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kariachi · 2 years

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Unlike Ossys and Erinaens, Perison have a democracy of sorts going on. Positions of power among Osmosians are generally kept within family lines, with some exceptions mostly involving either people dying or vanishing without a suitable clanmate to take over or people being deposed. Among Erinaens there’s not really positions of power, with elders voluntelling youths to apprentice for the Council, the Council having no real power, and for the most part people just doing shit as it comes up and turning to the most experienced fucker around when needed. But Perison actually vote. Closest the other two get is when Ossys are deposing somebody.

They used to be a monarchical system, with the oldest established and often largest herd within an region being in charge, but times have changed and now they have a system of councils working from the bottom up.

It’s a multi-layered thing. Each herd (each technically an off-shoot of a family) is led by the eldest woman, almost invariably- they outnumber the men by enough there would have to be a serious die-off before a man was the only senior available- but sometimes a woman’s a bitch and people defect to the next in line. But, individuals can vote on who represents their herd to the local government. This can be city-wide or region-wide, depending, we’ll get there in a second. What matters at this point is that people get to vote on this shit. Who varies from herd to herd, but generally you can’t lose the right and the minimum voting age is on average between 35 and 40- and while most herds allow men to vote and even hold office now, neither is by any means universal. Most councils impose a population minimum to elect a representative, usually around fifteen to twenty voting-age adults.

Now on the ‘what counts as a local government’, it really depends on where you are and how things are set up. Generally in urban areas we’re talking a city council, made up of one member of each herd- so between 4 and 12 people usually. The same goes for towns, though they tend to be smaller. But what’s the real determining matter is- sometimes a town is just one herd, and then they bump their representation up to the regional council by default.

The herds are self-governing on their own land, with their own rules and such, and herd even pays it’s taxes as a collective whole. What the city and town councils are in charge of is the public areas- the ones not under the claim of any one herd. Public gathering locations, the areas Bachelor Herds stay in when they’re in town, any governmental buildings, public universities and trade schools, things like that. They use their share of tax money to keep them in shape and fund any community programs available, and also decide on and arrange the enforcement of the rules and such as they pertain to these public places and to interaction between herds, as well as setting the baseline rules for trade with other communities and with the Bachelor Herds. They also act as intermediaries between herds if there’s an issue.

Really all councils work like that. The regional council does that shit- minus the ‘space where Bachelor Herds rest’ that’s it’s own whole thing outside of cities and towns and is handled by bachelor councils, which we’ll get to- for all the space in a region that doesn’t fall under the jurisdiction of a city or town. Greater regional councils then handle their shit- minus the ‘places not under jurisdiction’ portion- for a collection of regions. Continental does the same for the greater regions. Planetary council takes the ‘outside jurisdictions’ portion back and handles things between continents, more or less.

Sometimes a regional council is far enough removed from others to be a highest position under planetary all it’s own, and more often so with greater regions. To use Earth for reference, all the islands between Peninsular Malaysia and Australia would probably be considered a greater region, but not part of a continent, meanwhile Hawaii would be considered a region outside of any greater region or continent, and so both would send representatives directly to the planetary council.

There’s also the Interplanetary Council, which is made up of Ha’n’s various ambassadors plus a representative from the Planetary Council and who handle matters involving other worlds and governments as well as setting the rules for the Fai’r System.

Now, I mentioned at the start there that this is a democracy ‘of a sort’. Perison only get to vote for who represents their herd. Each council decides who will represent the whole in the council above amongst themselves from amongst themselves. Generally the vote is whether to keep the individual already in that spot or to replace them with somebody else currently on the council, and then votes are held to fill voids working their way up.

Basically, if a continental council decides to replace their representative then that’ll free up a space among them, the greater regional council represented by the promoted individual will pick one of their own to fill that spot, which will open up a space to be filled by the regional council under that individual, and so on until we get a herd having to vote on a new representative for their local council. An individual cannot be demoted back into a position they had prior.

There’s been an instance someone being dropped from the Interplanetary Council and ending up directly back on her local one.

Note that this doesn’t apply to ambassadors, who are the only individuals involved in law and policy making that aren’t elected officials. Like most elected officials ambassadors start off with essentially a ‘Representative Degree’ (not actually a political degree, it’s covers any bases where you’re representing another individual, group, area, or field), often pairing it with studies on non-Perison cultures alongside astronomy, languages, politics, economics, etc. The big hope is to get a job either at an embassy or representing a company or group off-world. When openings for an ambassador position are expected to, well, open, then interested individuals submit their credentials, the Planetary Council pick their favorites from the group, which are then sent to the Interplanetary Council for the final decision. Ambassadors have no term limit, and are typically associated solely with one planet or collection of planets but can be replaced at any time and are required to live on Ha’n for an equal or greater amount of time as at the embass(ies) for which they work.

Council positions as a rule have a term length of five to ten years, depending on the region and the position in question. Term limits vary wildly. One Greater Regional Council can impose no limits on their representative, while another can impose a two term limit. Individuals are restricted by the limits of the councils they directly represent and serve on, not those beneath them.

Example: Fevvrie serves three of her five available terms on her Greater Regional Council before being replaced. Popular and much loved with her herd, who enforce no term limit, she’s quickly reinstated on her City Council. Unfortunately her City Council only allows two terms as their representative, which she more than served between her time on the Regional and Greater Regional Councils. This means she can’t return to her previous Regional Councilmember position unless she moves to another city and is elected by another branch of her family.

“But Achi!” I hear you say “You mentioned the Bachelor Herds, and this all sound very focused on the Settled Herds!” You’re right! They have their own stuff going on with the council thing!

Bachelor Herds aren’t represented in the Settled Herd politics, but they do have their own councils. Each Bachelor Herd is self-governing, and considered to have full authority over everything within about seventy feet of their caravan while they’re on the road, and within twenty feet while stopped within Settled Herd territory, excepting with regards to crop fields and orchards, wherein their authority ends at the boundary of the growing space. As decided by the Planetary Council as part of a bid to standardize the rights of bachelors. These herds participate in a similar system to Settled Herds, where each one votes for a representative from within their herd to become part of the Regional Bachelor Council.

The Regional Bachelor Council serves as intermediary between herds, sets standards such as who has right of way when paths intersect and how much of what can be foraged from any one area by any one herd at a time. They also work closely with the Regional Council, ensuring that the needs and safety of bachelors is taken into account when it comes to regional policy. You’ll also see Greater Regional Bachelor Councils, who work closely with the Greater Regional Councils, though never Continental ones anymore, those died out when the planet stopped having regular wars. Again, election to these positions works the same as for the Settled Herds, with herds electing someone to their regional council, which then selects one of it’s own for the greater one.

While Councilmembers from Settled Herds will typically have a set residence, often a private apartment in whatever the base of operations is for the council on which they serve that belongs, quite literally, to whoever currently holds their position- to the point that individuals any higher up the ranking than City/Town Councilmember and lower than Interplanetary Councilmember are expected to hand their keys over to the council they represent and stay with their herd for the few weeks prior to their re-election vote- where they usually live alone, Councilmembers from Bachelor herds commonly work remotely. The exception to this is a yearly in-person meeting, where each councilmember and a small entourage will travel to the meeting site, often close to the base of operations for their sister council, where they’ll meet and deal with each other before heading for the base of operations to work with in-person with the Regional or Greater Regional Council. For the month or two this goes on the council and entourage are considered a Bachelor Herd all their own for legal purposes, and the smaller groups they stay in when traveling are afforded legal protections, again as decided by the Planetary Council.

The non-ambassador member of the Interplanetary Council lives on the same station as the member of the Planetary Council and primarily works remotely as a go-between for the Planetary Council and the various ambassadors. They also come together with the Ambassadors for a yearly in-person meeting, typically either on that same station or at a neutral third location off-world.

Outside of emergency situations, Settled councils above the city/town level are considered off the clock during the three longest months of the Women’s Calendar. Bachelor Councils, like City/Town Councils, are never fully off the clock, though they tend to be more leisurely about things during the winter months.

Legally the only limits to becoming a councilmember is that one must be an adult and have a ‘representative degree’, but in action due to the age-based biases amongst Perison rarely are individuals under the age of forty elected.

#perison #damn this turned out long

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one-more-offbeat-anthem · 3 years

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The thing about grief is that it’s got all these goddamn layers, and just when Dean thinks he’s sorted out all his shit, there’s another thing to deal with.

That’s where he’s at this morning.

He woke up at four and watched Cas breathe next to him for a full hour, continually reassuring himself that Cas was, in fact, still alive. Eventually he started feeling like a crazy person and hauled himself out of bed, which landed him where he is now, standing in front of the big bay window in their kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee.

It’s nearly six now, the coffee half-cold, and part of Dean wants to go get his slippers so his feet aren’t directly on the chilly tile, but instead he’s...stuck here.

Sometimes this feeling goes away when the sun fully comes up, when light floods the kitchen (painted yellow, per Cas’ request) and the rest of the house. One of their first post-Chuck priorities (minus pulling Cas topside) was moving out of the bunker.

Sure, it had been Dean’s first real home, after that long-burned house in Lawrence, but it was underground, and something about suddenly realizing that he was forty-two and actually free for the first time in his life made him want to get out as fast as possible, away from all those memories and towards the light.

Hence the cup of coffee--even cooler now--in a mug clumsily painted by Cas with sunflowers and the big kitchen with an island and an honest-to-god hanging pot rack and Dean’s slippers, in their living room by the big, squishy green couch (they’re shaped like bunnies, Jack picked them out) and the three rooms upstairs--a guest room, for when Sam and Eileen (frequently) visit, Jack’s room (crammed with books and Legos and a race-car shaped bed Dean built himself because, surprise surprise, you can’t buy fun toddler beds for toddlers that are adult-sized), and Dean and Cas’ bedroom, where Cas is still soundly sleeping.

“Hello, Dean.”

Or not, apparently.

Dean turns to see Cas standing at the foot of the stairs, in his pajamas, with a sleepy, lopsided smile on his face. Dean gestures at Cas and he pads over, shoving himself under Dean’s free arm and plastering himself against Dean’s side.

“’S early,” Cas says, yawning and reaching for Dean’s coffee. Dean pulls it away from him and Cas tilts his head up at Dean, frowning.

“It’s cold,” Dean replies, “And you can get your own.”

“But I don’t want to.” Cas pauses. “How long have you been up?”

“Couple hours.” It’s nice to feel Cas against him, warm and solid and real. Decidedly not a dream.

Cas, as always, can tell what’s eating at him, and he moves away, pulling Dean’s fingers away from the mug and setting it on the kitchen table. Then he takes Dean’s fingers and presses them against his wrist. After a few seconds, Dean starts to feel Cas’ heartbeat, steady and regular.

“I’m still here,” Cas says, moving his hand to hold Dean’s properly. “Come back to bed?”

Dean nods, swallows. “Yeah.”

Eventually, Dean drifts off as sunlight starts to seep around the curtains. He’ll be woken properly two hours later by the aforementioned adult-sized toddler trying to wedge himself into their bed, but for now, he holds his hand against Cas’ heart and lets himself sink back into slumber.

