questionable…’

‘Hey, I’ll have you know I would be a very good stripper!’

‘Whatever you say, Derek.’ I roll my eyes at him but I can’t stop the laughter. I finish off my drink and am very glad that I decided to accept it. Alcohol warms me from the inside. Makes this whole conversation so much easier. ‘So…are you guys satisfied? Can I go to bed–can I eat my Oreos?’

‘No way, Hops, we’re only just getting started.’ Emily grins naughtily at me and gestures for Derek to get another round. Before he can, though, Spencer is already standing and walking away from the table towards the bar without a word. Ouch. It’s clear he’s not very impressed. He hasn’t even finished his drink. ‘We still have so many questions.’

‘Like, did you have a stage name?’

‘What kind of dances did you do? Pole, group, private?’

‘Did you have a signature move?’

‘Do you still have a stripper playlist? If so, can I have it?’

‘Did you ever fall off the pole?’

‘What was the most money you made in one night?’

‘Did you have any regulars? Like, people who came in just to see you?’

‘Did any of them ever try to take you home?’

‘Did you let them?’

‘Oh my God, guys!’ I have to slam my hands on the table to get them to shut up, the words coming in a breathless laugh. I think Derek might have gotten me a double because the alcohol has loosened my tongue and I’m genuinely considering answering them. ‘One question at a time, please.’

It is then that Spencer returns, passing around the drinks quickly. He can’t even look me in the eye as he sits down and goes back to staring into his drink. My mind whirrs with ways to rectify this problem, but it’s not as if I can go back and change the past. Spencer has to come to terms with this on his own merit, and all I can do is wait.

‘Tell us everything.’ Emily gushes, taking a healthy swig of her fresh drink.

‘Everything? Do you think you can handle everything, Spencer?’ I don’t know why I call him out like that. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I chase the icky feeling away with a swig of another double G&T.

Spencer finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time in what feels like hours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze–hurt, maybe? Anger? Perhaps even a hint of arousal. I can’t fully tell, and that scares me. Spencer opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Derek interrupts.

‘Hey, Reid, don’t tell me you’re not curious.’ Derek nudges him playfully, but Spencer doesn’t react. He just continues to stare at me, expression unreadable. I have no idea what that look is trying to say. ‘Come on, man, we all wanna hear about Junebug’s wild past.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ I snap, shaking my head at Derek. I don’t know why, but hearing that old nickname on his tongue upsets me. Derek shows me the palms of his hands in apology and I’m pleased to see that my little outburst has shifted his focus away from Spencer.

‘Come on,’ JJ sighs, cutting Derek and Spencer a curious glare. ‘Tell us everything.’

I hesitate for a moment, taking another drink. How much to reveal? I realise that I am going to have to toe a careful line between what is suitable to tell them, and what I want to take to the grave. They are my friends first, though. Colleagues second. There’s not much point in hiding anymore, not if they still want to go out for drinks with Jas and Tia when we’ve finished the case. There’s no going back.

‘Alright.’ I take a deep breath and start to pull at my fingernails. ‘But don’t judge me, okay?’

‘We promise.’ Emily says, voice so sincere that it almost hurts. She raises her glass in a mock toast, and the others follow suit–even Spencer raises his glass, though his movements are more stilted, eyes clouded with that mixture of emotions I’m driving myself insane trying to decipher.

‘I did dance under a stage name–it was Cassandra, or Cass. I chose it because–’

‘Because of the priestess?’ Spencer’s words are a mere mumble, but I am so attuned into him that I hear him. He’s looking somewhere in the region of my collar, but at least he’s looking at me.

‘Yeah. Precisely. She was this Trojan priestess that was cursed to see the future, but for no one to believe her, but I chose it because of what the name means, etymologically.’

‘Bless you.’ Emily teases, and I roll my eyes. ‘Go on, what does it mean?’

‘The Greek spelling is with a K, so ‘kassos’ means to excel, and ‘andros’ means over men. So her name literally means ‘to excel over men’. I was quite proud of that one.’

‘Damn…and did you? Excel over men?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I grin, taking a sip. ‘I did a variety of different types of dances–you kind of have to do all of them, really. No favourite moves, a couple of regulars that came in just to watch me, and yes, Emily, I do still have my playlist. To answer your question, Derek, a couple of them tried to take me home, and only one succeeded.’

‘What?’ Spencer’s word is perfectly formed, a bullet that pierces through the alcoholic armour I’d been establishing. I blink in surprise. He is staring at me with his mouth slightly parted, such a betrayed look on his face that I’m cut deep to the core. Spencer had seemed content to stay out of the conversation, but this is perhaps the first sign I get about how he’s actually feeling. ‘You slept with the people you danced for?’

‘Only one, and that was a long time ago–’ I say, wondering how only Spencer can get me feeling so defensive and so eager to alleviate his concerns.

‘It doesn’t matter when it was.’ Spencer’s voice is sharp, but he remains motionless, evidently not wanting to give away too much. The rest of the team are leaning back in their seats to get away from the tense energy now crackling between us. Emily is looking between us with a curious expression. ‘You slept with someone you barely knew, someone who saw you as nothing more than a–’

‘Than a what, Spencer? Go on, say ‘whore’, I know you want to.’ I snap back, slamming my glass down onto the table more violently than intended. Spencer flashes hurt eyes at me. ‘Jesus, Spencer, it’s my life–my old life–and I did what I wanted with it. I don’t need to explain it to you.’

‘No, no, don’t worry,’ Spencer scoffs, voice laced with bitterness. ‘I’ve worked it out. You used to sell your body for money, let men ogle you and touch you and degrade you, and you slept with one of them just because you thought, what, you thought it was fun? That doesn’t make you a stripper, June, that makes you a hooker.’

‘What the fuck, Reid?’ My words are soft, but the meaning is harsh. I’m hurt. I’ve heard those words a thousand times, from a thousand different people, but hearing it from Spencer–my Spencer–sucks the life right out of me. It’s as if it’s the first time I’m hearing it. All I want to do is run away and hide, but I can’t. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. You have no idea what it was like.’

‘Oh, but I do. I’ve seen the crime scenes.’ Spencer’s voice is cold. Clinical. Detached. It breaks my heart a little. ‘I’ve seen what those men do to women like you, I know how they treat you, how they view you. And you willingly put yourself in that position–it’s…it’s disgusting and, and–’

‘Stop it!’ I snap, slamming my hands onto the table. His words hit me like a physical blow, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. My eyes line with silver. I can’t believe he’s saying this to me, I can’t comprehend that he thinks that about me. I rise out of my seat, towering over the table. ‘Stop fucking talking, Reid. How dare you?’

‘Whoa, hey, easy now…’ Emily puts out a warning arm between us and I am suddenly reminded that the rest of the team are there. They have shifty looks on their faces. ‘Let’s all just calm down.’

‘No, actually–actually, I’m done.’ I sigh, seeing off my drink and gesturing for Emily to get out of the booth. ‘I’m leaving. Fuck this.’

I grab my snacks and my phone before pushing out past the rest of them and making a beeline for the door. I can hear their voices call out after me, but I don’t care. Even when I see Spencer rise too, as if making to follow me, I don’t change my trajectory. Thankfully Derek yanks Spencer back down into his seat. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. I stalk out of the bar as quickly as possible.

It’s only when I’m in the lift that I let the hot, salty tears start to fall.

THANK YOU FOR READING! PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds fanfiction #larkspur-acontium #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid angst #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds headcanons

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bladekindeyewear · 2 months ago

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Beyond Canon 2024 October and November Artist/Writer Commentary

So the new Artist and Writer commentary for this month's latest upd8 popped up on Patreon, and even though I've been working (pathetically slowly) on a draft post that goes back through the commentary in order from the past where I left off, I feel like the last two updates have been HAMMER BLOWS in terms of the seriousness, hopelessness, et cetera and I feel like everyone wants answers as badly as I do, and the teaser we got at the end of the last upd8 to whet my excitement can offset the bad news only SO much on its own. So even though I'm kind of too sick to be doing this today, I want to help myself and others cope by liveblogging the last two months' posts of Artist and Writer commentary each so we get some more... words from the word of God on why they're subjecting us to this.

As much of this is Patreon exclusive content I won't be quoting everything, I'll be making just a couple out of context quotes and summarizing or paraphrasing things that I find important to point out about what I'm reading.

I'll put a TL;DR here above the cut once I'm done-- ahem: "Oh yeah Rose was even more doomed to feel fucked in that sort of situation than I realized, and also there's a hiatus because an animation is coming to kick off the End of Act 1 / Start of Act 2, holy shit. Maybe I’d have known that already if I’d read the news posts, oh well".

10-24 Artist Commentary

This is the artist commentary for the update I liveblogged starting here.

They mention how it contains a lot of standout moments, "things are coming to a head in the story"-- there was indeed a climax between this update and the one that followed it, I certainly agree. Since this is the artist commentary, they talk about their appreciation for proposed pacing, the jaw-dropped yelling of some on reading the proposed script... there's a shot of the story board, of course.

They go into some interesting detail on how they went about devising how they wanted Jade's "Space force fields" to look.

Everyone loves Jade's paw-print gloves, as they should.

Haven: this panel showing “how rose ‘sees’ things now” was added late into this update's production and floral didn't have a description other than “haven go wild”

Yes I can certainly believe that. Nice touch in retrospect thematically coloring Rose's blood with her color instead of the literal red it'd be.

"generic troll soldier bumps into a god"-- nice how they're lumping Kanaya in with the god-tiers when referring to the Gods of this world.

