#in case the text is hard to read: its the vows from the end of gtn!! also in alt text

[yurisupernova]

nooo dont sacrifice yourself for ur lesbian situationship ur too sexy haha

not sure if the text looks a bit tacky or not so alt versions under the cut!!!

i am so fond of her sad butch swag <3

[aspoonofsugar]

Chemical Weddings: Bumbleby

So, it is Spring (the season of love :P), so I feel like writing short metas on some of RWBY's chemical weddings. Let's start with Bumbleby, since they have just celebrated their first year anniversary!

WHAT IS A CHEMICAL WEDDING?

A chemical wedding is a motif used in alchemical stories (aka stories, with symbols related to alchemy). It is a metaphorical union between characters and it represents two opposites coming together. Think of it as a motif that comments on a relationship and describes how it changes throughout a narrative. It shows how two characters' bond develops and how they integrate qualities of each other. Even if it is called "wedding", the union doesn't necessarily have to be romantic, but often it is. Like in RWBY's case.

RWBY uses chemical weddings to develop romantic relationships. How does the series do it? This meta by @hamliet explains it perfectly:

It uses some alchemical imagery (like plates from alchemical texts as reference)

It employs elemental motifs (water, fire, air and earth), which are keys to alchemy

It integrates other symbolism, like romantic subtext or fairy tale references

Both hamliet and I have already talked about RWBY ships and chemical weddings, so this short meta is just a quick review of Bumbleby's ones, with some integrations.

Here are Bumbleby's posts, that I am going to reference:

Worthy

Yang's Goldilock allusion

Blake's Jungle Book allusion

Now, let's dig into Bumbleby's three weddings.

BUMBLEBY'S WEDDINGS

Bumbleby's weddings make use of this imagery:

This picture represents a (violent) union of opposites. Mercurius (a spirit representing change) beheads the Solar King (red) and the Lunar Queen (white), so that they can start their process of transformation. It is a union through destruction (solvet). This is the key to read Bumbleby's evolving relationship, which keeps growing through a series of metaphorical deaths.

This is the first and most violent one:

Luckily, neither Blake nor Yang get beheaded, but they still suffer physical wounds by their antagonistic Mercurius aka Adam:

Blake is impaled and scarred

Yang loses her right arm

Obviously, the physical hurt mirrors their psychological one, which is a consequence of Bumbleby facing their shadow. The Jungian Shadow is everything a character represses. In Blake and Yang's case, they live happily at Beacon, while ignoring their respective issues:

Blake's past with Adam

Yang's abandonement by Raven

Still, these two traumas come back and go in the way of their new-born relationship. They can't be together if they do not integrate their repressed shadows, to this first wedding marks a separation.

Both girls go through individual developments, where they face their shadows. In particular, Blake integrates Ilia and fights Adam, while Yang faces Raven. The result of this integration is a reunion, which happens through a second death. Specifically Adam's (once again their antagonistic Mercurius):

Blake and Yang come together to kill Adam, which is a traumatic experience for both. Moreover, they still suffer damage, as Blake's weapon symbolically breaks:

Still, Gambol Shroud gets repaired and its new form symbolyzes Blake and Yang's integration:

Blake and Yang live through destruction and become stronger and more united thanks to it. Not only that, but Bumbleby's second wedding marks an exchange of vows:

Blake: I don't have a choice. I have people who actually care about me, and I promised I'd never leave them again. So I'm not dying now.

Blake: I… I am not going to break my promise, I swear.

Blake opens the final fight with Adam by announcing her vow and confirms it by the end of it. Essentially, Blake and Yang promise to be there for each other, which is the main purpose of a romantic wedding. A promise of sharing both happy and hard times.

Their vow is sealed by them killing Adam, which ties into Blake's Jungle Book allusion. In the story, Mowgly can't leave the jungle unless a bull is sacrificed, so Bagheera kills one for him. Here, Blake has to kill a Bull Faunus, so that she is free from her previous bond with Adam and can step into a new relationship with Yang. It is a violent union, which starts with a promise:

I made a vow I'm not alone Not dying now we're protecting our own

This promise is fully fulfilled in volume 9, where Blake and Yang find a metaphorical Ever After. They confess their love, while surrounded by the four elements and symbolically consume their wedding. They are bees, who get together and make the flowers bloom through their honey. This third wedding is a non violent one because both Blake and Yang have grown mature enough to embrace the other. They can finally stay together and integrate completely. That said, even if they are now worthy of each other, the shadow still pops up:

Blake and Yang consume their wedding and are finally together. And yet, when thay are at their happiest, Ruby's shadow conquers her and she risks her life, without Blake and especially Yang being able to help her. Not only that, but before attempting suicide, Ruby lashes out specifically at Blake and Yang's union:

Ruby: Smiles all around! Maybe even finally get our feelings sorted out! Good for you, by the way. We’re all so happy for you!

Why is that so?

TOO HOT, TOO COLD, JUST RIGHT

It has to do with a motif deat to Yang's arc: too hot, too cold and just right. This symbolism comments the entirity of Yang's development, but when it comes to Bumbleby's bond specifically, we have...

Too hot- first wedding:

Blake and Yang face off against Adam, while fire and flames burn everything around them.

Too cold- second wedding:

Blake and Yang win against Adam while surrounded by water, which washes away their enemy and trauma.

Just right - third wedding:

Blake and Yang kiss while on a platform in the sky (air), which is full of flowers (earth). Air and earth come together, just like Blake and Yang. Two opposites find balance (and avoid falling):

You fell And suddenly I did too While the world was dying Didn't know how to not lose you again Hands down Heart wide I've only ever known the fight But I'll catch you This time I'll never let you out of my sight

And yet, no matter how much Blake and Yang grow and integrate with each other. Outside of their control, bad things will still happen. Like Ruby going through a personal struggle. Like Atlas falling. The point of Bumbleby ending up together isn't that they will be happy ever after. Rather it is that they will be each other's ever after and will face both good things and bad things together. This is the point of the archetype their ship embodies.

BUMBLEBY = THE SHADOW

Each main ship in RWBY represents a Jungian Archetype. Bumbleby is the shadow:

Their story is commented by a:

light and shadow motif

Beauty and Beast allusion, where beauty represents the light and beast the shadow

In alchemy, the shadow is linked to the Nigredo phase (Blake's phase) and to destruction. So, the bees' love story explores these themes. Thankfully, RWBY is an optimistic story and after a symbolic death comes a symbolic rebirth.

NEVERMORE

Nevermore Nevermore You'll torture my heart and my head Nevermore Nevermore Will I be afraid Nor will I run away It's behind me Freedom is finally here You may have taken the lead but I'll even the score You won the battle you won't win the war Not now and Nevermore

In RWBY, there seems to be a chemical wedding (usually the second), that employs a Nevermore:

This Grimm symbolizes grief and it pops its ugly head in weddings because RWBY characters overcome grief and pain through love.

In Bumbleby's case, the Grimm doesn't appear directly, but it is still present thanks to their shared song Nevermore, which alludes to both Beauty and Beast's Evermore and to Poe's Poem the Raven:

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

In Poe's poem, the lament "nevermore" is a symbol of a loss impossible to overcome. In Bumbleby's song, the battle cry "nevermore" shows how both girls are ready to fight for what they have left. It is not about finding an ideal evermore, but to give up on love and hope nevermore.

[alwerakoo]

Baby Blue (Chapter 2)

Rise of the TMNT Leonardo/Yuichi Usagi Chapter 2 of a longer fic THIS IS PART OF A SERIES - might be confusing to read without context

AO3

---

Don't fuck it up.

Out of any piece of advice Donnie had ever given him, that one was somehow both the easiest to digest – and the most intimidating.

So as with any task he finds even the slightest bit overwhelming (like having an honest conversation about his feelings; or doing the dishes), Leo promptly decides to adopt the same tactic he always does.

Ignoring the problem and hoping someone else would take care of it for him – naturally.

True, spending countless hours on texting Usagi, only to waste almost as much time analyzing every sentence, every emoji, every stupid 'xo', searching for something, definitely can't count as one of his proudest moments.

But in his defense, Usagi rarely crossed that vague, thin line between half-joking and something more. Mostly because Leo never gave him the chance to – always pulling back at the last moment.

('Wish you were here. You have no idea how bored I am,' Usagi texted him once in the middle of the day – when he should've been at work, and Leo should've been asleep.

Leo read his message within a minute.

And he didn't text back: 'What would you do if I was?'. Even if he wanted to.)

But life continued on its own course, maybe not solving anything for him, but definitely giving the right push.

Mikey would probably call it fate, or destiny, or something or other.

Leo calls it dumb luck.

Even if at this precise moment, he feels anything but lucky.

He watches Donnie's fingers mindlessly tap on the back of his phone until his brother finally shrugs, lowering his hand and ending the call.

“He's still not picking up,” he says.

Leo grimaces.

He's sitting on a bench covered in an almost disproportionate amount of graffiti, right next to Mikey, who's doing anything but sitting. His cape is already covered in dust and grime, but Leo doesn't consider that one of his current biggest issues.

He scratches a bit of the chipping paint away with his claw.

“Does he do that a lot?” He asks.

Leo himself had never been the one to care much about punctuality, regarding time as a relative concept by default. He wouldn't be surprised if Usagi shared that particular sentiment.

Donnie holds out his hand in a 'so-so' gesture.

“Usually no,” he says. But then he grimaces, as if poked by an unpleasant memory. “But there were a few... Incidents.”

Mikey spreads his arms, which only makes him look more ridiculous, considering he's still hanging upside down, his feet thrown over the back of the bench.

“Maybe he got stuck in a doorway again,” he laughs. But the sudden gesture must've knocked him off balance, because he quickly places his hands on the ground, dropping his smile. “Wow.”

Raph huffs quietly – equal parts amusement and annoyance, which seemed to be his default setting around so many of his siblings, April included.

“Sit like a person.” He leans forward, one hand behind his younger brother's shell, pulling him upright.

Mikey grumbles.

“So?” April tilts her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are we waiting for him?”

April and Usagi have only met in person once. And although Leo could breathe a little easier that day, knowing that none of the worst-case scenarios he had worked through in his own head found their place in reality, their relationship is understandably still in its 'first impression' stage.

And Leo stubbornly wants it to remain as good as possible.

What April thinks of Usagi shouldn't matter at all, because Leo knows her well enough to realize that if he vowed to marry Staten Island, April wouldn't stand in his way. She'd judge him, hard, and never let him forget about it, but she'd do it from the sidelines.

But it does matter, at least to Leo. Because he likes Usagi so much it makes him ache all over, but he loves April, and there's always that little part of him that blooms in his chest at the thought of his whole family fitting together like a puzzle.

He likes puzzles.

“Are you in a hurry?” Donnie shrugs, looking at April.

April grimaces slightly, twirling her baseball bat in her hand. Leo still isn't sure why her parents let her keep it.

“My project's due tomorrow,” she says.

Coming here had been largely her and Donnie's idea, wrapped in the excuse of a school project.

Leo isn't sure how much April actually cares about the grade. He knows she always survived school on spite alone – failing when she didn't care, and acing when she did.

But maybe, when faced with the opportunity to see something as alien and spectacular as The Hidden City, the actual reason didn't matter as much.

In anyway, Leo had no actual intention of visiting any libraries.

Raph opens his mouth as if to say something, but then freezes, jerking his head toward the end of the street.

Leo doesn't recognize the distant footsteps right away, not in the same instinctive way he can point out his entire family. But he doesn't have to wait long for a familiar face to join them.

“Sagi!”

Mikey jumps up from the bench, almost losing his balance to meet him halfway.

He wraps his arms around his friend's neck, squeezing him like an unusually large, cuddly toy, as he always does when his excitement gets the better of him.

“Hi, ow,” Usagi grimaces, but only a little.

When Mikey lets go of him, he doesn't seem all that bothered.

Leo stands up, feeling the sudden urge to smooth down his mask.

He wonders when that warm wave that always seems to wash over him every time he sees Usagi will finally pass – the one that makes him feel every bone, every nerve, every breath. And wag his tail – like a lovesick puppy.

He hopes it's not so obvious from the outside.

(Judging by the look Raph gives him, it's more of a pipe dream.)

“Hey.” Usagi joins them, patting Donnie on the shoulder as he goes before standing right in front of Leo. “Sorry I'm late.”

He doesn't hug him. But he reaches out, squeezing his elbow, which somehow makes one of Leo's hearts beat even faster.

Leo smiles, a bit stupidly and completely reflexively. But then he feels it fall, something more concerned taking over his face.

For a moment, he just looks over his friend: his face flushed, with wet fur by his ears, like he ran the whole way. He's wearing sweatpants, but his shirt is wrinkled and washed out, like he threw it on in a hurry. It's also too big, swallowing his frame in a way that makes him look weirdly small.

“Dude,” Leo says, “are you okay?”

Usagi's smile fades a bit, giving way to something unexpectedly sad and frustrated – like a fingerprint on a perfectly polished mirror.

“Mhm.” Usagi smooths down his pants nervously. “It's just, uhm...” He hesitates, before finally shrugging. “I don't feel like talking about it now.”

Leo looks over his shoulder, giving his brother a questioning look.

Donnie's face takes on a new expression, something between a grimace and sympathy, until very slowly – he shakes his head.

***

The carnival turns out to be a much larger (and noisier) ordeal than Leo would've expected.

He's used to crowds. To watching them from a distance, to gliding along its very edge, to sticking to the shadows and the night and the things he knows.

He's not used to the lights, the smell of food and overpriced cotton candy, running children bumping into their legs.

The main square in The Hidden City is swimming in vendor stalls, carnival games (in which winning probably doesn't even border on impossible, but merges with it), and above all else – Yōkai.

It's one thing to listen to the pulse of a living city from a distance, to stare at its lights through outstretched hands. And another – to feel it right under his own skin.

Raph sticks out as always; taller than a significant number of the Yōkai passing them by. Even when he raises his shoulders, curling into himself as he always does, when that familiar, slippery feeling reaches them both – like a thousand stares on the back of their necks.

“Fuck,” Leo gasps, throwing an angry look at the Yōkai that slammed into his shoulder. “We're gonna get lost.”

He reaches out a hand on pure instinct, fingers curling around the edge of Raph's shell, like a little kid. He lets go, embarrassed.

“If you get lost, we won't look.” Donnie raises his voice above the chaos surrounding them. “Good luck in the wild.”

“I'd look for you,” Usagi says, because sometimes he's unbearably kind. And then, because he's just as weird: “You wouldn't last a week.”

Usagi takes Leo's elbow in his hand again, squeezing it in a soothing gesture. He runs his thumb over the thin skin.

Leo feels his touch in his bones.

The corners of the square, between tablecloth-covered stalls and bickering customers, stay calm enough to give them a moment to breathe.

“Okay.” Donnie crosses his arms over his chest, clearly as uncomfortable as his brothers, though for probably completely different reasons. “So what's the plan.”

He glances at April, who's resting her hands on her hips, looking around the square.

“Um...” April shoves one hand into her pocket, throwing her bat over her shoulder. “I don't know if-”

She suddenly falls silent, her face stretched somewhere between shock and genuine delight.

She tightens her fingers on Donnie's forearm to get his attention, giving him a small shake. At the same time, she extends her other hand, pointing to one of the side streets with the tip of her bat – barely missing Raph's shoulder in the process.

His brother ducks without missing a beat, accustomed to the occasional threat of an injury that comes with having so many siblings. But Mikey flinches, startled by the sudden movement.

(Leo takes a mental note to have a very private, very vague conversation with April regarding his little brother.)

“Witch Town!” Leo glances over his shoulder to where she's pointing, quickly finding the right sign. “I'll definitely find something interesting there.”

Mikey winces, almost at the same exact moment where Donnie curls into himself a little.

“Oh, yay, Which Town...” Donnie mutters, rubbing his forearm with his hand.

Mikey narrows his eyes.

“Yeah, about that-”

He falls silent when April's grip on Donnie's arm tightens.

“You promised me an A,” she says, sharply and with obvious stubbornness. “And I'm getting that A, no matter what. Let's go.”

She shifts her grip to Donnie's wrist, pulling him along.

“Donnie!” Mikey runs after them, nudging Leo's shoulder on his way. “You know you're not allowed in there!”

Donnie looks over his shoulder, waving a hand.

“What are you, a cop?”

“You're gonna get arrested,” Leo hears Mikey huff, before the three of them disappear completely from his sight. “And I'm not bailing you out.”

For a moment, they watch them leave, before Usagi finally breaks the silence.

“You think they have everything under control?” He asks, in a tone that immediately suggests he's not even counting on it, but he doesn't plan on intervening.

Leo puts his hands on his hips, shrugging.

“And then there were three.”

Raph looks at them.

He looks at his brother, Usagi, and then at Usagi's hand, still gripped around Leo's elbow.

“... See 'ya,” he says suddenly, turning on his heel.

Leo opens his mouth, baffled, but before he can find the words, his brother's already weaving through the crowd of people.

“What's his problem?” Leo snorts.

He crosses his arms over his chest because Usagi lets go of his elbow, and without his touch, his arm feels strangely empty.

“Do you want to go after him?” Usagi asks, and Leo shakes his head.

“Nah. I'll call him later,: he says, patting the phone in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

The second phone Donnie gave them a while ago was definitely one of his most successful gifts. Which didn't mean a lot in his case, but it was the thought that counted.

(Over the past three months, Donnie had developed a habit of creating small but useful gadgets for his brothers. Leo had a feeling it had less to do with some sudden, newfound passion and more with the thick scars still covering his back.)

Raph let Leo have the new phone without much hesitation, which Leo thought to be an unusual act of goodwill. At least until he found out that Donnie had not only included his logo on every screen, but also had an apparently relative understanding of what made a design 'user-friendly'.

But Leo wasn't going to complain much – not when he could finally stop worrying about his own privacy.

“Okay?” Usagi says, a little uncertainly.

He reaches out, smoothing over the fur on his ears.

“Come on.” Leo's hands itch, so much so that for a moment he considers taking his friend's hand. “Let's get out of here.”

He ends up just shoving them into his pocket.

***

As time passes, Leo's shoulders slump, his hands relax, and that familiar, slimy feeling dulls to an easily-avoidable hum in the back of his mind.

He's still more than aware of the weight of his sword on his back, and the rush of the crowd still leaves him with an unpleasant sense of claustrophobia, but good food and good company quickly dull the need to constantly glance over his shoulder.

Usagi seems to be going through the exact opposite.

He sticks close to Leo, even by his own standards; his hands shoved into his pockets and his shoulders hunched up, as if he's tensing up, ready for something that has completely escaped Leo's notice. He seems completely unlike himself, in the most literal sense.

He tugs on his own shirt like he wants to rip the material away from his body, picks lazily at the cotton cady Leo bought him, and his hands twitch like a broken clock, ticking between one hour and the next.

“Okay, seriously, is everything okay?” Leo finally asks.

They’ve gone off the main road a bit, into narrower but less crowded streets that still give them a bit of room to breathe.

Usagi glances his way, a slight frown crossing his face, like the question itself was pressing on a sore spot.

Leo always appreciated how honest his face is; the way he never seemed to hide any emotion. Even if it meant he could see every wrong move he made stamped right in the middle of it.

He raises his hands defensively, forcing a smile.

“Wow, touchy subject?”

Usagi shakes his head. His ears bounce lightly against his cheek.

“I'm fine,” he says, twisting his fingers around the cotton candy stick. “I just had a... Rough morning.”

He says it like some kind of code, a hidden suggestion that Leo hasn’t had the chance to learn the true meaning of yet.

And maybe he won't get to yet, because Usagi grabs his arm, suddenly distracted by something across the street.

“Look.” He shakes Leo's hand slightly, pointing over his shoulder.

The street lights hanging over them leave bright spots of light on his fur, and Leo has to force himself to look away.

