#look … I think if you gave her the option to use a staff that shoots fuckin’ fireballs she wouldn’t be opposed

[mass-convergence]

You can get cosmetic armors in Valheim now.

So I can truly recreate Soma in the game.

It’s fine guys she’s now a powerful blood mage in the Viking afterlife and she’s absolutely killing it.

[emmawoodhaus]

so today a patient came in with her glucose through the roof (she has type 2 diabetes). she had only come once before and had missed her last appointment.

our nurse gave me her vitals before I called her in, I saw the sugar levels and I got annoyed bc now I had to adjust her treatment and in primary care in public healthcare in México we don’t have like a lot of options, and also a lot of patients in the clinic where I work just seem to not care about their health and they don’t take care of themselves, they miss appointments, and just come back when something hurts or their children force them to go, so you know, I started making assumptions.

and also I thought maybe it was to the point where I had to send her to the hospital and it’s a lot of extra work and I was already behind my paperwork, the point is that I got annoyed and a little frustrated.

but I put my best customer service (or patient service??) smile and voice and called her in, I asked her how had she been doing, how was she feeling, and she said well apparently bad, the nurse told me my sugar is really high. I said well yeah it is, has something happened? have you changed some eating habits, did you miss some meds?

AND she told me she had to go to the US because TWO of her brothers got killed in a school shooting, they left home when they were 15 yo, and apparently they worked for the school (custodial staff she thinks) when it happened and sadly they passed away.

so of course she couldn’t come to the appointment and she finished her meds and couldn’t afford to buy them (meds are free in our clinic). we talked some more and she told me about them when they were in México, about the families they made in a new country, about finally meeting her nieces and nephews for the first time in such a sad and devastating circumstance

she was fine clinically and I just adjusted her treatment, and she left thanking me and saying she was glad I was her doctor bc I wasn’t mean and didn’t chastise her high levels.

but you know I felt like shit, I was just making assumptions and was worried about my fucking paperwork and about getting off work on fucking time

I wrote this as a reminder to myself mostly, because this is my first year as a real doctor (kind off), but if some other doctors or healthcare workers read this, just take a breath and stop thinking about the paperwork, all the extra work and just look the human being in front of you and talk to them, they have so much to say, and they trust us with their lives (literally)

we need to hear what patients have to say, even the patients we think they don’t care, because there’s got to be a reason why and it’s our job to find that reason.

[raffa-ledesma]

"That's the nice thing about money Miho. You can use it to buy food and pay bills." He shook his head, "If this is your way of telling me I need to bring lunch in for everyone at the next staff meeting I'll think about it." Ricardo was a good guy but Raffa had been able to see the anger from the jump. Because he understood being fucking angry and not having a lot of places to put it. He knew the younger man. Knew what had happened to him. And maybe that had been why he'd taken the other man under his wing. Because if something had happened to his little brother or sister Raffa couldn't imagine the person he would have become. Worse. A world of worse than he was now. And he remembered how important it had been to him to have people that felt like they understood without him having to explain. Maybe it was time.

Raffa's mind was now on the necessary conversations. He had to be extra careful. Because this was one of those things that if it was offered Ricardo couldn't turn down. There wouldn't be an option to walk away. Simple and easy shooting the shit as his mind was otherwise occupied. He caught the tiny shoe that was thrown at him, boxers reflexes. He looked at it and shook his head and shrugged, thinking about when his son was that little, "It's easier than you think. These little shoes and socks are so tiny you just get used to not having any matching ones. I don't think Angel has one pair of matching socks to this day."

He turned and tossed the shoe at the trash, happy when it landed in perfectly. Looking back and shakes his head, "You're going to wake up in a motel bathtub filled with ice missing your kidneys with those apps." He let out an exasperated noise at the advice, "I've been out there. My shit is complicated enough."

Raffa tilted his head to see what Ricardo was doing and grabbed a few other tools, waiting to hand them to the other. The bell on the door chimed as it opened and Raffa gave a greeting to the elderly lady that came in, her purse dog sitting in the stroller that she pushed in full of laundry. "Don't remind me." When Ricardo spoke about time flying. Raffa wouldn't have cared who Ricardo was into. When Gael had come out it had been an adjustment but nothing had driven home how much it didn't matter to him who Gael was attracted to as when he'd heard some of the bullshit that had come out of their family's months back in Mexico. And just how hard he had shut that shit down. He let out another annoyed noise, "Crazy can be fun. But it shouldn't raise your kids." He paused and rolled his eyes at himself. Had that just come out of his mouth? He was turning into his dad.

He looked down at Ricardo, taking the tools and putting them in the bag. Thinking about how to answer that question, "I know you can take care of yourself Flaco. Like I said. Let me ask a few people." He offered his hand to help Ric up, "You don't owe me shit. Just trust me and I might be able to find you a line on something good."

"Calm down with all that personality, practically oozing off ya, Mr. Personality." He joked, giving Raffa a playful grin. Raffa was like family to him, the whole mat was, and he didn't know what he would do if he ever lost that. "I get that, man. I appreciate it. I would much rather you pay me in food, but I guess food isn't paying the bills." Living in New York City was expensive, but even more when you didn't have much to your name. Maybe he needed to invest in some stylish clothes and use some of his connections to see if he can bag a couple of rich people to let him work on their cars privately. He could be an on-call mechanic, something he'd enjoy very much. Little did Ricardo know that Raffa was also thinking of ways to help him gain a bit of income, but in an entirely different way.

"Two duende fucking." He repeated, chuckling. Ricardo returns back into the small space of the machine, tip of his tongue sticking out, refocusing his concentration on the task at hand. They speak as Ricardo works on unscrewing bolts and carefully removes the back inside cover of the machine, reaching for the small light Raffa had taken out for him. "Aha. Pinche, fucking, shoes." He wiggles his frame into the machine a bit more as he reaches for a singular baby shoe, "Okay! It's one fucking shoe, but still." His voice echos a bit as he speaks from inside of the machine, snagging the culprit of the sound to bring out to show Raffa. "I don't know how the hell someone wouldn't notice that they are missing a whole zapato for their little one, but what do I know." He playfully chucks the shoe in Raffa's direction, expecting he'd catch it anyway. "Also, yeah. I wouldn't sign up for that trash app, man. You were right. It's got nothing good to offer. I deleted it that night." He jokingly adds, "I still do think you need to get out there, man. Explore what this city has to offer or whatever."

He returns back into the machine, grabbing another tool, now focusing on fixing a couple of wires the shoe had ruined while it had been banging around. "Damn." Ricardo smiles, talking again from the inside of the machine, "Kindergarten already? Jesus time flies." He wanted to make a joke about how he was devastated to hear the news that Gael might be returning with his ex, but he hadn't quite told Raffa his interests in guys. "I mean, I can't really talk. I'm kinda into crazy, so." He's wrapping up with the machine as he listens to Raffa speak again. Once more he's out of the machine, looking up at Raffa with a curious look in his eyes, "What? You know some people who need their cars fixed or something?" He smiles, "Nah. Even if I was, you know me, I'm not entirely stupid on how make some extra cash on the side. I appreciate you though. I owe you, Raffa."

[moka-suwi]

6: Thaumosensitivity

The PPC may kill Sues, but there's a clause in the whole murder thing that lets PPC agents dispatch Mary Sues with extreme prejudice: it's like war, except the Mary Sues don't know it. — Revised Handbook of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum

“Your problem,” said Lena, “is that you’re thinking of it as getting from point Alka–” she held up the training staff as if to strike– “to point Bata.” She swung it down, the tip of the staff coming to a stop a few inches above the ground. “So you’re rushing the motion, and you’re losing strength and control.”

Mallory hummed in acknowledgement. “And what should I be doing instead?”

“For now?” The instructor held the staff back up. “Just focus on keeping the motion smooth and fluid.” As she said those words, she brought it down in a slow diagonal movement. “The speed’s gonna come with the training, not the opposite.”

Mal nodded and gave it another try, somewhat slower than before. The end of her staff struck the post a few inches below the red mark she was aiming for, which got yet another frustrated sigh out of her.

Lena, however, was smiling. “There you go, that’s already much better! Just be more mindful of the weight of the staff, don’t let it carry you away.”

“Is it really that important to be so precise when, uh, hitting someone with a big stick?” Mal replied, giving a doubtful look at the staff.

Lena’s smile widened further. “Your friend told me you got a guy in Turia with a strike to the neck, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m…” A pause. “Hmm. Yeah, I see your point.”

“With enough training, next time might even be on purpose. Alright, let’s try it a few more times, and then you’re free!”

“Those things are weird,” Anis opined as they dismounted the kaiila, grabbing the recurve bow in their off hand.

“What could you possibly mean by that?” Jane replied, giving a few pats on Murderhorse’s flank.

The redhead chortled. “I’m serious! Once you get it to a gallop, it starts moving a lot more like a cat than a horse.”

“Huh. Never noticed that, but it makes sense, I guess?”

“That means the back moves a lot more,” Anis explained, holding out their hand horizontally and moving it up and down a few times. “I’ll have to adjust to that when shooting.”

Jane nodded. “I’ve seen the Tuchuk riders stand up in their stirrups a bit when they use their bows, that probably helps.”

“Probably. I’m just not really used to those either.”

“Stirrups? Seriously?”

“It’s… Legitimately hard to explain.”

Jane gave a long look at Anis. “... A lot of things are, these days.”

“I might actually keep it up,” Mal said. “A bit tired of being kind of useless in missions like these, honestly.”

Anis, in the corner of the wagon with the wash basin, didn’t bother to turn around. “ESAS has a decent training room. Agent-run, they got tired of almost dying on every mission.”

Mal slumped on the bed. “Fucks me up how they’d never even touched a weapon until like a year ago, and they’re already better at training than the PPC. I mean, I know there’s Suefluence involved, but…”

“I don’t think that’s chargeable, it’s realistic enough. We’re just that bad.” A chuckle. “At this point, I don’t think I should even touch a gun until I’ve found a proper shooting range.”

The girl hummed. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, guns are about as point-and-click as you get.”

“Yes, that’s what they taught us.”

“Hah.”

Anis finally turned around, putting a clean shirt back on. Sitting onto the bed, they added: “By the way, I think Jane is suspecting something.”

Mal perked up. “What?”

“She finds us weird. I think we don’t fit in enough.”

“She got isekaied by aliens, and then a witch showed up. We could make up just about anything and she’d believe us.”

Anis nodded. “Fair. But we need to agree on a cover story, then.”

“Cover…” Mal pondered for a while. “Hey, well, secret mission from Earth. Figuring out what’s going on on Horny Low Fantasy Planet. It’s barely even wrong.”

“That’s an option.” Anis lay down on the bed. “I’ll let you know if I find anything better, but for now, we should sleep.”

The walls of Turia looked much smaller than the agents remembered. Perhaps a trick of perspective, but even then, they seemed of a much more reasonable size than before.

Mal opined: “She made it… Better, in a way, but that’s still space distortion, right?”

Anis nodded in answer from atop Murderhorse, alternating between checking their weapons and looking at the Words. “There’s some backstory exposition. This city apparently reminds her of another she took in her homeworld. Exploded a hole right through the walls.”

“I assume,” Mal replied with a smile, “she’s gonna do the same here?”

Another nod. “There’s also some more, uh, flirting. And more backstory. Royal heir, trained with assassins before killing them for treason, girlbossed her way into ruling a good chunk of the world, uh… Killed a god? And threatened another?”

“Let me guess, those are all mentioned for the first time right before she does something implausible?”

Anis smiled. “Some of them. But it looks consistent.”

“So it’s more like dumping an endgame D&D character into a low-level campaign,” Mal said, grinning.

Her partner took a couple seconds to respond. “Probably. But also: nerd.”

Mal laughed as Anis rode off to rejoin the archers. She then left the camp, following the infantry troops at first before walking off to a small hill, on which she lay down to somewhat conceal herself. She could see Systlin and her honor guard, fairly blurry at that distance but still recognizable, facing off with soldiers on… Raptors? Sure, why not. While her sight was what it was, her hearing had done a lot to compensate over the years, and so she focused on the conversation.

“You know full well that I lead this army.” She said bluntly. “You’ve heard the stories.” She sighed. “It makes me curious…” “Stories of trickery and nonsense about sorcery.” The man with the glittering armor said loftily. “A few villages might fall to some unnatural woman, but this is Turia. We will not be afraid of a tribe of women who think themselves the equals of men.”

Honestly pretty silly. The Sue herself commented on it, which Mal thought of as less of a self-aware moment and more of another opportunity to make herself look better by way of a DMB. Still, the raptor cavalry severely outnumbered Systlin’s, which would have probably been a problem had she not had tailor-made war-winning powers.

Indeed, Mal watched on as a cracking sound echoed through the air, and the lances of Turia’s entire front line shattered. She could feel the power from here, a terrible force that sought the flaws in the patterns of reality and spread them exponentially, rending molecules apart, a weaponized Second Law of Thermodynamics—

Focus. The enemy cavalry was panicking, and the entire force of Systlin’s army moved in for the kill, the Sue’s kaiila springing in front of her advancing troops. The way clear, she made a move toward the front lines – motion from the walls, arrows? Her course was unimpeded. She was leading from her front lines, which was extremely unrealistic for any sort of noble – probably chargeable. Systlin was supposed to be a queen, not a—

Goddess of war. Goddess of justice. The words of the goddess from the dream sequence echoed in Mal’s mind. Certainly an option to explain this, but she wasn’t sure if—

The great gates of Turia, and fifty feet of the wall to either side, crumbled into splinters and sand.

Power. Overwhelming Power. The entire hylic plane was in agony, patterns and metapatterns coming undone within the range of the blast, minds – emergent patterns of electricity, pieces of Wan Mekhane, most fragile and most precious – dissipating into a hateful local maximum of entropy, souls blinking out to—

“Marshmallow. Mallory. Please. Just listen—”

“That was a Sue!” Mallory Belford, of the Department of Floaters, gestured at the body on the ground.

Rose was shaking, wand pointed at Mal. “She wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

Mal knew Rose wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t. “You’ve seen what she’s done to canon! What is happening to you?”

There were tears in her partner’s eyes. “She… She was just a girl having fun with her favorite characters.”

Oh, no. The Sue had got to Rose. Lingering influence. Mal pulled out the neuralyzer. “Rose, listen, I… She’s done something to your mind. You can’t—”

A white light shone from Rose’s wand, and Mal froze in place.

This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t happening. It—

Wait. It is not happening. This already happened. This isn’t real.

Mal found herself in a place that wasn’t. Around her were minds, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. Immediately, her full attention turned to the one facing her.

She immediately realized who She was. Her form was different, impossible to describe in hylic terms, a divine True Form that would drive any living soul mad—

“Am… Am I dead?”

You'll get better. There was some amusement in the Lady’s voice. Your body is mostly intact, and you are… Of another.

Mal wasn’t sure if that turn of phrase was typical of the goddess, or indicative of something deeper. There were some more urgent matters, though. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

I am nothing but myself, Mallory Belford. What are you doing here?

There was no use in lying to a being of such Power – capitalized, as per Her own canon’s convention. Still, Mal readied her own power as she spoke.

“I am an agent of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. You are aiding a Mary Sue in destroying the canon of Gor. This can still end peacefully, and everything return to normal.”

The Lady laughed, softly. Children. You shall not touch my sister.

Mal deployed her halo: two wings and a unicorn horn, in a shape reminiscent of a power button. Rightfully earned during the Friendship is Optimal mission. She, too, had killed a god, from a certain point of view. “Or else…?”

There's no “else”, Mallory. The Lady had adopted a softer, more calming tone.

Mal wouldn’t fall for it. “In that case…” With a ruffle of metallic wings, she manifested her Answer. The Mekhanite weapon glimmered in impossible colors as it activated. “Lady, you are charged with creating an implausible crossover, with bringing magic to a continuum which canonically has none, with enabling a Godmode Sue as she conducts a targeted attack on canon, and with harming an agent of the PPC.” She pointed the Answer at the goddess, ready to deploy. “The sentence is death.”

Point and click, Saint.

“Bang! Bang!” Mal shouted, moving the thumb on her finger gun for emphasis.

A beat. “What the hell?”

The Lady laughed again. Mal had the distinct impression that She lowered Herself down to speak to her. I make the rules here. And when I say you shouldn’t be here, I mean it.

Mal awoke on a soft surface. She abruptly sat up, scanning her surroundings. The Ubara Sana’s camp, a circular area cleared for battlefield injuries. She was on a stretcher, and next to her was a woman, presumably a medic. She put a hand on Mal’s shoulder.

“Wait! Calm down. Mal. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Mal blinked. “What…” Ow fuck. Pain, which only got worse with a coughing fit. Broken rib, dislocated?

The medic answered the question she couldn’t ask. “Cavalry brought you in, said you had a seizure. Then, uh… Let’s just say we’re glad you’re still with us.”

The agent’s hands reached up to her face, and she sighed in relief as she felt her glasses. Her voice dropped to a whisper, to minimize the pain. “Fuck. I… I need to get back to my wagon.”

The other woman’s tone got sterner. “You’re not going anywhere just yet, young lady. Just lie down here for a few hours until we’re sure you won’t… Until we’re sure you’re okay.”

Mal knew she would be, but she couldn’t exactly argue with that. She would have to wait to get the answers to her questions.

First chapter —  Next chapter

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Last Choice

In UK political news: Johnson tried to pull a Trump, and failed harder than Trump ever did. Basically he made massive attempts to lie about how much support he was (or more to the point, wasn’t) getting, and meantime begging people to drop out. And then, when it was pretty clear that he wasn’t getting the 100 votes from Tory MPs that he needed to continue in the leadership race, he bowed out, still with the “I won but” lie. Then Penny Mordaunt, the only other actual contender, dropped out too. So we’re going to have Rishi Sunak as PM.