Oh I never actually noticed the rebellion's "massive crab tanks" in the background of all these other shots, no wonder they surprised me the following update.

The full hemospectrum of Blood around them grasping hands:

Haven: sometimes very blatant symbolism is the way to go.

exactly, noted, noted...

Some notes on how they did up Jane's office and her bridge, and the storyboard for that BRUTAL scene with Jane and Jake, ow.

Practice the different artists had at drawing Jane and Jake in "Guardian Mode", which is the new clearly adult sorta-hero-moded silhouette term that I probably would have gotten from reading the other artist commentary in order.

Nice thoughts on how even the framed photo of Tavvy next to the blaster button is a distant shot-in-passing photo that doesn't communicate a close family.

The shot, the heal, the turnaround and beatdown.

I got storyboarder brain and I love the excruciating anticipation of making people hold their breath between panels... When you know something’s coming but you can’t help but clasp your hand over your mouth like, “OH NO…”

Yeah, no kidding...

Nothing too concrete to note in this artist commentary, the writer commentary's probably going to be richer. So to save my sanity I'm going to do the next Artist Commentary first:

11-2024 Artist Commentary

This is the artist commentary surrounding the most recent upd8 i liveblogged.

Oh holy shit, this one has some big news I wasn't aware of!

Chumi, hoping you guys had a Happy Thanksgiving: Welcome welcome! 🎉🎉 We’re really getting into the holiday season with this one! Unfortunately, this is our last update until the Flash Production break. Look forward to the Flash guys, we’re working really hard!

I didn't expect them to start off our new session with a big flash, but if they're going to bust out some Animation to really emphasize any new stepping stone in Beyond Canon, the introduction or pre-introduction to The New Session™ is probably the time to do it. I'm pretty busy and/or sick lately (the annoying sort of sick not the dangerous kind) so I'll be glad if it takes a little longer before the next upd8 than it did this one.

They talk about how they carefully gradiated the sky over past updates to reflect the danger closing in, much appreciated.

Tavvy writes with something called "Magic Link" handwriting apparently; they go more into it here.

An Andrew-embossed-seal reference, huh? I'm not gonna elaborate on that but it is funny.

Rose covering the kids' eyes before the shot:

I thought I was so clever putting a bit of shadow underneath her hands… Because her aspect is Light… She’s blocking the Light / knowledge from reaching the kids…That’s why she’s a silhouette too… Heh…

Yep.

Kim: This particular bit gets me every time I think about it… Jade loves her child!!! The way it completely throws Jade off her game when the most precious thing in her life right now is suddenly in the middle of a freaking battlefield of a WAR. These kids just can’t stand still for one minute can they!!

Gahhh, it just tears my heart out. Rose could have stopped this with a word, earlier, but didn't... why not?! What does she KNOW where she sees this path being the better path forward than others?!

Jade getting shot...

Floral: I can feel how much this hurts, it’s so good.

Guhh my heart. Owwwwuch. Can bad things just stop happening to Jade Harley for once? Can some good things start happening where she gets to be cool and not shoved out of the way unceremoniously by the narrative? :C

Okay there's something interesting here.

Floral: I did a single panel for this update too, featuring Dirk’s bell tower and the rest of the human city that stands between it and the meteor site. So much to parse. Wonder what the significance of it all could be.

Implying this has some significance... does it have something to do with what's brought into the game session? With how much IS and how much isn't? Or are dramatic things happening at "Dirk's bell tower" repeatedly being themed to be brought home by something else happening there later? Hmm.

Oh:

The impact is also knocking over whole tanks and the trees around the area, so the Rebellion guys near the meteor are totally vaporized. Sorry fellas. The two peeps in front are just some random soldiers to fill the empty space HEHE.

This explains my confusion around the explosion. The crab tanks I hadn't noticed earlier that they helped point out above, and these indeed being two random soldiers and PROBABLY not a stealth inexplicable Aradia appearance. PROBABLY.

So the "End of Act 1" bit:

Chumi: We are not done with Act 1 just yet…

I was wondering how much the "psyche" meant, if it meant psyche regarding our place within the story, how much was left to go, whether this was a real act ending et cetera... apparently the end of Act 1 is coming somewhat soon from the sound of it, and that gives us an idea of what exactly is planned for this lovable clusterfuck that is Beyond Canon. Is this a three-act tale we're planning, or effectively one, sort of like our three most major build-ups and climaxes across the six acts in the main story (Descend, Cascade, Collide)?

A slight preview sketch of the computer exploding in GC's face you can see if you opt for the Patreon commentary, and that closes out that. Now we'll have a look at the really, REALLY juicy stuff for the last two updates, the WRITER commentary. I'm dreading seeing them drill down into the dread these last two updates gave us before the hope of a new session with our favorite new kid-kids in it, and I'm desperately hoping that as they explain their choices they sprinkle in some EXTRA hope they hadn't given us with Rose's twisted hopeless perspective, because I could use the positive reinforcement.

10-2024 Writer Commentary

Been so excited/apprehensive for this update to drop!! It’s been months and the entire time we’ve been going back and tweaking and playing with things to perfect it and it was worth it. Super satisfied with the response.

Any writers getting ready to write such meaningful dialogue and traumatize their audiences are going to be chomping at the bit to, I've had the taste of that in my mouth before as someone on the writing end and the twists you're ready to unleash can have you salivating even when you know they're going to cause suffering. ESPECIALLY when you know that. It's the entire author's curse that is essentially THE ENEMY in the form of Dirk Strider in this narrative.

And I was inspired to handle it in a way true to a Seer or Light, heavy in lore and reminiscent to Rose’s GameFAQs Walkthrough of the SBURB Beta.

That's a very good inspiration for putting most of Rose's predictions in her narrations below her walking away from that conversation.

They go a lot into the idea of her creating a Spatial shield, whether it would fall into the confines of her powerset. I like a lot of the keywords used here:

A stray missile comes towards them and the shield won’t bounce it off but manipulate and control the space around it.

Note the keywords 'manipulate and control', the change/control/manipulate keywords we've always held so central to the theorized Witch role and possibly the Heir role by extension.

And ultimately:

I think in general, a lot of aspected powers are limited only by the user’s imagination! But even putting that aside, it makes a lot of sense to me that she’d have the tight control necessary of a spatial perimeter necessary to do something as basic as maintain a shield. We’ve seen her do way crazier shit before.

--who could disagree?

FLORAL: There was a lot to explore with this conversation between Rose and Jade, the first one they’ve had privately since fucking… ACT 5, 2011?

Yeah, they barely got STARTED with the unpacking. And Rose refused to continue it because she foresaw that it'd be ultimately pointless.

Many thoughts of how their dynamic could be and how their dynamic would evolve under current conditions went into it and it was so fun!! Writing two people that obviously understand one another so well while feeling completely misunderstood and frustrated because they’re not being empathized with is complicated! But exactly how you show a character's specific perspective the best in my opinion. Rose and Jade share a lot of experiences, especially considering their Aspect switcheroo fake out, and have taken such completely different lessons from them. I love their friction!

What's also unsaid here is how their Aspect switcharoo fake out was also secretly potentially paired with a REAL class switcharoo in the form of role inversion that they BOTH underwent, Jade getting a distrust of Seeing and Rose gaining a distrust of Witchcraft in making any ultimate difference as this wasn't the way they were best meant to operate as themselves, but can't help but project onto each other when stressed.

We know from Meat that even without all of Candy’s baggage they aren’t close. So why? There are very probable, passive answers and then there are equally probable drama answers, that actively communicate parts of these characters we never got to see clash.

Really interesting. And yeah, we DID get to see that from this update.

MILES: I think, and this is something that we’re going to touch on later in this commentary/update, part of that is that they really aren’t that compatible in terms of their interpersonal problem solving styles.

We talked about this in a great deal of detail surrounding the update in question, and I'm glad they were intentionally provoking us to think about these things!

Okay there's a section here that I'm going to quote in FULL from the Patreon commentary, and it also outlines a divide, a HUGE rift between Candy Jade and Candy Rose that Meat Jade/Rose wouldn't have experienced, and the tragedy of its basic inevitability because of how events turned out:

MILES: And speaking of dear, sweet Yiffy, and the way Rose and Jade’s attitudes differ, there really isn’t a better example of their incompatibility than the two entirely polarized attitudes they take towards Yiffy’s existence: Rose’s detached view of Yiffy as amounting to nothing more than an inconvenient favor she did for a friend, as part of a cosmic obligation she barely even understands (more on this later), spits directly in the face of Jade’s knowledge that Yiffy is, without question, the most important thing in her life. It’s arguably “right” that Rose chose to completely sterilize any feelings she might possibly have had (but probably barely even ever did) for Yiffy in terms of maintaining some modicum of emotional fidelity to her Actual Wife and her Actual Daughter, but obviously that’s going to chafe Jade. Jade’s a lonely person! Yiffy was a way to fill that void, and although having a daughter has absolutely brought some purpose, companionship, and stability to her life, the complications that came along with it have absolutely served to isolate her even more in other ways.

:'(

With all the setups being given to us like Dave's stuffed corpse falling out of Jade's pocket, or the idea of Kanaya finding "new love" before Rose is saved that she refused to Foresee (I'm still banking on that Light Between Space OT3, you can't stop me), I'm really hoping that Candy Jade can both live through this and come to a MUCH LESS LONELY peace than she's come to in other timelines we've been forced to witness. I don't want Meat Jade to be the only Jade that comes out of this healthier and happier than she went in.