The booth opposite them doesn't really stand out from all the others. It's a carnival game; empty cans arranged in a neat triangle on a counter that Leo is sure is covered in at least one layer of glue.

But Usagi seems particularly drawn to the string hanging above it, and by extension, the row of absurdly large, slightly misshapen, plush dinosaurs.

“Oh,” Leo says.

“This guy has a stand here every year.” Usagi lowers his voice, like it was possible to actually eavesdrop on their conversation over the sound of the crowd. And even if it was, Leo doubts the bored vendor engrossed in a dirty magazine would be particularly interested. “And I swear, the game's rigged.”

Leo tilts his head.

“Of course it’s rigged. It’s a carnival.” He shrugs. “They don’t want you to win.”

Usagi crosses his arms over his chest, clenching his fingers. A flash of something genuinely upset crosses his face, and Leo straightens reflexively, frowning.

“Yeah, but he’s a real dick about it,” he snorts. “He won’t even let me just buy them or anything.”

Leo glances back at the booth.

He bites his cheek, flexing fingers before looking back at Usagi – at the hurt painted in thick lines over his face.

“Do you really want that thing?” He asks.

Usagi blinks, looking at him with obvious surprise.

He already snapped the cotton candy stick in half, but now his arms and hands relax slightly.

“Yeah?” He says, which doesn't sound half as confident as Leo would've expected from him.

He decides that it will have to be enough.

“I'll show you a trick,” he says, lowering his voice. But then he hesitates, uncertain. “But you might have to abandon your moral compass a little.”

“I barely know what that means,” Usagi replies, and Leo believes him.

He leads them to a narrow side alleyway, away from any unwanted gaze, before he reaches behind his back, feeling the familiar, calming hum of his sword under his fingers.

He holds out his hand, feeling his friend's gaze, and he preens under the attention.

And with one precise movement – the air in front of them opens up. Leo glances at Usagi out of the corner of his eye – just to make sure he's paying it the attention and admiration it deserves. Even if Usagi has already seen this particular trick many times before.

A blue glow falls on the pavement and Leo's hand, as he reaches through the portal.

“Don't worry,” he says, quickly pulling back, now with an armful of stuffed dinosaur, “he won't even notice he's missing one.”

Usagi's eyes widen.

He holds out his hands, accepting the gift with almost unwarranted gentleness, smoothing the fabric over its crooked neck.

He stares at the plush for the longest moment, lowering his head. He flexes his fingers over it, almost like he's scratching the green fabric. Then he pulls back and his hand hovers, like he doesn't know what to do with it anymore.

He finally sighs, quietly, a little shakily.

“Thank you,” he says, and it sounds weak.

He holds the stuffed animal tighter to his chest, with enough force to make his shoulders tremble slightly. He rocks on his heels, muscles tight.

Leo frowns, tilting his head slightly to look him in the eye.

“Hey, what-”

Usagi sniffs.

Leo straightens, a wave of panic hitting him like hot steam.

“Wow, wow!” He holds out his hands; then lowers them, unsure of what to do with them. “What's wrong?”

Usagi shakes his head, rubbing his face with a hand.

Leo hesitates, only for a moment, before finally reaching out, closing his fingers around Usagi's wrist. He pulls it down, squeezing it lightly.

“You're just,” Usagi sniffs again, “always so nice to me.”

“I'm... Sorry?” Leo tries.

It's clearly not the right move, and Usagi blinks rapidly, his eyes shiny and wet.

His face is always open and honest and right now, it's shattered into a million pieces.

“Okay, okay. Maybe...” He lets his thoughts run loose, searching for the right one.

He pulls away a bit, raising his sword again.

He's still not the best at controlling his own portals, but he's good enough.

Or maybe his sword senses his growing desperation, because the portal that opens up before them seems to lead exactly where he planned.

“Okay,” he repeats, holding out his hand. “Let's get out of here.”

Usagi looks between him and the portal, his face laced with something sad and hurt.

He doesn't seem to trust the portal as much as Leo does.

But he takes his hand anyway.

[kustas]

ok, without spoilers if possible but i'm EXTREMELY curious about your "this is how fights work in hxh" tag under the recent post, could you explain?

(the post, for reference)

HxH, like many battle shonen, has its own unique power system, called Nen. It stands out for several things, among which being extremely complex with an at-times mathematical precision, and for the creativity of the powers it create. This is because, in essence, the superpowers it creates are designed by their users, and strength essentially comes from training, unlike a system like Jojo's stands where characters are born with their superpower. Following this, said abilities tend to reflect who each character is like as a person, the same way that say, you could guess a bit about a scholar based on what they are doing their master's thesis about: it's something you are dedicating years of your life into digging into, it usually means something personal! In the world of HxH, skilled artisans end up using that magic even if they don't know about its existence (the training method used by the heroes is a gatekept secret), because their concentration and dedication to their craft helps inherently develop it.

How this ties into battles is that superpowers wielded by the characters are rarely directly related to combat - unless your character has a reason to dedicate years of their life into being the best fighter, it's unlikely they'll have created their abilities around this. Instead, you get more indirect and creative things. I won't give examples because I wish to respect your request for no spoilers! So we will stay in theory only.

With this, fights pit out OP anime characters but who's OP anime abilities are not "hit hard", so combats immediately go to strategy planning. Unless you already know your opponent by heart, which isn't always the case, you cannot know what extremely niche thing they've achieved (and boy does it get niche) so the classic "mid fight description of strategy" monologues of HxH are famously long and ridiculous! Let's use OP as an example: assuming we read their bragging on Tumblr and therefore know everything about their ability, we can make a profile. First, their ability revolves around killing, and they compare it to death note, we can infer they're someone with muddy morals and a sense of superiority: Light of the show kills because he's got his god complex of knowing better than the rest of the world. Drawing skill also plays into this ability, so OP must be an artist and a confident one too, why else would you link the aim of your ability (killing things) to drawing skill level?

The other thing this post features that is shared by HxH and perhaps my favorite aspect are the limitations. At it's core Nen works by "I have decided I wish to do this thing and will concentrate hard enough to willpower it into existence" (tying in to your passions, personality, and skills), but just as artists can reach heights by limiting their tools, you can reach higher power levels by limiting what you can do. It's a self given vow: I will not let myself do X, and in return I'll do what I want to do more powerfully. Here, the limitation is about the intelligence level of the target, and the art you have to draw to kill them. These limitations are brought up mid fight as part of the strategy planning, often from the POV character of the moment about their own ability, as they have to judge the terrain before they strike!

This makes for a text heavy manga at times, which has been memed a whole lot, and laughably long fight blabla. Given that post immediately starts by describing a niche anime magic attack and took up my entire phone screen, the comparison sprung fast to mind...

[tanadrin]

Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.

[nevermore-the-kitsune]

Pokemon Teams for Fictional Characters pt. 2

Damian Wayne

(Also, I'm not including move sets because in my headcannon Pokemon do remember all their old moves. But humans choose to only use four)

For this AU I'm having the Wayne's own the Gotham City Gym, which specializes in Dark types. Most of the cannon events still happened. Just with a few tweaks here and there. (Dick's 20, Jason's 16, Cass is 15 Tim's 15 but younger than Cass and Damian's 13 because I love AUs where there closer in age).

Anyway here we go!

First things first in the Pokemon Universe his alias wouldn't be Robin since they don't exist. Instead I think it would be Rookidee, since thats the closest Pokemon to a Robin.

His Partner Pokemon and ace would be a Gligar

Name: Goliath

Gender: Male

Why: Gligar screams Goliath (his Batdragon) plus the coloring of his evolutions matches with Dami's Robin and Batman outfits

Story: He found Goliath while climbing a mountain for his training. At the time he was four and Goliath was a hatching. Damian ended up giving him some food, seeing that the hatching was hungry.

Grateful, the Gligar followed him hoping to return the favor.

When Damian's hand got broken on that same trip, Goliath was the one to help him finish his mission and get home safely.

Talia was impressed that Damian could tame a wild Pokemon without catching it, so she allowed him to keep him as his first Pokemon.

-----

Next he would have a Meowth

Name: Alfred

Gender: Female

Why: This one has to do with its evolution. Persian are said to only be loyal to trainers it likes and that it takes a lot to get them to like you. Their also said to be prissy and uptight. This reminded me of Damian. How it took forever for him to trust his brothers and his own snobby attitude. Thus I think it fits.

Story: After coming to live with his father Damian didn't know how to act. He saw his "brothers" and father treating their Pokemon so different than how the League did. They all trained hard. But, there was something eles: warm praise for a job well done, asking for insight on a case (they had taught their bipedal pokemon sighn language) and comfort on a bad day. His father and brothers treated their Pokemon like... people

In the League Pokemon where the lowest soldier, lower than the slaves or concubines. They trained, ate then they had to and got in their ball.

He had been a little more lenient in his training with Goliath. When asked he said that he was still a baby and he had to take things slow in this stage or he might develop too much muscle mass and be unable to fly.

He had kept him out of his ball with the excuse of developing muscle mass at a proper pace.

He liked Goliath's company. The Gligar was a good companion. But on the same level as another person?

He had expressed these thoughts to Pennyworth, the only person in the house to give him a straight answer when he needed it.

Pennyworth had explained to him that some people love to hold power over others and that Pokemon where an easy target, since they couldn't communicate their emotions as clearly as people could.

"Think of Mistress Cain. She sometimes cannot communicate with words, but we know that she's intelligent. But some people see her as less than intelligent and treat her as such because of the power it gives them."

Two weeks later Damian would come across a group of teenagers attempting to shave a Meowth. The Pokemon was little more than skin and bone and crying out on pain. So, Damian broke their fingers and shaved part of their heads for good measure.

He kept the Meowth and named her after the man who taught him about the abuse of power.

---

Next, a Poochyena

Name: Titus

Gender: Male

Why: These Pokemon and their evolution are ruthless with their pray, and only obey trainers with external skill.

Story: Raven gave Damian Titus as a gift. She said that she rescued him from an underground fighting ring (where the battles are to the death). He was still to young to battle so he didn't need much rehabilitation. The other Pokemon there though...

---

Now we have a Type Null

Name: Heretic

Gender: ???

Why: This Pokemon was created in lab, and artificial designed for the purpose of fighting, just like Damian. True I could have given him Mewtwo, but that cat seems to fit Kon more.

Story: Damian's mother had spent years creating Type: Null with the purpose of being able to kill any target. As a last test she wanted to see which of her creations was suppirrior. So she sent the Type Null out to (try and) kill her son.

Damian, with the rest of his team, beat the Pokemon but couldn't kill it. He had long since vowed to wash the blood from his hands. Instead he offered his hand to it and asked it to join him.

---

Here we have the hardest to explain... Mimikyu

Name: Habibi (I hope I spelled that right)

Gender: Female

Why: Damian is complex, he wants to be accepted and loved just like Mimikyu but dosent know how. Both try to mimic others in order to get that love, Damian his father and Mimikyu Pikachu. So I see this as Damian's spirit Pokemon in a way.

Story: He didn't know why it was so hard to fit in. Gods know he tried. But... little things confused him. Like how eveyone could understand each other without words or singhing. He had no problems with that on a battlefield, but in day to day life; it felt like he was on a separate server.

Like how Todd knew at breakfast with just a look that Drake was in a bad mood and how to help. Or how Grayson could audomadicly tell what kind of day at school the rest of them had withen a few minutes. Hell even Drake could tell what grunts ment what from father! Which ment good job, Which ment I'm glade your okay, or frustration either at them or at a case (Cass didn't surprise him, she had to learn how to communicate without words and watch body language and micro expressions).

School was no better; sometimes it was to load or bright othertimes, when everyone was doing a test, it felt to quiet. But, to much or to little, Damian was always aware of every movement, every sound. It was like the very instincts that saved his life every night where turned against him.

He turned to his nearly forgotten childhood habits to distract himself from everything around him. That only led to more whisper shouting and what even he could tell where displeased glares with a grunt of "fucking tapping" or a snap of "stop!" He knew it was disrupting but it was all be could do to drown out the noise or silence.

On one particularly bad day at school; apparently during one of their tests one of his classmates had had enough of Damian's tapping and decided to make a scene.

There was some yelling from the kid. A few cries in agreement. Before the teacher had gotten hem to settle down. He had demanded that Damian look him in the eye and when he finally did told him to stop with the tapping or else he would be sent to the office, Gym Leaders son or not.

He was the last to finish that test where he normally finished first. The silence had been to load!!

After that clusterfuck Damian finally headed home. He had texted Grayson saying that he was meeting a friend somewhere to work on a project and to not pick him up. In truth he didn't want his brother reading what kind of day he had had. He needed some time to himself.

That was how he found himself in a nearby park. It was filled with plenty of sounds that didn't suffocate him and the fall leaves where soothing to his eyes. Damian had Titus out of his ball as company, knowing that the pup loved park walks.

They had been walking for an hour when they came across a box set off just on the edge of the trail. "Free to Good Homes" was written on the side in black sharpie.

No sound was coming from inside, so he assumed that the had all been taken. Until Titus went closer sniffing at the seemingly empty box.

"Pooch Pooch"

"Hmmm... what is is it boy?" He asked as he walked closer to his Pokemon and the Box. Damian hoped he was wrong. It was cruel to leave a baby Pokemon all alone, especially since the weather was getting colder by the day.

Inside the box was in fact a lone Pokemon. At first glance it looked like a Pikachu. But something was off. It looked more like a doll than a living creature. If it wasn't for the small chirps it let out and slight way that it was shivering from the cold Damian would have written it off as a toy. No wonder it got left behind...

Damian reached down and picked up the mystery Pokemon as gently as he could.

"Come on beloved, lets go home."

He tucked the Pokemon in his jacket to warm it up before reaching for his phone to call Grayson for a ride home.

That night Damian locked himself away, even skipped patrol, and spent a sleepless night learning everything he could about his newest Pokemon.

---

That was inspired by this comic

---

Finaly, for his last spot Eevee!!

Name: Omni

Gender: Female

Why: I'm going to have all the Batfam members have an Eeveelution. This branch and the Batfam are both growing consistently. We all have our favorites but we love them all the same. So I think it fits.

Story: Everyone in the family had an Eevee or one of its evolutions. Damian's Father said that Eevee was the Wayne family symbol, it was potential, the ability to become whatever you wanted.

Though it surprised Damian that the Wayne symbol wasn't a Noibat or Noivern (Batman's ace) at first he eventually understood the logic in choosing such a Pokemon to represent the family name. That only made things harder for him being the only one not having one. Did they not truly see him as family?

On the one year anniversary of Damian arriving at The Mannor, his family through a small party. Pennyworth made his favorite foods, The Mannor was decorated in tacky streamers (Graysons' idea) and they watched some of Damian's favorite fims, their Pokemon curled up with them. His father had offered to take the day off from the gym. Until Todd suggested that Damian take on the challengers.

The Gotham gym was part of his heritage. Damian had been training for the day that he could finally help weed out the weak challengers just like his siblings sometimes did (think the battles you do before challenging a gym leader in the games).

On that day, if the challengers agreed to it, their final battle wasn't with Bruce Wayne the Dark Knight but instead his son. Most accepted thinking that it would be an easy win, that they had lucked out in not having to battle one of the stongest Gym Leaders in the League and could still get the Shadow Badge.

Those poor fools.

Damian was only allowed to use Alfred, Titus and Habibi since he used Goliath and Heretic primarily as Rookidee.

Damian fought seven trainers that day in 3v3 fights. Only two of them got the badge.

With the day overwith and the night rising, so did Gothams' protecters.

The night ended with exhausted body's and adrenaline crashes. Damian was ready to slip into a mini coma from the day he had but before he could head upstairs to The Mannor...

"Not so fast baby bat." Graysons' voice called out to him. "We got one more surprise for you."

Damian raised his eyebrow at that. What else could they do? His father came back from the locker rooms where he had been desuiting, it always took him the longest because of his "old man bones" as Todd said.

"Son," his father said "its Wayne tradition to get your first Pokemon when you turn ten years old. I missed that with you." He paused, eyes briefly shifting to the floor before they snapped back on Damian's face. "Luckily there's one tradition we didn't miss. When you've lived at The Mannor for a year or the adoption papers get finalized, I give my children this..."

He pulled a Poke'ball out of his poket and handed to Damian. "Go on son, let them out."

He did

Staring at him was his own Eevee.

---

AN: All of Damian's Pokemon (sans maybe Omni, I'm thinking of leaving her as an Eevee) will eventually evolve. Eventually.

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute in which ten cups of coffee change Mute’s life. (Rating T, slice of life/fluff/budding romance, ~5.8k words) - written for none other than @nutbrain​ for being a remarkable human being and an even better friend 💖 Please enjoy!

.

Mark eyes the shopfront before him with suspicion. His safe haven apparently gone, a flashier version has taken its place some time during the semester break, keeping nothing but the location and the proffered goods. Instead of the old-fashioned, thick-cushioned chairs and dim lighting, the new café shines with an open-floor concept, simple wooden furniture and an overall dark look with specks of gold to brighten it up. Leo Coffee, reads the sign next to a golden logo displaying a roaring lion. What big cats have to do with coffee isn’t obvious to Mark, but he overcomes his initial distaste and steps inside nonetheless.

As visible from outside, the place is deserted. The previous coffee shop was frequented by businesspeople and students alike, located halfway between the campus and Mark’s dorm – on rainy days, people often took public transport and bought their coffee elsewhere, but even on those occasions, it’s never been as empty as this.

Not that Mark is complaining. If the coffee is good, he’ll continue frequenting the new shop, and being able to work in peace would be an added bonus. He is quite fond of Julien and Timur, but even so, they’re not the… easiest to live with. To say the least. A quiet place would be very welcome.

He sets his books down on the table furthest away from the counter, slings his bag over the back of a chair and approaches the empty void where an employee should be standing. This is when he notices another curiosity: there’s no menu board. There isn’t even a menu card by the counter or anywhere, really, only a glass case with a handful of baked goods inside, most of which look like a child made them. So far, the only redeeming quality is the delicious dark smell of roasted coffee beans lingering in the air.

After another minute, still nobody has appeared, so Mark checks his phone for reviews. If the place has less than four stars – alright, three, he’s giving them the benefit of the doubt purely because of their convenient location and quietness –, then he’s out of here. He can’t even remember the last time he had to wait this long to -

“Are you going to order or what?”

Nearly dropping his phone in the process, Mark jumps at the sudden gruff voice and looks up to find himself face to face with a grizzled man. The black apron is all that betrays him as an employee as the unimpressed glare and casual attire do nothing in his favour. “Uh”, he replies eloquently and vows that he’ll never set foot in this place again if this is how he’s going to get treated.

The old man’s expression melts into friendliness. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Welcome to Café Leo – it’s your first time here, so have a loyalty card, lad.”

Mark accepts the piece of paper without thinking, still thrown off by the bloke’s sudden appearance (how does he move completely silent like that), and at least has the presence of mind to inspect it. Its contents are so absurd that he forgets to ask how the man opposite him knew he hadn’t been to the shop yet. “‘After 10 coffee purchases, you’re eligible for a free wish’”, he mumbles, reading the text printed white on black aloud. “‘This offer is not transferable.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that only you can redeem your reward, not anyone else. Would you like some coffee?”

He blinks at the bearded man, trying to ascertain whether he’s being serious, and is met with an almost bored stare. Weighing his options, the scales are only slightly tipped in favour of staying, but only because he knows Julien has a ���visitor’ over today and there’s no other place he can study – the library is overrun by frantic procrastinators who left finishing their coursework assigned over the break to the absolute last minute, and Manu is coming back tomorrow. Apart from her and his roommates, there’s no one with whom he’s comfortable enough to invite himself over.

Especially not him. God knows why Mark even considered him for a brief second.

Looks like he’ll have to deal with this awkwardness if he wants to get any work done whatsoever. “Alright then. What do you sell?”