I’d normally be happy to have the PM not be a white person for once. Honestly ... not so much. Mostly, I think, because the only reason he got it was that he was the best choice of a bad lot, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have been chosen (because at this point he was hardly ‘elected’) if there’d been any other even vaguely palatable option. None of the MPs wanted Johnson because they had already worked with Johnson and they saw yet more chaos coming. Particularly since Johnson is a vindictive bitch most of the time. He’s the one who got us into this mess in the first place, filling his cabinet with yes-men and sycophants and firing anyone knowledgeable enough to gainsay him. This left us with this bunch of yahoos squabbling over a role that none of them are fit to fill. If it had gone to a vote, the old white men at the top would probably have voted Mordaunt in, and she’s basically a nonentity.

Why do I have misgivings about Sunak? Well, while he looks good - charming, charismatic, personable to a point - he’s just a tidier version of Johnson, all style and no substance. He himself is very wealthy, his wife is wealthier still, and he has done some shady-ass things in the name of economic interests and his own self-interest. For example ... if you have a US green card but are permanently resident in another country, you are supposed to give up your green card. I speak from personal experience, and it was confirmed in the news awhile back when it was discovered that yeah, Sunak still had a green card that he was hanging onto Because Reasons. Which is stupid because with his money, he wouldn’t have any issue reapplying if he wanted one, but still, hedging his bets.

Honestly, that’s not so bad, I guess. What is bad is his basically aiding and abetting his wife’s tax avoidance and defrauding the Covid support fund. I mean, she got support for her chain of gyms and then shut them down before she was expected to repay it. This apparently happened with a lot of businesses, that or something like it, but this is his wife. And having the wife he lives with claim non-domicile status to avoid paying taxes on her clothing business while he himself had to be a UK resident as Chancellor of the Exchequer ... well. I mean. Come on.

The worst of it, I think, is that he has no real idea what people who aren’t obscenely wealthy need in order to live. Yes, he presided over the £20 Universal Credit uplift. He also presided over snatching that away despite the double-tap of Covid and Brexit making that £20 per week the difference between ‘coping’ and ‘starving’. He gave a speech at one point in which he tried to tell the people that he understood their struggles because “We have four kinds of bread in my house”. Dude, most people would be happy to buy bread at all at this point, and would consider anything but the supermarket own-brand stuff a miracle; shut up. He also seems to do photo shoots to demonstrate what kind of “man of the people” he is ... and fucks it up so badly. He wanted to be photographed putting petrol in an “ordinary car” ... but he didn’t have one of those so he borrowed the car of one of the staff at the supermarket / petrol station specifically to put petrol in it. (Hopefully he at least didn’t expect the staffer to pay him back for the petrol, that’s assuming he actually started the pump going and didn’t just put the empty nozzle in; I never heard how that went.) Also wanted to have photos of him paying for his shopping ... but couldn’t even figure out how to tap his credit card at the contactless payment machine. He had very clearly never done that before. I gather he orders things from fancier places and has a credit account or something. Either way, his attempts at looking like “a man who understands people’s everyday lives and struggles” just made him look like a posh, entitled noit.

I mean, he’s better than Johnson. And I can see why they picked him, and why they might have picked him even if Mordaunt hadn’t dropped out of the race. Yeah, he’s not white, and that probably would have been a turn-off for the members of the Conservative party ... but Sunak is a money-man. More to the point, he’s a money-for-the-already-financially-endowed man. He’s not going to tighten any tax avoidance loopholes. He’s not going to tax businesses. He literally bragged at one point that he took ‘levelling-up’ money from poorer areas to funnel into richer areas that didn’t need it. The Tories know what Sunak stands for - more inequality, but also more subtlety about it than Truss had. And they also know that he looks and acts like a grown-up, so he’ll probably play well with at least some of the voters. And the Tories can now rub it into Labour’s faces that they were not only the first ones to get a woman into 10 Downing Street, but now the first ones to get a non-white person into 10 Downing Street, and insist that on that basis they can’t be racist. Except the problem is that if you really look at the POC in the Tory party, you’ll find a fair few instances of boomerang bigotry, of making much of how their families were refugees and then pulling up the ladder behind them and dreaming of sending people just like them to Rwanda.

Basically, Sunak’s a combination accountant and hedge fund manager, but how he’s going to be as an actual leader, in any instance that doesn’t directly involve the economy? I have a feeling it’s going to be just a classier version of Johnson’s daily parade around places in hi-vis cosplay; more style than substance. But, if it has to be Tories at all, I guess at least it’s not Johnson. That’s a silver lining, I guess.

(Oh, and people are bitching about how Labour is saying that if there was a general election and they did win said general election, they “couldn’t fix things as fast as they’d like”. Which everyone thinks is a cop-out, like there should be an instant fix to the political and economic disaster area the UK has become. Except ... no. No, Starmer’s doing something that we need to see more of in politics - he told the truth. There is no easy fix to this. This mess requires repair at the foundational level. There are things that could be done to make life easier for those who are terrified of starving, freezing, and/or being rendered homeless, but the actual problem? That’s going to take years to fix properly. I guess I get being leery of long-term strategies when the ones that have previously been thrown at us involved immediate benefits for the wealthy and a promise of maybe jam tomorrow for everyone else, but ... oh, fuck it, I have no idea anymore. I’m just really sick of ending up with a change in prime minister and consequently of manifesto without having been remotely able to vote for it.)

[skellebonez]

Happy Birthday Winter!

Hey @winterpower98 it's your birthday! I really hope you enjoy this, I know I had a ton of fun writing it for you! Actor AU is one of my favorite AUs you've made and coming back to play around with it again was a blast and a half!

Painter MK cackled, taking the brushes filled with bright pink paint into his fists.

“Yes, yes!” He exclaimed, brushing them against his cheeks and bringing another to run up the center of his face. “The art is-OW! OW, THE ART IS IN MY EYE!”

“Cut!” The director yelled, bringing the entire film production to a halt in an instant. “Xiaotian, what happened?”

The young actor dropped the paintbrushes into the hands of a stage worker to rushed over to help him, one hand covering his right eye as he tried to keep himself from laughing. “I think some of it splashed when I waved the brush at my face. I guess the art really IS-”

“Don’t say it,” Heshang said from the other side of the set, doing his best not to join his co-star in laughter.

“-seeping into my pores!”

The entire cast and crew groaned as Xiaotian cackled again, with a few added ows, before another stage hand came by with a bottle of water.

~3…2…1~

“Uh…” Xiaojiao pulled, attempting to pull the prop sword from above her head out of the wall only to be met with… a lot more resistance than should probably be there. “UH…? It’s stuck?”

She stood, attempting to pull it out normally only to be met with just as much resistance.

“It’s stuck!” She laughed, out, bracing a foot on the wall with no change.

“Let me try,” General Ironclad, or rather Red in the costume of General Ironclad for the episode, offered, attempting to do the same with the exact same result as his co-star. “What did you use to hold this in place? Cement!?”

“It should have only been stuck in with force!” A stage hand yelled as Xiaotian and Heshang joined in, both failing to pull the sword out from the false wall and Heshang nearly toppling over backwards with his additional costume pieces.

“Whoever stuck that in there needs to be moved to making sure the safety equipment stays connected!” Xiaotian offered, watching as even more people tried to remove the sword. “That is not coming out.”

~3…2…1~

Heshang held Mo in his arms, waltzing around the set as he waited for places to be called for with the shockingly content feline in his arms.

~3…2…1~

“You are selling beautiful vegetables today?” Pigsy said, leaning over the the display to give an awkward smile to the disguised Spider Queen.

Tang looked over the produce from where he knelt, looking back up at his companion with a concerned and confused look. “Are you… a-are-PFT-FUCK.”

Everyone on set burst into laughter as Tang did, both of his fellow actors holding back from laughing themselves.

“Why is it this line!?” Tang yelled in frustration as he continued laughing. “It’s not a hard line! I wrote this line! Why do I keep laughing at the last word!?”

“Maybe if Ganglie wasn’t making goo-goo eyes at me you’d keep straight face,” Zhi-Zhu Jing managed to get out through her laughter.

“That’d be the only thing straight about me.”

~3…2…1~

Dicky Cheung, or the actual Sun Wukong disguised as a human actor in full costume of himself, took a running leap and jumped onto the counter of Pigsy’s noodles, sliding to a perfect stop with a wink toward the camera.

~3…2…1~

“MK, there’s something I wanted to tell you…” Mei said, looking at MK with sparkles in her eyes before snickering. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s hard enough to keep a straight face during this scene!”

“Sorry!” Xiaotian yelled to the camera. “I can’t help it! How are Jin and Yin this wrong about these two in the show?”

“Himbos!” was the shouted answer from Tang at the other end of the set.

~3…2…1~

“One of the rare talents that no one knew the great Sun Wukong possessed…” Xiaojiao said ominously, camera panning over to Mr. Cheung in full costume. “Surprisingly good peach juggling!”

“Gotta keep myself occupied somehow!” The actor laughed out, catching two peaches in either hand while the last one was caught perfectly in his mouth to the applause of everyone watching.

~3…2…1~

“Thanks for the Key los-AH!”

Red flung his arms wildly, key flying into the air as Tie Shan rushed forward and caught him just before he face planted into the ground.

“Mine!” Mr. Cheung yelled as he caught the key mid air and rushed through the frame.

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN IN THIS EPISODE!”

~3…2…1~

“Thank you… for giving me all o-ooh, whoa!” Lui Er Mihou, or unbeknownst to nearly all Six-Eared Macaque in disguise much the same way as Sun Wukong was, yelped as the cable that was supposed to gently raise him and make him look like he was floating yoinked him as good 4 feet off the ground way too fast. “That’s too much power!”

“SORRY!” The line operator shouted, fiddling with the controls. “Someone loaded the weight setting for Xiaotian into your line instead of yours.”

“I already feel bad enough treating him like garbage and beating him up in this role, this is just rubbing salt in the wound,” Liu Er muttered, leaning back and swinging limply much to the amusement of everyone who couldn’t hear him before raising his voice. “When will my beloved friend Sun Wukong come to rescue me?”

“SPEAK MY NAME AND I SHALL APPEAR!”

Liu Er yelped in surprise as Mr. Cheung rushed in and grabbed him from beneath to hold him bridal style with a shit eating grin. He couldn't help the flush on his cheeks in response.

“HOW DO YOU KEEP SHOWING UP IN SHOTS WHEN YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE YET!?” The director yelled with more than a little amusement in his voice despite the disruption.

~3…2…1~

“You!” DBK said, rounding on Red Son. “You have brought me nothing but failure! Time and time again! I keep telling you I… shit, I can’t remember the next line when you look that sad, I am so sorry.”

“Nothing but disappointment?” Red offered helpfully, immediately breaking out of his downcast somber gaze to the floor with a wide smile.

“It is scary how fast you get in and out of character sometimes, kid,” Niu Mowang laughed out, clearly resisting the urge to ruffle the younger actor’s hair lest he ruin the styling job that took far too long every time they got dressed.

~3…2…1~

The White Bone Spirit stood at the entrance to the Silken Web Cave, looking at the camera before far too much time passed from when she was supposed to say he line. She moon walked backwards out of the frame without changing her expression one bit as the other actors devolved into cackles.

~3…2…1~

“The Year of the Spider starts tonight!” Spider Queen proclaimed from her high vantage point before she muttered something under her breathe, narrowing her gaze and then looking off to the side. “Or next year ‘cause I don’t remember my line.”

~3…2…1~

Huntsman slowly lowered into frame, upside down and gripping the rigging holding him up like Spiderman.

~3…2…1~

“Oh yeah?” Sun Wukong said, appearing in frame as he walked down the wall MK was embedded in. He grabbed his staff, yanking it out of the wall and jumped down and smacked the wall with it.

… only for it to go through the wall once again and crack it. Or, rather, the false wall that was on a tilted angle to make it look like he was talking down it, rather than a heavily slanted floor.

“I’m sorry!” Mr. Cheung yelled, looking at the damage he caused. “I must have hit at weak spot!”

He hoped no one noticed that when MK offered to get the prop staff for this shot and put it into the wall… he grabbed the real one by accident.

~3…2…1~

Nui Mowang held the little bird that was Wukong’s transformation stand in for one of the final scenes, gently petting the little head with a big goofy smile on his face.

~END~

The entire cast sat around on various travel tables right outside the small Lunar New Year Festival set they had set up, various extras that had answered the open invitation for the shoot going about and getting the free food that was available at the functional stalls provided by the catering they had hired.

It was an odd sight to see Red Son and Spider Queen and Sun Wukong and everyone else sitting around together, but Liu Er Mihou being there outside of his Macaque costume broke the illusion a little bit.

It was the final day of shooting for the season 2 opening special to Monkie Kid, Revenge of the Spider Queen, and everyone was there. Even people who didn’t have to come in wanted to give a temporary farewell to Tie Shan, Nui Mowang, and Red before season 2 proper began shooting. There was still a chance they could bebcalled in for bit roles, the scripts weren’t entirely finished yet, but as far as anyone knew the Demon Bull Family wasn’t going to be returning properly any time soon.

Maybe in season 3, Tang had teased, holding the begun scripts for that in his little tablet away from prying eyes. And they were always welcome to help out in bit roles, background characters or voice over or to use their other talents to work other jobs that were needed around the set.

But even before then it would be a while.

And so that’s how Red found himself sandwiched between Long Xiaojiao and Qi Xiaotian, with the newly added member of their quartet in her full White Bone Spirit costume hanging over his shoulder to watch the compilation that Xiaojiao had expertly edited on her phone for them all.

“The director gave me permission to use whatever I wanted and I though that… maybe we could all have it for ourselves,” Xiaojiao offered, pulling up the wireless transfer option on her phone. “To watch when we miss each other being on set together. I know we’re going to probably be back together with Red Son eventually! But…”

“I’ll miss shooting with you too,” Red said smiling softly as he pulled out his own phone to accept the file. “Hopefully Mr. Tang isn’t just teasing us about season 3.”

[ororosmunroe]

Option 1 pt 2

The third time they meet, it, unfortunately, isn't under better circumstances.

The X-men fighting some anti-mutant group of the week and it's at a powerplant that is using unlawful labor of trafficked mutants. The powerplant itself is still under construction and it's disrupting the aquatic life.

The rescue of the hostages is underway and the fighting is getting even more intense.

It's coming to the terrible realization that not everyone is going to make it out alive. There are too many hostages and too many wounded to continue fighting.

They have to retreat.

Scott makes the call to fall back. One of the hostages screams about her child. They beg for their child. Ororo doesn't think, she just moves. She can hear friends and teammates call her name but she moves.

She's avoiding the gunfire while trying to get a glimpse of the missing child. So much chaos and disarray. Yelling and screaming. Fire and smoke. Honestly, it was an utter miracle that she found the child.

Gathering them into her arms. she ran to the closest exit. As long as she could see the sky they would make it!

The sound of the enemy grew closer and closer.

She contacted the team to have Kurt get the child. They needed cover. Kurt bamfs two where they are and takes hold of the child. He reaches out to Ororo but they're separated by gunfire.

Ororo shouts to go on ahead, the child needs medical attention.

She'll catch up.

She doesn't notice that she's bleeding out.

She manages to get into the air when her vision starts to get blurry.

Perhaps...she was incorrect...

At least the child is safe...

Her vision gets blurrier

Forgive me, my friends...

She falls through the air, unconscious.

A wind vortex surrounds her, and a power untapped by her emerges as she hits the water. Deeper and deeper she drifts into the ocean.

Meanwhile, Namor and a select few are in the middle of a patrol. They were in the middle of planning an attack on the power plant.

Until one point something in the distance. A glowing orb...almost like a shooting star. Once again, something in Namor said to go towards it. Against his generals' wishes, he swam towards it and to his disbelief and horror he finds Ororo.

Slowly he swims up under her, fearful of it bursting until the light began to shrink. Her body was eventually imbued it with it and he opened his arms and waited for her to fall into them.

So many wounds and cuts....like she had been in some of battle.

"Oh, what have they done to you, Goddess...?" He mournfully spoke.

He orders an immediate retreat. He doesn't know how long this light will last but he doesn't want her to possibly run out of air. He goes directly to his underwater cavern and orders the best medical staff to heal Ororo.

There is doubt that they'll be able to help due to the physiology difference but one cold look from Namor has them racing around to begin an examination.

Thankfully they are able to stop the bleeding but it would be some time before she woke up...if ever. The scouts that he had ordered to watch the power plant gave their report.

A battle did ensue. Possibly a rescue mission. They saw the goddess hold on to a child until giving it to another. She provided cover for their escape and then tried to escape herself.

He wants to yell at them for not assisting but knows that they were not given such an order. They were only told to observe.

Namor dismisses them and the attendants and then goes to the bed that held Talokan's special guest.

She had been carefully cleaned, mended, and dressed in an ornate gown. The wounds had been neatly dressed. The redness in her hair was gone leaving the pearl white he remembers from months prior. He longs for her to open her eyes once more.

To smile. To laugh.

Gently, he grabs her hand and kisses it.

" I'm sure these were not the circumstances you had wished for...but I believe fate has brought you to me for a reason. I will not fail you as the surface world has. You will be safe here Goddess. I will wait...as long as it takes. "

He takes his free hand and gently caresses the top of her head.

" When you awaken I will show you my Talokan. Your new home."

Because I trust your judgement, how would Namor and Ororo's first meet go? I'm becoming increasingly invested in the possibilities of these two because we have a fine ass Namor and it's ORORO. I'm not sure if it would canon-compliant considering we still don't have 'Ro in the MCU, but like in your mind, how would it go?

Honestly, there are so many avenues it could go and I'll be honest I'm conflicted on how I'd actually want it.

(Mind you: I fully realize that this could seem creepy but Namor's reasons for coming out of the sea are pretty rare. So. It doesn't foster a typical meet-cute. Also sorry that this took so long to answer but also that it's not even done lmaoo.)

Option 1:

Namor catches a glimpse of her while training, She's sky-riding just letting loose and having fun. Perhaps she's on vacation?) and he's mesmerized because when has the surface world ever produced something so beautiful? Never, so then she must be divinely made. A logical deduction tbh.