The commentary gets into Jade and Rose's debate on what Truth means, from a Light perspective or a Space perspective almost...

That’s why it was felt important to comment on Rose’s estranged relationship to Roxy too, in her ramble. Really cementing questions that were hinted at before, can you find closure in another, younger version of your dead parent? How does that evolve over the years?

I really hope that we get a version of Rose and Roxy out of at LEAST one of the two ongoing timelines that end up MUCH closer than this update implied Rose's parental relationship had forced them to stay estranged rather than get closer like they could have, possibly should have. I want them to come to terms with each other because they could be SUCH good sisters to each other. And maybe in the Meat timeline when they're put into direct conflict, when Roxy achieves some sort of victory over Rose, Void over the gaps in Ultimate Light, that it finally punches through her emotional barriers and lets that version of Rose accept her essentially-sister the way her Candy Self never let happen.

And now we get to that horrifying future-sight screed of Rose into the narrative text zone...

FLORAL: Everything Rose talks about in her monologue was so, so nerve wracking to write, to take so many points of what makes this character who they are laid out for the reader.

Yeah, it made so little sense why she'd say such callous things to Kanaya earlier unless she had been DELIBERATELY trying to push her away... which as it turned out in this monologue, she absolutely had been, having foreseen her own coma.--

Which is hard for serialized media because you guys don’t get those answers the way you would if you were watching a movie or a book, there’s real time waiting completely out of your control. It’s anxiety inducing! I’ve had a good deal of Homestuck induced anxiety myself lol.

Hell to the fucking yes. We're all feeling that incredible anxiety and only the writer knows, for sure, that it's all going to turn out okay, but we the readers have to wait in limbo with our anxieties gnawing at us all the while.

MILES: I totally get where you’re coming from, on that. This bit felt like a part we really did need to write, partially for that exact reason; taking the readers on an exciting voyage to the twisted shores of Rose’s nihilisthmus is a peek behind the curtains that hopefully DOES serve to contextualize just how checked out she is and provide some more clarification on why it is she’s acting the way she does.

Instead of taking individual text blocks, Miles is going to give us the whole shebang summary, so I'll pull it straight out of the patreon commentary wholesale since anyone suffering like me probably ought to hear it with me:

Overall, as a Light player trapped in a universe/timeline/whatever-you-want-to-call-Candy devoid of “real” narrative consequence (and thusly, devoid of any “real” fortune that might seek to inform her Light-aspected guidance), she’s been sort of adrift! Imagine having access to a cosmic intuition that points you towards what’s “best” and then, one day, you notice it’s broken. Still trying, but broken nonetheless. Rose is already predisposed towards existential malaise; she’s always needed action to fill that void, and when the little voice in your head suddenly starts telling you that you live in a world where action is fundamentally meaningless, coping with that reality probably... fucking sucks! She has nonetheless done an admirable job of trying to keep herself anchored with a wife she DOES care for and a daughter she DOES love, but fighting the creeping thought that none of it means anything at all? Having what you believe is objective cosmic confirmation of nihilism woven into the foundation of the reality you inhabit? That’s scary shit. Honestly, it’s kind of a wonder she’s even as sane as she is, but Rose, for better or worse, is quite the badass. Not great for the people around her, though.

I'm starting to see, that's useful additional information. Rose's Seer of Light powers aren't just telling her that this timeline doesn't matter, they're also almost broken to the point of uselessness by the fact that so little 'matters' in the entire world. And those malfunctioning powers have been reinforcing her nihilism just as much as the message that this is a Doesn't Matter Timeline is. Gosh that's depressing... and I hope what Vriska, the Plot Point, and the New Session pulling in their children does manages to eventually shake her out of it, even if she needs to get miraculously saved from a coma first.

Moving on...

Karkat and Kanaya clasping hands being awesome, yeah.

Jake and Jane's confrontation. As much as they wanted in their hearts to give Jake a win, they had to make him lose here because Jane is just too wildly powerful to fall to him when he'd only just turned around, and had to make it sentimental and personal instead of doing something cold and unloading enough lead into her to kill a God of Healing, which wasn't something he'd prepared himself to do, doing something more Jake and "cinematic" instead.

Then we cut back to the kids, and the next update:

11-2024 Writer Commentary

Okay, here we go. What are you going to give us from that last update that was such an emotional whiplash of impacts?

FLORAL, loving some bacon: THE HOMEWRECKER IS DEAD!!!!!!

God damnit XD You fucking jokesters.

Some comments they have about Jake's letter here, which seems unintentionally tailor made to provoke Vrissy into a frenzy:

We’ve been trying to give him a little shade of passive aggression, just a hint of spice, and I think this letter was a fun place for that. “Sorry but you guys are kind of weak as fuck, can’t do a single backflip, and so you need to sit here and eat these considerately provided packages of snacks while a real gymnast handles shit.” It’s a flex, but I think it also demonstrates his caretaker tendencies.

I'm trying to dissect what they're saying about him and more could mean about, like, his potential Class and Aspect, but I'm coming up with bupkis aside from all our previous scattershot analyses. Gymnasts can be Breath, Breath can be Provokers, and plenty of classes can be Caretakers, but... I'm still not entirely sure where Tavvy is going to land on the hero spectrum.

MILES: Unfortunately, he probably should have accounted for the fact that these two aren’t really inclined to listen to him. When Tavvy flips the script on their established relationship dynamic, as he has quite a bit these days, it rubs at least Vrissy the wrong way.

Yeah it didn't seem like Tavvy was TRYING to provoke Vrissy to run out in rage and try to do something heroic to keep her kismesis from showing her up, but he definitely had that effect unintentionally as hard as it possibly could have been, and any variety of Breath player could have unintentionally managed that, even a Bard. The Caretaker thing is being reinforced by the soda and snacks though, and this writer commentary... is it pointing to a specific caretaker class like a Maid of Breath? Hmm.

On Jade dying right in front of them:

Clearly shit is popping off a bit more flagrantly than the kids imagined.

To put it mildly, yeah.

Tensions have been building for a while, but blood’s been definitively drawn now. It’s been a lot of setup to get to this point, but it’s super satisfying to see it all reach a boiling point here, even if it comes at the cost of poor sweet Jade’s cranial structural integrity.

Everything this entire-- well, "Act", now that we KNOW it's an Act, has been building towards THIS climax in particular. A moment where so much shit goes down that we can officially say in every way that Shit Has Gone Down, and they had to herald it in with SOMETHING shocking I guess... especially if they want to neutralize the lingering macguffin that is Candy Calliope's spare Ring of Life if I had to guess from the hints they've been dropping.

The act curtain drop, the psyche, and...

MILES: You’ll notice that, with this little gag (which felt so fun to do, by the way), we’ve returned to the ACT structure, abandoning the CHAPTER format HS^2 utilized before the production change. This was a point of a lot of thought, for us, but ultimately we think that the Act structure makes more sense for the story it is that we’re trying to tell, for a variety of reasons that I’m not gonna get TOO into here.

With a new session on the cusp of starting, I can really imagine why.

That said, we’re coming up to the climax of what we consider... I don’t know, the “setup” period of the plot? It’s been a long, long road, and it’s tough to say what final percentage of HS:BC this whole saga is going to represent, but capping it off all under the purview of one Act feels appropriate. Everything, from the beginning of HS^2 to now, has been dedicated to fully selling the transition from the Epilogues to what has become Homestuck: Beyond Canon. It’s been just over a year of updates on our end, and it’s so crazy to see this arc getting ready to finish!

That confirms a feeling I was getting but wasn't sure whether to confirm. That the entire time we've been experiencing HS^2, interrupted by that long hiatus in between, was meant to be a setup for THIS moment where we realize a new session is starting, and we're dumped fuck deep into the Game Session format with all the establishing situations and incoming vectors and player collisions to come laid out like bullets streaming in converging on a single point of impact.

And to finish it out, they analyze our new Dark Purple Text Friend!

HAVEN: “Negging” this is new! And again with this 108 number pattern, how curious.

I genuinely forgot they did that 108 earlier in Vriska's plot point. Read back on my Homestuck Liveblog tag for people pointing out the significance of that as HS:BC's act number.

This person seems to drag on each sentence... Before snapping back to finality.

A trait I hadn't noticed besides the bombs, but a trait one bomb-and-fuse oriented could be reasonably said to have without indicating to us which Doom class this obviously-Doom-player is.

HAVEN: A lot of information here! TC and AA, who are curious characters and what could their roles be? (well I suppose you could guess their upcoming roles.)

There probably ARE hints to TC and AA's literal hero roles, their classes and aspects (such as Oracle being listed there), but we don't have enough of them on hand to tell the wheat from the chaff just yet beyond that. I'm sure we're going to be getting piles of hints in the coming pages both up through and after and possibly within whatever flash-like animation they're taking extra time to cook up for us to celebrate the miracle of this new beginning.

They point out GC's "and we did spend a lot of time on it..." meaning they're the ones that must have coded this new incarnation of The Game out of the Ruins codebase.

HAVEN: Here I think there was going to be a line specifying they had “47 friends lined up” but it got switched out. JAMES: I wonder if that's important. I guess we still need to be sort of coy about it.Which is horseshit. HAVEN: Yeah, that IS horseshit! Anyway our coyness continues.

I like how they wanted to make at least a JOKING reference to a 48-player Squiddle session that isn't going to happen, because I'm still betting that somewhere between 8 and 16 people is the most we can comfortably fit in a new plot like this, not to mention the Gene pattern that seems to be being followed so far, but we'll have to see.