“Coffee”, comes the curt answer.

Mark rubs his eyes in exhaustion. He’s beginning to understand why there’s no other customers here. “Sure. Yes. A coffee, then.”

“That’ll be…” The employee trails off while frowning down at his wristwatch. “…um, about £7.92.”

“For one coffee?”

“It’s free refills, son.”

Oh, so maybe this is an American chain. That would explain quite a bit. Mark considers whether he’s staying long enough to get the most out of his money, but seeing as the bloke doesn’t seem the chattiest type and he’s unlikely to get interrupted, he decides it’s worth it. Still, there’s something he simply can’t let go. “… what do you mean, ‘about’ £7.92?”

“Are you paying cash or card?”

Alright then.

The next ultimatum: if the coffee turns out dogshite, he’s never coming back. He’d rather travel an increased distance to a normal coffee shop than to have to deal with this nonsense. Wordlessly, he sets down a £10 note and scoops the change into his wallet before watching the obviously American guy (and maybe the chain imports all their workers, who knows) pour a cup of the darkest coffee he’s ever seen. He unceremoniously sets it down in front of him and makes no indication of mentioning neither cream nor sugar. He’s lucky Mark prefers his energy supply as-is.

“Ta”, Mark mutters and scurries away, glad to escape that hard stare. To make sure he’s not being scammed, he takes a quick sip of the fragrant liquid and is surprised at how pleasant the taste is. Minimal bitterness, a gentle, almost floral note, and just strong enough to satisfy his craving.

Well, crap.

Looks like he’ll have to come back after all.

.

~*~

.

“Did you guys know the old coffee shop closed?”, Mark voices his thoughts into the middle of a medium-sized food war between Manu and Timur involving entirely too many packets of salt.

“The one on campus?”, Manu asks and accidentally elbows Julien in the ribs, causing him to actually look up from his phone for once.

“No, the one halfway to our dorm.”

“I was there last week”, Timur pipes up, making him furrow his brows. A week can’t be enough to refurnish the entire café, let alone switch owners completely. “Is it closed now?”

“There’s a different one instead. It was dead when I went, but the coffee’s good. The bloke serving me was weird.”

“Look at you, stringing multiple sentences together”, Julien chimes in, grinning. “Something novel must’ve happened for you to even bring it up. Was the dude hot?”

“Because that’s the only reason anyone would ever get excited about anything”, says Manu drily. “We can check it out if it’s good, even if the employees suck. Not like we have to socialise with them.”

Mark shrugs and regrets mentioning the café in the first place – it feels somehow personal, whether it’s to do with the odd experience overall or the fact that he ended up staying more than three hours. His productivity was through the roof, the calm atmosphere helped immensely and the thought of his loud friends – as much as he appreciates them – invading his newfound hideout isn’t one he particularly enjoys.

It turned out that the employee wasn’t so bad after all: as soon as Mark considered asking for more coffee, he appeared right by his side and filled his mug again, without bothering him at all. Still, Julien would complain about him and Timur might agree and Manu is likely to judge his impolite manner, and Mark wouldn’t be able to defend him. Even if he doesn’t mind the silent company.

For the moment, he needn’t bother with these thoughts as his friends are wholly occupied with arguing over some internet memes (and Mark remembers vividly how they all had to talk Julien down from nibbling at their laundry detergent pods), so nothing could be further from their minds than sitting down and actually studying for their degrees.

Not that they’re bad students, quite the opposite, they’re just not as… ambitious as Mark. Some have called him obsessed, yes, and he can’t quite refute it, but he prefers to call it ‘determined’. There have been few who are able to keep up with him, which is probably partly the reason why he’s made friends with people from completely different departments. He tends to be a loner in most classes, which suits him just fine.

Well. Most classes.

.

“I would give my left bollock for you.”

Mark certainly doesn’t appreciate the imagery. He hands over the photocopied sheet to the bloke nearly bouncing in delight before shuffling after his fellow students into the lecture hall. Closely followed, of course. “Make sure to change enough details”, he repeats the reminder, earning a scoff.

“I’ll make it illegible, babe, don’t worry.” James plops down next to him, stretching and taking up too much space. “You’re the only reason I’ll actually get credit for this course.”

Oh, Mark is very aware of this fact. He lets his seat neighbour prattle on as he takes out his materials, lines up his pens, and waits for the lecture to start. If he were pressed to explain how he ended up in this position, with a chatterbox glued to his side too lazy to do any of the coursework, he wouldn’t have a concise answer. Other than his inability to say no.

The problem is that James knows exactly who to befriend. Mark is naturally drawn to the overachievers in each class and carefully selects his group for projects, going by people who do put the time and work in to get a good grade – anything where students are meant to collaborate is 30% actual work and 70% politics. The right people tend to listen to him whenever he knows better, because they’re interested in improving and learning, they tend to go along with his division of tasks, because he distributes them fairly and suited to everyone’s skills, and they tend to work best independently, so they can get it done even without excessive communication.

And James? He follows the same strategy as Mark, except that he’s a leech. He latches onto the teacher’s pets, chooses the easiest tasks, always volunteers for presentations (meaning he’ll just have to regurgitate what his group produced), and bribes his groupmates so they don’t throw him out. Whether it’s snacks or drinks after class, whether it’s attention and compliments, or playing matchmaker: he knows how to make himself useful in all aspects other than his studies.

He’s a clown. He makes everyone laugh and worms his way into their hearts so they would feel bad about calling him out. Not having to do any work is his reward for asking questions everyone’s thinking but doesn’t dare ask for fear of looking stupid in front of the prof.

Obviously, James has latched onto him ever since they crossed paths in chem last semester, and Mark considered dropping the current class when he found out that he was in it as well. Even worse, James began asking him for homework, giving excuses like having had no time, not being able to write it down concisely, and so on – and though Mark initially refused, classmates approached him and gently nudged him towards sharing his results with James. Just to be nice. Just to help him. He’s such a good guy after all.

So Mark’s homework gets copied and passed along. And James’ fondness of him only grows.

During the long, meaningless rant interspersed with an impressive amount of curse words, he perks up at a quiet: “Wait, this one doesn’t make any sense.”

His pride won’t let him ignore it. “Which one?”

James points at one of Mark’s answers, a complicated equation. “Shouldn’t that be on top?”

“The denominator?”

An uncertain glance. He points again. “This.”

“You mean the bottom fraction? That’s the denominator, yes. And it is where it should be.”

James frowns, indubitably not content with the reply but possibly unsure how to voice his dissatisfaction.

“Trust me, it’s correct. Just copy it.”

“But I want to understand it.”

Fat chance. No way did he get any of the previous homework without having engaged with the subject matter at all, so it’s impossible for him to work it out, even if Mark explained it. Which he doesn’t want to. Because he figures it’d be like explaining string theory to a brick wall. He’s saved by the prof’s entry, knowing James at least has the decency to shut up during class, and hopes he can simply slip away afterwards.

It turns out, however, James is fully aware of his biggest weakness. “Do you have a bit of time after? You think you can explain it to me? Please?”

Yikes.

Not only is Mark burning to show him how wrong he is, he’s also entirely unable to refuse a plea for help. And there’s no doubt James knows this. He can’t keep getting away with it, he’s exploiting Mark enough as it is without offering much – if anything – in return, plus it’s obvious the endeavour is futile and doomed from the start. And this is disregarding the possibility of James suggesting more meetings in the future. So, like the reasonable adult he is, Mark replies: “Sure.”

And has never wanted to kick himself more.

.

If this bloke really is the only employee they have, it’s no wonder the place is dead yet again. They stare at each other, unblinking, and seem equally dismayed about each other’s presence. “Hi”, says Mark after a few seconds of tense silence.

The old man is wearing the same clothes as last time, apron and jeans – even his disinterested expression hasn’t changed. “I’m Sam”, he offers completely out of the blue, surprising Mark with how unexpected the introduction is. “I figured you shouldn’t have to keep calling me ‘this bloke’ in your head.”

“… Mark”, he responds hesitantly.

“Is that a threat?” Sam barks out a brief, mirthless laugh. “I know. You wrote it on your loyalty card.”

He most certainly did not, but only because the card is solid black with white text. “Look, I’m just here to buy coffee.”

“You brought a friend.” Sam indicates James who already sat down by a window and is absorbed in his phone for the time being – and for all his faults, Mark has to admit that at least his (limited) attention is always on the person he’s talking to; he’s never seen his fellow student even checking for messages during a conversation.

“Not really”, he says nonetheless and is reasonably sure they’re out of earshot. “We just have chem together.”

“You have chemistry, hm?”

He wonders if it’s possible to set someone on fire with a hard look alone. “Just sell me the bloody coffee.”

“For the both of you?” Sam turns around and studies the clock on the wall behind him, whispering to himself for a few seconds before announcing: “That’ll be roughly £15.84.”

“Fine.” He holds out a card, scowling when Sam makes no move to take it.

“No complaint?”

“Is it gonna be cheaper if I do? Besides, he’s paying. So I don’t care.”

“Oh. Then it’ll be £22.43.”

“Why is it -” As quickly as his annoyance spikes, it ebbs again. It’s obvious there’s no logic behind all this nonsense, yet he still tries: “If it’s cheaper for me, I’ll pay and get the money back from him.”

“That’s illegal. You’ve already told me he’s paying.”

“I’m not trying to buy liquor, why would it -” Deep breaths. He already told James about how good the coffee is, and if they go anywhere else, someone else might see them. He’s strongly incentivised to stay. “Fine. Here.”

Sam runs the card and, as last time, pours two very unimpressive mugs before, to Mark’s horror, reaching into the display case and pulling out two slices of cakes on their own respective plates. The chocolate one is drooping and threatening to fall over if anyone looked at it wrong, and the sponge cake seems suspiciously wet. There’s no telling how long they’ve been sitting there. “It’s on the house”, Sam says, almost begrudgingly, as if he was the inconvenienced one.

Mark considers asking for forks or napkins but decides that the shorter their interaction, the healthier his sanity. “Ta, mate. Do you need my loyalty card?”

“No need.”

Fair enough, though he’s not sure what the point of it is, then. He carries the coffees and cakes over in two trips and wonders how he’ll get rid of the sickly-looking bakeware without Sam noticing. When James eventually tries his piece and doesn’t keel over immediately though, Mark gives his own a try.

It’s the best chocolate cake he’s ever had. And he’s never been madder in his life.

.

~*~

.

At some point, it turns into stubbornness. There’s a few mannerisms, the odd hobby and some of his preferences which started out as either ironic, as guilty pleasures or as things he actively disliked, but the more he engaged, the more he developed the attitude of: you know what? This is mine and I don’t care what anyone says about it.

He’s starting to adopt Leo Coffee. The awkward vibe about it, the indecipherable employee, the delicious food and drinks – it holds its own charm in a way, and he’s stopped wondering about being the only patron. It’s perfect for studying or unwinding, and does wonders for his stressed soul. He’s been returning regularly now, about once a week, and even brought James with him a second time to argue about yet another homework he criticised. The atmosphere renders Mark calmer, more patient, and so he endured the other man’s presence for much longer than he would’ve thought possible. They stayed for almost three hours the first time, even longer the second.

Just to make sure he’s not being a nuisance, he tried to check the coffee shop’s opening hours and wasn’t even sure what he expected to find. They’re listed nowhere, of course, and Sam switched topics the instant he brought it up.

So now the only people he has to drag in here are his friends, who have somehow evaded his efforts so far – but not today. Timur and Julien promised to come even though Manu has to go to some recital or other, meaning she’s excused. For now.

Eyes idly following pedestrians outside, he’s resting his chin in his palm and waiting. Being the only punctual one has always meant boredom, so he’s lucky his mind is imaginative enough to keep him occupied in the meantime. His train of thought meanders through all the topics occupying his brain recently, how the new guy Julien is seeing is basically moving into their apartment, how Timur keeps hanging around the wrong crowd, how unfair it is that Manu aces all her courses with so little effort, how he happened to run into James during his break today and almost suggested spending it together -

His phone buzzes, interrupting his aimless daydreaming and prompting him to check the colourful screen.

I got ambushed, writes Julien and it’s unclear whether he’s being cryptic on purpose. Mark sends a question mark and has to wait a minute or two for the explanation: Sudden date night, looks like Netflix & chill boys ;) sry for ditching you but the shop isn’t gonna go anywhere right?

An eye roll later, Mark responds with a simple TMI.

I don’t think I’ll make it either, adds Timur, a friend wants to yarn bomb the stature by City Hall and they need me as lookout.

This one gets points for creativity at least. He sighs and reassures them with a quick sure, no problem before commending himself for not going home first to drop his bag off. Now he can just study instead. Woohoo.

Another brief vibration, this notification from a completely different group chat, one Mark apparently forgot to leave once the project was done: @Mark: are there carrots in carrot cake?

The number is translated to ‘GirthControl’, so there’s just one person this could be. He stares at his screen. Is that a trick question? Yes, he feels confident enough to affirm to James.

Ah okay. Thanks babe.

This is when it occurs to him: Wait, why did you only ask me?

Silence. Whatever quest James is currently on, it apparently required Mark’s input and Mark’s input only.

He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity and suddenly feels a lot less abandoned. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether his friends don’t rank him at the top of their priority list as long as he’s on it somewhere. And knowing that he’s left a lasting impression on James beyond being the lad who supplies him with homework is oddly reassuring.

When he approaches the counter, Sam once again materialising out of nowhere (at least that’s what it feels like – he’s always there when Mark needs him and never at any other time), he’s decided to not get weirded out by anything today. “A coffee”, he orders confidently and inspects the haphazardly thrown together bagels featured prominently in the infamous display case. “And a bagel.” He doesn’t bother specifying, Sam will choose for him anyway.

After peering at the digital alarm clock on the counter, Sam announces the approximate value of the aforementioned items and then squints at him. “Weren’t you going to meet with somebody?”

Mark half-shrugs. “Kinda. They’re busy though.”

“Mind if I join you?” He must notice Mark’s surprise because he adds: “It’s your ninth time here. Would be a shame if we didn’t get to talk before you’ve filled up your loyalty card, don’t you think?”

“Alright”, he agrees and waits until Sam has poured himself a mug as well before they sit down at Mark’s usual table – tucked away in a corner but close enough to the windows to be able to do people-watching if his eyes need a rest from staring at textbooks or screens all day long. It’s the first time he examines the man opposite him more closely: the distinguished features, greying beard, wild mane of hair. He looks too… important to be working in a coffee shop, like he was destined for greatness. Mark can’t picture him angry even if he exudes a bitter, cynical aura which he’s likely to hide behind sarcasm.

“How did you end up here?”, he wants to know, genuinely curious.

“Good question.” Sam takes a few sips of his excellent coffee as he ponders how to reply. “It’s a temporary thing, that’s for sure.” He leaves it at that. “What do you study?”

Mark eyes the disorganised heap of books keeping his bagel company and sighs. “At this point, I don’t even know anymore.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is”, he emphasises. “I love studying.”

“Where’s the problem then?”

There is none, he wants to say yet his mouth refuses to comply. He stares into the dark liquid, running his thumb over even porcelain and then decides to sod it – he asked, right? And somehow, it’s always easier to unload on a complete stranger. “I feel like it’s all I’m doing.”

“You keep others at a distance on purpose.” He nods, even though it wasn’t a question. “So don’t be surprised if they do the same.”

“I’m not.” The warmth seeps into his palms as he wraps his hands around the mug, providing as much comfort as Sam’s gentle tone. “I just want it to be different.”

“Make an effort. It’s never to late to change. I’m sure your friends will appreciate it. Put some trust in them, they’re your friends for a reason.” He nods again, lost in thought. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wish for next time?”

He scoffs, amused. There isn’t a single thing he can imagine himself wanting from the old man before him, so he’s unlikely to wish for anything at all. “No. Not yet.”

“Well, think about it. I believe in you, son.” With that, Sam downs the last of his own coffee and gets up, ready to walk back behind the counter and only stops when Mark calls his name.

“Is there someone you care about?”

It’s the first time he sees Sam smile. “Yes. There were two, but I lost one – so I keep the other one twice as close without trying to be suffocating. It’s hard. But remember, Mark, it’s never too late to tell the people in your life how you really feel.” And then he’s gone, disappeared into the back, leaving behind a faint nostalgia tinted with hope.

There’s no challenge from which Mark has shied away in his life, and this one isn’t going to be his first.

.

~*~

.

The word fuck on his lips, Mark bursts into the café like a panicked chicken. He’s juggling two bags and his phone, his frantic typing only interrupted by the need to breathe now and then, and nearly drops it when he slams his book bag to the ground at the counter. “Sorry, one sec”, he addresses an unimpressed-looking Sam as he dials a number and curses once more when it’s not immediately picked up. “Can I get a coffee to go?”, he asks, out of breath, as the dial tone beeps in his ear.

“I don’t serve people who are on the phone”, Sam replies, as calm as ever.

Mark mentally increases the number of people who’d be dead if his looks could kill by one. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me”, he says gravely and hangs up after thirty seconds have passed. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“An event without precedence, I assume?”

“You have no bloody idea. But yes, a coffee please, I need to go back to the library and get an entire semester’s worth of material because I’m too fucking dumb to read a syllabus correctly. This has never happened to me, I have one day to write this assignment and I’m lacking so much -”

“Can you give me the time?”, Sam interrupts him nonchalantly and stares at the screen of Mark’s phone as he holds it up for him to read. “Thanks. Let’s say £2.63.”

“And I can’t study at home because Timur has his friends over, and Manu is in a panic herself, and I know the library is going to be overrun by people who treat the study rooms like their social media accounts by loudly oversharing all the time, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this. Maybe I’ll just accept fate and fail. No clue how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

“Your loyalty card.”

Distracted, Mark fishes it out of his wallet and puts it on the counter. “And the other people in chem aren’t answering or are no help at all, I don’t get it, I’ve done group projects with them and still they don’t have the courtesy to help me out in this. It was a genuine mistake, as stupid as it is, and I’m just -”

“You need to write it down.”

He’s briefly interrupted in his rant to frown at the black paper card. “Write what?”

“Your wish.”

“But you won’t be able to read it. I only have black or blue pens.”

“Doesn’t matter. Write it down.”

With an irritated sigh, Mark takes out a pen and thinks for a second, the majority of his attention elsewhere still. Eventually, he scribbles someone who cares, not that it’d be legible in any way, and hands it to Sam. “That’s it? I’m not sure this reward system is going to pay off in the long term, you know.”

Sam holds the card up to the light as if he was inspecting a bank note and nods, apparently satisfied. “You’re all set. Good luck.”

“Ta, I’m gonna need it.” Mark shoves all his belongings in various pockets, hoping he’ll remember where he put them, and grabs the to-go cup. And then, without so much as a goodbye, he storms back out, steeling himself for an all-nighter certain to mess up sleep schedule for days, if not weeks.

He ascribes it to his flustered state that he doesn’t look up as he exits the coffee shop, and promptly runs into someone, collides with what feels like a solid wall. His coffee gets squished and sloshes over, soaking the front of his clothes – fortunately, it’s not hot at all, more like lukewarm which is odd in and of itself. He swears again, yanking his phone out of his pocket before it gets wet also and it’s only due to another hand grabbing the device that it doesn’t plummet to the ground straightaway.

“Oh bollocks, I’m so sorry”, says the wall he ran into which turns out to be none other than James. Of all people. “Are you alright? Is it hot?”

“No, no, I’m fine”, Mark presses through clenched teeth, the stress slowly overwhelming him. “But now I have to go home and change before I can start on this stupid fucking -”

“Babe. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath and ignores the quickly cooling wet patches on his clothes for the moment. “I still have to do the report. I didn’t realise we were meant to -”

“Oh, you haven’t done it? At all?”

“No! No, I didn’t, and everyone else is partnered up so I can’t just join someone else, so I’ll have to -”

“I’m not paired up.”