He hears her relaxed melodic laughter and is CHARMED. He keeps a low profile because he doesn't want to be found out but also because he doesn't want to disturb her and also a little bewildered because no surface dwellers have flown without some sort of device in all his years.

He leaves Ororo feeling a little enchanted but sends scouts out just to be sure she isn't a possible threat. He is a leader after all.

They find nothing.

Then it's MONTHS until he sees her again and the only reason why he sees her is that a part of the ocean is being disturbed. Underwater twisters are getting a bit too close to Talokan and he needs to figure out why it's happening and put an end to it. He notices that twisters aren't being caused by the currents but from above.

So he ventures out of the ocean and sees that the sky is in chaos. Something in him tells him not to write this off. That a storm like this isn't natural. So he again ventures higher and ends up seeing Ororo.

Ororo is clearly distraught over something despite all the rain he can see the pain in her eyes and posture.

She was making this happen?

He slowly ventures towards her. He makes his presence known.

it takes her a minute to notice him but when she does the shock of seeing someone else in the air unaided by machinery snaps her out of sadness and puts her in defensive mode.

He does his best to tell her that he means no harm but it isn't until he shouts, " GODDESS, MY PEOPLE ARE IN DANGER!"

That she relents. She looks down and sees figures staring up and she's appalled. She does her best to calm herself down, and soon enough the skies clear and the only sound is the water below.

Then it's just them. Staring eye to eye

The moon was their backdrop. Her hair glowed from the light of the moon. Her eyes finally revealed a blue only captured after an intense storm. Skin shining like precious jewels. In all his years no one has made him so speechless.

She's the one to break eye contact. She gets skittish, clearly remorseful. He sees the shame envelope her. He isn't mad, more so worried. Not of the power, that this being possessed but of the cause of the unleashing.

What has caused a goddess such distress?

"I-I am...so sorry! I came here because I thought- Well, clearly I was mistaken." Quickly wiping her face, " Please, was anyone hurt?"

He tells her no. He watches her as her body relaxes, her eyes shining with tears once more but her mouth turns upwards into a grateful smile.

" Thank you, Bright Lady...and you, you've stopped me from making a tragic mistake." She whispers as she cups the front of her face with her hands. " Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

There was silence again before Ororo finally collected herself and looked directly at him.

He feels his heart beginning to race, and his mouth becomes dry leaving him unable to speak. She looks at him with wonder and warmth.

"The world is filled with such wonders. A people that live under the sea without detection...? Do not worry I will not tell a soul. Again, please forgive my disturbance. Goodbye."

She's about to fly off when he finally finds his voice.

" My name is Kukuklan." He did not tell of his other name, for he never wanted to be her enemy. "....and your name Goddess?"

He sees her become a little shy, which he finds endearing, but she answers the question that has been plaguing him for months.

"Ororo, but I'm no Goddess I'm afraid."

The name suits her perfectly, he thinks.

" Well In my humble estimation, no human could hold such power or even be worthy of such a gift. So I'm afraid...the title will have to stand. "

She smiles at him, shaking her head. " You're too kind. I've made such a poor and disastrous introduction and yet you compliment me. I should go."

" As I've said no harm was done, but if you really must go...I only hope your heart is now lighter than it was before, Goddess."

" Thank you." She takes the sincerity in his words for what they are. Trying to swallow down the embarrassment of being caught in a such vulnerable state. "If we meet again, I hope it is under much better circumstances. Goodbye."

She finally flies off and leaves the God King to his own thoughts.

By the next morning, another mural is added to his wall.

[choicesarehard]

I keep my streams about Wolf Bride light-hearted. It’s been a hell of a year, and I think we all need a space where we can laugh together. But part of responsibly consuming problematic media is being aware of where it fails. And that’s why I think it’s important to talk about Morgan, and Wolf Bride’s troubling depiction of blindness. 

Morgan is one of the first Love Interests in Choices to have a canon disability. She is representation many players with disabilities, like myself, are eager for. But like any form of representation, writing a blind character requires research. A quick google search will lead you to numerous visually impaired voices who outline the tropes and stereotypes that harm their community. Wolf Bride has included nearly all of them. 

signal boosts are appreciated

Not All Blind People Wear Sunglasses

Morgan is shown wearing dark sunglasses from the moment she appears on screen. And there are certainly blind people who wear sunglasses — particularly those who (unlike Morgan) can still perceive some degree of light and dark, and experience painful light sensitivity. But no context is ever giving for Morgan’s use of sunglasses. In fact, they aren’t even addressed for four chapters. 

[ID: Two screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box over a forest background, and reads “You glance at Morgan, and are surprised to see the dark glasses still covering her eyes.” The second features a labeled image of her sunglasses, placed over a black background, with a selectable button that reads “What does Morgan look like without these?”] What follows is a scene Pixelberry could have used to provide insight into an assistive device the sighted community may not be entirely familiar with. They could have touched on degrees of visual impairment, or why some blind individuals need dark lenses while others don’t. They could even have explained that for some individuals with visual impairments, dark lenses make tasks like reading or navigating dimly lit spaces harder.  Instead, and far more troublingly, MC is given the option to ask Morgan not to wear them anymore. And depending on your choice, the book is coded to remove the sunglasses from her sprite in future scenes. This reduces an assistive device to a fashion choice, something our MC can wish away if they don’t find it attractive. And that isn’t okay. 

Unusual Eyes

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box placed over a forest background that reads “With a start, you realize her pale eyes aren’t looking at you, aren’t seeing you, aren’t seeing anything.” The second features Morgan’s sad sprite in the same forest setting, and a text box that reads “...I’ve been blind since birth.”] Morgan has a customizable sprite. But regardless of the ethnicity you select for her, she is depicted with pale blue eyes. And that troubles me. Because the stereotype that all blind individuals have cloudy, distorted, or unusual eyes is pervasive and harmful. 

Even when it isn’t tied to another harmful trope — the blind character as mystical seer or psychic — this stereotype create an expectation that blindness is something that always manifests in a visible way. And for millions of blind individuals, that isn’t the case. 

And while cataracts, trauma to the eye, and corneal infections can all cause the clouded effect most of us recognize from media, none turn your brown eyes into blue.  Heightened Senses

Another common stereotype in media is the blind character who’s remaining senses have become heightened as a compensatory mechanism, often to a supernatural degree.

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features Morgan’s surprised sprite in a forest setting and a text box that reads “I guess I sort of...feel things. Like the place on my cheek where the branch blocked the wind.” The second features Morgan’s neutral sprite in the same forest setting, and a text box that reads “I can smell the dew on the leaves, and the moss on the bark. Can’t you?] Individuals with visual impairment may learn to rely on their other senses to navigate the world around them. But they do not suddenly gain the ability to sense the location of a branch based on wind patterns, or to accurately throw a dart at a carnival game ballon based on its smell. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eight of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box placed over a carnival background that reads “Pop! Pop! Pop! Three darts fly through the air, striking their targets.” The second features the white MC with straight blonde hair. Her sprite is surprised, and beneath it is a text box that reads “So you did that by smell, too?]

This trope may seem harmless — after all, it gave us Daredevil, a beloved blind superhero — but it contributes to the unachievable expectations we often place on real-world individuals with visually impairments. And that isn’t fair. 

Of course, we all suspected Morgan’s abilities were due to something other than heightened senses. And that in and of itself is a problem. 

Magical / Supernatural Abilities

To the surprise of no one, Morgan exhibits these unusual abilities because she is a werewolf. But choosing to give a blind character magical abilities should only be done after asking yourself some challenging questions. As visually-impaired Tumblr user @mimzy-writing-online explains:

Your blind characters don’t need a magical ability that negates their blindness. [Ask yourself why it’s so important to you to give them one]. If it’s because they can’t do all the things you want them to do without it, then should you really have written them as blind in the first place? 

And that’s the thing. Morgan isn’t actually written as a blind character, not when it counts. Morgan shoots bullets with accuracy, runs through unfamiliar terrain, and navigates moving objects with ease. She doesn’t use common assistive devices like canes or screen readers. Her sunglasses are discarded at MC’s request. The scientific papers that fill her research facility are not digitized for accessibility or written in braille. 

Even her dreams, which should be reflections of how she perceives reality, look identical to Bastien's — which makes no sense for someone who has been canonically blind since birth. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapters Five and Eight of Wolf Bride. The first features a scene from Morgan’s lucid dream. Set in a glamorous hotel, it includes visual details like twinkling lights, and patterned carpets. The color is tinted a grey-blue and the exposure on the image has been increased to an unnatural level. The second features a scene from Bastien’s lucid dream. Set in a forest, it shares the same tinted and over-exposed qualities as the first.]

Her blindness isn’t an integral part of her character. Instead, it’s a narrative device, paraded in front of the reader when it can further a central — and deeply disturbing — plot point. [content warning: discussion of discrimination and child abuse / abandonment ahead]  Morgan Was Left to Die Because She Was Blind 

And Jesus, what a plot point it is. In Chapter 11, we learn that Morgan was left to die in the woods because she was born “wrong, sickly, blind.” But the only canonical disability or illness she is ever shown to have is her blindness. 

[ID: Three side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eleven of Wolf Bride. The first two feature the white MC with straight blonde hair’s shocked sprite in front of a forest background. The first text box reads “I don’t understand...” followed by two dialogue options “Why was Morgan abandoned?” and “Is that what you do to full moon babies? Kill them?” The second panel’s read box reads “Just because she was blind?” The third panel features  the old woman Noemi’s sad sprite, placed over a forest background. Her text box reads “If we know an infant will not survive, it is best to let it die quickly.”]

I...am frankly having a hard time thinking through the screenshot-induced fury to make a coherent argument here. To imply that blindness is an impairment so limiting that death is the only foreseeable outcome? That being born blind somehow makes a child “wrong”? The ignorance and prejudice shown in this scene is staggering. 

But equally troubling is the response of the main characters to this revelation. Yes, in fiction, bad people sometimes do bad things. But Noemi isn’t shown to be a bad person. Neither is Bastien, who knew what his pack had been guilty of in the past, and even seeks to justify it to a limited degree. 

Most shockingly, Morgan herself, who in the second screenshot below has just overheard that she was left to die as an infant because she is blind, isn’t angry or upset. She’s almost apologetic, still seeking a place within the pack. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eleven of Wolf Bride. The first features Hispanic Bastien’s sad sprite in front of a forest background. The text box beneath him reads “It doesn’t happen often, Clara, but...” The second features white Morgan’s sad sprite in front of the same forest background. The text box beneath her reads “I didn’t mean any harm. Especially after...what I just overheard.”]

By introducing the idea that a child born blind cannot survive, let alone thrive, without superhuman abilities, and then failing to soundly and thoroughly refute that idea through the characters we identify with, Pixelberry is unintentionally perpetuating the same false beliefs that have led to real-world instances of infanticide for centuries. And that isn’t okay. 

I don’t know where Pixelberry will go with the story from here. Perhaps in today’s chapter some of these concerns have been addressed...but I doubt it. In the meantime, I’ve also written to their support staff to express my deep concern and disappointment in the treatment of Morgan’s character. And I’d encourage you to do the same. 

Will I continue to keep streaming Wolf Bride? For now, yes. My VIP subscription is already paid for, and frankly, I want to see Morgan’s arc through. I guess the small part of me that was excited for the representation is still hopeful the narrative can be corrected. 

But I’ll be adding a content warning at the start of each stream for ablism, and that’s something I never thought I’d have to do.  Screenshots courtesy of CrimsonFeatherGames on Youtube

[sergeantsporks]

Here’s to Friendships That Were Never Real

Teen

Gen

Most of the Guardians enjoy having their memories back Douxie rather wishes he didn't have to remember the worst 18 hours of his life, and all the different kinds of betrayal he endured.

Ao3

When the memories returned, everyone was happy.

Everyone remembered what heroes they were.

They remembered Toby’s sacrifice, Jim’s choice.

They remembered valiant deeds, a harsh battle, a tough time.

They remembered pain, but more importantly, they remembered the victory.

That wasn’t how Douxie remembered it.

Douxie remembered pain and torture. Douxie remembered heartache, and loss. Douxie remembered fear.

But most of all, Douxie remembered betrayal.

Douxie remembered being locked up by the order, expecting his friends to come save him.

Only for them to never arrive.

And of course, that was the practical option. The safe option. That was, of course, the right choice. One wizard for the fate of the world? It was hardly worth it. One life, stacked up against all other lives? Laughable. But still…

Douxie had risked the fate of the world to save them.

Douxie had died to save them.

Apparently, they hadn’t thought he was worth the effort to reciprocate.

And then when he was back?

Was it really any better?

Did anyone even care, did anyone even notice that he’d been hurt? They hadn’t asked if he was okay. Just where Nari was, what Nari had said while she was in his body. Did they even care what had happened to him? No. Sure. World in danger. Find out where Nari was. That was… that was fair, that was logical. It was more important than how he felt.

It still hurt.

Maybe if they’d pulled the knives out of his back, they would have had enough weapons to defeat the order.

Friends never arriving.

Friends leaving.

Charlemagne was Archie’s father. Of course he wouldn’t want to leave him. Of course—Charlemagne was Archie’s family. Of course he’d choose to stay with him.

It was just that Douxie had thought he was family, too.

But apparently not.

He remembered falling from the sky, again, and there was no one to help him. He’d had to save himself. Do it alone.

Alone.

Apparently that was what he was.

He’d thought, maybe, that these people cared about him. He cared about them, he cared so much, he thought his heart might burst. Maybe he’d been projecting his own love back. Maybe he’d thought they cared because he cared. Maybe he’d been reading the situation wrong the whole time.

And now? Now they were all laughing, all hugging, and glad to get their memories back.

Glad that things were back to the way they were.

Douxie slipped away, wandering through the streets of Arcadia. They hadn’t noticed when he was hurting then, and they didn’t notice now.

There had been one person who’d put Douxie above the greater good.

One person who had valued Douxie above his own life.

Maybe the one thing this time travel had fixed.

If the erased events had taught Douxie anything, it was that there was apparently only one person he could trust.

One person who had cared enough about him to make an effort.

Douxie stopped in front of a bookstore, his hands shaking as he opened the lock with magic, like he had a hundred times before. He held his breath as he walked in.

Empty.

Dark.

Abandoned.

What had he been expecting? Douxie’s shoulders sank, and he felt tears start to well up in the corners of his eyes.

“Hisirdoux?”

Douxie whirled around to see him standing there, in all of his armored glory, as grouchy and old as when Douxie had last seen him.

“What are you doing here? I should think you’d be celebrating the return of your memories, as all of your frie—”

Merlin broke off as Douxie stumbled into him, sobbing. The master wizard put one hand on his head, letting him cry into an uncomfortable, metal shoulder. “Oh, Hisirdoux. What has happened to you?”

“I d-don’t want to see them,” he choked, “I thought—but then—and even Archie—I don’t…”

His emotions were a jumbled mess. He wanted to see them—but he didn’t. He loved them, and he hated himself for loving them, hated himself for caring so much about people who didn’t care back, and if he could just stop caring, it would be okay, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop caring, and caring while knowing that they didn’t care made it so much worse.

“Then you don’t have to. I do not know what happened in the time after my demise, but if you wish to stay here with me, you are welcome. Master wizard.”

Merlin waved a hand, and the door to the back sprang open. The cot Douxie had left there was replaced by a bed, and warm lights flickered on.

Douxie shuffled inside. “And—if the others come—”

“If you do not wish to see them, I will not let them in. You have my word.”

Douxie collapsed on the bed, more tired than he thought he’d be. Merlin quietly shut the door, and Douxie flopped backwards, one arm over his eyes. He’d have to face them eventually.

But not tonight.

Xxx

Claire slammed a fist on Merlin’s door. Archie hadn’t wanted to come with—she wasn’t sure why, but the familiar had looked awfully dodgy and guilty about it. “Hey! Open up!”

The door opened just a crack. “Why hello, Miss Nunez. I trust you have a reasonable explanation for why you’re attempting to break down my door at his hour?”

“Where’s Douxie?!”

“Oh, finally noticed he’s missing, have you? He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Doesn’t want to—” Claire sputtered, “Liar! We’re his friends, and we know you have him! Let us see him!”

“As I said, he does not wish to see you. Good day.”

Merlin closed the door.

Claire kicked it down. “What are you doing to him?”

Merlin thumped his staff on the ground. “As of a few moments ago, I believe I was allowing him to sleep in. Perhaps you’ve missed your recommended eight hours, and that is why you seem a touch unreasonable.”

Jim put a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “We’re just… worried about him is all. He left last night, and we haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for you to worried about him now. As I said, Hisirdoux does not wish to see you. Kindly exit my shop before I am forced to take action.”

Claire heard a slight creak, and she peered around Merlin to see a door to the back open just a crack, a pair of golden eyes peering out of it.

“Douxie!”

The wizard shuffled out into the open, looking like he’d gotten caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. “Oh. Hey.”

Something about him was off, something about the way he wouldn’t look Claire in the eye. “We… just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay.”

He still wouldn’t look at her. “Yeah. I’m fine. You can go.”

Claire hesitated. “Douxie, are you… are you sure? Merlin said—”

“Merlin was right,” Douxie said in a small voice, keeping his master in-between himself and Claire, “I don’t want to see you. Please go.”

Suspicion swept over Claire, and she turned to Merlin. “What are you doing to him? Some kind of control?!”

“I assure you, Lady Claire, I am doing nothing of the sort. Hisirdoux simply does not want to see you. Neither do I, really, so if you would kindly walk out of that door—”

“Liar!” A knife of shadows materialized in Claire’s hand, and she leveled it at Merlin. “Let him go!”

Merlin’s eyes flashed, and his staff started to glow. “Careful, Miss Nunez. You may have learned shadow magic, but I still have centuries of experience on you.”

“We’ll see.”