Alright, that's the end of four posts of commentary. I've gained a LITTLE bit of meaningful information and some expectations on the upcoming timeline, and I hope you have too, and I also hope I didn't pull so much out of the Patreon exclusive info that y'all don't feel discouraged to chip into Homestuck Beyond Canon too like I'm doing if you have extra dosh to spare (but only to spare, don't impact your livelihood if you need the money for important/life things, that's advice they and anyone else would give you).

I'm feeling slightly less sick by luck now that I've rammed all this typing out of my fingers, and hopefully y'all feel a little less of the ominousness that can't help but hang around recent in-canon events. Phew.

I see in the Patreon comments some commenters are extrapolating from that cut "48" that Dirk wants to create the session that made the TROLL session (with the trolls' 48 star signs) to complete a solid loop, which I concede is possible, but I doubt his goals are really all that pedestrian, that wouldn't make him the most important the way he's aiming-- you already have my counter-speculation in hand that Dirk intends to create the session that gave birth to the chess game ITSELF, that gave birth to the Prospit/Derse system and the very seed session for the propagation of Paradox Space. Alt!Calliope seems like they're practically in alignment with him on the goal, wanting to tie Beyond Canon back down into a neat self-causing loop excepting that Alt!Callie's intending to ensure he doesn't get to make himself the Author Of All That Exists, no matter who it hurts when she forces the issue, which makes Alt!Calliope not much different from him. And between these dueling forces, we have the ever-underestimated plans of Calliope and Roxy across both timelines, the Muse of Space and the Rogue of Void, who seem to have SUCCEEDED in collaborating knowingly or unknowingly across the timelines to use Vriska as a shunt to SOMEHOW get the Candy Kids to be important friends and players in this new Game, bringing things all full circle in a way not even Alt!Calliope thought would save their home timeline but quite possibly can. How exciting!

It hurts, sometimes, but gosh do I still love Homestuck. See y'all whenever that next hiatusy bombastic probably Flash-animation-like update goes up in a month or two or however long it takes them, bless their diligent crazy hearts.

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #Homestuck^2 #Writer Commentary #Artist Commentary #Patreon Commentary #Rose Lalonde #Jade Harley #Tavros Crocker #Light and Void #Kanaya #gavageCunctation #Beyond Canon #Dirk Strider #Alt!Calliope

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lovelynim · 1 year ago

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hello Nim, congrats on 900 followers! may I request a tickle interrogation fic with lee caelus and ler dr. ratio? you probably know why I ask.... if not, anything haikaveh would be cool please!

Hi anon!

I think you're talking about the scene with Dr. Ratio trapping Caelus in the recent update, right? Heheh, guess our mind went the same way...

“WahAHAHAIT!! Eheheh, n-nohoho mohohore!!” Caelus laughed, clenching his hands into fists while the restrains around his wrists kept them tied to the chair’s arms. His attempts of protecting his body from his captor’s ticklish assault were, so far, all fruitless. The only thing he could do was to laugh - and laugh a lot.

With some sort of inhumane precision, those fingers knew exactly where they should strike to send Caelus into a fit of hysteric giggles, effortlessly drawing out more and more of his laughter. “C-cohohohome on!! GihiHIhive me a brehehak!!” Caelus whined through chuckles, scrunching up his shoulders and pressing his eyes shut as if it would make the tickling any more bearable.

Still, his captor didn’t seem to be convinced and, instead, continued to knead at the soft spot below Caelus’s ribs.

After a couple of minutes that felt like an eternity, the tickling stopped. Caelus let out a loud groan, feeling his cheeks a little sore from smiling for so long. It was only when the sound of his laughter ceased that Caelus could focus on what the man in front of him was saying. Right, he remembered: his captor - Dr. Ratio - was explaining why he was being interrogated in the first place.

“And, therefore, the prime suspect behind Herta’s disappearance is… you”, Dr. Ratio concluded, withdrawing his hands and resting them over Caelus’s arms. “Now, do I need to repeat myself one more time or was this enough to help you remember where you were during the puppet’s disappearance?”

Right, it’s because of that. If anything, Caelus knew he just had to prove that he was innocent and had nothing to do with the puppet going missing, but how was he supposed to do that while strapped to a chair?

The trailblazer sighed, looking away as he tried to clear his thoughts. For some reason, he couldn’t recall most of the details and all the events from earlier that day were a bit blurry inside his head.

“It’s impolite to ignore a person while they are speaking to you,” Dr. Ratio interrupted, placing one hand on Caelus’s shoulder as he looked at him straight in his eyes. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to answer my question and spare us both from wasting any more time in this absurd interrogation, I’d be pleased. Where were you during the puppet’s disappearance?” Dr. Ratio said firmly, narrowing his eyes.

Caelus sighed, looking up to Dr. Ratio’s face. The way this man talked made him feel even more confused, but he knew he had to give him an answer - and do it soon.

#asks #anon #900 followers milestone #milestone event #honkai star rail #honkai star rail tickling #lee!caelus #ler!dr ratio #ticklish!caelus #caelus #dr ratio

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silvyadrakkon · 7 months ago

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3 Under-Discussed Writer’s Block Busters

You all know me as an artist, but my first love will always be writing. And writer’s block is REAL.

So I thought I’d throw out a few of my moderately unusual writer’s block busters to help my fellow authors.

Of course, the most common “answers” to writer’s block are:

Just keep writing, even if you don’t want to. (Something is better than nothing.)

Write now, edit later. (Leave your perfectionism at the door.)

Find what makes you most creative. (Play music, write during the same time of day, find good snacks, write in the right setting, and so on).

These are definitely helpful tips—things you 100% want to do whether you have writer’s block or not, but they’re not much use against more stubborn forms of creative constipation.

That’s where my three failsafe fix-its come in. They have always worked for me, no matter the situation.

1. Change your writing method.

Story time! I haven’t been able to write for personal prodjects on a computer for four years—about as long as I’ve been writing and editing for my career. I associate my computer with business—even now that I’m between jobs.

My creativity freezes up whenever I try to work on one of my stories, and I get really distracted. Eventually I end up down a rabbit hole looking up limnic eruptions or different types of crocodiles, having only written a paragraph of a completely unrelated story.

I swapped to hand-writing stuff just after my son was born, and that worked for a long time. I filled several notebooks with some great content (that will eventually be ready for you to read). But then my kid started walking, and I became his favorite chair.

If I have a pen, my kid wants it. And he won’t take a decoy pen. He specifically wants the pen in my hand, so writing when he’s awake is kind of out of the question. (I can only draw when he’s awake because I can balance my tablet on the back of our sofa.) Plus, those of you with munchkins know that you’re generally doing other responsible adult things when the kiddo is asleep, making writing then rather difficult.

I learned I can get a lot of writing done on my phone in the Apple Notes app. It sure beats doom-scrolling Tumblr and is a vast improvement over my retro minesweeper game when I’m spending some quality time in the bathroom. It’s also something I can write with when standing up, sitting on the couch, or hiding behind the baby gate on our stairs.

Can’t get the words out on Google Docs? Switch to Microsoft Word. Getting distracted on your computer? Handwrite your story—in a notebook or even on colorful construction paper. Don’t be afraid to experiment, even across the same story.

2. Get a second opinion.

I have a character floating around my WIPs who’s an absolute blast to write (I can unleash my full punning arsenal), but he’s also an ENFP, meaning we see the world in completely different ways. I often find myself stuck on how he would get out of the really nutty situations he often gets himself into. Thankfully, my ESFJ husband has really strong Extroverted Intuition (an ENFP’s dominant Jungian function), so I can often turn to him and ask, “What would be the dumbest could-work way you’d fix this problem?”

Asking for a second opinion is surprisingly low on most writer’s block fix-it lists, but it is by far one of the most helpful. I’ve been my mom’s developmental story consultant since I could read, and it’s been a great way for her to really churn out the novels. (It’s also a great motivation to finish your story because at least one person will be wanting to read it when you’re done.)

Even if you don’t take someone’s advice, it might still spark something that’ll propel your story forward.

3. Change your story’s direction.

Adapted from The Writing Life by Annie Dillard

Writing, in many ways, is a lot like digging a silver mine. As you rummage around your own head for precious nuggets (those really impactful scenes readers remember forever), you’re setting up a sturdy narrative shaft, using exposition and rising action to fortify walls so your story doesn’t collapse on itself.

Experienced miners know when a shaft isn’t structurally sound. They won’t willingly enter or work on a mine that could cave in on them, gauging the safety of the mine through small clues—clues their demanding boss is completely blind to.

Your creative subconscious is a miner, and you, its employer. While not always, writer’s block could be an early sign that your story is about to collapse. Perhaps you’ve accidentally let a plot hole grow too large to fill with easy edits, or maybe the way you’re taking your story will fall flat, leaving you and your readers unsatisfied. Sure, you can force your creative subconscious to continue, but you’ll end up with a lot of unusable content in the end.

If you think you’re in a mine shaft writer’s block scenario, go back several plot points and start writing in another direction. If that doesn’t work, go back a few more plot points. While doing so may temporarily upset the plans you had for the novel, it will let you continue writing in peace and produce a better finished product.