#like I LOVE baby!jack but something is HILARIOUS about adult-sized toddler jack doing toddler things #userstarry #usershey #cillabee #flowersforcastag #I FEEL ANNOYING TAGGING PEOPLE IF YOU WOULD LIKE ME TO STOP lemme know and I *will*#anyways!#offbeatwrites #almost forgot my own writing tag asdlfas;dfs

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ganymedesclock · 3 years

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So I discovered the trailer for Belle (2021), and it’s making me think about what I love about Beauty and the Beast riffs, and what makes a story scratch that particular itch for me or not.

And I think a huge part of it for me is the examination of monstrosity as a social role. To just use Disney’s animated classic as my base for comparison here, Adam, The Beast, is not literally cursed with fur and fangs, claws and horns- he has those things, and may have mixed feelings about them, others certainly have bad reactions to them-

-his curse is ostracization. His curse is to not be seen as human. What actual, physical features he has are irrelevant to that. They’re just quirks he can learn to live with, or a further excuse to tell himself he deserves this isolation, this frustration, this misery.

So the breaking of the curse, to me, is not the scene where Belle sobs confirmation of what we knew well before then into his stilling chest and brings him back, minus those quirks- if anything, that his happiness comes with the loss of those things has seemed to me (and I’m not alone) as almost something of a betrayal depending on how it’s framed.

By contrast, to me, the breaking of the curse is the ballroom scene, and the moments leading up to it. Adam returns to Adam, rather than The Beast, at the point that he decides that he deserves to be treated like a human being- not as a labor of love from Belle, but from himself. Yes, it’s love with Belle that they dance together, that they have this ball scene when there’s no high society to impress, but before that point, he had to make a decision; that he can clean up and dress nice and have an evening. That he deserves to.

When we first see The Beast, he has all of the means and resources to act like a prince, to present like one. He could make himself comfortable and be surrounded by splendor, but the truest thing he suffers under is he’s ceased to see himself as worth the effort. It’s not as if he could cut the fur down and prune back his claws, file down the horns, and look the way he feels he ought to- the way he thinks he should. He’s broken every mirror in his house except for the one he hides from, and this is a gesture of absolute defeat. He knows what he looks like. He can’t pretend he doesn’t. The only way he can tolerate this is not looking at himself.

As a neurodivergent queer person, the monster in the mirror is something I have a very complicated relationship with. I have an “advantage” in some ways. My appearance is not shocking to most people. I do not benefit from an obvious mobility aid or assistive device; I speak within a range people think of is normal. I have an “unusual haircut” for a “girl” and I don’t aggressively correct people on my pronouns or presentation.

But I’ve always had this feeling, that perhaps, my fangs and fur were simply easy things to trim off, and it’s so easy to wonder, would I still be okay if they weren’t? Because really, it’s none of the granular details that make a monster. For every imagined horror creature, there’s almost certainly a real animal it resembles, and real animals are not monsters. A monster is a monster; anything else, we believe, has a place, has a home. Deserves to exist.

To be a monster is to be a thing that doesn’t fit, or, more directly, to be a monster is to be a thing that is unaccepted. Rejected for not fitting. Unworthy of love, from within, or without.

At the end of the day, I know, factually, I am not a monster. I know that I’m a real person. I know that I deserve dignity and respect and love, even if only from myself. I’m not owed another person to love me just to prove that I can be, but, also, no man is an island; as humans we seek each other one way or another, romantically or platonically. That’s a fact of anyone, not just people who struggle to see a real person when they look at their reflection.

And yet, at this same time, I can’t help but feel betrayed, left behind, when the narrative goes that if the monster does everything right its reward is to be shaped into the likeness of a Real Human Being. Because you can’t just pull a feathered skin off me and make me like I “should be”, like my various diagnoses and self-identifications all present me as an aberration from. If you showed me a me without any of those qualities, that’s honestly the thing I’m the most afraid of, a me without me. A Miss Perfect who’s a good, normative daughter, and in my insecurity I wonder if people would like her so much better than me that they wouldn’t miss if I was gone.

Which, that’s nonsense. I know a lot of people who care about me the way I am. But nobody ever said fears had to be rational.

At the end of the day, as much as I hate the idea of being a monster to others, I also relish the notion of qualities that are categorized as monsters. I love dragons. I love putting big, horrible teeth and leering eyes and wings and claws on heroic characters. Because brought into the light, qualities are just qualities. And if you bring those qualities into the favoring, soft light of stories about human connection, romances, queerplatonic bonds, friendships and found family alike, those qualities can even be charming, alluring, inspiring; a character can look like anything and we still feel a rush of reassurance that this specific character is there.

And that’s the other side of Beauty and the Beast: Adam is running away from being a monster, and Belle is trying to run away from who she is, too. Because Belle is the other side of that trap.

Let’s be honest; it isn’t just that Belle’s an outspoken woman with opinions. It’s that she’s pretty. She’s the prettiest girl in town. She’s someone people want, people have expectations for- and those expectations have little room for what she actually wants. Hell, that’s one of the major dangerous driving forces of the climax- Adam nearly gets murdered by a mob because Belle made a choice that her community really didn’t like, especially Gaston, and it’s easy to point to Adam as the wrong choice because he’s pointy.

“Beauty”, as much as “The Beast”, are dehumanizing categories that people are sorted into. The doll and the monster. One is considered beneath monstrosity; beguiling, an object of appeal and desire but not someone with opinions, oh no, and not someone able to make a choice that you disagree with. People driven to the fringes by opposing forces but regardless find each other in the place they’re trying to find room to breathe in.

And that, I think, is one way some of these riffs can, for me personally, miss the point- and that’s not a mark against them, it’s just that there’s a specific thing I see in this story, and it’s very specifically not, “to be beautiful and desirable to mass public consumption is the way to be happy; we will have a story about how to rehabilitate someone so they can be beautiful too” but rather, “what does it mean when people stop seeing you as yourself, whether the alternative is perfection or a monster? what would you do to be seen clearly?”

#writing ruminations #beauty and the beast #readmore

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lightdancer1 · 3 years

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I will say re: Azula and the Gaang

The Gaang initially post-war are filled with a lot of bitterness and anger to Azula and their initial reactions, minus Suki's, are shaped by that and the immediate postwar headiness as well as the harshness of realizing how little the Fire Nation actually welcomes the brave new postwar world. Azula is a convenient scapegoat for a lot of problems....and then as they grow older and in the cases of Aang and Katara in particular have kids of their own they realize with an utter horror what they actually did.

Zuko also finally has that reaction hit him like a sledgehammer when he becomes Izumi's father and belatedly tries to reform himself and his kingdom, but by then it's locking the barn door after the horses were stolen and made into glue and Burger King hamburgers. By then as far as everyone except Aang and Katara know, Azula is either in some far distant Siberia equivalent or straight up dead.

Aang does find out not only that Azula is alive, but where she is. He and Katara go to meet her five years after the war to apologize for things and to introduce her to first two children (Kya is an infant at the time and Bumi is two)....and over the next five years find a cautious friendship with Azula simply from realizing they're dealing with a person and not the sinister figure they fought in the war.

Katara finds out that Sokka knew the entire time because he was dating Suki and because she convinced him that she could not hate someone their own age and chose to gamble on the idea that her people with kindness could do what people with the iron fist could not. Sokka eventually goes to meet postwar Azula in the sixth year after the war and they end up nerd Bro-TP, though that's the sum total of her interactions with the Gaang.

Aang knowing where she is not least making sure the Avatar knows where one of the most potentially dangerous people in the world is and where she could or would leave if she did ultimately relapse. The Gaang make mistakes at the start because wars do not teach people kindness, and by the time everyone realizes how badly they've fucked it up the Fire Nation's over-militarized society after a century of war is in low-tier Weimar style civil war while Ryukyu and Karakorum are openly becoming secessionist and taking their veterans and rebuilding the armies of the old kingdoms, as well as the Thai Kingdom which happens to be where Mai's family and ancestry came from......and which is so unfortunate as to have Ukano as the person of the family who'd fit into the royal title.

And by the time De Nile drains away and they're stuck with hardcore reality the Weimar-style strife has turned into all out war with three all-Fire Nation factions battling it out and three smaller kingdoms seeking to carve out their own territories, with Ryukyu and Karakorum in particular the most successful at it.

And once again the Fire Nation's neglect of Karakorum means that it has a sudden and unpredictable surprise when Ogodei Khagan reacts to the spite of the Fire Nation to his people by re-establishing the old kingdom and desiring to regather the Ulus and then, in the medium term, to straight up shift from there to outright conquering Capital Island and reversing the verdict of the Unification Wars.

Ryukyu by contrast aims to rebuild the old Ryukyu Kingdom.....and knows of one scion of the Royal Family who's neatly turned up alive again and has direct line descent from the royal house who would make an ideal Restorer Queen.

#atla aus #exile idea au #second earth kingdom au

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ravenadottir · 3 years

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Yo! I had so many questions I wanted to ask you while you were gone but I of course wasn’t gonna send in asks while you were on hiatus! I wanted you to have peace. But I should have written them down!! 😭

Now I only have this one question. I saw your ask to Mango about Chelsea’s super power and now I want your take on this. Not on Chelsea but an islander or islanders of your choice. What super powers would you give your favorite islanders? They can have more than one power like super heroes do if you feel like it fits.

hi! i missed you!

oh oh oh oh!! anything you remember, send it my way! i need something to help me wake up from this brain coma i've been in. i blame cmm for that...

ok, so i love this question, thank you for sending it to me! i'll definitely focus on a lot of them because well, i love the genre, and i love talking about them 🥺

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lucas

fire. he's able to start it, besides dominating and bending it over to his own will. sometimes uses it for (partial) evil and more. being the anti hero i think he is, i would LOVE to see lucas playing with fire while delivering a speech that instigates the good guy in front of him. in a cool, well cut, all black suit with just one (1) red scarf on the lapel, or his neck, he would look amazing sending blazes everywhere! i even have a song for him: play with fire. aaaah the idea of lucas and fire sends me to heaven, hell, purgatory and back! he can be like tuxedo mask, regarding how he annoys everyone with his smugness.

gary

colossus. strength and possibility of turning into a dense metal at will? gary is perfect for it! he has the body shape and weight, and the skills for the maintenance. picture this: you walk down the hallway to go to the bathroom, only to hear him moaning in there. you're uncomfortable, thinking the worst, only to open the door and see him oiling his joints and almost falling on the floor. "a little help? i can't reach some places..." please, give me metal body gary, it would clear all my trauma! plus, as he is in the villa, he would exercise his comic relief role.

carl

brainiac with technology/time bending. (@lasswithumor's idea for 'time' makes me smile! thank you for the inspo!) not actual brainiac from dc though, let me explain. i always get the sense carl could be tony stark or bruce wayne, minus the assholery. he's much humbler and quiet, but still very capable. as for time bending being his power, it could make him overcome this sense of running out of time he always seems to have. he might have a hardship about it because he never seems to find a balance, so this skill is probably the only thing he could actually be good at, and benefit from.