“Stop!”

Claire and Merlin both stopped glaring at each other to turn to see who’d spoken. Jim shook his head. “Both of you. Quit fighting. Claire, if Douxie says he doesn’t want to see us…”

Claire turned back to Douxie. “But why?” she pleaded, “What’s wrong, Douxie? Did we do something?”

Douxie’s eyes flashed blue, and he slammed his fist down on the table. “What’s wrong?! What’s wrong is that you left me with the order. What’s wrong is that even when they were torturing me, you didn’t come for me. What’s wrong is that you didn’t care about what I went through!”

His eyes were completely blue, and small items were starting to float. Claire took a step back. “…Douxie? I… I’m sorry, we didn’t know—”

Douxie collapsed to his knees with a pulse of blue magic shooting out. It didn’t do much—just gave Claire a headache. “BUT YOU DIDN’T BOTHER FINDING OUT, DID YOU?!”

Glowing blue tears ran down his cheeks.

“You just… didn’t care enough, I guess.”

The maelstrom of blue magic surrounding Douxie was getting wilder and wilder, items swirling around like a tornado.

“You left me.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Merlin muttered as the magic started to spread further and further out from Douxie. “Hisirdoux, wait—”

“Douxie, we’re sorry,” Jim tried.

Another blast of magic shot out of their friend, and this one threw everyone back, including Merlin. “SORRY ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH,” he howled.

The world turned a blinding flash of blue, and when Claire blinked the spots out of her eyes, Douxie was gone.

Xxx

Douxie curled into a ball, in the alley next to Benoit’s. His magic was still fluctuating wildly, making things in the alleyway fly around or light on fire at random.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

How was someone supposed to make up for stabbing you in the back?

How did you just say “sorry” for the way you abandoned someone like that fixed everything?

How could you just FORGIVE someone for not caring enough, for staying willfully ignorant of what you’d gone through?

Because he wanted to forgive them.

But he wanted to stay mad.

He wanted them close again.

But he wanted them to stay away.

He loved them.

He hated them.

He needed them.

He shouldn’t need them.

They’d abandoned him.

They were sorry.

But were they really, actually sorry? Did they actually care, or was he just another item on a checklist—restore memories, check on Douxie, feed the cat.

Something jumped down into the alleyway next to him.

“I know I’m probably the last person you wanted to see,” Archie’s voice said.

Douxie looked up to see his familiar awkwardly pawing at the ground. He turned away.

“You don’t have to forgive me for what I did. I left you. I should have been by your side, I should have been the one to stick with you through thick and thin. And I didn’t.”

Douxie didn’t respond. A glass bottle exploded.

“It was just… when I saw my dad, about to be trapped in the Troll Market, I panicked. I thought “this is it, if I don’t do something now, I’ll lose him forever.” And I made a choice. A bad one. And then in the next hour until Jim reset time… I regretted that choice, Douxie. I spent every second after wishing I was with you instead. That I’d flown out. I would have missed my dad. But in that hour, I found that I would miss you more.” Archie sighed. “I know you’re angry. And you should be. And I don’t deserve your forgiveness—none of us deserve your forgiveness. I made a bad choice, and I… I hurt you. And I can��t fix that. I can’t erase what happened—well, I supposed Jim technically did, but you see my point. I just wanted to let you know that… leaving you was the worst decision of my life. And if you never want to see me again… then that’s what I deserve. I chose to never see you again, and it’s only fair if you want to return the favor. I’m sorry, Douxie.”

Archie turned to go, and for the first time, Douxie reached out and picked him up, hugging him. His familiar tensed, unused to Douxie initiating the contact, but then rubbed against his chest. “I’m sorry, Douxie. I’m so, so, sorry.”

Douxie wiped at his eyes. His magic had finally settled down. “It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not okay what I did. But… I’d be honored if you’d let me stay with you anyway.”

“Always.” Douxie scratched behind Archie’s ears. “But I… I can’t stay here. I need time. To process. And… I can’t keep seeing them. I just… I can’t.”

Archie purred. “The world is much bigger than Arcadia Oaks. We can go anywhere you like, Douxie, you pick where.”

Douxie wrinkled his nose. “Just promise me one thing?”

“Name it.”

“We’re not traveling on any trains.”

[dandelionflower]

(Some salt fic september)

Francois DuPont was an artistic school. With talented students varying from designers, to journalists, to DJs, to comic artists and writers. The art room of the school was always the busiest, the loudest, and the favorite room of the school.

So it would make sense for the school to have a yearly showcase. It was called a talent show once upon a time, but eventually the staff and students agreed that ‘talent show’ didn’t suit the talents the students were bringing to the table. Thus, the Francois DuPont showcase was born.

Students worked for months on their piece for the showcase. More than fifty percent of the works in the art room were pieces for the showcase.

It wasn’t mandatory by any means, but most students with a talent in the arts would participate. But with almost all the students participating and some having more than one piece to showcase, the show usually lasted a few days.

Lila, of course, didn’t know any of that so when asked if she was participating in the showcase in a few months, she grinned and said “Of course!”

Alya lit up. “Great! It’s going to be my first showcase too, and I want someone who knows what I’m going through. C’mon, we have to sign up.” And she dragged her into the halls.

Sign up? But it’s in three months. Lila shrugged and allowed herself to be pulled to the sign up sheets.

Alya immediately wrote her name underneath the ‘verbal’ column, putting a ‘journalism’ next to it.

Lila surveyed the options. The easiest thing to fake would probably be photography, so she marked her name under ‘media’ and wrote a ‘photography’ next to it.

“Ooh, photography? What do you take pictures of? Because I know Mari’s been looking for a partner to take pictures of her designs with her.”

Lila bit back a grimace. “Thanks, but I prefer to take pictures of...” Art? Buildings? “Nature. I find that taking pictures of people is narcissistic as a society.”

“Aren’t you a model?” A judgmental voice came from behind her.

“I- well-“ She stuttered.

“It’s completely different, Felix! Lila doesn’t think her photo shoots are art worthy, she’s just doing it as a job.” Alya snapped, throwing an arm out to almost shield Lila from the chill radiating from Felix’s entire person.

“Very well.” Felix stepped around the two and signed his name in perfect cursive beneath Lila’s name and walked away without another word.

“That guy gives me the creeps.” Alix remarked as she scratched her name under the ‘performance’ column, then the ‘piece of art that cannot be moved’ section.

“And he’s doing photography too! Don’t worry Lila, there’s no way he’s better than you.” Alya grabbed her arm reassuringly and began walking with her back to class.

“Yeah, right...” Lila held in a wince as she found her way back to her seat.

Surely photography can’t be that hard.

—

It was that hard.

Lila had waited one week before the showcase to start taking pictures on her phone. She walked to the park and snapped a few pictures, called it a day, and went home.

They were terrible. Blurry, ugly, terrible.

The next thing she tried was looking up stock images and photoshopping the watermark off.

She was awful at photoshop.

Finally, she resorted to her escape plan.

“Sorry, Alya. But I completely forgot that I’m volunteering at the elementary school all day on the day of the showcase, and I can’t just cancel on them. I’m so sorry.”

“Girl, it’s no problem! Marinette told me that the showcase is going to go on for four days. We’ll just reschedule your slot. It’s no problem at all.”

“Great.” She muttered through gritted teeth. “See you then.”

...crap.

She had only one plan now.

And it was risky.

—

Lila walked into class on Monday, prepared for her showcase.

She explained to Alya that when she explained what was going on to the leader of her organization, they gave her a rain check.

“I’m just so thankful.” She brushed away a tear. “I really wanted to make sure I could see everyone’s talents.”

“That’s so sweet!” Rose cooed. “I can’t wait to see your pictures either!”

“I just hope they correctly portray the beauty of my subject...” Lila pressed a hand to her chest in modesty.

“Students, I need all of the media students to come to the art classroom with your flash drives and cameras.” Miss Bustier put her phone down and smiled. “And anyone who paired with a media student for their talent please also join the students in the art room.”

Lila stood and gave everyone a hug. “Wish me luck!”

She noticed Sabrina stand as well and accept a half hearted hug from Chloe and a nod of support from Max. Juleka stood too and hugged Rose tight.

“Bye Alya! Wish me luck.” Marinette appeared from seemingly nowhere and hugged Alya tight. “And don’t be worried about your presentation. We’ll find some time to rehearse before tomorrow.”

“Thanks girl. Look after Lila for me? She’s just as new as I am.”

Marinette’s eyes darkened for just a second, but she quickly broke into a grin. “No problem. And don’t be worried, Lila. I’m sure your photos are just unimaginable.”

“Thanks Marinette. That’s just so sweet of you.” They linked arms and waltzed out of the room.

The moment they were out of eye shot of any of their classmates, they stepped aside.

“You don’t even have pictures, do you?” Marinette growled.

“What do you mean Marinette? Of course I have pictures.” She smirked. Or at least, I will in just a minute.

—

The art room was bustling and chaotic. Perfect for a camera or flash drive to go missing.

Marinette was bombarded by a group of kids from Felix’s class.

“Ready to see the product of our hard work?” A girl with two dark buns on the top of her head asked.

“I hope so.” She gave them a bashful smile.

Lila stopped paying attention. She had a goal in mind.

Her eyes landed on an expensive looking camera sitting on a desk at the side of the room. A sitting duck.

With a side glance for witnesses, Lila walked right by the camera and slipped the memory card right out and into her awaiting palm.

With her goal met, she sat primly in her chair, waiting for them to be called to the stage.

“Alright, photographers, models, actors, directors!” The art teacher stood. “Let’s go!”

Lila skipped up to him, a look of concern on her face. “Sir?”

“Yes Lila?”

“My camera broke on my way here and all I have left of it is my memory card; is there still a way for me to present my photos?”

“Of course there is. Don’t you worry a bit.”

“Perfect!” She grinned.

Once backstage, each student needed to give the teacher their SD cards or cameras and wait to be called onstage to describe their works to the audience.

Lila spared a quick glance towards the onlookers. Talent scouts of every kind were sitting in plush, reserved seats, notebooks and pens at the ready.

She was the first one up, the first one they would see and, unless she used all of her charisma and improvising skill, the first one they would forget.

“...and now, Lila Rossi with her photography!”

Lila strutted out to the greetings of applause.

“Hello, and let me just say I am so honored to be here today, especially considering that a year ago I wasn’t expected to be able to walk to school every day. Photography was really the only thing that got me through the day.”

A murmur of pity rippled through the crowd.

“Pictures like this one.” She pressed the clicker and a picture appeared on the screen behind her.

A picture of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, mid-twirl in a beautiful hand-made dress.

Lila heard Alya gasp.

“I wanted to show simultaneously the mundanity of walking and the undeniable splendor of it. My dear friend Marinette had some designs she was willing to model for me to help achieve my goal. Marinette, come on out!” She held a hand out, daring Marinette to come out from where she was waiting to go next along with her other friends.

Felix stood behind her with a look of horror and disgust on his face; and a particularly fancy camera hanging around his neck. A very familiar camera.

“No? Okay then.” She turned back to the crowd. “She’ll be out with a different group; Mari doesn’t want me to have to share the spotlight, isn’t she sweet?”

The crowd applauded and Lila continued making up technical terms and thought processes for each photo, all of which were of Marinette in different designs.

“Thank you.” She bowed deep before walking off the stage.

Now to hold her breath and hope that Marinette, Felix and all their friends were too chicken to call her out onstage.

—

“Now, with their short film; ‘solving love,’ please welcome Bridgette Cheng, Claude Lambert, Mercury Bernard, Allegra Harthorn, Felix Culpa, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Hey everybody!” A boy with brown hair and a blue striped shirt grabbed the mic and shouted. “How are we doing today?”

A scattered amount of applause.

“Nice! I’m Claude, and this is Bridgette.”

The girl with the buns waved.

“We were the main idea folks for this video; but the idea only came after the filming.”

Bridgette grabbed the mic. “We asked out friends if we could film them, and then a few weeks ago, we reviewed the film and noticed something... interesting.”

“Allegra here,” a girl with a long blonde braid waved, “did the music and Mercury,” a boy with dark glasses and a green beret, “did the narration. You’ll be seeing more of them soon. My cousin Mari,” Marinette waved, “and Felix are the main subjects of the film. You would have seen more of them, but for some reason Felix’s memory card went missing.”

Lila swallowed, this wasn’t great. The seeds of dissent were planted and now she had to risk either spinning another fake story or hoping that it all went well.

It’s not like they had any proof though; she should be fine.

“Anyway, here’s ‘Solving Love.’”

They all stepped to the side and the video began with a smooth piano.

“Love.” The screen showed couples going up to Andre’s and sharing ice cream. “The answer to everything. To ourselves, to the meaning of life, to the questions we cannot ask.”

“But how? How do we get from complete strangers, to people so close they are the same person?” The video changed to a showing of Marinette and Felix shaking hands, both with sardonic smirks. “People rarely get to see the entire process of when people fall in love; there are always pieces missing, hidden moments only for the people in question to recall. Love is left for the investigator to discover for themselves, when the time is right.”

“But maybe,” it showed Marinette talking animatedly, as Felix yawns beside her, “maybe one day, we’ll be lucky enough to see most of the picture.” Felix’s eyes droop and his head falls to rest atop Marinette’s, in the beginnings of a nap. Marinette flushes red.

The rest of the video shows the stages of Marinette and Felix’s relationship, from sarcastic rivals, to peers, to friends, to partners. The narrator described different relationships and how love is a constant through all of them.

The video showed Marinette dancing, twirling in a brilliant dress as Felix kneels and snaps pictures. “Ah, but is this all of it?” They lean down for a swift kiss. The image pauses there. “The full picture? Or is it only a snapshot,” the screen lights up white, “a minor clue, to solving love?”

The auditorium was quiet for what seemed like minutes. Then, the room burst into uproarious applause; a standing ovation.

Lila growled as she turned to sulk and maybe get her makeup so she could fake an injury and get some pity points to heal her bruised ego.

She ran face first into the grey suit of Mr. Damocles.

“Oh, hello sir.” She beamed. “Is there a problem?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Yes Miss Rossi, there is. Did you take those pictures of Miss Dupain-Cheng? Because that video tells a different story.”

“Yes sir, I swear it.”

“You swear it, huh? Well you best come with me to the office. Miss Dupain-Cheng and her friends will join us when they’re done.”

“What?”

“Miss Rossi, you are accused of stealing Mr Culpa and Miss Dupain-Cheng’s creative work. We will be calling your mother to discuss this.”

Back on stage the crowd of students and talent agents alike had taken to shouting questions to the group of students.

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 2: Coffee Shop / Tattoo Parlor / Flower Shop / Other Retail AU

Coffee and other ways to heal the soul.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: General Audiences

TW: Valhalla arc (mentioned), coffee, NCIS cameo

AN: Day 2 of @tropetember. I was really struggling with the coffee shop AU but once I got going, really got way too into it and could probably pad this out into a short series. Is that something people would be interested in?

Also, not really sure if I managed to capture Spencer but remember this is an AU and that's my excuse!

Enjoy!

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 2.4k

One of the biggest advantages of owning one of the few coffee shops in Quantico that wasn't part of a massive chain, was the constant stream of senior FBI and Navy personnel desperate for high quality, well made coffee. It had become such a lucrative venture in fact that you could afford to hire enough staff to rarely even have to be behind the counter at all.

The surge in popularity has even allowed you to convert one of the spare upstairs rooms into a meeting room. In hindsight, you should have converted more because once your regulars found out about it, there had been outright war between the Navy and FBI to try and get meetings booked in. A couple of your regulars had even managed to get both institutions to hardwire connections so they could host even more briefings and meetings in the friendly, comfortable space.

Today's winners were a Unit from the FBI, who had booked it out for a whole day. Aaron Hotchner, the BAU chief, came in most mornings and was a real sweetheart. You'd been trying to get him to drink something other than his normal americano since his return from Afghanistan a few months ago, but had not been successful so far. You were excited to meet the rest of the legendary team. He always spoke fondly of them when he bought extra coffees to boost morale.

With that in mind, you quickly throw together the pastries and beverages he'd preordered for the start of their session and head in to do a quick check that everything was ready.

Like any meeting room, there was a large table in the center but you'd made sure to surround it with comfy and artfully mismatched chairs. The floor was a deep walnut colour and matched the numerous floating shelves which were covered in plants and books. The place was homey and extended the cosy chic look you had been trying to achieve throughout the shop.

After a little bit of organising, including making sure the FBI cables were accessible and tidying any of the Navy’s equipment, you head downstairs to the main space.

Charlotte and Jessica were behind the tills this morning, making quick work of the line and exuding friendly helpfulness out of every pore. They were both grad students and you were already dreading them graduating. Their natural effervescence would be impossible to replace.

To pass the time until your booking arrives, you catch up with NCIS Agent McGee who is on the coffee run, trying not to hold him up too long in case he ends up getting in more trouble with his big bad boss. Apparently Agent DiNozzo had knocked over Gibbs coffee but McGee had then slipped in it and done some minor damage to some of the equipment. He told you he much preferred coffee run to door knocking duty round a 6 block radius like DiNozzo.

As you wrap it up, a group of people enter the shop, led by a woman in colourful clothes and a sunshine demeanour. It's not until you see Agent Hotchner's suited and booted presence bringing up the rear that you realise this is the infamous BAU.

Donning your friendliest persona, you politely excuse yourself from McGee and head to greet them, calling Aaron's name across the way.

The profilers seem surprised by your use of their bosses name but quickly shake it off as introductions are made. You receive hand shakes off most of them with the exception of Penelope, who gives you a hug because of course she does, and Dr Spencer Reid who gives you a shy wave and looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

It didn't take a profiler to see the physical distance between the genius and the rest of the group. He was always a step away from the nearest person and automatically avoided any physical contact from them.

How strange.

Brushing it off you lead them upstairs and get them settled, letting them know that they're welcome to come and go in the shop as need and that all their drinks would be added to the discounted tab and left them too it, all the while trying not to puzzle over the handsome loner and his cute sweater vest.