#lemme know if you want more writing wisdom from a professional editor #hope this is helpful #writers block #writing #writing tips #writers block tips #creative tips #story writing #creative writing #creative process #writing help

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shadowland · 8 months ago

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Emmylou Harris interview by Cameron Crowe Rolling Stone, June 19, 1975

Fame Catches Up with Emmylou

Los Angeles – Guitar in hand, Gram Parsons sat in his road manager’s Laurel Canyon home and coached singer Emmylou Harris through the harmonies of the old Burritos classic, “Sin City.” Later, after she’d excused herself for a visit to the kitchen, Parsons grinned proudly. “There she is,” he said, “that’s my kick in the ass, keep an eye on her.”

That was in 1973. Now, two years later, Harris’s first major solo effort, Pieces of the Sky, has done well and her current club and concert tour (augmented by a band featuring Elvis’s guitarist James Burton and his keyboard player Glen D. Hardin) is drawing unanimous raves. But Emmylou Harris, it seems, is the last to catch up with Emmylou Harris. Still a bit dazed over Parsons’s untimely death in the fall of ’73, the 28-year-old singer is only now waking up to the reality of a successful solo career.

“I know what’s happening but it hasn’t really hit me yet,” she drawls softly, curled up on the sofa of a West Hollywood hotel room. Two nights earlier, she’d enthralled a capacity Palomino Club audience that included such luminaries as Bonnie Raitt, Maria Muldaur, Lowell George, Commander Cody, Joni Mitchell and Linda Ronstadt (for whose recent country hit, “I Can’t Help It” Harris provided the strong counter harmony). “I guess it’s just been a kind of long hard road. In a way I’ve been at this for almost ten years on almost all kinds of levels – from waiting tables to playing in New York clubs and not having anybody listen to me, to making a terrible first record for a bankrupt company to working with Gram.

“I suppose working with Gram was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me,” she continues. “There was just something very magical about the experience. It was so much fun to just get up there, sing with him, and not worry about carrying a show myself. Everyone paid all this attention to me and told me how good I was and all that. It was really like being some kind of fairytale princess. Somehow that affected me more than all this that’s happening now.” She lets her words settle for a moment, then decides on a quip. “Maybe I’m on time delay.”

Born in Alabama and raised in Virginia, Harris remembers a reputation of being a “real prig” in high school. “I was considered to be a kind of oddball. You know, always studying and making good grades. Singing began as a social thing. I realized when I started singing at parties people began noticing me. High schools are real hip now, everybody’s cool, but there was a counter-culture in Woodbridge, Virginia, in 1963. You were either a homecoming queen or a real weirdo. Here I was a 16-year-old Wasp, wanting to quit school and become Woody Guthrie.”

Instead, Harris made it to the University of North Carolina on a drama scholarship. Using free time to play off-campus bars in a folk duo, she lasted a year and a half before applying to the more prestigious drama department at Boston University. “I was gonna work as a waitress in Virginia Beach for a while to get enough tuition money,” she recalls. “But there was an incredible little music scene going on down there. That’s when I got serious about singing.”

Harris never made it to Boston U. “I thought I was going to get married. My first big love below up in my face, so I just went to New York ’cause there was nothing else to do. I was greener than green. I got a room at the YWCA, started going to the Village, playing basket houses [pass-the-hat-clubs] and just . . . hangin’ out.”

In two years of scuffling around New York, Emmylou made some valuable friends like singers Jerry Jeff Walker and David Bromberg. “Besides turning me on to country music, they sort of looked out for me,” she says. “Even so, I must have had some protective kind of bubble around me. I used to walk home from gigs on dark streets at two in the morning with my guitar and never think anything of it. Looking back, I get scared to death.”

Harris’s first album (on the now defunct Jubilee records), recorded in New York just after her marriage, is one she’d like to forget. “I was trying to keep it a secret,” she laughs (ironically, since the 1970 release was titled Emmylou Harris). “I hope somebody in authority will be able to buy the masters and burn them. Everybody involved with that record hated everybody else and I was in the middle trying to keep the peace. It was a disaster.”

Several months after recording, “the worst possible thing any girl could ever do to her budding career” happened. Harris became pregnant with her child, Hallie. “Up until then,” she admits, “my life had been a little too nebulous, I had no clear vision at all. The pregnancy, although it wasn’t planned, gave me something very real and something present to relate to.”

Later, with her marriage broken and ten dollars in her pocket, the protectiveness of motherhood, soon drove Harris out of New York. “I didn’t know where I was gonna go, but I knew I had to get a job and make some money. By accident I got back into music through some friends, Billy and Kathy Danoff [writers of ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’]. They were still living in their basement apartment with all the cockroaches running around. They were the ones that put a guitar in my hands and ordered me onstage again.”

It was early ’71 when Flying Burrito Brothers guitarist Rick Roberts stumbled onto Harris performing in a small Washington D.C. bar called the Red Fox. The next night, Roberts brought the rest of the Burritos down for a look. They invited her to join the band; before she could accept, the Burritos had dissolved.

“Chris Hillman,” Emmylou remembers, “wanted to come out to L.A. so he could produce some demo tapes. He was really busy at the time. Anyway, I think it probably worked out the way it should have.” The way it worked out was for Hillman to turn on Gram Parsons, the Burritos’ long estranged cofounder, to their incredible discovery. Months later, Parson dropped in on one of Harris’s many D.C appearances and made a few vague promises. A year later, Parsons invited her to L.A. to sing on his first solo album, GP. Their partnership quickly intensified. “It was gonna be a Dolly Parton-Porter Wagoner situation. We didn’t see any need to break up that partnership because we really got higher on what we did together than anything we did separately. I still feel that way.”

It was hard work, she says, that kept her from slipping into an extended depression. “Gram’s death was like falling off a mountain. It was a very hard year between his death and the recording of my album [Pieces of the Sky]. A year of throwing myself into a lot of work that my heart wasn’t really into. There was a lot of stumbling involved. I was playing quite a few bars and was in a real vulnerable position. People felt that they could come up and ask me anything. I used to get hostile. It hurt. I didn’t want to get emotional around some perfect stranger who had the goddamn gall to come up and ask me something that was none of his goddamn business.”

The subject brings her close to tears. “Gram was such an amazing part of my life. I have so many good memories of him, it seems pointless to dwell on the tragedy of it.” Abruptly, she reaches to turn up the country station already blaring from a hotel room radio. “Do you like Conway Twitty?” she asks. “I just love the harmony on this.”

Pieces of the Sky was almost a year long project in itself. Emmylou for one could not be more proud. With the help of Anne Murray’s ex-producer Brian Ahern, great care was taken in selecting material. “I’m just starting to write again,” says Harris. “I don’t mind the fact that I only wrote one song [“Boulder to Birmingham,’ cowritten with Bill Danoff] on the album. There are just too many tunes that I get off doing and want to turn people on to. I feel very deeply and personally involved with each one, so I don’t miss that writer’s identity of making a statement.

“I think any singer feels that way,” Harris says about choosing songs like the Everly Brothers’ “Sleepless Nights,” the Beatles’ “For No One”and Dolly Parton’s “Coat of Many Colors.” Like Linda [Ronstadt]. When she sings a song it’s really sung. Nobody cares that she doesn’t write; the delivery’s all that really matters.”

Besides a heavy touring schedule and the summer recording of her next album, Emmylou Harris spunkily refuses to acknowledge the long-range future. “A lot of my life has been circumstance. The future just doesn’t exist for me. You’re not responsible for decisions if you don’t make them.

“What do I see in the future?” Harris asks, reaching for the telephone. “A chocolate shake. Hello, Room Service?”

#emmylou harris #gram parsons #pieces of the sky #1975 #70s

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oohnotvery · 8 months ago

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Hand To Your Heart (Chapter 4)

After he leaves for Maryland, Scully doesn’t hear from Mulder for a day and a half. She figures it’s just as well. He told her this case was none of her business, so why should she bother concerning herself with its details?

But try as she might to ignore the pain, her mind is in turmoil. She knows she and Mulder have been out of sorts for weeks, but it’s unlike him to turn on her so aggressively. We’re not partners anymore, he said. Don’t hold me back, Scully.

Every time she remembers his words, she stops breathing. He stared at her like . . . like she was his enemy. Like she wasn’t his greatest fan, his most loyal supporter, his devoted partner. No, this isn’t just a casual falling out between friends; there is something far more insidious at play in the way he’s been acting.

She’s a scientist; she knows how to put two and two together. Mulder didn’t start acting this way until Diana Fowley arrived on the scene. Ever since that woman sank her claws into him, he’s become distrustful and moody and selfish. She only wonders if he’ll ever snap out of it, or if she’ll be stuck with this version of Mulder for the rest of . . .

For the rest of . . . forever?

“Forever” used to feel right for them. It only took a few months of them working together for Scully to realize that Mulder was it, that for the rest of her life, she’d be by his side. There was no future she could imagine without him playing a starring role.

But now the word forever feels bitter and acidic on her tongue. It doesn’t make sense for them, not if he’s going to act like she’s an impediment. Not if he’s found someone else to be his partner . . . .

She’s slipping out of the shower when she hears a loud knock at the door. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, she trots into her living room just as Mulder enters her apartment.

She blinks in surprise as he dangles his keys at her.

“I let myself in,” he says unnecessarily, and she nods, stupefied.

There’s water dripping from the ends of her hair, and she glances at the clock, noting that it’s nearly ten o’clock.

“Everything alright?” she finally asks, eyes sliding back to his.

He takes a step towards her and lights from her floor lamps illuminate his unnervingly giddy expression. It alarms her. Wasn’t it just yesterday that they fought? Why does he look so happy all of a sudden? Instinctually, she crosses her arms over her chest, as if this act will protect her from whatever Mulder is about to throw at her.