noah

talking to the dead, like klaus hargreeves. something i would love to see is how tormented he would be while it happens. distressed noah is a beautiful concept, and part of the reason why he would be such a troubled character. picture this: he uses those people to fight in exchange of favors, like finding out who killed them, or to tell their families how peaceful they are now, among other things. noah and ghosts ring different to me, and the thought of him being troubled? even more! not like klaus, but definitely close to that. i love that "short temper" side of him, and in this context, it would be perfect. plus, his looks being similar to something from the 1920's, without the hat. so white shirt, suspenders, dark brown pants. ugh, he would look so good in it!

henrik

vines and plant banding, like layla williams in sky high. there's no other answer for him. i thought about making him avalanche, from x men, but i see him more connected to plants than any other element of nature. the way he would smirk and grow a small vine around his pinky while talking about a brilliant idea he just had? PLEASE. GIVE - IT - TO - ME, I LIVE FOR SMUG HENRIK! and you can be damn sure his looks would include this ponytail, by @juggalohenrik.

kassam

at first i thought invisibility, because of his personality and how he behaves in groups, but then it hit me, supersonic scream. he can take his frustrations out on a single booming scream and be done with it. i would love to see kassam being teased and beat up, only to get up from the ground, scrapes all over, bloody nose, only to position himself and close his fists to focus, before delivering a resounding scream to round it up real nicely. that's definitely a power he would find useful and excels in. the visuals definitely don't hurt either!

bobby

he's a very peculiar boy, and so his powers would have to be too. it might sound crazy, but hear me out! laughter inducement. the power itself can cause the person to laugh so hard, eventually the air is expelled from their lungs and they have quite the death! it's gruesome and i love it, it's the perfect juxtaposition between it and bobby's personality that is so bubbly. picture this: battlefield, gary smugly says "i guess that's the only way you could make someone laugh." to which bobby replies with a laugh "including you, tin can" while making colossus!gary laugh and fall on the floor because of it. it might require lots of energy, so bobby can't always cause mass laughter, just like in the villa... jk jk jk! i just know his uniform would be clown like, before priya adjusted to a beautiful dark teal piece. before that? goofy pink mask and cape with sprinkles, and tights everywhere else. he would also be the type of hero that is a comic relief. ironically, in this case.

lottie

rogue. the power and the visuals fit in so well! sucking up someone's power and/or energy SCREAMS lottie's personality all over! if i could adjust it so the girl doesn't manifest it unless she wants to, that's even better. lottie with dark hair and a streak of platinum, or the opposite, would look another level and i'm here for it! plus, the gloves... AAAAH THE GLOVES. she would smirk before taking them off and turning that grin into a determined smug expression before touching her enemy. PLEASE!

priya

TURNING - PEOPLE - INTO - GOLD. i said what i said. similar to medusa's power of turning people into stone. flowy dresses for the goddess looks, a smirk on her lips while she does it, and golden shiny eyes that glow bright when she throws her gold curse upon her enemy! she's goofy, so you know she has a cheesy catchphrase, but i can't think of anything right now. it's there, i just need to find it.

hope

mind control. CAN I JUST SAY? she practically has that power already. being persuasive and having the power of negotiation the way she already does would fit in perfectly. and if i may add, storm looks like the uniform and the "bright white eyes" while it happens???also! hope as the person who plans the attacks and defense.

marisol

persuasion. similar to allison hargreeves. one word and they will do it. at first i considered super strength, for being so unexpected to someone that petit, but if you account for her personality, persuasion as a super power is so much cooler! plus, she doesn't have to try hard, the seed of argumentation is already there. in her origin story you could have marisol having a moral grey area where she debates whether or not using those powers in court. i would love to see this dilemma and her going through it, since there's a clear distinction in what she considers right and wrong, and the ethically correct options to choose. as looks go, all she needs is a suit, similar to the prom one, and definitely a ponytail and gloves.

ibrahim.

flying and speed. something about rahim screams traditional super hero persona and i can't help but stir into it. he's perfect for the superman alter ego, the one that talks about justice and fights the big guy for the little ones. rahim has a way of going around and making people's lives better, at least that's how i see him. i asked for @itsrealityboo 's approval about this, because you know, she's the authority on golf boy, and she added something really cool that i hadn't thought about: "I will say that I could definitely see Rahim as a part of a team tho, like the fantastic four! I think because of his insecurities, he’s need some type of support system or even older mentor. He’d definitely go through that awkward phase of learning how to manage his powers if he wasn’t born with them lol"

i definitely agree after reading it, it makes so much sense! i don't know if that need comes from being the younger brother, or having those expectations at home (about being suave and all) but that would for sure be a part of his origin story as a superhero.

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in case you missed the asks i sent about superpowers, here is chelsea, by mango, and elisa, by kc

#litg lucas #litg gary #litg noah #litg henrik #litg kassam #litg bobby #litg lottie #litg hope #litg priya #litg marisol #litg elisa #litg chelsea #litg ibrahim #litg #litg season 2 #love island the game #love island the game season 2 #queue

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miracleonice87 · 4 years

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Begin Again

a Mathew Barzal song fic

a/n: a one shot based on “Begin Again” by Taylor Swift. obviously I don’t own any of Taylor Swift’s music/lyrics! I’m not even a big Swiftie anymore (edited: lol dying bc I wrote that before she released folklore and evermore and sucked me RIGHT back in) but I love her “Red” album and always listen to it in the fall. also, the NYC traffic/parking/location situation in this is purely fantasy BS, lol.

summary: Mat Barzal meets Hayden Parker (fictional) in a coffee shop, and they start something new.

warnings: swearing. talk of a concussion/migraines/weight loss — otherwise, complete and total fluff.

______

With a deep breath, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror hanging near your front door before you left your Brooklyn apartment. You hadn’t worn these heels for several seasons now — he hadn’t liked it when you wore high heels. You had let his opinions — on your clothes, shoes, music, books, movies, and friends — dictate how you lived for too long. You smirked now, admiring how the pointed-toe snakeskin stilettos looked paired with your raw cut black jeans and silky pink blouse. He would’ve hated this look (“too gaudy,” he would have said), which made you love it that much more.

You popped in one AirPod and flipped the inside lock on your door before pulling it closed. You made your way down the hall as the lyrics started to flow.

There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range

His horse and his cattle are his only companions...

You fought the urge to roll your eyes thinking about your former flame’s constant unwarranted comments about this classic ballad which often wafted through your apartment from the record player in the living room.

“I don’t get this song — like, is he singing to himself?” he would ask. You never bothered to tell him the real background and meaning — you loved the song, and you got it. You always had.

Emerging from the main entrance of your building, you hummed along to melodies from your favorite playlist, and walked the three or so blocks to your destination. Soon, you were stepping in from the bustle of the street to find solace in an only-slightly less busy coffee shop, one you had come to frequent because of its location — sandwiched within the six blocks between your apartment and the fashion magazine where you were interning this semester.

“Hi, one large double shot mocha, please?” you requested, stepping up after the man in front of you paid for his order. You tapped your AirPod to pause your music, just in time to hear: “Nice shoes.”

You lifted your head and glanced toward the pick-up section of the counter, where a classically handsome man in his twenties stood donning a well-tailored navy blue suit. Your heart lurched in your chest as you realized he was looking straight at you.

“Me?” you inquired softly, just to be sure, as you slipped your bank card back into your wallet. He nodded, smiling. “Yes, you. Nice shoes.”

You bit your lip involuntarily, slowly walking his way to wait on your coffee. “Thanks. You’ve got nice style yourself,” you complimented, and you were surprised by your own boldness in that moment. Something about his confidence made you confident, too. And something about his model good looks seemed unsettlingly familiar somehow.

He extended his hand as you took your position next to him. “I’m Mat,” he greeted. You couldn’t help but smile, nearly breathless from his innate charm.

“Hi, Mat,” you replied, engaging his handshake. “I’m Hayden.”

“Hayden. Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Mat mused, holding onto your hand for just a moment longer than was customary. You knew it was silly — God, was it silly — but you felt yourself blush at his flattery.

“Large Americano,” a barista called out. Mat stepped forward, thanking her and stuffing a bill — you couldn’t help but notice that it was a large one — into the tip jar atop the glass pastry display. He turned back to you as he unfastened the lid and blew gently on his coffee. Another thing you couldn’t help but notice — his perfect pink lips.

“So, Hayden, are you a native New Yorker?”

Hmm, you thought. Why isn’t he running for the door after getting his drink? You decided to play along, feeling more daring than you had in ages.

“I am not,” you confessed. “I’m from Maine, actually.”

“Ah, still an East Coast girl,” Mat remarked with a grin. “I’m from the West — near Vancouver.”

You arched your brows. “Wow, Canadian, huh?” Mat chuckled.

“Born and raised. You know what they say, though: opposites attract,” he commented, hazel eyes piercing into you even as he took a cautious sip from his cup. You studied his face — he seemed more familiar with each word he spoke.

“They do say that, don’t they?” you retorted, skirting his inference. Just then, the barista set your mocha on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” you said, also pushing a tip into the jar, thankful that Mat’s attention was on grabbing a cup sleeve from the island nearby instead of on the much smaller bills you had to offer the staff.

You turned toward the island, too, reaching for the cinnamon. Mat offered you a sleeve as if it was second nature, and you graciously accepted, trying to relax the muscles on your face that seemed to have permanently turned upward into a smile since you’d been in the man’s presence.

Suddenly, you gasped.

“Islanders,” you whispered under your breath as Mat watched you stir your cinnamon into your drink. He froze.

“What?” he asked with a nervous laugh, wondering if he had heard you correctly. Your eyes darted around, making sure no one within earshot was paying attention.

“You play for the Islanders. Right?” you asked softly. He nodded, silent, ducking his head a bit; you began to backpedal.

“Oh, God... I didn’t mean - I, uh... I promise I’m not like a hockey fangirl, or anything,” you choked out, cheeks flushed. Your hands started to shake slightly as you replaced the lid on your to-go cup. “I just, uh, my brother. My brother played hockey. He always talked about you, and, uh, I just realized that that’s why I recognized you.” You winced.

“This... this isn’t as weird as it sounds, I swear,” you insisted. “It’s just that, my brother played in the Q. He was good, and, uh, I knew about all the other good hockey players, because of him.”

Mat’s demeanor had quickly changed — from slightly uncomfortable to giddy. He was smirking at you while you sputtered, taking a sort of masochistic pleasure in watching you squirm. His grin was infectious.

“What’s your last name?” he asked when you finally stopped talking. “Parker,” you responded, the two of you stepping away from the island and taking up residence near the front windows of the cafe.

“Parker... Parker,” he repeated. You were distracted by how good your name sounded falling from his tongue. Then, he gasped, too.

“Oh shit, your brother’s Nick Parker? Damn, how’s he doing?”

Your brow quirked as you watched the light flicker on in his eyes when he pieced it together. A National Hockey League star recognized your brother’s name, your name. What the hell was happening?