-----

If there was one thing Spencer Reid hated more than anything, it was team building.

Normally, back before everything happened, he would just grit his teeth and bear it. That's been a lot harder after finding out that Emily was alive.

Processing the joy at her being alive and the rage at being led to believe she was dead in the first place, particularly by the people he trusted the most, was not easy. He was trying to forgive them. He was trying to let it go, to accept the damage but move forward.

It was still a work in progress.

That's why, when Hotch announced a team building/meeting day, he had momentarily considered resigning. Though there was no longer outright hostility between himself and Jennifer, things weren’t exactly comfortable between himself and half of the team. The only bright side to this whole endeavour was the location. No coffee shop lasted long in Quantico unless the coffee was actually good. It was a small mercy.

He followed the rest of the team into the coffee shop, eyeing the surroundings and taking note of the other visitors. As the rest of the team joked about, he stayed back, simply waving at the nice owner of the shop when Hotch introduced them.

They appeared to be about his age which was very impressive considering the success of the café. And there were a couple of sci-fi references hidden in the décor that he would have loved to ask about, but he doubted they’d appreciate him going off about Star Trek this early in the morning. Instead he just gave a tight-lipped smile and followed the team upstairs.

Spencer tried his best to concentrate throughout the morning but to say he was relieved when they were left to their own devices for lunch would be an understatement.

-----

After a productive morning in the office, you wander back out to the main part of the shop to check on things. The lunch rush can be unforgiving but the girls seem to have it in hand. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Tuesday lunchtime.

What you didn’t expect to see was Spencer Reid hidden away at one of the back tables with a ginormous book in front of him, a small scowl on his face and the rest of his team nowhere in sight.

You agonise silently with yourself for a few moments before you decide to head over. You figure if he doesn’t want company he’ll let you know but you feel drawn to him. It was strange. Maybe it was just your instinctive need to collect strays.

You smile gently at him when you reach his table, indicating the seat opposite him in question. He gives a quick nod but doesn’t fully look at you.

“Everything ok?” you ask.

He takes a moment and seems to be considering his options. He looks at you with a little tilt of his head, likely questioning your motives.

Finally, he seems to decide you have no sinister intention and quietly replies “I just wish things could go back to how they were”.

You had heard about the events involving the BAU in the last year or so. It had been a hot topic of gossip in the shop numerous times. Aaron also occasionally talked about his guilt at what he put his team through when he stopped by, needing a friend to talk to. It’s the first time, however, that you think in depth about how faking a close friend's death likely affected the team members who were unaware.

This isn’t to say you didn’t care or didn’t think that it must have been terrible for them. You did, but had agreed with the justification that it was for Agent Prentiss’ safety, that finding out she was alive would make up for it. It’s apparent in the sadness of Dr Reid’s expression that that isn’t the case.

“Can I touch you?”

His eyes shoot up in surprise and he hesitantly nods. You gently grasp his hands, wrapping your fingers around his.

“I can’t even imagine,” you begin slowly, “how difficult this must be. But if you ever need to talk to someone, you’re always welcome here”

He gives a short, sharp nod and squeezes your fingers which you take to mean thank you.

“Also, this is totally not my place but, a therapist, one outside the Bureau? Might not be such a bad idea?” You give a sardonic grin and admit ” It worked for me”

After you give his hands another quick squeeze, you leave him to ponder your statement and head back to your office. Paperwork doesn’t do it self after all.

You hope Spencer manages to find some support though and decide that if he wants it, you’d be more than willing to help him.

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

It was a few weeks before Spencer Reid showed up in the coffee shop again.

It was early evening and you only had a few people in. You’d opted to close up tonight to ensure Jessica, who had been on the afternoon shift, had time to work on her assignment for class. She’d been complaining about it for the last few days.

The sound of the front door opening distracts you from your thoughts and you glance up to see who has entered. When you realise who it is you can’t help but smile.

“Fancy seeing you here Dr Reid” you say in greeting. He gives you a small smile in return.

“Well, it’s good coffee and, erm, the company’s good?”

You understand the question implicit in that comment and glance around at the few remaining patrons. They all have a beverage and it’s a quiet night so you can afford to take a step out behind the counter between orders.

“Sure, let me make us both a drink and then I’m all yours.”

You take his order (how much sugar?!?!) and get you both sorted out and settled into a small booth. You look at him, taking in the nervous expression on his face and let him settle in and start the conversation.

“I, erm, I took your advice”.

“That’s good. Are you finding it’s helping? Having someone outside of work to talk things through with?”

He nods his head.

“One of the things she pointed out was that so much of my life is wrapped up in work, that when things go wrong I don't have an external support system. Not that I didn't know that already but, someone else pointing it out made me realise how much if an impact it has.”

You bob your head thoughtfully, acknowledging his comment but not forcing him to say more.

“She suggested I try to find people outside of work to talk to. I was... I was wondering if you could be one?”

His nerves seem to have failed him slightly as he can’t look you in the eye, but you give him a big grin. Of course you want to spend time with this lovely man.

“I’d love to” you say, which gets him to look up and give you a smile in response.

You spend nearly an hour, with occasional breaks to serve customers, chatting to him before it becomes necessary to close up. He starts gathering his things but you’ve been enjoying his company so much you can’t bear to let him go. Instead, you check if he’s in a rush and, after confirming he has nothing else planned, invite him to hang around and grab something to eat from the diner down the street.

By the end of the night, you’re glad the diner is 24hr. You completely lose track of time, fascinated by the sheer amount of information he can provide and the passion with which he infodumps. It’s extremely endearing.

“I had a lovely time tonight” you tell him as you walk towards your apartment. You don’t live too far from the coffee shop and he had very gallantly offered to walk you home. “I’d love to do it again some time?”

He smiles and nods in agreement before asking for your phone number.

“I don't really like technology that much so I don’t have a smartphone and I don’t really check it that much and prefer speaking to texting…”

“Spence” you say, a little laugh in your voice as you interrupt. “Whatever works best for you. I’m not going to suddenly vanish on you, promise.”

You seem to have hit his worries a little too closely as he sways a little awkwardly, gaze wandering down to his feet.

“Can I hug you?” you check. His answer is to wrap his arms around you and you gently sway the both of you side to side.

He lets go and turns to head back out into the night as you call out “If you’re ever missing me, I know a place you can get great coffee. I can get you a good discount.” A laugh stutters from his lips and he wishes you a good night.

Leaning against your door you sigh happily to yourself. It’s always a good feeling making a new friend.

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

It had been over a year since the last time the BAU had booked (and managed to attend the booking). In that time, you’d converted another room upstairs into a meeting room, as well as setting up a shared work/study space in a room out the back.

You grin as you see them all enter, fascinated by the way this family of agents interact with each other. There’s even a tall, handsome genius who stands within the group, laughing and joking along with the rest.

Spencer greets you with a gentle kiss to your lips and it causes uproar from his colleagues. You don’t react much, you just turn to them and shrug.

“Do you know how many germs are passed in a handshake? It’s much safer to kiss.”

Your genius just laughs and wraps an arm around you, guiding the whole group upstairs, his friends playfully demanding details the whole way.

[bigfrozenfan-fanfics]

Chapter 10 - Skalastet

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday at 6:00 pm CEST dst/UTC +2:00 on (link)

Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting and music.

Ryder stood there with arms crossed, leaning against a kota and watched their friends from Arendelle talking to Elsa. The wrong moment to disturb Kristoff for a serious talk; he thought. But maybe that was just as well. He pondered and weighed his options, but he just couldn't decide what to do.

He was constantly thinking about what he had learned at the Norting, and he was now very worried about all of them, but especially about Kristoff and his great love, Anna. If this son of Gyda, what did Yelana call him ... ah yes, Kolgrimr, was capable of all these things then ...; Ryder could not and didn't want to imagine what could happen then. His father had patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him on his first Norting in adulthood and that he was proud of him. But he almost wished now that he hadn't known about any of this. What was he going to do? Should he just ignore Yelana's warning and warn Kristoff and the others anyway, or wait and see? What if they stayed here in the camp a little longer? They would perhaps unknowingly find themselves in great danger. Would they even believe this story and warning?

Behind him he heard soft footsteps rustling in the grass and turned around. In front of him stood his sister with her battlestick in her hand.

“Fancy a little Skalastet?” Honeymaren asked cheerfully and grinned broadly, “You need some practice“. But her grin quickly evaporated when she noticed his depressed mood. She came closer and put one hand on Ryder's shoulder. “What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Me? No, there's no ... everything's fine. But stick fighting? Now?” Ryder warped the corners of his mouth.

Of course, it had been a long time since they competed, Ryder knew that and he also realized his sister was right about it. Since the forest had been liberated there was no reason to defend their home against soldiers from Arendelle, they had already returned to their home. But he could still remember too well the bruises Honeymaren's battlestaff had inflicted on him often. She was just one of the best fighters among them, fast and agile. Most of the time he had no chance against her, even though he wasn't so bad himself as he thought. Honeymaren nudged him in the side with the end of the stick and grinned mischievously.

“Oh come on, do we have to do this?” he asked.

“It keeps us fit,” she replied, grinning a little wider. It had been too long since she had shown him which of them had the say in the duel. But of all of them he was still one of the best training partners, she had to admit. She took two steps back, whirled her stick over her head and looked at him challengingly. “Go on, get your staff.”

And Ryder sighed, “All right. But let's not overdo it like we did last time.” He walked the few steps to their kota and grabbed his long polished birch stick.

They walked a little way until the trees were a little closer together and started to tactilely stalk each other. “Come on Ryder, try to hit me!” She took her staff in her left hand, turned it casually around her wrist, and then went into a defensive stance.

Ryder dared a lunge and tried to hit her, but was too slow. His staff missed Honeymaren by far, she only had to take a step to the side and in one flowing movement effortlessly gave him a slap on his wrist. He cried out briefly in pain.

She laughed. “Come on. You can do better than that.” She bounced on the ball of her foot and made the stick spin around her waist.

Ryder looked at her grimly. “Whatever you say.”

Then he grabbed his battlestaff in the middle and struck with the ends of the sticks in quick succession, alternately, sometimes above, sometimes below. And each time, she parried his strokes, but moved further back. They danced around each other and the sequence of strikes accelerated. Sometimes he struck, sometimes she did. They jumped and ducked to avoid the opponent's strokes. Of course, both of them took light hits every now and then, that could not be avoided, but that was the purpose of the exercise, to be faster and more accurate.

The forest echoed back from the clacking sounds when their sticks met. They circled each other while searching for a gap in the other's defense, skillfully avoiding the surrounding trees. It was a constant back and forth, neither of them slowed down noticeably.

“Slowly I'm getting the hang of it again,” Ryder pressed out at some point, coughing but triumphant.

Meanwhile a few Northuldra, attracted by the sounds of the fight, had gathered nearby and watched their dance from a proper distance. Most of them cheered on Honeymaren, but there were also some voices shouting the same to Ryder.

Honeymaren slowly but surely gained the upper hand and pushed her brother back. In a desperate stroke, he raised his stick and swung it against her shoulder. But his sister was able to duck in time and in the same movement pushed her battlestick with force against his stomach area. However, he pulled his belly in just in time and made a leap backwards, directly between two trees standing relatively close together.

Honeymaren had intended exactly that, and with quick short strokes drove him back even a little further behind the two birches and then jumped forward. But not directly towards him, instead to the trunk of one of the two trees. She pushed off there, repeated it on the other tree trunk and in this way was six feet high in no time. Only now she jumped directly towards Ryder, the battlestick raised high above her head. This was a dangerous situation for any opponent.

Ryder followed her movements with his eyes and showed himself surprised. But in reality he had foreseen her move, timed the right moment and then whirled his staff around behind his back. He took advantage of the momentum, let it slide through in his palm on the other side, held the end in time and pushed the staff upwards. He hit Honeymaren at the thigh with force, causing her to groan in pain, and therefore took her out of her balance. Her intended strike missed its target and she hit the ground behind him and rolled to the side. Ryder, standing with his back to her, laughed out loud and raised his battlestick with both hands triumphantly over his head.

He was about to turn to her with a grin when a forceful strike against his feet took him off his legs and he crashed hard to the ground. His staff slipped out of his hands and rolled towards Honeymaren. She cleverly caught it with her tip of her foot and delivered it into her free hand with momentum. Ryder stared at her speechlessly.

“Well, little brother, you'd better watch your guard,” Honeymaren said, grinning but out of breath, and with these words held the ends of both sticks to his throat.

In the background, loud howling and the clapping of their audience could be heard. She finally took both sticks in one hand and with the other grabbed his arm to help him up on his feet.

Ryder rumbled softly, “Next time it will be different, for sure.”

They reached out conciliatory hands to eachother, but Honeymaren didn't let it be taken on whispering in his ear, “Dream on, little brother ...” when she pulled him to her.

One moment later, they both had to laugh loudly about it and walked exhausted and satisfied between the still clapping Northuldra. Some patted Ryder on the shoulder and one even gave him the compliment that he was getting better and better and it had been a great fight.

~~~

Arriving at the camp, they first laid back their battlestaves, then Honeymaren looked at him with a serious expression while she rubbed her thigh where he had hit her. “You can't hide anything from me, Ryder, you know that. I know you too well for this. There's something important on your mind today. Please tell me.”

Ryder put his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked at her with a forceful look. “All right, but you have to promise me it's just gonna be between us, okay?” His sister pulled her eyebrows together and then nodded.

“I promise. So ... shoot. I suppose it has something to do with the disappearance of the men this morning, doesn't it?”

“How do you know?” Ryder asked and looked at her in amazement.

Honeymaren tilted her head and looked at him reproachfully. “I'm not naive. I overslept today and father woke me very late. If he had been in the camp, he would not have hesitated so long, as angry as he was at me. So what happened?”

Ryder sighed and nodded. “Yes, you're right. There's been a meeting, a Norting. My first, as you can imagine. Yelana called it out and told us something I can't handle.”

“So that's it, a Norting.” She lowered her eyes and had a bad premonition. She felt her stomach begin to contract and said in a low voice, “Tell me.”

“Not here. Let's go somewhere quiet and unobserved.”

“Let's go into our kota,” Honeymaren suggested. He nodded and as they sat inside, Ryder told her in a low voice everything he now knew. Honeymaren listened very attentively and her face became visibly gloomier.

~~~

“Hello, Kristoff. Do you know where Elsa is? I was going to check on her, but she's not in her kota and I haven't seen her anywhere else,” Myrtha asked, who just stepped next to him. Kristoff looked up and rose. He now noticed another woman standing behind her.

“Hello, Myrtha. She's with Anna right now and hasn't been gone long.” He pointed in a direction where the four monoliths stood at the edge of the forest. “They were going to the waterfall to have an undisturbed private conversation. Sisterly conversations, I guess.”

His eyes fell on the small wicker basket she was holding in front of her. It was full of little birch wood boxes of various sizes, some of them open and filled with all kinds of pastes in greenish colours, next to them were various small bundles of herbs and a small mortar with a wooden pestle. The woman behind her carried a small bucket of water, and also some cloths and leather straps over her arm. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Myrtha noticed his looks and smiled at him. “Oh, that's not all for Elsa. I'm just making my morning rounds. There are always minor injuries and it is my job as healer to make sure everyone is comfortable. This is Ikka, my young assistant, by the way. I teach her everything.” Ikka gave Kristoff a shy nod. “Is everything all right with Elsa? What is your impression?” Myrtha then asked.

“Everything seems to be fine again, as far as I can tell. At least physically.”

“That's good. Some exercise will certainly do her some good. I'll come by again this evening, but I must be going now.” She nodded at Kristoff and left.

When Ikka passed Kristoff, she hesitated briefly and smiled shyly at him, but said nothing and then quickly scurried after the healer. Kristoff looked after them, thought for a moment and then shook his head before he sat down again.

“She likes you,” Olaf said after a few moments and smiled at him.

“Who?” asked Kristoff, who was already thinking about something completely different.

“Well, Ikka of course. Didn't you notice her looks when you talked to Myrtha?”

Kristoff laughed. “Yes, I noticed. But she's still young, and I'm obviously very attractive to her. She also doesn't know that I'm already engaged.”

“That's true,” Olaf confirmed, and fell into Kristoff's laughter.

“Which part of it do you mean? That I'm so attractive?”