He’s either unable or unwilling to read her cues, however, because he takes her by the shoulder and starts guiding her into her bedroom, his eyebrows jumping with excitement. Her hands fly to his forearms in protest but he’s strong, and when he tosses her onto her bed, she freezes.

Before she can enlist the help of her higher reasoning, his lips are falling to the juncture of her throat and shoulder, licking a long, wet path up her neck to her jawline. His hands wander over her breasts and down to the waistline of her sweatpants, and he tugs. Her breath hitches as she realizes that he’s trying to take off her pants. Her mouth parts in protest and her mind screams that she needs to put an end to this.

God, but it’s been weeks since he’s touched her like this, and her body resists the brain’s message. And as he slips off her underwear, she willingly parts her legs.

His eyes flick up to hers and a triumphant grin lifts to his lips just before he brings his mouth to her center. Her hips surge off the bed as pleasure unwillingly floods her body. Jesus Christ. She really, really wants this. And yet she really, really doesn’t want this. The effect is confusing. Her hands fall helplessly to his dark mop of hair and she starts to push him away, but then his tongue slides inside her and she can’t resist tugging him closer, nudging her clit against his nose. Fueled by her responsiveness, he hums greedily against her, wraps his arms around her thighs, and draws her tighter against his face.

When his lips form a suction around her clit, she whimpers in strained agony, trying and failing to fight the pleasure building inside her. But it’s becoming clear that he’s going to force this orgasm from her, whether he means to or not. Sensing that she’s getting closer, he slips one finger, then two, inside her and pulses them against her inner wall. One of her hands flies from his hair to cover her mouth. She bites her fist as she tries not to give into the waves and waves and waves of sensation.

Because if she comes for him, she’s weak, right? It would be undignified to come for a man who has no respect for her.

Oh, but this is Mulder eating her out, and try as she might, she can’t fight the culmination of emotions and physical sensations in her body. He’s too damn good at it, and he’s had too much practice doing exactly this to her with his mouth. He presses a kiss directly to her center and her back arches like a cat. It feels so fucking good. The pleasure in her body starts to drown out the weightier, more unpleasant messages her brain is sending.

So what if she lets Mulder go down on her tonight? What’s the big deal? There’s nothing wrong with letting herself have a little pleasure every now and then. There’s strength in that too, right?

“Stop overthinking it,” he mumbles against her clit, and she grits her teeth in frustration at his ability to read her so easily. “Come on, Scully, come on my face.”

She slams a fist into the mattress, her back arching as she tries to fight it one last time. Don’t give in, don’t give in—

“Come on, baby.” He rises abruptly to his feet, two fingers still inside her, and fixes her with a feral look. Above her, he looks powerful, a chameleon-eyed god cut from sharpest stone. It is not fair, she thinks angrily as he starts to drive his fingers in and out of her at a furious pace. It is not fair to have one’s senses assaulted with such an awesome amount of beauty, with such an agonizing amount of pleasure.

He slides a knee in between her legs and uses the weight of his body to drive his hands harder into her. A bead of sweat slips down her temple and he surges forward to lick it off her skin before pressing his lips to hers. His thumb slots into place against her clit and he rocks into her body, applying pressure in all the right places. She’s coming undone. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Her breathing becomes unsteady; her chest rises and falls erratically. And when his tongue slides against her lips and she tastes herself on him, she comes, a wild gasp into his mouth.

He stays on top of her until her orgasm subsides, rising to full height only when her heart rate starts to slow. The raucous, boiling pleasure of moments before is starting to curdle into self-hatred, and subtly, she turns her head away from him to hide the tears building on her lashes.

But he plops down beside her, one large hand falling to her naked thigh. He strokes slowly up and down the crease of her leg and she bites the inside of her cheek until her tears start to dry. But his fingers being to wander across her thigh and up into her wet center, and when he brushes her overly sensitive clit, it breaks something inside her.

Yanking her legs up into her chest, she scrambles to the other side of the bed and closes her eyes, trying desperately to forget what just happened. I did not just let Mulder do that to me, she repeats to herself. I did not let Mulder back into my bed. I did not—

“Scully?” she hears. She steadies herself with a deep breath, then opens her eyes. Mulder has twisted to face her, his eyebrows slanted in concern.

Why does he look so confused?

Her voice trembles when she speaks. “What the hell was that?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I figured I owed you one.”

Her heart plummets and her lips part. When she is composed enough to speak, her voice is rough with indignation. “So, obligation, then?”

He frowns. “You didn’t come last time, Scully.”

She blinks, confused. So he did notice. “It’s been six weeks,” she breathes.

“And?”

She swallows, clutching her hands together to stop the violent trembling in her fingers. “It’s been six weeks since you fucked me, and you’re only just now deciding it’s a good time to reciprocate?”

He huffs and adjusts himself so that he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. Off-handedly, she notices that he is half-hard. “So just because I’ve been a little distracted means I’m not allowed to come over and give you what I owed you?”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Literally anywhere,” he says, and she notes the undertone of aggravation in his voice. “Lay it on me, Scully.”

She swallows, trying to gather her jumble of thoughts. “You didn’t owe me an orgasm, Mulder, we didn’t make a contract. Our—our sexual arrangement was not a tit-for-tat transaction.”

“Say tit again, Scully—”

“Do not mock me,” she hisses furiously. Their eyes lock and when he realizes she’s serious, he nods. “You say you’ve been distracted,” she continues after a moment, “and I never expected our arrangement to include exclusivity rights, but you’ve barely even looked at me in six weeks, much less managed to suggest that our arrangement was still in play.”

He frowns. “Of course it’s still in play, Scully, it’s always in play—”

“It’s not always in play,” she growls, “I’m not a sex toy.”

He twists to face her fully now, his face darkening in outrage. “What? Of course you’re not, Scully—”

“You used me last time—”

“I never—”

“You fucked me, and hurt me, and you just admitted that you knew I didn’t enjoy it, and now you’re coming here nearly two months later with some half-ass excuse about being too distracted, and you’re hoping that one round of oral sex will magically bandage up this entire thing?”

He gapes. “I hurt you?”

“That’s not the point—”

He reaches for her arm and she yanks away so fast that she nearly tumbles off the bed. He catches her shoulders and holds her in place, her face flaming, her lower half still embarrassingly exposed.

“Scully,” he says softly, his eyes turning tender in a way that she hasn’t seen in weeks. His thumbs rub gently across her biceps. “What do you mean I hurt you?”

“Stop,” she replies, batting away his hands. “That isn’t the point. The point is, you can’t just use me for sex whenever you feel like it. You can’t just—just show up and—and do what you just did—”

“Did you not like it?”

“It’s not about liking it, it’s about you coming here expecting something of me when you’ve ignored me for weeks!” she shouts. “You—”

“How did I hurt you?” he begs, reaching once again for her arm. “Please tell me, Scully.”

She shoves him away and he retreats to his corner of the bed like a kicked puppy. “It doesn’t matter,” she huffs. “What matters is that you have no interest in me as a partner or a person but as soon as you start to feel a little bit horny, you come here to use me—”

“Stop saying that!” he yells, his anger exploding around the room. His eyes flash with outrage. “Our arrangement is to be friends with benefits, is it not? We’ve had a rough couple of months, Scully, sure. We haven’t seen eye-to-eye on anything lately, and I get that. I know we’ve been out of sync, but does that mean our agreement is off?”

Her mouth opens but she can’t find the words. “I just—I just expected something different,” she finally says.

“Something different than consensual sex?” he asks, his eyebrows creasing.

I expected you to fall in love with me, her brain provides. Humiliation darkens her cheeks. How could she have been so stupid?

“I just mean—forgive me if I’m a little confused by your actions right now.” She takes a shaky breath. “It may not matter to you, but I—I don’t want to do this if we’re not at least . . . .”

“If we’re not at least what?”

She buries her face in her hands, too humiliated to express her pain. You can’t just come here and expect to hook up, she wants to say. Not when we’ve been distant for weeks. But to admit that would be to admit that she wants more out of their arrangement.

“Scully?” he prods.

She shakes her head and he groans heavily, dropping his head to his chest. “Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?” she breathes, afraid of the answer. She has a feeling she is about to discover why he’s been so withdrawn lately.

He stares at her. “Why are you always fighting me? I’m so sick of it, Scully.”

Bewildered, her eyebrows fly up. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a reason I didn’t want you there yesterday and today. You wouldn’t have believed a word of what we saw,” he says harshly. “You’ve been suspicious of Diana from the get-go. You were suspicious of what we saw in Antarctica. And now you’re not even satisfied with sex? This is what we agreed to, isn’t it?”

Tears prick at her eyes, and she briefly hates her body for revealing its vulnerabilities so easily. How could she have ever convinced herself that friends-with-benefits would be a good idea? She should never have expected Mulder to want this to grow into something more.

“Just get out,” she says under her breath.

When he doesn’t move, she turns on him sharply. “Get out, Mulder.”

He scowls, shaking his head. “But I—god, you make this so fucking impossible.”

She stays silent. She’s already said too much.

He sighs and stands, his hands falling heavily to his hips. When he doesn’t make a move to leave, she glares up at him. “What, Mulder?”

He drags his hands roughly across his face and for a half-crazed moment, she wonders if he can smell her on his fingers. “I need you with me tomorrow,” he finally says.

Her eyes widen in surprise.

“At the crime scene,” he adds.

She untangles herself slowly, dropping off the bed to stand in front of him. “Am I going mad,” she asks carefully, “or did you not just tell me you didn’t want me there because I wouldn’t believe?”