You cleared your throat, attempting to come back into orbit. “Uh, yeah, he’s good now. He, uh... it was a battle there for a couple years. He had migraines every day for about 16 months... lost a lot of weight. It was... it was tough,” you told him, your voice lowering noticeably. Mat watched you carefully, concern written all over his striking features. It was evident that Mat knew your brother’s story.

Your older brother Nick had been a top 20 prospect in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League as a teen, playing forward for the Halifax Mooseheads. But after a nasty late hit during a playoff game, he had been left with a debilitating concussion and, after a long period of unsuccessful rehab, had been forced to walk away from the game just as he was entering his prime.

Those troubling days hung like a thick, black fog over your family’s history, and you suddenly recalled being 15 again, cross-legged outside Nick’s bedroom door for hours, begging him to let you into the dark room to hold onto him as he cried, both because of the pain and because of the weight of his unrealized dreams. It had taken countless neurologist appointments, physical therapy, and your parents’ unwavering insistence that he regularly see a sports psychologist for him to return to some semblance of normalcy after a long road to recovery.

Now, minus the occasional treatable migraine, Nick was thriving. You beamed at the thought, your well-polished black nail picking at the corner of the cup sleeve on your mocha as you looked back to Mat and continued.

“But he’s finishing law school now, seeing a therapist and keeps himself in great shape, which helps. He’s getting married next summer to this great girl,” you finished, pride swelling in your chest at how far your brother had come. Mat’s eyebrows lifted, his worried expression morphing into elation.

“No shit!” he exclaimed. “Damn, I’m so happy for him. Tell you what, lotta guys wanted nothing to do with him when he was tearing it up. And we were all gutted for him after it happened.” You gave him a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “I’ll have to let him know you said that.” Mat nodded, then pressed on. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to tell him myself one day,” he added brazenly, casually taking another sip.

No response came to your brain, so you curled your fingers around your own cup and took a long draw, eyes darting to the activity outside the window, Mat’s never leaving your unsure face.

The church bells chiming from a nearby steeple were the only thing that could pull Mat’s gaze from you, as he checked his large-face Rolex. He seemed angered by the time staring back at him, and he ran his hand aggressively through his hair as his eyes rolled just slightly.

“Listen, Hayden, I hate to do this,” Mat began with a sigh. “But we’ve got a game in Pittsburgh tomorrow night, and the team plane leaves in like half an hour.”

You’re surprised by how deflated you feel in that instant, casting a downward glance at the shoes Mat had complimented only minutes ago, before you’d started feeling like maybe you’d known him your whole life.

A quiet, “Oh,” was all you could muster, still not meeting his eyes.

His hand then came to rest on your upper arm, and it’s only then that you noticed how big it was, long fingers curling easily around your bicep.

“But hey... I’ll be back late tomorrow night. Whaddya say we grab coffee here the next morning? Wednesday. Maybe 8?”

You turned your eyes upward to take in his face. He looked hopeful. He was hopeful that he’d see you again.

You nodded. “I’d love to, Mat. I’ll meet you here.”

Mat beamed, a relieved breath falling from his lips. “Good,” he commented. “I’ll see you then.” He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, leaving you reeling when he pulled away.

“Bye, pretty Hayden,” Mat said with a wink before turning and exiting the coffee shop, walking down the block to the Cadillac he’d just unlocked. He was still in sight when he glanced over his shoulder and threw you another breathtaking grin. You smiled back, frozen in place as you watched him drive away.

_____

Mat was going to be late.

At least, that’s what you had convinced yourself at some point within the last 48 hours.

He was either going to be late or he was going to stand you up altogether. So even though you woke up at 5:30 and initially felt the need to rush through your routine to get down to the coffee shop as quickly as possible, you didn’t. You forced yourself to slow down. Because Mat was going to be late. Or, he wasn’t going to be there at all.

So you were surprised when, after throwing on a red chiffon dress with tiny white flowers and a cognac leather jacket, you walked through the coffee shop door at 8:02 and heard, “Hayden!”

Your head snapped up.

At a corner table in the back of the shop was Mat, dressed in a smart grey sweater and distressed black jeans, a silver chain looped around his neck, standing to wave you over with a broad smile across his face.

He came. And he’d arrived before you did.

You walked over to Mat and he embraced you warmly, the two of you exchanging kisses on the cheek. He squeezed your elbow affectionately as you stepped back from him.

“Oh, here. Let me,” Mat said as he pulled your chair out and motioned for you to sit.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, his chivalry catching you by surprise. Once you were seated, he pushed your chair in slightly before taking his place across the table from you.

“I got you a mocha,” he told you, nodding at the cup in front of you. “Double shot, right?”

You nodded. “You’re sweet. Thank you,” you said, the two of you beaming at each other for a moment, lost in a daze.

“So how was the game?” you inquired, pulling you both back to earth. Mat cleared his throat before answering you.

“It was good! We won. It’s usually a tough battle with them but we kinda dominated, which was nice for a change,” he spoke, looking pleased.

“You score?” you asked teasingly as you sipped from your cup.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he told you with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Two goals and an assist.”

Your eyebrows lifted on your forehead. “Mat, that’s amazing! So my brother was right. You are good.”

Mat shook his head, trying to shrug you off.

“Ah, nah. I kinda think it had more to do with a good luck charm I met this week,” he remarked slyly. You licked your bottom lip before biting on it gently. Mat took notice, mirroring your motions as he stared at your lips.

“So, how’s work been this week?” It was Mat’s turn to deflect.

You told him how hectic it had been, with you arriving at the office around 9 and leaving at 6 on the day you’d first met, then departing after 7 yesterday, despite it being only a part-time internship in addition to the five classes you were taking online. He asked about your combination of on-campus and online learning throughout your college career in order to accommodate your dream internships, and he was already in awe of what a hard worker you were.

You pointed out that you weren’t the only one at the table with a crazy schedule, and you asked him how he balanced hockey with his personal life. He answered you easily, launching into stories about his teammates and his family and his friends who all kept him grounded in different ways. There was one name he kept bringing up — Tito. He told you that you’d have to meet him. Before you could hesitate, you said you’d like to. His visage brightened at that answer. He reminded you of sunshine.

He continued to regale you with a vast array of stories, stopping often to ask you questions and invite you to tell him stories of your own. It took a bit of time, but soon you were opening up about your own life — your parents’ recent and shocking divorce after 30 years of marriage, and your struggle with your grandmother’s death last fall.

It wasn’t all dark, though. In fact, most of it wasn’t. You also told him about the crazy theater actor roommate you’d had when you first moved into the city to study fashion at NYU, and how her frightening antics had eventually pushed you into accepting your uncle’s offer to pay for your own apartment in the city, as he was single and childless and had always delighted in spoiling you and your brother. You told him about your only two cousins on your dad’s side, two siblings bracketing you and your brother in age, and how the four of you were more like siblings than cousins. You told a slightly off-color joke at your own expense that most of your friends and coworkers would never laugh at, but it left Mat breathless, throwing his head back with boyish giggles flowing from his mouth like your favorite song. This caught you off-guard — you couldn’t believe he actually seemed to think you were funny. The last one certainly never did.

At some point, the conversation shifted to music. Mat’s jaw dropped when you told him that you own every James Taylor album on vinyl, after he told you that that’s one of his favorite artists of all time. He said he’s never met anyone who has as many James Taylor records as you. You simply shrugged. You explained that you and your mom have seen every tour James Taylor has been on since you were eleven and had started playing guitar. Mat’s eyes went wide — he told you that he dabbles in guitar, too.

After this, you quieted a bit. He noticed. It comes off to him as shyness, but you know what it really is. It’s fear. All at once you realize just how far you’ve let your guard down with this stranger. You’ve only just met this person, yet you have more in common with him than anyone you’ve encountered since moving into the city.

He sensed that something was off, so, in the silence, he reached a hand across the table and took yours in his grasp, stroking the back of it with his thumb. You looked into his mesmerizing eyes, and your hesitance melted.

After several more minutes of easy conversation, you check the time. You need to be at work in ten minutes.

“I’m sorry to be the one to break this up this time,” you started, and Mat sat back, looking understanding though disappointed. “But I’ve gotta get to work. Thankfully, it’s just right down the street.”

“Let me walk you,” Mat quickly insisted. You smirked at him, digging in your purse to find your office key.

“Didn’t you drive here?” you asked, chuckling. He simply shrugged. “Yeah, but if pretty Hayden works just down the street, I might as well walk her to the office and spend a few extra minutes with her,” he told you with a smug grin. You felt your cheeks get hot.

“Sounds good to me,” you admitted quietly. Mat nodded, then rose from his chair, reaching for his wallet to leave another tip.

“Thank you,” you said, putting your hand on his forearm tenderly. “For the coffee. For this.”

He smiled down at you. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

The two of you walked out the cafe door, which Mat pushed open even from behind you. You pointed in the direction of your office building and the two of you fell into step, side by side. Your heart leapt when Mat reaches for your hand. It felt unbelievably natural — which terrified you.

Your recent relationship history flashed through your brain all at once, like a film reel. Your brain screamed, “Slow down!” while your heart whispered, “Relax.” You weren’t sure which to believe. You opened your mouth to bring him up, to give a fair warning, to tell Mat that you might not be ready for... whatever this was.

Then, he started to talk about the movies that his family watches every single Christmas. You weren’t at all sure what had brought that subject to his mind — maybe your earlier questions about his younger sister back in Coquitlam — but you’re grateful for the diversion from your own messy mind. You decided to engage him on that topic instead, rather than bring up your last boyfriend who’d shattered you then walked away.

And for the first time in eight months, you decided to leave what’s past, in the past.

Like a pinball machine, Mat had already bounced to yet another new topic — his practice later this morning. As he finished a story about pranking Tito in the locker room after a skate last week, you bubbled over with giggles. He watched you with admiration and wonder coursing through his entire being. You eventually observed how he was gazing at you, and you sensed that he had something more important to say than his joke on his teammate.

“Hey, so, uh,” Mat started, clearing his throat. Your suspicion had been correct. “What are you doing tomorrow night, after work? We have a home game tomorrow at 7:30 and I, uh, I wanted to see if maybe... you wanted to go? I requested a ticket for you... just in case you want it. If you do... I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner after?”

The sentences Mat spoke seemed to be rolled into one giant question mark. His unwavering self-assurance had seemed to falter slightly for the first time since you’d met him, surprising you. You only needed a moment to consider your answer.

“I’d love to come watch you play,” you told him, wrapping your hands around his upper arm affectionately. You watched him exhale, a smile slowly overtaking his face.

“Thank God,” Mat breathed, making you both burst into hysterics as he leaned his head down to touch yours for a moment.

Bewilderment overcame you as you realized that you hadn’t felt this way about anyone in... you couldn’t even remember how long. You’d thought it might never happen again. That for you, this feeling might just be... gone.

You couldn’t believe that on a Wednesday, in a cafe, you’d watched it begin again.