Both snorted with laughter.

~~~

---

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know.

Remarks: For the training scene with Honeymaren and Ryder my beta reader and I would have liked to have a fanart of HARU (@ xlayers), but since Ryder is not yet available as a model I took the liberty to make a small edit based on Jin Kim's concept art. It's just a pity that Ryder was apparently not intended to be handled with a fighting staff. 

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp

[jokertrap-ran]

(未定事件簿) EVENT! 「眷然恋影」 [Tears of Themis] EVENT: Zuo Ran Birthday 2021- Days to Re-Live Forever (4.18: Volunteer Application)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Will also be filed under Zuo Ran’s tag #Tears of a Lawyer *The tracking tag for ALL Event Stories will go under: #Tears of an Event

4.18 / 4.20 / 4.22 / 4.24 / 4.26 Messages / Investigations / Call

Location: Cinema's Lounge Area

MC: …All in all, while this isn't considered a bad movie, it's also quite far from being a "Sci-fi Masterpiece".

Zuo Ran: Agreed.

Zuo Ran and I were both down at the Cinema’s Lounge, discussing the movie that we'd just finished watching.

The Stellis Film Festival had just started, and the movie that we'd sought to watch for how famous it was, was one of the most highly rated Sci-Fi movies.

But unfortunately, the content of the movie itself wasn't quite as interesting as we'd expected.

Zuo Ran: But "Time Travel" is considered one of the more classic Sci-fi themes, so it's not all that easy to come up with something new and exciting.

Hearing him say that, I suddenly remembered another movie with the exact same running theme.

MC: There are also many Time Travel themed Masterpieces out there. Take the film “About Time” for example; it’s an old film dating more than ten years ago.

MC: But it’s about slice of life, so you probably never watched it.

That’s right, although this movie was labelled a work of Science Fiction, it was also undeniably something that fell into the category of warm, healing, fluffiness.

It’s a movie about the story of the male protagonist, Tim, who wanted to use his Time-travelling ability to find himself a girlfriend; and eventually winning over the heroine, Mary’s, heart.

Additionally, it also depicts Tim’s family history. Generally speaking, it was an award-winning movie that had won over the emotions of many.

I recall that Zuo Ran preferred to watch Sci-fi Films, rarely watching anything emotional. Still, I wanted to try giving him a suggestion. 

Zuo Ran: I’ve seen it before. It was pretty good.

His reply was a little unexpected.

MC: Huh? But even though the male protagonist is capable of Time Travel, there are still far fewer Sci-fi elements to this movie than there are elements of daily life.

MC: I thought that you don’t often watch these kinds of films...

Zuo Ran: You’re right, but this one’s an exception.

Zuo Ran: Rather than calling it a Sci-fi movie, I think it’ll be more appropriate to call it a movie about “Superpowers”, since its main purpose is to power the plot.

Zuo Ran: Although it’s a slice of life, the director of this film has a good grasp of rhythm and mood, capable of making people feel a strong sense of empathy.

Zuo Ran: Of course, I also personally agree with the idea it is trying to convey.

Zuo Ran analysed the movie with utter seriousness, and I could see that he had an extremely deep understanding about it.

Capable of extracting that many praises from him, it seems like this movie holds an extraordinary place in his heart.

MC: Sounds like you really do like this “About Time” film.

Zuo Ran: Yes, I do.

Zuo Ran: I suppose it can be considered… Among the ones I like best.

After getting an affirmative from him, I couldn’t help but to jump for joy.

MC: (Now I know how to celebrate his birthday!)

Zuo Ran’s birthday was the 26th of April; a day that was coming up soon.

I’d only heard about this date back when I was making small talk with Sister Zhai Xing. She’d even told me to put more emphasis on it, since I was his partner.

Zuo Ran has been taking good care of me ever since I joined the Law Firm, but I’d have been way prepared to celebrate his birthday for him, even if Sister Zhai Xing didn’t mention it.

But I didn’t really know what I should do, till now; the conversation I just had with Zuo Ran finally gave me a hint.

MC: (Recreating the classic scenes of movies and celebrating his birthday there will definitely make it an unforgettable experience for the Mr. Robin, the well-known film critic! )

A plan gradually started to take shape within the confines of my mind.

Zuo Ran: What’s on your mind? Why are you daydreaming?

MC: N-Nothing! I was just thinking about...

MC: My favourite movie! I was just thinking how brilliant it was that you also happen to like it!

Birthday surprises are something that’s meant to be kept secret till the very last moment, so I can’t afford to give the game away now.

Zuo Ran: It makes you that happy?

His expression appeared no different from usual, seemingly having accepted what I’d just said.

MC: Yup, of course it does! Sharing the same favourite movie as you goes to show that we’re well suited to be partners!

Zuo Ran: We do coordinate well together.

MC: Let’s talk more about this film, Lawyer Zuo.

Zuo Ran: Sure.

He probably wouldn’t have any idea about just what I had planned to celebrate his birthday with.

MC: (I’m suddenly really looking forward to seeing how he’ll react to this surprise. I’m sure he’ll be way different from how he usually is!)

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: The Film Museum

A few days later, at the Film Museum.

Staff: My apologies, miss. But the Museum's Live-action Studio is temporarily unavailable for loan for the duration of the Film Festival.

MC: I’d originally wanted to rent the Film Museum’s Live-action Studio to recreate the classic scenes of the movie “About Time” for Zuo Ran, to celebrate his birthday.

But how unfortunate...

MC: But I’m really in need of it; isn’t there any other way?

Staff: If you’re truly in urgent need of the Studio. Then you can try becoming a volunteer for this Film Festival.

MC: Oh?

Staff: The Museum requires a large amount of volunteers to help out during the Film Festival, and volunteer points can be earned through completing volunteer work.

She took out a brochure, handing it to me.

Staff: Take a look at this. Volunteer points can be redeemed for the rights to use the Live-action Studio in addition to some special props provided by the Museum itself.

Staff: You must be shooting on the set itself if you’re trying to rent the Studio, so I’m sure these props will come in handy.

The staff member pointed out the “special props” listed on the brochure to me.

They came as large as classic retro cars, furniture such as tables and chairs, old-fashioned suitcases… They were all classic props from classic movies.

MC: Are all these props the original ones?

I’d thought that it’d take a good lot of points to redeem rights to the Studio, but I’d never expected it to actually be the easiest to attain.

Although, that being said, most of those special props were pretty “point pricy”.

Staff: A small portion of them are, but the rest are replicated on a 1:1 scale from the original.

MC: Oh! There’s even the window display mural from “About Time”!?

Staff: That’s right. Although this one’s a replication, it is no different from the original one.

MC: (Not only can you rent the venue, but you can also change up the place to be furnished with decorations of your own choice. This can’t get any better!)

Thinking up till this point, I agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

MC: Okay, I’ll sign up! What do you do as a volunteer, though?

Staff: Welcome to the Volunteer Team. Your job this time is to simply hand out questionnaires.

Staff: As the organizer of this Film Festival, we plan to create a review column after the event; hence, why we have to collect information on the audience’s option.

Staff: The content of this survey includes, but is not limited to, their evaluation of the movies released this Film Festival, and their views on well-known film-critics, etc.

Staff: What needs to be specifically explained to them is that, due to the curator's request, this survey will take the form of an offline interview and a physical questionnaire to fill.

Staff: He believes that it is only by interacting face-to-face with the audience, can we then understand their true wishes; and that doing so will also reflect the utmost sincerity of the Museum itself.

She handed me yet another list.

Staff: The information of the willing participants of the survey are recorded here. So please carry out the surveys according to the name list here.

Staff: Your final amount of points obtained will be calculated based on the number of questionnaires you've managed to get filled, and their degree of completion.

I confidently took the list from her.

MC: Understood! You can leave it to me!

Staff: Volunteer Points can be redeemed at any time. I wish you the best of luck, and hope that you can exchange it for the rights to the Live-action Studio as soon as possible.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Next Part: (4.20: Questionnaire Filling)

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 14

Link to previous part:

https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638547377817550848/odins-ward-chapter-13

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 3943

Warnings: Mentions of violence (non-graphic)

True age: Y/n: 1449 // Loki: 1575 // Thor: 1827 // Audunn 3213

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 23 // Loki: 25 // Thor: 29// Audunn: 51

Loki’s POV

“He planted his seeds in my half of the land,” the farmer spits, red in the face with anger. Odin’s expression is calm, but I, as much as this annoys me, know him well enough to tell when he is putting on a facade.

“I should get what’s sown! It’s my land!”

“But they’re my seeds,” the other farmer counters, face equally splotchy.

I sigh deeply, unfathomably bored with these trivial exchanges. It’s the third Thursday of the month, a time when peasants and nobles alike can bring their concerns before the Royal Family. We occupy the throne room, an intricate chair for us each placed in an intimidating line. I sit to my mother’s left, Thor to Odin’s right. A familiar anger boils within me. Of course the Golden Child sits at the King’s right. Not that I want to be any closer to Odin, but Thor’s position clearly communicates his status: he is next in line for the throne. The bitterness builds. Really, was there ever any contest?

Without warning, Farmer One lunges at Farmer Two, knocking him over the head with a sharp punch. I keep my calm exterior, but internally, my interest piques. Maybe this won’t be a completely wasted day after all.

But to my disappointment, four guards quickly put the skirmish to an end. Both men are taken to the dungeons.

Problem solved, I guess.

The interest I felt only seconds ago abandons me as I see a nearly identical pair to the last come forward.

I slouch.

“Stop her!”

The shout, which comes from a guard outside the throne room, is followed by a loud clamoring as armored guards chase after an unknown offender. And although I logically know it’s probably just some widow trying to cut in line, my hand inches towards my mother, ready to take her to safety if need be. Thor stands, putting on quite the show of a dutiful son. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Against all odds, the noises don’t subside—they get closer to our location. Mother shoots Odin an alarmed look.

But when the intruder enters the throne room, my stomach drops to my feet.

I straighten, back stiff with tension and I can do nothing but stare on in complete shock. I feel my fingers straining with the grip they have on the throne’s arms, but I barely take notice. All I can notice is the shaking, muddy, tear-stained and windblown woman standing in front of me.

It’s Y/n.

A messy, frightened version of Y/n, to be sure, but it’s still her.

My heart aches with a feeling I thought I had long-ago purged.

Thor is the first to break from the shock and hurries down to Y/n, waving away the guards who have attached themselves to her arms. Noticing her tattered dress and shivering form, he takes off his red cloak and wraps it around her, looking at her with the concern and surprise I’m sure we all wear on our faces.

In a hoarse but firm voice, Y/n addresses us. “May I approach the King?”

In a pinched voice, Odin responds. “You may.”

Y/n curtsies as best as she can and takes two wobbly steps forward. Thor hovers near her uncertainly, obviously wondering if she’s about to collapse.

Y/n gives me a fleeting look and my mouth runs dry.

She turns her attention back to Odin. “I’ve come to request aid from Asgard. Two days ago, my husband raised an army against my father. Since then, the realm has been thrown into chaos. Brother murders brother and citizens switch sides as the tides of the battle change. It’s civil war.” She swallows, finding it difficult to continue. “Casualties are estimated at three thousand so far, but I have been gone for several hours. That number has likely risen.”

Odin has the nerve to sound dubious when he speaks. “And just how did you end up here if the realm is indeed engulfed in chaos as you say?”

Through my shock, I still find room to be annoyed by Odin.

Y/n seems to steel herself and looks him right in the eye. “My husband locked me in the dungeon with others deemed to be a threat to his reign. I believe he would have killed me if it were not that his claim to power dies with me. He’s been so preoccupied with trying to overthrow my father that those loyal to me were able to take advantage and help me and my maidservant escape. It took a long time but we were finally able to sneak through the castle and into the observatory, where we took the Bifrost to Asgard.

Odin purses his lips, seeming unaffected by Y/n’s story. “And this maidservant. Can she corroborate your tale?”

Y/n’s face flushes. “It’s not a tale! Your Highness, people are being slaughtered. Look at my shoes!” She kicks one off and holds it up for us to see. Mother stifles a gasp. Y/n’s shoe is caked with blood. Dark, clotted blood sticks all over the bottom and side of her shoe. Upon further inspection, I see that it continues over her ankles and the lower parts of her dress. “Blood like this is running through the castle halls. I can only hope the fighting is confined to the castle and that the carnage has not yet reached the lower town.” Y/n takes another step forward, stronger this time. “Your Majesty, please. They may live far away, but they are still your people. I fear that if we wait much longer, Audunn will take control and anyone loyal to me or my father will be executed.”

Odin squints, mulling over his options. “My help does not come freely.”

Oh how I hate this man.

Y/n grits her teeth but nods. “Then let us negotiate quickly.”

“Asgard’s army will step in and restore your father to the throne. Your husband and his supporters will be put to death or imprisoned.”

Y/n’s lack of reaction is noticeable.

“Your husband’s death does not trouble you?” Odin’s voice seeps with judgement.

“Audunn has made his choices. He must suffer the consequences.” Knowing Y/n so well allows me to detect the malice in her voice. I stifle a mirthless chuckle. So it seems we’ve both been hardened by the world.

Odin nods. “Very well. Since you will be without a husband and my son is still unmarried, I propose the obvious solution.”

My heart stops.

No.

“You and Thor will wed.”

“Father!” Thor’s explosion is the loudest, but Y/n provides her own objections as well. I swallow mine down, retreating into myself. He will get everything that was ever dear to me. I really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, nor feel the hurt, but still, it stabs deep into my chest. I put a lot of effort towards not letting my pain show.

“Father, you are well aware of my intentions to wed Jane. I love her! Y/n is like a sister to me, I would never consent to be her husband.”

“I will not have the next Queen of Asgard be human!” Odin slams his staff into the ground. “For all I care, you can take Y/n as your wife and keep Jane as your mistress. But make no mistake, Jane will never be your wife, nor will her children be heirs to my throne.”

Odin’s proposal clearly sickens Thor, but Y/n just looks blankly at the ground, noticeably quiet now. The two men continue in their argument, each getting louder than the other with every new point.

“Thor please,” Y/n interjects, her voice breaking on the last word.

Silence rings through the room as all eyes turn to her.

She addresses Thor directly, desperation evident in every inch of her body. “My people are dying. An entire realm will be condemned to slaughter and chaos if we cannot reach an agreement today. I am familiar with a husband who keeps mistresses and am very good at being discrete.”

The heart that I thought had long ago hardened breaks a little.

“I promise our marriage will not interfere with any more aspects of your life than absolutely necessary. We can work out the specifics later but for now, I beg for your cooperation.”

Her earnestness is clear and, with a defeated nod, Thor agrees to make my once lover his wife.

Unable to stand it any longer, I stalk from the room.

Y/n’s POV

Loki strides out of the room, looking bored. That’s it?

It’s not like I expected loud objections and an offer to marry me himself,—it has been over two hundred years and all—but I did expect, at the very least, some recognition. Loki gave no indication that he knew or cared who I was. Even through the shock and exhaustion and fear, hurt still manages to find its way into my heart. I try to shake it off. The task at hand is much more important than my feelings.

“If you are ready, Your Majesty, my people will be eagerly awaiting Asgard’s aid.”

Odin doesn’t look at me. Instead, he gestures to a guard. “Have the warriors gathered and ready within the hour. Thor and I will accompany them to Alfheim.”

Frigga interjects before I can. “What about Loki?”

If he stays in Asgard with me and Frigga, the people might view him as cowardly for not going to fight with the men.

Odin purses his lips unpleasantly. “He has not yet regained my trust.”

What?

Frigga looks away, her mouth set in a hard line. Odin exits the throne room, sparing no one any further glances. As Thor passes me, he gives what I think he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“All will soon be well, Lady Y/n.”

I nod, hoping he’s right. When he’s nearly exited the room, I remember his cloak.

“Wait,” I call, hurrying to him. He drops slightly so I can throw the cloak over his massive shoulders and secure it under his chin. Shame keeps me from looking him in the eyes. After all, if he dies, it will be my fault. I don’t want to marry Thor, but he was a dear friend to me at one point, much like a brother. I don’t want to lose him. “Be safe.”

He nods and gives my shoulder a hesitant squeeze. Then, without another word, he follows Odin out of the room. I can tell it will take him a long time to accept our eventual marriage.

Not like it will be any faster for you.

“Come, sweet Y/n.” Frigga’s voice startles me and pulls me from my thoughts. “I believe you need a hot bath, some supper, and a change of clothes.”

I let out a noise that sounds scarily similar to a heaving sob. “Yes, please.”

{***}

The water is hot and the steam curls the ends of my hair. One servant scrubs the dirt from my nails and another, my back. I sigh, feeling some of the tension finally beginning to leave my body.

Then, comes the guilt.

I’m here in Castle Asgard being pampered by servants, sitting in the company of the Queen, while my people are dying. To distract myself from the strong desire to wallow in guilt and despair, I decide to question Frigga about something that’s been bothering me deeply since my arrival.

“Is Prince Loki alright?” I try to sound casual but don’t quite pull it off. “He seemed…not like himself.”

Frigga exhales heavily, and heartbreak settles in her expression. My stomach clenches in anticipation. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. “It is not really my story to tell…but you have a right to know and I doubt he plans on telling you himself.”

I dare not breathe as I wait for her to continue.

“Odin and I have never been the perfect parents. We’ve made many mistakes over the years, but one has stood out amongst them as the most damaging. And my poor son bore the brunt of the hurt from something that isn’t even his fault.” Frigga takes a moment to fiddle with her hands, not meeting my eyes. “Loki is adopted.”

What? I feel my brows furrow as I try to make sense of this. How is someone just adopted into the monarchy? Royalty is based on blood and marriage, not adoption.

“During the last major war with the Frost Giants, Odin came across a baby. A Frost Giant baby — a son of Laufey, no less.”

I heave a sharp intake of breath. “What?”

She continues, giving me a teary-eyed look. “The baby had magic and unknowingly used its abilities to capture the likeness of an Asgardian child. Odin felt for him and brought him home. You have to understand, Odin and I had been trying for another child for over two hundred years, without success. It had seemed Thor would be our only child, but then the gods dropped this blessing into our laps.” The tears fall then, and she cuts me off as I try to interject with questions. “Because Loki is a blessing, you see. He is my son just as much as Thor is, and I would not trade him for a biological child.” Her voice takes on a desperate, scratchy quality that I’ve never heard from her. “I love Loki. He is my child. And he is part of this family!” Frigga sniffles pitifully and, if I were not naked and soaking with suds and water, I would jump up and hug her. “Unfortunately, Loki does not see it this way. He did not find out the truth from us, but by accident.” A pained look crosses her face. “He thought he was a monster. He still thinks that. And yes, some of his recent actions have been like those of a monster, but I know he isn’t. My poor child is hurting, and he does not know how to handle it.” She takes a steadying breath and turns her eyes to the ceiling. “Odin has essentially sworn Loki off, and Loki has done the same for the rest of us. He still holds some affection for me, but all is lost for his father and brother. He even tried to kill Thor and Jane. Thankfully, the attempt was unsuccessful, but that makes it no less terrifying. It’s a horrible thing to have your sons on opposing sides. After that, Loki—” she shudders violently. “He—he fell off the Bifrost. Well, he was going to fall, and Thor tried to pull him back up, but-but Loki let go.” Her voice breaks and the tears fall freely now.