He scowls. “We have a body we need you to look at.”

“I thought Diana had no need for a scientist—”

“Can you be there or not?” he interrupts harshly.

She swallows, wondering when her gentle, tender Mulder turned into such a monster.

Diana, her subconscious mind supplies.

And then . . . it clicks. Her eyes meet his and she seems to read the answer right there on his face. Diana. Diana is the answer.

He’s fucking Diana. That’s why it took him six weeks to get back to her. That’s why he’s insisting that this arrangement remain purely platonic. That’s why he’s telling her he doesn’t need her anymore.

Her limbs turn leaden and her heart seems to stop beating. For a moment, she can hardly catch her breath. Of course. It’s all starting to make sense.

“Scully?” He’s staring at her curiously.

She feels walls starting to rise around her heart, feels barriers slamming down around her mind. Her body quickly battens down the hatches, preparing a fortress that no one—not even Mulder—will ever be able to penetrate. All the love she has for him, all the care, the passion, the affection—it’s locked up tight behind those walls, and as long as there’s the possibility of pain, those feelings will never see the light of day.

One day, she promises herself, one day far in the future, those feelings will die, starved of light and energy. But for now, she will no longer continue to feed them.

Stoically, she raises her eyes back to his. Where she used to see a lover, she now only sees a coworker. If Mulder seems to observe a change in her, he doesn’t mention it. When she speaks, her voice is hard and cold, as emotionless as possible.

“Tell me when and where.”

#mulder x scully #the x files #x files #dana scully #txf #x files fanfic #msr fanfic #fox mulder #xfiles fanfic #msr

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ivanttakethis · 7 months ago

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okay so hello first of all. second of all, thank you for all the color theory posts they are a good time. third: why do you like Ivan so much? I am an Ivan lover myself. He is my freak, my silly little guy, he spawns many of my late night ponderings but I will admit I am curious as to why you like him? Especially curious about what you consider Ivan "mischaracterization" because you are so opposed to it (I am as well though so like. i relate) anyways hope you are doing well!!

Hello fellow Ivan enjoyer! I’m glad you like my color theory ramblings 🫡

My answer got kinda long, so I’ll put it under the cut...

Part of the reason I like Ivan so much as a character is because I relate to him in a lot of ways.

Like, when he was younger, Ivan was quiet and not very good at expressing his emotions. So he had to fake/force them to fit in with the other kids.

I’ve talked about this art before, but the first time I saw it, I literally went:

“Oh. It me.” 🥹

I wasn’t as young as Ivan when I realized I didn’t quite express things as much as my peers did, but I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to have to perform to avoid being seen as weird.

My resting face is very neutral, which can look blank or emotionless to others, so when I’m around people who don’t know me well I have to put in effort to smile to avoid making them uncomfortable.

I kept seeing Ivan being mischaracterized as “emotionless” and that really rubbed me the wrong way. So that’s where my “#1 Ivan Mischaracterization Defender” title came from.

I talked more about my opinions on Ivan mischaracterizations in my Top 5 Worst Ivan Mischaracterizations post, if you’re interested in that.

Though for the most part, my title is just me being in a silly goofy mood lol.

Ivan is also just a super tragic character from pretty much start to finish.

The meteor scene. The unrequited love. Always chasing, never chased or acknowledged. Endless yearning. Black Sorrow. All of his self-deprecation. Thank you for being a victim of my shallow emotions.

His story really tugs at my heartstrings and I can’t help but root for him.

Not even to get with Till, necessarily. I just wish he could’ve found some happiness and reciprocity in his life, so he wouldn’t have thought he was so expendable. (Damn that’s really sad, anyways 😬)

I also like him because he’s a weird, silly little guy that I don’t fully understand.

Some of his motivations for the weird shit that he’s done are completely incomprehensible to me.

Why did he orchestrate that confrontation between Till and Mizi and his little wagyein buddy?

Why did he make a list of Till’s birthday presents every year just so he could (presumably) take them all??

Why did he lick Till’s blood off his fingers while making direct eye contact with him???

I don’t know. But I think that’s part of the draw. Ivan is like a puzzle.

I want to study him. I want to figure him out. I want to put him in a blender. You know?

He has bewitched me with his strange and somewhat unsettling behavior.

Thanks for the ask! I’m interested to know what you think of Ivan as well 👀

#i too ponder about ivan late at night #i’m constantly rotating this little freak in my mind #alien stage #alnst #alien stage ivan #alnst ivan #ivanttakethis shut up about ivan challenge: impossible #ivanttakethis answers #ivanttakethis talks too much

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subway-boss-jericho · 1 month ago

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(hammer anon)

I HAVE BEEN BUSY BUT I AM BACK

so! Mechanical Dreams! Is this set during PLA timeline? (As in the. The beginning) and if so, what are some of the relationships between them and the members of the clans we know? And, of course, does either of them bond with Sneasler? They can’t be wardens obviously but! Seeing as they are a lot more friendly with Pokemon than most…

then there’s also their own relationship. I cannot imagine it’s easy to suddenly have a sibling that is 120 ft tall (at least) and by contrast have a sibling that is depth and blood and tiny and vulnerable coming with you on this incredibly dangerous fights. I’d think they would both become a lot more defensive of the other.

oo now I’m thinking about how they would communicate (post blessing). Would ingo be able to talk? Would that be incredibly loud? Could he like. Ping emmet on a device? Do they have some kind of psychic bond? And on a much more angsty note: does ingo feel pain (this being a feature so he can point emmet where he needs repairs. There is! A lot of him to get hurt!)

and!!! The freaking!! Jobs they have to do. You mentioned in your drawing (very lovely btw loved the expression) that Emmet will put on his clan tunic to feel more like himself and less like the Engineer. Does ingo have anything similar? Is there a space where the two of them can calm down (without the whole “there two guys are blessed by god and have saved us” thing coming up)?

whoops this is particularly long- I really love this au and have more to poke/wonder about but I will. Send in another ask later kdndnsnsbj

oh! Hope you are having a fun holiday season!

HIII HII WELCOME BACK :D hii killing me with hammers anon <3 No worries! I've been busy with holiday stuff myself so no worries at all! Every time I see you in my inbox it makes my day

Mechanical dreams! ohh boy I am so not even slightly normal about mecha au get ready for the storm this will probably unleash

Putting the read more here because this post is going to be Very. Long.

Mechanical Dreams! Is this set during PLA timeline?

Yes! It's set in the past, around the same time as the PLA games are! This AU basically fully diverges from canon events very early on, but the main thing that stays consistent are the characters and the setting! Essentially, what if the giratina fuckery caused Darkest Day part 2 (if you don't know the what the darkest day is it's from Sw/Sh) instead of the time/space distortions

if so, what are some of the relationships between them and the members of the clans we know?

Relationships and characters! Hoo boy there is, a LOT. I don't have a whole lot of super elaborate dynamics just from the number of characters there are to talk about, but a lot of the wardens, prominent jubilife characters, and the various leaders are important and Do have opinions on the shit going on. Irida is... Under a very specific, heightened level of tension. She's the one that has to kind of, has to mediate the sudden, impossibly huge shift in the power dynamics between the major players in Hisui.

Feelings about the twins, broadly, are very complicated. Most of pearl clan were, bare minimum, acquainted with them- if not friends or close friends. Diamond clan, you'd have less who explicitly know them, and similar vein with jubilife. Still, I think they'd at least be noteworthy faces, since they're twins. Easy to recognize.

Ingo is made to be manned by a crew. He's too large to be fully self-sufficient, and Emmet can't handle all the work alone. It takes a lot of trust, but eventually folks from each walk of life become members of his crew. He becomes this sort of unifying force that brings together the people of the region- at first, hesitantly. They have to help, or they don't want to work with eachother, or what have you. Jubilife is the last to agree to work together in a scene that lives vividly in my head.

Irida is ultimately proud of their decision to take on this responsibility, even though it's put her under a lot of pressure as the "leader." Irida would end up a member of the crew Adaman is largely fascinated by the whole thing? But I think is more open to the prospect of it being a blessing from Sinnoh, and therefore more interested in cooperating for the greater good here. Adaman may or may not end up on the crew, it could go either way. You'll have to keep in mind that everyone is experiencing levels of confusion, disbelief, and fear. Calaba is sick of this shit :tm: I think she's just exasperated at this point. This doesn't make a lick of sense to her and she's not going to try. She's going to keep her head down and do her job. It should go without saying that Iscan is freaked the fuck out. I think it takes him a while before he can even be in sight of Ingo without trembling like a leaf. Emmet intimidates him, like this. Palina, I think her feelings are complicated. I feel like she would have known the twins better than other wardens, and the sudden change, I almost wonder if she feels like she's lost them. Like they're different people now- when they really aren't. Palina would end up being a crew member. Lian is, to say the very least, extremely out of his depth here. I think he may have been close to the twins- looking up to how they're able to connect with pokemon. For that reason, I think he would be more willing to extend an olive branch. He reconnects with Emmet faster, but I think he comes to accept Ingo as well, even if he doesn't understand him. Lian is a crew member. Gaeric I will be first to admit I don't know much about. I didn't finish the game (yes you can clown me its been years i have no excuse) so I don't have a strong grasp of his character. From what I've been able to glean, he values power to some extent? I'm not sure how he would feel about the twins being blessed. They weren't particularly physically exceptional before their blessings (they're twinks) but I'm not sure where Gaeric would stand on them since the strength they've been given isn't technically "their own." Jury's out on Gaeric, but I think he would ultimately join the crew. I don't have a lot of opinions about the diamond clan unfortunately, I have not thought a lot about what they'd think. I think there's some extremely mixed feelings. Diamond and Jubilife are broadly very uncomfortable with the upset in the power dynamic, since Ingo and Emmet are both from the pearl can.