“Sure, once I’m done I’ll put your name on there, whatever, but that doesn’t -”

“Babe. Mark. Listen to me.” James waves in front of his face with a slight grin. “I did it. It’s almost done. I’ll put down that we did it together and you’re good.”

He stares at James, mouth open, for several unflattering seconds. “Wait – you… how?”

“I can show you, but it’s at my place. My roommate is around your height, he can lend you some clothes. Let’s go.”

And yet again, Mark finds himself unable to refuse. He drinks what’s left of his coffee in one go (and it really is tepid, he must’ve gotten really lucky), tosses the cup in the nearest bin and leaves Leo Coffee behind without a single glance back.

.

James’ flat looks exactly like Mark would’ve imagined it, only louder. Double bass and epic vocals are permeating every room, and all available horizontal surfaces are littered with stuff. The walls are plastered with posters, some funny, some pretty, some morbid, and it reeks of weed.

A small part of Mark feels right at home, oddly enough.

“Turn the fucking music down!”, James yells at the top of his lungs, throwing him an apologetic look, clearly uncomfortable with the state of it all and ignorant as to Mark’s growing amusement.

Somewhere, a door opens and the shrill guitars become clearer. “Whot?”, someone replies just as loudly.

“Exactly!”, is James’ deafening reply, and a few seconds later, the melodies decrease to a reasonable level. Another bloke joins them, tall and well-built with an unkempt beard and a band shirt as well as no socks.

“Who’s that? Is he allowed to be here?”, asks James’ roommate and regards Mark with suspicion.

“That was Sabaton, wasn’t it?”, Mark inquires back. “Primo Victoria?”

The dude’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, a connoisseur. He can stay, James, I like him already.”

And while the two of them exchange more words, Mark goes exploring. He ends up in what must be James’ room which is covered in paper, be it books or hand-written notes, and most of it seems related to chemistry in some way. Curious, Mark looks around until he finds a spiral-bound notepad titled with the name of the course they’re sharing this semester. Contrary to his expectations, it’s far from empty – not only does it contain copious lecture notes, it also features every assignment they’d been given since the start of the course.

Solved differently from Mark’s own answers.

Confused, he checks more closely and finds a recurring pattern: equations that are struck-through, calculations lacking several steps in between which wouldn’t be accepted by the prof this way, and very little text. It looks like the writings of someone who certainly understands the material but simply has a hard time putting his thoughts in order, putting his ideas into neat writing.

He’s been immersed for several minutes when James finally joins him, and when he does, Mark holds up his notes and greets him with a simple: “What the fuck?”

James doesn’t seem to realise where Mark’s problem lies and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m a hopeless case, I know.”

“No. No, you’re really not. This is – look here, if you just shift this around, you end up with the correct result. You’re like 95% of the way there, you just didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” James blinks at him. “I guess. It’s kinda like that with the report. I was hoping you could help me write the conclusion, I’ve got the rest, but -”

“Sure. Yes.” Mark’s agreeableness seems to astonish his host. “That’ll take an hour, maybe two. And I won’t have to pull an all-nighter. James, you have no idea how much you saved me.”

And James, bless his soul, is blushing. “Well. No problem. I owe you anyway. Right?” He suddenly remembers he’s holding spare clothing and vaguely gestures in Mark’s direction. “You, uh, you can change in the bathroom. Don’t mind the cat, she just loves staring at naked people. Dom found out the hard way.”

Twenty minutes later, Mark is reading through James’ report with a ball of fur purring on his lap, faint metal playing in the background. There’s a lot of grammar and spelling to be fixed, as well as phrasing, but content-wise, it’s near flawless. He’s smiling to himself, enjoying the way James turns almost bashful whenever he compliments his work, and remembers Sam’s words from the second-to-last time he visited the café: it’s never too late.

He’s definitely treating James to dinner after he’s saved his arse like this.

.

The next time Mark passes by that familiar spot, the next time Mark develops a craving for caffeine and some peace and quiet, the next time he plans to go to Leo Coffee, all he finds is the same coffee shop which has been here for years already, the afternoon crowd populating the tables and several diligent employees taking care of the customers.

Somehow, Mark isn’t the least bit surprised.

[lonelyreputation]

Trouble in Canada

a/n: hey hi hello!! tis been a while :’) but I'm back bc quarantine got me feeling nostalgic of writing! My computer crashed in September 2019 and all of my writing was no more :( but miraculously, TiC was the only writing saved to my cloud and it only felt fitting to repost it with some ~minor tweaks!  Whether you read TiC when it first came out a few years ago, or it’s your first time, I hope you enjoy :) Hoping everyone is staying happy, healthy, and sane during this time!! Happy reading!! Come chat!! It’s been a while!!

WORD COUNT: 4,632 | ANGST | PART 2

“I’ll see you at the next session?”

            You picked your head up from rummaging in your bag and smiled at Ethan, the cooking class instructor, “My husband should be back in town, but I’ll see.”

           Ethan nodded his head steadily.  He held your gaze for a few moments, but after a while of looking at each other, you diverted your gaze down towards the wooden table.  Slowly, you saw his tapping fingers inch closer to your hand that rested on the table.

           Quickly, you moved your hand, and placed your engagement and wedding ring back on your ring finger.  You didn’t like cooking with your rings on, in fear that they could fall down the drain, “Uh,” you cleared your throat, “thanks for the lesson, see you later.”

           He lifted his head up from staring at your left hand with sad eyes, “See you next week, Mrs. Mendes.”  The last part was said with a hint of distaste that he didn’t care to hide.

           As fast as you could, you scurried out the door and saw your friend, Jessie, waiting for you outside.  She saw your flustered expression and smirked, “Looks like the teacher has a crush on the student.” 

           You rolled your eyes, “Married,” You held up your left hand and showed off the rings that you proudly wore every day out of love to your husband.  Jessie let out a small laugh as the two of you walked down the streets of Toronto.  

Since Shawn had left for tour about three months ago, Jessie stepped up her best friend role by keeping you occupied whenever Shawn was away.  Out of the three months he’d been touring, Shawn had been home for four days.  It got lonely around the house with no one there, especially since this was the first time Shawn was away for a substantial amount of time since you had been married.

You missed rolling over in bed and reaching a hand out to lay on your husband’s chest when you were both too lazy to get up.  You missed playfully kicking his feet underneath the table during dinner, even when it was just you two in your apartment.  And most importantly, you missed it when he would come back with coffees and bakery items from the coffee shop down the street from his gym early in the mornings.

To fill up the gaping holes of the time you normally spent with Shawn, Jessie suggested that the two of you take cooking lessons at a place in down town Toronto.  You thought it was a wonderful idea, seeing as you couldn’t even cook pasta correctly, and Shawn got a kick out of the idea of you being in a kitchen setting.  

A little bell dinged over your head when you opened the door to a coffee shop that was a block down from where you and Jessie took your kitchen lessons. The two of you stood in line to order your drinks in silence.  Once it was your turn to order, you asked for an iced latte, even though it was February and snow was on the ground.  After Jessie ordered her decaf coffee, the two of you found a seat by the window.

“Ethan knows you’re married, right?”

You nodded your head as you crossed your right leg over your left, “Called me Mrs. Mendes as I left today after he tried to make a move.”

Jessie scrunched her nose up, “Like, I can see the appeal to having a little crush on someone who’s married––they’re unattainable in a sense––but dude,” Jessie paused her words when a server brought your drinks over to the table, “Keep it to yourself and don’t be a home wrecker.”

You took a sip of your cold drink and stifled a laugh, “I honestly think he doesn’t care, and it kinda freaks me out?”  Your mind couldn’t properly put together why Ethan would try anything out on a married woman, “Like when he was trying to show me the correct way to cut whatever it was and he came around from behind—almost like the boy trying to teach the girl how to swing a golf club,”  Jessie nodded, “I just feel weird.”

Peering over her coffee cup Jessie’s eyes were curious, “Do you want to get a different teacher?” 

You shook your head, “I’m sure it’ll calm down.”

It was a Tuesday night, and instead of it being spent in your bed reading a good book, you were pacing your room on the phone with your husband.  You understood that the life he led was full of uncertainty and things popping up last minute, and even after years of dealing with it, the feeling of being let down grew more and more familiar.

“Andrew won’t let you do it earlier?” You crossed your arms as you paced around the bedroom.  

You heard Shawn sigh on the other end, “I already asked.”

 Shawn was currently in Cape Town, South Africa, so while you were ending your day, he was just beginning his.  He was supposed to come home Thursday for five days and then get back on the road.   But now it seemed as though the plans had changed. Shawn was to be in Cape Town for an extra two days.  So, with the added days on to his schedule, and the travel days, he would essentially not be home at all.  

 “Should you even bother coming home?” You questioned him as you went over to the bay area window of your apartment.  The twinkling lights of the city and the sound of traffic below made the lonely nights bearable, “I know you don’t do well with traveling, and I don’t want to disrupt your tour schedule––“

“Y/n,” Shawn spoke assertively into the phone, “You’re my wife, of course I still want to come home to you.”

Even with no one around, you felt yourself trying to hide the blush that was making its way onto your cheeks, “I don’t want you to work yourself too hard––“

“You’re sounding like you don’t want me to come home,” There was a pause before Shawn spoke hesitantly into the phone, “Is something going on?”

Your eyes widened and you felt your previous warmth shift into nerves in your stomach. You weren’t hiding anything from him, but your mind drifted over to Ethan and how odd he’d been acting lately, his confidence growing more and more with each class. Of course you had no further interaction with him other than him teaching you how to cook, but you didn’t want Shawn to find out that the teacher had been flirting with you.

“Of course I want you home,” You looked down at your left hand and twirled your engagement ring as you smiled and softly whispered, “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” Shawn instantly replied back with a sigh.  It was silent for a moment until you heard his voice pipe up, “Are you sure I don’t need to worry about anything?”

Your mind drifted to thinking that it might be in your best interest to inform your husband about the handsy cooking instructor.  Surely he would understand that it made you uncomfortable and that you didn’t reciprocate any of the feelings.  It seemed trivial to explain everything to him, he knew you loved him, you took a vow to love Shawn for the rest of your life. 

With the little debate you had in your head, you came to the conclusion that it wasn’t important to tell him.  The class would be over soon and you wouldn’t have to worry about Ethan again.  And you knew that Shawn trusted you with his life, so he would know that nothing would come of it, so you shook your head, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m your husband,” Shawn let out a small laugh, “It’s my job.”  You let out a small laugh as well, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the not so subtle advances Ethan has tried on you. They made you uncomfortable, and maybe it was in your bet interest to confided in your husband, but just as you briefly opened your mouth, Shawn spoke up, “I have to go, but text me throughout the day?  I’m not sure when I’ll be able to pick up the phone and actually talk.”

“Yeah,” You answered him dismally, “I can do that.”

“I love you.” Shawn’s words were spoken in unwavering confidence into the phone.

With a stinging feeling pricking behind your eyes, you let out a breathy laugh to cover up your heavy heart of not being able to see your husband as soon as you thought, “I love you too.”

You hung up the phone and let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in.  Of course supporting Shawn was something you would do no matter what, but with him constantly being away, it was beginning to take a toll on you.  You thought that it would be better once you got married, but that wasn’t the case.

Then thoughts that never once crossed your mind in all of the years you and Shawn had been together; what would it be like to be with someone, to have dated or be married to, that wasn’t him?  To have someone who wasn’t constantly traveling the world. What would it be like to be married to someone who spent more time with their wife than a tour bus?

––––

 Trouble in Canada?

            Newlyweds Shawn and Y/n Mendes are no stranger to the media, especially when it comes with rumors circulating their marriage.  Just a few months shy of their first wedding anniversary, the couple has been caught in the middle of a few fiascos.

           If we’re being quite honest with ourselves, keeping up with the Kardashians is easier than these two.

           Shawn is currently on his world tour and about to start the European leg. Earlier in the week, Shawn was supposed to be traveling home to spend a short break with the Misses before the European part of his tour officially kicked off.  But according to a source close to Mr. Mendes, he had to stay in Cape Town, South Africa for a few more days.

           “He tried everything he could to get out of staying,” The source close to Shawn said. “He misses Y/n, but even with the amount of times they call each other or FaceTime in a day, it’s not the same as talking to each other face to face.”

           But as Shawn slips into a land of everlasting bliss between he and his wife, it looks like Y/n has been spending her time with someone else as of late. Below, pictures of Y/n and a mystery man have appeared over the course of a few weeks, starting just after Shawn left home.

           “There’s been a noticeable change in him,” the source said, who has requested to remain anonymous, added in, “Everyone around him knows how much he loves his wife, so when he saw pictures of her with another man in that room, it really hit him.”

           Since pictures emerged of Y/n and the mystery man, people have commented that Shawn has been distant and more quiet than usual.  

“It’s another reason why he wants to get back to Toronto so bad, he wants to settle things with Y/n.  He’s tried to convince himself that it’s just a misunderstanding, but everyone around him knows how it’s already going to play out–and it’s not going to end well.  It seems like he’s catching on.  Those pictures leave no room for questioning what’s going on between his wife and someone that isn’t him.” 

           Have Shawn and Y/n Mendes followed in the steps of many other famous couples, and not been able to handle their marriage in the spot light?  We were banking on the couple hitting the five-year marriage mark before anything like this happened.  

 What do you all think? Leave your comments in the section below.

––––

           “Hey, Shawn,” You sighed into the phone.  It was the fourth time he had missed your call, “It’s uh––me, again.”  Pacing around your room, you didn’t know what was going on with him that made him miss your calls multiple times.  Usually, he wouldn’t ever miss one, and if he did, he would call you back ten minutes later profusely apologizing.

  You had enough with pacing around your room, so you took a seat at the edge of your bed.  It didn’t stop the nerves though as your leg began to bounce, “I’m just calling to check up, it’s uh,” You looked over at the clock on your wall, “It’s almost midnight here, and I don’t know where you are,” Your voice dwindled off at the end as you held back a small cry, “I hope you’re having a great day, or that you’re getting a good rest because you work yourself too hard doing what you love,” You tried to lighten your own mood by letting out a laugh, “Just call me back, I love you and can’t wait to see you when you get home.”

           Quickly, you hung up the phone and dropped your head to rest between your knees.  Your whole body felt off, there was a reason why Shawn wasn’t calling you back and you couldn’t think of anything.  The thought of him purposefully ignoring you felt like being stabbed in the chest with the knife twisting.  Your head started to pound, and you couldn’t help but start to chew the inside of your lip.  

           You made your way up to your pillows on the bed and slowly made your way under the covers.  You brought the white sheets up to where they were tucked under your chin and curled up.  With a constant sharp pounding in your head, and uneven breathing, you realized that you had begun to cry without realizing it until you sat up and saw tear stains on the pillow.  You brought both hands up to your eyes to wipe away the tears, but it was useless.

Your husband was dodging your calls.  You knew he had been on his phone because he seemed to be constantly Tweeting more than usual.  So he had to have seen your calls.  Then the thought struck you that this was the first time you didn’t know where in the world your husband was. 

––––

           “I haven’t heard from him in a few days,” You spoke to Jessie as the two of you walked into the building for your weekly cooking class, “Not even a––“

           “Y/n,” You were cut off when you heard a familiar voice call your name, you cringed a bit, and turned to the right to see Ethan, “Thought you weren’t going to make it in for this lesson?” 

           You cleared your throat, “Uh, yeah, I wasn’t supposed to because my hus–––“

           “I’m glad you could join,” He cut you off, with a gleaming smile, before the word husband could make its past your lips. The way he was looking at you made you slightly uncomfortable so you awkwardly smiled and looked the other direction without a reply.

           With a nod of your head, you gave Jessie an odd look that she returned with a shrug.  The two of you made your way over to a little a cooking station and placed your bags under the table.  Jessie and you chatted as other people strolled into the class area and set up in their usual position as Ethan made small talk with the people around him.

           Once the time came to start the class, Ethan clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention, “We’ll be learning how to make a steak dinner,” He looked over and into your eyes, “For two.” 

           Jessie leaned over to you and whispered, “I think I threw up a little.”  You stifled a laugh because you shared the same reaction.  

           First, you and Jessie both successfully made the creamy scalloped potatoes and the little side Caesar salad to go along with the steak. You then seasoned the steak, put the steak to bake in the oven for a few minutes, and then turned on the gas burner on the stove.  You put canola oil in the pan, butter, garlic, rosemary and thyme as you took the steak out of the oven.  As you pulled the oven pan out, you bumped into someone.  

           “Oh, I’m sorry––“

            “You’re fine,” Ethan’s voice filled the air. You scrunched your nose up as he took a step closer to you from behind and, along with your hand, he took hold of the oven pan and settled it on the counter top.  Jessie side glanced over as she cooked her steak, and all you could do was widen your eyes and beg for help.

            Ethan then took a pair of tongs and placed the steak in the sizzling pan, “So, now what you do––“

           “I can help her cooking the steak,” Jessie cut him off.  She sensed how uncomfortable you were, and it even made her feel weird seeing how close Ethan pressed himself up against you.  She didn’t like how he was treating you and thought the behavior was inappropriate. 

           Ethan shook his head, “I’ve got it.  I should help my students out.”

           You cleared your throat, “I can handle it, someone else may need your help––” 

           “What am I getting paid to do if I don’t help you out?” Ethan raised an eyebrow. 

           But you weren’t backing down easily.  He’d made other advances on you during other lessons and this was your time to put your foot down, “I’m fine––“

            “Mrs. Mendes––“

           “Yes, Mrs. Mendes,” You stumbled over your words and began to talk faster than the speed of light.  Whenever you got extremely nervous, you always seemed to talk with your hands, “That’s my name, the one and only, and the prefix indicates that I’m married––“

           It seemed like Ethan didn’t like you mentioning how you were married and very much not looking for a relationship.  His eyes narrowed at yours and he took hold of your wrists.  His grip was too strong for your liking, and you looked up at him in shock.  The glowering possessiveness in his eyes frightened you.

  Ethan gripped your wrists tighter, “Moving your hands and having them fly around while other people are cooking isn’t safe––“

           “Hey,” Jessie turned off her stove, “You probably shouldn’t touch her––“

           You didn’t let Jessie finish her sentence before you ripped your wrists out from his hold.  Part of you was shocked that a teacher would take hold of his student in such a rough manner, and the other half of your brain couldn’t process what was happening because with pulling your wrist back, you brought your elbow down and it collided with the handle of the searing pan that the steak was cooking in. 

           You felt the sting of hot oils run down your back, and in response, you jumped forward, and Ethan was the person in front of you who caught you.  He looked at you with concern in his eyes, “Don’t move, you could be burned––“

           “Stop!”  Your voice was high and scratchy as you raised your voice at him.  It was then you realized that everyone had stopped their cooking and turned their attention toward the two of you.  Embarrassment flooded your whole body.   And you felt yourself heat up in a mix of anger, embarrassment, and fear.  You grabbed your bag from under the table and rushed to put your coat on, not wanting anyone outside of the cooking studio to see the oil stains on you.

           “Y/n–” 

           You didn’t want to make any more of a scene, so while biting the inside of your lip to keep yourself from crying, you shook your head, “Thank you for a wonderful lesson today, but I don’t think I’ll be returning ever again.”

           And before he could reply, or try and put his hands on you again, you swiftly turned on your heel and sped walked out of the kitchen studio.

––––

           Sitting at the little breakfast nook in your apartment with a cup of tea would be more relaxing if your husband hadn’t blatantly been ignoring you for a few days.  You knew he was coming home today, but you were clueless as to where he was flying from or what time his flight was getting in.

           You were sipping on your tea, watching the Toronto traffic from your window, when your phone buzzed.  You looked down and saw Shawn’s name popped up.  You had to look at it again because after all the voicemails you left him, his first contact to you was a text message. 

            Just landed in Toronto.