He…tried to kill himself? I feel a lump rise in my own throat and my breath stops all together. The bath water seems to turn ice cold. My mind races to try and draw the connection between the Loki I knew and the Loki in Frigga’s story.

What happened to him?

“He fell for who knows how long. It was many months before he resurfaced again, though he was not the same person. Not at all. My poor son! He had been brutally tortured and his anger only amplified during his time of isolation.”

I feel my muscles tense and lock into place. Someone tortured Loki? The fury I feel surprises me, scares me even. Never have I wanted to hurt someone like I want to hurt the person who caused Loki pain.

“Loki had grown up his whole life to believe he was destined to be a king. When he realized his true parentage, Loki knew Odin would never allow him to rule.” She frowns. “Odin should not have encouraged him so during his childhood only to rip the possibility away later. But the entity who tortured him—he still won’t tell us who—made Loki believe that he could be king of Midgard. Loki used the Chitarui to attack a Midguardian city and try to force the realm into submission to him. Many people died.”

My heart beats so loudly that I’m sure everyone in the room can hear it. I’m surprised the vibrations aren’t causing waves in my bathwater. As much as I want to cover my ears or run out of the room and denounce Frigga’s words as lies, I can’t. Because no matter how horrifying and outlandish this story sounds, I can’t ignore the fact that the Loki I saw an hour ago was not the same Loki I knew two hundred and fifty years ago. Yes, people change, but not like that. Something really, really awful must have happened to bring about this new Loki.

Frigga continues, sounding weary. “A Midgardian fighting group Thor associates with defeated Loki and the Chitauri. Loki was brought back to Asgard in chains. Odin sentenced him to a five hundred years of imprisonment. There was nothing I could do to lessen the sentence and, of course, Loki has too much pride and hatred for his father to try and lessen it himself. But not long after his imprisonment, the Dark Elves launched an attack on the Nine Realms.”

I furrow my brow. I hadn’t heard of this. How had Alfheim not been aware?

“Loki broke out of prison and aided Thor in the fight against the Dark Elves.” Frigga gives a tearful smile. “Finally, they were on the same side! Loki nearly died in the fight. He protected Jane with his life. Thankfully, Thor was able to bring him back to Asgard in time and the Healers and I saved him with our magic. At mine and Thor’s behest, Odin begrudgingly ended Loki’s imprisonment. We all agreed that Loki’s sacrifice and willingness to protect the Nine Realms atoned for his crimes. I truly thought that was the turning point and that my Loki would be back.”

She sighs, looking at her hands once more. “But Loki is still a changed man. The lies, betrayals, hurt, and anger penetrated too deeply into his soul. Now he is cold, distant, spiteful, and he always wears a mask. No one can ever guess what he is feeling, because he refuses to give any indication of it! I worry he is not letting himself heal. And he is trying to push away the people he loves most.” Her voice softens, and she places a tender hand on my soapy cheek. “Do not be surprised if he does the same to you.”

{***}

Since my most immediate needs have been taken care of, I have ample energy to worry.

My stomach, in a near-constant state of unease since my escape from the dungeons, churns. My mind darts from thought to thought as I try to cope with fears for my people and my father, my anger at Audunn, shock at all I’ve experienced, pain and frustration at my engagement to Thor, and deep, deep hurt for Loki. There’s some anger there, too. Maybe more than some.

I huff.

Definitely more than some.

How could he be so stupid?! Yes, it’s absolutely terrible what he went through, but resorting to realm-domination and murder? Uh-uh. No way. Unacceptable. And the attitude on him! What the Hel is that?

“Ugh!” Some of my frustration leaves me at the spot where my foot kicks the table.

It immediately returns upon registering the pain.

“My Lady, please sit down!” Ragna worries over me, trying to pull me into a plush, high-backed chair. “You have been through so much, you need to rest.”

I scoff, yanking my arm from her grip. “There’s too much going on to allow time for rest, Ragna. And yet there’s nothing I can do about any of it!” I drop my arms to my side, defeated. “I hate that there’s nothing I can do.”

She frowns, unsure of how to help me. It’s then that I notice how tired she looks herself. A deep scratch runs from her temple to her hairline—she got that from a rogue guard when we were escaping Alfheim. She’s been through just as much as you have.

I give her a weak smile, hoping I look reassuring. “You and I both have been through a great ordeal. Please, let me call a servant to show you to your quarters. Take as long as you need to bathe, eat, rest, whatever you need.”

Ragna hesitates, but she’s so tired that she’s swaying on her feet. I nod encouragingly. “Al-alright, My Lady. Thank you.”

“Of course.” I go to the wall and pull on the string that will ring a bell in the Servant’s Quarters. Within minutes, a young serving maid enters the room with a knock and a curtsey. I send Ragna away with instructions not to come back until she is fully fed, cleaned, and rested.

But once I’m alone, the thoughts come racing back. While there’s nothing I can do right now to help Alfheim, there is something I can do to help myself.

I let out a loud, guttural groan, knowing what I have to do.

{***}

I haven’t been in the palace in over three centuries, but little has changed. Queen Frigga insisted I retake my old living quarters, so the path is one I know well.

He doesn’t seem surprised when I bypass a servant and enter his chambers without knocking.

“Leave us.” While my throat feels tight, the command is clear, and the five servants hurry from the room.

Loki doesn’t look up from his book when he says his first words to me in two hundred and fifty years. “Well, that was rude. What a terrible first impression the future queen of Asgard has given them.”

I scoff, crossing my arms, trying not to let the jab at my imminent marriage to Thor hurt me. “You want to talk to me about manners? All you do is scowl and stalk out of rooms.”

He gives an unaffected shrug. “Think what you like.”

The silence weighs on me and I can feel my heartbeat echoing through my body.

“Stand up.”

Now it’s his turn to scoff. “Why? Planning on impaling me with your dagger?”

Tempting. “Stand. Up.”

He sighs but humors me, setting down his book to stand with his arms spread mockingly wide. “Happy?” He fixes me with a hard, emotionless look.

I steel myself and barrel forward, throwing my arms around him in a tight hug.

He stiffens. “Lady Y/n, whatever you hope to achieve—”

“Shut up.” I squeeze tighter, turning my face so my cheek is against his chest. He sighs again and lets his arms hang, refusing to hug me back. I press on, forcing myself to say what I came here to say. “Listen. You’ve done some really bad things and turned yourself into a pretty awful person to be around.” I swallow, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “But regardless of where we stand or what is in the past or future, you need to know that I am always on your side. I want you to get better. I don’t want you to feel pain or be sad or hurt or anything bad. But you have got to stop self-sabotaging. You need to let yourself heal. The people who love you can only protect you from so much.”

I push away from him and leave the room without another look.

A/n Happy New Year! My requests are open so message me if there’s something you would like for me to write :) Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639618035738607616/odins-ward-chapter-15

Masterlist

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki @jooordanharrrop

[sbtlns]

Invisible String

Warnings: description of panic attack, mentions of death

A/N: Sorry for not posting in a while, school’s been crazy! As always, my requests are open. I hope yall enjoy (◕ᴗ◕✿)

“Y/N it’s for your own good,” Castiel said in a pained voice. Your heart clenched as he took another step towards you. You shook your head, too terrified to respond, taking another step back until your back hit the wall behind you. The pain was clear in Castiel’s eyes, not wanting to do this but knowing that he had to in order to keep you safe. He spent billions of years alone and when he met you everything changed. Ever since the Winchesters introduced you to him, he was drawn to you, as if there were an invisible string pulling him to you. When you finally revealed that you could see his wings, it all clicked for him. You were his soulmate, indefinitely and irrefutably. Unfortunately for Castiel, nothing good came without a cost.

Shortly after the two of you made your relationship official, heaven caught word of it and immediately made attempts to break it off. You had been kidnapped more than once and each time Castiel and the Winchesters barely made it to you in time. Castiel knew that this was starting to take a toll on you, but he also knew he wasn’t strong enough to leave you. He finally made his decision after exhausting all of his options, all except one. He knew it was to protect you, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Cas,” you gasped, a sob threatening to wrack over you. “Don’t do this. Please,” you begged as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. Castiel kept his glassy eyes locked on yours as he closed the gap between you. “There isn’t another way, my love,” he said, voice ladened with heartbreak. “I’m sorry, Y/N, truly,” he said, reaching his hand out to your forehead. You tried to move away from his hand, but there was nowhere to go. You shivered as you felt his fingers press against your forehead, your surroundings suddenly spinning around you. 

When the spinning stopped, you found yourself on a sidewalk outside of a storefront. You looked up to see a stranger with dark hair and the bluest eyes you had ever seen. A breeze ruffled through his trenchcoat as he stared at you with a pained expression. Drawing your jacket closer around your body, you hesitantly asked, “um, can I help you sir?” You saw his throat bob and his jaw clench before he muttered a quiet “no” and turned to walk away from you. For some reason, you felt inclined to walk after him, as if there was something pulling you towards him. You started walking to catch up with him as he neared the crosswalk and turned to look at you one last time. The pain in his eyes made your heart clench, but you couldn’t explain why. You picked up your pace to meet him but he had already crossed the street. You were about to cross as well, but a few cars came speeding through. After they had passed you went to cross but the man was gone. 

You stared down the street bewildered. Slowly you began to realize that you didn’t recognize any of your surroundings. Panic started to settle over you when you couldn’t remember where you were or how you got there. Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember anything, not your family, not your friends, not your job, not where you lived, hell-not even your name. You felt your chest tightening and it got harder to breathe. Trying to snap out of the impending panic attack, you realized that you might have some form of identification on you that could trigger some memories. You quickly pat your jacket pockets before moving down to your jean pockets, sighing with relief when you felt a lump in your back pocket.

You took the wallet out of your jeans and quickly thumbed through to find an ID. “Y/N L/N,” you muttered to yourself. Maybe my phone has more information you thought to yourself. More panic washed over you with the realization that you didn’t have a phone on you and it was starting to get dark. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself before making a plan. Shelter, you heard your instincts screaming at you. You took in your current surroundings, spotting a 24/7 diner further up the street. You started towards it, deciding that the staff would probably be able to point you in the direction of a motel in town for you to stay until you figured out what the hell was going on. A familiar feeling washed over you as you walked into the diner, a comforting and nostalgic feeling that you couldn’t place. 

The woman at the counter had given you the name of a motel not too far away, so you set off to get a room. Once in your room, you realized just how exhausted you were and passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow. In your sleep you dreamed of those piercing blue eyes and the unknown pain behind them. When you woke up, you decided to hit up the library you had passed on your way to the motel last night. You made a beeline to the computers to see if you could figure out anymore about yourself. After typing in your name, you clicked on the top result, “Eighteen Year-Old Sole Survivor of Animal Attack.” You read in horror as the article described a camping trip you had taken with your family that had ended abruptly with an unexplained animal attack, you were the only one who had made it out. You felt a familiar wave of grief reading the names of your deceased parents and siblings even though you couldn’t place them in your memories. After coming up with little other information on yourself, you came to the conclusion that you were on your own with no one else to go to. 

The sound of your stomach growling pulled you away from your thoughts. Not knowing a lot about this town, you decided to go back to the diner from last night. As you were eating your food, one of the waitresses stormed out of the kitchen screaming “I quit!” behind her. Your waitress, who was just about to top off your coffee, looked to the door she had stormed out of and back to you. “Need a job?” she asked jokingly. “Actually,” you started, wheels turning in your head. “I do.”

You started working at the diner, using your paycheck to pay for your semi-permanent stay at the motel while trying to also save up to get an apartment. You made friends with the other waitresses there and you reluctantly told them your story. Suddenly in a foreign place, no memory of how or why you ended up there. The girls helped you through it, offering spare clothes, money, and good company. 

One day, you were refilling a customer’s coffee when out of the corner of your eye, you saw a tan trenchcoat passing by the storefront. You immediately whipped your head around to get a better look, but it was gone. You kept your stare out of the window until you realized you were spilling coffee on the table. You quickly wiped it up, apologizing profusely. You gave one more longing glance out of the window before getting back to your other tables.

This wasn’t the only time you were reminded of the stranger. You still dreamt of his piercing eyes, waking up in a cold sweat every time. A few times, you could’ve sworn you saw the trenchcoat in a crowd of people walking past the diner’s storefront, your heartbeat speeding up every time. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months of you stuck with unanswered questions.

You were ringing in a table’s order one day when your friend came up behind you. “Don’t look now, but there’s a total hottie checking you out.” You laughed, not looking up from the register. “If he’s such a hottie, why don’t you go take his order?” you asked. She scoffed before replying, “I would but..he’s not even at a table he’s just staring from outside.” This piqued your interest. You looked up from the register with a cocked eyebrow, trying to follow her line of vision. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his piercing blue stare. Keeping eye contact, your legs started numbly carrying you towards the door. This seemed to startle the stranger, as his eyes widened and he abruptly turned to walk away. You ignored your name being called by your friend and kept walking towards the door, picking up your pace determined not to lose him again. 

Your friend yelled your name as you swung the door of the diner open, eyes frantically searching for the tan trenchcoat. You ignored your name being called for the third time as you spotted the trenchcoat and started sprinting towards it, feeling like an invisible string was pulling you towards him. You finally caught up to him when another group of people cut him off from crossing the street. “Hey!” you yelled as you got closer to him. He stiffened, before slowly turning around. 

You stared into those blue eyes, swimming with a mixture of pain and guilt. You suddenly realized that you had no plan on what to say to him, figuring you wouldn’t get this far. “Um,” you started, not really knowing where to go from there. “I’m Y/N,” you said, sticking out your hand for him to shake. He looked down at it hesitantly before looking back up to you. An awkward moment passed before you said, “this is the part where you shake my hand and tell me your name,” you laughed, pushing your hand closer to him. With a shaky breath, he took your hand and said, “I’m-”

Suddenly thousands of memories flooded your brain with the contact. You remembered two tall men introducing you to the stranger with huge black wings spread behind him, Sam..Dean you thought. You remembered a hunt going wrong and a werewolf pinning you against a tree before your stranger smote it, saving your life. You remembered sitting with Sam, Dean and your stranger in a diner booth, laughing at the way Dean shoved half of his burger in his mouth with one bite. You remembered shooting up in bed from a nightmare with your stranger sitting on the edge of your bed ready to soothe you back to sleep. You remembered sitting in the backseat of the Impala with your stranger, singing loudly to an old Bob Segar song off one of Dean’s cassettes. More memories flashed before your eyes before suddenly they stopped and your vision was clear. Your grip on his hand tightened and you looked up at him with wide eyes. You took a shaky breath before finishing his sentence.

“Castiel.”

[akvtsuki-ari]

Downers

Warnings: smut, fingering, penetration, oral (both recieving),(( reader swallows lol)), alchohol 

Length: 4.7k 

Authors Note: idk how to explain the context of this fic kjshjek but before you read i highly reccomend listening to the song this fic is based on!! normally it doesn’ matter either way but it’s directly apart of the fic!! the song is Downers by Greentea Peng 

Summary: Spencer comes back from a one-night stand with insomnia he can’t shake. The hotel bar is welcome company, and the singer there seems to catch all his attention

Spencer couldn't remember her name.

Here he was in her hotel room, mouth on her neck, hands on her skin - whispering to her how beautiful she was and he just couldn't remember her name. He doesn't even know if he asked - he can't remember that much of their interactions since there interaction in the bar. Her dress was pretty, so Spencer went up to her. She was alone - she needed the company, her and her boyfriend were taking a break he thinks. She told him that she liked his tie, and his hair and he smiled and dazzled her, made a stupid magic joke and manage to get her back here

Spencer was good at this now, he knew how to get here everytime. It wasn't difficult after you get the hang of it. It was profiling after all, something he realized when this all started so many months ago. It's funny to try and recall a time before this - Spencer was always the butt of the joke because he used to tell himself he couldn't do one night stands. He wasn't wrong, either - at first he would just get too attached but things stopped mattering. Slowly but surely all the pieces fell away and he just started needing easy company, shed his skin of his job and make sure he made someone else feel good.

He was never really hedonistic but he figures things change right? When he fucks another girl whose name he doesn't remember, he's not keeping score - just trying to focus on making her feel good and the way it feels when he orgasms. He's chasing that feeling of high - even if it's temporary it makes him feel something and that's enough. Life is about more than chasing pleasure in the long run but this was now, and the feeling of the girl whose name he can't remember wrapping her mouth along the tip of his dick was enough. For now this feeling was enough, bucking his hips into her throat and making sure she gets off. He was an asshole but he wasn't a selfish one.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum," She annouces. Spencer nods in approval, pressing his forehead against hers as she finishes. She moans Spencers name aloud and Spencer wants to ignore it but he can't. Spencer cums soon after that, pulling out of the unnamed women beneath him

"Jesus," she breathes out heavy. Spencer laughs before looking at her.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," she says to him softly, "feel free to join me," she winks. Spencer just gives her a smile as she slinks away into the bathroom.

Spencer knew the drill. He didn't leave a note, he didn't ask her name because he wasn't planning on seeing her again. He sits a few minutes, redressing quietly and leaving quieter. He used to flinch when he shut the door but the hotel hallway was familiar to him now. Making eye contact with cleaning women and janitors who gave him what felt like knowing stares. Spencer was used to it, all of it - even if it was difficult.

Spencer doesn't feel like a slut. He probably should, but he doesn't really feel anything. He's doing the walk of shame, leaving her hotel room in the middle of the night and he just sorta.. doesn't care.

He wishes he did, but there's no time for that now. He checks the watch on his wrist, the time reading 1am and as if on cue, he yawns. His eyes are sleepy and he's rather exhausted, and he finds himself heading back to his own hotel in a tired daze