Kamado is extremely distrusting of everything surrounding the twins, but struggles to present overt hostility due to the innate power play going on here. He is the number one source of conflict between the Twins earning the trust of Jubilife. Laventon- unfortunately, this is so far above his paygrade. I think after the initial shock and confusion passes and he can hold a proper thought, he would be extremely interested in trying to understand what's happened to Ingo and how he works. He would bridge the gap by trying to speak with Emmet first before ever coming near Ingo personally. They grow close, but I don't know if Laventon is ever a part of the crew itself. He assists through his research on the pokemon in the region and his insights from Galar into the dynamax phenomenon/darkest day. Cyllene. Oh it is hard to figure out what's going on with Cyllene. The most important thing to note is that, not only does she end up a member of the crew, but she ends up being the one in charge of the whole operation. I don't know how we get from point A to point B, but essentially she steps up to fill the void Kamado has foolishly left and repair burnt bridges between Jubilife and the clans- But in particular, the twins. She's responsible, authoritative, precise, controlled, and direct. Cyllene is the Captain, and is virtually the number 1 in command, aside from instances where Emmet's word goes. Don't know how a hypothetical Rei or Akari would fit in here. There is no "PLA protagonist," so I'm not sure what would happen to our trusty foil. For the time being I haven't thought about it, so don't worry about them.

.......Okay that's everything important I can think of? oh. Volo. I fuckin forgot Volo, that's hilarious. Volo, to say the absolute least, is outraged. The events past the initial blessing of the twins include him trying to make this as horrible as possible, lashing out at them for "stealing his chance" to meet Sinnoh.

I think that's everything then. TL;DR: Tensions are high, and so many bridges have been burnt. Ingo got turned into what may as well be an eldritch horror to them, and Emmet has to act like the mouthpiece for both of them for a while. Relationships need to be built back up from square one, and Emmet is forced to do a lot of that heavy lifting himself. It takes a long time for anyone to treat Ingo like a proper person because of how barely they can comprehend his existence like this. Some of them talk about him like he's died, others struggle to see him as a person instead of a Pokemon, and some of those more familiar with budding technological advancements see him more akin to a giant metal ship. It's, hard. and has a lasting psychological affect on both of them.

And, of course, does either of them bond with Sneasler? They can’t be wardens obviously but!

I don't know about their relationship with sneasler. I think one of the twin's parents- father? -was sneasler's warden, and one of the twins would have been trained to be her warden, but then... All that. There's a good chance they know customs, but I don't think they would have gotten super close. I think she is familiar and friendly with them, but, the blessing changes everything.

Seeing as they are a lot more friendly with Pokemon than most…

They ARE a lot more friendly than most, with pokemon... And unfortunately, it comes back to bite them, emotionally.

As a result of Ingo's transformation, pokemon will not come near him. He has a certain amount of this, aura of intimidation. With the state of wild pokemon in the time period of PLA, virtually all pokemon avoid Ingo like the plague. He's impossibly big and overwhelmingly dangerous. It doesn't matter how friendly or gentle he presents himself as, pokemon are scared of him. Emmet goes where Ingo goes. He is rarely anywhere but beside him, except in the case of running errands or trying to act as a middle man. He is the only one of the two who can try to take care of/acclimate their pokemon teams to him, but it doesn't, go, great. Emmet, broadly, has to stop training pokemon past a point. It just, doesn't work out, and he cares more about prioritizing his brother.

In the future, after, a lot of this shit, this eventually changes. But not in the time of PLA and Hisui.

Haaaa fuck. Their relationship is... so complicated. There are so many layers and facets to it that I don't know if I can break it all down coherently right now. But, no, it's not easy for Emmet's twin to suddenly be an untouchable mountain of metal and electricity, and it's not easy for Ingo's twin to suddenly be an ant-sized speck so small and breakable to him. They've lost virtually all forms of physical contact that they ever had, and need to relearn from scratch how to find new ways to show and receive affection/care. To say that they both become more defensive is quite possibly the understatement of all time, but more than anything, they're at least glad that they have the tools to protect eachother.

How can I summarize it... Ingo is scared of himself to an extent, because he doesn't want to hurt Emmet. Emmet is under a lot of pressure, because it's virtually all on him to ensure that Ingo stays healthy and happy. The technology he's made of essentially doesn't exist in their era, so Emmet is the only person who understands it all well enough to fix anything that might get broken. It's tense, it's hard. They're under a lot of pressure, and they're trying so hard just to make sure that nothing cracks. They care about eachother SO MUCH, which is their greatest strength! But it's also the thing that causes them the most pain.

Several of these! Ingo can speak, but as you noted he is loud. He discovers this very fast! And, essentially, chooses to virtually never speak in favor of other modes of communication. He can speak, but he chooses not to. His alternative, most frequent option is using the many many computer terminals onboard to send text messages. He can ping Emmet using this exact thing, so you're on the right track there, but he can also relay communication between people onboard and otherwise use it to speak with anyone else who can see a screen.

They don't have a psychic bond per say, but there are other connections between them. Emmet does get different kinds of reactions from types of signals/warnings on Ingo's system, mainly in the form of like, what essentially constitutes as an adrenaline rush. If Ingo is hurt or in danger, Emmet gets sent a burst of energy like a motivator to go and solve the problem. I don't know if either of them actually know consciously that this happens, or if they do, they don't figure it out until later.

And on a much more angsty note: does ingo feel pain (this being a feature so he can point emmet where he needs repairs. There is! A lot of him to get hurt!)

I suppose this question qualifies as "angsty" but it really is a reasonable assertion. Yes, as I implied a couple times already, Ingo does feel pain. It's worth noting that it takes a lot more for him to actually feel any kind of pain or otherwise sustain an injury, but that's likely a given. If some of his plating gets scuffed or dented, he probably won't even notice. Same thing for a small breach or tear. Something needs to hit him, hard, to actually make him feel something. Large wound, deep laceration, intense blunt-force trauma. It's going to take more than a couple scratches to make the 120'-400' mech buckle, but it's going to take a lot more than a wound to keep him down, too.

and!!! The freaking!! Jobs they have to do.

Almost all repairs are post-battle, although there are some things that can be addressed mid-fight on occasion. Most of the job of the crew is to maintain him, get him fuel, and otherwise set him up to do his job. He's already larger than most all Dynamax pokemon by Several Hundred Feet, but he needs the support of others to set him up before he can charge forward.

Like those little pull-back toy cars.

Another important thing is helping him coordinate himself. Everyone tasked to help essentially assistant-pilot him, scout information, and read the state of battle helps him outsource a lot of the heat-of-the-moment stress into something more manageable. He doesn't feel comfortable or familiar with his own body after taking on this form, so especially for the first few battles, having someone else like. Co-pilot on the controls to help him move and fight is really necessary. Emmet handles it until aforementioned other crew comes along, such as Cyllene and Irida.

You mentioned in your drawing (very lovely btw loved the expression) that Emmet will put on his clan tunic to feel more like himself and less like the Engineer. Does ingo have anything similar? Is there a space where the two of them can calm down (without the whole “there two guys are blessed by god and have saved us” thing coming up)?

His options are, unfortunately, very limited. He's too large to hide almost anywhere, and most "safe" places are those near inhabited places, which also aren't ""safe"" for him to unwind/be around/(many people also are either wary, hostile, or scared of him at first).

The icelands is close to home, which is definitely the "safest" place, but as you mentioned it comes with a lot of emotional + mental baggage. He also doesn't like the cold, especially now being made of metal. Hard to warm back up.

When searching for respite, I think the twins go back to where they were first blessed near the temple of Sinnoh. The mountains can help shield Ingo from distrustful gazes and otherwise give him what is virtually the only privacy available to him. But, there's also an outcropping near the temple where Emmet and Ingo first sorted things out post-blessing, before returning to pearl clan, and that spot holds a significance to them. If Ingo was going to "hide" anywhere, it would be there.

unfortunately, there is virtually no normalcy for Ingo after receiving his blessing. The closest he gets to respite is replaying old memory files from before that day, which feel so close to when he first experienced them that it serves as a comfort sometimes.

whoops this is particularly long-

You're speakin to the fuckin king of rambles. Welcome to the castle (wheeze)

To say the absolute least. I have a lot of thoughts about them. This story is. so hard to tell. because almost all of it is exclusively in my head and it is SO complicated. There are so many problems and struggles and complications, and man. I love it.

Thank you for your super thoughtful ask <3 I love talking about mecha AU. I've been writing this for. dear god. a number of hours that should probably not be as big as it is. I LOOOOVE the mecha au. I've spent months hyperfixating on it in the past. I have so much yet it's hard to elaborate without prompting because of ^^^^ all the above complexities- It's hard to pin down what I should talk about.

Thanks for the ask as always! It means everything to me! Happy holidays/new year!

Mecha AU Masterlist

#Submas #Ingo #Emmet #Pokemon Ingo #Pokemon Emmet #Subway Boss Ingo #Subway Boss Emmet #AUs #Mecha AU #Mechanical Dreams #Ask #Killing Me With Hammers Anon #Ramble #Crack AU #Mecha #Well that's one HELL of a ramble. Hope you signed up for death by a thousand words

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