           You stared at the blue text bubble in confusion.  Every time he was about to get on a plane, he would always text you, no matter what time it was.  He knew that you liked to know his travel schedule.  But this was the first time he hadn’t told you his travel information.  It made your stomach churn because now you definitely knew that something was wrong.

           So you sent him a text back; Do you want me to pick you up? 

           Almost instantly, he replied, No. 

           Your heart sank just a little when you read his message.  And then you started to feel it break piece by piece as you read the one word, one syllable, answer that held more negative. emotion than it should have.  With tears threatening to fall from your eyes at any time, you felt your phone buzz once more with a text from him; Andrew is driving me back. 

           You nodded to yourself as you typed back a simple; Ok.

           Neither one of you said how excited you were to see one another.  Which was odd because you and Shawn would always count down the days until you could see each other again, but this time, the two of you hadn’t talked in what seemed like forever.

           With the stress about not knowing what was wrong with Shawn and what happened yesterday at the cooking class, your heart was racing and you felt jittery until you saw a familiar car pull up to the side walk down below.  You peered out the window and saw your husband for the first time in a few months. Even though there were tons of unsettled questions between the two of you, you still felt your heart pick up speed at the sight of him like it had on your first date.

           He pulled out a little over the shoulder bag from inside the car and then you saw Andrew come around with a larger suitcase.  You saw the two of them exchange some words, but since you were so high up and looking down at them through the window, you couldn’t hear what either of them were saying.

           But a few moments later, Andrew and Shawn hugged, and then Shawn walked towards the building and Andrew got into his car and drove away.  Shawn didn’t even send you a text that he was close to your apartment, like he would normally do so you would be waiting in the lobby to greet him.  It looked like he didn’t want you to greet him in the lobby.  Or see you at all.

           He didn’t want you––his wife––he one who promised to love him forever no matter what, to be the first person to greet him when he came back from a long month or so from traveling.  Your daunting thoughts kept themselves on a loop in your mind that you didn’t even hear the door open.

           It was the sound of a suitcase rolling and a bag dropping on the floor that made you look up from the window.  For the first time in months, your husband was standing right in front of you and you didn’t have the need to run up and hug him.  Seeing him made your blood boil because of how unreliable he had been recently.

            You sat in the little nook and took a sip of your tea, “Have a nice flight?”  You kept your voice monotone.  You didn’t want him to know that your past few nights had been hell with him ignoring you, and that you were getting no sleep, imagining what your reunion would be like after radio silence from him.  And here you were, after every scenario you created in your mind, it did not turn out how you thought. 

His hair was disheveled, t-shirt wrinkled in every place, and his left sock was raised higher than the left.  It looked like he had the same problem as you––not being able to sleep for the past few days.  All you wanted to do was reach out to him and feel his arms wrap tight around you.  You missed his familiar smell, the one that his pillow still smelled like, even after countless washes.  You slept on that pillow every night he had been on tour.  

           In your mind, you imagined Shawn either apologizing for his silence, or having his face turn red as he yelled at you for something you had no idea about.  But it wasn’t either of those options.  It was just like how he had been treating you for the past few days; silence.

           His eyes held no emotion, the exhaustion evident in his face.  Shawn was silent, something that was worse than blowing up at you.  You imagined anything but him being mute about his feelings because Shawn was always a vocal person.  

It was the most deafening silence you had ever heard.

           You were waiting for a response to your seemingly innocent question.  But as he didn’t respond, you began searching for any facial clues as to any answer you could possibly find.  You were growing frustrated.  His face was kept with a neutral look; no creases in the eyebrows and not a scrunch of distaste with his nose.   

           Then you began to search for any other signs that would give away his answer.  He wasn’t tapping his foot, he wasn’t swaying from side to side, and he wasn’t twiddling his hands out of nervousness.

           His hands. 

           It was tiny, a detail that wouldn’t be caught by many. But with being married to a man for almost a year, you began to notice every little thing about them.  There were certain things that you knew Shawn would always keep on him, and as a married man, you knew he always wore his wedding band.  But as you looked at his left hand, you noticed that there was a small sliver of his skin that was lighter shade than the rest.

           His ring finger.

           You looked down at your left hand, your engagement and wedding ring were in their place, and you quickly looked back at Shawn’s left hand to see if your mind had been playing tricks on you.

           Shawn wasn’t wearing his ring, the symbol of marriage that brought two people, who loved each other more than life itself, together.

            Your heart stopped and you felt as if you were about to throw up at any minute, a feeling of doom weighed down your chest with every moment of silence passing.  Biting the inside of your lip, you opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out.  The silence that surrounded the two of you stole your voice.  You looked up at him, wanting to ask him why he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, but with silence stealing your voice, he gave it to Shawn who spoke without hesitation in his voice.

           “We need to talk.”

[blazedgraysons]

Killing Me Softly

The one where Grayson falls in love in under 12 hours

A/N: Here’s another fic inspired by literally nothing. I am pretty proud of this one though. To all the people who said nice things about Drunk Off You, just know that I read every single one of them and you own my heart and soul. Also, I know literally no one knows who I am but feel free to send asks or messages. I pinky promise to respond. ♡

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: Grayson Dolan x OC (Harlow)

Warnings: nothing really, it’s pretty tame minus a lil angst towards the end. 

“Are you B29?”

Harlow removes an earbud, looking up to meet big brown eyes staring back at her. It’s hard not to notice the rest of the man standing in the aisle.

Brown hair flops over his forehead as she moves her eyes down to appreciate the soft scuff lining his chin - not quite a beard, but not quite stubble. He’s dressed casually in a gym shirt that outlines every single bulging muscle paired with grey sweatpants and some Louis Vuitton slides. She nods slightly to his question, hoping the adonis of a man doesn’t notice that slight blush that’s appeared on her face. He offers her a gracious smile and effortlessly slings his carry-on into the overhead cabin.

“Looks like we’re neighbors then.” Harlow hums in acknowledgment, not sure why he’s so friendly. Most passengers would’ve just grabbed their seat and slept or occupied themselves, but this man intends on making himself known.

He slides into the neighboring seat, and Harlow is instantly overwhelmed. If she thought he looked good from afar, up close was even better. Here she could appreciate all the minute details — the dark mole on his chin, the expensive cologne, the 333 tattoo behind his ear. It took everything in her not to stare, so instead, she settles for quick glances hoping he would be too occupied by his phone to pay her any attention. If he did notice, he spared Harlow further embarrassment by not saying anything. She turns back to her magazine, a random Vogue issue she picked up in the airport convenience store to pass the time, mentally telling herself to calm down in order to get through the next three hours.

“ I’m Grayson, by the way. Just in case we crash, and you need to identify me.” He jokes, smiling widely and — oh shit, does he have a diamond in his tooth? Harlow is so screwed. 

—-

Grayson’s never been a big believer in fate until now. The idea of some external force dictating a situation in your life just seemed like bullshit. Yet, Grayson couldn’t describe meeting Harlow as anything else.

He had been irritated all the way up to that point. An overbooked plane forced him off his original flight and away from his twin brother. Ethan had offered to go with him, but Grayson didn’t see a point in delaying their trip even further and told him he’d meet him in Jersey. While the airline was over apologetic and gave him (terrible) perks, in order to make the next flight, he had to sacrifice his first-class seat for an economy red-eye flight. But at least he had a shitty hot towel to make up for it.

He scowled all the way through the check-in and tarmac, vowing to never fly with JetBlue again as he passed the first-class seats that he couldn’t help but stubbornly think, ‘That should be mine.’

It wasn’t until he reached his row that he realized what he thought was a hindrance was actually a blessing. Because there sitting in the seat next to him was a beauty that could only be described as ethereal. Her long, dark hair tumbles in tight coils down her shoulders as she sits crossed-leg, hunched over a magazine, biting her lip in furrowed concentration. She bobs her head slightly to whatever song she’s listening to as she quickly flips through the pages. She tucks her hair behind her shoulder, revealing blemished copper skin that reflects the light.

A small voice in his head (that suspiciously sounds like Ethan) tells him to stop being weird and talk to her. Before he can justify themillion reasons why he shouldn’t, an annoying cough comes from the lady behind him.

He turns around to glare at her a little and asks the mystery girl her seat number with a smile that he hopes comes off as charming and not predatory.

And fuck, he knows she has to be a blessing because she looks like she was sent straight from the gates of heaven to Grayson’s heart. Ironically, the plane’s fluorescent lights form a halo around her head (‘Or maybe you’re finally losing it.’ Ethan's voice tells him.) He blinks, once, twice, three times before realizing that the girl in front of him isn’t a sleep-deprived hallucination and is actually real. He tries to act unaffected by the slow once-over her round, onyx eyes give him. Still, when he notices her eyes lingering on his chest and thighs, he swallows hard before throwing his suitcase into the overhead and sitting down. 

The grumpy lady behind him gives him a look as she moves down the aisle, and he whips out his phone for a welcomed distraction. The girl, unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on Grayson’s mind and body, continues to sneak looks at him that were a little too obvious for Grayson to not notice. He debates whether or not to ask for her name until she turns back to her magazine and Grayson figures that she doesn’t want to be bothered anymore. It wasn’t until the voice in his head repeatedly calls him a pussy (‘Shut up, Ethan’ he thinks back) that he introduces himself. And when her plump lips turn up into a smile, Grayson pretends to not notice how screwed he is. 

—-

Conversation flows smoothly between the two of them after that. Grayson explains the situation with his original flight and his plans to surprise his mom for mother’s day while Harlow talks about her little brother and the birthday party she helped plan for him this weekend. They talk for so long that their conversation turns from typical discussion to hushed whispers to not disturb the other sleeping passengers. They finally pause for a break when the beverage attendant stops at their row.

Harlow’s honestly glad for the lull in conversation as it gives her time to reflect over what she’s learned. Grayson appears to be very humble despite being heavily involved in the influencer scene in Los Angeles, something Harlow desperately tries to stay far away from herself. Also, despite being one of the hottest guys she’s ever seen, he seems to be so shy that it’s endearing. She notices he stumbles over words, getting so excited about their conversations that he trips himself up.

“So in LA, what do you do for fun? Any friends? Boyfriend?” He asks coolly, trying not to be obvious about his intentions (which makes it so much more apparent in Harlow’s eyes) as he drinks his diet root-beer.

“I work for a high- fashion company doing PR, so I’m always there. I have a couple close friends, but since I’m working so much, I haven’t had that much time for a relationship or finding a guy worth making time for.” Harlow sighs wistfully.

“Ah, that makes sense about the magazine.” He nods, trying to hide his excitement. This situation seems to be working more and more in his favor. “And what guy would be worth making time for?”

“I don’t know honestly. It just seems that all the guys I run into in LA are beyond superficial. All my dates have just been talking about how many followers they have on Instagram or TikTok and just end in hookups. While there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just hard when you want something more, you know?” She shrugs. And as much as Grayson hates to admit it, he does know. Hell, he’s probably been that guy once or twice in his younger years. Still, as he grows older, he craves the same things Harlow does: intimacy, connection, emotion. He takes another swallow of his drink before responding.

“Yeah, I mean hookups and one-night stands are great in the moment, but it’s hard when you just have love you want to give. It’s even harder now that my brother’s dating someone, ya know. Seeing someone you’re close with have what you want; it’s kinda hard not to be jealous.” He shares, hoping she relates and doesn’t think he’s weird for telling so much to someone he met a few hours earlier.

Harlow sits with that for a second before responding, “And what girl would you want to give your love to?” She whispers.

’Someone like you.’ Grayson thinks. But before he could make the bold confession, the plane announces its descent.

——

Grayson realizes almost immediately that he wasn’t paying that much attention to the flight details because the fact that there was a layover in Colorado flew over his head. He lets Harlow pass by him to stand in the aisle and grabs both his and her carry-on to take off the plane. As Grayson stands behind her (and tries not to stare at how incredible her ass looks in her leggings), he does what he’s best at: forming a game-plan. He realizes that a girl like Harlow is too good to let go. So, he figures he could grab a coffee with her, get her number, and plan a date for when they both are back in LA. He smiles, already thinking of the story he’ll get to tell Ethan when he gets to Jersey. As they both slowly move into the terminal, Harlow turns back to Grayson with a bright smile. He smiles back before asking —

“Do you want to get coffee?” He can’t help his heart from swelling as she bites her lip, a habit he notices she does a lot.

“Good, I thought you weren’t going to ask.” She laughs. “Wait here though, I have to run to the restroom.”

He nods, handing Harlow her carry-on. He sits down and pulls out his phone, already texting Ethan that he met his future soulmate.

Five minutes pass: He’s got the future planned out: the wedding, the kids, the farmland in Jersey and the tiny-home in Australia.

Ten minutes pass: He starts to get worried, but figures Harlow can handle herself.

Thirty minutes pass: He considers sending someone to the bathroom to check on her.

Two hours passed: He’s already cased the domestic airline terminal twice, looking for her dark curly hair. 

It’s not until the final call of flight 437-A to New Jersey that he understands: Harlow’s not coming back for him. And he can’t help it when his heart splits into two.

[komoryriku]

Queering KH Part 4: Hearts in Tune

Actually KH Finally lol

Pictured: Riku humming Sora’s name in a soft, adoring, wistful voice the way a swooning straight person sighs the name of their beloved of the opposite gender.

Kingdom Hearts gives off so many subtextual signals of queer coding that it genuinely BAFFLES me how people can really believe it is straight. You may be wondering what makes me so confident in that when there has not been anything in the games to explicitly prove any of the characters are not straight, and I will be happy to tell you. It is because in order to believe Kingdom Hearts is straight, you have to ignore WAY too much subtext. To truly believe that Sora is in love with Kairi and only coded to be interested in Kairi, you have to ignore his questioning of what love is. You have to ignore the combined keyblade he shares with Riku. You have to ignore how much the narrative is driving him to understand that Riku is his most important, cherished person. This all goes doubly for Riku who has a coming out story not unlike Elsa’s metaphorical one, in which his love for Sora is his greatest source of strength. You have to pretend the necklace gifting plot point is entirely straight and cannot possibly mean anything homoromantic. You have to ignore the way Sora cries while clutching Riku’s hand compared to his subdued and non-emotional reunion with Kairi- that’s just too much “accidental subtext” for me to confidently ignore lol. Intentional or not, KH is Gay~

Here’s how we’re gonna do this.

So where the hell do I even begin with coding KH? Well- I can’t possibly queer the whole of KH text in 1 summer, so what I plan to do is this:

Give you the tools to understand KH’s coding so that you can code it yourself~

Queer a few major KH scenes so that everyone can see that the proof is in the pudding.

I’m gonna try to break down various scenes to decode them and queer them so you can see what’s at play in KH. Originally when this meta was a single doc, I was only gonna cover 4 scenes. But since I’m breaking it into parts to update at my leisure, I’m gonna just add scenes and meta as I go~

Now without further ado:

How the Hearts in Tune scene is Gay Coded

This shouldn’t be too hard at all.~

This scene is almost too easy. 

The scene opens with Sora bringing Mickey the sound idea he found but as it turns out, one sound idea is not enough. Sora tells us not to worry because he has a friend who is always picking up the slack for him. Likewise, on Riku’s end, he brings his sound idea to Mickey and is surprised to see that Sora’s sound idea is necessary to complete the song. 

Once the sound ideas meet, this beautiful visual plays out in which the 2 sound ideas swirl around each other and the soundtrack title “Dearly Beloved” plays. 

Now, there are several things I want to note about this sequence- heck this visual alone before we move on. 

Recall earlier when I discussed Shiki’s point that blue and pink (likewise blue and red) “go together”, romantically.

I will let the visual of Sora’s sheet music being pink while Riku’s is blue speak for itself. But I will also add how this ties into the yin and yang themes I’m about to discuss:

Yin and Yang

This concept gets its own section because it’s such an influential concept in so many aspects of various cultures around the globe.

Yin and Yang is an eastern philosophy which illustrates the concept of dualism. In short, it is the concept that 2 opposite halves are complements to a whole. The original term in fact translates to dark-bright.  

I am neither a philosophy professor or student so I will keep this as brief as I can and simply encourage you to study up on Yin and Yang at your own leisure. I will however paste this section from wikipedia because I think it is extremely helpful information to have for studying eastern media in general. 

Yin and Yang: husbanded opposing forces. Dark-Light, Moon-Sun, Chaos-Order, Winter-Summer, Negative-Positive.

Female (Yin)-Male (Yang): Yes this is often used in a heteronormative heterosexual context because people are homophobic and believe in gender binaries, unfortunately, but I implore you to consider the concept in more figurative, spiritual, aesthetic themes, especially since Yin and Yang is a much grander philosophy than mere sexuality discourse; it’s about complementary forces creating a whole. 

For shipping purposes, think opposites attract. Think concepts that are traditionally associated with femininity meshing with concepts that are traditionally associated with masculinity. Queer media has a wonderful way of subverting heteronormative Yin and Yang tropes by showing that cis-hetero standards can be hypocritically non-compliant with the complementary concept.

Rather than thinking of this, 2 heteros in love based on being just- the same person with opposite genders:

Think of this, same gendered couples with complementary personalities:

Think about how an aloof scrappy butchy vampire queen attracts an uptight calculating femme princess.

Think about how this goody-goody dumb jock with a martyring hero complex attracts this naughty cunning jock with a self-loathing villaness complex.

And now think about how badly we need more canonical mlm couples in children’s media lol. Oops my finger slipped. But I’m getting ahead of myself lol.

The concepts of interconnected opposite forces are so important and prominent in literature throughout the world, but yin and yang is ESPECIALLY important in Kingdom Hearts because it is a story that explicitly explores Light and Dark forces. It explores how they both oppose one another in catastrophic ways,

and how they complement each other in harmonious ways.

Getting ahead of myself again… But hey speaking of harmony, back to the matter at hand.

Hearts in Tune.

This scene shows a number of romantic symbols. As I was saying before the yin and yang tangent, pink and blue (nee red and blue) are already symbols of romantic suggestion. And in the case of them representing 2 parts of a whole song, these song pieces act as complementary halves, adding another layer of dualism to the scene. Furthermore, the music sheets swirl around each other in a yin and yang fashion. Harmony has been achieved. This lets us know these forces belong together. These forces representing Sora and Riku. They are husbanded together. These 2 hearts in question are part of each other. In fact, Mickey even says so:

Perhaps most damning, however, is that the song in question is “Dearly Beloved”, arguably the theme song for Kingdom Hearts as far as the score goes. I’m sure it goes without say that “Dearly Beloved” is not only in itself a romantic sounding phrase but it is also the phrase specifically said by officiators of weddings to the congregation before the wedding vows are exchanged. “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today…” 

I will also mention that Riku’s dream eater symbol visible in the shot is specifically designed based on a bleeding heart flower, a symbol of passionate love. Credit to Steam for pointing this out here, please follow them and read their posts they are magically delicious:

So almost everything about this scene is aesthetically romantically coded, and I didn’t even mention the fact that Dream Drop Distance’s whole color palette is themed with rainbows, which as I said earlier is absolutely still a gay symbol in Japan. Note the rainbow of colors animating from the sheet music. 

So in terms of the atmosphere of the scene, its already incredibly homoromantic in every way I can think of. But what about the dialogue?

Well lets talk about the dialogue. Dialogue should always been read with care when you’re trying to queer a text. Often a lot of queer messaging in a text is subtextual. This means the text itself may actually say something gay, but you have to read further into it. This is an old method of queer writing designed to protect the writer from getting in trouble for their gay crimes.