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 13)

(gif by me! I use the iphone app momento)

tw: language, angst, mentions of drug use (relapse), mentions of miscarriage

word count: 7.3k (im sorry)

masterlist

series masterlist

Spencer got up from the cold tile floor, fuzzy unicorn in hand, and faced the window above the kitchen sink. He stared out of it, admiring the snow that was still falling lightly, wondering if it was raining in Seattle. His memory flashed to the last time he stood in the rain with you, but he tried to shake the images away. Instead he watched the snowflakes hit his windowpanes and melt. He hoped that maybe you were somewhere staring out of a window, admiring the dreary weather, and thinking of him too.

He found his place against the dishwasher again, sliding down as his mismatched socks gave way so he could stretch his long legs out fully. He pulled the nearly empty box onto his lap and appreciated the light weight of it, as he continued with his twelfth letter and thirteenth item. Thirteen, a number whose history of unluckiness stems all the way back to the thirteen attendees of the Last Supper, and tracks through the number of steps leading up to the gallows, all the way to the number of letters in the names of some of the most infamous criminals.

Thirteen was a haunted number, which rightly accompanied a haunting letter.

“This one’s long. It’s a month of tarnished memories packed into a few pieces of paper. So far I’ve gone through half of a college-ruled one subject notebook and I’ve had to change pens twice. It’s nearing 2:30, and the wine is finally hitting my empty stomach. Sorry in advance for the way my handwriting will be. I’ll try to make this make as much sense as I can.

If you look at your thirteenth item it is the notepad I stole from that resort in Florida. There isn’t much around to signify this letter. You don’t keep mementos from one of the saddest days of your life, but for some reason I took this useless paper and shoved it in my purse on my way out. Good thing I did, or you’d have no item to attach to these memories. Though I suppose that might be better.

The resort was where we were going to be at for our ‘babymoon,’ whatever that is. What a dumb idea, I’m still mad at myself for letting Garcia talk us into one. She just made it sound so appealing.

Once everyone knew I was pregnant, Hotch pretty much sat me in Quantico with Penelope. There were a few local cases where I was lucky enough to go visit the ME’s office, but usually I kicked my feet up in her lair while you were out in the field.

“A what?” I said one day as she ran DNA through CODIS. The two of us were drinking herbal tea, and I was barely 16 weeks. I just looked like I had a big lunch in my stomach, not a baby the size of an avocado.

“A babymoon. It’s like a honeymoon, but you go when you’re pregnant. It’s one last trip for mommy and daddy to go on and spend quality time together. How many trips have you and Dad-Wonder even been on?”

I shrugged. We didn’t travel much for pleasure. We traveled for work, so on our rare days off we liked to be at home.

“I mean we’ve gone to Vegas and Connecticut a few times.”

She rolled her eyes, “Visiting family, my dear, is not a vacation! I was thinking you two would go to the beach. You guys relax and wade in the ocean and Spencer can build sandcastles that defy every law of physics!”

I laughed at that. You and the beach? It just didn’t feel natural to me. Probably because you aren’t capable of actually relaxing.

“That does sound fun,” I said and I spoke to my barely there stomach, “And it would make daddy take a few days off.”

Penelope squealed and started clicking at her computer, “I’ll find a resort online right now! Okay so how about Marco Island? It’s gorgeous and in Florida, so it’ll be like eighty and sunny, even in the beginning of December.”

“I’ll have to talk to Spence about it. I mean I know it would be fun and all but we really should be saving money for a crib, and car seat, and bassinet, and high chair, and a rocking chair, and a baby swing, and a—“

Garcia stopped me from spiraling out of control, “That is why you throw a huge baby shower! People buy those things for you.”

I rubbed my tummy again, “Oh no, Daddy is very particular about what things are bought.”

“That’s why you have a registry, Momma Bear. Now, no more excuses.”

Before I could even call you, she had put in both of our requests for days off and we had a week long reservation at this fancy resort that you see listed at the top of this notepad, the “Crystal Cove”.

I was only slightly mortified that she did all this without me asking you. Mostly, I was happy. I was afraid you wouldn’t say yes, but if PG already booked it, you kind of had to agree. And to my surprise, you did.

When you got back from that case we were at home, you eating something I had poorly made from a random cookbook on a shelf. I had decided to start cooking more, so I could make homemade meals. I wanted to be that mom who cuts sandwiches into flower shapes and always has fresh baked bread and cookies laying around. I wanted us to be those parents; the ones who are so sickeningly in love that their kids roll their eyes every time they kiss. We were those parents, kind of, if we could even be considered ‘parents.’ At that point, I don’t think we were. But we were definitely in tooth-rotting, sickeningly sweet love.

“So, I have a surprise for you,” I said, coming up behind you and rustling your hair.

“Hm?” You said, stuffing your face like you hadn’t eaten in days. You probably hadn’t. You’re the king of forgetting to eat. Maybe that’s how you stay so skinny.

“I booked a trip, well I guess technically Garcia did.”

“A trip?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, a trip, to the beach. Penelope called it a ‘babymoon.’”

You laughed, “A babymoon? I’m not familiar."

I smiled and sat across from you, “It’s like a honeymoon, except it's just me and you relaxing and spending quality time together before this lil dude makes his appearance.”

You smiled, “I’m telling you, it’s a girl.”

I rolled my eyes, “It’s definitely a boy, but stop ignoring my offer.”

“Well, it’s not really an offer so much as it is you telling me that we’re doing this.”

“Okay, yes Garcia helped me book it already, and yes she put in our requests for days off, but you can say no.”

You did your little nose twitch scrunch thing, “I’d never say no to quality time with you, Love.”

You leaned over and kissed me, and I squealed, “I’m so excited! I have to buy maternity bathing suits now! Oh and a sunhat!””

Spencer smiled fondly, recounting that day. He was thrilled to go, minus the part where he’d have to wear shorts, and flip flops. Something about the piece that goes between your toes makes him squeamish. He was looking for the right opportunity to use something special he had bought for you, and you had just given him it. A week on a beautiful beach with the love of his life? That would be the perfect time to ask you what he had been waiting to ask you since JJ’s wedding. He was going to take Hotch’s advice; stop waiting, start doing, and get down on one knee with a blue velvet box.

He never got the chance to. The trip was supposed to be in the beginning of December, around your week twenty-four. You never got that far.

He got up from the ground, immediately digging around in a drawer full of pencils and compasses and rulers, finding the blue box in a corner. It was covered in pencil shavings and dust. He hadn’t looked at it in months. He held it delicately in his hands before opening it.

It was plain, but he remembered you said that was what you wanted.

“Oval, of course and silver,” You had explained to Penelope and JJ at a night out years ago. Derek and Spencer sat on the opposite side of the table, but his ears perked up at the mention of rings.

“I like just the band,” JJ said, admiring her own ring, “And I have Henry’s birthstone, the citrine, so I didn’t need another one.”

“What kind of stone Y/N? I’d love a pink diamond! Or a ruby! Imagine!” Penelope gushed.

You shook your head, “I’d take cubic zirconia, if it was coming from the right guy.”

Both Penelope and JJ stuck their tongues out, “Nuh-uh!” Garcia said, grabbing her phone to scroll through more pinterest photos.

“Spence will be getting you a diamond.”

You rolled your eyes and whispered, “Don’t jinx it JJ! And I don’t want a diamond.”

Her mouth dropped, “No diamond? Really.”

“Diamonds aren’t ethically sourced.”

“Lab grown! Get lab grown!” PG piped it, showing you a picture of a ring, just an oval in a plain silver setting.

“That! That’s the one!” You said and Garcia giggled, going on a rant about her dream wedding.

Spencer had gotten that exact ring. Lab grown, oval, classic, beautiful. It was what you wanted, and you deserved everything you ever wanted.

Spencer looked at the notepad. He could tell you had a hard time picking an item for this letter. He knows this letter is the end, the other two are the epilogue of a story he wishes you kept writing. Crystal Cove is the place where he had planned on asking you to marry him, but it ended up being the place where your love story ended. He tossed the notebook to the side and decided that the souvenir for this letter was now going to be this ring. This ring that sparkled and shined, even in the dull incandescent lights of his kitchen. This ring that belonged on your finger, and not in the back of a drawer. This ring that you didn’t even know existed, but if you had, maybe you’d still be together.

“I did buy three maternity bathing suits, and you bought shorts. Spencer Reid in shorts. It was going to be the best trip ever. We were going to snorkel and look at sea turtles and sunbathe and drink virgin piña coladas by the ocean. We were going to get couples massages and spend every moment loving and appreciating each other.

The actual trip? Much different than the one we had planned on paper, but let’s first discuss that time between the hospital and the trip.

It was four weeks. Four weeks of me sitting at home while you were off at work. Four weeks of the door opening and Derek walking through, not you. And on the odd chance that it was you opening the door, you’d be appearing at odd hours of the night to grab a new suit or a file or a snack and then getting back in your shitty car and going to your apartment. Each time I heard that comforting sound of your satchel hitting the floor, I’d crawl out of the cave of blankets I was in to find you, and you’d act like I wasn’t even there.

For the first few days, you asked me how I was and if I was feeling better, then you’d check your phone and wave goodbye. After that, I was lucky if you’d say hello, then I was lucky if I even got a glimpse of you. You never held me. You never kissed me. You never told me you loved me.

I got all my information about you from Derek. Every day I texted you, “Have a good day at work! Talk soon?” And everyday you didn’t answer, so I’d ask Derek if you were okay. He’d always tell me what you were doing. Usually you would take a stack of files of cases to a dark room and make preliminary profiles to send back to the departments, alone. I’d tell him thank you, and the next day would be the same nonsense.

Those four weeks dragged. It was like every minute was an hour and everyday was a year. I was healing, even without you, everyday I felt better and better. But that’s relative to the day before. I haven’t felt ‘good’ yet. I haven’t felt ‘happiness’ yet. But I will. And I’m counting on that.

My mandatory leave was four weeks, and at the end of that Hotch called me in for a ‘mandatory psychological evaluation.’ I didn’t tell you about it because you weren’t speaking to me, and even when you did you were angry and snappy and rude.

I didn’t pass the evaluation. Even though the BAU wrote those damn questions, I still didn’t pass. When my four weeks were up, you were expecting me at work, and I never showed. You didn’t notice how not okay I was because you were too busy handling your own feelings, which I understand. You have to take care of yourself first, deal with your own trauma before touching anyone else’s. So, your trauma was none of my business, a concept you should've applied to my healing process.

I was supposed to come back on a Monday and when I didn’t show you came to the house. You opened the door and yelled my name. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in weeks, and it felt good. I thought you had finally come home. I thought you were finally ready to heal with me, but you weren’t. You were there to judge me.

I think I ran to where you were, a smile on my face that I didn’t think I was capable of making, “Hey!”

You looked so put together in a neatly pressed suit, but your eyes exposed you. They were bloodshot and the bags were so large they almost reached the end of your nose. I had on one of your shirts; it was comforting at the time. Not so much anymore.

You looked me up and down, a small scowl forming on your face, “Where were you today?”