__

When Spencer returns to his hotel - he really can't sleep. He tries, laid in bed, tossing and turning for hours but it wasn't coming to him. They were supposed to be leaving the day after tomorrow, closed in by the weather that wouldn't let the jet take off so he was stuck there. He wanted nothing more than to get some rest, but it was fruitless. Spencer looks over at the pamphlet he picked up from downstairs - looking at all the different things that the hotel had going on. It says there's a live, late-night singer at the bar in the hotel. Y/N Y/L/N. He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands before standing up and putting back on his normal clothes. A live show and a drink might not be so bad, and maybe there's something (or really someone,) for Spencer to do.

He walks down at 3am, it'd only been an hour since he got back and it was still dark out. Everything was still as he walked into the hallway and elevator. every sound felt louder and more distinct. There wasn't a soul out there other than staff who was forced to work earlier shifts and other people doing the same walk of shame he was doing earlier. He can't bring himself to look at them, but Spencer was certainly understanding of them.

He manages to make it to the hotel bar, which was surprisingly nice - he has to admit. Lowlights and candelabras all over the place add to the ambiance, the ceiling mirrored as he looks to all the patrons in the bar. Mostly older men, drinking whiskey alone as typical as it was. There were some women that caught his eyes, but he's not ready to tango with someone like that so he orders a drink at the bar. He likes scotch on the rocks, but he's not really one to drink it often. One can't hurt, he doesn't think. The odd sense of isolation while being in a public place and the alcohol in his system might make him more tired faster. He doesn't want another one-night stand but that loneliness hits quickly, and his original plans may fall through.

He waits it out, sitting down at a chair near the small platform that served as a stage. He watches as on older gentleman picks the mic up, announcing that name he read earlier. Y/N Y/L/N.

He sees a woman walk up onto the stage, so beautiful he coughs on his scotch. A man across the ways looks to Spencer and laughs, nodding in understanding.

"Wait till you hear her voice," He says quietly. Spencer just nods, eyes fixated on the way you move. You look classic, hair let loose wearing a sequin dress. You weren't too flashy, but you definitely managed to catch everyone's attention. You had a jaded expression, eyes flashing up to the crowd softly. You look directly towards Spencer and give him a knowing smile. He was new, you'd never seen him here before.

"How's everyone doing tonight, hm? Can't be too well if you're here seeing me at 4am, but still good I hope," you say chuckling. It lightens the somewhat somber energy that seems to swallow the place up as the bar regulars and other lonely folks of the night all watch you. You laugh softly into the microphone.

"Anyone have any requests for me, or am I free to sing what I'd like?," you ask the small audience. Everyone gives encouraging whoops at the second option and you give that same lighthearted giggle that Spencers heart aches for. You were unbelivably beautiful, the light catching the highlights of your face as you look at everyone smoothly. You tuck some hair behind your ears as you look to the small band.

"Let's do the song I was practicing upstairs earlier," you call to them. They all nod their heads at you, as you clear your throat and take a sip of water.

"This song is called Downers, by Greentea Peng," you say softly. You start humming along with the music before you start to sing the lyrics and christ -

"I can't smell the flowers / felt empty now for hours / lost my powers / I can't smell the flowers / I'm sick of all these towers / think I done too many Downers," You sing the first verse with ease. Spencer's ears are so attuned to the music he can barely drink his scotch. Your voice is melodic, it flows out with no problem and soothes Spencer so much he feels like he could pass out right there. His eyes look to your expression, eyes closed as you smile at the self-aware lyrics of the song. Your body language is so comfortable with the words, he imagines the song is personal to you in some way.

"hard to see the value in these half-hearted encounters / can't deal with the truth so we just change the world around us / to feel and smell just like we want it to / fuck what we're meant to do / can't hang round be no fool / wasting time just getting high / getting high / to get by / clear my mind clear blue skies / all this time I've been flying from up here," You sing the runs with easy, your voice syncing perfectly with the music being played. Spencer's eyes don't leave you for even a second as he watches you sink in and become part of the music. Your shoulders fall, as you tap along the rhythm of the song before singing the chorus again, then delving into the second verse.

The first verse weighs on Spencer's mind as you continue onto the second and third verse. The lyrics of the song are as fitting to him as possible. It feels too relevant for Spencer to forget about it but he tries as you continue your performance, mixing modern radio ballads with older classics. Your voice is like medicine to Spencer's exhaustion, he wants to relax in the sound forever and his head's so fixated on you - he knows he needs to talk to you. To get to know you, something if anything. He doesn't remember the last time he's felt this strong towards someone but he'd be damned if he didn't chase it.

When you finish your performance, you collect tips from all the bar patrons and wish everybody a kind morning. Spencer didn't realize that another full hour had passed and he sees walking towards the bar so, in the least creepy way he can, he stands to follow you. You order a club soda and sit on the bench, where Spencer takes a seat next to you. You roll your eyes, but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't attractive to you. You turn your body to face him and he shoots you smile in return.

"You're not one for subtlety are you?," you say softly as the bartender hands you your drink. You take a sip, feeling the cool relief on your worn throat. Spencer laughs, looking at the floor before looking back up at you.

"For a woman as beautiful as you? Can't say I am, no," Spencer says lightly. You roll your eyes but you're smiling into your drink as you do.

"What about flattery?," you ask again. Spencer chews the corner of his lips as his eyes grace your body, noticing the way your skin shows around the shoulders of your dress. He laughs.

"That one I can manage," Spencer's voice is a murmur. You put your drink down and readjust how you sit, looking at Spencer's face. You can see right through him, really. You can with most men, but especially someone who does what you used to do. You want to laugh at him and say theres no need for the formality but it isn't for the two of you. It's for the people in the bar who count the seconds before you two walk away together. You were going to fuck him, you knew that the second he sat so close during your performance but the rest of the bar didn't so the formal talk and idle chat is for them.

"I don't really do this very often -" Spencer starts. You roll your eyes, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"You're not a good liar, you know that?," you say softly. Spencer is startled but intrigued by your observation. He looks to you for an explanation and you just shrug at him. He looks into your eyes and it's like you see past him. He falters for a few seconds.

"Old habits die hard," you start first "picking up on when someones lying to sleep with me just happens to be one," you say, chuckling. You're not upset or sarcastic, simply laughing at the situation and reminiscing. Spencer shifts uncomfortably for a second, not really used to someone being able to see through him so quickly.

"I should be clear that I'd still like to sleep with you," you say, blinking through your lashes. Spencer nearly chokes when he hears, a blush forming on his face. It was becoming clear that you were gonna lead the way on this one.

"But don't be dishonest, it's boring - you yourself are probably more interesting than what you tell other people," you say thoughtfully. Spencers befuddled at how you just seem to know but you shake your head.

"I've made my rounds, men and women," you say casually. Spencer feels like he's dying at your confession but can't help himself - finding it beyond attractive that you managed both.

"What do you wanna know?" Spencer asks relaxed. You give him a small smile.

"What's your name? What do you do? Whats your star sign? The usual," you say jokingly. Spencer can't help but laugh, genuinely laugh.

"My names Dr. Spencer Reid, I work for the FBI for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I'm told I'm a Scorpio," Spencer says, smiling. Penelope told him that forever ago though he hasn't thought about since then. You give him a grin.

"An FBI agent ? You must be here for all the murders they had in downtown, huh?," you ask curiously. He looks suprised but how in touch you are.

"I keep up with the news," you say casually. Spencer keeps learning about you and his attraction to you only increased. He nods, telling you you're right and you mentally high-five yourself.

"What do you wanna ask me?," you say, perching your lips out. Spencer looks at them before his eyes flick up at your eyes

"What else do you? Other than sing, I mean,"

You tilt your head in though for a second, before shrugging.

"For work? I make most of my money singing, anyways. I studied other stuff in college, but music is what I love to do and I make decent money off of working different celebrations. This bar gave me my first gig so I'm always here. Other than that, I volunteer at local stuff - gotta keep in touch you know?," you softly. Spencer looks at your expression with an adoration he can't explain. He finds himself speaking before he can think too much about it.

"I haven't been looked into like that before," Spencer blurts out. You chuckle.

"You said you do behavioral analysis, right?," you asks. Spencer nods.

"Trying to get someone to fuck you is esentially the same. You watch them and try to appeal to their situations so you get your result. You're a hunter, all the same. Sometimes it's killers and sometimes it's an attractive woman whose married but doesn't have her ring on - it's a mindgame," you say carefully. Spencer knows you're right but the way you say it so bluntly makes him feel a way. It's the first time a woman has made him this uncomfortable and in a fucked up way he's happy about it. It sounds cocky, but the challenge is attractive to Spencer. You weren't trying to isolate yourself from other women, instead just making a general commentary on human beings. You were intelligent.

"How could you tell?,"

"You're too well practiced with expression and stuff. Too much attention to detail," you reply.

"You're entitled to whatever but be careful with yourself," you warn. Spencer just listens.

"Full disclosure, I studied criminology in college - so I'm familiar with your work," you say a little shy, Spencer raises his brows and assures it's fine before you continue.

"You do what you do at work because it catches them. You can hold onto a happy ending and that's important," you say softly "But, sleeping around is a personal cause with no heroes you know? The loneliness will always come back, and those mind games you play just to get rid of it will start to fracture you," you say thoughtfully. Spencer feels some tears prick at his eyes but he covers them before he looks at you.

"I don't sleep around much anymore, but when I do - I can't promise I'll leave my name and number. Old habits, you know? But I see myself in you, the way you move is something I definitely recall," you say laughing. Spencer feels so damn weird - confused as to how you're so perceptive.

"Sorry to read you like that, I just like you. You're interesting," you say, cute as ever. Spencer is unbelievably attracted to you.

"I'm a little speechless," Spencer says laughing.

"Sorry?,"

"Don't be, but you feel like a sign to me," Spencer says softly.

"The woman I.. you know - earlier, I don't even remember her name," Spencer admits a little sadly. You shake your head, reaching out to grab his hand to provide him some comfort. He finds himself holding on.

"You learn to face the loneliness, and sometimes it makes cool stuff like this happen," you say giggling.

"I wanna remember your name," Spencer admits. You give him a small smile.

"Even after I just came for you and this is only our first meeting?"

"Especially because of that,"

You laugh aloud and Spencer notes how lovely the sound is. You look at him, before taking another sip of your drink. You stand tall, patting down your skirt before walking away, Spencer stars dumbfounded for a few seconds before he hears your voice.

"You coming?" You ask. Spencer couldn't manage to bolt faster. _____

"Can I kiss you?," Is the first question Spencer asks you when you end up in your hotel room. You laugh, looking into his eyes as the two of you stand in front of the hotel door. You put your hands on Spencer's waist, making your way up to his chest.

"It's all I've been thinking about for the last few hours so," you say softly. Spencer grins at you, leaning his head down before placing his lips on yours, slowly parting them to catch a little bit more of you. Its slow at first but only then, slowly the speed of each kiss inbetween picks up. Spencer's tongue nips yours, hands running your sides as he touches you hesitant. The whole gesture is hesitant still, though the heat is coming close to just being too much. You use your teeth gently to hitch Spencer's bottom lip and the gestures welcomed.

You pull away from Spencer to look at him, looking into his eyes with an affectionate need.

"Hey, Spencer?,"

"Yes?,"

"If you don't fuck the shit out of me, I don't think I'll ever forgive you,"

Spencer grins, before you give him a shy smile. Spencer kisses you again, the two of you moving to the bed soon after. Spencer sits on the edge of the bed, while you straddle him. Spencer's hands grip your backside. You let out a noise of suprise but Spencer just smiles, leaning his face into your neck. His teeth graze your neck, placing small kisses on patches of it as you tilt it up to give him more room. He nips at the area, sucking small hickies into it. His fingers work their way to the zipper of your dress as you lean into him, your hands on the side of his face.

Your dress falls off your shoulders, as you move back to take it off. Spencer's eyes watch you as you move out of it - throat dry as he sees that you're not wearing a bra. Your nipples come to attention at the cool air in the room and Spencer's hands move to touch you before he can think about it. He brushes them carefully, back and forth sending pleasure shooting through you rather unexpected. You managed to sit on Spencer's lap again before he continues but you whine with displeasure.

His eyes flick to you with curiosity but you don't have to explain much, simply undoing his belt, urging him to unbutton his shirt by tugging at it. He can't help his laughter as he looks at you adoringly.

"Impatient," he reminds you. You give him that same innocent look from before you as you nod at him.

"For you? Always," you reply back. Spencer leans in to kiss you again before he lets you sit in the bed, watching him undress as he did for you only moments ago. You drink in the sight of his skin, the way his hard-on sits in his boxers, standing to attention. You can't stop looking at it, the feeling of lust creeping at your throat.

"Spencer, lay down," you urge softly. He gives you a look of question but does as told, walking to the other side of the bed and laying down as he's told. He catches wind of your plan soon after, watching you take your panties off and revealing arousal that's managed to slide down your thighs. His throat catches but his silent request is soon fulfilled as you place for knees on either side of Spencer's head and settle yourself over his tongue. Spencer's hands grip your thighs as he places a few soft kisses on them, before arching his neck to meet your clit with his tongue. He's patient, flattening his tongue against your clit before motioning it back and forth. The feeling is so sudden, pleasure ripping through you as you use your hips to grind onto to Spencer's tongue.

You lean down over Spencer's cock, spitting onto the head before your mouth wraps around the tip. You use your hands to steady yourself before you bob your head, hollowing your cheeks out which makes Spencer choke. He had figured you'd both be good in bed but it's starting to be clear that it was a lot more than that.

Spencer feels good - so fucking good because he was just so attracted to you and the feeling of your mouth around his dick was working him. Your thighs moved so confidently to grind onto his tongue, using his face for your pleasure while returning the favor, you were more than good. Spencer feels you in his chest, twitching in your mouth when his mind feels with all the possibilities of what else he could do. It wasn't enough to taste you - he would keep seeking out your pleasure until the thought of him never left your mind.

This position was really just a competition to see who could make the other unravel fastest. The feeling of satisfaction he recieved when he feels you pulsate around his tongue is unmatched - the sound of tone throat gagging as you moan out some version his name, cumming all over his face but not stopping your hips. Spencer can taste you everywhere and you taste as good as you look. He's unsure of how you've managed that but he's pleased. You ride your high before you life yourself off of his face, switching yourself to be positioned over his dick. You're more than ready to do that but Spencer's stops you, looking into your eyes as he sits up. You sit between his legs but he moves you up - positioning you to expose yourself too him. Easy access.

Spencer pushes his two middle fingers between your lips, which part for Spencer easily. Your tongue wraps around them, sucking them obediently and Spencer smiles at you. He pulls them out for you, sliding his thumb along your clit before slipping his fingers inside of you, curling them up inside of you. You lean, gripping onto Spencer's shoulder letting out whimpers next to his ear. He brushes against your gspot with ease, padding against it with rhythm. The feeling makes your legs shake, Spencer already close to bringing you to orgasm and despite his somewhat aching wrist makes sure the speed is consistent.

"Spencer, please - oh my god please," this is the first time you've addressed Spencer directly and it makes Spencer's whole body ache to fuck you.

"You're beautiful," Spencer breathes out. You pull away from his shoulders and put your hands on the side of his face, kissing him intensely as you looked into his expression. You're quick to cum a second time , convulsing around his hands a second time as you hold onto his back, fingernails digging in his skin as your whole body lights up in fireworks. Moans pour from your throat as you finish, riding out your high as Spencer slows

"Spencer," your voice is unsteady as you call out to him. He hums in response and you look at him, making eye contact.

"Would you like to go on a date sometime?," you breathe out. Spencer can't help the little giggles he lets out before nodding, kissing you softly.

"Seems like you've beat me to asking," Spencer says. You kiss Spencer once more, softly and slowly before smiling in his shoulder.

"Mm, fuck me," you say giggling. Spencer laughs before he repositions himself to penetrate you, pulling out a condom from the drawer and rolling it down his erection. He lines himself with your entrance, slowly but surely watching you sink down on his cock. He chokes as he feels you around him - tight and warm and wet, taking him so well. Spencer stretches you out better than you were expecting - a burning ache as Spencer pushes towards your cervix. He's buried in you, fingers holding you up for a second.

Spencer holds you up before laying you down, hands pinning yours above your head before pulling his hips back and pounding into you. Spencer voice groans out in your ear, his orgasm drawing him closer and closer to the edge.

You use your fingers to run out one final orgasm, convulsing around Spencer which makes his whole body ache.

"I'm gonna cum," Spencer announces.

"Cum in my mouth?," you offer Spencer. He groans aloud, pulling out and sliding the condom off before positioning himself over your face. You adjust yourself by lifting yourself up on your elbows, allowing Spencer to ease into the back of your throat. Spencer lets go as soon as he does, finish in your mouth where you swallow immediately, eyes glassy as you look up at Spencer. You give him a smile, opening your mouth to show that it's all swallow, before laying back down again exhausted.

"Jesus Christ, Spencer" you say softly. He gives you a small smile.

"You should get some rest," Spencer says softly. You roll your eyes, sitting back up before leaning your head on Spencer's shoulder.

"Mm if I did that, would you be here when I woke up? Nice try, lover boy," you say. Spencer laughs, voice soft as the sun starts to rise outside.

"I'm gonna shower, and since neither of us are sleeping - you can take me to breakfast," you say, standing up and giving Spencer a kiss atop his head.

"Disappear on me and I'll book a ticket all the way to Quantico and embarrass you infront of your whole team," you say jokingly. Spencer hugs your waist as you stand and you can't help the way it melts you.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Spencer replies back. You use your hands to make him look st you and smile at him.

"Good. I'd invite you to come shower with me but I'm gonna guess you need clothes so - meet me downstairs in the lobby in like 30 mins," you instruct. Spencer just nods.

"I need your number," Spencer asks. You look into the drawer and lean down, writing your number on his chest. He looks down at it and smiles. He can see himself in the mirror, noticing you wrote it backwards so he could see it. God, Spencer is into you.

"I'm sure it'll wash off," you say smiling. Spencer rolls his eyes, the hickies you managed to bite into his skin making irony very clear. You give him a cheeky look and he can't help but laugh.

"Y/N," Spencer says to himself. You look at him confused and he just shakes his head.

"You're too fascinating to forget," Spencer says smiling. You can't help but grin, leaning down to kiss him.

"So are you, Dr. Spencer Reid,"

____

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