Historical aside on this:  If you’ve ever read Oscar Wilde’s “The Picture of Dorian Gray”, you may have note that Lord Henry can never just simply say that he is gay, lest Oscar Wilde be charged for homosexuality in 19th century England. Instead, Lord Henry simply tells us he is married to a woman, but makes it clear throughout the text that this marriage is mostly performative and he is not emotionally invested in it whatsoever, going against the puritanical, heternormative ideals of Victorian prudery. Lord Henry is by contrast MUCH more invested in following the life and times of his very close friend Dorian Gray, with whom he shares a hedonistic philosophy in the name of Fin de siècle. Not to be a downer but for the sake of understanding how real this subject of oppressed gay censorship is, despite keeping the homosexual themes as purely subtext, Oscar Wilde was tried and convicted of homosexuality and this book was used against him in court. 

What we are privileged to have today with KH is a cutscene and not just a script. Meaning we have visuals, animation, voice acting, musical cues, etc etc to follow along with to enhance our subtext. 

On Sora’s end of the conversation, Mickey points out that the song is incomplete with just his sound idea alone, and Sora tells him not to worry, as Riku is his dependable friend who will fill in where he fails. The text in the official English translation is:

Mickey: That's strange... Is one Sound Idea not enough?

Sora: Don't worry. I've got a friend out there who will help. He's always 

picking up the slack for me.

This on its own sounds platonic. But note just how affectionate Sora’s voice acting is when he says it. Not only that, he clutches his heart to let us know how close he is to Riku and how much his connection with Riku matters to him. How much confidence he has in this friend he cares so much about. He then closes his eyes after saying it, smiling up in the air blissfully while he waits for their hearts to make their connection and finish the song.

Once it is finished, Mickey remarks that their sounds joined together to make something more powerful. Sora then says looking thoughtful, “Yeah. Two forces are better than one. Right, Riku?”

Following this, Sora leaves to fight the boss.

On Riku’s side, Mickey questions what happened, and Riku looks up thoughtfully, and says tenderly, “Sora.”

Mickey comments “Sora? Funny... Just hearing that name kinda makes me wanna smile.” and Riku tells him warmly, “Yeah. That's how he is.”

Mickey then goes on to say some really shippy stuff:

“Whaddaya know... Riku and Sora. The Sound Ideas you two set free joined together. And when they did, they made a great and powerful harmony.”

Riku then nods and tells Mickey brightly that “Sora can find the brightest part of anything, and pull off miracles like there's nothing to it. It's pretty hard not to smile around him.”

And I would like to pause to look at that line. “It’s pretty hard not to smile around him.” Although Mickey says the same thing, that just hearing Sora’s name invokes a smile, we sense a somewhat deeper meaning in Riku saying it. Why is that? Well, for one thing this game is entirely about Riku protecting Sora and exploring how much Sora actually means to him. This game is continuing Riku’s redemption arc from KH2, but it is also doing something perhaps even more important: it is providing him a journey of self discovery. This test resets Sora and Riku to level 1 so to speak, not just in their powers but even their models revert to variations of their KH1 selves. This helps to underscore Riku re-examining himself and his feelings. 

And then guess what? Mickey makes some even SHIPPIER commentary. He exclaims “Wow! No wonder the music sounded like so much fun. But I bet he's got you to thank for that. Having such a good friend means he could really enjoy it.”

Riku is taken aback by this comment. “Huh?”

Mickey continues, expressing some extremely yin and yang themed sentiments, 

“It's like each of you is holding on to a little part of the other. Your hearts are always in tune, so they're free to sing. Gosh, I hope I can be part of the team someday.”

Mickey did us a wonderful favor and expressed to us explicitly, for those who didn’t understand the romantic coding of the scene already, that Sora and Riku are a good match. Mickey tells Riku that the music sounded like fun in English, that it was a happy, pleasurable time, and tells him that Sora has Riku for a friend which is what must have made it so enjoyable. 

So from this dialogue we get assurance that Sora and Riku are two very close friends, whose hearts are connected, and they are 2 powerful forces that merge into an even greater one. Their hearts are in tune.

Now if this were a scene about a boy and a girl, I doubt anyone would question whether it was romantic. Why should we be asked to look at it platonically just because it is 2 boys? The romantic imagery is clear. 

And let me ask you this while we’re still on the subject of Dream Drop Distance: 

According to Riku’s character files, he had previously thought of Sora as a little brother, and tried to be a cool older brother to him. 

He then tells us that this has changed. What did it change to? 

The surface level, heteronormative answer would say it changed to them being merely friends. 

But isn’t that an odd regression? After all, found family is a thing, and that’s a bit weird for him to question since there is no reason for those feelings to change on that notion. If Sora loved him like a brother, that clearly hasn’t changed. Riku clearly loves Sora as deeply, so that didn’t change. The other problem with this phenomenon Riku is dealing with is that there is no reason for him to feel this strange sense of repression we keep seeing over this change. He is constantly holding back on some feelings for Sora but platonic and brotherly feelings are entirely acceptable. What is it that he is hiding? What sort of feelings for Sora would be hidden?

From the Kh2 Novel: 

He really did want to see Sora and talk. But that was impossible with this appearance. The things that mattered the most were what he couldn’t tell Sora. It had always been that way.

What sort of feelings might be systemically oppressed?

This scene is pretty much EXACTLY what I would do to say as explicitly as possible that Riku is gay without being able to say it outright due to censorship. 

[jackoshadows]

The case for JonSa and why it will happen in the books.

This post looks at all the foreshadowing, text and hints in the books to make the case that GRRM is heading towards a Jon Snow x Satin Flowers or JonSa ship/endgame in the books.

Now it’s very likely that this relationship would have been the endgame in the show as well considering Jon ended up single and exiled to the NW and extrapolating this to the books would mean that he would have met up with Satin Flowers. It’s possible that Emilia Clarke disapproved of this because it disrupted the Jon/Dany ship and she convinced D&D to not write in the character of Satin Flowers.

Now before we start, remember that the Night’s Watch brothers can take no wives. But there is no clause in there that says that they cannot take husbands.

So let’s take a look at Jon and Satin and the love story between the lord commander and his steward.

First, we have had no confirmation one way or other of Jon’s sexuality. Cersei is written as being bi-curious and so is Dany. So Jon could be as well.  We get the hints right off the bat in the first AGoT Jon chapter when he is unimpressed by Cersei while at the same time being quite taken by Jaime.

This was his description of Cersei:

She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes.

This was his description of Jaime:

Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Out of the two, it’s clear who he is more enamored with...

This then leads into Jon’s strong canon crush on Satin and attraction to him. Every time Jon mentions Satin, he always makes it a point to comment on Satin’s appearance, smell, beauty and youth. That can only mean one thing.

“It was the priestess we were laughing at,” said Satin, a lithe and pretty youth.

It shall not end until my death.” … He could smell the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard

Satin’s voice was sweet as song.

The word ‘sweet’ appearing in Jon Snow chapters is strong foreshadowing for his romance with characters where the word ‘sweet’ appears in their chapters as well. Why you may ask? Because fandom decrees it so. And ‘sweet’ makes an appearance several times with Satin.

Jon also thinks that Satin’s voice is like a sweet song. This connects to his father being a bard who sang pretty songs. This is foreshadowing Jon falling for Satin like Lyanna falling for Rhaegar.

What’s in a name?

Jon Snow has a strong association with flowers. The blue roses that his mother loved is often mentioned. Remember this from Eddard:

“I bring her flowers when I can,” he said. “Lyanna was... fond of flowers.”

And what’s Satin’s last name? That’s right, Flowers! The foreshadowing here could not be any stronger. GRRM is basically shouting it right to our faces – and anyone who cannot read this truth are just fools at this point.

The connection with flowers combined with Jon using the word ‘sweet’ to describe Satin’s smell and voice indicates that Dany’s vision in the house of undying about  – ‘A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness’ is about Jon and Satin’s love for each other at the wall. The blue flower growing from the wall is Satin Flowers and that sweet smell is the sweet scent of Satin that Jon often mentions.

Here is Jon’s feelings for Satin peeking through once again…

The boy claimed to be eighteen, older than Jon, but he was green as summer grass for all that. Satin, they called him, even in the wool and mail and boiled leather of the Night’s Watch; the name he’d gotten in the brothel where he’d been born and raised. He was pretty as a girl with his dark eyes, soft skin, and raven’s ringlets. Half a year at Castle Black had toughened up his hands, however, and Noye said he was passable with a crossbow. Whether he had the courage to face what was coming, though

Jon is often thinking of how pretty Satin is and his description of Satin here borders on the sensuous. By the way, how does Jon know about Satin’s soft hands? Hmm? Has he mayhaps held them at some point? There’s things that GRRM is hinting at here.

Here is Satin busy warding off attacks and in the midst of all this, Jon is still captivated by his appearance:

“Satin was loosing quarrels at the wildlings on the steps, then ducking down behind a merlon to cock the crossbow. He may be pretty, but he’s quick.”

Notice the choice of words that GRRM uses here? ‘Cock the crossbow’? Crude, but GRRM is an expert at using words to connect characters and tell us something.

When his top men at the Watch object to Satin being appointed as Jon’s Steward, Jon’s ardent love for Satin makes him object vociferously.

Septon Cellador spoke up. “This boy Satin. It’s said you mean to make him your steward and squire, in Tollett’s place. My lord, the boy’s a whore … a … dare I say … a painted catamite from the brothels of Old-town.”

And you are a drunk. “What he was in Oldtown is none of our concern. He’s quick to learn and very clever. The other recruits started out despising him, but he won them over and made friends of them all. He’s fearless in a fight and can even read and write after a fashion. He should be capable of fetching me my meals and saddling my horse, don’t you think?”

“Most like,” said Bowen Marsh, stony-faced, “but the men do not like it. Traditionally the lord commander’s squires are lads of good birth being groomed for command. Does my lord believe the men of the Night’s Watch would ever follow a whore into battle?”

Jon’s temper flashed. “They have followed worse. Whatever Satin may have done in Oldtown, he is our brother now, and he will be my squire.”

Look at how angry Jon gets at Satin being insulted by these fellows. Compare his reaction here to when Stannis dissed Sansa as Lady Lannister and vowed that she would never get Winterfell. He could not care less there. But here? He gets emotional and defends Satin’s right to that position. This is not about doing the right thing, oh no. This is all about Jon’s romantic feelings and love for Satin.

Here is Jon once again itching to jump to Satin’s defense in case, Selyse’ knight dared speak wrongly about him:

“Satin, show Her Grace to her place,” said Jon.

Ser Malegorn stepped forward. “I will escort Her Grace to the feast. We shall not require your … steward.” The way the man drew out the last word told Jon that he had been considering saying something else. Boy? Pet? Whore?

And while Jon is openly appreciating Satin’s ‘grace’ we can clearly see his jealousy and protectiveness over Satin peeking through:

Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. Jon judged that wise. He did not like the way some of the queen’s knights were looking at the steward, particularly Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain. That one wants to shed a bit of blood, he thought. He is looking for some provocation.”

He is already so possessive of Satin, that he dislikes the queen’s knights even looking at him.

In conclusion I think there is some pretty strong foreshadowing for this relationship and we could see it moving forward at full speed in the next book after Jon is resurrected and Satin is going to be around to help. If we align Jon Snow’s show and book ending, then he ends up at the wall or beyond and is no ruler, leader or king. The reason he ends up single could be because Satin Flowers was not present on the show. But looking at all the strong foreshadowing in the books for these two, there’s no way this is not happening in the books. All the foreshadowing is right there.

[ineverhaveanynormalfans]

Undisclosed

Fandom: Criminal Minds Warnings: Canon rewrite Pairing/s: Emily Prentiss x Original Character Authors Note:

A slight rewrite and coda to Season 11 Episode 19 Tribute. Emily enlists the help of the BAU in tracking a serial killer who is mimicking famous murders across the globe. However, the recent addition of two new rings on Emily's left hand has her old team questioning when she got married and to whom?

This is part one of a new series, a story that has been brewing in my mind for years with an original character. My Kinktober 2020 series was written with this character in mind as the reader insert but they don't have to be read that way by others.

Word Count: 1406

AO3

“I've always heard every ending is also a new beginning, we just don't know it at the time, I'd like to believe that's true.” Emily Prentiss.

Emily Prentiss awoke with a jolt and sat bolt upright in bed trying to catch her breath. The nightmare had become hauntingly familiar, a replaying of the night a young inspector had lost her life in an undercover role Emily had pushed her to take. ‘Baby? Same one again?’ Your warm hand rubbed small circles on her back as Emily nodded and buried her face in her hands, struggling to ground herself in the here and now and not in that night. A soft kiss to her exposed shoulder made her look around and into the concerned eyes of her partner. ‘I’m ok’ she lied ‘go back to sleep love.’ Getting up before this turned into another discussion of her coping methods Emily padded into the en-suite bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Sighing you vowed to keep a closer eye on her and rolled over, falling back to sleep before she emerged and crept back into your bed, another sleepless night ahead of her.

The case in New York came so suddenly that Emily barely had time to leave you a quick voicemail explaining that she’d be out of the country for a few days. Two hours into her flight and mid way through reviewing the case files for the millionth time her laptop pinged with your ringtone. Accepting the video call she sat back and grinned at your face filling her screen. ‘Hotch and the team are gonna meet me in New York, we’re just waiting for DOJ conformation that we can work together on this case.’ It was good to hear her focused, after Boston turned out to be a single victim and the unsubs trail went cold she’d seemed defeated, like she would never get as close as she had in London again. That had bumped the nightmares up a notch in frequency.

‘So what you’re saying is I should expect a virtual frisking from Penelope Garcia imminently.’ Emily laughed and nodded ‘If she hasn’t got a file on you already I’ll be surprised.’ ‘I’d be surprised if she finds enough to warrant a file, work has kept me pretty off the grid. Are you still determined to introduce me in person?’ ‘Yep.’ She confirmed, the pop in the p letting you know she wasn’t gonna abandon her planned big reveal of you just because she was heading to the States a few weeks ahead of schedule. You understood her reasons and you loved the idea too, but keeping anything a secret from one profiler was hard enough, an entire team and the information queen that was Penelope Garcia was something akin to a miracle if you managed it. ‘Keep me updated yeah? And be safe love. No more close calls, please?’ She assured you the BAU had her back and that she would text you. Getting up from your office chair you sighed and went to make your third cup of tea of the day, hoping the team was as good in reality as they were in Emily’s stories.

The crime scene could have been reproduced from forensic photography of the Son of Sams murders and Emily was already scanning the alley for signs of a second victim as she exited the SUV. She was therefore totally blindsided by Rossi when he pulled her up on not talking much on the ride over and her mind jumped straight to the teams recent loss. Morgan had been on her mind, he had only left a few weeks ago and she knew all about that and the feelings it evoked in the team. Chastising herself for not asking them sooner she explained her reasons for not bringing it up, the freshness of the loss seemed so obvious and raw. JJ’s response about taking it one day at a time brought back the guilt she had felt both times she had left the team that was more family than any blood relative. ‘Actually I was trying to give you a hard time about this.’ Rossi lifted Emily’s own left hand up, nodding to the rings that had only resided there a few weeks. Before Emily could do more than stutter and blush the NYPD detectives were approaching them and all focus went back to profiling the scene.

Between the nightmare she had on the plane and the obvious personal nature of the case none of the BAU questioned Emily on the ring again until they arrived back at Quantico. Having successfully surprised Garcia and broken out the bottle of tequila she’d lost in a bet with Morgan it was quickly decided that a family dinner was in order and Penelope demanded to be filled in on this mystery spouse of Emily’s. You had been spot on Emily thought, she hadn’t been able to find much on you, only a name, Dr O. Ryan. ‘That’s not even a full name, do you know how frustrating that is for someone like me to not even be able to find the name of the guy you’ve married without telling us?’ Penelope lovingly chastised her as they took their seats around the round table in the colourful Mexican restaurant. ‘Oooh, a doctor!’ JJ teased, grinning at Emily over the menu. JJ was the only one who knew anything more about you, Emily having spilled all when she rushed to save JJ from a torturer. You’d not even been engaged at that point, the rings had made her do a double take too. ‘How come you didn’t tell us you were getting married?’ Hotch asked, the smile he had from congratulating her still on his face. She was all set to answer them, to give up on her plan of surprising them all with a visit when her phone buzzed in her pocket and took her attention from the table of curious eyes.

‘Find Your Friends has you at this Mexican restaurant and I really hope it’s accurate cos I’m outside :) x’ Emily read and reread the text and laughed disbelievingly. ‘You’re all gonna get your answers don’t worry’ she placated the table as she stood to walk out and get you. Her smile made the cost of the last minute flight worth every penny and you hugged her close, relieved to feel the tension she’d been carrying since Louise’s death had lessened considerably. ‘Ready to meet my family?’ She asked softly against your ear and you squeezed her affectionately before pulling back. ‘Absolutely, lead the way love.’ Emily leaned in and kissed you, her excitement palpable and together you both walked inside.

The plan was exquisite in its simplicity really. You walked in holding hands and watched as the faces of the profilers changed when they twigged. Spencer was first, his face lighting up as he waved a greeting across the table to you. JJ was beaming, you’d spoken to her plenty of times via video calls so it was no surprise that she was first up to hug you and give her congratulations. Tara and Hotch weren’t far behind her, and Rossi was hugging Emily when Penelope arrived in front of you, arms outstretched, and drew you into a huge hug. ‘Oh my gosh hi, hello, wow look at you you’re gorgeous, Emily your wife is gorgeous!’ Emily laughed along with you and Penelope dove straight into questions, pulling up a chair beside her own for you. ‘Tell me everything, how did you meet, who proposed, what was the wedding like, ‘ Rossi had to speak loudly to be heard over the happy chatter and rush of questions. ‘How about a name first, so we can toast the happy couple?’ ‘Olivia.’ Emily said proudly and you beamed up at your lovely wife. ‘Well then, could you all raise your margaritas to the wonderful Emily Prentiss and her beautiful wife Dr Olivia?’ He paused and looked at you both questioningly. ‘Prentiss.’ You answered, and took Emily’s hand in your own as a margarita arrived at the table for you. ‘Molte bueno, to Emily and Olivia Prentiss, may your marriage bring you many years of solace and joy.’ Glasses raised and clinked all around the table as the BAU toasted to the addition of a new family member and you took the brief moment while they all clinked to steal a quick kiss with your new wife. From what Em had told you you’d be far too busy fielding questions from Penelope to get another chance for a long long while.

[peachnewt]

Midnight Snack - Playing House

Fluff to the max. Intimate times between two men insinuated but not graphically described in text.  Deep kissing is present.  Skip between the &&& if you prefer to not read it.  The Getting In Deep series and it’s short stories are my own creation.  Do not steal or alter.  

 Papers, magazine cutouts, and equations sat in piles on Will's desk.  Will, headless of the slippery magazine paper that threatened to kiss the ground, kept taking notes from his screen.  

When Reese arrived, he was surprised to see Will at work before everyone else in Main Tech.  

"Getting a head start on a case?" asked Reese.  

"No."  Will tabbed his screen and frowned.  "I'm helping Louis find a house."  

"Really?" Reese wondered how far Louis and Will had gotten in their relationship.  "Why would he want to move?"  

Reese walked around Will's desk to look at the screen.  

When house hunting, most people imagine realtors, property tax, curb appeal, square footage, and zoning issues.  The average challenges one would find on HGTV shows.  Reese expected to see Zillow listings, or Homefinder.  He hadn't expected Barbie's Malibu Dream Home from Toys-R-Us.  

Reese blinked, wondering if the morning caffeine had yet to kick in.  "A dollhouse?"  

Louis walked into Main Tech with two mugs.  "Yeah, because everything I found is, in Will's words, "dinky plastic trash"."

"They don't even have it proportioned right.  I did the calculations," said Will, scrolling through the preview images of other child- sized dollhouse.  "The bathtub is right next to the door, who does that?"  

"Those things are meant for playing with, not living in," said Louis, nursing his second cup of coffee and handing Will his tea.  They had spent the last half hour descending into a research spiral of toy sites looking at houses and miniatures.  Louis began thinking this was actually worse than real house hunting.  