I took a deep breath, and I lied, because lying to you felt easier than telling you the truth. The truth that I was not deemed stable enough to come back, even though I wanted to. I needed to be distracted. I was ashamed, scared, confused.

“I-I didn’t go.”

“Didn’t go? You’ll get fired Y/N.”

I sighed, “No, my leave got extended.”

I could feel the way your eyes bore into my skull as I dodged eye contact.

“Extended?! It’s been four weeks.”

“I’m not ready!” I desperately wanted you to see through it. I thought I was ready, but the papers disagreed.

“Hotch let you do that?” Your voice was increasing and I found myself inching away from you.

“He encouraged it!” Another lie. He didn’t ‘encourage’ it. He forced me.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag and opening the door again.

“You’re leaving? Spencer c’mon I-”

You cut me off by slamming that door in my face.

That’s when I started closing myself off. I started dreading the sound of your feet against the floor at three am. I started to put my own walls up, but they would dull in comparison to the Great Wall of Spencer you built around yourself to keep me out.”

Spencer was always good at putting walls up. In fact, you were the only person to ever get him to take (almost) all of them down. There’s a side of him he doesn’t show anyone, a side of him that he reserves for himself, and when something happens, that’s where he goes. He goes to the corner of his brain where he feels safe, and the walls come up to protect him.

And in those last four weeks, he did just that. He put the walls up, shut you out, and decided that was better. Except it wasn’t better, it just was easier. It was easier for him to bypass you and find a new outfit for work tomorrow. It was easier for him to disappear in the office until the odd hours of the morning. It was easier for him to hide away from you, because when he’s exposed he always gets hurt. It was easier to act like everything was fine, even though everything was the opposite of fine.

He never needed to go to the house, part of him was drawn there like a moth to a lantern. He was drawn to you. As much as he didn’t want to see those four walls, he still needed to check on you. He just did it in his own damaged way. He’d get a glimpse of you in old sweats and a shirt with a hole in it, hair a mess and mascara from two weeks ago adding to your eye bags and he’d be reminded that he couldn’t be there for you. He would never be enough, and he’d retreat into the comfort of solitude.

He was so preoccupied with being hurt, that he didn’t realize just how much he hurt you too.

“I had forgotten about the stupid trip, and so had you. You were too preoccupied with work and not speaking to me and I was preoccupied with crying and trying to speak to you. I only remembered the trip when I got an email from the airline about the flight, they had to move our seats or something stupid. I decided that was a reason for you to actually need to speak to me like I was a person, so I took advantage of it.

I intercepted you at home one day. I had been sitting in the kitchen waiting for you. You came home at two am.

“Hey,” I said, immediately as you walked through the door. You looked surprised that I was up.

“Hi, I’m just gonna—“

“Spencer, stop. We have to talk.”

You crossed your arms, not leaving the threshold of the door, “No. I told you a million times Y/N, I don’t want to talk.”

“Not about...” I couldn’t find the words and you started up the stairs.

“Are we going on this damn trip or not?” I said, my voice cracking from lack of use.

You stopped, looking over the banister at me, “You didn’t cancel it?”

“I didn’t think of it until now. We’re supposed to leave in two days.”

You groaned, “Why didn’t you cancel it?”

I threw my hands up. As if all of this was my responsibility?

“I was preoccupied! Did you cancel your days off?”

You shook your head, rubbing your face, “No, God. Can we still get a refund?”

I was hurt that you didn’t want to go, but not surprised. As I stared at the front door from my spot at the kitchen table I decided that I was going to go no matter what. It was going to be refreshing to look at the ocean instead of an empty nursery. That would be my distraction.

“I-I’m going. I’ll pay for your half, but I’m going. I’m losing my mind here, Spence.”

You looked at me again, still contemplating your options.

“I get it, okay? You can’t be in this house, but neither can I. Maybe we can talk and stuff on neutral ground. I-I just want you there with me, the way it was supposed to be.”

Then you took me by surprise, you nodded, “Yeah, yeah we’ll go.”

I’m sure I lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, “Really?”

You rubbed your eyes, “Yeah, we can go Y/N.”

I was feeling lucky, so I pushed it, too hard, “Are you staying tonight?”

Your voice went from sleepy to sour, “No.”

And you vanished up the stairs, taking all my hope in us with you.

I knew deep down it wouldn’t end well. I knew it was going to be fighting and yelling and arguing, but any time with you was good time with you at that point. And I favored the little bit of serotonin and dopamine you flood my brain with as opposed to staring at the gray walls of the kitchen alone.”

Spencer only agreed to go because he thought he was getting there. Everyday he felt a little better when he’d walk through the door, but he still wasn’t ready. He thought a week of no work and no one to talk to except you would bring the walls down. This would finally be the catalyst in a reaction that was taking far too long to complete. He also couldn’t stand the thought of you flying and spending a week alone. He felt better about you being alone here because you weren’t really alone. You had Derek visiting, Garcia dropping off baskets, phone calls from Emily, the odd visit from Rossi, and apparently phone calls to Hotch, but on that island you’d really be alone, and he was worried about how you’d handle it.

“So two days later we got on a three hour flight to Miami, and I drove our rental car to this resort. We didn’t talk much the whole time, besides some small talk about the flight and other odd comments. It was painfully awkward, and I regretted even coming.

We didn’t speak until I used the keycard to open the door, and we stared at the one king sized bed in the room.

“Oh,” was all you said when you realized you’d have to share with me.

“What?”

“There’s only one bed.”

I rolled my eyes, “Spencer, we’ve shared a bed for three years.”

You just stood at the door with your hands fidgeting on the handle of the suitcase, “I’ll call down and ask for a cot to be brought up.”

“A cot? Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe you, “Why come if you wouldn’t even share a bed with me? I said I’d be fine alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but changed your mind.

“Great communication skills Spence. Really, I’m impressed.” You rolled your eyes and finally started to unpack your bag, “I came because I was worried about what you’d do here all alone.”

Part of me was happy you were worried, but a bigger part was annoyed, “I’ve been handling being alone fine, thanks.”

You scoffed, “Yeah. That’s why you need Derek to bring you food everyday, because you’re doing so well.”

I bit my tongue and tried to speak calmly, “Well at least someone checks on me everyday.”

That shut you right up.

The three days you were there went as follows: we slept as far apart from each other as we could, despite how badly I wanted to cuddle into your arms. We’d get up in silence, eat breakfast in silence, walk to the beach and read in silence, eat lunch and dinner in silence, and each night we’d yell at each other until we fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

Remember what I said to trigger the fight on December third, your last day there? How could you forget? It’s the fight that broke us up.

“So, I was thinking of going to a counselor,” I said, staring at the waves lap the sand from the balcony of our room. The air felt cold for eighty degrees. But maybe that was just because the air between me and you had been cold for weeks.

You were sitting next to me, but I could tell you were worlds away.

“Spence,” I nudged, trying to snap you out of your daydream.

“Hm? What?”

“I said I’m going to go to a counselor.”

You twisted your face, “A counselor? What for?”

I shrugged, “I-I think it’d be good for me. It’s a grief counselor.”

You turned to look at me, your brow covered in sweat and your eyes watery. You were incessantly bouncing your left leg, rubbing at your nose, and you seemed disinterested in every single thing I was saying or doing. In fact, you’d been acting that way since the first day you disappeared to your apartment.

“Counselor? Yeah,” You were fidgeting, barely making eye contact.

A feeling I can only describe as pure dread formed in my stomach. I thought I might puke, but I swallowed the feeling and kept talking, “I got a recommendation from Hotch. He said he went to Dr. Stevens after Haley died. He said it really helped.”

You were still not listening.

“I think it’d be good if we went together.”

That finally got your undivided attention. “Together?” You snapped, “No.”

“Why not?” I said it with an air of exhaustion and despair. I was tired of this. So fucking tired of it.

“I’m not going to a damn therapist, Y/N,” You seethed, your metal deck chair scraping against the concrete as you stood in front of me.

The sky looked stormy, palm trees whipping in the wind as you came before me. The bags under your eyes looked like bruises, and you had on sleeves. It was eighty and you had on sleeves.

“Okay, I’ll go alone then. I think he could really help us though.”

I was giving up on fighting. I didn’t understand how when I was at my absolute low you could just keep kicking me while I was down. All I wanted was for you to go to someone and talk about it. That’s it. You were acting like I’d asked you to move a mountain for me, which, might I add, at one point you would have done.

“He? You really think a male therapist is going to help? You lost a baby, Y/N—“

“WE,” I clarified, for what felt like the fiftieth time, “We lost a baby.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored me, “You lost a baby. How does a male therapist help you through that?”

I was angry now. It was bubbling up to the top and I thought I might explode.

“He’s a grief counselor! He’ll help me through my GRIEF! And I think you should go because clearly you have a lot going on. You always have! You should’ve been seeing someone for years.”

“Oh, I have a lot going on?” You sneered, “Of course I have a lot going on! I go to work everyday to bring you home a paycheck so you can sit around all day and do nothing.”

I stood up, got close to your face, “I’m on leave.”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

You bypassed me and went inside, and my hot anger turned into wet anger and fat tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Do you know how traumatic this was on my body? Do you? Everything hurts and you were supposed to be there! You were supposed to take four weeks off too! You were supposed to be there for me!”

“Yeah and who’s there for me!” You yelled, louder than I think you ever had; at me at least. You had thrown your suitcase on the bed, haphazardly grabbing your clothes from the drawers and shoving them in.

“I would’ve been,” I said softly, coming up behind you to grab your arm lightly, “If you had let me.”

You pulled back, “Don’t touch me!”

I reached up to wipe my eyes and crossed my arms in front of myself defensively, “I want to be there for you, Spencer. I do. Why won’t you let me?”

You didn’t answer, because even you didn’t know why. You just stood over the suitcase, one arm on either side of it, hair matted to your sweaty face, panting and panting.

The facts I had chosen to ignore were staring me in the face again. Or maybe I was just that oblivious.

“I’ve never seen you like this. This isn’t you, Love,” I tried to say in my most soothing voice. The dread had clawed its way back up to the back of my throat.

“Or maybe this is me,” you said softly, and I swear you were crying. Or maybe I hoped you were, that way we were both sobbing. That’s as close to togetherness as we could get.

“Maybe this is who I am now, or who I’ve been all along.”

I reached out for you again, but stopped myself, “No, Spencer. The real you isn’t this angry, and bitter, and mean.”

You slammed your hands against the bed, “Yes it is!”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” I said sadly, shaky breaths between words, “Is that what you’ve been going to your apartment and doing?”

You turned around, skin sweaty and eyes red, “What? What are you talking about now? God, do you ever stop talking?”

I snapped, ignoring your last jab there, “Are you using?”

Your face contorted into a sour expression, “Am I using?”

“Yeah, Spencer! Are you? Because I can’t see any other reason for why you’re so irritable and sweaty and out of it! So I’ll ask you again, are you going through withdrawal?”