"I have a civil engineering degree, I'm allowed to be offended," said Will.

"You would be offended at the construction of a gingerbread house."  

"Those are for decoration and eating.  It's not the same thing."  

"One moment.  I feel like I need a little bit of clarification."  Reese struggled to catch up with the train of thought Louis and Will had gotten on, apparently leaving him behind at the station.  "Louis, why are you in the market for a dollhouse?"  

Louis sat and spun his chair to catch the slipping pile of magazine clippings.  "Because some nights I'm sleeping in a shoebox on Rachel's desk."  

There had been nights when Louis was too exhausted to switch back from his tiny sized self and had to sleep in Rachel's office.  His "room" consisted of a shoe box with a tiny flat pillow for a mattress, a linen square for a blanket, a charging stand for his large sized phone, and a rectangle hole for a door.  

"I feel like a kitten awaiting adoption by the side of the road," Louis continued.

"I see.  I wouldn't mind sleeping in a shoebox on Rachel's desk," said Reese, a dreamy look in his eyes.  

Beni, carrying a dozen doughnuts in one hand and a RockStar energy drink in the other, paused as she entered Main Tech.  "I think I need context."  

***

Ten minutes later, Beni had been pulled into the communal craze of looking up tiny dollhouses.  They pulled up everything from antique houses made in the 1950s, to Lego replicas of Hogwarts.  By a stroke of a keyword during Beni's search, she hit the mother load with DIY Dollhouse kits sold on specialty hobby sites.  They ranged from Modern loft apartments, to Chinese homesteads complete with a throne room.  They even had miniature cafe's with tiny pastries.  Each dollhouse listing came with a video on how to construct it.  Of course, with a specialty hobby, it came with a specialty price.  

"It's a friggin' bed," said Louis, gesturing to the miniature furniture on the screen. "How hard is it to make a proper bed for at 1/24th scale that isn't going to cost a fortune?  That's what... eight popsicle sticks?"  

"If you want quality at that size then you are going to pay what its' worth," said Reese. "What is more expensive, a Rolex, or a bedside clock?"  

Will pulled up a video with a house similar to a few of the magazine cutouts.  "Most of these do-it-yourself kits use either hot glue or E6000.  Not keen on having a building kept together with hot glue."  

Louis grunted, mesmerized by large hands setting up a tiny living room.  "Are we spiraling again?"

"Yes, but it's a very satisfying spiral."  

Louis, Will, Reese, and Beni gathered around one screen, tallying the pros and cons of certain designs, and pulling up more DIY dollhouse videos.  

When Cetz arrived at Main Tech, he saw four of his agents picking out dollhouses.  

Cetz felt a headache coming on.  "Know what.  I don't need context.  Meeting in ten."  

**

Eventually Louis picked a DIY kit for a cabin that put him back sixty dollars.  It arrived a week later and Louis set up shop in a spare workroom at the Watch.  He proceeded to burn his hand with a hot glue gun while trying to assemble the walls.  Will approached with ice, tweezers, and a small tube of craft glue.  They finished the small dwelling in an afternoon.  

Half of the tiny furnishings, flower pots, pictures, cute figurines of boats, never made it into the cabin.  They were pasted together for posterity to say it had been finished, and they left in a heap by the dwelling.  None of the furniture went where it was supposed to; Louis didn't trust the stairs to hold if he walked up to the second floor.  The bed ,made of thin wood, looked better than the tiny pillow in his shoebox.  If nothing else, it looked more like a bed.  It looked like a dwelling meant for a human. It even had lighting he could turn off and on with a switch at the bottom of the display platform.  

Louis stood back from the cabin and cracked his back.  His fingers had nearly been glued together while applying wallpaper, and his eyes ached having to look through a magnifying glass.  Will clicked on the light to the house.  They looked proud of their creation, showing it off to Beni, Reese, and Rachel when they came by.  

"It's a good starter home," said Rachel, handing Louis a bag of coffee grounds with a bow taped on it. "Happy housewarming."  

Louis grinned.  The cabin itself was slightly wider than his shoebox but twice as tall, and the platform it stood on was as big as a desk blotter.

"I want one," said Beni, flipping the switch on and off.  

"Make your own," said Louis.  

"I will!" said Beni, a spark of competition in her eyes.  "I'll make one so nice you'll want to sleep there instead!"  

Reese, enticed leaned over. "Care to make a wager?"

The next day, Beni and Reese also ordered DIY dollhouses.  

Louis vowed to never set foot in any of their deathtraps.  

Will vowed to make sure neither of them burned their fingers or used adhesives that could cause respiratory distress.  

While Beni and Reese awaited their kits, Louis ended up exhausted after a long day of testing, and unable to switch back to normal size.  The first night in his new, self-made home.  Rachel left him on her desk, the shoebox on one side, and his cabin on the other.  Louis stumbled wearily to the cabin.  When he laid down on the bed he immediately regretted the thin bit of padding he had mistaken for a mattress.  It had looked fluffy enough when he had glued the stuffing down.  He dragged the cheap pillow out of the shoebox and into the cabin.

Will found him the next morning splayed akimbo on the cushion, wrapped up in the thin "bed spread" like a croissant.  

"Bed not work?"

"I could feel beads of dried glue under the mattress."  Louis snuggled tighter into the pillow until Will coaxed him onto his palm and into the lab to "grow up".  

Louis had been so miserable with the construction of his tiny bed, he actually looked forward to Beni and Reese's dollhouses

The two kits arrived and Will made sure the construction was a surprise to Louis, warding him from the workshop as Beni and Reese unpacked their kits with child-like glee.  

They wondered if the two former thieves ever got something like a dollhouse in their younger years.

Instead of cranking out the houses in an afternoon, Beni and Reese took half hours off between shifts to work on them.  Both seemed to find contentment in their distraction.  After a week, they were finished.  

Reese had constructed a gothic themed Victorian home with a tiny staircase hidden behind a bookshelf full of miniature books.  Several windows were painted to look like stained glass.  And the bed was a four-poster with a canopy.  His pride had been renovating the kitchen area to have a tiny fridge that actually worked and held tiny shots of pudding he had made himself. And on one wall he had put up a tiny grandfather clock, made with a working clock face.  

"Somebody likes their gothic," said Will as he squinted to see inside the hidden staircase. "Good detail."  

"Classic taste is good taste."  

Beni had gone modern with a split level house.  White on silver furnishings with touches of neon purple and one of the accent walls for a workout room consisted of an entire mirror.  The bed was covered in multiple pillows, each a shade of gray or white.  Her pride was adding a slide from the top level to the bottom, the landing cushioned with a layer of cotton balls.  

"Very playful," said Will.  

"Got most of the style stuff from a Home & Garden magazine.  But who wouldn't want a slide in their house?"  

Louis shrunk, bypassed all the fancy additions and special furnishings, shooting like a tired arrow towards the beds.  First the canopy bed, then a gray bed with all the pillows.  

Louis groaned in defeat. "It's still not comfortable enough."  

However, he did try the slide, the hidden stairs, and the pudding in the tiny fridge.  Beni and Reese then made Louis promise to shrink them so they could experience the houses themselves.  

Will eyed the beds and the shoebox a warm glow coming to his eyes.  It had been a while since he had done a construction project.  

***

The magazine clippings came back out; Will organizing different furniture pieces and photos from Architectural Digest.  Over the next month, between date entry and retrieval missions, Will peppered Louis with random questions.  

"Dark stain or light?"  

"Oriental, log cabin, industrial, modern?"  

"How much do you cook verses eating out?"  

"Do you like gardens?"  

"How about koi ponds?"  

"Silk sheets or cotton?"  

"How do you not know the answer to that?" said Louis, setting aside another patent.  "Cotton."  

"I mean if you won the lottery and could afford anything, silk or cotton?" said Will.

"Still cotton."

It wasn't until Will pulled Louis over to look at a blueprint that he caught on to what Will had been doing.  

"Are you designing a custom dollhouse for me?"  

"Kinda.  I'm not an architect, but I thought I could make you something more than a shoebox or a DIY kit."  A light blush bloomed on Will's neck.  "I want your input on it.  You'd be sleeping there after all."  

"All I want is a better bed," said Louis.  "I respect that little pillow, it's gotten me through some rough nights, but I want a real bed."  

From the blueprint it looked similar to some of the custom DIY dollhouses the three of them had constructed.  Everything from the steps to the sofa had equations measuring out its diameters so it would match Louis' stature when he shrunk.  Multiple chambers, the front wall of the house on a hinge so the insides could be exposed or not, a set of stairs, all on a platform with an outside space with a...

"Is that a gazebo?"  

"Yep," said Will. "Do you want a pond or a pool?"  

"It's a place for me to sleep when I have to stay the night, fanboy," insisted Louis.  "You don't have to go all out with this.  I just wanted something better than a shoebox."  

"But I want to."  

Louis smirked. "Feeling a little competitive after Beni and Reese made their own houses?"  

"...little bit."

"I thought so." Louis brushed his lips to the side of Will's mouth, leaving a coffee ghost of a kiss, and grabbed Will's empty mug. They both needed refills.  "Have at it, fanboy.  Surprise me.  Just... no koi pond.  Especially no koi; those suckers can get huge."  

***

A month later Will led a blindfolded Louis to Rachel's office.

"Are we there yet?" asked Louis.  

"One moment." Will let go of Louis' hands with a squeeze.  "Stay here.  No peeking."  

Louis heard the flicking of switches and the opening of a door.  

"Okay, you can see."  

Louis peeled off the blindfold.  Rachel's office was dimmed, the majority of the light coming from another dollhouse. His jaw dropped.  It spanned half of Rachel's desk.  The house was modern, mostly white trimmed in dark blue and splashes of red.  Like most of the DIY dollhouses the insides were exposed for "play", but this one had a full roof and a panel that acted like a door to the whole front half of the house.  However, the house only took up a third of the platform.  

Behind the house stood a stately garden of green moss, flat pebble paths, and a gazebo overlooking the rise of real seedlings from a small herb patch.  In the center of the garden rose a bonsai strung up with tiny lights like a Christmas tree, and a swing.  The bonsai stood small in comparison to a regular sized shrub, but to an almost three inch human, it would look like a grand tree.  

Louis came closer, leaning in to see the tiny details of the dollhouse.  "How in the world did you do something like this?"  

"Civil engineer, remember.  A lot of my college projects were making models of infrastructure.  That and a lot of model kits."  

Louis motioned to the hinged front of the house.  "Can I...?"  

"I made it for you, yes!"  

Louis opened the front of the house to an open floor plan, tiny lighting, bits of shiny tile, and dark stained furniture.  The DIY houses had similar plans, but this one seemed polished, more real than play.

"Cetz and Reese helped assemble most of the house," said Will.  "Beni picked out the bonsai."  

"The furniture." Louis gently picked up the coffee table from the living room.  I weighed heavy in his hand, not balsa wood or cardboard.  "Those aren't popsicle sticks.  How the hell did you...?"  

"I have some crafty friends on the con circuit that were willing to do some detailed commissions. A lot of it was 3D printed, but the finer furniture was done by hand.  Not a hot-glue stick in sight."  

Louis set down the coffee table and took a closer look at the kitchen.  "Those drawers actually pull out?"  

"Yep."  

"The sink... holy shit there is actual water."  

"Yeah, actual plumbing. We'll have to do the dishes by hand, no dishwasher that size.  But there is water in the kitchen area and the bathroom, both connected to a gallon water heater under the desk."  

Louis noted the "we".  One of them washing while the other dried with the tiny towels and the tiny drying rack. A domestic image he never thought he'd get in real life.  Well, really tiny life.  

"Reese installed his patented snack fridge, I see," said Louis.

"Snacks are a must," said Will.  "Fully stocked with bits of cheese, chocolate, pudding, and a slice of pepperoni. Eating like borrowers."

"Every window has curtains."

"And blackout curtains if you need some dark space."

A refuge, Louis realized.  If I need space or time and I'm stuck, I don't have to feel like a lab rat.  

"That's actual leather on that couch," said Louis, dragging his mind back to the house tour.

"I could afford a quarter yard of real leather."  

Louis saw two charging ports for phones set into the wall so the screens could act as a television. He could imagine the movie nights. One giant kernel of popped corn between them.  

"The doors actually shut and lock?" asked Louis.

"Tiny magnets in the door and door frame.  Also..." Will pointed to where the front of the house closed, hiding the view of the inside.  "Push a latch here, and the whole front of the house will lock from the inside so you can have privacy."  

Louis reopened the front of the house.  He followed the line of sight from the living room, up the stairs, to the bedroom. Dark wood furnishings and soft gray upholstery.  The bed looked neat and tidy as a stuffed envelope, lined in silvery blue and deep red pillows.  

"I made the bed."

"Like you folded the sheets or you made the bed and bed frame personally?"  He had to ask because it seemed Will had been willing to spin his own thread for the sheets.

"Both.  Took a couple of live video tutorials for the frame. No craft glue, or double sided tape. Half a drop of wood paste, tiny dove joints, and teeny finishing nails.  I know you said cotton, but I got denier microfiber silk fabric for the sheets so the thickness is comparable what you would have at normal size."

Louis pressed a finger down on the tiny bed, eyeballing the measurements.  "California King?"  

"Yep."  Will skipped over the fact he had carved by hand a bed definitely made for two.  "Cut the mattress out of memory foam."  

Louis examined the rest of the bedroom.  Interesting that Will had included a washbasin and washcloths when there was an en suite bathroom.  No closet or wardrobe, instead an empty trunk lay at the foot of the bed.  Louis wouldn't need changes of clothing since whatever he shrunk with would have to grow back with him.  The lamp on the bedside table gave a golden glow.  When he opened the bedside cabinet he found a few extra amenities that made the back of his neck heat up.  

Will's bashful look said it all.  

"Wow." Louis cleared his throat, trying to draw his mind away from the bedroom.  The gesture of it all struck him deep.  Will and he still lived in separate places.  Will had made a place for them to be together.  A home that belong to them, not one or the other.  

Okay.  No tears.  Suck it up.

Louis sniffed, needing a distraction.  "So, random question, what was the most expensive thing in this whole house?"

"Well, parts of the electrical plan and plumbing nearly cost me my patience."  

Louis snickered, pulling Will in by the back of the head to kiss his temple.  "Your poor brain.  Let me guess, the leather couch?"  

"Nope.  Made from scraps.  Very cheap."  

"The tiny fridge?"

"The way Reese made it, no.  It cost me a dozen maple bacon doughnuts and a cheesecake."  

"The bonsai. Gotta be the bonsai."  

"Actually the bonsai was the second most expensive thing.  But Beni did some good bargaining."  

"Really?"  

"Mh hm."  

"What was the most expensive then?"

Will touched the fine sheet on the bed.  

"The bed?" said Louis.

"The sheets," Will clarified.  

"How are a tiny set of sheets that expensive?!"

"When you include express shipping from Japan."  

"Fanboy!"  

"You said the bed was the most important thing, so I made sure it got the right stuff!"  

Laughter took over when Louis refused tears.  He hugged Will closed, his nose brushing into hair that still smelled of soap.  

"C'mere.  Thank you.  I can't believe you went so far for this."  

"I wanted to," murmured Will into Louis' neck, leaving a soft touch of breath.  

Will had wanted to give him a home.  Louis wanted Will to know he was home.

&&&

It sent a shiver down Louis' back, making his belly flutter.  He leaned back on the desk until he sat on it, his thigh close to pushing off a pencil box.  Then he pulled Will by the hips until he stood between his legs, chest to chest. Louis curled his head under Will's neck. Will's hands draped across Louis shoulders as if a buoy to a drowning man and breathed in deep.  Warmth surrounded them like an atmosphere growing around a new planet.  

Louis looked over at the house and smirked.  He wouldn't mind spending the night, if he had company.  

"Wanna test out the bed?" said Louis, pulling back.  "Make sure it's up to your standards?"  

"You mean you want to see if you can wreck the bed," said Will.  

"I know I can wreck you on the bed; if I can wreck the bed with you, bonus."  

The blush at Will's neck charged over the hinge of his jaw and conquered his cheeks and nose.  Louis knew by experience the blushing army had already conquered collarbones and sternum.  He planted the final flag of victory by drawing Will's head down for a kiss, deeper than the rest.  Will relaxed into his embrace like a puddle needing earth to sink into.  Their chests expanded wider with each breath, trying to catch each other in the air around them to pull into their lungs and keep.

Will pulled back, nipping Louis' jaw.  "I dropped the bed, twice."  Nip.  "Survived both times."  A kiss on the chin.  "I'd like to see you achieve what my clumsiness and gravity could not."  

"That a challenge?"  Louis bent his head down, pressed his lips around Will's Adam's apple, and sucked.  

Will moaned, his voice buzzing against Louis' mouth.  Louis pulled Will in by the shoulders as he leaned back further onto the desk, and then focused on the light.  In a breathless flash, they both sat on the desk, just short of three inches tall. After a moment to orient themselves, and calm down enough to get to their feet, they both ran to the door of the dollhouse.  

 The bed did not break. Though they tried.  

 They collapsed under sheets of light silk, catching their breath as sweat cooled on their aching bodies. Will had been wise to include a wash basin, thought Louis.  He didn't want to go all the way to the bathroom for a washcloth.  

&&&

Will tucked himself into the curve of Louis' body.  "So... home sweet home?"  

"Maybe." Louis leaned down and kissed right below Will's sternum, tasting heated skin.  "I've got a home here too."  

Oh, that blush would not go away for hours now.  

"Yeah, you do," whispered Will.  

A well deserved exhaustion overtook them.  

 Louis woke before Will. Making sure Will kept dreaming, Louis scurried out of the house and over to the side of Rachel's desk that still held the cabin.  To the side lay the pile of extra frills that had come with the DIY house; bits of potted plants, fake books and posters.  He picked up a piece of thick printed cardstock about the size of a large postage stamp, and carried it back to Will's house.  It had been a miscellaneous bit of inspirational word art one could find in any furnishing or poster aisle at a craft shop, but it seemed very appropriate.

"Where there's a will, there's a way".

Louis set it by the front door of the new house and then went back in.  He would see if Reese had put anything in the tiny fridge that could help construct a breakfast in bed.

---------------

 If you enjoyed this short, consider buying me a ko-fi!  

[yandere-deredere]

monster boyfriend: beelzebub

a/n: for whumptober 2019: shaky hands and monstertober 2019: demon warning: mentions of religious themes and occult, implied unhealthy relationships, implied touch starvation pairing: beelzebub the demon x gender neutral! reader word count: 2113 summary: Who knew someone could get so lonely that they’d be desperate enough to summon a friend?

“Now, darling, why are you so… nervous?” 

You took a step back, your foot unsteady as it settled against the creaking of the floorboards. Your eyes frantically flickered here and there, trying to find a way to escape or, perhaps, for an object to use.

There was nothing.

In this empty attic filled with only dust and stray boxes, you couldn’t find an exit or a weapon. The only way out was the trap door with the ladder but that was behind it and you wouldn’t be able to duck and maneuver yourself over there.

No, you were trapped and it was all your fault.

You had thought so foolishly that you could play with the books you had found in this musty attic. They were all dumb occult things with hard covers carved with occult symbols, pages lined with gold and paper heavy and expensive. 

You had doubted, at first. Blasphemy and demons weren’t the kinds of things your family members were interested in so you couldn’t help but wonder where these books had come from. Maybe the previous owner of the house? It was a mystery for sure.

You thought nothing of it and read, filling your head with what you had thought were fictional stories or the ravings of a mad lunatic. The books were all about summonings and different demons, about their different hierarchies and their different legends, what they did in the mortal realm, what they were known for. 

It was interesting if not mildly gory. It was the kind of horror that you couldn’t help but continue reading even though you were scared shitless; the kind of horror that made you stay up at night, wondering if the shapes you were making out in the dark were really just your imagination.