You looked like I had literally punched you in the gut, and I kind of had. It was a low blow, I’ll admit it, but I was seriously worried about you. If an event would trigger you, this would’ve been it.

“What? No!”

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should believe you, but I knew I had to support you either way. I love you, even when you’re angry at me, I still love you. Even when you throw clothes and seethe at me through gritted teeth, I still love you. That’s my fatal flaw. No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, lower lip pinched between his teeth. Was he really that terrible? He didn’t remember being so spiteful. Reading it back, he understood why you thought he was high, and he had thought about it more than he cared to admit. But he hadn’t touched the stuff in seven years, and he wasn’t about to start again now.

‘No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.’

That line made him want to cry, hands clenching the ring box as if it were a stress ball. That line simultaneously felt like a stab in the gut and a breath of fresh air. He had given you so many reasons to walk away, and the one reason to stay was there in his palm, unused.

““It’s okay if you are. I understand this is a... hard time. I’ll support you through this,” I put my hands out to touch your chest.

“I’m not high and haven’t been in years!” You swatted my hands down.

“Then what the hell is going on!?”

“I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m heartbroken!” You yelled, going back out onto the balcony to stand in the rain that had started pouring down in sheets.

“Spencer! Stop!” I followed you out, tears mixing with rain to the point that I didn’t know which was which.

“I’m just confused! It’s hard to see the point in all this anymore. Maybe it’s just not worth it,” You said, yelling at the ocean not at me. Rain soaked our clothes instantly. Part of me was hoping this scene would end like the ‘notebook’ we’d kiss and you’d spin me around. I guess this is kind of like the notebook, it’s a story to help you remember us. Except you don’t have Alzheimer’s and I wrote 15 letters, not 365.

“Maybe what’s not worth it?” I was yelling too, just so you could hear me over the sound of the wind and the rain.

“This!” You gestured between us. I felt like you knocked the air out of me, my whole body stinging.

“But I love you!”

“All of this has made me realize that love isn’t everything! I love you too but we need more than that!”

That was the first time I’d heard you say ‘I love you’ in a month, but it was a double edged sword. I bit my lip so hard I think I started bleeding, “Love isn’t enough? Are you kidding me, Spencer?”

You swallowed thickly, “No! I’m not kidding. I’ve never been more serious!”

“So what? That’s it?” I said it quietly, but I wanted to scream at you. I wanted to scream that you were being an idiot. You were being ridiculous. You were being unnecessarily cruel. But I didn’t. I was tired and water logged. I had finally given up.

You ran your hands through your hair, “No–it’s–we we aren’t over Y/N. I’m just saying that it’s gonna take more than love to fix us.”

“Well maybe if you were ever home, we could actually try. But you aren’t. You’re always gone! So explain to me how we’re going to fix this. What’s it gonna take Spencer? What do you want from me?”

You took a deep breath, uttering words I was so sick of hearing, “We need space and time.”

“Space? Time? It’s been a month Spencer! I let you go to work. I let you spend every day at your damn apartment. I stopped calling. I stopped checking in. How much more space and time do you want?”

“Thirty-four days,” you mumbled, just so I could barely hear. The thunder rolled, mostly drowning it out.

“What was that?”

“It’s been THIRTY-FOUR days, Y/N. Thirty-four. I don’t know how you expect me to be okay after only thirty-four days.”

“I don’t expect you to be fine! I expect you to speak to me! To look at me! I want to go to bed crying and have you there next to me. I want to be there for you when you’re crying. The only way we get better is if we do this TOGETHER!”

The anger looked like it melted off of you, and I took that as my opportunity to approach. I threw my arms around your soaked body as you shook with sobs into my shoulder. I held you like my life depended on it, because in a way it did. You wrapped your arms around me too, and everything felt okay. We were standing in the pouring rain, holding each other as we cried, and somehow I felt more okay than I had in the thirty-four days prior. It felt like maybe you were coming back to me.

You weren’t.

We stood like that for what felt like hours, and eventually I pulled you inside. I wish I didn’t. I wish we stayed there, holding each other in the rain until the sun came up and dried us off. I foolishly thought the rain washed our sins away.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, my head on your shoulder as we wrapped ourselves in towels, “I promise.”

You shrugged me off of you, going back to packing your bag.

“Spencer, stop packing, please,” I begged, grabbing the items you were putting in and taking them back out.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said plainly, taking a shirt and putting it back in.

“I-I thought—“

“Thought what, Y/N? That because I cried to you and told you I loved you that we were magically okay?”

I stammered, “No. No! But I thought it meant we were in this together now.”

“You just accused me of relapsing an hour ago.”

“And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but that’s not a reason you should go,” I pleaded, reaching for you again. I thought if you walked away I’d never see you again.

“You don’t trust me,” your voice cracked.

“No, Love, I—“

“Don’t call me that.”

The pain in my chest bloomed, sending a wave of heartache through my entire body. A heartache I still haven’t been able to shake. It’s still there. Some days it's a thunder crack and sometimes it's a low grumble, but it’s always there. The rain hasn't stopped.

I hadn’t even realized that you were completely packed until you zipped the suitcase shut.

“You’re really leaving?”

You stopped at the door, hand on the handle, to turn and face me. I didn’t need to use my profiling skills to see how much pain you were in, and my pain doubled at the sight. I’ve always been an empath when it comes to you, feeling what you feel like it’s my own.

“I am.”

I crossed the room and threw my arms around you, sobbing into your chest. To my surprise, you wrapped your arms around me lightly.

“I understand,” I said, looking into your eyes, “We can’t be there for each other the way we need to.”

You nodded into my shoulder, “Stay. When you get home from this we’ll talk. I just need a few more days.”

I shook my head, finally coming to the realization that we didn’t work anymore. We weren’t healthy anymore.

“Don’t bother. The writing’s on the wall, Spence,” my voice wavered, and I regretted every word as they left my mouth, “I’ve been waiting for that person from the hospital to come home to me. I’ve been waiting for the Spencer who lends me his shirts and fact dumps and eats IHOP and ice cream with me to come home.”

I felt your breath stop under my arms, “But that Spencer, the Spencer I love, isn’t here anymore. We need to be alone.”

I felt you shake with tears under me, and that triggered mine, “We have to break up.”

I wish I never said it. I wish I gave you those few days, but we both know those few days would’ve turned into weeks and months and we would’ve ended up here anyway. I wish you didn’t let me say them. I wish you kissed me to shut me up and told me I was being stupid. I wish I didn’t watch you go down that elevator, tears on your cheeks. I wish I didn’t spend the other four days in an empty king sized bed, crying for you.

I realize now that you changed. I did too. Instead of wishing for the old you, I should’ve learned to love the new you. I think I would’ve, if I had given it a chance. Actually, I know I would’ve. I think I’d fall in love with every version of you that could ever exist or has ever existed. You and I, we’re meant to be together.

I know you probably don’t believe in it, but I like to think that we’re twin flames; we’re two halves of one soul that somehow ended up in two bodies and constantly pull to find each other again. I’ve read a lot about them recently. Twin flames don’t necessarily end up together. They can even just be two people with an intense friendship. They’re people who help each other grow, even if that means they’re only in your life for a short time. I like to think that we are that case, and that in some parallel universe I’m with you and we have our daughter and we’re happy. I just wish that I was in that universe now.

I know it’s for the best that we went to the damn Crystal Cove and broke up. I’m sure someday in the future I’ll be pleased with that decision, but for now, I still regret it.”

Spencer stared at the notepad, eyes flicking between that in his left hand and the ring box in his right. He took the ring out and admired it in the light. It glinted and glimmered, delicately refracting light onto the cabinets. He slid it halfway down his ring finger because that’s as far as it would go. He imagined it was on your slender, perfectly manicured hand instead of his, but an ache formed where his heart was when he realized it’d never end up here.

Spencer grabbed the notebook. It was unlined and the paper felt flimsy and thin. He got up from the floor to find a pencil in the drawer the ring had been hidden in, and took it out to scrawl his own letter to go with his own memento. A sixteenth letter for a sixteenth item you had no idea even existed.

“Y/N,

I’d like to consider this letter sixteen, to go with the engagement ring that’s in my palm. I bought this ring the day after we ate dinner at Rossi’s and showed everyone tiny FBI onesies. I have your perfect ring here in my hand, a plain silver band with a lab-grown diamond in a four-prong setting in the center, just like you told Garcia you wanted. I should’ve given it to you the day I bought it, but I waited until the perfect opportunity presented itself.

What you didn’t know about the trip to the Crystal Cove was that I was going to propose to you there. I was going to get down on one knee in the sand at sunset after dinner. I even had a whole speech planned. I was going to tell you that I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you, or that anyone would ever love me the way that you do. I was going to say that it amazes me how everyday, I wake up and love you more than I did the night before. And everyday I think it’s be impossible to love you and our daughter more than I do right now. I wanted to tell you that I want to wake up every morning and feel that for the rest of my life. I want the good, the bad, the ugly, I want it all. I want Korean film festivals and IHOP breakfasts and to talk to the moon. I want tubs of ice cream and overly sentimental flowers hanging from the wall. Most of all I wanted to say that I want to spend every day of my life making you happy.

That speech still applies today. I still love you enough to ask you, but I don’t think you love me enough to say yes.

It’s okay. It really is. I haven’t decided what to do yet, but if you do read this, just know that it’s okay. I promise you, it’s okay. I’m not the bitter, angry man I was at the Crystal Cove anymore. I changed again, and I hope you’re right. I hope we are twin flames and your soul will come looking for mine, and I hope it happens in this universe, not the infinite parallels that may or may not exist. I miss you and I want nothing more than for you to come back. Come home, Love, please come home.

-SR”

He stared at the notebook page, before tearing it off and folding it in half, placing it in his pocket for safekeeping. He went on his computer and bought the cheapest one-way ticket to Seattle that he could find. He needed to see you. He needed you to see this letter, see this ring. He needed to make this right.

The flight was a red eye, leaving at midnight, so he’d get to the Seattle field office by eight. He looked at the leather watch and saw that it was nearly nine. He decided had to finish, and he had to finish now, as he grabbed letter #14.

PART 14

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Taglist!

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #cm #matthew gray gubler #mgg #dr spencer reid

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gunkreads · 3 years

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I finished A Wizard of Earthsea last night, which is a book that’s been... kind of on my list? for quite a while now. I’d heard of the books, as any semi-researched fantasy reader has, but I never really got around to trying them. They always sat in the same realm as the Shannara books, where I knew they were genre-shaping fantasy to some extent, but i was afraid they wouldn’t be my speed. I still wouldn’t say it’s DIRECTLY up my alley, but i would definitely post it in the “wow i get why people love this” column.

I’m a sucker for name-based magic--I think it’s a wonderful catch-all way to have your wizards be able to magick themselves along their adventures--and LeGuin, I think, treads the perfect line of exposition on that front. You don’t know enough about naming magic that you can see the cracks in it (and neither do the characters), but you absolutely know enough that when something new comes up, it feels right.