Soon, the books held you in a sort of trance. Your curiosity had peaked and, suddenly, your thoughts of ‘Surely, these couldn’t be legit?’ turned into ‘But… what if it was?’. 

Though the thought of them being real would’ve been absolutely macabre, you still couldn’t help but wonder. You had researched certain things in the books and found allusions of them in the Bible as well as other holy texts and history books about the church.

Certainly, if the book was pure fiction, the author was well-read or, at least, researched the topics thoroughly.

Eventually, you found yourself lonely.

You had never been close to your family, not really, so it wasn’t a surprise that you kept drifting away from them. You had always been an introvert and shy so your ideal day was just locked up in your room. It was easy to drift away from people when you rarely saw them outside of maybe dinner and lunch.

There weren’t any friends in the picture, either. You had never been very good with socializing so, other than classmates that you barely spoke to when unprompted, the only human contact you really had were on screens, in TV shows and movies.

You had always been a fan of fantasy and, after Supernatural and god-knows-what other demon/angel shows, the thought of summoning a friend met with your endless curiosity for the books. If they were real, undoubtedly, you could summon one.

Summon a demon.

It should’ve hit you how dumb that was. Selling your soul for a friend was just about the most desperate thing in the world and were you desperate? Were you that lonely? Did you really crave the touch of another thing so much that you’d be willing to do a stupid (probably hokey) ritual? 

The answer was, obviously, yes.

Still, despite your desperation, you still strongly believed that the books were just a fabrication of someone’s imagination, just an exaggeration of religion and what little information it gave on demons and Hell. There was just no way the books were about something real.

So, you went straight to the top. You thought ‘Might as well since it wasn’t even going to work’. You couldn’t summon the leader of Hell itself, of course, so you went one step lower: Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies himself. 

It was surprisingly easy to collect the materials because the book was just so vague. Just blood, never about where it's from. Just a sacrifice, never about if it was alive or not. Just candles, a room, symbols to be painted and carved. 

It was too easy.

“What? Didn’t you… want to see me?” It continued to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts and making your eyes snap away from your surroundings and to the being in front of you.

As it spoke, its mouth forming the words, its lips lush and its teeth sharp, you couldn’t help but notice that its voice was velvet and smooth too. You were smart enough not to fall for things like that, though. You knew all too well that the thing in front of you was made to be perfect.

Well, perfect in a sense. No matter how much it tried to make itself beautiful, to lull you into a sense of false security, there was still something so off about it.

The demon looked like any other man, its build stocky but obviously muscular. Its body was naked, smeared here and there with blood but you couldn’t focus on that out of fear. Either way, it was a normal, very male, body. Its arms ended in normal unclawed fingers, its hair mussed to look effortless but still handsome. Its smile almost seemed genuine, too.

It didn’t matter. There was something about its eyes, something so cold, so lifeless and dead despite the brilliant blue hue. Its smile, though disguised as genuine, was sharp, almost predatory, like a wolf trying to convince a rabbit not to run.

In this scenario, you were, unfortunately, the rabbit.

It stepped closer “You don’t have to tell me what you want. I know what you want and I’ll give it to you, free of charge.”

You shook your head, taking another shaky step back. There was no way it’d give you what you wanted for free. After all, the book had warned you. Demons never did anything for free. No matter what it was, no matter how little the request, they always took something as payment.

“Okay, you’re right, sweet thing, there is something I want in exchange.” It grinned wider, taking another step closer “Trust me, though, it aligns with what you want so, really it’s not payment at all.”

You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you continued to stare, frantic at the thought that it was reading your mind. You hadn’t said anything since it had crawled out of the bloody portal you had painted onto the floor so the fact that it had just countered a thought in your head made you scared. 

The demon chuckled, its laugh rumbling and deep and almost sinful the way it sent a tingle down your spine “Don’t be scared, darling. The mind-reading thing is just a side effect of the summoning. We’re tied together now, you and me.”

You took another step back and he took two steps forward “You can block your thoughts, don’t worry. I’ll teach you how or those silly little books will tell you.”

You didn’t like how it implied that it would be staying.

“Of course I’d be staying. You’ve summoned me and I’m here to make your…” It chuckled again though, this time, it felt more like it was in on a joke you weren’t a part of “...wish come true.”

You shook your head, trying your hardest to force words out of your throat, except, your mind jumbled and you couldn’t get anything out. 

You didn’t want to say anything just in case it was the wrong thing to say. One misconstrued word could lead to a decapitated head or your soul sucked right out of you. It was a demon, something from Hell, with supernatural powers that would put fictional demons to shame.

As a result, you didn’t think it’d have any qualms with torturing you if you had happened to offend it. As one of the Princes of Hell, it had surely seen its fair share of slaughter and carnage. You had even read that it would often incite wars and bring men to murder.

If it could do that without even a shred of pity or sympathy, if it could see blood shed and families torn apart and men killed for nothing, it could surely crush you under the heel of its foot without hesitation.

So, you struggled, throat constricting so tightly that nothing could come out. You wanted to tell him to leave, that you hadn’t thought your actions through, that you didn’t want to be fooled by a demon because you were so vulnerable. Yet, the words wouldn’t leave your mouth.

You tried harder, mouth stuttering, words stumbling over your lips into something incomprehensible. Your eyes watered as you continued to struggle.

You were scared of him. Of course, you were. 

It could kill you, end your life, yes, that was true. That wasn’t what you were scared of, though.  Dying wasn’t something you feared and, instead, you welcomed it. There were things worse than death, after all, and, now that you’ve summoned him, you knew of them, have read them from those cursed books. 

An eternity in Hell, tortured by your worst nightmares, would scare anyone.

And, maybe, that wasn’t the only thing you were scared of. Maybe the reason you were so scared of other people, of reaching out and befriending and building relationships, was also the same reason you were scared of it. 

A rough hand pressed against your skin, fingers encircling your upper arm. Your struggle died abruptly and your vision cleared to see that it had taken several steps towards you and that it stood there, only one step away.

The coldness in its eyes gave way to something indecipherable.

“Darling, I won’t hurt you.” The demon’s voice was still smooth, still velveteen, but the seductive tone in it was replaced with something soft and comforting “I promise, I swear, I won’t.”

You knew a promise from a demon was something of an unbreakable vow so you nodded to show you believed It.

It let go of your arm and, suddenly, you craved its touch like some sort of starving man. It had been so long since you had felt a hand so calloused but soft and a touch so strange but gentle. 

Instead of completely pulling away, though, it took another step forward and its chest pressed against yours, its skin pressing against the cloth of your t-shirt. It reached down and took your hands.

You hadn’t even noticed that your hands had been shaking. Now, as it held them so loosely in its own, you noticed every tremble of your fingertips and every quake of your palm.

It held your hands tighter, fingers interlocking with yours. It pressed itself closer, the pressure of its chest against yours heavier. It felt warm, almost inhumanly so, but you leaned in anyway, your skin yearning for more touch, more contact, more warmth.

It let go of your hand, wrapping its arm around your waist to pull you closer. It leaned forward, allowing you to curl up against it, face pressed into its neck. You wrapped an arm around its neck to pull it even closer. There was a soft rumble as if you were cuddling with a giant cat instead of a murderous demon.

“I told you, I can make your wishes come true.” The demon whispered temptations against your ear, its breath just as inhumanly warm as its body “I can make the loneliness go away.”

You bit back a whimper, knowing that your desperation would make any price feel like a bargain and it continued, its arm tightening even more “All I want in return is you; all of you, every single part of you, dedicated to me.”

“Say it. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Your grip on its hand tightened and your arm around its neck pulled it closer. You mumbled the words as if shy and scared which, really, you were “B-Be-Beelzebub… I-I’m yours.” 

“And stop referring to me in your head like I’m an inanimate object. Anything else will do but I’m not an it or a thing.” It-- He-- They chuckled and you could feel the vibrations of it against your chest “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

Your nod sealed the deal and you burrowed yourself deeper into its arms. The searing pain on your back confirmed it: you were branded as theirs and you would be for god-knows-how long. 

[purplesurveys]

759

Who was the last person you flirted with? Probably my girlfriend cause she’s the only reason I’d flirt with anyone. Not that I do it a lot though, it’s not really my cup of tea. If other people lived on Mars, would you move there? It would depend if I can even afford the opportunity and if they’re treating Mars as shittily as they did Earth. If no lessons were learned, I’d rather stay here. Who was the last person you flipped off? I haven’t done this in a while because I definitely wouldn’t do this to my family, who are the only people I’ve seen in a while hahaha. Maybe Andrew? when they said one of their witty jokes. Have you ever wanted to run after someone but your legs wouldn't take you? Sure, but only from playing chase as kids. I’ve never had a reason to run after anyone. Who last stared at you? Kimi does this all the time. I got water from the fridge five minutes ago and he stared the entire time.

Who was the last person you cried over? My mom, when she told me mean things a couple of weeks ago. What sound makes you cringe? When someone accidentally directly scrapes their fork against a plate it makes me die inside. Really bad and hoarse coughing also stresses me out, mostly because I feel for the person having to go through it. If the world were to end tomorow, who would you fuck? o_o These questions would usually just ask about who I’d say bye to, but I guess we’re leveling up lol. If this was happening, I’d break all the quarantine rules and go to Gabie to spend time with her and...sure, have sex, I guess. If you had a tree that could grow anything you want, what would it grow? Macarons. Whose photo did you last look at? Gabie took a photo of their neighbor’s dog for me to see. What movie are you craving to see? I can’t wait for the new movie with Kristen Stewart and Mackenzie Davis (who played Yorkie from the San Junipero episode of Black Mirror), I think it’s called Happiest Season. It’s the lesbian pairing I never thought I’d need. What do you think about chainmail? Childish. I never felt the need to join them. What is the book you are currently reading about? I’ve taken to rereading Crazy Is My Superpower, which is WWE wrestler AJ Lee’s memoir. I realize I never actually got to read the last two chapters because school made me busy at some point last year, so I’m revisiting the book again and hopefully make it to the very end this time. Who was the last person to pick you up? Like, physically? Or with a car? In any case, it was Gabie. If someone tells you not to do something, do you do it anyway? Nah I’m not one of those people. I have an unavoidable need to follow the rules or at least, that command, and to bail when a friend decides to break them haha. When's the last time you smelt the awful stench of a skunk? We don’t have skunks here. I'm only aware of how bad it is because their stench is a Jelly Belly flavor lolol. What was the last popsicle flavor you had? Chocolate. Who did you last write a letter to? Gabie. I put in a handwritten letter along with her Christmas gifts. What are you wearing around your neck? Nothing’s on it, just the neckline of my t-shirt. What song best describes you? Right now it’s probably Ain’t It Fun by Paramore. I’m feeling the shoutout more and more as I’m getting older haha. What are your top 5 favorite stores? I don’t really do stores since I really just like eating out more when I’m at the mall, butttttt I guess (in no particular order) H&M, Zara, Mango, Fully Booked, and Satchmi. The first three sell clothes, the fourth is a bookstore, the last one is a vinyl record store that doubles as a café. Have you accidently mistaken a stranger for someone you know? I probably called a stranger mommy or daddy as a kid. Who did you last blow a kiss at? My dog, most likely. Have you ever seen lava in real life? Nope. But ashfall, yes. Our balcony and rooftop were full of it after the Taal erupted last January.   Who last touched you in a naughty place? My girlfriend. If you could speak an animal language, what would it be? I’d love to be able to talk to my dog and find out what he wants whenever he gets all restless and paces around in the living room. How do babies make you feel? Egh, depends on how they behave. If the baby is cute and well-behaved, it reminds me that I really want kids. If they’re thrashing about and wreaking havoc, it reminds me that I still want kids but but that I vow not to be as terrible as whoever their parents are. Why did you last feel guilty? We lost our internet connection last night and given that that’s the biggest thing keeping me sane during the quarantine, I felt guilty being in a foul mood towards my parents and Gabie lol. What compliment do you get a lot? That I’m a magnet for noticing the small details work-wise, and that I’m sincere. I get them an equal amount, I’d say. Have you ever drank soy sauce? I’m Asian and I can tell you that is disgusting and extremely salty and unhealthy. Hard pass. How old will you be on your next birthday? 23. Does your best friend get pissed off easily? Gabie can have a bit of a short fuse. Angela’s chill about everything. Have you ever been on the edge of death? The one time it felt like this for me was when I had food poisoning around five years ago. Nothing like being curled up on the bathroom floor at 3 AM just waiting for death. How do you feel about your school? I’m very proud of it, its history, its culture, and its reputation. It’s my absolute dream school. But I’m not proud of the fact that we have also given the country some of our shittest politicians. What did you last flick? A grain of rice that was on the table. Do you have a disease? Nope. Do you ride a bus often? I never do on my own; I only get to be on them if I’m on a school trip or if we’re on a family vacation and riding a bus is part of the itinerary. I don’t take them because I find them crowded, hot, and some freaks are known to harass/molest women there so I’ve been permanently scared off of buses. Plus I have a car, and I prefer going to places by myself. How many people do you know that have your name? There were two people named Robin and Robyn from AIESEC that I got to meet before I bailed from the application; a Robin from my org; a Robin from my old school; Rihanna’s first name is Robyn haha, so five. We’re a small circle. When was the last time you washed your hands? This morning. How do you feel about the last person you texted? We’ll go with last messaged* because I haven’t texted in a while. She makes me happy. Who did you last bite? I only ever playfully bite my girlfriend lol, that’d be so weird to do to other people... Would you ever make a bucket list? Yeah, but nothing grand. I remember making a bucket list for all the museums I wanted to go to and noting them in one of my old Starbucks planners.

[ironwoman18]

The Worst Third Date Ever part 21

Chapter 21: Changes are good x Planning a wedding.

The next day Penelope surprised them by leaving before the week ended, she left them somethings, like a plant and her octopus cup.

Then they had a case and had to leave her getting her last things out of the office. Meanwhile in the new jet the team still has some tears as they fly to their destination.

"God... I already miss her" said JJ with the file in her hands.

"I know it's hard but we have to keep working. When we finish this case, we will pick a new TA for the team"

They nodded and Emily explained the case to them. It was in Atlanta and the case was a woman who seduced and killed men with poison. They saved the last victim.

When they arrived to DC. Spencer headed back to his apartment, Max decided to move back to hers after it was officially safe for him been alone, of course he would miss having her there. Especially after a case.

When he arrived he texted her to let her know he was back and safe at his apartment then he changed and laid in bed. Falling asleep almost every.

He was better but still thinking to much made him tired, he hoped this could end soon so he could work as usual.

The next day he left early to the BAU. The team was heading into the round table room when he arrived.

"Hey JJ, what's up? Is it a case?"

"No Emily just want to talk with us" he nodded and walked in.

"Ok guys, since Penelope left, hundreds of aspirants sent there CV's to our office, they want to be part of one of the best teams in the bureau so... I brought you here to help me find the candidates for the final consideration. Each chair has some CVs, you will reach each one and consider who is a worthy person to be the substitute of Penelope'

Each team member signed "Emily, this will be hard, Penelope was one in a million and we won't find someone like her"

"I know but we aren't looking for a second Penelope, we we're looking for someone worthy of our team. She helped me yesterday to decant some, here are her picks for our consideration. Some aren't FBI agents, but are or were part of the government" they nodded "its hard but... while we don't have a case, this is our priority"

They all sat around the table. Their normal seat when they have a case. JJ next to Spencer, Matt and Luke next to each other and David and Emily also next to the other.

The team read each CV they had in front of them. Emily ordered food for them since this took them all morning and part of the afternoon.

But at last, each member has someone who may fill their expectations. Spencer finished first, even with his brain power diminished to seventy-five percentage, so Emily asked him to bring coffee for them.

He went to the coffee machine and brought coffee to each member of the team, and green tea for him.

When everyone was ready they took turns to talk about their selection and why they thought that person could be perfect for the team.

Luke picked a woman who was part of his former division, she was a tough woman who can track down prisoners who had escaped. She had experience working under pressure and he thought she would be perfect.

Matt picked a guy who was part of the cyber crime division, he was able to block some leaks from Snowden and keep some major secret down.

JJ picked another guy who worked for Homeland Security, he worked for president Obama and now Trump in some secret missions in Afghanistan and North Korea.

Tara picked a woman who hacked the NASA at the age of ten and was know working for them.

Dave picked a man who was part of the new international team, he was an expert hacker and could find a needle in a haystack.

Lastly Spencer picked a woman who was part of the sexual crime division, she was taking the FBI profiling course and she had found really bad rapists through out her years in there.

Emily sighed "ok now we have to pick one out of them and all sounded good. But I will show Penelope what you picked and we will decide because she promised to help thru out this process" all the team members nodded "I think its time to go, we don't have a new case today so see you tomorrow" they stood up and walked to the door except for Spencer.

"Emily, I'm still worry about this change, I mean, I know Penelope was never happy with what she had to do but I don't know if we will work well with any of these people"

"I understand Spence, I'm not happy with this but changes are good and if we have to deal with them, then we will with a smile ok?" He nodded "good, now go to your apartment, relax and spend time with Max" she smiled "oh and you two have a wedding to plan"

He smiled blushing a little "yeah we thought about some things but we still need to plan some others"

"Good... but first you need a date" she smiled "goodnight Spencer"

"Goodnight Emily" he waved and left the office walking to the elevator.

He texted Max to go to his apartment, he ordered some food for dinner and when he arrived she was also arriving.

"Hello there handsome" she said walking to his car "how are you feeling?" She asked after a quick kiss.

"Hey, I'm feeling alright" he smiled and held her hand to walk in and went to his apartment "we had to read some CVs to find Garcia's substitute" he sighed and she squeezed his hand.

"I know it's hard because she is your friend but she is doing something less stressful and gory so she is happy" she said as they reached his apartment "and I'm sure the team will find the perfect person for that job, ok?"

Spencer smiled "ok" he kissed her head softly as they walked in "how was your day?"

"Great, today my students painted some flowers for the principal's birthday" they sat on the couch waiting for their food.

"Sounds like fun"

"You always seem to enjoy my classes, since we met"

He laughed "it just I think it's awesome what kids can do and how honest they are. Also since we met you strike me as a good teacher" she blushed and kissed him.

Then their food arrived and he walked to receive it. Then he walked back to her and handed her a box of Chinese rice and he got one for him.

Then they ate and talked about some plans for their wedding, they decided to ask Morgan and JJ to let Hank and Michael to be ringbearers and asked Matt so his daughters would be the flower girls

"I will call Derek tomorrow, also I want him as my best man and all my male coworkers will be the groomsmen" he said after finished his food "who will be your maid of honor and bridesmaids?"

"I want Michelle as maid of honor and the bridesmaids will be my sister Eloise and some friends from work" he nodded and held her hand.

"Do you want a priest or civil officer?"

She rubbed his hand with her thumb "well I'm not a very religious woman but them remember my mother's wish to get married in the church as my sister Michelle and I bet she would want it for Eloise"

"I understand, and I'm not a very religious man either and neither is my mom" he looked at her "but I will do whatever you want"

"I will sleep on it and I will let you know" he nodded "now I know exactly what song we will do for our first dance" she smirked "do you remember that song we dance at Christmas eve?" He nodded "well that one, because that was our first time together and we said our I love you's" he smiled.

"Sounds perfect and as part of our vows I would like us to said meaningful poems to each other"

"I love it" she smiled then laid on his shoulder "I will check some of my dad's poem books because I lend my book to a friend and she left with it" she sighed.

"Do you want to stay tonight?" He asked looking at her. She just kissed him as her answer "also we still have to set a date for our wedding"

OOooOOooOO

Well that's all for today. I hope you all liked. I'm trying to decide who will be the substitute to Penelope.

Who would you pick? Let me know who gave you good vibes. I like one but I will let you know in the next chapter.

I already picked the song and the poems but Im6 also wondering, do you think they will pick a priest or an civil officer? Let your comments below. Read you later.