For a 3rd-person quasi-omniscient perspective (I don’t know what it’s called specifically, but that narrative style where the narrator is omniscient, but chooses not to comment on everything), the characters are remarkably well-developed in terms of their feel. I’ve found that less in-the-mix narration tends to lose some character quality, but this book really didn’t to me; I felt like every character was speaking to the narrator personally, and they all rounded out pretty solidly. There’s also a great amount of faith placed in the reader to round out the characters themselves, which is probably a contentious choice for many people. There’s a very fine line where this is conveyed properly, and that line is in a different spot for everyone. Some people prefer a bit more direct fleshing-out of characters and some prefer a more indirect approach, but luckily LeGuin’s choices lined right up with my personal preference.

The world is also just. It’s interesting. I found myself WANTING to read about how this little bumfuck town operated and HOW they ended up out here. Unfortunately, almost everything you see in this first book is a little fishing village or major fishing town, but even still, there’s the right amount of variation and twist to each place that I could distinguish between two ports. As an island boy myself, I really liked the base premise of a world that operates alongside the ocean, with survival being impossible if you don’t accept the ocean to some extent. The Ninety Isles sound like heaven. Minus the dragons, of course.

Reading the afterword in my specific edition, it’s very interesting how LeGuin basically says “I could’ve done better, but the times were the times”. She discusses how at the time, it was actually DIFFICULT for her to get cover art of Ged being copper-skinned, because Fantasy Men Are White. I don’t know much about the history of fantasy as a genre, and really i’m pretty new to it because i’m fairly selective about what kinds of stories i like, but I was unsurprised by LeGuin’s explanation of how so many “official” depictions of Ged were “lily-white”, to use her words. Personally, I never really assign actual physical features to characters in books--they’re more a collection of ideas than a tangible shape--so it doesn’t come up often, but when I was trying to picture scenes from this book I found myself putting in a little bit of extra effort to remind myself Ged was brown, so I understand the challenge she faced with that. She also laments her lack of women with agency, which I also understand, but her justification is that she needed a certain degree of conventionality to sell the book in the first place. Can’t really fault her for that, I think, in 1967. Having a dark-skinned protagonist and his black best friend was probably a bit of a challenge in itself, and there are only so many bars you can raise at a time before a publisher starts to mitigate risk.

I know this reads like a review, but I’m not qualified for that sort of thing. I can say that if you followed me for Wheel of Time and you haven’t checked out Earthsea, you absolutely should. It’s not what I’d call a similar story or world, but it has this kind of ethereal high-fantasy vibe that I find so appealing. Imagine Lord of the Rings without the pedantry in terms of tone.

And best for last: I want to just note LeGuin’s take on conflict. There’s no war, no militarism, no major good-vs-evil struggle in this book. It’s about a man (boy by modern standards) going out to right a wrong and finish what he started. This was FANTASTIC because it allows the story to be a proper adventure without losing any stakes. Here’s the premise, spoiler free: Ged has to chase down his shadow to keep it from hurting the world, but he’s scared to because if he loses the shadow will take him and be able to wield his own vast power. This means he gets to go through different places in times of both crisis and peace, which makes the world feel... not so bleak as other fantasies might offer. People are living on and will continue to live on. Ged’s quest has stakes for the world at large, but the world is far too big to be shaken to its core by one person, wizard or not. It’s such a refreshing take on “antagonism” and it really kept me hooked in. Books where no person has any safe haven in the world are just so sad to me and I can’t really handle the stress of knowing that no one can live a calm life. Earthsea isn’t like that at all.

So basically give it a shot, the book’s like 200ish pages long and reads REALLY fast.

#earthsea #long post

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godofsexdrugsandrocknroll · 3 years

Text

5 Reasons Why It’s Good To Be Merc

Professor Oobleck: [To the class] --anybody? Perhaps you, miss Fall?

Cinder: [On scroll, panics] I uh--

Mercury: Sorry teach--

Professor Oobleck: [Loudly] Doctor!

Mercury: [Ignoring him] --but Cindy’s too busy sexting her boyfriend.

Cinder proceeded to furiously kick her asshole of a subordinate in the shin.

Professor Oobleck: *Grimaces* Perhaps, miss Fall, you can engage in...that sometime more appropriate.

Cinder: [Clutching throbbing toes] Of course Doctor Oobleck, I have no idea what I was thinking. [Glares at Mercury]

Mercury smiled. He’d get it later, but the hissing voice of Cinder as well as the slight tears in the corner of her eyes was worth it.

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

Emerald ran from the room in the warehouse, cackling the entire way with his legs in her hands. Sitting at a chair, stumps hanging off, Mercury felt his blood boil - before he took a breath and calmed down. He knew this was in revenge for Cinder nearly breaking her toes, her foot against his cybernetic prosthetic.

He also didn’t care. Focusing, he felt a faint glimmer of his aura getting further away from him and he sent a series of pulses that had one purpose. To remotely flip one of his legs.

Emerald: [Distantly] Ogg fugg, my fuggah teef! [Moaning in pain]

Having effectively kicked the thief’s teeth out, Mercury smiled. Best anti theft measures, ever.

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

Mercury: Kiiiii-fucking-yah!

And like that, the third year Huntsman went down like a sack of bricks. It was expected - the moron had activated his semblance, Yo-Yo, and used a powerful telekinetic pull to yank Mercury towards him. But he wasn’t anything in comparison to his shitbird of an old man.

So delivering a flying sidekick right out of an action movie was all too sweet and all too easy. Also cathartic because the moron had been going on about how lame his boots were and (the real reason he kicked the moron in the skull while going at least 30MPH) ridiculing him for not using his semblance.

Vytal Festival Crowd: *Raucous cheering*

The adulation of the masses was pretty nice too. As he walked back to the waiting room, he grinned. All he had to do now was wait for blondie to make it to the finals, put up a good act and then he can test himself against some real opponents.

They might just be Atlas grunts, but they weren’t the premiere military organization on Remnant for no reason.

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

Mercury grunted, the new additions to his legs making walking awkward. Sure it was just a few pistons as well as a miniature dust engine, but after years of getting used to his leg shaped prosthetics it was a bit awkward with these new clunkier ones.

He stumbled into Emerald, who immediately sneered at him before her brow furrowed.

Mercury: ‘Sup, Em?

Emerald: [Eyes flick towards him] Nothing. Cinder said her scar feels “hot” again, so I’m bringing her a cool towel. *Eyes narrow* What the hell are you doing here? You said the dungeons were creepy.

Mercury just shrugged, watching her carefully. He opened his mouth to speak and saw her staring at the bulky lower half of his legs.

Emerald: And what the hell is that!? [Eyes flick from Mercury, to the dungeon, to the entrance of the hallway that led out of Evernight Castle] Wait a minu--

Mercury didn’t hesitate. Pistons pumped, his dust engine whirred to life with a sound like miniature tornado and with a shift of the leg, a single dust round shot from his ankle and his leg kicked upwards blindingly fast.

Right between Emerald’s legs. The girl was lifted off her feet for a brief few seconds and her formerly narrowed eyes were bulging out of her skull. Then Mercury was putting his modded legs to good use and charging from Salem’s castle, leaving Emerald behind making sounds somewhere between a dying animal and a deflated balloon.

Sure he had to worry about Salem coming to kill him for effectively quitting the game, but if there was one thing his father literally beat into his skull it was that there wasn’t much point in following someone for the sake of an ideal.

Because there was nothing better than cold, hard cash.

And if the freaky Grimm bitch was out to destroy the world, how the hell was he gonna spend all that cash? It ate at him to even remotely agree with his old man, but he had a point.

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

Mercury: You know, if someone ever told me I’d be retiring to a beach with a hot midget I probably would’ve laughed. [Pauses] Then I probably would’ve caved their skull in with a good snap kick, but that’s beside the point! Cheers, tiny! *Slurps obnoxiously on a cocktail*

Neo lay next to him in a beach chair, a pink and brown bikini done in her colors but with a pink cup beneath her brown hair on the left side with a brown cup beneath her pink hair on the right side, with the bikini bottoms alternating the colors again.

Her hands also clenched the armrests mutinously. When she screwed Cinder over and shoved Hush through her belly, she figured her best bet was to go to sea. Find an island. Except she found the Maiden’s old assassin that Salem and her people occasionally tried finding (but to little success, Black keeping on the move) and he’d been the one to charter the boat. He’d been the one to find the tropical paradise they’d been living on the last few years.

It had mostly been a pragmatic choice - neither of them really enjoyed tanning, anything to do with the water and they only truly enjoyed the weather itself. There was a small town a couple miles through the palm trees with a little over a thousand in population who didn’t care who they were as long as they were willing to kill the occasional Grimm.

And so life had gone on. Then those assholes who’d killed Roman did the same to Salem. Word had gotten out. The witch was obliterated by some “heeeyuuuw-mongus purple and gold laser beam!”, that probably meant they didn’t need to worry about the Gods anymore either and the only way Salem would die is if the fire bitch was a corpse first.

So they’d celebrated. Once. Then never again because for the diminutive ice cream themed girl, once was more than enough with a dick weasel like Mercury Black. Seriously, 2 years on this island and he still was calling her a midget! He slurped his drinks! Even though he knew sex was permanently off the menu, he had no problem checking her out or any sense of privacy!

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, shortie.”

He even had eaten her damn ice cream and shrugged, like she wasn’t about to push her fucking spoon through his throat and scoop out his jugular! He was insufferable and he often smelt of motor oil and Hatchet Body Spray!

Mercury: *Sighs happily* Yup. Life is good. *Burps loudly*

Screaming silently, Neo shoved off towards their shared house while kicking up sand the entire way and wondering if those best-friend-murdering-cunt-nuggets would actually believe she would reform herself because she had an obnoxious roommate.

Maybe the cute, doofy looking blond boy would. Huh. Now she had an in - the doofus hadn’t really done anything to earn her ire. Yeah. She’d go to him, make friendly and their friendship would be what would convince his other friends, the titty monster and friend killer especially, that she really did want to be a good guy.

Meanwhile Mercury lowered his shades, checked out the perky booty and shrugged.

Mercury: [Steals her drink] And now she’s wasting good liquor. Eh. More for me! *Slurps*

He grinned as a local girl on a surf board bent to keep her balance, her significantly larger, tanner ass not being contained by her white bikini.

Mercury: *Enjoys life*

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

I’ve never quite understood why the assassin of all people didn’t just up and leave Salem at some point. I have to assume Cinder was paying him to begin with and then the fear of death might have kept him there but are you really gonna tell me this man didn’t think it’d be possible to just run from Salem at some point? Disappear into the background? Come on.

Sure he wouldn’t have disappeared to an island or anything, but crack is what I do apparently.

So yeah, that’s it for RWBY for today and probably until I have an idea again. I actually had these after answering Fish’s ask yesterday and decided to get them down since they’re basically the only ideas I’ve had for my Tumblr.

Hopefully people like these. :D

#rwby #mercury black #cinder fall #professor oobleck #emerald sustrai #neopolitian (rwby)#au #this is what happens when you let a drunk type #what's crack-a-lackin'#shitpost

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